Never Tomorrow

by Judith Rolfs

  An hour later she opened her car door in front of her dad’s white frame two-story home on State Line Road. The fragrance of burning leaves filled the air.

  Dry leaves danced down the drive from the mailbox to the house as her Dad blasted his Turbo blower, forcing them into mounds. “Sprucing up,” he shouted. “It’s supposed to rain. Otherwise I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to finish this.” He seemed determined to remove every single leaf carried by the early spring winds.

  Whitney yelled above the field of noise. “No problem, Dad.” Oh for headphones.

  “I’m almost done.”

  Don’t be bitter, Whitney coached herself. It wasn’t that she expected an instant hug or to sit an extended time with her father. Before his TV days, Ralph Barnes was a doer. Mom had tried to get him to enjoy his little family more, but he spent most of his scarce time at home handling chores. He seemed to manufacture some. Other men took care of household responsibilities and still had time for family. Whitney fought off resentment that always sprang into her heart.

  She waited patiently for five minutes that seemed like thirty before going over to speak directly into his ear. “Dad, can you stop now? I came to see you and need to talk to you about something important.” Tears stung behind her eyelids.

  “Sure. Only a couple more minutes,” he shouted.

  “Dad, please turn off that machine.” Her voice was firm.

  He stopped and stared at her. “What is it, girl?” His tone carried obvious annoyance.

  “How can you be so impatient with me? Oh never mind, forget I said that. Let’s sit on the deck.”

  He followed her over and settled on a wrought iron chaise.

  All the small talk she’d intended to begin with evaporated from her mind. “Dad, you’d never lie to me, would you?”

  His back stiffened ever so slightly. “Of course not.” Why did he seem tense?

  “I’ve always wondered—did you approve of Mom making that trip to Ireland?”

  “Sure.” Ralph slowly removed his work gloves. “She could do whatever she wanted.”

  Did Whitney imagine his tone had become guarded?

  “Tell me again. Why didn’t you go with her?”

  “You know I traveled enough in my sales job. Traveling wasn’t fun for me.”

  “But you never vacationed together. Since Mom’s death, you and Irene have taken trips to the Scandinavian countries and Italy.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed but he avoided making eye contact. “People change.”

  Now that her feelings were rolling, Whitney chose not to stop. She was willing to risk losing the little relationship she had with her Dad if something more meaningful could be created. “Just once couldn’t you have made a sacrifice and taken Mom somewhere? Why did she have to be alone so much?”

  “What’s this all about? Do you think my going would have kept your mother alive?”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want to hurt you, but it bothers me that we never really talk. And why do you always say ‘your mother’ instead of Mom or her name?”

  “If that isn’t the strangest question...what’s your point, Whitney?” She had his full attention now.

  “I’ve been thinking, that’s all. I know Mom dealt with depression before she died. You were aware of that, right?”

  Her Dad shifted around in his seat. “Only too aware. I often feared she’d commit suicide. I know you think that’s impossible, but there were times she seemed to hurt so badly she actually said she wanted to die. She went for counseling. I encouraged her.” He lifted his chest. “I tried to get her to go more often to counseling.”

  “I didn’t know you did that. I’m glad.”

  He turned his face away and spoke in a voice so quiet Whitney could hardly hear. “It was the least I could do.”

  “What do you mean ‘least’?”

  Her dad stood and brushed some stray leaves off his pants. “Just a figure of speech.”

  “Dad, what was Mom’s problem? Was it more than change of life? She seemed very upset.”

  “She was starting to get better.”

  “Why won’t you ever discuss those last months with me?” Whitney’s heart pounded with pain. This conversation was more difficult than she’d imagined on the ride here.

  Dad spoke very quietly. “It’s hard. People cope the best they can.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Sometimes people do things that are hurtful. Relationships aren’t easy.”

  “I get that. I believe that’s why Christ came and experienced death, to take away our guilt when we don’t measure up to our best. Do you agree that’s true?”

  “I want to. I’m not sure.”

