“Sure.”
She switched to the next caller. “Hello, Ainsley Meadows speaking.”
“Miss Meadows, this is Mrs. Webster from North Kansas City Hospital. Your mother listed you as an emergency contact.”
Her pulse raced. “Is everything all right? Has there been an accident?”
“She swallowed a large amount of lorazepam. We pumped her stomach, but she remains confused and complains of dizziness.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Grabbing her keys, she ran out the door. She peeled out of her driveway and onto Vivian. Her speedometer hovered between seventy-five and eighty by the time she hit the freeway. Ten minutes later, she screeched into the hospital parking lot, bolted through the emergency entrance, and to the reception desk.
A woman with black hair and porcelain skin looked up from a computer screen. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Angela Meadows.” Ainsley spoke in bursts, her lungs heaving for air.
The woman swiveled to the monitor and typed, each tap accelerating Ainsley’s pulse until she felt ready to explode. A moment later, a woman dressed in scrubs emerged from a side door.
“Miss Meadows?”
Ainsley nodded.
“Follow me.”
The woman led her through a fluorescent-lit hallway, past large red bins labeled Biohazardous Waste, and around a nurses’ station to an examination room. Her mother lay in bed, clutching a thin, white sheet to her chin.
The doctor glanced up when Ainsley entered. He held a clipboard in his hand.
“What happened?” She looked from the doctor to her mother, but her mother refused to make eye contact.
The doctor motioned for his nurses to leave then turned to Ainsley. “I’ll leave you two to talk and will return to check vitals later.”
She waited until the door clicked closed before hurrying to her mother’s bedside. She sat in an adjacent chair. “Mom, what happened? Did you have a reaction to your medication?” Was she even on medication? Maybe if Ainsley returned her calls once in a while, she’d know.
A tear slid down her mom’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Ainsley. I was just so . . . lonely.”
Her chest constricted. “You mean you did this on purpose?”
“Stephen left me.”
“What?”
“Stephen left me.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve only known the man for a few months. You’d take your life for him?” Her mother flinched. Ainsley sucked in air and counted to three before speaking again. “Mom, he’s a man.” And all that entailed—pond scum included. “You’ve got so much more to live for.” Tears lodged in her throat as she thought of all the times she’d ignored her mother’s phone calls. Could she have prevented this?
Her mother shook her head. “What, Ainsley? What do I have to live for? I’m fifty-six years old, can’t keep a job, can’t keep a man, and I’m about to get kicked out of my apartment.” Tears streamed down her face. “Where’s the hope in that?”
Ainsley grabbed her mother’s hand, words from a sermon spoken the previous Sunday flooding her mind and burning on her tongue. Looking into her mother’s glistening eyes, her heart sank at the deep emptiness that stared back at her.
“There is hope, Mom. There’s hope and love and goodness, only you’re looking for it in all the wrong places. Don’t you see? You’re running from one man to the next hoping they’ll fill that hole inside, only they don’t, because they can’t. There’s only one person who can give you the love you need, and that person’s Jesus.”
Her mother shook her head. “He’d never take me, not after all I’ve done.”
Ainsley smiled and squeezed her ice-cold hand. “That’s why it’s called grace, Mom. Undeserved favor based on unconditional love. If you confess your sins, He is faithful and will forgive your sins and make you new.”
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you. About your father.”
“I don’t want to talk about that, Mom. You’ve got to let that go. You’ve got to forgive him and move on.”
“No, it’s he who needs to forgive me, for what I did, and for all those terrible things I’ve told you all these years. Oh God, forgive me.” Her voice trembled as fresh tears surfaced. “Ainsley, dear, I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her mother grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and blew her nose. “Your dad didn’t leave me. I’m the one who left.”
“But you said . . .
“I know what I said, and I’m sorry. We got married so young, and after a while I started to get restless, like I was missing out on something, only I didn’t know what that was.” She sniffled. “So I joined clubs and went to the movies with friends.”
“I remember.”
“I thought it would help, but it only made me more agitated. The more fun I had, the more I wanted.” She looked away. “Then one day, I met a man.”
A wave of nausea swept over Ainsley. “I don’t want to hear this, Mom.”
Her mother grasped her hand. “I need to tell you. All these years I’ve wanted to tell you, but whenever I started to, another lie popped out. After a while there were too many lies to unravel.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I cheated on your father, and he found out. I thought for sure he’d divorce me, but he said he wanted to work things out. Begged me to go to counseling.”
Ainsley pulled away and pressed her spine against the seat backing.
“I told him I needed space and moved out. He waited for a year, and fought against the divorce once I filed.”
“Then what about that floozy he’s with?”
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t know. Maybe he wanted to make me jealous. Either that or he finally gave up.” She wiped her tears. “I lost the best thing that ever happened to me then turned his daughter against him. So tell me, do you still think this Jesus of yours has love for me?”
Ainsley stood, her mother’s words swirling through her mind. Shaking her head, she backed out.
