“They seem to do everything they have to do before lunch,” Connie told her. “Come in then and we can have something to eat in the cafeteria.”
Ed was almost sitting up, leaning back against his pillows. The bruise on his forehead had smoothed out and was turning more purple around the edges, but his eye, although open, was more discolored. He looked awful.
“I sat up, and later they say they’ll get me on my feet.” He almost smiled. “I have to use the crutches, they said, and I need to keep the circulation moving.”
Althea could hear the forced bravado in his voice and there was little she could do but pass along the good wishes from a long list of neighbors and offer hopes for the future that sounded rosier than it now seemed.
She sat gingerly in an uncomfortable bedside chair and told him, “By the time we have to start planning the garden, you’ll be up and about. Now you’ll have time to read all of those catalogs.”
“Bring them in, give me something to do.”
She was the one who read them who did all the research, but Ed usually agreed with her decisions. He could at least keep his mind occupied even if his body wasn’t working very well. “I’ve gotten a few, mostly the flowers and bulbs, but you can look at the pictures. Connie’s wanted some new kinds.”
“Yeah,” he said.
But even that short conversation tired him and he closed his eyes.
Privately, outside in the hall, Connie was not as hopeful. “They’re talking about moving him to rehab in a few days. His shoulder is fine, just take a little time, and his leg seems to be, but right now they’re worried about pneumonia.”
“I know that’s common, but it can be managed, can’t it? With antibiotics or something?”
“They said they can cope with it. It’s the extent of the injuries, and his age. The older you are, they longer it takes. He was pretty badly shaken up.”
Ed was pushing seventy. Althea could only hug her cousin and hope. This was no time to say, if he had just been wearing his seat belt. But even the belt might not have helped very much. They went to the cafeteria, but Connie was able to do little more than taste the chicken soup.
She stayed for a while, but Connie suggested she go home. “I’ll sort of catnap here until Ed wakes up again. And somebody will drop by.”
~ ~ ~
Barry Sanford called Althea at supper time. “I just heard,” he said. “The accident was on the news this morning, and they just released his name. Is Ed all right? They said they arrested the guy who did it.”
“They did, and they charged him with negligence and distracted driving. The doctors say none of Ed’s injuries are life-threatening. They’ll just take a long time to heal. At his age.” She didn’t want to repeat that he might never get back to his old self. And what will I do then? How do I cope without him?
Barry asked, “So what are you going to do now?”
She didn’t know but wasn’t about to say so. “Connie’s granddaughter is on her way. She’ll take care of Connie for as long as necessary.”
“I mean you? Your stand? Your business? How can you manage it alone?”
She heard his concern, felt it was genuine, and responded to it. “I’ll just have to wait and see. At this time of year there’s no outside work that has to be done. Just keeping the snow shoveled, and I have a boy who does that for me. I have several people to tend the stand for me while I’m working. I’ll probably cut the hours some, go to weekends right after Thanksgiving. That’s a little earlier than usual, but I can manage.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
She knew that was a standard question, that there was really nothing Barry could, or would do, even if she asked, which she was not going to do. “Thanks, Barry, but I think everything is under control. Just keep us in your prayers.” She wondered if he even said prayers. “Especially Ed. He needs them.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And thanks. Everybody is being very helpful.”
“So, just let me know if I can do anything.”
“I’ll do that.”
She thought about that after she put the phone down. She did need help, but Barry was not equipped to provide it, physically, mentally, or even with genuine moral support. Her way of life was so totally alien to him he could do nothing. She looked out the back window, surveyed the visible section of the fields now lying fallow under the layer of frost and a light dusting of snow. Will Ed really be healed by spring? Will everything be okay again? What else can possibly go wrong?
She fixed herself a cup of tea. Tomorrow would be a new day, and new days bring new hope. She had to cling to that. And bolster the fading hope that Miles would come back. He had been so definite. And so broken.
But what, really, could he do besides sing to me? This isn’t his life, either. Can he be patched together again like Ed? How do you mend a shattered soul?
But maybe Miles’ song was all her heart needed. A song of gentle summer rain and love under the rose arbor.
She found an old movie to watch until she got tired enough to go to sleep.
ANOTHER PROBLEM
Althea was jolted awake sometime during the night. The sound seemed to have been a deep thud, but it was not repeated. She lay still for a moment, listening, wondering if she had imagined it, but since nothing seemed to be wrong anywhere, she drifted back to sleep. Probably just some car going by. Or my imagination.
She got up at her usual time for a Sunday morning. She remembered the sound she had heard during the night, but a short search in the house and around it disclosed nothing that might have caused it. She dismissed whatever it was as just one of those unexplainable things, and was eating a breakfast of coffee and an English muffin she didn’t want and couldn’t really taste, when the phone rang.
“What happened to the stand?” her neighbor Tom Ellison asked. “When was that?”
Gripped by a sudden chill she asked, “What?”
