Dean, where are you? She couldn't do this alone, she thought as she dug in her handbag for a tissue. She never went anywhere without tissues anymore.
Poor Brooke. Poor precious little girl. Candace laid her head forward against the steering wheel and let the tears flow. Brooke had been devastated, completely unable to function, when her father passed away. And now she couldn't even be around other children's fathers. Had this always been a problem? Neither she nor Janet had noticed it, but Candace wondered, mopping at tears, if they had been so relieved that the most frightening symptom of Brooke's trauma—namely, not speaking—had disappeared that they had fooled themselves into thinking she was fine.
No, not fine, she corrected, recalling the incidents with Carla's cat and Tiffany's birthday. But improving.
A wisp of memory floated into her head, and she saw Dean's face, laughing. The image was so clear that Candace strained to recall more, wanting to prolong the moment. It had been at a parent-teacher conference too, she recalled. She and Dean had gone in for their very first conference when Brooke had been in kindergarten for about two months.
The conference had gone well. The teacher was delighted that Brooke recognized her name and her letters, that she was beginning to write her name, and that she could count to one hundred. There was only one teeny issue she wanted to mention. Brooke normally was the most docile of students, willing to play with anyone, kind to the others with whom she interacted.
But one day on the playground, a classmate had found a large earthworm. He had picked it up and terrorized half the class, but Brooke hadn't been afraid. Instead, she had asked him how he’d like it if he were an earthworm. Then someone picked the worm up and slung him around in the air. She had urged the little boy to put the worm back in the loose soil of the landscaping at the corner of the playground.
Instead, he had thrown the worm on the ground and stomped on it.
And that was when Brooke hit him.
As Dean and Candace had left the building and the door closed behind them, Dean had a mirth meltdown, laughing until the tears ran. Brooke was a gentle, quiet little girl; but she had a strong empathy for others, including animals of all sorts, and seeing someone kill a worm would not have gone over well. As it obviously hadn’t. A bubble of laughter worked its way up between the sobs she was trying to get under control.
A tap-tap-tap on her window startled her so badly she nearly screamed as she jolted upright. Turning, she blinked her blurry eyes until the large, dark shape blocking the late day sun coalesced into the face of James Bell.
“You okay?” he asked through the glass.
Too unnerved to start the car and lower the automatic window, she unfastened her seat belt, opened her door and swung her legs out, doing her best to stifle the sobs that still wanted to escape.
“James, what are you doing here?”
James squatted in the open door. “Just waiting a few more minutes until Nelson is finished with Chess Club. You okay?” he repeated gently.
Candace shook her head. “Not really.” Her voice quavered, and she pressed her lips together before she attempted to speak again. “I had a conference with Brooke's teacher. It made me think of a parent-teacher conference we had when Dean was still alive.”
James didn't say anything, but his silence was comfortable.
She spoke again. “Most days are good now. Really. It's just that every once in a while, something happens that triggers a memory, and it's so vivid that it seems impossible that he's gone….” Her voice trailed away, and she gulped again.
“I can't imagine how you do it.” James's voice was quiet. “Losing your partner in life at any age is terrible. But to lose him so young…I cannot imagine how you do it. I think you’re probably the strongest woman I have ever met.”
“I don't think I could go on if it wasn't for the kids,” she confessed. “And even then, there are days when I feel like I’m just going through the motions.”
James nodded. “I can see that.” He shifted position a little. “Are you able to drive home? Because I’d be happy to give you a lift. I could pick you up in the morning and bring you back here to get your car—”
“Thank you,” Candace said, “but I’ll be all right, James. Talking to you has helped. I can drive home.” She smiled at him. “I don't know why God saw fit to bless me with friends like you, but I thank Him every day.”
Chapter Twelve
ON SATURDAY MORNING, ELENA WAS ON CLOUD NINE as she returned to the ICU from her morning break. Albert Varner, the hospital's CEO, had spoken with Bernard Telford, who was the president of the board. Mr. Telford had liked the Wall of Hope idea and had called a special board meeting early in the upcoming week to discuss it. Albert had suggested to the president that Zane and Elena should attend, but Telford vetoed it, saying he would handle the presentation.
