Another Dawn (7 page)

“Did you know I just moved down the street from your father?” She fell into step beside me. “Remember the house the Frakers used to live in a few doors down? How long are you in town? I’d love to have you over for dinner.”

Normally I would have struggled for some excuse to avoid the invitation, but today’s wretched home life had at least one silver lining. “Oh, thanks so much for the thought, but my father just had surgery and my son is sick, so I’m more or less confined to the house.”

“That’s too bad. I’d really like to talk to you sometime.” She paused for a moment and I got the impression she was trying to decide whether or not to say what it was she wanted to say. She finally sighed. “If there’s ever anything I can do to help you, let me know. Okay?”

“Sure.” I moved toward my parking spot. “Good luck with the paper.” I got in the car, glad to be heading home and as far as possible from Patti Fox.

When I returned home, Dylan was lying on an old quilt in the middle of the den floor, a couple of pillows situated around him and his cup of juice within arm’s reach. The Disney Channel was having an all-morning
Handy Manny
marathon, which suited him just fine. “Hi, Mom.”

My father was sitting on the couch, reading a
Field & Stream
magazine. He looked up and said, “The kid has hardly moved since you’ve been gone. Don’t know when I’ve seen him so quiet.”

“How’d your therapy go?”

“Ridiculous. It’s absolutely ridiculous that she wants me to do all these stupid exercises—trying to get me to bend my knee way in—you’d think she’d get a clue from the fact that I just had surgery to understand that’s not going to happen. She even wants to assign what she calls homework. Give me a break. What did people do a hundred years ago before there were these fancy physical therapists?”

“A hundred years ago they didn’t have the technology to replace knees to begin with, so you just would’ve been a cripple.”

“Hmph. Modern medicine’s just trying to outsmart itself, that’s all.”

I looked away from my father and toward my son, now fully engrossed in the show. “Okay, kiddo. I’ve got some things for you, but first of all, let’s see how you’re doing.” I put my hand to his forehead, relieved that he didn’t feel particularly warm. Maybe things were finally looking up. Still, I gave him the thermometer and ten seconds later was rewarded with a series of single beeps. Ninety-nine point four. My doctor would call that a borderline fever. Nothing to get excited about.

I knew we still had a dose of Tylenol on board, and his rash looked possibly a bit worse. “I’ll be right back.” I went into the kitchen where I’d left the bag from the pharmacy.

“Did you get the bubblegum-flavored stuff?” He sat up and looked at me, completely turning his back on the TV.

I know a lot of kids refuse to take medication of any kind because they hate the taste. Dylan was the exception to this rule. Although he’d rarely needed medicine because we lived such a healthy lifestyle, on the occasions that ibuprofen or acetaminophen were called for, he was one happy boy. The two rounds of amoxicillin a few months ago had put him over the moon, and had him faking an earache for days afterward.

“I got the cherry kind.” I purposely picked the flavor I knew he liked the least because I didn’t want him to drag this thing out just to get another spoonful of medicine. “The good news is, I brought you something else that you can drink, too. The nice lady at the pharmacy made some special tea for you.”

“Tea? Blah. I want the cherry stuff.”

“How do you know it’s blah? You haven’t tasted it yet.”

“I’ve tasted your tea when we’re home. It’s yucky.”

I drank decaffeinated green tea almost every day. I didn’t particularly like it, but I knew it was high in antioxidants, and of course the fact that it was rumored to help people maintain a lean body weight was always a bonus, especially living so close to the beach. “Well, this is a different kind of tea. It helps people with viruses feel better.”

I set some water to boil and after the tea was ready, I leaned forward and sniffed. It had a fairly strong herbal smell. Dylan would immediately be on high alert. Being the practiced mother that I am, I knew how to fight this. I carried the tea, the honey, and a spoon into the den so that he could see what I was doing. “I thought we could put some honey in your tea, just for a little treat. What do you think?”

“Honey, really?” Dylan loved his honey.

“Yep, honey.” I made a point of holding the honey bottle high above the mug so that he could see the thick golden syrup as it cascaded from the container into his cup. I stirred, then handed it to him. “What do you think?”

He took a sip, scrunched up his nose, and said, “Not very good.”

“I’ll add a touch more honey, okay?”