“Please, Ainsley, don’t go. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry!”
Chapter 49
hris cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his hands for packing. Most of his belonging sat in boxes lining the walls, leaving the living room free of clutter. Three or four more boxes to go and he’d be ready for the realtor to take pictures.
Silence stretched across the phone line before Matilda’s soft voice broke it. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? I know I pushed you pretty hard to sell, but I’ve changed my mind. If you want to stay in Mom and Dad’s house—”
“No. This is for the best.”
“Would you like me to come over? Do I need to sign the papers or anything?”
“I’ll have the realtor fax them to you when we’re done here.”
He hung up, tucked the phone in his back pocket, turned his attention to an old photo album lying on top of the coffee table.
After a quick flip through the pages, he dropped it into the box. Holding on to this house and his parents’ things wouldn’t bring his father back, nor would it prevent his mother from slipping further into dementia. Besides, a two-bedroom, low-maintenance condo would free up his time for the café.
The doorbell chimed, and Rusty yipped. Dropping the roll of packing tape onto the sofa, he answered the door, Rusty trailing behind him.
Darcy Trieman stood on his stoop holding a briefcase, camera, and a tripod. “Ready to sign the paperwork?”
He glanced toward Ainsley’s house with a heavy heart. Such a sweet, godly woman. Too bad it hadn’t lasted. Turning back to Darcy, he nodded and moved aside to allow her in. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I imagine.”
She surveyed the living room, her gaze lingering on the six-foot-tall box wall stacked between matching bookshelves. “I suggest you get a storage locker. You’ll want to clear as much of this away as possible.”
; “I’ll probably donate most of it.” He swallowed. “Although I hate to part with it, too many people struggle to make ends meet to justify holding on to things they don’t need.”
“Are you OK?” Her eyes softened. “I know this must be hard for you. If you’re not ready—”
Chris shook his head. “I’m good.” As if sensing his sorrow, Rusty watched with droopy eyes before sliding his belly to the floor.
“Wanna give me a walk-through?”
He made a sweeping motion with his arm. “This is the living room.” He chuckled, although it fell flat.
Continuing across the room and down the hall, he showed her the guest bathroom, the master bedroom, and a small sitting area. Next, they moved upstairs to the three bedrooms that at one time created his safe haven. Rusty remained near the door, laying on his belly, muzzle resting on his forepaws, eyes sad as if he could sense Chris’s mood.
They entered his childhood room first, with its pale-blue walls and a sports-themed border. His bed, a twin with a metal frame, sat in the corner, a bedspread covered in footballs and field goals spread across it. His throat ached as a memory of his mother kneeling beside him as they said bedtime prayers surfaced.
Darcy paused in the middle of the room, watching him with a wrinkled brow. “You need a break?”
“Nope.” He inhaled and lifted his chin. “There are two more rooms down the hall, both about the same size.”
After showing her the other rooms, the second bathroom and a small office where his father used to pay bills and crunch numbers using an old, handheld calculator, he led her back downstairs.
“Is there someplace we can sit to go over these documents?” She lifted her briefcase.
“Follow me.”
They moved to the kitchen. He cleared the table, pulled out a chair for her, then sat beside her.
She plopped her briefcase in front of her, snapped it open, and pulled out a thick stack of papers. She went through each sheet word for word. When finished, she turned the documents toward Chris and handed him a pen. “Time to sign your life away.” She grinned.
How true those words were. Fifty years worth of history and thirty years worth of personal memories would soon be sold to the highest bidder. But no matter what they did to the house, no matter who purchased the donated furniture, nothing could erase the images forever engraved in his heart.
When they finished, he walked her to the door.
“Based on the comparables, I think your house will sell quickly.” Darcy smoothed back her hair. “Let me know when you’d like to go condo shopping.”
“Will do.”
With a parting nod, she turned around and traveled down the walk, returning to his lawn a moment later carrying a For Sale sign. Her face contorted as she struggled to stab it into the semi-frozen earth.
Chris ran to her side. “Let me get that for you.”
Holding the sign, he glanced up as Ainsley pulled into her driveway. They locked eyes for a moment. His breath caught in his throat as he stood, frozen.
Undo this, Ainsley. Tell me not to leave. Tell me you believe me.
Tell me you love me.
Ainsley stared at the For Sale sign clutched in Chris’s hand, tears burning her eyes. Inhaling, she gripped the steering wheel tighter and looked away. Her wounds would heal. Slowly perhaps, but they would heal.
Then why did the ache in her heart grow worse every time she saw him?
Her heart cramped as she glanced at the apartment rental guide lying on the passenger seat. It sat on top of classified ads from three newspapers—one from Kansas City, one from Overland Park, and the other from Belton.
Lord, help me out here. How am I supposed to forget Chris when my entire life is entangled in his?
But at least he changed days at the shelter. That remained her one safe haven, even if his absence actually produced the opposite effect.
Once inside, she dropped her things onto the kitchen table. Gripping the counter, shoulders slumped, she stared across the lawn toward Chris’s house. The realtor’s sign stood like a sharpened dagger, glimmering in the low-lying sun.