Elena wasn't sure whether she was glad or sad that she didn't have to speak in front of a whole room full of hospital board members. Either way, she could hardly wait for lunchtime to arrive so she could share the good news with her friends. The Wall of Hope project was one step closer to becoming reality!
On the way back up to the second floor, she shared the elevator with Hospital Auxiliary volunteer Phyllis Getty. The auxiliary was made up of mostly retired older ladies who volunteered in the hospital and performed other service projects to benefit Hope Haven.
Pert and alert, Phyllis reminded Elena of a high-speed hummingbird in her Kelly green volunteer jacket with numerous pins for outstanding service adorning the chest pocket. Despite being eighty-four years old, Phyllis had more energy than any other three people all put together.
“Good morning, dear,” Phyllis said as she held the elevator for Elena. “Isn't it a beautiful day? When I came in, the sky was such a gorgeous deep, rich blue that it didn't look real.”
“I noticed it too. It was really lovely. What are you up to this morning?” Elena asked.
Phyllis indicated a stack of magazines she held. “I’m distributing reading materials to patients who are interested,” she said. “Sometimes I stick around and read to the folks who can't see to read for themselves.”
“That's very thoughtful,” Elena said as the elevator doors opened on the second floor.
Walking along beside Phyllis, Elena was almost to the counter at the Intensive Care nurses’ station right across the corridor from the main second floor nurses’ station when she heard a surprisingly loud voice speaking her name.
“…Elena Rodriguez, and I want to speak with her. Find her right now.” The speaker was a silver-haired man standing rigidly in front of the counter.
“Uh-oh,” Phyllis muttered under her breath. “I didn't take my heartburn pill today.” And with that cryptic statement, she wheeled around and moved off in the other direction.
Winona Stouffer was at the computer behind the desk. Slowly, she swiveled the office chair around and looked up, eyebrows raised in an expression that should have quelled the rude inquirer.
The man appeared oblivious to her unspoken criticism, however. Again, he demanded, “I need to see Elena Rodriguez.”
Winona's gaze slid past the speaker and landed on Elena.
“Ms. Rodriguez is right behind you,” she said.
The man spun on his heel. When he spotted her, Elena felt like a rabbit without a hiding place while a hawk circled overhead. “You.” He pointed at Elena. “I want to speak with you.”
It took a lot to upset Elena's equilibrium. She smiled into his grim face and said pleasantly, “I’m going back on duty in Intensive Care, if you’d like to follow me over to the desk.” She extended a hand. “Hello.”
The man ignored the gesture. “I’m Frederick Innisk. I sit on the Hope Haven Hospital board of directors.”
Could the man be any more pompous? “Yes?”
“I just came from a meeting with Bernie Telford, who is the president of this institution's board of directors.”
“I’ve met Mr. Telford,” Elena sa
id, continuing to smile, although Mr. Innisk's condescension was arousing indignation within her.
“Telford told me about this ridiculous scheme you’ve dreamed up. Wall of Hope indeed. What's in it for you, girlie?” he said.
Girlie? Elena was so taken aback by the disparaging term that she didn't even know how to respond. “I beg your pardon?”
“It's a terrible idea,” Innisk said in a curt, cutting tone. “What's the catch? What are you getting out of the deal?”
“Mr. Innisk,” Elena said, “I am not sure what you are accusing me of, but I assure you I am not getting a single thing out of the Wall of Hope idea—”
“Ha!”
“Except for the satisfaction of raising funds to keep the hospital open, and the opportunity to beautify an area that both staff and visitors use on a regular basis. Hope Haven is a jewel in this community. We’re so fortunate to have a stellar medical facility easily available to us. I would hate to see that disappear, as would the entire town.”
