Chapter 23

Annie noticed the change in her grandmother in the days following Christmas. She was always restless, shifting her body every minute or two as though no position was comfortable. Though Grandma had often been cranky since the stroke, she was more cranky than usual. Either her speech had improved greatly, or Annie was getting used to it and could more easily understand her. At first, it was funny the way Grandma Leota would talk at the television, telling the news commentator what was wrong with his shortsighted, canned presentation or that his views were “idiotic.” It was when Grandma started talking cremation that Annie became alarmed. Annie tried to turn her conversation away from death, but Grandma Leota was fixed upon it. “Put me in the bulbs. They need bonemeal.”

Annie called the doctor despite Grandma Leota’s protests.

“I won’t go!” Grandma Leota said, chin jutting. She was irascible, but Annie couldn’t pretend everything was all right this time.

“Oh, yes, you will. Something’s wrong, Grandma. I want the doctor to check you over.”

“Nothing’s wrong!”

“You’re in pain! I know you are. You try to hide it from me, but I can tell.”

Grandma tried charm, smiling and patting Annie’s hand. “It’s just my arthritis, sweetheart. I’m not a green sprout anymore. I’m ripe and ready for plucking.”

Annie refused to give in. “The doctor might be able to give you something to make you more comfortable.”

“I won’t go! I won’t! You’ll have to carry me out of this house!”

Annie called Corban. He came the next morning, ignored Grandma Leota’s vehement protests and downright abuse, lifted her from her wheelchair, and carried her out to Annie’s car.

“It’s a good thing her right arm is useless,” Corban said, straightening. “I think she’d’ve given me a black eye.”

Nora knew something was wrong when she heard the back door from the garage open. Fred never came home this early in the day. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Annie called me at the office. Your mother is in the hospital again.”

Nora’s heart sank. Was this the way it was going to be from here on? Her daughter unable to speak to her? Her daughter calling Fred so he could relay messages? “Another stroke?”

“The doctor thinks it could be cancer. She’s undergoing tests.”

Nora wilted against the back of her chair. Cancer! How was she going to face this when her life was already turning upside down? Her head ached. Her stomach was in turmoil. She felt sick in body and in spirit. She hadn’t felt right since that awful Christmas Day. She should have stayed home rather than subject herself to such an emotional beating. Everyone had been against her. All because Annie had run to the kitchen in tears over something she’d said. And then her mother had cried.

What did I say? I can’t even remember what I said to bring all that on. You’d have thought I was a dog making a mess on the living room rug the way they all looked at me.

The tongue is like a fire . . .

Oh, Lord, what did I say? Sometimes, when I’m so upset I can’t think straight, I say things and then I can’t even remember what I said.

Is that an excuse?

“I think we should go, Nora.”

“The last thing I want to do is look at my mother in another hospital bed.”

“Would you rather look at her in a coffin?”

Nora recoiled. “How can you say something like that?”

“Because you may not have much time left.”

She searched his eyes. “Just what did Annie say?” Was he keeping something from her?

“Exactly what I’ve told you, but I have the feeling time is almost up.”

“My time?” Why did he have to look at her like that? As though he could see inside her and understand things about her that she didn’t even understand. She looked away, uncomfortable beneath his perusal. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. You just don’t want to face it.” He brushed his knuckles gently along the line of her cheek. His tenderness had always touched some deep core within her. She loved him passionately, even when they didn’t come together physically for a week or more at a time. She admired and respected him. And she often found herself wondering how she had been so lucky to find a man like him after two disastrous marriages. Fred was strong, but his strength didn’t come from demanding his own way or believing he was always right. It came from something deep within him.

Oh, God, I know I’m not perfect. I know it! It’s been driven home to me every day of my life. And it’s been a hundred times worse over the past eight months since Annie couldn’t bear to live with me anymore. Did I need that pounding on Christmas Day? I’ve always wanted to be a better mother than mine was. I’ve always wanted to do what’s right, to rear my children to be better than anyone else. And all I’ve done is alienate everyone I love most. Two husbands. Michael. Annie. I’m amazed Fred hasn’t left me.

She closed her eyes. If Fred hadn’t been with her on Christmas Day to pick up the pieces, she knew she’d have come home and slashed her wrists or swallowed a bottle of pills. She’d been knocked off her high horse and come home in tears. Again. She always seemed to come home from her mother’s house in tears. That house should be called the House of Wailing. Had anyone ever been happy there?

Annie’s happy there.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” She looked up at Fred. “I feel as though no one in the world loves me except you.” And how long would that last? How long would it take before she alienated him as well?

“Annie loves you.” He smiled down at her, that sweet, gentle smile. “She loved you enough to take your abuse for eighteen years.”