  “You’ve always said you were a Christian.”

  “I go to church.” He gazed up at the sky.

  “Visiting a cheese store doesn’t make you a piece of cheese any more than going to church means you’re Christian.” Whitney paused for breath.

  Ralph clutched his hand to his chest. His skin bleached white.

  “Dad, what is it?”

  “Just a little tightness. I’ll be fine.”

  Was he regretting letting her come when Irene wasn’t home? She knew how to avoid these discussions better than he did.

  “I think if your mom wanted you to have more details about her depression, she’d have given them to you.” He seemed to have difficulty catching his breath.

  “Dad, are you all right?” She rushed over and put her arms around him.

  “No, nausea—more severe than I’ve ever experienced. So tired.” His legs wobbled. Those were his last words before he dropped to the ground unconscious.

  “Dad,” Whitney screamed. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

  His chalky face was her only answer. She’d left her phone in the car. She ran into the house and grabbed the portable in the kitchen, sending the base clattering to the floor. She punched buttons as she raced back to her dad.

  “Send an ambulance to County Hwy T, Firebox 1807. Turn in just past the red barn at the white and black house. It’s my Dad—heart attack, I think. We’re on the deck. Hurry.”

  She threw the phone on the ground and knelt next to her father. Emergency procedures pounded through her brain. Five years ago she’d taken a first aid class. Why hadn’t she kept up? Frantically, she tried to remember. Check the mouth first. She pinched his nose and cupped open his mouth and started. In between she applied pressure to his heart, praying all the while.

  Please, God, I can’t lose my dad too.

  FIFTY-ONE

  “Hi, Peg. Is Dr. Trindle available?” Whitney transferred her cell phone to her left hand.

  “She’s with a client.”

  “Please apologize to the doctor for the late notice, but I need to cancel my appointment. My dad had a heart attack. In fact, he’s being moved from Intensive Care to a private room as we speak.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he stable now?”

  “I hope so. It was quite a scare. He seems to be recovering well, considering his age. The special diet and exercise plan he’s going on should add years to his life. I need to stay with him until he’s acclimated to his new surroundings, especially because he insists I keep my plan for a getaway this weekend.” A door opened and closed in the background.

  “Whitney, Dr. Trindle’s free now—her client’s just left. You can speak to her yourself. Hang on, please.”

  Whitney heard a click and then the doctor’s voice came on. “Hello.”

  She explained about Dad.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “While I have you on...I’ve had extra time to think while sitting at the hospital, and I decided the counseling sessions I’ve had are enough to give me perspective. As you know, I’d hoped there might be some details about Mom’s visits you could share, but that wasn’t possible. I won’t be coming back for any personal issues.”

  “My, my.” Apparently she’d taken Dr. Trindle by surprise.

  Whi
tney was confident about her decision. She heard her almost euphoric tone and chalked it up to her relief at not losing her other parent. “I apologize for canceling at the last minute. My mind has been elsewhere, obviously.”

  “No problem. I totally understand. I’m glad the news about your dad is good. But I’m professionally required to say that I don’t agree your issues have all been resolved. I think you’re terminating counseling too early, but of course, the decision is yours.”

  “I’ve come to realize this is more of a spiritual issue. Focusing on the Scripture verse in Romans 12:12 has helped me.”

  “Oh?”

  “‘Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer’ has given me great comfort. I trust God to complete my healing from grief. What I want more than anything is assurance that Mom is with Him, and you can’t give me that. Besides, counseling with you is awkward since I’m dating your nephew. He’s invited me to the lake this weekend.”

  “You’re coming to Crestwood?”

  “I assumed Jordan told you.”

  “No, he didn’t. Not yet, anyway.”

  Whitney detected iciness in her tone.

  * * *

  Karen Trindle pumped the brakes of her Lincoln Town Car, almost rear-ending the car in front of her that stopped to turn. She scolded herself. That’s what comes of daydreaming.