Innisk dismissed her words with a grunt of skepticism. “I’ll figure it out,” he said as if she hadn't even spoken, wagging a finger in her face. “And I’ll warn you now, missy, that I’m going to oppose this ridiculous notion. I don't even know why we’re having a meeting to discuss it. No discussion's necessary. We need to close the doors of this money pit before we drown in debt.”
Elena barely resisted the urge to bat that offensive index finger out of her face. “You’re entitled to your opinion, as are the other board members. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients who need my care.”
“If you were doing your job right, you wouldn't have time for this nonsense,” Innisk said.
Elena's eyes opened wide, and her nostrils flared like a bull sensing danger. She was a patient person, but being accused of…whatever it was this odious man was accusing her of was just too much.
“Freddie.” Before Elena could retort, a low, sweet voice broke the tension between the two. “Do you have a complaint to register about Ms. Rodriguez’s work?” The speaker was Marge Matthews, the nurse supervisor of the ICU on the day shift. She had been seated behind the ICU desk where Innisk apparently had not noticed her, or perhaps he’d simply dismissed her. And had she really just called him Freddie?
Before Innisk could respond, Marge continued speaking in her calm, pleasant voice. Beneath the surface, Elena recognized a hint of steel. Apparently Innisk did too, because he didn't attempt to interrupt her as he had Elena. “If you have specific concerns, I would be happy to speak with you and take your issues to the personnel department. If, however, Ms. Rodriguez were to accuse you of slander or some similar action, I would be remiss if I did not send the witnesses to this discussion to Mr. Varner to share their perceptions of your confrontation.”
Innisk's face grew so red he looked nearly purple. Elena would not have been surprised if he’d gone into cardiac arrest right then and there. “You dare—” he spluttered. “I’ll—I’ll—”
Marge rose to her full, majestic height, just inches shy of six feet, and looked down at the angry man, who was significantly shorter than Elena's own moderately tall frame. “Why don't we go down to the CEO's office right now,” she suggested, stepping out from behind the desk.
Innisk actually backed up a step. “That's not necessary,” he said in a tone so frigid Elena wanted to shiver. He turned his attention back to her then, glowering at her as he said, “I will oppose this frivolous notion with every means at my disposal.” And before Elena could form a response, he turned and stalked away. Unfortunately, his exit was spoiled a bit by the fact that he had to wait almost thirty seconds for the elevator to come to the second floor. In that time, not a single syllable was spoken at the nurses’ station behind him.
The moment the elevator doors closed, though, Winona rose from her seat behind the desk and said, “I’ve heard stories about him, but you know how that goes—stories are usually exaggerated.” She shuddered. “In his case, there was no exaggeration. Are you okay?”
Elena nodded as she sagged against the ICU desk across the hall. Her legs actually felt unsteady and her hands were shaking. Lord, pour Your strength into me. “I’m not good at confrontation,” she said weakly, trying to smile. “Do you think he’ll really report me for something?”
Marge shook her head. “Not for a minute. He's been a bully since high school. We were in the same graduating class, and I swear he hasn't changed one iota since then. His family is old money in Deerford. His great-grandfather was the first town mayor, and I swear he thinks that gives him ownership or some such silliness.” She patted Elena on the shoulder, but her brown eyes were troubled. “Nobody likes the man, but don't underestimate him. Family money often speaks surprisingly loudly.”
Elena tried to smile. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Did he really say he wants to see the hospital close, or did I dream that?” Winona asked. “He's on the board, for pity's sake. How can he want to close it?”
“Apparently, he believes it is too deeply in debt to be saved,” Elena said. And the words were a blow to her normally optimistic outlook.
“Huh.” Marge gave her opinion of that in one inelegant syllable. “Freddie Innisk,” she said, “has never done anything in his life that didn't benefit him. First, last, and always, that man looks after his own interests. If he wants to close the hospital, it's a sure bet that he stands to gain something from it. I suspect it's financial reward.”
