by Diane Moody
“Aubrey, you’re not committing her,” he said, standing but keeping the space between them. “It’s just for an evaluation. Let them find out what’s causing this behavior. Maybe it’s something else entirely. But at least you’ll know how to help her. You and I both know you can’t let this go on. You just said it yourself, that you already feel like you have to watch her every single minute.”
She said nothing, searching for some kind of argument against his logic.
“What if she never forgives me?”
“It’s an awful decision to make. I understand. But what if you don’t find help for her? What if she hurts herself? What if she forgets something on the stove and the house catches fire? What if she drives the car while in one of these fogs and kills herself in an accident? Or kills someone else? You would never be able to forgive yourself.”
He was right, of course. She hadn’t thought of the ramifications. So much was at stake with this one decision, yet she had no choice, did she?
Taking a long cleansing breath then slowly releasing it, she looked up into his kind eyes and nodded. Peyton gathered her in his arms and simply held her. A few moments later, while he placed a call to his friend, Aubrey returned to the master bathroom where she collected all her mother’s medications as Peyton suggested. Then she hurried upstairs to change her clothes.
When they woke her, Faye seemed refreshed and surprisingly cognizant. Peyton invited her to join him and Aubrey for lunch at a popular cafe in the heart of Franklin’s charming downtown area. Without so much as a single word about the shop or needing to work, she happily agreed to come along.
Once at Meridee’s Breadbasket, Aubrey struggled to eat a few bites of the cafe’s famous chicken salad. Faye and Peyton carried on an easy conversation; her sweet mother oblivious to what was about to happen.
Back in the car, Peyton told Faye he’d like for her to meet a friend of his who lived nearby. She was delighted to do so, even complimenting the lovely home that sat on a ridge overlooking the rolling hills of Franklin. Peyton escorted her up the steps to a deep wraparound porch adorned with several black wicker rockers, ceiling fans, and plenty of pumpkins and gourds and mums for fall decor.
The door opened wide as Peyton’s friend Geoffrey Mason joined them. After the introductions were made, he welcomed them into the beautifully appointed home which reminded Aubrey of the many plantation homes that dotted the county. They were seated in a cozy living area with overstuffed chairs and a crackling fire in the fireplace.
As they got acquainted, Aubrey felt the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding slowly begin to dissipate. A man of somewhat small stature, wearing a red bow tie and matching suspenders on his crisp blue shirt, Geoffrey appeared to be the consummate Southern gentleman. Gracious and empathetic, he gave them his undivided attention as if he had all the time in the world for them. She watched her mother, totally at ease with this stranger, as if they’d known each other for years.
She glanced over at Peyton and met his eyes. Thank you, she mouthed.
He smiled in return.
A few minutes later, Geoffrey invited Faye to take a tour of the house.
“Oh yes, I’d like that very much,” she said, standing after he offered her his arm.
“Peyton, didn’t you tell me you and Miss Evans had an appointment?” he asked.
“Yes, we do, actually. Faye, why don’t you stay and take the tour.”
“Oh? Wouldn’t you like to come along?” she asked as Geoffrey tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
“No, you go ahead. We’ll see you in a little while,” Aubrey answered, straining to keep her voice in check.
“Well, all right then.”
“We’ll see you both later,” Geoffrey said, tossing them a wink and a smile. “Be sure to stop by the front desk before you leave.”
With that, the two of them disappeared down the hall.
Aubrey’s mouth fell open. “I can’t believe it. I was expecting some horrible, gut-wrenching scene … someone tearing her from my arms.” She raised her hands toward the door. “That … was much too … easy. I honestly cannot believe it.”
Peyton smiled as she welcomed his arm over her shoulders. “How can I ever thank you?” she whispered.
He held her close as they headed for the front desk. “Seems to me you just did.”
