Thirty-One

“Brady, is that you?” Maggie sat at the kitchen table, left leg propped on another chair, chopping vegetables for a salad.

“Yes—”

“The flowers are absolutely gorgeous! We’re all enjoying them. Thank you. I know they meant a lot to Gina.” She didn’t mention that the reason she knew this was because her daughter cried, and her daughter never cried.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Philips—”

“Maggie. I assume you called for Gina. She’s not here. She had to leave right after the fourth bouquet arrived.”

“Leave?”

“For L.A. Didn’t she tell you?” Oh, goodness, she thought, they haven’t talked. “She and her dad decided they should go back tonight rather than tomorrow. They’re going to start the deposition in the afternoon.”

“Oh.”

She heard immense disappointment in his utterance of that one tiny word. “I’ll give you our home number. She’ll be there until Thursday. Got a pencil?”

“Do you mind giving me the address, too?”

Maggie smiled. Florists must love Brady Olafsson.

After their goodbyes, she pressed the disconnect button and pondered calling John. He had never called back. It must not have been urgent after all. She stretched up behind her shoulder and hung the phone on the wall. Tonight was for not talking.

Why was it the moment Reece left relief flooded her? Marsha would admonish that it was because she didn’t want to deal with her disconcerted emotions toward him. No doubt there was some truth to that.

She did love him. She didn’t know why she had answered him as she had, with “I don’t know.” They had spent over 30 years together, more than half a lifetime of ups and downs, tears and laughter, a child, the heartache of no more, earthquakes, and coffee. Of course she loved him. In a practical sense. She just didn’t feel it when she was with him. There were unresolved issues, such as his traveling…

He had wavered at the front door before leaving for the airport. They had never parted on such undefined terms before. Speechless, he held her awkwardly, the crutches in the way.

Speechless was an improvement over his endless solutions or changing the subject. “Reece,” she whispered, “I need some space. Can you understand that?” He had understood it at one time.

“Two thousand miles enough for you?” He kissed her forehead.

“Dad.” Gina hurried down the staircase. “Here’s Brady’s book. This one’s my favorite so far. Mother, I hate leaving you like this. You never left me when I was on crutches.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll let Aunt Lottie pamper me. You have more important things…”

Maggie continued fixing her salad, wondering if Reece would read the book. It would take a miracle for him to read a novel. Her hands stopped slicing cucumber.

Didn’t she believe in miracles now? If God wanted him to read the book, the man would read the book.

She tossed the lettuce and veggies and chicken with some vinegar and oil. Aunt Lottie was gone for the evening with a friend to visit other friends at a nursing home. Amazing how that woman kept going. She didn’t want to leave Maggie alone, but Maggie insisted she not change her plans.

Maggie cleared a spot for a pad of paper. Fork in one hand, pen in the other, she took a bite and began to write. It was an exercise that had come to mind while listening to the sermon tape Aunt Lottie had brought home. She wanted to write a list of regrets, of disappointments. Of all those things she had hoped and planned for that didn’t come about. All those chance journeys, as Marsha called them. Would they make some sense now? Could she see how that mythical bird, the phoenix, had risen from the heap of ashes? Could she scatter the ashes in the wind, let them go once and for all?

What she knew for certain was that it was necessary and that it would hurt. She would cry, but like that morning she learned to forgive Neil’s mother, the tears would heal. Only then would she be able to move forward and address the biggest question mark—her marriage.

The car’s headlights swung across the front of their house as Gina’s dad drove the car into the attached garage. She noticed a shadowy lump on the flagstone walkway near the front door and knew immediately what it was.

She climbed from the car and walked onto the driveway while her dad flipped on lights and unloaded their luggage. The stars were magnificent. Admittedly dimmer than those above tiny Valley Oaks, but still…she took a deep breath. Ahh…blessed cool California air with just the right amount of dewfall and the promise of no humidity tomorrow.

“What in the world?” Dad had opened the front door from inside the house and apparently just missed stepping on that shadowy lump. “I didn’t leave this here.”