For the first time, Nora didn’t protest at the harsh assessment. She could take the truth from Fred because words weren’t a weapon for him. His touch, his voice, his faithfulness made her safe with him, open. Had anyone else said she hadn’t been a good mother, she would have done battle.

Yet it wasn’t easy to hear. Stricken, she closed her eyes tightly and saw in her mind’s eye the look on her daughter’s face before she fled into the kitchen. Even as angry as she was, Nora had realized she had crushed her daughter’s heart. Just as she had on Thanksgiving Day when she threw away the turkey Annie had made. She hadn’t wanted to face it. It had been Susan who slapped her with the truth, and in a small way made her willing to listen to Fred now and feel the truth of his assessment.

It is true. Susan is right. No matter what Annie did, I always wanted her to do more. Fred is right. It was abuse. Oh, God, it’s because of my mother that I’m like this.

And then she remembered her mother’s tears.

No, it’s not my mother’s fault. It’s my fault. Oh, God, it is. Why do I behave like this?

Because you don’t measure up. You never have, the dark voice said. And you still don’t.

“What do I have to do?” Fear and anguish were choking her. “I’m so afraid and I don’t know what to do.”

Fred took her hands and drew her up out of her chair. He held her close for a long moment. “Just be there for both of them.” She was trembling, her head aching. “I love you,” Fred said. “Do you know that?”

But for how long?

Fred drew back and cupped her face. “Look at me, Nora.” When she did, scarcely able to see him through her tears, he said, “I know you a lot better than I did when we courted. And I love you better now than I did on the day I married you.”

“I don’t know how.”

His smile was tender. “God knows.” He kissed her as though sealing a promise. “I’ll get your coat.”

Corban was glad he’d stayed, especially when Annie told him she’d called her mother and uncle and both were coming. She was going to need all the support she could get, especially after the doctor just told her he didn’t think Leota should be going home again. Better if she was transferred into a convalescent hospital for twenty-four-hour care during her last months of life. It seemed everything was wrong with the old lady’s body. Corban thought about Leota joking with him a few months back.

“I’m like an old car, chassis’s dented and rusty. I’m leaking fluids and can’t even get out of my chair without a jump start.”

Tears burned his eyes. He held them back, swallowed them down, put on a stoic face for Annie’s sake.

When had Leota stopped being that cantankerous old hag to him and become Leota, an old lady he loved? Hands clasped between his knees, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Oh, Jesus, oh, God, if You’re really up there and You care, please don’t let Leota die. Get her well enough so Annie and I can get her out of here and take her home. That’s where she wants to be when her time comes. Let me do that much for her.

“Have you heard anything more?”

At Nora Gaines’s voice, he raised his head sharply.

Annie fumbled for his hand. “No. Nothing. They said it would be a while.”

Corban held her hand firmly and met Nora’s gaze in challenge. She looked back at him, but he didn’t see a hint of the hostility that had been there on Christmas Day. She just looked sad. And old. It was as though she had aged in the few days since he’d seen her last. Strange. Suddenly, though he could scarcely believe it, he could see some of Leota in her. Maybe it was the eyes. He’d never noticed before.

“We came right away,” Fred said. He extended his hand. “Thanks for helping, Corban.”

Corban stood and shook hands with him. He couldn’t see any way out of it without being rude and hurting Annie in the process. However, if the guy was dismissing him, he’d better think again. He didn’t let go of Annie’s hand and sat beside her again. “I’ll stick around until we know more.”

Fred nodded. “Of course.”

Nora sat in a chair across from Annie. Annie glanced at her and then away.

I could almost pity the witch, Corban thought. Then again, why should I? She brought it on herself. If Annie never speaks to her mother again, who could blame her? One word from Annie would be more than Nora Gaines deserved. Susan Carter had filled in details of how Annie had lived most of her life: a puppet on strings, yanked hither and yon by her controlling mother.

Suddenly another thought lashed razor-sharp across his mind: Weren’t you the guy who had wanted to put all the poverty-level old folks in a government facility where no one would have to deal with them? Weren’t you the guy who wanted to get the old folks off the street and out of sight? After all, this is a youth-oriented society. Right? Old folks could be a real nuisance.

He swallowed hard, fighting the rush of shame that washed over him.

Admit it, Corban. You could barely stand the sight of Leota Reinhardt the first time you met her. You were repulsed by her wrinkles, her soiled polyester dress, her unkempt house in a ghetto neighborhood. You came with all the answers and wanted her to confirm them. Just so you could get an A in a college course.

It was true. All of it.

What is it about Nora Gaines you really dislike? Why not take a good, hard look at that?