“Oh.” After an awkward pause, he said, “It must have happened last night and you aren’t up and haven’t come down here yet. I just happened to be driving by.”
She asked again, trying not to scream, “What happened?”
“You’d better come down,” he said practically. “I’ll wait here for you.”
~ ~ ~
A few minutes later she was outside in a cold damp wind, standing in the parking lot with Tom, and regarding the front of the stand. The center post holding up the patio roof was cracked almost in two. Whatever had hit it had pushed it inward causing the top to lean toward the road, dragging the roof down with it into a sickening sag. The post had not yet broken but seemed to be in imminent danger of doing so.
“I guess the roof is sort of holding up the post,” she said through her sick disbelief. “What do I do now?”
“You probably should start by calling the police.” Tom was calm, sensible, giving her some support without saying so. “We’d better not touch anything until they see it.” He reached into his pocket and dragged out his cell phone. “Here.”
She accepted it numbly and punched in 911, identified herself to the dispatcher and said, still in a daze, “It looks like somebody drove a car into my farm stand last night. They broke a post and just left. No, there’s no sign of anybody.”
While she was describing what she could see, another car stopped and a man climbed out. Althea recognized him as a townsperson but could not readily give him a name. He and Tom surveyed the damage more closely, discussing it with a lot of gestures.
She handed Tom back his phone and nodded at the newcomer. “Somebody’s coming. Thanks.”
“I’ll stick around. Give you some moral support or something.” Tom surveyed the damage again. “Seeing that I was the one who discovered it, they’ll probably want to talk to me.”
�
��I’m glad you’re here. Gave me a little warning before I came down so I didn’t have to discover it by myself. I probably would have freaked out.”
“I doubt it. You don’t freak out easily.” Tom was still studying the broken post
“Thanks.” The extent of the damage penetrated her mind. What is this going to cost? Can I open the stand? She was gripped by a sudden chill. Fingers of the icy wind penetrated her parka. She wrapped her arms around her chest, staring at the damage without really seeing it. Who could have done this and not come up and told me? Or at least left a note. Who can I get to fix it? What am I going to do without Ed? How do I tell him about it? He’ll want to get right up and came help me and he can’t and he’ll only feel worse. What am I going to do?
Beside her, Tom punched numbers into his phone. “Barb? Fix a big thermos of coffee and get down here. Somebody ran into Althea’s stand last night and she needs somebody. Like right now.” After a moment, he added, “Not a lot of damage. Won’t be too hard to fix. Frank’s here and the police are coming.”
She looked sideways at him, surprised out of her numbness. Tom was a big jovial man in his late fifties. She did not know him and his wife well, but they were close to Ed and Connie, part of Connie’s wide circle of confidants and a regular customer.
Tom patted her arm. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Althea. Frank and I can put a post under it and jack it up in no time so it won’t collapse any farther.”
“I’ve got a house jack,” Frank said. “It’ll work until the police and your insurance can look at it. You should be able to open it tomorrow.” He was much younger than Tom, slender and athletic appearing. She finally recalled his name – Parsons – and who he was. “Once the post is in, the roof can’t come down.”
She surveyed the broken post again, actually seeing it for the first time. It did look as if a car had rammed it. There were skid marks in the gravel around it. It still made no sense. She walked closer and stopped. Her grandfather’s horse head knocker was lying on the ground, torn from its holders by the impact. She bent, picked it up, and stood caressing it gently with her fingers. It did not appear to be damaged.
Tom said, “Maybe we should move back, not step on these skid marks.”
She looked down at the gravel, saw where a tightly turning vehicle had sprayed the gravel outward. “Yes, I suppose.”
A police cruiser pulled into the parking area.
Althea looked at the young officer, somewhat relieved that he was someone she had met. At least now it was in someone else’s hands.
She watched from the side as the officer carefully surveyed the damage without touching the post and took pictures. “I probably heard it during the night,” she told him. “Something woke me up, but I didn’t hear anything else so I didn’t get up. I didn’t look at the clock.” She laughed shortly to hide her nervousness. “I went back to sleep. I didn’t know about it until Tom called me.”
He nodded, busy with the laptop he had put on the hood of the cruiser. “I’ll need Mr. Ellison’s statement.”
“Sure thing.”
Tom’s wife Barbara arrived with the coffee and she sighed her relief. Another woman for backup, to lean on, relax just a little with.
She breathed, “I am so glad to see you.”
“Don’t go inside yet,” the officer said. “We don’t know what else might have been damaged, or if they went in there.”
Another cruiser arrived and the two officers conferred.
Barbara suggested they sit in her car out of the wind.
Another car, another neighbor, stopped. The driver joined Tom and Frank.
Barbara said lightly, “The whole neighborhood will be here pretty soon. Word like this travels fast.” She apparently noticed the knocker Althea still had clutched in her hand. “I always liked that thing. It’s interesting. Was it something of Raymond’s?”
