“I don’t either, but it was wonderful,” she told him. “You have no idea how difficult it’s been with my daughter these past couple days. I feel terrible to confess this, but I cannot wait for Josie and Garth to leave.”
“When are they going?”
“Garth mentioned tomorrow.” Willow slid open the freezer drawer.
“It’s hard to understand how such a fine young man . . .” George stopped himself, realizing he was about to insult Willow. After all, Josie was her daughter.
“Yes, I know what you were about to say, George. And I take some of the blame for my daughter’s bad behavior. Not all of it, mind you.” She removed a carton of ice cream with a stiff-looking smile. “It’s a long story. Maybe someday, if you’re interested, I’ll tell you about it.”
As George followed her back outside, he wondered . . . Would he ever hear that story? Did he even want to hear it? Did he want to continue his involvement in this somewhat eccentric and unpredictable family? Again, he felt torn. On one hand, he knew he should run fast and hard in the opposite direction. But on the other hand . . . there was Willow.
eleven
Willow was pleasantly surprised that George stayed so long. She hoped it wasn’t out of pity. The other guests, although they tried to hide it, had obviously been disturbed by Josie’s abrasive attack and, one by one, began excusing themselves. Marissa’s mother was the first one to leave, although she had a good excuse since she’d offered to drive Collin and Marissa to the bowling alley for the start of the senior all-night party. So the fact that George not only lingered but also offered to help her clean things up was rather touching.
“Your apartment is really nice,” he told her as he carried in the last of the party things. “Very homey.”
She thanked him then grimaced. She could hear the sounds of Garth and Josie next door—in what sounded like a heated argument.
“Is that normal?” George asked with a furrowed brow.
“I honestly don’t know.” She paused to listen. “I mean, I’ve heard them argue, but not quite as loud as this.” She cringed at a crashing sound. Had someone thrown something . . . or was it something worse?
“Do you think your daughter is in any danger?”
“I’d be more worried about Garth,” she confessed. “Josie’s temper is pretty volatile. You saw a sample of that earlier.” Still, the truth was she didn’t know.
“Would you like me to go over there and say something to them?” George asked.
Willow blinked in surprise. “You’d really do that?”
He sighed. “I taught high school for nearly thirty years. I know a thing or two about these things.”
She set the last of the leftovers in the fridge. “Yes, I suppose you do. It’s just that I don’t see you like that, George. You act like such a quiet and mild-mannered gentleman.”
He nodded. “Well, now that I’m retired, I hope to enjoy a quiet and mild-mannered sort of life.”
Willow tried to read his expression. She knew the noises coming from the next apartment were disturbing him. But as much as she appreciated the offer, she didn’t really like the idea of him getting into the middle of some nasty domestic squabble. She jumped to hear the door slam, followed by loud footsteps going down the stairs. “Maybe they’ll cool off now.” She smiled gratefully.
“Well, then I guess I will say good night. Thank you for a most memorable evening.”
She shook her head. “I wanted it to be memorable. But not because of Josie’s hissy fit.”
George looked concerned. “That’s not what I meant.” He pointed toward the terrace. “I guess I didn’t mention it, but your outdoor space is quite wonderful, Willow.”
“Really? You like it?”
“I felt like I’d been transported to someplace else,” he said with sincerity. “Someplace truly beautiful.”
“Thank you!” She beamed at him. “You have no idea how much that means to me. And I hope you’ll come see it again, George. It’s quite different in daylight. But still lovely, I think.”
He thanked her and said good night, and as she watched him go down the stairs, she wondered about Josie and Garth. Should she check on them? Perhaps, since it was so quiet over there, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. But, she decided, as she closed and locked her door, if they got into it again, she had no problem calling the police to come check on them.
As Willow continued cleaning up after the party, she was relieved to hear footsteps, more quiet and controlled, coming up the stairs. Then she heard a door open and close, followed by silence. Hopefully Josie and Garth had patched things up. And hopefully they would leave first thing tomorrow morning, just like Garth had assured her they would do.
Willow, not for the first time, felt like a failure as a mother. As she got ready for bed, she replayed parts of Josie’s hostile speech in her head. Of course, she knew it was mostly untrue. Except for the fact that Josie may have convinced herself it was true. What if Josie truly thought that Willow had shoved her away? Perhaps Willow had sent signals like that to her daughter. After all, Josie had a knack for making life difficult for everyone around her. Surely, despite how hard they’d tried, there must’ve been times when Willow and Asher had lost their patience and voiced their disappointments. They were only human. Still, what parent hadn’t made similar mistakes? And not all children turned out like Josie. But Josie was thirty-five. Wasn’t it high time she took responsibility for her choices and actions—as well as the consequences that followed? Wasn’t it time that Josie grew up?
As Willow got into bed, she prayed that God would help her to love Josie better . . . unconditionally . . . and she prayed that Josie would learn how to receive such love. Then, feeling completely exhausted—as if the past few days had taken about ten years off her life—Willow went to sleep.