He did. And he knew in an instant what it was that had roused his animosity. The reason wasn’t nearly as altruistic as feeling compassion for Annie. It was far more personal. Nora Gaines had hit his sore spot. She’d recognized him for who he really was.

“Why did you come here?” The sarcasm of her question had cut his conscience wide open. Why had he come? To use Leota Reinhardt, to get what information he needed and then walk away and forget her.

And there was something else.

Nora Gaines reminded him of Ruth Coldwell. Ruth had said things to him on her way out that had made him see himself more clearly. And he hadn’t liked what he had seen. She was wrong in what she’d done, but was he any more right in the way he’d chosen to live with her? Had he ever thought about the consequences? And with Leota, his good deeds came from purely selfish motives. Her desperate need had given him entrance into her life. No wonder she hadn’t liked him at first.

Corban grimaced. I’m more like Nora Gaines than I am like Annie. I’m self-centered and self-absorbed.

“I shouldn’t’ve brought her here,” Annie said in a husky voice.

Nora’s response was quick and gentle. “You did the right thing.”

“No, I didn’t!” Annie jerked her hand from Corban’s and stood. She paced the waiting room. “I should’ve listened to Grandma. She wanted to stay home. I should never have brought her here.”

“You did the right thing,” Nora said again.

Fred nodded. “She needed a doctor, Annie.”

“I think she knows she’s dying and that’s why she wouldn’t tell me she was in pain.”

“She’s in pain?” Nora asked softly.

Annie turned, her face ravaged by conflicting emotions. “She’s been in pain for years, Mother. Pain you wouldn’t even understand.” She turned away again.

Tensing, ready for attack, Corban waited for Nora Gaines to say something harsh and cruel. But she said nothing. She looked pale and sick. Or maybe it was the sight of her brother, George, striding into the waiting room that kept her from lacerating her daughter again. Jeanne came in behind her husband, looking weary and cautious.

“We heard the message on the answering machine.” George looked from Fred to Nora to Annie. Corban smiled grimly. George’s gaze barely acknowledged his existence. “We’d have been here sooner, but we had to find a babysitter. What’d the doctor say?”

“She’s undergoing tests right now.” Annie turned, squaring her shoulders as she faced him. “The doctor said it would take a few hours.” She glanced at her watch. “We should hear any time now.”

Jeanne went to Annie. “I’m so sorry, honey. How can we help?”

“There’s nothing we can do but wait and pray, Aunt Jeanne,” Annie said tearfully, receiving the hug and returning it.

“There’s plenty we can do,” George said, his jaw set. “We can see that Mother gets proper care this time.”

Corban stood. “Now, just a minute—”

“You’re not a member of this family.” George ground out the words. “So butt out of our business.”

“He’s my friend!” Annie stepped around Jeanne.

“And it’s my mother we’re talking about.”

“George,” Jeanne said, her voice pleading. “This isn’t the time—”

“This is as good a time as any.” His face was flushed, his eyes dark. “I thought you were going to deal with your daughter, Nora. Tell her what we discussed.”

Nora leaned forward in her chair and covered her face.

“We’re all upset, George,” Fred said calmly.

“Upset! You’re right I’m upset. I get back from a Christmas with in-laws and find a message on my answering machine that my mother is in the hospital again. I just finished talking with the doctor, and he said Mother has probably been in pain for weeks! If she’d been where we’d wanted her to be in the first place, she would’ve had professional help before this!”

Annie’s face convulsed.

Corban stepped forward. “Hey, man! Where do you get off talking to Annie that way?” He wanted to knock George on his self-righteous backside. “She’s been taking care of Leota night and day. Where have you been?”

“I’ve got a business to run. I have a family to take care of. I’m not some snot-nosed rich kid going through college on a trust fund!”

Corban felt the heat rush into his face.

“Yeah!” George sounded positively smug. “I know all about you. Sociology major. Big paper to write. Did you think I wouldn’t want to find out the whole story on some guy who just shows up one day to help a little old lady out of the kindness of his heart? I hired someone to find out about you.”

Wrath melted into shame. “You could’ve asked me. What did you think? I was after Leota’s massive estate? She lives from one Social Security check to another while her daughter lives in Blackhawk and her son—”

“Get out of here!” George bellowed. “Or I’ll throw you out!”

The staff at the nurses’ station looked at each other. “Do you think we should do something?” a candy striper said to one of the nurses. The medical technician stood in the supply room listening to the heated conversation. He shook his head.

“You stay out of it. I’ve already paged the doctor and a chaplain.”

“Someone in there is going to need a doctor. They sound like they’re going to start a fistfight.”

“It won’t be the first time,” another nurse said. “Everyone trying to do what they think is right, no one wanting to take responsibility, and the poor old lady caught in the middle.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s going on,” another staff member said. “The granddaughter wants to take care of her.”