Chapter 32
The next morning, Peyton spent a couple of hours in his office catching up. He ignored Sugar’s repeated efforts for a scoop on the latest news on the investigation, Tristan, Aubrey, Faye, or any other tidbit she might be able to pry out of him. He kept his focus on the tasks he needed to accomplish, then told her he had a meeting with Kathleen at Braxton House and left the building.
On the drive over, he wondered how Faye was getting along. Geoffrey had called Aubrey late yesterday afternoon to assure her that Faye was resting comfortably and hadn’t seemed to mind the extended visit. Aubrey was to drive to Magnolia Place earlier this morning to drop off the completed paperwork along with some clothes and a few other necessities. Their lab would do a full work-up today while the psychiatrist evaluated Faye.
Peyton hoped Aubrey had slept well, not having to worry with Faye in the house. He would call her after his meeting to check on her.
As he pulled into the circular drive and parked alongside several other vehicles, it pleased him to see so many folks participating in the various classes offered at Braxton House. When he walked inside, the alluring aroma of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls wafted through the halls from the cooking class in the state-of-the-art kitchen. He made a mental note to stop by there before heading back to church.
As he approached Kathleen’s office, a lone cello somewhere down the hall played a familiar classical tune. Mozart? Or was it Beethoven? The music classes offered at Braxton House were among the most popular as evidenced by the waiting lists for private lessons.
With Dee away from her desk in the front office, Peyton walked through to Kathleen’s office. Finding the door closed, he knuckled a knock and waited.
A moment later she opened the door. “Oh, hello Peyton. Come on in.”
“I know I’m early. I hope I’m not disrupting anything.”
“Not at all. Please—have a seat. I was just going over my notes for our visit. Did you see Gevin on your way in?”
“No, but I’m sure he’ll be here. I came a little early to see how you’re doing. We haven’t had a chance to talk in a few days.”
Taking a seat behind her desk, Kathleen took off her glasses and set them aside. “Oh, I suppose I’m all right. I have my good days and bad days. Working on this memorial for Harley has helped keep me busy. Ordinarily, I would never attempt something of this magnitude so soon after … after losing him. But it’s turned out to be a godsend, allowing me to remember the goodness in him. That way—or so I’ve convinced myself—I’m burying the ugliness that seemed to swallow him whole these past few months.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Sounds like it’s been therapeutic.”
“It has, and at the same time, I feel like I’m using my grief to do something positive, to give something back to this town that Harley loved so much. Before I moved here, I often asked him why he stayed here, given that his talents reached so far beyond Braxton’s city limits. I would have thought Nashville or even Atlanta was far better suited to his gifts—both his talents as a florist as well as his music. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He liked being ‘tucked away’ here, as he put it.”
Peyton nodded. “I get that. He loved Braxton and Braxton sure loved him. I miss him, Kathleen. We all do.”
Her smile vanished, and he wished he’d left well enough alone.
“Yes, I miss him too,” she said, standing again before turning to the small bar in the corner of her office. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, pulling a chilled bottle of wine from the mini-fridge.
“No, but thank you for asking.”
Watching her uncork the bottle and pou
r herself a rather generous glass of white wine, he couldn’t help glancing at his watch, which showed the time to be nine-fifty-five in the morning. He wondered at what point he should be concerned about the matter.
As she returned to her seat, she offered an apology as if reading his mind. “You must think I’m awful for drinking on the job, but if I’m honest, Peyton, it’s the only way I’ve been able to handle everything. I’m sure you’ll tell me I should pray more—”
“Not at all, Kathleen. That’s between you and God.”
“Yes, well, He and I have never been very close. So just look the other way if it offends you. Another couple of weeks, and I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Gevin appeared at the door. “Am I the only one who thinks we should we go right down that hall to the kitchen and make them hand over those cinnamon rolls before someone gets hurt?”
“Hello Gevin,” Kathleen said. “I’ll call and ask them to bring us some if you like?”
“No, please don’t. I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”
“Good to see you,” Peyton said, shaking his hand.
