A Journey by Chance (6 page)

“Partly. Partly because Valley Oaks was not your Chicago-native father's kind of town.”

They sat quietly. A light breeze played with Gina's hair. Knowing that she had a sister felt…well, she wasn't sure how to feel, not that there was much to be done about it. Still…maybe her sharp sense of aloneness could soften just a bit by the simple fact that nestled in her family tree was a half sibling.

“Mom? Do you think she's in heaven?”

“If Jesus is real, I know she is.”

The house was quiet. Gina was out somewhere with Lauren. Aunt Lottie had fallen asleep on the couch while crocheting. Maggie set down the book she couldn't concentrate on.

She should call Reece, tell him that Gina now knew the deep, dark secret.

With a shake of her head, she reworded the thought, erasing the angry tone.
I told Gina about Rosie and we're fine.
Yes, they were fine. Her daughter's mature compassion amazed her. The upheaval of the past few months had drawn them closer together, more as equals, as friends even. While Maggie's unpredictable emotions tore down stoic walls of perfectionism, Gina had been able to tease her and, in more serious moments, confess that her mother was much easier to relate to these days.

As this new relationship blossomed, hers with Reece deteriorated. Marsha had asked if he traveled more. He could scarcely be gone more than he had been in recent years unless he simply moved out of the house. On the surface their marriage appeared the same, but she knew they weren't connecting on a deeper level. Yet at times she wondered if it were all in her imagination, simply a result of this unstable time.

He needed to hear what happened yesterday, and she needed to apologize for mentally stomping her foot and snapping at his suggestion. She thought again of what she would tell him. This was positive news. Why the angry tone?

Maggie went to the kitchen, lifted the phone receiver from the wall and carried it through the back door, stretching the cord to its limit. It was a pleasant evening without last week's stifling humidity. The sun was almost hidden behind the garage. She sat on the top step and dialed Reece's cell phone number.

It rang and rang and rang. She disconnected and tried again. After ten rings she cut it off. If he didn't answer, the stupid thing was supposed to automatically roll into voice mail. She glanced at her watch and subtracted two hours. Evelyn, his secretary, might still be at the office.

Someone else answered. Before she could ask for her husband's voice mail, she was on hold, a Vivaldi concerto assaulting her eardrum.

Her internal thermostat did its spontaneous overheating number. Perspiration seeped through every pore. Her heart pounded, resonating in her head and chest. She rested her elbows on her knees, blinked back tears, and bit her lip. This had nothing whatsoever to do with summer, absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with anything except pure frustration and anger at not being able to reach her husband when she needed him. She wondered if years and years worth of bottled-up frustration now flowed.

Evelyn got on the line. Maggie had always liked the woman and tried now to keep up her end of the polite chitchat. Reece was in New York, probably at a restaurant at this hour. Unavailable. At last she was connected with the voice mail.

“Reece, it's me. Margaret.” She coughed a self-deprecating laugh. “Guess you could figure that out. Your cell number didn't work. I don't know why.” She wiped her brow, steeling herself to drop the complaining tone. “I took Gina to Rosie's grave yesterday. She's fine with it, of course. Just as you knew she would be. She is a darling, isn't she?
Call me so I can apologize for snapping at you.” She paused. “I miss you.”

She did miss him, had been missing him for a long time, but suspected the feeling wasn't mutual.

She ran her fingers through her hair, then dialed another number, fully aware that she had promised not to, fully aware that sometime between the unanswered ringing of the cell phone and the Vivaldi concerto she had decided to break that promise.

The answering machine clicked on. The soothing, professorial voice stated simply, “Please leave a message.”

She waited through the beeps. “Don't pick up. I just need to talk one-sided.”
To someone who will listen,
she added silently. “I told Gina yesterday. She was so precious about it all. Are all my fears this unnecessary? I don't think she'll hold it against me. She seems to appreciate seeing all sides of me—”

“Hi.”

She closed her eyes. “You weren't supposed to answer.”

“You weren't supposed to call.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize.” There was a smile in his voice. “I wanted you to call, remember? But we did agree it would be best for your sake to go it alone.” He paused. “How are you?”

“Not very well at the moment. Actually, I'm doing a thoroughly good job of botching my going it alone.”

“Sounds as if things went well with Gina.”

He was coaxing her thoughts to focus on the positive. She knew his deep brown eyes would be twinkling pools about now, subdued by thick black lashes and wire-rimmed glasses. “They call me Maggie here.”

“Maggie?”

She let him ponder that for a moment.

“Maggie,” he repeated. “Hmm. It suits you, I think. The ‘you' that you let me in on sometimes. Do you like it?”

“Confession time.” She smiled softly. “I do, I really do.”

“Ah, the beginnings of an authentic identity?”

“Just a baby step.”

“Two baby steps. Authenticity with Gina as well as yourself.”

“I miss you, John.”

“Margaret,” he breathed.

“I'm sorry.”

He didn't reply for a moment. “You need a friend there. Tell your sister.”

She bit her lip.

“It's the next baby step. Pretty soon you'll have taken one giant step in authentic relationships and, I suspect, found a large piece to the identity-slash-future puzzle. Nothing to lose, right?”