“Get real. Did you see the girl? She can’t be more than eighteen. Still wet behind the ears and she’s supposed to have that kind of responsibility?”

“Maybe if she had some help,” a nurse said, writing notes on a chart.

“From what I hear, the patient and her daughter have been estranged for years, and the son isn’t close to her either,” said another, going into the medicine cabinet.

“It sounds like they care.”

“Oh, they care all right. Put her away and let the state pay the bills. That’ll leave something for them when—”

“What an awful thing to say.”

“How do you know so much?” The other nurse slipped the chart back into its file.

“All you have to do is listen!”

“It’s not our business what they think. Our job is to take care of the patient.”

A chaplain walked by, heading for the waiting room.

“That poor little old lady.”

“The granddaughter wants to take care of her,” the candy striper said again.

“Doesn’t sound like she’ll get help from anyone in that room.”

The head nurse picked up another chart. “Well, the patient won’t be here long.”

“Is she going to die?”

“We all die sometime, but I didn’t mean that. She could last a long time. You never know in these cases. They can surprise you. And miracles still happen. What I meant was we’re short on beds, and she’s going to need long-term care. Dr. Patterson will have her moved into a convalescent hospital unless the family comes to some kind of agreement.”

“Doesn’t sound like they can agree on anything.”

“How sad.” The young candy striper shrugged.

“It’s better than the alternative.” The head nurse slipped the chart back into its place and went down the hall to check on a patient.

One of the nurses was checking over the med chart and the meds in their small paper cups. She glanced at the medical technician who was checking orders. “What do you think, Hiram?”

“I feel sorry for Mrs. Reinhardt.”

Hiram knew death could sometimes be an ally. He could hear the arguing going on in the waiting room. He’d listened to the nurses without adding his opinion. He’d drawn blood from Leota Reinhardt not more than an hour ago. It wouldn’t be hard to get his hands on the doctor’s report and see the prognosis.

He’d helped terminally ill patients before. Maybe he could help Leota Reinhardt, too.

Leota knew something was wrong the moment Annie came into her room. Though her granddaughter smiled cheerfully, Leota could see the puffiness around her eyes, the redness of them. She was pretending everything was going to be fine.

Annie took her hand. “I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can, Grandma.” Her mouth worked and she swallowed convulsively. “I’ll do whatever I have to . . .”

“They giving you trouble?”

“We’re just working out some details.”

Leota saw the pain in Annie’s eyes, the strain. She saw other things as well, things she hadn’t noticed over the past weeks of being in her granddaughter’s care. A pity she had to have a stroke to learn what it was like to have a loving daughter. Annie was everything Leota had hoped Eleanor would be. Kind, gentle, unselfish, honest, joyful. Eleanor had been such a sweet little girl, so eager to please. Circumstances had damaged her. Poor Eleanor had learned to lock away hurt by hiding inside herself. Maybe someone would be able to break through the walls and shake her out of herself. Maybe then Eleanor would be the woman God intended her to be.

Whatever happens, God, don’t let them ruin Annie. Don’t let bitterness take root and choke out her faith. Lord, would You do that for me? Put a high hedge around my granddaughter. Make a wall. Put angels in the watchtowers. I’ve failed You. I wasn’t able to rear a child after Your own heart. How ironic that it was Eleanor who did it. No, that’s not right either. I mustn’t think that way. It was You. It was You all the time, Lord. It was You who made this miracle.

“Grandma?” Annie was searching her face.

Leota tried to concentrate. She mustn’t let her mind wander so much. “Don’t worry about me. Whatever happens, honey, you know who holds the cards.”

Annie’s eyes lightened, warmed, glowed. “I love you, Grandma. I love you so much.” A litany from her heart.

“I love you, too.” Leota couldn’t begin to tell Annie how much the past months had meant to her. So many barren, lonely years. And then the idyll. “Precious . . . precious . . .” She didn’t want to think about the storm coming.

Lord, I am too old and sick to dress myself for battle. You’ll have to put my armor on for me.

“The doctor said he’s given you something to help you rest, Grandma. I’ll come back in the morning.” Annie leaned down and kissed her. Someone was speaking to her from the doorway. Annie glanced up, nodded, and then looked down at her again. “I have to go now, Grandma. Hang on, please. Don’t go home to the Lord yet.”

George came in next. He didn’t say much, but Leota could feel the tension radiating from him. Anger held in check. Had she inconvenienced him again? What time was it? Maybe he was supposed to be at work instead of visiting her in the hospital. Jeanne approached. Why was there such a look of shame on her face? What was going on? George and Jeanne wished her a good night and left.

