Katie and Jacob had pulled up just when Paul, Jessica and Sarah Sue were exiting unit number nine, bundles of sheets and towels in Paul’s arms and a wailing, flailing baby in his wife’s. Although he and Jessica both insisted Katie and Jacob, who Jessica would later confess to Paul seemed a little awkward with each other, shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble, it was obvious their arrival and offer to help was quite welcome. They only had three more units to go, and working together without the distraction of a hysterical baby, they’d be done in a flash.
“Oh, Sarah Sue, you have no idea how exhausting you’ll really become to your parents when you get to be sixteen and are off on your first road trip,” Katie said, rubbing her cheek against Sarah Sue’s. “They think you’re physically tiring now! They have no idea of the mental exhaustion that awaits them.”
“Oh, THANKS!” Jessica responded. “Just what I need to hear with a new one on the way!”
“Any time,” Katie said, tapping Sarah Sue on the nose and brushing a tear off her cheek.
“Hey! I thought you came by to help us, not torment us!” Paul said with a grin, rolling the room-cleaning cart down the sidewalk in front of room number ten. “I assume your presence means Josh isn’t home yet?” Paul directed his eyes to Jacob, feeling like they were all talking around him. Jacob looked toward Katie figuring the question was hers to answer. Sarah Sue was occupied with one of Katie’s earrings.
“No. Otherwise I swear I’d send him over here to clean rooms just so I’d know where he was. I’m expecting him around eight tonight. Until then, I’ll be holding my breath. Right, Sarah Sue?” Katie said, plucking at Sarah Sue’s chunky cheeks, then disengaging her busy fingers from her earring. Jacob watched Katie handle Sarah Sue. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. She appeared softer, less guarded than usual.
Katie and Jacob took Sarah Sue to Paul and Jessica’s living room while the parents went back to work. To Katie’s surprise, Jacob had offered to help with the cleaning but they vehemently declined, saying he’d already done more than enough.
Within an hour and a half Jacob had picked Katie up, dropped her back off and returned to his mom’s. Katie had insisted on getting right home, saying Josh might have left a message on the answering machine.
“How’d it go?” Dorothy asked, pinning her eyes on Jacob. “I thought you might invite her back with you.”
“Me too,” Vinnie said. Jacob noticed his brother’s voice sounded disappointed. He shrugged his shoulders as though to shake off any further questions. “Went fine,” he said, diverting his eyes toward the abandoned scorecards, picking them up and giving them a quick study. “So, the young bucks took you old fogies, huh?” Again, he didn’t look at his mom but walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. “What are we doing about dinner tonight? I could use a change from turkey. Partonville got any good pizza joints yet?”
After Jacob dropped Katie off she spent the rest of her evening tidying up, then resting (she was surprised to rediscover how tiring entertaining a baby can make you feel), then clock-watching, which had made her a nervous wreck, but she looked at the clock again anyway. This time it was 9:11 P.M. Still no Josh. No Josh, no phone call, no headlights coming up the driveway. She went to the kitchen and picked up the phone receiver just to make sure there wasn’t something wrong with the phone lines. Dial tone. She retrieved her cell phone from the kitchen table and checked it for messages—as though she hadn’t been on high alert just waiting for it to ring. Nothing. She sighed, went to the fridge and rustled a couple baby carrots out of the bag, chomping down on one as though decapitating it.
She decided to break down and phone her ex to make sure Josh had gotten out of town when he’d first predicted; maybe she was needlessly fretting. A quick call let her know Bruce had no idea what time Josh had actually headed for Partonville. “He ate a noonish brunch here with the family and then was off to see his friend.” Bruce’s use of the words “the family” prickled Katie, a reaction that made her feel small. After all, Bruce was Josh’s dad, and extended family—no matter how extended, via half-siblings and step-relatives—was Josh’s family, too. She just wished Bruce would take more sincere interest in his son who felt like he played second fiddle to Bruce’s “daily kids,” as Josh often referred to his half-siblings. Then again, she was still striving to get better at parenting herself so she decided to cut Bruce some slack—as usual.
