Coming Home (28 page)

Bill listened politely without comment. When she finished he asked, “What does your friend think?”

After she described Andy’s reaction, Bill suggested, “Maybe he’s right.”

Jessie sighed.
Maybe he is
. She grabbed the brochure from the table and handed it to Bill. He smiled, nodding his head, and handed it back to her as if it were hers. “Your grandmother is a very generous woman, but you probably know that by now. Would it be so strange for her to give money to a nursing home that provides care to people who suffered as your mother did?”

“No,” Jessie admitted.

He paused a moment, appraising her. “I couldn’t help overhearing your discussion with your grandmother yesterday.”

“I said what I had to say, Bill.”

“I understand,” he replied, shifting in his seat. “But I pretty much know her perspective on the whole thing, which you might have gathered if you’d stuck around a bit.”

“She took my mother from me.”

“Well … not technically.”

“That’s
exactly
what happened.”

Bill cleared his throat. “Sure … but that’s not what your grandmother
intended
to have happen. The final events were out of her control.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Bill leaned forward. “Jessie, you were young at the time, and from what I understand your mother was declining at a rapid pace.”

She crossed her arms defensively.

“Doesn’t a mother have a right to worry about her daughter?” he asked, and his gaze was uncompromising. “Doris was worried sick about you, as well.”

“She has a strange way of showing it.”

Bill nodded strongly. “Absolutely. You have to look beneath the surface of that woman, Jess, but you’ll find a gold mine if you do.”

She swallowed.

“Your father was drinking all the time, wasn’t he?”

“Yes …”

“And you … what was happening to you?”

“I was fine.”

“That’s not what your teachers said.”

“It was stressful,” she admitted. “My mother … was … dying.”

“The entire burden fell on you, Jess. And that was so wrong. You couldn’t handle it.”

Jessie flinched. Who did he think he was? “Wasn’t my mom’s fault.”

Bill shook his head. “Of course not. But she was too sick to know what was happening to her.”

Jessie felt her eyes tearing up.

“Your grandmother meant to
rescue
you.”

“Well, she didn’t.”

“No,” Bill agreed sadly.

Jessie let out another painful breath and waited for Bill to continue, but he fell silent. The darkness was giving way to dawn.

Bill cleared his throat and spoke again, “You know, we haven’t had a chance to talk like we thought. I was going to tell you my story, remember?”

“I heard a little bit from Andy last night.”

“Well, how ’bout I tell you the rest.” Bill stared at the floor, then frowned as if dredging up a painful memory. “I was a fullblown drunk when your grandmother hired me to do a little gardening.” He caught her eye as if waiting for it to sink in. “Knock down, fall over drunk. I was fired from that Montana ranch I told you about, and by that time, I was drinking from dawn to dusk and hiding the bottles under my bunk, until someone found my stash. After they sent me packing, I moved here, signed up for one of those temp agencies, and slept in the cab of my truck. Your grandmother liked my work and kept me busy. I can do a little of everything, and she’s always doing something new, you know. So it was a good match. But she’s no slouch. Eventually she discovered my problem.”

“She fired you?”

“Not at first. But she gave me an ultimatum. As long as I was attending AA meetings and staying sober, I’d have a job.”

“So …”

“I laughed at her,” Bill said, shaking his head. “You think I was going to pay any mind to this overbearing dame from Connecticut?”

“No.”

“Nope,” he agreed, shaking his head. “A year later, I was still on the street, sleeping at the shelter, which seemed like a four-star hotel compared to the cab of my truck. Taking day jobs in order to buy liquor. One day I hit bottom, see. I was at the Red Cross shelter, and I prayed for the first time in years, only it wasn’t a very happy prayer. I said, ‘If it’s all the same to you, God, I’d like to check out tonight.’ I took another drink from my little vodka bottle, just to prepare myself and think through the options. I remember chuckling to myself at that moment and adding to the end of my prayer, ‘unless you got something else in mind… .’ ”

Jessie glanced out the windows at the lightening sky. “Maybe we should …” Jessie began, indicating the living room. Bill took the hint. After relocking the office, they retired to the kitchen. He began fixing a pot of coffee as Jessie sat at the table.

Bill continued. “So … I was laying on a cot with a hundred other hard-luck stories around me, and someone from the office walked in and called my name. I could barely walk, but I made my way to the front office, and there she was, your grandmother, Doris Crenshaw. She said, ‘Bill, I’ve been worried about you. What in tarnation happened?’ And I just started weeping like a baby. She grabbed my arm. ‘Let’s go, Bill. I’ve got some work for you,’ but first she fed me a meal. I mean, we went to this restaurant, and I devoured nearly everything in sight. People were looking at us and she didn’t care. For the first time I realized that sometimes, just sometimes, your grandmother doesn’t give a rat’s tail what
anyone
thinks.