Then Eleanor and Fred came in. My, it’s a regular family reunion. Everyone but the grandchildren. Leota had never seen her daughter look so heartsick. Fred had his arm around her shoulders as she came closer. When Eleanor put her hand over her mother’s, emotions flooded Leota.

Oh, Lord, she is softening. Oh, Lord, Lord, it’s finally happening. It is.

Leota wept.

How long had it been since her daughter had touched her? The last thing Leota wanted to do was frighten her daughter away so soon, but she couldn’t seem to hold the flood back. Annie said it was the stroke. Emotions could no longer be restrained.

Eleanor’s face convulsed. She turned away slightly, but Fred was turning her back again, whispering encouragement. Before Eleanor could say anything, a nurse came into the room.

“I’m sorry, but the doctor said it’s best if Mrs. Reinhardt rests now. You can come back tomorrow morning and visit.”

Eleanor was in control again. Or so it seemed, until she looked down, her gaze barely brushing Leota’s. “Good night, Mama.”

Mama. She hadn’t said that since she was a little girl. Mama. Mama!

Leota remembered her little darling screaming after her as she was held tightly in Helene Reinhardt’s arms. “Mama! Mama! Don’t go!”

Leota wanted to travel back in time. She reached out to her daughter, but Eleanor was already turning away. Oh, God, give me a few more minutes with her. Why couldn’t that nurse allow them another five minutes? Miracles happened in less time than that! Leota had seen Eleanor’s broken spirit. Was she contrite as well? She raised her hand weakly from the bed. “Ellie . . .”

It was Fred who noticed her. He leaned down and took her hand in his. “I’ll bring her back tomorrow morning, Leota. Keep the faith.” He kissed her hand like a gentleman, and then they were gone.

Annie unlocked her car. Corban was with her, and she could feel the anger radiating from him. He was still fuming over the scene in the waiting room. Listening to Uncle George rant and rave, she had wondered if she was wrong and he was right. Maybe she was being thoughtless and immature. Then she had seen Grandma Leota in that hospital bed. She couldn’t bear to let her live out the rest of her life in a convalescent home when it was within her power to take her home and care for her.

Lord, I know it won’t be easy. Father, I know I’m near exhaustion and I need more help. Jesus, help me do the things I need to do with wisdom. I can’t stand alone. Maybe some of what Uncle George said about me having a martyr complex is true. If so, get me out of that mode and make me discerning.

She’d call Maryann Carter and get a list of professionals who could help. She’d talk to the bank about a reverse mortgage or whatever was needed.

Corban took her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive, Annie?”

“I’m fine, Corban. Thanks for supporting me through this.”

“It isn’t over, Annie.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going home. I’m going to pray and make some phone calls, and then I’m going to rest. Tomorrow morning I’m coming back and getting Grandma out of there.”

“What time?”

“Grandma usually sleeps until eight.”

“I’ll be here at seven forty-five. If we have to zip her up in a body bag to sneak her out, we’ll do it.”

Annie gave a broken laugh. “She’d be game for that, I’m sure. It would suit her sense of humor.” She took his hand in both of hers. “Thank you, Corban.” She saw something flicker in his eyes. With a sense of regret, she released him. She hadn’t meant to give him a wrong impression. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She slid into her car. He closed her door for her and stepped back as she buckled up and started the engine. Giving him a wave, she backed out of the parking space and headed toward the exit. When she pulled out of the lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Corban was still standing there, watching her.

“Nora!” Fred called when she left him talking with Dr. Patterson and headed down the hall. All she could think of was finding Annie before she left. Nora walked as fast as she could down the corridor to the elevator. Fred caught up with her as the doors opened. “Honey, wait a minute. . . .”

“I can’t wait. I have to talk to Anne-Lynn.” She stepped into the elevator and punched the button.

As soon as the doors opened again, she rushed out, racing for the hospital entrance. People stared after her. She didn’t care what anyone thought. She didn’t want her daughter to drive away without speaking to her. She’d never seen Annie look so torn or so filled with loathing. How could George lambaste Annie that way? If it hadn’t been for the interference of that chaplain, Nora would have told her brother what she thought of his tirade.

The cold air hit her as soon as she went through the automatic doors. Hugging her coat closer, she scanned the parking lot and spotted Corban Solsek walking along a line of cars. He was alone. Her heart sank.

Fred came up behind her and put his hand beneath her elbow.

“She’s gone, Fred.”

“You’ll see Annie again tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t leave things the way they are. Did you see the look on her face?”

“I saw,” he said bleakly. “What do you want to do?”

Nora drew the fur-lined coat more firmly around herself. Still the cold seeped in. She felt chilled from the inside out. “Anne-Lynn has had all these months to hear my mother’s side of everything. I want her to understand my side.”