When she woke up, it was to the sound of pounding on her door. Thinking it was the middle of the night and some calamity had befallen her, she leaped out of bed and ran to answer it. As she raced through her living room, she was surprised to see it was daylight outside. And past eight o’clock. Worried that something might’ve happened to Collin, she jerked open the door to see Josie standing there with a tearful face.
“Do you know where Garth is?” she asked with desperate eyes.
“No.” Willow shook her head. “I just got up.”
“Well, he’s gone. His stuff is gone. The rental car is gone. He’s gone!”
Willow waved Josie inside. “Perhaps he went to get gas. It’s a long drive to Portland and—”
“No!” Josie shook her head. “He left me. I know he left me.”
“But he—”
“He threatened to leave me last night,” Josie continued. “But I didn’t believe him.”
Willow felt her heart sinking as she picked up her shawl, wrapping it over her cotton nightgown. “Did you try to call him?” she asked.
“His phone is off.”
“Well, don’t jump to conclusions.” Willow went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “It’s early, honey. Garth knows you like to sleep in. It’s possible that he simply—”
“He left me, Mom!” she shouted.
Willow didn’t answer as she filled the machine with water.
“Don’t you get it?” Josie continued. “He. Left. Me!”
Willow still didn’t respond. Instead she ground the beans, poured them into the filter, set it in the basket, and then turned on the coffee maker. With a deep sigh, she turned to look at Josie. “Well, I suppose it’s possible he left you.”
“What am I going to do?” Josie demanded.
Willow simply shrugged. “What do you want to do?”
“I want Garth!” And now Josie began to rant and swear, blaming Willow for everything. “If I hadn’t come here—for you—Garth and I would still be together.”
Willow wanted to set Josie straight, to point out that Josie was a spoiled brat who had treated Garth badly—treated everyone badly—and that Josie w
as probably only getting what she deserved . . . but then Willow remembered last night’s prayer to love Josie without conditions. “I’m sorry that Garth left you . . . if that’s what really happened. And I truly hope that it’s not. But I’m still here for you, Josie. I love you, and I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you.”
“You can’t help me. No one can help me.” Josie burst into fresh tears. Willow went around to the other side of the breakfast bar and, knowing this could backfire, wrapped her arms around her daughter. “God can help you, Josie. And it’s possible I can too.” To Willow’s surprise, Josie didn’t pull away or curse at her. Instead she went limp as a noodle and just cried. Willow held her until she finally stopped and stepped away.
“I need to go,” Josie said gruffly, wiping her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve. “I need to get out of here.”
“Where will you go?” Willow asked.
“I don’t know. Just away from this horrible little town.” Josie spat out some off-color words. “And away from you!” And then she stormed off.
Although she felt dismayed, Willow wasn’t surprised. This was typical Josie. Still, she felt curious. Had Garth really abandoned Josie? If so, where would Josie go? What would she do? Other than Willow and Collin, Josie probably had no one to turn to. Willow’s parents had washed their hands of their difficult adult granddaughter years ago—between band trips, Josie had worn out her welcome in their Arizona condo. After that they’d moved into a “senior commune” down near Monterey where residents had to be sixty-five or older.
With no college education or vocational training, Josie’s only option was some minimum-wage job that probably wouldn’t last long. She had no way to support herself. Willow remembered her prayer . . . unconditional love. Did that mean she needed to encourage Josie to remain here in Warner? But wouldn’t that make life miserable for everyone?
As Willow quickly dressed, she remembered how one of Josie’s counselors would often tell Willow that “it’s time for tough love.” That was probably what he’d advise today. But Willow had never been good at tough love. That had been Asher’s territory. Somehow he’d been able to draw a line without turning it into an emotional battle. Even when Josie would try to push his buttons, Asher would never engage. He’d simply remain firm . . . his no meant no. But sometimes Josie turned her blame game onto her mother. Willow would want to be strong, but if Josie pushed long and hard enough, Willow would either cave or go running to Asher for reinforcement.
Grateful that Leslie and Joel were working the gallery today, Willow decided to go for a walk to help clear her head. Before she left, she tapped on Josie’s door. Part of her was worried that Josie had already left . . . and part of her was worried that she was still here. Josie answered the door with puffy red eyes. “What do you want?” she growled. “Haven’t I left soon enough for you? Are you going to throw me out?”
“No, that’s not it.” Willow kept her voice even. “I only wanted to tell you that you’re welcome to stay here, Josie. And if I can help you figure things out, I’m willing to—”
“Thanks but no thanks!” Josie slammed the door.
Willow stepped back and, taking in a deep, calming breath, headed down the stairs, where she was met with Collin. She forced a smile. “Back from the all-night party?”
“Yeah. They had a big breakfast at the high school, but Marissa and I were so tired we decided to pass. I just want to sleep.”
“Good idea.” Willow couldn’t resist the urge to hug him. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” she asked with tearful eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with concern.
“Oh, it’s nothing much.” She quickly explained about Josie still being here. “Garth took off without her. I told her she can stay on, but she sounds determined to go.”
“Good.” Collin’s countenance turned dark. “The sooner the better.”
Willow simply nodded. “Get some rest.” Then, feeling slightly lost and disoriented, she continued down the street . . . until she found herself at the Muffin Man Bakery purchasing bran muffins.