No matter how hard she tried to bar him from her heart, memories arose. A thousand times a day she fought against them. Now that her gut-reaction dimmed beneath rational thinking, she knew he told the truth in regard to Candy. But it didn’t matter. Her heart was too bruised to go another round. Regressing fifteen years, she felt like that frightened child who waited for her father to come home, waited for her mother to notice her.
Love hurt and men stank. The years of pain enshrouding her mother attested to that.
Only her mother’s pain had been her own doing. Ainsley blinked as her mother’s words replayed once again in her mind.
Oh, Daddy! If Mom lied about the divorce, did she lie about your desire to see me as well?
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and sifted through her contacts for her father’s number. Her stomach churned as she pressed Call Send. It rang four times before going to voice mail. And extended beep followed. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth. Then closed it, ending the call.
Chapter 50
insley snapped the book shut and enveloped Kaily and Miranda in her arms. Leiland, a toddler with pitch-black hair and dimples, wiggled beside her. Raising her arm, she included him in a group hug and squeezed.
“Again, again, again!” Kaily tugged on the book, forcing the pages open once again.
“Again, again, again!” The other children chorused.
Ainsley giggled. “Then The Muffin Who Lost His Berries it is, for the tenth time.” She shot Rose a wink who sat at an adjacent table reading through documents.
“Chris!” Kaily bolted to her feet and ran across the cafeteria, the other children following close behind.
Ainsley stiffened, her gaze locked on Chris’s as a handful of kids barreled into him, nearly knocking him down. William stood beside him clutching a paper bag, his mother and Nancy, another resident recently added to Chris’s crew, close by.
Rose set her papers aside and stood. Sauntering over to Chris and the others, she broke into conversation. “Thanks for coming down here. That rickety old bus drives me crazy.” She rolled her eyes. “Always breaks down at the last minute. But Pastor Jenkins from Faith Community says his congregation plans to buy us a new one. Should be bringing it by in a few days, so this’ll be the last time you gotta play taxicab. Course, you know Wanda’s done got herself an apartment smack-dab on the bus line. Moves in next week, so you won’t be driving her around no more.”
Chris smiled and squeezed William’s shoulder. “Heard all about it. God is good!”
“All the time!” William beamed and gave Chris a high five.
Kneeling, Ainsley gathered the pile of books with a heavy heart. Rose and Chris’s conversation drifted toward her. She watched them from the corner of her eye.
“So, that café of yours has become quite the happening place, huh?”
Chris chuckled. “Thanks to my fantabulous crew.”
Rose flicked the paper bag in William’s hands then crossed her arms. “So, you workin’ them or feedin’ them?”
“A bit of both.”
“Like I always said, will work for food.” Wanda laughed.
Chris nodded. “Love seeing the body of Christ in action. They’ve been amazing. We must have at least ten different Bible studies meeting at the café, and many come with cans of food. We’re talking about turning it into a soup kitchen, minus the soup, on Thursdays. Giving the less fortunate a warm place to hang out, a toasted bagel, and a hot latte. Along with a little dash of Jesus, of course.”
Rose turned to Ainsley and planted her hands on her hips. “You’re not still looking for another place to work, are you? Cuz it sure seems Brother Chris could use your help.”
Ainsley stood and brushed her hair from her face. “It sounds like a wonderful endeavor.”
Chris shifted and looked at his watch.
“Don’t let me keep
you.” Rose gave him a sideways hug. “Always good to see you. One of these days I need to come get me a mocha.”
“Yes, you do.” He looked at Ainsley and held her gaze.
A loud crash sounded through the ceiling.
Rose frowned, staring up. “Guess I better see what’s going on up there.” She whirled around and clomped up the steps, her long, floral skirt swishing around her feet.
Ainsley searched for something to say. “I see you’re moving.”
“Yeah. Figure it’s time to downsize. You, too, right?”
“Thinking about it. It’s either that or sign on for another six-month term.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I didn’t sexually harass that lady.”
“I know.”
“There’s nothing between Candy and me.”
She nodded.
“About those pictures—they were before I came to know Christ. I was in college, drank way too much, and some buddies and I—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Then why are you so angry?”
Tears lodged in Ainsley’s throat. “I’m not angry. I just . . . Don’t want you to break my heart, only it was too late for that.
His shoulders slumped and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I guess I better go.”
Her pulse quickened as he turned to leave, words of protest flooding her mind, warring with her heart. But the sooner he left, the sooner she found a new job, the sooner she moved, the sooner she could return to her old life. Pre-Richard, pre-Chris, just her and Gina. And a whole slew of cats.
The door shut, leaving Ainsley to stare down the dim, empty hallway. Images of Chris sitting on the floor, large garbage bag stuffed with toys plopped before him, flashed through her mind.
Why did love hurt so bad? When would her heart mend?
“Hurts most when you fight it.”
Beyond I Do Page 30