“Two to one it’s from Brady, Dad.” She walked over to her fifth floral gift of the day. This one was different. She smelled it long before she reached it. Thick, intoxicating perfume. Gardenia. It was a large potted plant, blossoms bursting throughout it. She liked gardenias.

Dad made a harrumphing noise. “I told him to leave you alone.”

“You what!” Gina cried.

“Well, to be precise,” he leaned over and plucked the envelope from the plant, “I said if he made you cry again, I’d block his road permanently.”

“You didn’t.”

“It slipped out.”

“You told me the meeting went fine, that you even liked him.”

“I liked him because he didn’t roll over. He’s not a quitter. I admire that, even though he’s going to cause us problems. But when I realized he was doing the same with you…” He blew out a breath. “A father doesn’t stay quiet when his little girl is crying.”

“Oh, Dad.” She threw her arms around him.

He returned her hug, then handed her the envelope. “You know I keep my word, so if you read that and cry, Olafsson’s out of luck.”

“I’m done crying for this year.” She squinted at the writing in the dim light. You’re from the Midwest when you know that cow pies aren’t made of beef. Forgive me for being full of the same. Brady. She burst out laughing. “He is so corny, Dad. Unbelievable. Listen to this. It’s from his endless string of Midwest jokes.” She read it to him, chuckling.

“Cute. Good, no tears. Makes my job easier. Shall we leave the plant here?”

“I’ll take it to the patio. Mother will like it.” She knelt, blinking rapidly. Why did it hurt so?

She walked along the ceramic tiled entryway, past the living room and into the kitchen-family room area, slid open the patio door and walked outside. It was nice to be home. This was the house she had grown up in. There was nothing grand about it, just the right size for the three of them. Just the right size for a couple and their empty nest. The small backyard was her mother’s pride and joy. A tall privacy fence bordered its three sides and was covered with different climbing plants. Ivy, honeysuckle, jasmine, clematis. Instead of grass, the yard beyond the covered patio was a flower garden with flagstone paths. The short patio wall was covered with bougainvillea.

She set the gardenia on the round glass-topped table. She’d have to ask her mother where the best place was to keep it. What to feed it. When to water it.

Gina took a deep breath. It was shaky. She tried another. Dear Lord. I haven’t known him long enough to fall in love with him. And besides, there’s no future, him there and me in some big city. Why bother? And another besides, who’s Kim? Actually, I should thank You for the wake-up call. I don’t know why I allowed myself to trust him.

She found her dad in the kitchen, fiddling with the answering machine.

“Gina, who is this?” He punched a button.

A male voice said, “Hi. My father was taken ill. If you need me I’m at this number.” She listened to an unfamiliar area code and a string of numbers.

She shrugged and walked to the refrigerator.

“You don’t recognize him?”

“Nope.” She heard the tape rewinding.

“Why wouldn’t he leave a name?”

They listened to the message again as she rummaged in the pantry closet in search of crackers. Except for a jar of peanut butter, the refrigerator was bare.

“Gina.”

“What?”

“Who is this?”

She turned to look at him. His face resembled a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide as if in shock. “Dad, it’s obviously a wrong number. I don’t leave my name when I call you or close friends. He didn’t leave a name because he thought he had called someone who knew him. Mother doesn’t identify us on that thing. She only says “Please leave a number,” which, in my opinion, leaves it a little wide open—”

“It’s not someone who works with her?” Dad raked his fingers through his hair.

“They’re all women.” She carried a box of crackers to the counter, pulled a knife from the drawer and a plate from the cupboard. “Except the big boss, and from what I’ve seen of him, I doubt he would condescend to call a lowly employee’s home. Besides, they all have Aunt Lottie’s number.”

Without a word, Dad left the room. She heard him go down the hallway and close his bedroom door.

Gina’s throat suddenly went dry, and she could barely swallow the bite of cracker she had just put in her mouth. Aunt Lottie’s voice replayed in her mind. Was it just yesterday? They all sat around the dining room table, eating breakfast. “Maggie, someone called while you were in the shower, but he didn’t leave a message.” He?

She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and held it under the faucet. She drank the water, her heart beating faster.

Her mother wouldn’t.