“Maybe you should wait, honey. She’s upset.”

She turned on him. “I’m upset, too. That’s my mother in there.” She understood the quiet look he gave her. About time you realized that. She uttered a broken sob and closed her eyes. “I never thought I’d feel this way about losing her, but it’s tearing me up inside. I’ve never wished her to die.” Haven’t you? “Mother never cared about me. And I can see Annie doesn’t think I care about her. And I do. I do!”

He put his arms around her. “I know you do.”

She pushed away from him. “I want her to know it! I want Anne-Lynn to understand what it was like to live in that house. If Mother dies now, do you think my daughter will ever listen to my side? I have to talk with her now.” She dug in her pocket for a Kleenex and couldn’t find one. Fred handed her his freshly laundered handkerchief.

People walked around them. Fred took her arm and gently drew her to one side. The wind was coming up from the bay.

Nora felt desperate. “Please, Fred.” He looked every day of his fifty-seven years.

“All right.” He put his arm around her, and they walked across the parking lot to his Lincoln. As he opened the door for her, he said, “When you start talking, Nora, keep in mind this may be the last bridge. Try not to burn it.”

Annie hadn’t stopped crying all the way back to Leota’s house. She pulled her car into the driveway, locked it up for the night, and went into the house. She flicked on the kitchen light before locking the back door and closing off the small laundry room.

She had pleaded with God all the way home to bring healing to Grandma’s body so that she could have more time with her. And if that wasn’t His will, she’d pleaded that she could bring Leota home to die.

It would be better if she did some chores or something so she could calm herself down before calling Susan’s mother and asking for help. She had to get rid of this feeling of panic in the pit of her stomach.

Father, please. Jesus, help me. Holy Spirit, give me wisdom. Give me the words to convince—

The doorbell rang.

Annie groaned. Oh, God, I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I need to clean up the kitchen. The frying pan with the congealed scrambled eggs had been dumped into the sink, the unused dishes and silverware still on the nook table. She scraped the eggs into the garbage can under the sink. Setting the pan under the faucet, she turned on the hot water and squirted some liquid soap into the stream.

The doorbell rang again.

It was probably Arba. She usually came by in the evening to say hello and spend a few minutes with Leota. Oh, Lord, I forgot about the children! They would’ve come by today. Shutting off the water, Annie headed quickly into the living room. She flicked on the porch light, glanced out the curtain, and then drew back in shock. In its wake came cold rage. “Go away, Mother! Leave me alone!”

“Anne-Lynn, I need to talk with you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t care if I ever see you again!” She turned her back and headed for the kitchen. How could her mother come here now? She had sat silently in that waiting room, letting Uncle George rant on. “Your mother agrees . . . ,” Uncle George had said. “You were going to do something about your daughter. Did you call the lawyer?” Her mother, the betrayer.

The doorbell rang again.

Annie stood at the kitchen sink, shaking. She turned the water on again. She let it run until the sink was almost full before shutting it off. Closing her eyes, she prayed fervently. God, make her go away. I’m not up to seeing her now. Lord, help me hold my temper. Jesus, I can’t bear any more. I think I hate her after tonight. I hate her as much as she’s hated Grandma Leota all these years.

Shock ran cold and deep through Annie at the thought. Oh, Lord. Is this the way it will be? May it never be so. Only make her go away. Make her go away until I’m calmer. Make her go away until I can think.

She drew a lungful of air in through her nose and blew it slowly from her mouth. It was a technique her piano teacher had taught her to calm the jitters before a recital. Her heart was pounding and she felt so hot. Bloodlust instead of the cleansing blood?

Jesus, help me!

The doorbell rang again.

Something burst inside her. “Okay, Mother. If that’s the way you want it!” She strode back through the living room, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. “Did it ever occur to you I might not want to see you tonight?” She clamped her teeth before she screamed, “Or ever again!”

“Anne-Lynn, please, I need to speak with you.”

“You never know when to leave people alone, do you?”

“This is the only time—”

“You always have to do things on your time schedule and in your way, no matter how anyone else feels.”

“Annie.” Fred’s voice came from behind her mother. “Please. Hear your mother out.”

The expression on his face smote Annie’s conscience. Fred had always treated her with the same tenderness he would his own daughter if he’d had one. It wasn’t fair to put him in the middle of this. Relenting, she unlocked the screen door and moved back so they could come in. “Five minutes, Mother. And that’s it.”

“Five minutes is all you can spare your own mother?”

How many times had Annie heard that faintly sarcastic whine of self-pity in her mother’s voice? Annie looked at her. “You’ve used up thirty seconds.”

Her mother blinked and then sat slowly on the sofa. “My mother’s turned you against me.”