“Then she asked me, ‘Are you done with the bottle, Bill?’ And I said, ‘Ma’am, I’ve been done for years, but I can’t quit.’ She told me about this research she’d done, a better way of quitting than talking yourself out of alcohol, which never worked for me. First she sent me to this dry-out clinic, then she put me up in a little apartment on good faith. She started feeding me these supplements, minerals, fatty acids, you name it. I’m just a recovering drunk, Jess. But she trusted me. The rest is history. I haven’t had a drink in eight years.”

“That was a pretty short story, Bill.”

“Think I told a fib?”

“Said it would take all week,” Jessie said. “I’m thinking I got cheated a bit.”

“I can go on… .” Jessie smiled.

“Maybe tomorrow?”

Jessie hesitated, and Bill seemed to read her mind.

“Your grandmother’s waited a long time to see you, Jess. I think your welcome is rather assured.” He got to his feet. “Almost forgot. I’ve got something to show you … well, actually … give you.”

He went to the counter, pulled out a drawer, and retrieved an envelope. Back at the table he extended it to her. “I’m not good at this kinda thing, but I’ve been commissioned to do it, because your grandmother figured you’d be gone when she got up. Maybe I should give it back to her and let her do it herself, but I’m feeling a little selfish. Wanted to see the look on your face.”

Jessie accepted the envelope and read the outside address.
El Paso County Clerk
.

Confused, she looked up at Bill. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “Ain’t telling.”

Jessie opened it and found a deed of trust. She checked the address. The transference had been granted twelve years before.

Bill sniffed. “Yep. I’m thinking that look was worth it all, and now I’m sorry she wasn’t here to see it.”

“The house belongs to me?” Jessie whispered, unbelieving. “My parents’ house belongs to me?”

He chuckled again.

Stunned, Jessie stared at the document. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What’s the matter, Jessie girl?”

She shook her head and placed the deed on the table. “Is this the secret, Bill?” She explained and his smile faded from his face. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she added, her tone sheepish.

Bill seemed to struggle for words, then shook his head. The overheard conversation was
not
about the house.

“But I think I know,” she submitted.

Bill met her eyes again, and as painful as the moment was, she was glad to have finally put an end to all the secrets.

“I’ll have some medical tests, and then I’ll know what to do.” He gave her another sympathetic smile.

Jessie stared at the deed of trust again. “Thanks, Bill.”

The twinkle was back. “You hungry?”

Chapter Thirty

JESSIE AND BILL settled into a hearty breakfast together. By seven o’clock Grandmother had yet to make an appearance. Eventually Jessie trudged back up the stairs. Having lost several hours of sleep, she was exhausted.

She awakened in the early afternoon to the sound of her mom’s favorite piano piece—the same one her mother had once played on their piano in Palmer Lake. The piece wasn’t difficult; her mother wasn’t the best of pianists. Still, she’d loved to muddle through the song.

Jessie jogged her memory. “Humoresque” … by Dvorak. It had a lilting, frivolous spirit to it. The second theme was haunting, almost heartbreaking—in direct contrast to the primary theme.

She rose and made her way down the hall and looked over the balcony toward the grand room. Grandmother was at the piano, playing from the music book.

Jessie settled at the top of the stairs and listened. Eventually she heard the shuffling of music and the beginning of another piece, another favorite of her mother’s. Jessie recognized it immediately: “Rustle of Spring” by Christian Sinding.

When Grandmother began the next piece, the exact name escaping her, Jessie headed downstairs, quietly entering the grand room. Jessie slipped into a chair and closed her eyes.

When the piece was finished, Jessie opened her eyes and saw that her grandmother, a woman of near-perfect posture, was slouching, bracing herself up by both arms on the piano bench. Maybe she was aware that Jessie had come down.

“What was that Brahms piece?” Jessie ventured. “The one you always played …”

Her grandmother looked up for a moment as if giving it some thought, then nodded slightly. She launched into a soul-stirring melody of profound seriousness, and Jessie was taken back again to happier times, only this time, right here in Grandmother’s home. Often following supper, she and Mom would make requests while her father found something else to do. Brahms’s “Rhapsody in G Minor,” she now recalled from some dusty corner of her mind.

When the piece was finished, Jessie noticed Bill standing at the kitchen door. He smiled, and Jessie could tell from the look on his face something irreverent was sure to follow. “It ain’t country, is it?”

Jessie chuckled. Grandmother was shuffling through her music again.

“Dory, you know any Johnny Cash?”

Her grandmother turned to Jessie, and they actually shared a smile. Then the older woman grimaced as she reached beneath the piano bench, removing a book of none other than a collection of Cash tunes.

Jessie grinned at Bill, who seemed to be in his glory. “She plays a mean ‘Ring of Fire,”’ he said, teeth gleaming.

“Can’t
stand
that one,” her grandmother protested, bending the songbook to keep it open, but she played it anyway.

Bill sang along as he went back to work in the kitchen. “I fell into a burning ring of fire; I went down, down, down and the flames went higher.”

That afternoon, while resting in her room, Andy called several times before Jessie finally answered.

“Would you just tell me that you’re okay?”

“I’m exhausted,” she replied.

“Are you packing … to go?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Can I see you again?”