Just then, one of the Hope Haven Hounds volunteers came by the desk. Charles Washington was African American, a dignified, slightly stooped older gentleman who had never been seen without a bow tie. Some people said he’d been born wearing it. Charles's dark hair was dusted with a frosting of white. At his side walked his beloved beagle, Dixie. She was a popular dog among the patients, because she was small enough to hop up on a bed and lie down with a patient who expressed interest in a visit from a Hound volunteer.
As they passed, Charles inclined his head. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, Charles,” everyone chorused.
He smiled and moved on past, but a moment later he stopped when he realized Dixie wasn't walking along with him. The little dog had stopped at Elena's side and was standing on her two hind legs with her front paws against Elena's knee.
“Dixie!” Charles looked mortified. “I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “She never jumps on people.”
“It's all right.” Elena chuckled as she knelt. She almost lost her balance as Dixie leapt right into her lap and cuddled up with her head beneath Elena's chin.
“Well, look at that,” Marge said, leaning over the counter. “That little dog knew Elena needed a good hug.”
Elena blinked back tears as she stroked the warm little body. “They say having a companion animal near you lowers blood pressure and calms folks in distress.”
Winona snorted. “No wonder Miss Dixie stopped to visit. Your blood pressure was probably off the chart!”
“I wonder why that is,” Marge mused, clearly still thinking about Elena's words regarding pets.
Elena took another minute with the diminutive canine. “I don't care why it works,” she said, feeling the tension receding and her customary sunny outlook return, “but I sure feel much better. Thank you,” she said to Charles as she gave Dixie one final scratch behind her ear.
Still, she wondered why Frederick Innisk was so determined to thwart her plan to raise funds to keep the hospital open. He’d asked what was in it for her; conversely, she wondered what was motivating him. Was it simply a power play, or was there something more at work?
Candace opened the door to the courtyard and looked for the cardinal that called the paperbark maple tree home. She smiled when she spotted it, then joined her three close friends in the courtyard for a late lunch on Saturday. When she arrived, Elena was recounting an encounter she’d had with one of the Hope Haven board members. Although Elena made light of the incident, Candace's concern seemed to match James's. Anabel
le, who apparently had a passing acquaintance with the man, appeared aghast.
“He couldn't possibly make trouble for you with Human Resources,” James said to Elena in a reassuring tone.
“I can't believe it.” Candace shook her head and repeated herself. “I can't believe he actually spoke to you like that.”
“I can,” Anabelle said. “Cam dealt with him all the time when Innisk threw parties and wanted big potted greens and fancy flowering shrubs. He always had to have things that were out of season or quite hard to come by, and he always wanted them cheap. Now Evan has to handle him and his demands. It's a headache for him,” she said, referring to her son who had taken over the landscaping business when her husband retired.
“I wonder why he's so unhappy,” Elena said. “Something must have gone very wrong in his life to make him turn out this way. I’m going to add him to my prayer list.”
Silence.
All three of them stared at Elena until she lifted her head from her lunch. Clearly nonplussed, she said, “What? Do I have food on my face?”
James chuckled and Anabelle smiled.
Candace said, “Elena, I am in awe of your faith. That man was horrible to you, yet you show concern for him. That truly is walking the walk.”
Elena beamed. “Thank you. But seriously, can you imagine being him? How very sad.”
James nodded. “And you’re absolutely right. We should all be praying for the man.”
Just then, someone else opened the door and came into the courtyard. Candace was surprised to see Zane McGarry.
“Hello, Zane,” Elena said. “Please join us.”
Zane smiled warmly as he perched on the end of the bench. “It's nice to see you all. I see names on tax forms and payroll things all the time, but I don't often have a chance to meet the employees who go with those names.”
There was a ripple of laughter. Then Zane said, “Elena, the board of directors had a special luncheon meeting over the noon hour to discuss the Wall of Hope. Bernard Telford had all the information you and I compiled, but I’m not sure how comprehensive a job he did sharing it.”
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