George felt surprisingly refreshed and content as he went about his usual Saturday chores. Although he knew he could now perform these chores on any day he chose, there was a comfort in routine. And despite his concern over Emerson’s quote about “little minds,” George wasn’t ready to change his habits yet. Perhaps he never would. Another, less intellectual quote that his grandmother liked to repeat, usually for his grandfather’s sake, fit George as well. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
George had just finished putting his white load of laundry into the washing machine when he heard the doorbell. He was concerned that it might be Lorna Atwood, since she’d been waving at him over the backyard fence while he’d checked the oil and gasoline in the lawnmower, forcing him to postpone the lawn mowing for a bit. George peered cautiously around the corner of the kitchen to get a glimpse through the door’s high window. But instead of the pale platinum hair he expected to see, it was strawberry-blonde. He dropped his empty laundry basket and hurried to open it.
With a very forlorn expression, Willow held out a small white bag. “I—I brought you muffins.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “To thank you for your help last night and—and—” Her words were choked by a sob.
“Come in.” He gently tugged her inside, closing the door quickly lest Lorna was looking.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m kind of a mess today.”
“It’s okay.” He led her to the couch, helped her to sit. “What’s wrong?”
She blurted out about Josie being abandoned by Garth and how they’d exchanged some hurtful words. “I think she’s going to leave, but I told her she can stay. And then I told Collin—and this is what hurts so badly. He was so cold about it. It sounded like he truly hates her. Although I don’t really blame him, I can’t bear to think of him so full of hatred for anyone. Especially his own mother. And I—I was just so confused. I went for a walk in search of some clarity. Then I got muffins . . . and here I am.”
George got up to fetch a box of tissues, setting it on her lap . . . wondering what to do or say. This certainly was not his area of expertise.
Willow blew her nose and then stood. “I shouldn’t have come like this. I have no right to burden you with my problems. I’m sorry, George. I’ll go now.”
“Don’t go.” He attempted a sympathetic smile. “I’m your friend, Willow. You can talk to me.”
“Really?” She stared at him with a doubtful expression.
“I realize I’m not very experienced at this.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “But I can try.”
“But I don’t want to take advantage,” she said. “Like I said, my life is messy, George. And yours is so tidy and neat. And I know you like it that way.”
He nodded. “That’s true.”
She looked at the painting he’d hung over the sofa and her lips almost curled into a smile. “That looks nice there.”
“Yes, I’m getting used to it.”
“I’m actually surprised that you hung it at all. I thought it might be out on your back porch or given away by now.”
George held up the bakery bag. “How about some coffee to go with these?”
“That sounds nice.”
As George went into the kitchen, he realized he’d need to make some fresh coffee. “I, uh, I don’t really know how to make that special coffee you brought me,” he confessed as he set the bran muffins on a plate.
“What?” She frowned as she joined him. “You don’t know how to make coffee?”
“I know how to make my kind of coffee,” he explained. “But I don’t know about those whole beans. Do you measure them before or after you grind them? How much do you use per cup? How long do you grind them? And is there anything else I should know?”
Willow’s weak smile grew stronger, although George suspected it was at his expense. “It’s very simple,” she said. “Let me show you.” Then, witho
ut even measuring, she filled the grinder with beans and began to operate it. “Probably about thirty seconds,” she said as it whirred noisily. “Then you just dump it in like you would your other coffee.”
“Without measuring?”
She shrugged. “I just wing it, but you can measure if you like.”
“How much?”
Willow’s creased brow suggested she questioned his sensibilities. “Whatever you normally use should work.”
So he got out his mini coffee scoop and meticulously measured, leveling off the top before pouring it into the filter. “It does smell good,” he admitted as he turned on the coffee maker.
“See how easy that was.”
“I guess.” Still, he wasn’t sure. It might not turn out right.
“And coffee beans stay fresher longer than ground coffee.” She closed up the bag. “Just keep this in a cool, dark place.” She ran a hand over his kitchen table. “Should we sit here?”
“Sure.” He set the muffin plate in the center of the table. As he fetched paper napkins, a pair of small dishes, and coffee mugs he tried to remember the last time anyone had sat at this table with him. Probably his grandmother . . . nearly twenty years ago. He was about to admit this to Willow then stopped himself. She probably already thought he was rather strange. Why reinforce the concept?
Before long, they were having muffins and very tasty coffee. Sure, it wasn’t how George normally spent his Saturday mornings, but he reminded himself that he was retired now. There were bound to be some changes ahead.
twelve
Over coffee and muffins, Willow asked George about his small kitchen dining set. The table had a plastic laminate top with an aqua-blue-and-silver pattern and was trimmed with chrome. The matching chrome chairs were upholstered in what appeared to be the original aqua-blue vinyl upholstery. Obviously vintage, the set had to be more than fifty years old, and yet it was in mint condition.
“My grandmother gave it to me when I bought this house—along with these appliances. For as long as I can remember, she’d had those pieces in her kitchen, although this set had four chairs back then. But besides my brother and me having lunch occasionally, we rarely ate in the kitchen. My grandmother was very proper and felt meals should be served in the dining room.”
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 10