She exhaled sharply. “No. Nothing to lose.”

He waited, patiently, politely. She knew he would let her end the conversation.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, John.”

“You're welcome…Maggie.”

She heard the grin, imagined the crinkled crow's feet behind the glasses. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Maggie held the phone against her forehead and blinked back tears. If only—

“Who's John?”

She looked up, over her shoulder. On the other side of the screen door stood Marsha.

Brady grabbed a sport coat and tie from the closet, just in case his editor chose an upscale Chicago restaurant. An upscale one that allowed jeans. On that point he wasn't conceding.

He laughed as he strode out the door and to his truck. Contract for book Number Five was signed. Today's discussion over lunch would be the gist of Number Six. The critics loved his work.

He didn't
have
to wear a suit!

He flung his arms wide and whirled around, whooping loudly.
Thank You for that, Father.

Brady gazed at his log cabin house. At his 122.7 wooded acres that glowed now in slanted shafts of early morning sunlight through the oak trees.

And for this.

And for not having to major on planting corn the rest of my life!

Well, he could go on with the list, but it was time to leave. The “girls” would be waiting. When Lauren had heard he was headed to Chicago on Thursday, she begged for a lift and offered her mother's van so that she and her wedding entourage could sit comfortably for the 90-minute ride. They had shopping to do, and Gina hadn't seen the city in 20 years. Could he just stay an extra hour or maybe two?

He wasn't adept at saying no to a sweet, pretty woman asking a favor. And Lauren was genuinely both.

With a wry smile, he climbed into his truck. It was a wonder he could still recognize such feminine traits. When his fiancée, Nicole, left him for another man and another lifestyle in California, he had buried himself in work. The escape route had surely been a gift from God. When he emerged from it, his second book had just been released to rave reviews. Now, at last count, the combined sales of the first two novels had reached 200,000.

Much to his surprise, he had noticed a tender streak emerge. His fictional characters took on depth. He had a soft spot for readers who bothered to write and tell him how they liked his books. He became more involved with community affairs and enjoyed the people of his hometown, unlike his former tendency toward aloofness.

Still, he fiercely guarded his privacy. He turned down most speaking invitations and had done only one major book tour. He liked living and working alone; he could not imagine doing anything else. It was easy to keep his distance from sweet, pretty, unattached females not only because he knew better, but because he had found contentment apart from them.

And so while his tender side could not say no to Lauren, his practical side knew it wasn't a serious disruption to his life to say yes. Their company would make the drive go quickly. Perhaps he could spend the extra time at the Art Institute.

Or he could take notes on Gina Philips. Given the reputation of her parents, she probably never stood a chance. She had a mother who had left her first husband, and a father who traveled on business most of the time. Except for a brief period at the bowling alley Saturday night, Gina was the epitome of a thorny character, a perfect blueprint for one of his Number Six characters.

Well, as long as she didn't smile. That Miss America smile of hers could still make a guy weak in the knees.

Gina felt embarrassment.

She climbed into the minivan, mumbled a hello to Brady, and headed to the far backseat. How should she greet the guy, a practical stranger, who had the same half sister as she did?
Oh, by the way, I just heard our parents were married…something you've probably known your entire life?

Good grief! Did this mean they were related?

No, of course not.

They weren't even anywhere near being
step
-related. Absolutely none of the business of her mother being married to Brady's father 35 years ago had anything whatsoever to do with her or him. There really was nothing whatsoever to feel embarrassed about.

Gina determined to put the entire story out of her mind and enjoy the day. She had visited Chicago only a few times as a child, when her dad's parents lived there. He didn't have the extended family the way her mother did.

She wished there would be time to visit one of the zoos, but this was obviously a shopping crowd. Well, except for Brady. He had a business meeting and would meet them later. Lauren sat up front with him now, glad to give him the driver's seat. Her sister Liz sat in the back with Gina; her two friends Isabel and Abbey were in the middle. The four of them were bridesmaids and on a mission to help the bride purchase her honeymoon trousseau.

They were a fun group of women, eager to laugh. And sing. Lauren was the school district's band teacher, Abbey its music teacher, Liz the church choir director, and Isabel an announcer for the local Christian radio station. Gina soon relaxed.

As the freeway lanes multiplied and traffic thickened, skyscrapers came into view. The city looked enormous. She
listened with half attention as the others discussed where to meet. With a start, Gina realized that she didn't have to make a decision about the schedule or anything. That felt good for a change. She could postpone her personal, heavyduty decision-making thought processes for today at least, couldn't she?

She needed a job. There was no denying that, but things were out of her hands for now. Four applications had been mailed seven weeks ago. One more went out last week. Those were out of her hands.

Still, it seemed inadequate. She'd have to continue her research tomorrow. Her experience with zoological parks was extensive in a way and yet specialized. From the time she was 16, she had worked in some capacity at the Wild Creatures Country. Finally, three years ago she had received her degree as doctor of veterinary medicine and completed all the licensing requirements. When the Park needed an assistant vet to care almost exclusively for the large animals, her dream had come true.

Her parents tried to encourage her, promising that when the time was right, she would find a job. Dad would laugh and say some elephant somewhere would need her services sometime.