“That’s rich, Mother, especially considering all the years you’ve done your level best to poison me against Grandma Leota.” Her mother looked shocked and then devastated, but Annie had seen that look before. How many times had her mother used that look against her?

How could you get a B+, Anne-Lynn? I’m so disappointed in you. If you needed help, why didn’t you tell me? I would have hired a tutor . . . What do you mean you want to stop taking gymnastics? The physical therapist said you could compete again next year . . . If you’d only apply yourself a little more, Anne-Lynn, you could play that piece without the music . . . Veronica’s daughter is head cheerleader. How can you be satisfied just being a pom-pom girl?

Annie struggled against the resentment rising up in her, the hurt that had sometimes almost overwhelmed her. She had toyed with the idea of suicide the year Susan invited her to church camp. Had she not met the Lord that summer, she wouldn’t even be alive today. Did her mother know how far she’d pushed her?

“I never meant to poison you, Anne-Lynn.”

“Of course not.” The bitter anger poured out of Annie, despite her efforts to stop it. “You just took every opportunity to tell me what an awful childhood you had and how your mother was so terrible. You made sure I never had any time with her. God forbid that I might get to know my own grandmother!”

“Annie,” Fred said, again in that tender voice. “Who are you serving in this?”

It was enough to draw her up short. Who am I serving? Oh, Lord, Lord . . .

“I came here to explain how I felt . . .” Her mother’s voice cracked.

“Oh, Mother,” Annie said, weary and sick at heart. “You’ve told me a hundred times how you felt. Dumped. Unloved. Neglected. And you’ve paid Grandma Leota back in kind.”

“You make it sound like I was avenging myself.”

“Weren’t you? As soon as you were able, you left.”

“I got married.”

“Miserably married. You’ve told me that, too. Michael’s wretched father. And it was all Grandma’s fault you left home so young. You’ve made no secret you hate her.”

“I don’t hate her!”

“Words are cheap. I’ve never seen you do anything for her in the eighteen years of my life. I can count on two hands the number of times we came here, and you always sent me and Michael outside as though Grandma were some kind of disease you didn’t want us to get! And within half an hour, you’d have one of your convenient headaches and we’d all have to go home. You’d talk against her the whole way—”

“I can’t be in this house without remembering what it was like!”

“I love being in this house. I love being with Grandma Leota.”

Her mother’s face jerked as though Annie had struck her. “You don’t understand.”

Annie had seen what bitterness and resentment had done to her mother. Oh, God, don’t let me become like her. My anger is so great, I could destroy her with it and be glad. And then what? I’d live with regret for the rest of my life because I love her. She’s my mother, God help me. Oh, Lord, please, light my way. Be with us here, Lord. We need You!

She let out her breath. “Grandma Leota has memories, too, Mother. She was hurt. You don’t know anything about what was going on.”

“Eleanor and George didn’t understand, and it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Her mother stiffened. “And you do?”

Fred put his hand over her mother’s. “Maybe if you told us, Annie.”

“She wouldn’t listen, Fred.”

“I’ll listen,” her mother said angrily. “I’ll listen, if you listen.”

“I have listened, Mother. I’ve listened to your side all my life. You want me to repeat what I know? You were three years old when Leota handed you over to Grandma Helene. And then she waltzed off to work like a single woman and enjoyed a life of her own without so much as a glance over her shoulder at the children she’d dumped. And when she was home, all she cared about was her garden. She never cared about you. All she ever cared about was herself.” Annie dashed the tears angrily from her face. “Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

Her mother’s face jerked again, tears flooding her eyes. “It’s the way it was.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was the way you perceived it through your child eyes.”

“Grandma Helene said she—”

“Don’t you dare blame it all on her. She’s dead! She can’t defend herself. And at least she had the decency to finally put it all together for herself!” Annie could scarcely believe the words had come from her mouth.

Her mother looked at Fred, her face crumpling. “I told you . . .”

“Annie.” Fred looked at her, pleading. “For God’s sake, she’s your mother.”

Shame filled her.

“Honor thy father and mother. . . .”

I’m becoming just like my mother. Annie wilted into her grandmother’s recliner. Oh, Jesus, forgive me. I’m hammering the nails into Your hands all over again. What sort of witness am I of Your love? What can I do to make it right?

Forgive her.

Her hands clenched on the armrests. I do, Father. Oh, Lord, I do, but I can’t say it because she won’t understand why I’m forgiving her. How can she? She doesn’t know what she’s done. She doesn’t know the half of it. I feel as though I’ve fallen away.

Rise up.

I’m sitting in the darkness here.

Let Me be your light.

And the light is truth.

Truth!

Suddenly calm inside, Annie knew what to say. “Mom, you never understood what was going on.”

