insley shifted her guitar case to free her hand and swung open the café door. She paused to inhale the rich chocolate and cinnamon aroma. “Silent Night” poured from the overhead speakers like a soothing balm. A sharp contrast to the nerve-firing, gut-churning stress she experienced at Voltex. Almost made the minimum-wage pay worth it.
If only she could find housing to fit her salary. But that was God’s department. Her job was to surrender and obey. He would take care of everything else.
Chris caught her gaze and meandered over. He swung a coffee-stained dish towel between his hands.
“Sorry if I got you in trouble last night.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Richard’s just having a tough time accepting our breakup.” Not that they’d left him with a very palatable image. The door behind her clinked open. She turned and smiled at a group of women ushering inside, buried in jackets, hats, and scarves.
“Business seems to be picking up.” She surveyed the handful of customers seated throughout the room. In the corner, toddlers stacked blocks while their mothers chatted in nearby chairs. A group of elderly women occupied the tables near the far wall.
Chris nodded, his blue eyes sparkling. “All thanks to Mrs. Jeffreys. Guess she’s been talking us up to all her church friends quite a bit.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Can’t wait to see the turnout for our benefit concert next Saturday.”
Her stomach churned. She’d back out if her conscience would allow. But she gave her word and intended to keep it.
Except when it comes to engagements, apparently.
The thought swirled through her mind, causing her already soured stomach to cramp tighter.
“You OK?” Chris touched her arm, sending a shiver through her. “You got all serious on me. You’re not thinking of backing out, are you?”
She studied him, his soft eyes soothing her hyperalert nerves. “I . . . no, not—”
“Oh, Chris?” Candy’s syrupy voice drifted toward them.
Ainsley turned. Across the room, Candy leaned over the counter, twirling a lock of hair. Her gaze darkened when it met Ainsley’s and her coquettish smile hardened into obvious disdain.
“Glad to hear it. We’ll talk details later.” Chris gave her a parting grin before crossing to the counter where Candy waited with pouty lips and fluttering eyelashes.
Ainsley shook her head and slipped into the back hall to deposit her winter gear. Almost reminded her of high school, and the way the “popular” girls flaunted themselves at every passing jock. Most of the guys took them up on the offer, too, so long as there were fringe benefits.
But Chris was different.
Right? And yet, even the good guys had weaknesses. How long would it take Miss Barbie Doll to chisel through Chris’s good-boy boundaries? The idea caused the muscles in her neck and shoulders to twitch.
Seriously, Ainsley, as if you care.
She blinked as reality set in. She did care, much more than she wanted to admit.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.
I am becoming just like my mother! Oh Lord, help me. Steel my heart.
Chris rounded the counter and tossed his dishrag into a nearby bus tub. “Listen, I told you last week, your shirt needs to stay buttoned no less than two from the top. And perhaps you need to go a size bigger.”
She arched her back and made an O with her lips. “I’m sorry. Didn’t even notice.” Cocking her head, she lowered her lashes and tugged on the bottom hem of her blouse. “My shirts must’ve shrunk.”
Chris sighed and punched open the cash register, then sifted through the bills. Business had picked up, but his bank account still hovered in the red. “I’ll order you another.” He grabbed a notepad from under the counter. “What size do you wear again?”
Candy ran her hands down her torso and along her hips. “Inches?”
He certainly didn’t need to hear her measurements. “Never mind. I’ll get you the catalog then let you pick.” Assuming she’d actually select an appropriate size. What was with this girl anyway?
Footsteps clicked on the stained concrete and Ainsley emerged from the back hall wearing a pressed uniform and a radiant smile. “You know, this place really brightens my day.” She planted her hands on her hips and surveyed the tables in front of her. “So, where do you want me?”
He checked his watch. With Ainsley here, perhaps he could leave for a few hours. “My mom’s getting blood work done today, and I’d really like to be there. I’m hoping to keep her calm enough to prevent them from strapping her down.”
“Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes softened. “I’d offer to come with you, but I know that’d only make things worse.”
And he’d love to have her there, if only for mental support, but he couldn’t leave Candy in charge. Besides, strangers would only add to his mother’s agitation.
“I appreciate the offer. If you’ll excuse me.” He dashed into his back office and grabbed his winter gear, pulling it on as he walked. With a smile and a wave, he rushed out into the bitter cold.
Pressed against the cold brick wall, his homeless friend, Albert, huddled beside a large, cloth bag. Chris turned up his collar against the wind and squatted until their eyes met. “Missed you this morning. Worried something might have happened.”
Albert shook his head, his charcoal eyes darting right to left. “Nope.”
“You want to come inside, get a cup of coffee? Have a bite to eat?”
Albert leaned sideways and peered into the glass window, then settled back against the brick, rocking. “No. No. No. People rancid running falling, pouring coffee on my head. On my head. On my head. Hot, boiling, steaming. Be careful, Albert. Burn my tongue. Be careful, Albert.”
“Would you like me to bring a cup to you?” He spoke slowly to give Albert time to make sense of his words.