It was the “somewhere, sometime” part that unnerved her. She was a planner and had never been so long without step-by-step details solidly organized in her Day-Timer. She even had a page for listing future projects, some scheduled for ten years down the road. Even those were up for grabs now.

And then there was that nagging impression that she kept shoving aside, a fear she never intentionally put into words, although it popped into her mind at times. Like now.
Could I really do it again? Could I really stand face-to-face with an elephant—

She clenched her jaw, cutting off the thought, forcing her attention back to the present. She was taking this day off!

Glancing forward, her eyes locked with Brady's in the rearview mirror for a long moment. Had she spoken aloud?

She looked out the window. The fear was so audible in her head, she sometimes thought others must hear it. No doubt, though, it was probably written all over her face.

Oh! Why doesn't that man mind his own business?

The brakes screeched as Brady jerked the van to a stop alongside the curb. “Water Tower Place, girls!” he shouted. “Have fun! Get moving! Here comes a bus! Meet me at 2:30! Don't be—”

Gina climbed last from the van, then with a wave slammed the door shut on his instructions. As the vehicle peeled away from the curb, a bus whooshed into its place.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and immediately felt the urge to crane her neck. The soaring height of the buildings was unbelievable! She moved in a slow circle, chin up. Someone jostled past her. There was a tangible sense of excitement in the big-city air. While she gawked, the others discussed their agenda.

“I vote for lunch.”

“It's only ten o'clock!”

“Well, we want to stop later at Field's in the Loop for ice cream. Maybe we could hold lunch off until then.”

“Gina's got goosebumps.”

“It's freezing today!” Gina rubbed her arms. In spite of sunshine, the air was cool. “What happened to hot and sticky?”

“Didn't you listen to the weather forecast? Cold front. This is 20 degrees below normal.”

“Yeah, and hot and sticky was above normal for early June,” Lauren explained. “Let's go sweater shopping for you first. It's not going to warm up much today.”

They ducked into the nearest department store and as a group chose a thick cotton, short, navy blue cardigan that matched her ivory slacks and top. The price stunned her.

“Is this a group payment, too?” she asked only halfteasingly.

“Welcome to Michigan Avenue,” Isabel offered.

Lauren gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Single doctors can afford something a little special now and then, right?”

Employed single doctors,
Gina silently amended. The fact that she probably needn't spend any more money along their shopping route was a comfort.

The women made quick work of the tall, impressive indoor mall called Water Tower Place, then headed back outside toward a bookstore. It seemed an odd choice for trousseau hunting, but Lauren and Abbey explained there were teaching materials there that they couldn't find anywhere near home.

The group fanned out, and Gina wandered toward the new releases. Maybe she could spend some money to buy that novel she was reading and give the library book back to Brady. It would take care of the debt that gnawed at her every time she opened the thing.

She studied the new release selections. The name “Brady” jumped out at her.

Brady
.

Brady Olafsson?!

Gina stared. There was the man's name…on a book…on a hardback, new release novel…in Chicago. He was an
author?

Well, she knew that. Lauren had told her that.

But…

She picked it up and turned it over. There was his photograph. It really was him.

Oh, my goodness.

She flipped it back over.
Rivers in the Desert. Number Three in the series, The Nazarene
.
Over 200,000 of Numbers One and Two Sold.
The cover's artwork was attractive. A beautiful woman in long white robes sat on a stone step alongside what looked like a well. Her face glowed, and she appeared to be looking expectantly at something not in the picture.

Gina flopped it to her other hand and studied the color photo. It covered three-fourths of the jacket. The background was a mass of unfocused spring green leaves. Brady leaned nonchalantly, raised elbow resting against a tree trunk. The other hand balanced on his jeans-covered hip. He wore a pale yellow polo shirt that enhanced his tanned face and short blond hair. And he was smiling. A very nice smile that softened the square jaw and sharp angles of his face. It wasn't the grin that irked her so.

“That guy's books are awesome.”

Gina glanced at a young woman beside her, an employee straightening books on the shelf. “Oh?”

“And he is sooo cool. He came here once for a signing. He's even better-looking in person, and really,
really
tall with shoulders…well, just look at his shoulders.” She pointed to the picture. “Perfect for crying on, know what I mean? And he was the friendliest author we've ever had. It was like his personality just filled up the whole place.”

“Hmm. I haven't read his books.”

“Really? Well the first two are in paperback now, but we just sold our last ones this morning. They're on back order!”

“It says they're a series. Should you read them consecutively?”

“No, they're great stand-alones. Oh, excuse me.” The clerk left.

The embarrassment Gina had felt early in the morning returned with intensity. Why wasn't she aware that this Valley Oaks resident, her cousin's friend, was a well-known
author? Probably because she didn't know the name before last week…she never picked up historical fiction. And she had been a bit preoccupied with her work…for the last 12 years or so, thousands of miles away.

Hadn't Lauren said the books were Christian? This was a huge bookstore that carried all kinds of books. This was a
major
bookstore in Chicago that carried on its new release shelf a hardcover book written by Brady Olafsson of Valley Oaks, Illinois.