Last Katie had heard, Josh’s plans were to have a late breakfast with Alex, not Bruce and company, and hit the road by early to mid afternoon. She now knew he’d hooked up with Alex later in the day than he’d anticipated. You should have called me, Joshua Matthew! She’d assumed no word from him had meant that he was on his original schedule. She’d staved off calling his cell phone so as not to look like an overanxious mother, but now she couldn’t wait any longer. After four rings she got his voice mail. Either he didn’t have his phone turned on, he was out of a service range or. . . .
No, I am not going there! She decided that in this case, no news was good news—until it applied to Josh who, when he got home, was going to find himself grounded for being so inconsiderate.
3
At 9:55 P.M. Eugene Casey’s phone startled him out of a sound sleep. Eugene was Partonville’s only undertaker and sole owner of Casey’s Funeral Home where the slogan on the sign out front read FINAL RESTING PLACE PREPARATIONS. Back in Eugene’s schooling days students became undertakers, not morticians like his younger colleagues now called themselves. “If becoming an undertaker was good enough for me then, it’s good enough for me to remain,” he’d told his wife. He saw no need to give himself a fancy new label just because some whippersnappers had decided to split a hair.
After a lifetime in the business, one might think Eugene would be used to the phone ringing in the middle of the night, but the older he got (and he was plenty old), the earlier “the middle of the night” felt. Plus, since that fateful day thirty years ago when he’d received news of his own father’s death via a 2 A.M. phone call, being awakened by a ringing phone still set his heart to hammering. He was glad his wife was in bed beside him—although instant fears for his children, his grandchildren and now one great-grandchild raced through his mind. He pushed the covers aside and swung his legs around, his toes finally locating his worn leather slippers he always left bedside. He groped until he located the light switch on the small bedside lamp, flicked it on and looked at the wind-up alarm clock sitting next to the light. He’d only been asleep thirty-five minutes. He cleared his throat and said, “Casey’s Funeral Home. Eugene Casey speaking.”
His wife rolled onto her side facing him, mostly to roll off the better of her two ears so she could hear the news. Shortly after he answered he gave her a slight wave of his fingers and shake of his head to let her know everything was okay with their family. Between silent gaps she heard her husband saying, “Is that right?” “I can’t believe it!” “What a shame.” “How’s his mother? I can’t even imagine how she’ll handle this.” “Does anyone know what he was doing out on the highway at that hour of the night?” “Yes, I’ll be right down to collect him.” “You got that right.”
“Such a tragic accident,” he said after he hung up. Even though he still didn’t know the details, he shared what he’d learned with his wife as he rummaged around their bedroom getting dressed.
“Bundle up,” she said. “The temperature’s been dropping all day. You be careful on the roads, hear me? I know the hospital and the funeral home aren’t that far away, but if the roads had enough black ice to send one car careening. . . . ”
“Don’t you worry, sweet pea. You know I always bundle up, especially during flu season. I promise I won’t go over twenty miles per hour.” He needn’t have said that; everybody in Partonville doubted one of his vehicles had ever, rain or shine, gone over twenty-five.
10:20 P.M. Katie was now officially beside herself and on the verge of phoning the state police when she saw headlights coming down the gr
avel road, then turning up their lane. She couldn’t tell what type of vehicle it was through the glare of the headlights. Visions of finding a pair of state troopers on her doorstep constricted her throat and brought instant tears to her eyes. If the pulsating fear in a worried mother-heart had the ability to stop blood from flowing, that would explain why Katie suddenly turned ash white. Fear froze her in place as she squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of the vehicle’s size and color, fog and a light drizzle doing nothing to enhance her view.
Then she saw it: a flash of off-white, the shape of a large SUV, the assurance it was her Lexus—and her son! By the time the SUV was under the scrutiny of the farm’s floodlight mounted high on a pole near the back door, Katie was standing beside its driver’s-side door. No coat, no hat, just happy tears rushing down her cheeks. Josh turned off the ignition and slumped back in the seat. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound sitting behind the wheel like a ramrod soldier. Katie opened the door and threw her arms around his neck.