“Andy, I’m not ready to get involved.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then don’t shut me out, Jess. I can …” He stopped.

Help me?
Jessie finished in her mind. “I don’t want …” She stopped. “I’m fine,” she said.

“May I call you?”

She hesitated. “I better go.”

After hanging up, she could smell Bill’s dinner from downstairs … something with onions or garlic. She closed her eyes, squeezing out the tears, and tried to forget Andy’s call.

The sound of the music brought her back to reality. Her grandmother was back at the piano, playing a piece from the Classical Era—Mozart, Haydn, or perhaps early Beethoven.

She pondered what Bill had said in the wee hours today.
“Look beneath the surface of her life.”
The irony of that statement, referring to a woman who seemed to
live
on the surface of life. Had Jessie misjudged her grandmother by making the same mistake?

She thought of her father’s pills again and struggled with a lingering sense of guilt and regret.
I meant well. I was trying to help
. That is where she and Doris Crenshaw had something in common.
Neither of us meant any harm and yet, in spite of our good intentions, things went very wrong
.

An hour before dinner, she finally opened her mother’s letter and read the whole thing, from beginning to end.

Do you remember when we walked all the way to Monument on the trail?

Jessie did. They had started early in the morning at the lake, and her father had picked them up several hours later. Her mom had written of other favorite memories, recounting times together, events shared. Occasionally the letter rambled, but overall the letter revealed her mom at an unusually clear moment, something that had been rare in the last days.

I’ve asked God to keep you in His love, honey… .

There had been a time when she herself prayed the exact same prayer for her mom.

There’s nothing I need to say here, because there’s nothing we haven’t already said to each other… .

Mom had always treated her with uncommon respect. As if she saw a little adult hidden away inside of Jessie.

I prayed that He might let me see you grow up, but perhaps that is not to be
.

The letter was getting harder to read.

Promise me you’ll keep believing, sweetie. No matter what happens, hold on to Jesus
.

“Too late,” Jessie whispered. “I already broke the promise.”

Her mother closed with a P.S. and a smiley face:
Did I ever tell you that you were my longed-for child?

“Not enough,” Jessie whispered.

When she was finished, she held it to her heart and lay back on her bed.

That night, after getting ready to retire, Jessie shut out the lights and knelt beside her bed for the first time in over a decade. She bowed her head, folded her hands, and tried to say something … anything. Instead, her tears flowed freely. “I don’t know what to say to you,” she finally whispered.

She went to bed frustrated. Years and years of walls had locked everyone and everything out. Opening up to God still seemed impossible, especially with such seething anger just beneath the surface.
“Get it out,”
Mrs. Robinette had told her.
“God isn’t afraid… .”

Did she even believe God existed?
Who was I talking to if I don’t believe?

“Find me, God,” she finally whispered. “Help me.”

The next day, at Grandmother’s urging, Jessie called a neurologist. “Don’t you worry about the cost,” she’d said. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

Jessie talked to a Dr. Sawyer and explained her situation. The doctor transferred her to the nurse to make an appointment.

“Are you a new patient?” the administrative nurse asked.

“I might be,” she replied, explaining her situation.

“That will be a very specialized test,” the nurse said. “It might take a while for the results.”

“I can wait,” Jessie said.
Believe me, I can wait
.

Later that morning, Jessie noticed Bill in the garden, planting geraniums along the gazebo. She stood in the alcove a moment, gazing at Bill’s flowers, marveling at how she’d looked right through them at first. In such a hurry to get on with her journey, she’d merely observed the surface of their beauty. But this time she was struck with such a feeling of bliss it nearly took her breath away.
Where did that come from?

Bill looked up when she wandered out and stopped what he was doing. He wrinkled his brow. “Howdy, Jessie girl.”

She offered to help, but he waved her away, so she sat on the wooden steps of the gazebo as Bill went back to digging his holes.

“You’ve been planting geraniums for a week, Bill,” Jessie kidded.

Bill chuckled. “Keep getting sidetracked.”

“That’s a hot pink,” she commented.

“Ain’t it, though?” he agreed, standing on his knees. He pointed to the one remaining plant and then raised his eyebrows at her.

“I’m afraid my thumbs aren’t so green,” she said, kneeling next to the old cowboy.

Bill dug a hole, and Jessie pressed the last plant into the cavity, surrounding it with dirt. He stood up, slapping his leg free of dirt.

He removed his hat and wiped his brow. Gesturing to the gazebo, he said, “Let’s chew a bit.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love gazebos?” Jessie joked as she followed Bill underneath the pentagon roof, sitting on a bench across from him. “A time or two,” he replied, twinkling. She gazed beyond the fence to the Russian olives in the next yard. The aroma wasn’t noticeable, but the chalky green was almost startling in the cluster of forest green trees.

Jessie asked why he hadn’t mentioned his church attendance.

“So … you
do
go?”

Bill grimaced. “I guess I tried to stay in the background. This was your grandmother’s time.” He shook his head as if his own explanation were feeble.

“Background isn’t a good role for you,” she said with a smile.