“Just take it away. Don’t want it.”

“Take just a few more sips. Okay? Here, I’m putting a little more honey in.”

He watched another squeeze of honey melt into the mug. “Okay. I’ll try.” He took another sip, made a face, then took another. “Can I watch
Handy Manny
now?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out into the backyard? Maybe get some fresh air?”

“No thank you.” He lay back down and effectively tuned me out. Discussion over.

My father looked over his magazine. “Why don’t you go get some of that fresh air? You’ve been talking about going for a run ever since you’ve been here. Neither of us men is planning on budging from our spots in the foreseeable future, so you might as well enjoy some peace and quiet while you’ve got the chance.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”

Five minutes later, I was running through the old streets in my neighborhood, memories floating all around me with each
thwap
my feet pounded against the sidewalk. I’d learned to ride without training wheels at this very corner. At that time it had been an empty lot. Now a brick ranch-style home and a Greyhound-bus-sized RV occupied the space. I turned the corner, remembered all the water-balloon battles we’d had right here on Robin Street. I remembered the time one boy had thrown rocks instead of balloons, and hit that bully Skip Higdon right upside the head—a head which subsequently required five stitches and shut down most of the neighborhood fun for a good month. Still, it knocked a good bit of the overt meanness right out of Skip Higdon. Yep, that had been a good summer.

As I rounded the last corner toward home I passed the Frakers’ house. Patti’s house.

As much as I disliked the thought of her living in
my
neighborhood, I did find some consolation in the fact that it was a 1960s brick ranch-style, instead of the grand mansion I would have assumed she would live in by now. Of course, she was still plenty young and still beautiful. Getting what she wanted had never been a problem, so I had no doubt she would work her way into something better in no time at all.

I could still remember the phone call from my friend Brenna. “I just saw Jared getting ice cream with that new girl, Patti Fox. She was all over him, and he was returning the favor.” And just like that, the first boy who had ever said he loved me, the first boy I’d ever loved in return, proved unfaithful. And he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

I ended back at Dad’s driveway, promising myself to do whatever it took to avoid her for the rest of the trip. Given the current situation, I didn’t think it would be that hard.

The garbage trucks had already made their morning rounds, so I rolled Dad’s two trash cans up the driveway and to their place just behind the trelliswork outside the garage. I scanned farther down the backyard and saw Mrs. Fellows sitting on the wrought-iron bench out by the crab apple tree, and I walked toward her.

She waved when she saw me coming. “Hello there, Gracie. It’s so good to see you home again. Tell me, how is your father doing? I’d be more than a little surprised if you didn’t tell me that he is rebelling against all his at-home physical therapy.”

“There’s no need for surprise here.” I smiled at her. “Honestly, it’s almost like having a second child.”

She laughed. “Yep, stubborn men and children. They have a lot in common.”

“Unfortunately my son has been sick since Monday.”

“Oh, really? I’m sorry I didn’t realize that, dear, or I would have brought some soup over or something. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do that. Okay?”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I know, I want to. Your father made it more than clear he didn’t want any kind of babying, as he called it, but he didn’t say a word about your son. It’ll just make me feel better if I do something to help.” Matter settled.

I smiled at not only the sweetness of sitting out here with one of my mother’s oldest and dearest friends, but also the thought of how much her coming over with soup would annoy Dad. “Are you getting ready to plant something new?” I pointed toward the area beneath the tree. The entire root area was surrounded by mulch, which was lined by a circle of stones—standing upright, rather than lying flat like most landscape stones. I knew that this middle area held bulbs that would bloom at random times and in random colors. Since the circle was on both properties, she and my mother had tended this together. For the past seven years it had been left to Mrs. Fellows alone.

“No. I just like to come out here and think sometimes. Oh, how this place reminds me of your mother and the day we decided to put this circle around this tree.”

“I remember when y’all did that. I came home from school one day, and the two of you were back here, covered head to toe in potting soil, and you had a wheelbarrow full of those big rocks that seemed at the time like they weighed a ton. You were out there having such a good time. I thought you’d both lost it. It’s funny, I don’t really have any memories of the two of you together before that.”

“That’s because we never were.” She reached her hand down to touch one of the rocks. “Oh, that was a special time.”

“Special, like how?”