  The frothy bluish-white sky had distracted her. It was the color of the gowns her bridesmaids wore. Funny, Karen could remember the shade vividly after all these years.

  Inside the car, under the blanket of clouds, she longed for the carefree idealism of her youth. Until she matured, she never knew the intense pain people were capable of inflicting on one another. Life now was always shrouded with other people’s problems, far too many. At times it seemed difficult to keep them all straight.

  Karen wanted to be an effective people-helper—she worked hard to be a good counselor. Her schedule was always full, if that was any indication. This latest trend—to include a spiritual dimension to counseling—troubled her. God had never figured as a force in her thinking. Why would she bring Him into counseling?

  Relationships between two people were difficult and complicated enough. She fervently wished men and women would be faithful to one another. Her job would be much easier.

  She opened her window a crack and inhaled the fresh air. Someone was burning leaves. She passed a snapping, brilliant fire and smiled at the sacrifice to the gods of nature.

  Karen didn’t object to the concept of “gods” but had never been willing to give up control of her life to one all-powerful deity. Women like Sarah and Whitney, who chose to put their faith in Jesus Christ, were an enigma to her.

  On the other hand, the possibility of reincarnation made sense. The idea was tremendously freeing when life seemed overwhelming. But Jesus? How could one man be a savior for many? And if he was a savior, he certainly didn’t save his people well enough or regularly. Shouldn’t he be keeping all their pain and harm away?

  Karen’s mind drifted to Whitney. Her vibrancy probably attracted Jordan. Could this relationship lead to marriage? She dreaded the thought.

  Why would he become involved with a woman with such deep religiosity and strong will? She seldom commented on his choice of women but had hoped he’d do better than Whitney. Didn’t Jordan see the problems ahead with her? She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  Now her quiet weekend would be disrupted because of his invitation to Whitney to join him at the lake. True, she’d given him carte blanche to invite friends whenever he wished, although he rarely did. The house was certainly large enough. Karen had hoped for time alone to rest. She’d been working hard lately.

  She stifled a sigh. She’d make the best of the situation. She always did.

  * * *

  Jordan grinned, pleased with himself as he stuffed exercise sweats into his duffel bag. Whitney was easily persuaded to spend Saturday night at his aunt and uncle’s lake home. Now that her dad was stable, she needed a break after all the long hours at the hospital.

  She’d insisted on driving herself, and he’d assured her of separate rooms, but anything could happen in forty-eight hours. He rubbed the faint scar near the right corner of his mouth—the result of a college fraternity party when a drunken friend had thrown a beer bottle at the wall and missed.

  He packed his toiletries, stopping first to pat on more aftershave. He liked Whitney. She was intelligent and gutsy. He felt balanced around her, less impulsive and aggressive—qualities that helped in his job but often got him into trouble in his personal life. She’d stirred a calmer, caring streak he’d never known. His growing emotional attachment both excited and scared him.

  And now he’d have her all to himself for two days. Sure, his aunt and uncle would be around, but they’d stay in the background as they usually did when he had guests. This wasn’t the first time he’d brought a woman to the lake.

  He thought about his aunt and uncle’s graciousness to him following his parents’ deaths. Uncle Charles could be rather icy in social waters and personally elusive, although he’d certainly been an astute businessman and done well in the stock market. As a fishing and golf buddy, nobody could be better. Jordan was fond of his uncle in a distant way, since he was hard to know. His aunt was the fun one to converse with.

  Observing their marriage did nothing to make matrimony seem attractive to Jordan. Aunt Karen spoke courteously to Uncle Charles, but nothing intimate or teasing. Perhaps Jordan’s presence made his aunt and uncle stiff and formal with each other.

  He picked up the framed picture of his parents from his dresser. He’d known a lot of laughter in his early childhood. For a second he allowed himself to fantasize what marriage to Whitney would be like with her sweet sense of humor. Do spouses have to grow apart? He wouldn’t want to end up as joyless and apparently cold and indifferent to each other as Aunt Karen and Uncle Charles seemed.