“Joshua!” she said through a sob. The impact of her raw and bold emotions coupled with the release of his tensions caused his eyes to fill, too. Although he had often observed that some women (like Alex’s mom) could burst into tears during sappy television commercials, his mom was always buttoned up. This unadulterated show of emotions not only surprised him, but at the end of the world’s longest day, his mom’s clinging hug touched and comforted his needy, weary soul.
“Oh, Mom! I’m so glad to see you, too. You have no idea how long this day has been.”
“Oh, yes I do,” she whispered into his ear.
After they held on to each other for several more seconds, Katie backed off to get a look at her son’s face. That’s when he noticed she was damp and shivering. “Come on, let’s get inside, Mom. I’ll bring my stuff in tomorrow. Right now I just want to get out from behind the wheel and crawl into my own bed.”
The two of them entered the farmhouse in silence. Katie was exhausted and relieved and yet, now that she knew he was safe, she couldn’t help wanting to grill him. Josh plunked down in a kitchen chair and Katie sat across from him. Before she could open her mouth Josh said, “Here’s the short version. I promise to tell you every little detail tomorrow, but for right now, please, please, Mom, just accept this and let me go to bed, okay?” She hesitated before nodding her head.
“I was supposed to have breakfast with Alex this morning but Dad insisted I have breakfast at his house, which ended up to be really late.”
“I know. He told me.”
“You talked to Dad today?”
“Some time after nine this evening I just couldn’t take it anymore, Joshua. I was worried sick. I also talked to Alex, and he said you got out of town after four. At least I knew not to expect you at eight anymore.” She had to bite her tongue to keep from launching into a lecture about why he hadn’t called.
“Things went well until about four hours into my drive home. I never knew how mind-numbing a long-distance drive by yourself can be. And I hadn’t slept well at Dad’s so I was tired before I started, and after hours of driving I got so tired I knew I needed to pull over and get some air, walk around, down some caffeine.”
“Oh, Josh! I shouldn’t have let you go a. . . .”
“Mom! Just listen.” It was an exhausted, desperate command. Normally Katie would have taken offense at his tone of voice, which he saw in her eyes, but before giving her a chance to crank up, he added, “Be happy I knew enough to pull over, okay?” She reluctantly nodded. “So I stopped at the first exit I saw, which is where I planned to phone you. I can’t remember exactly what time it was, probably around eight-thirty or so. I went to the john, bought a Snicker’s bar and a can of Coke, and when I got back to the car, a giant tanker truck had parked partially behind me and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t maneuver my way out. So I waited. After fifteen minutes I finally went into the restaurant side of the place to scout down the driver who was busy flirting with the waitress half his age.” Josh shook his head in disgust, stretched his arms back over his head and yawned. “Finally he moved his truck and I headed back to the highway. Then I remembered I hadn’t called you.” Katie opened her mouth but Josh put his fingers to his lips, signaling her to keep it zipped. “Rather than stop again, I figured I’d just get on home. And Mom, how many times have you warned me not to drive and talk on the cell phone? Huh?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Right. Then I thought I saw deer eyes near the side of the road so I tapped the brakes and realized it had gotten slick.” Katie’s eyebrows shot up in the air. “No, I didn’t lose control, I just fishtailed a little bit. But I slowed my driving way down.
“Then probably about five miles from our exit I saw all these flashing lights up ahead, I mean like fifty zillion of them. Both lanes came to a complete stop for like thirty minutes.” He yawned, rubbed his eyes. “I finally got out my cell phone to call you, only to discover I had a dead battery. The charger was in my bag in the back but I didn’t want to get out and look for it since it didn’t seem safe. I swear, Mom,” he said, “I just kept thinking, safety first.”
Katie bit her lip. “I’m going to make myself a cup of chamomile tea. Would you like one?” He shook his head. She filled the teapot with water, set it on the stove and turned the knob, then sat back down across the table from him. “Go on.”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched, then slumped forward again. “Eventually they opened up one lane of traffic. But man, what a mess! There was an old car upside down in the ditch and another car spun out backwards on the shoulder, a bunch of tow trucks, an ambulance. . . . Hard to tell what happened.” He brushed his fingers back through his hair. “Anyway, I made it.” He rose, stepped around to her side of the table and gave her another quick squeeze. “It was a long trip home and I’m sorry I worried you, Mom. Thank you for not yelling. I tried my best.”