“His father’s, my grandfather’s.” She loosened her hold on the knocker but did not put it down; it was a solid something to hang onto. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “What am I going to do now, without Ed here to help?”
“There are a lot of us, Althea. We’ll see you through.” She looked beyond her at the men clustered near the stand. “Maybe they’ve decided something.”
Althea watched the officer approach and opened the door to greet him.
He asked, “Is there another way into the stand? We don’t want anyone going in under the broken roof.”
“Sure. The back door.” She slid out of the car.
The inside of the stand appeared to be unharmed. Nothing was out of place. She didn’t try to hide the relief she felt. “I guess he, or she, panicked after they hit the post. It was just an accident and not a robbery or anything. Not that there’s anything in here to steal.”
“Something caused it, distraction, mechanical failure. High on something.” The officer grimaced. “And some people will steal anything. Let’s go back outside.”
Tom and Frank and two others were still regarding the broken post. “We’d better get a post under it quick,” Tom said. “We don’t want it caving in.”
“Do that,” the officer said, “but don’t touch the broken one. The insurance people and the building inspector have to see it.”
Althea repeated, “Building inspector?”
“Yeah.” The officer turned away. “You can’t open again until he says it’s okay. Public safety, you know.” He glanced at Tom. “I’d say it will be all right if he approves the repair post, but I don’t know.”
She asked still numb with disbelief, “How long will that take?”
“Oh, he’ll probably make it out here sometime Monday.”
Tom said matter-of-factly, “Then me and Frank and Joe here’ll get busy right now, before the post breaks.”
“Do that,” the officer said again, and turned back to his cruiser. The other officer had already gone, having determined there was no need for him to stay.
“Don’t worry,” Tom said. “I know the inspector. He’s not a bad sort.”
“Just a little officious sometimes,” Frank said. “I’ll go get the jack.”
“I have something we can use for a brace in the barn.”
They turned away together still in conversation.
Barbara said practically, “Let’s go back to my house and get some breakfast. There’s nothing you can do here.”
~ ~ ~
Later that morning, Althea watched the three men set the temporary post. It looked to her like something salvaged from an old barn, which she found totally appropriate, and somehow gratifying. As her neighbors worked slowly and carefully, she watched the roof of the patio gradually rise back into place and the makeshift post was secured on the jack. Relieved of its burden, the center post broke and the bottom half lay in shattered pieces on the ground, the top dangling and still secured to the roof.
“Ray built it well,” Frank said. “Naturally.”
Tom wiped his hands on his jeans. “That’ll hold it okay.” He glanced at Althea. “You might even want to keep that post.” He looked at the broken timber. “It won’t take much to set it in place. But the inspector will want to look at all the joints in case it pulled the outside edges out those posts or something.”
She could find no words to express her dismay, or her relief and her gratitude. “I don’t know what to say, how to thank you . . .”
“Then don’t,” Tom said and began picking up his tools. “Run along and visit with Ed and Connie and give them some kind of story if they’ve heard about this, and they will if anyone’s been in to see them. There’s nothing you can do here right now.”
Frank added, “I’d guess there wasn’t a lot of damage done. Everything is fine but the post. Building inspector shouldn’t have a problem.”
For th
at, Althea was grateful, but she was suspicious of officials. She said, “Sure.”
~ ~ ~
By the time Althea returned to the hospital, Ed and Connie had indeed heard about the accident from some well-meaning friend. Ed was angry at himself, at his accident, and the senseless damage done.
“You need somebody there with you. I keep telling you that.”
While she might agree, there was no one. “It’s going to be all right,” she told him, squeezing his good arm a little in reassurance. “Tom has a temporary post in. I’ll see the insurance people tomorrow. And the building inspector. Don’t worry.”
“It’s too much,” Ed grumbled. “All at once. And you all alone.”
She took his grumbling as a sign of healing but wasn’t comforted. She was, indeed, all alone.
She stopped and looked at the damage again on her way home. The temporary post looked a little brave, resting on the jack and propping up the roof. That is what I need. Something, someone, to prop me up.
THE END
The police officer who called late in the afternoon was helpful, but not really reassuring. “We found the guy,” he said, but added he could provide no further information, not even a name at this point. “He was drunk. His wife called to report the damage to the car since he couldn’t remember hitting anything. We just wanted you to know it was not intentional or anything personal against you.”
She suspected that meant it was all up to her insurance to cover the damage, if it indeed would, and she might never know the whole story. “Was he hurt?”
“No.”
“And the inspector?”
“Can’t say, ma’am. Not my department.”
She was back to where she was before. Depressed, alone, and totally dependent on some official she didn’t know. “Well, thanks for letting me know.”
She didn’t know what to do next. At least the mystery was solved. It had nothing to do with her, but it did underline her need for somebody, somebody with knowledge. And where would she find that person?
Any Rainy Thursday Page 17