“Your mother and I had had an ongoing feud ever since your parents moved in here. I’m ashamed to even admit it now, but fact was, I’d grown up in hard times, and even though I know it’s not an excuse, well, I didn’t want people taking what was mine. This crab apple tree is on my property, even though it hangs over yours, and I was convinced your mother was sneaking over here and stealing the fruit. After Jana and you came along, you two would cut the corner of my backyard on your way to the creek.”

The backyards in our neighborhood were not fenced. Most were bordered about halfway back by a row of shrubs, then were open to each other. The crab apple tree sat just beyond the hedgerow on Mrs. Fellows’s side, and although I had no memory of this, I was certain we’d cut through her backyard many a time. It was, after all, the fastest way to the creek. “I don’t doubt that we did.”

“I contended that you were walking right across the roots and damaging the tree. Then, on more than one occasion, I saw the two of you eating apples, which I assumed were mine.”

She shook her head then and pointed at several apples scattered around the circle. “The Good Lord knows that fruit made just as big a mess in your yard as it did mine. The tree always sort of leaned your direction. Anyway, your mother and I had long since quit speaking, except when there were accusations flying.”

“Really?” I searched all my memories, trying desperately to find a single episode that led me to believe that the two of them were anything but the best of friends. There were none that I could remember. “Mama never mentioned any of this.”

“Likely not. Your mama was not the kind of person who went around stirring up trouble. She might have been mad at me, but she wasn’t one to pass it on— ’specially to her own kids.”

“So what made you two decide to put in these flowers and become friends all of a sudden?” I’d always kind of wondered at their friendship, considering their almost twenty-year age difference.

“As you are well aware, we went to the same church, as lots of people do in this town. There was a women’s Bible study we were both going to. It was awkward for us both to be there, to say the least, but I was secretly praying God would show her just how wrong she was and maybe make her come beg me for forgiveness.” She laughed. “Maybe she was doing the same thing, although that doesn’t really sound much like her.”

“Ha. I can remember sitting in Sunday school and praying the same thing about a few people.” Patti Fox came immediately to mind, but I didn’t say as much. In more recent years, it had been my father.

“That’s our old human nature, I suppose. It’s not pretty, but it’s the unfortunate truth too much of the time.”

“So what happened?”

“One day we heard the story about Gilgal.”

“Gilgal?” I looked at the tree, utterly confused. “Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“Likely not, it doesn’t get taught too often. You remember when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt, right?”

I really didn’t want to hear a Bible story, but I was curious enough about what had happened between Mrs. Fellows and my mother to go along with it. For now, at least. “Yeah.”

“He parted the Red Sea to get them safely away from the pursuing Egyptian army, and away they went toward the land God had promised to them. But they didn’t quite make it. Do you remember why?”

It had been a long time since my Sunday school days. “I remember they wandered around in the wilderness for forty years.”

“That’s right. Because when they got just outside the Promised Land, they sent in spies. Twelve of them. And they came back with clusters of grapes, so huge that it took two men to carry them. They also came back with the story that the people in the land were huge. The spies said they looked like grasshoppers compared to them and it was more or less hopeless.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s always harder to have faith when the problem is staring us in the face.”

I laughed. “I guess there’s quite a bit of truth to that.”

“So the people decided they wouldn’t go in. It looked too hard. The people started complaining. ‘I want to go back to Egypt. Life was better as a slave than being out here.’ Better as slaves?” She shook her head. “Can you imagine? ’Course, it’s easy to call them crazy, but I’m sure we’ve all done something similar at times.”

“I guess so.” She had more or less lost me, but I was trying to hang in there, if only for politeness’ sake.

“So, forty years later, God brought Joshua and Caleb and the next generation to Gilgal. Long story short, it was sort of where they got a ‘do-over.’ ”

“A do-over?”

“Yep, complete with God parting the water for them again—the Jordan River, this time. They took some stones out of the middle of the river and stood them up in remembrance.” Finally she stood up, bending over and stretching out her knees. “Oh, I’m getting way too old for this.” She smiled down at me. “The place where they camped was called Gilgal, which means ‘circle.’ I guess some people believe they actually put the stones in a circle, though I don’t know if it’s true or not. Either way, it was the place where the Israelites came full circle. Understand?”