“You can call her Barbara,” Joey said, his voice softer than it had been yesterday.
Weaker?
Oh, please, don’t let him be failing, Barbara silently pleaded to no one in particular.
“Is that all right with you?” the pastor asked, his grin warm and friendly.
To call her Barbara? Not really, but she managed to revitalize her smile. “Of course.” She broke eye contact with the minister and focused on her son. “I’m not going to stay long, honey. I just wanted to check on you and say hello. Any news on the surgery? Have they scheduled it?”
“Not yet.”
An ache settled in her chest and fear clogged her throat, yet she tried to keep the optimism in her voice. “I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”
A nurse popped into Joey’s room to check his IV and take his vitals, and Barbara turned her head away. Distancing herself further, she walked to the window, where several plants and floral arrangements sat along the sill to brighten up the room. There was a basket of various plants that had been sent by one of Joey’s neighbors, a vase of drooping carnations from someone at his office.
In the center of the display was a new arrival, a black ceramic vase holding a single red anthurium, an exotic, tropical flower with waxy leaves that reminded her of the many unique and colorful plants of Hawaii.
She felt herself hurtling back to 1966 all over again, and this time she couldn’t stop it.
The Beatles, Bob Dylan.
Walter Cronkite, Vietnam.
The phone call that turned her life on end.
Is this Barbara Davila?
Yes.
Is Captain Joseph Davila your husband?
She’d wanted to hang up, to pretend the call hadn’t come in, but she’d responded truthfully, her fingers clutched so tightly to the receiver that she’d thought her flesh would meld to plastic. Yes.
Your husband’s plane went down.
Somehow, she’d managed to get through the heartbreaking, blood-pounding call—maybe because the caller had offered her hope by saying her husband had been seriously injured but had survived.
She’d left Joey in her mother’s care that very day and had flown to Honolulu to be at Joseph’s side. She supposed she should be happy that he’d returned from Vietnam, even though he’d been scarred on the right side of his face and still had to use a cane to walk. Many other soldiers and their families hadn’t been so lucky.
Her mother had implied that Joseph’s injury had been some sort of punishment for Barbara’s rebellion.
Okay, so she hadn’t actually come out and pointed her finger or said those very words, but Barbara knew her mother better than she knew anyone else in the world. And the accusation had been in her eyes.
Admittedly, for a while, Barbara’s guilt had nearly consumed her, but she’d rallied; she’d had no choice.
From that moment on, she’d done everything she could to make things right, to be the best wife she could be, even though her husband had been left partially disabled.
And she’d succeeded. Hadn’t she been the one to push Joseph to return to college and attend graduate school? To be all that he could be?
She’d been a devoted mother, too. The fact that she was here now was proof of that, wasn’t it?
“Before I go,” the minister said, drawing Barbara back to the present, “let’s have a word of prayer.”
She bristled, not wanting to be drawn to Joey’s bedside and forced to pray. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time for that. I really need to go, honey. I have an appointment and don’t want to be late.”
Pastor Craig looked at her as if he knew she was uneasy with the religious talk, but it wasn’t as though she was a non-believer. She knew there was a creator, someone at the helm of fate. But it wasn’t anyone she wanted to connect with. At least, not in a group setting.
“Okay, Mom.” Joey cast her a knowing smile. “Thanks for coming by. We’ll pray that you have a good day while we’re at it.”
“You’re the one who needs strength and healing,” she said.
Again, the young pastor nailed her with an expression that suggested he could see right through her, which was another reason she hated church and religious people. They seemed to think they had it all figured out, and they didn’t.
No one did.
She made her way to her son’s bedside and bent to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, honey. And give me a call if there’s any news. Or if you need anything at all.”
Then she turned and walked out of the room as if one of the fallen angels were giving chase.
The next time Amy drove out to the house on Sugar Plum Lane, she took Callie with her. It was easier that way, she’d told herself.
Who knew when Brandon would show up again and throw off her plans?
And, quite frankly, she didn’t appreciate his surprise visits.
“You’re going to that old house again?” Callie asked as Amy secured her in her car seat.
“Yes, for a little while. I’m supposed to help the owners pack some things in boxes.” Amy shut the rear door, then climbed behind the wheel and started the ignition.
She glanced into the rearview mirror before adjusting it and saw Callie fingering the straps of a pink Hello Kitty backpack that rested beside her car seat. The canvas pouch had been carefully packed with a coloring book, crayons, a couple of cartoon movies, and enough small toys to keep a child busy for hours.
Callie didn’t appear to be eager for the adventure, though.
“It’ll be fun,” Amy told her. “You’ll see. And on the way home, we’ll stop by Roy’s Burger Roundup for dinner.”
“Can I get chicken sticks and fries?”
“You bet.”
Ten minutes later, after parking in the driveway, Amy took Callie and several more empty boxes into the house.
As the child surveyed the living room, she frowned and scrunched up her nose. “It’s all dark in here. And it smells yucky.”
“There’s a definite odor, but the house has been closed up for a long time. It just needs to be aired out.” Amy strode toward the nearest window. “Give it a moment or two. It’ll get better.”
Callie dropped her backpack in the center of the floor, then plopped down beside it. “Will you turn on the lights?”
“Once I get things opened up, we won’t need to do that.” Amy pulled on the cord and drew back the drapes, letting in the sunlight. Then she unhooked the latch and slid open the window. There was a refreshing salt-laced breeze blowing in from the Pacific today, so that would help.
“Do you want me to put on a movie?” she asked the child.
“Okay. The Little Mermaid.”
Amy had brought along a DVD player, as well as some of her daughter’s favorite movie cartoons. So she went out to the car to get it, then hooked it up to Ellie’s television, put in the disk, and pushed Play.
While Callie settled in front of the TV screen, Amy carried a box to Ellie’s bedroom so she could pack the woman’s clothing and personal items.
As she progressed upstairs, the steps creaked in protest. She pressed on,