“I hope I’m not late? We said ten, right?”
“You’re fine. Have a seat,” Kathleen said. “Something to drink?”
He waved her off. “No thanks, I’m already over my caffeine limit for the day.”
“All right,” she said, putting her glasses back on and straightening the papers on her desk. “We have approximately three and a half weeks to have this memorial room up and running. Which shouldn’t be a problem between the three of us, right?”
“Works for me,” Peyton said.
Gevin nodded. “No problem on my end. You wanted me to enlarge some photographs, right?”
She set her wine glass back on the desk and picked up a flash drive. “Yes, and I’ve already selected the pictures I’d like to have enlarged. Here you go,” she said, tossing the drive at him.
“Good,” Gevin said, digging into the front pocket of his jeans. “And here’s a file of the pictures I took at Harley’s funeral and the reception.” He stood and placed the flash drive on her desk and slid it toward her.
“Thank you. I’ll browse through these and select which ones to add to the collection.”
“You’ll see a couple of that woman who said she was Harley’s wife,” Gevin said, grinning. “Very colorful, but I doubt you’ll be including those.”
“Charlene? Please. Do not get me started on that tramp. You can just delete those as far as I’m concerned.”
“Will do.”
“What do you think would look better,” Kathleen asked. “Having all these photographs matted and framed, or should we put them on canvas? I can’t decide.”
“That depends on the look you’re going for,” Gevin answered. “Canvas is much more casual, whereas framed and matted photographs are a lot more classic. It’s a matter of taste and entirely up to you.”
“Well, in that case, let’s go more formal with framing. Harley was all about appearances, so that would have been his choice. I’m thinking white mats with black frames?”
“Always a great look. Would you like black-and-white enlargements or shall we stick with color?”
She leaned back in her chair, twirling slightly back and forth. “That’s a good question. But given that the Tennessee Florist Association has agreed to keep the room stocked with fresh flowers daily, I’m thinking we’ll let the colors of the flowers carry the room. That, and let’s not forget that gaudy jacket they gave him. We’ll have that on display as well.”
“Right. Then I’d suggest we go with the black-and-white photographs.”
“We’ll go take a walk-through in a minute. I’ve asked Marty to see about having some of those lights installed in the ceiling that focus on each picture. What are those called? I’m drawing a blank at the moment.”
“Directional spotlights. They’re fairly easy to install. Marty should have no trouble hanging some of those. I’ll talk to him, if you like.”
“Wonderful. Thank you,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “I want the overhead lighting to be very dim. Something much more subtle to create a calm and relaxed ambiance. Plus, that gives the spotlights a brighter glow, showcasing the photographs.”
They continued their discussion of the logistics, the flow of the displays, as well as a looped recording of Harley’s solos through the years.
“I’ll talk to Chris about the church’s music files,” Peyton said. “I’m sure we have quite a few, including all the special programs and concerts through the years. He’s in all of them.”
“Good,” Kathleen answered. “And I’ll talk with my contacts at the Nashville Symphony Chorus to see if they’d allow us to use some of their recordings as well.”
“Good idea.”
“We’ll also have a guestbook set up where visitors can write notes if they’d like,” she added. After draining the rest of her wine, she set the empty glass on her desk, then stood and rubbed her hands together before picking up a file. “Let’s go take a look at the room.”
As they walked, Kathleen handed them copies of her sketch of the layout for the displays. Once in the large corner room at the back of the house, they talked through each part, pacing off the different sections of the room, then discussed a few other details.
“Now, Peyton, I’m depending on you to be our master of ceremonies, if you will, for the opening ceremony. I’ll follow up with a few statements of my own, but you’re so good at putting people at ease.”
“It would be my honor.”
“Good. I think that’s all for now, gentlemen,” she said, walking them back into the hall. “I appreciate your willingness to help me on this project.”