Katie gently pinched his cheek, the same way she had pinched Sarah Sue’s earlier in the day. How quickly the years passed. She then kissed him where she’d pinched him and said, “Good night, Josh. You look exhausted. If you wake up in time for church tomorrow we’ll go, but if you don’t, just get your rest. You’ve got school Monday. Thank you for telling me everything.”
But, of course, he hadn’t.
“I was sure glad to see that WELCOME TO PARTONVILLE sign, as glad as I’m going to be to see my own bed. Any real bed, for that matter.” And to wake up in it tomorrow, alive.
“I’m sorry to call this late, Chloe,” Katie said into the receiver, talking to her ex-husband’s wife in a hushed tone so as not to awaken Josh, “but I knew Bruce would want to know Josh made it home okay.”
“He figured as much.” Chloe chuckled. “When he went to bed he wasn’t worried. He said Josh and Alex probably just lost track of the time. But thanks anyway for letting us know. I’ll tell him in the morning.”
Katie was angry. How could they just brush this off so casually? How could Bruce have gone to bed not knowing if his son had made it home safely? “Well, when Bruce wakes up tomorrow, tell him the reason Josh was late was because of an accident. But he’ll be fine. Good night.” And she hung up. Good. She sat up waiting for the call from Bruce, sure Chloe would wake her husband to mention an accident. She wanted to catch the phone before it rang twice so it didn’t awaken Josh. But the call never came. Go figure, Katie thought.
No wonder he’s my ex! The whole experience washed up a laundry list of why she still didn’t trust men, beginning with the fact Bruce had left her for a younger woman, the woman who answered while Bruce was sleeping, the woman who’d borne him two children—whom he knew to be safely tucked in their beds. She lathered herself into a tizzy just thinking about it. But by the time she’d settled herself down enough to crawl into bed, she’d begun to question her own responses. Maybe Bruce was right not to worry so much. Maybe she had overreacted. Then again, maybe he’s just too dumb to know better. Then again, maybe I’m too dumb to know better.
Once in
bed she felt guilted into a short prayer. “God, thank You for bringing my son home safely. Thank You for friends who love him. Thank You for . . . (sigh) . . . his father, since . . . without him I wouldn’t have my son. And I’m only a little sorry I might have intentionally misled Chloe. Amen.”
Okay, so it wasn’t much of a prayer, but it was all she had in her at this late hour. Besides, saying clever prayers wasn’t her strong point since she hadn’t been praying that long to begin with. And if Dorothy was right about God, He already knew everything she’d just told Him anyway. But Dorothy said God didn’t care about how fancy prayers were, He just liked to hear them. Whatever! she thought as she thwacked her pillow, rolled into the fetal position and pulled the covers up around her neck. Eventually she began to drift off, one final prayer springing from her deepest self, ushering forth a tear from her deepest well. Thank You. My son is home. Thank You.
4
Typically word of a death—especially the death of a lifetime resident—would have spread throughout Partonville well before church convened on Sunday. But since the accident happened late Saturday night after most of the townsfolk were tucked in, Pastor Delbert Carol Jr.—who had been summoned to the hospital at 10 P.M. last night to pray for, and with, the victim’s mother, who’d been in the car as well—had the unpleasant duty that morning to let his United Methodist Church parishioners know about the passing of a faithful congregant: Richard (Rick) Lawson, Partonville’s only Attorney at Law.
Rick Lawson was known by nearly everyone in Partonville, population 1,400 plus. He was the sole attorney for most of their legalities, including all the town’s business establishments and the United Methodist Church. If you hadn’t met him through his services, anyone circling the square would have nonetheless known exactly where he did business since RICK LAWSON, ATTORNEY AT LAW was printed in large block letters on his first-floor door, which was right next to Hornsby’s Shoe Emporium on the square. The door opened to a narrow and steep stairway to his second-floor offices, the ascent causing him to huff and puff every working day of his life. He’d often joked that one day his final step on this earth would probably be one of those top three stairs. Who could have guessed he’d instead be sitting down and seatbelted in when he drew his last breath?
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 3