  Jordan zipped his duffel shut and muttered aloud, “Look at me—examining marriages around me with a magnifying glass.”

  Whitney, what have you done to me?

  FIFTY-TWO

  Whitney awoke to a thick coating of sunshine outside her window. She prayed silently while dressing. Lord, thanks for your healing touch upon Dad! I offer this day to you. May I honor you in all I think, say, and do.

  When was the last time she had two days straight without thoughts of her mom’s death, other women’s deaths, or her dad’s health haunting her? Last night had been her first uninterrupted night’s sleep since his heart attack. Her father’s near death reminded her she needed to take more time to simply enjoy the gift of her own life.

  She’d accepted Jordan’s invitation to visit him at his aunt and uncle’s lake home today with only a tinge of trepidation. She showered in her usual five minutes then scrunched her wet hair into ringlets. No smoothing it with a blow dryer today. She wanted to look all-woman.

  Whitney studied her curly hair in the mirror. This style made her look younger, less professional—hopefully not more vulnerable. She didn’t want to mislead him. At this point they could be friends, nothing more. She had unresolved baggage from her past to figure out.

  Jordan had said his aunt and uncle were recluses from media at their lake home. Whitney looked forward to leaving news behind for two days.

  On her drive to the Trindles’ lake home, instead of turning on the radio—her lifeblood for news during the week—Whitney pushed in her French CD. Learning three phrases a week was her goal. “Comment t’allez vous? How are you?” she repeated.

  Satisfied with her French progress, she dropped in a CD of favorite songs from the 1950s and tapped her fingers to Bobby Darren’s “Splish Splash” and other golden oldies she and her mom had twirled around the kitchen to.

  Mid-morning, Whitney’s Honda turned left at the cedar sign announcing Crestwood.

  She followed a block-long driveway through woods that eventually opened onto a broad lawn framing a green two-story home tri
mmed with white shutters, window boxes, and decks. So this was Dr. Karen and Charles Trindle’s lake home.

  Obviously a counselor’s income hadn’t procured a piece of property of such elegance. Whitney guessed the size of the house to be about five or six thousand square feet. Someone could spend a month painting the elaborate trim alone. She parked next to a black Lexus, grabbed her overnight bag from the trunk and a white box from the front seat, and headed toward the house.

  A straw hat bobbed above the shrubs in the side yard. Whitney drew closer and found Dr. Karen Trindle filling a bird feeder.

  “Hi,” she yelled.

  “Welcome, Whitney. Leave your bag on the stoop and come see my little darlings. They’re voracious eaters.” Karen dipped her plastic scoop into the huge bag of sunflower seeds next to her garden cart and sprinkled them into the feeder.

  Whitney enjoyed the feel of the solid earth beneath her feet after sitting almost an hour and a half. “Jordan said your home was large, but I hadn’t expected wings. One, two, three,” she counted, looking around in awe.

  “Charles’s daddy is responsible for this, but I must admit, I enjoy it.” They made polite chatter as Karen led Whitney to the front entrance. Inside the foyer Karen called up to Jordan, announcing Whitney’s arrival.

  He bounded down the stairs at a near gallop. “You’re here, finally.” Catching Whitney by the arms, he twirled her. “Don’t watch, Aunt Karen.”

  “Jordan, stop!” Karen exclaimed. “You’ll make her dizzy. Whitney, I do believe you’ve charmed my nephew.”

  Whitney laughed. “He knows I’ve brought sugar cookies from the Cake Company like I promised.” She handed Karen the bakery box.

  “How nice. Jordan, take them into the kitchen, please, and put them on a platter to serve after lunch. I need to finish up outside.”

  Turning to Whitney, Karen said, “Please make yourself at home. Jordan will show you around.”

  He led Whitney through the living room with its wall of glass overlooking the lake. In the kitchen they found Uncle Charles mixing oil and herbs in a wooden bowl for salad dressing. “Here’s the best chef this side of France,” Jordan said, taking charge of the introductions.