“Happy to help,” Gevin said as they headed to the main entrance.
“Oh, Kathleen,” Peyton said, slowing. “I wanted to ask you where things stand on the preservation of the water tower. Naturally, I’m hearing a lot of speculation. I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to think about the follow-up town hall meeting, especially since the last one ended so abruptly on such a sour note?”
Kathleen hugged her file folder to her chest. “Yes, I heard about that, and I fully intend to make sure that sort of thing doesn’t happen at the next meeting. I’m not about to let Stone Decker and his ilk get their grubby hands on that tower. I’ve got the paperwork ready to file to designate it as a historical landmark under the auspices of the Braxton House Historical Society. We’ll nip this whole thing in the bud once and for all before Stone gets released from jail.
As the three stepped out onto the front porch she added, “Mark my words, gentlemen. He and his minions will pull that tower down over my dead body.”
Chapter 33
Two days later, Peyton drove Aubrey back to Franklin to meet with the staff following their evaluation of her mother.
“I’m sorry to drag you away from the office again,” she began, “I’m starting to feel guilty about stealing you from the Lord’s work.”
“But this is the Lord’s work, because the church isn’t the building, it’s the people. Including you and Faye. So, no guilt necessary. I’m just glad to help.”
“And I really appreciate it. You know, it’s weird. I’ve never considered myself a coward before, but that’s exactly what I’ve been in all this. I think that’s why I backed off doing something as soon as I knew there was a problem. And now I have a feeling Mom will be furious that I abandoned her in a strange place for this long.”
“You mean we abandoned her there, right? As I recall, I was your partner in crime. And don’t forget, it was my idea to begin with.”
Aubrey smiled. “I know, but—”
“And for the record, you are not a coward.”
“Maybe not, but I also know my mother. She’ll gladly give you a pass since you’re her beloved pastor. You can do no wrong in her eyes.”
“Well, yes. She does have a point there,” he teased. “Anyway, didn’t you say Geoffrey indicated they h
ad some promising news for you?”
“Yes, but who knows what that means? No matter what diagnosis they come up with, we still took her there under false pretenses.”
“How about we wait until we get there to hear what they have to say? No use borrowing trouble where there isn’t any.”
“You’re right.”
Peyton smiled and took her hand in his. It occurred to her how dependent she’d become on him, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. She felt exposed somehow, and much too vulnerable for her peace of mind. That confused her most of all. Still, she had to admit it was awfully nice to have someone so caring and willing to go the extra mile for her.
And for her mother, of course.
Arriving at Magnolia Place, Aubrey and Peyton followed Geoffrey to a small boardroom with a long oval table flanked by chairs.
“I thought it best if we could talk first before Faye joins us.”
Peyton pulled out a chair for Aubrey, then took the seat next to her.
A few minutes later, another gentleman joined them. Geoffrey introduced them to Dr. Winslow Stanton, their staff neurologist.
“I apologize that Dr. Lance, our psychiatrist, couldn’t be here due to a family emergency, but Dr. Stanton has conferred with him and will include his observations as well.”
Geoffrey smiled. “Now. First, the good news. And for that, I’ll hand the conversation over to Dr. Stanton.”
“Yes, and if I may, let me first tell you what a pleasure it’s been getting to know your mother. She’s a remarkable woman, as I’m sure you know.”
Aubrey stared at him, confusion narrowing her eyes. “Are you talking about Faye Evans?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
She glanced at Peyton whose countenance reflected hers. “Because lately, she hasn’t been ‘remarkable’ at all. You’re absolutely sure we’re talking about the same person?”
Dr. Stanton chuckled. “Then let me explain. As it turns out, your mother presents no symptoms indicative of dementia, in any of its many forms. Granted, when I first evaluated her, she was disoriented and seemed to struggle a bit with short-term memory. But once we did a complete workup of her medications and her blood work, we found the culprit. Are you familiar with the medications she’s been prescribed?”