Albert nodded and talked through chattering teeth, one sentence merging with the next. “Hot coffee, warm coffee, steaming from the cup. Be careful not to burn your tongue. It’s hot, Albert, hot coffee. Steaming from the cup of plastic foam. They make cups from plastic foam. Who’s they? You know who’s they, but they won’t find you here. How do you know? I know. You don’t know. I know. They won’t find you here.”
Chris hurried inside and returned a moment later with a bag of pastries and a steaming latte made from vitamin D milk.
Albert’s eyes brightened and his rocking slowed. “Be careful. It’s hot. Don’t burn your tongue. Don’t burn your tongue.” He brought the cup to his lips, his chattering ceasing as the steam fogged his face.
“It’s OK. You can take a drink. I added a few ice cubes.”
Chris waited a moment longer, asking God to watch over and protect Albert, before hurrying down the street toward his neighborhood and his ice-covered pickup.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of Shady Lane Assisted Living and surveyed the row of vehicles on either side of him. Matilda’s car was parked three stalls down. She was probably pretty stressed. She couldn’t handle these appointments, which usually resulted in their mother being pinned down by at least three nurses, eyes flooded with fear, as the doctor searched for a vein in her heavily wrinkled arm.
Lord, keep things amiable today, for Mother’s sake.
Inside, warmth swept over him from large vents in the ceiling. Men and women dressed in their finest, hair neatly combed and faces scrubbed free of food residue, dotted the lobby. Nursing staff hurried between them.
An attendant in crisp scrubs rolled a woman with thinning hair in front of the television. As soon as the doctors left everything would return to normal and these seemingly well-cared-for folks would be shoved in their rooms, forgotten between the assembly-line rounds.
Take out dentures. Check. Pull off day clothes and slap on nightwear. Check. Toss in bed then move to the next resident. Check. At least some of the staff took their time, offering a kind word or hand squeeze between rotations. Truth be told, Heather was the only one he had a problem with, but her biting words sliced deep enough to undo every dash of compassion the rest of the staff sprinkled. Unfortunately, although her words left countless wounded in her wake, nothing she did proved illegal or worthy of dismissal. But one of these days her short temper would get the best of her and seal her fate.
Sadly, probably at the expense of yet another resident, maybe even his mother.
Rounding the corner, his stomach did a 360 at the sight of Matilda standing outside their mother’s doorway, rubbing the back of her neck. As he approached, his mother’s agitated voice, seeping through the thin walls, ignited a fight-or-flight response.
“They kick you out?”
She shook her head. “They’re trying to get her ready.”
“Why? The doctor can’t give shots if she stays in her nightgown?” He threw open the door, a knife stabbing into his chest as he beheld his mother trembling in the center of the room, nurses on either side holding her arms.
“Chris! Who are these people? Tell them to leave. Make them leave me alone! Why won’t they just leave me alone?”
He looked from one face to the next before locking eyes with Heather. “I’ll take care of this.”
“But Mr. Langley, we can’t let you—”
“Out.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. His mother clutched her hair, torso caved inward, and inched backward until she ran into the wall.
Chris’s muscles quivered. He pointed to the door. “Now!”
The nurses scurried out and Matilda hurried in, her face blanched. “Chris, you can’t order the nursing staff around like that. They’re only trying to do their job.”
“Are they?” A series of fresh bruises splotched his mother’s arms. “What do you call this?” Breathing deep in an effort to calm himself, he turned to his mother and softened his voice to a near whisper. “Everything’s fine, Mom. You’re OK. Everything’s OK. Let me help you.” He checked the clock and searched his mind for soothing words, but nothing came. The doctor would be here in less than fifteen minutes with a needle.
Lord, I could use some help here.
Stepping closer, he started to sing softly, as his mother used to sing to him. “Jesus loves you, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. May His love ease your fears, may He keep you through the years.” As he sang, her quivering eased until it stopped completely. Placing an arm across her shoulder, he pulled her close and continued singing. She nestled against him and buried her face into his chest.
“Where’s your father, Chris? I need your father. Please, tell him to come get me. Why won’t he take me home?”
“Sh. Everything’s fine.” He rubbed her back, tears stinging his eyes.
Three hours later, shot administered and his mother sufficiently calmed, he and Matilda stood outside the main entrance, flecks of snow swirling around them.
Chris faced Matilda head on. “Now do you see why I want her moved? Why she can’t stay here?”
“And you think another home will do a better job? She’s agitated, paranoid, and combative. The staff is doing the best that they can.”
“It’s not good enough. Did you see those bruises on her arm? They’re too rough with her.”
“She could have gotten those any number of ways. She bruises easily, you know that.”
“So they should be extra gentle with her.”
Matilda shook her head. “We’ve had this conversation before, and frankly, I don’t have the energy to rehash it now. Honestly, I believe they’re doing the best they can, all things considered.”
“Fat lot of good it does them. From where I sit, their ‘best’ only made her more agitated. I calmed her down in less than five minutes.”
“That’s because she recognized you. This time.”
“Dad would never have stood for this, you know that.”
“Really? How do you know what Dad would or wouldn’t have done? From what I remember, you weren’t around much.”