Her mother raised her eyes. She looked desolate. “What didn’t I understand? My mother didn’t love me.”

“You’re so wrong. She sacrificed everything for you and Uncle George. The reason Grandma moved in here in the first place was to see to your needs. She didn’t have enough money to support you on her own, and Grandpa Reinhardt couldn’t get work.”

“That’s a lie, Anne-Lynn! My grandfather went to work every day.”

“He left the house every day. And he sat on a bench in Dimond Park. He was German, Mother. Think this through. He was an immigrant with a heavy German accent during World War II. No one would hire him. He was using up what savings he had. He knew he was going to lose the house. And then what would happen? So he wrote to your father, who was serving overseas, and asked him for help. Your father wrote to Grandma Leota and told her the situation. She was having financial troubles of her own trying to make ends meet on your father’s military allotment and rearing two children by herself. So she moved in here and went to work. She thought it was the only way they could all make it. She’s the one who paid for the house and the food and utilities and the clothes on everyone’s back.”

Her mother looked frightened. “But Grandma Helene said my grandfather was an engineer.”

Annie wondered if her mother had listened to a word she had said. “I don’t doubt he was an engineer, Mother, but not an employed engineer. Your grandmother didn’t know he couldn’t find work. He was too embarrassed to tell her. He went out looking for a job every day until he realized no one would hire him.”

“If all that’s true, why didn’t my mother tell Grandma Helene?” she said almost defiantly. “Grandma said the most awful things to Mother, and she never said anything about this.”

“Because Great-Grandpa Reinhardt was her only friend in this house. If she told your grandmother the truth, what would that have accomplished? She might have avenged herself on your grandmother, but she would’ve shamed your grandfather in the process. So she kept silent. She thought everything would turn out all right when your father came home. Do you remember what happened? When the war ended and your father came home, your grandfather signed the house over to him. Why would he do that, Mom, if what Grandma Leota said wasn’t true?”

Her mother closed her eyes. “I can remember the night that happened. Grandma Helene was screaming and crying and calling my mother a whore and a thief. She said my mother was unnatural because she didn’t want her children. George and I hid under our covers and cried.”

Annie’s heart broke for the frightened child her mother must’ve been.

Her mother let out a shuddering breath. “And my father. I was terrified of him. I was so little when he went away, I didn’t know him when he came home. He was so tall and broad and blond, and he had the coldest blue eyes. Just like one of those German Aryans you read about.” Her face was white, her expression distant, remembering. “Once he got so mad, he put his fist through a wall. That one, right over there by the kitchen door.” Her mouth curled. “He was always losing a job because of his temper. And then his drinking. He turned into a lazy drunk.”

Annie uttered a broken sob at the description. She had never met her grandfather, but her heart ached for him. “Your father was a master carpenter whose life was shattered by the war. His parents asked him to look for family members when he got to Germany. He did. And he found some.” Oh, Lord, help her hear this and walk in her father’s shoes long enough to understand. “They were working for one of the concentration camps. They were supplying the soldiers who were exterminating Jews. Your father was a translator in his unit. When his relatives begged for mercy, he and another in his unit shot them down. Grandma Leota said he talked about it only once to her and never discussed the war again.”

Her mother’s face was white. “I remember Grandma Helene asking him questions in German, and he said he found nothing.”

“Did he ever speak German again, Mom?”

Her mother closed her eyes tightly. “No. Grandma asked him once why he wouldn’t, and he said he wanted to forget he was German.”

“He was ashamed. He didn’t understand that Germans were not the only race capable of atrocities. It’s mankind. Beneath the veneer of civilization, the flesh is weak and given to all manner of sin. There, but for the grace of God, go we all.”

“I never knew any of this!” her mother cried out.

“Grandma Leota said they weren’t her secrets to tell. Great-Grandma Helene must’ve found out because Grandma Leota said she changed shortly after your grandfather died. He must’ve finally told her before he died. If not all, at least the part about Grandma Leota paying for the house. I don’t think anyone but Grandma Leota knew about what happened in Germany. Whatever your grandfather told Grandma Helene, after he was buried, she never spoke another unkind word to Grandma Leota. They made their peace. Grandma said they loved one another in the end.”

Her mother cried bitterly. “I feel as though Grandma Helene poisoned me.”

“Maybe she did. Just as you’ve tried to poison me, Mother.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“It’s time you faced it. Show some compassion! All the things Grandma Helene told you out of ignorance about Grandma Leota, you’ve repeated to me. Not once, Mom, but over and over, year after year. This is your opportunity to change things between you and Grandma Leota. You won’t have her around forever.”

Grief flooded her mother’s eyes, shame as well. “Why didn’t my mother tell me all this years ago?”

Annie was filled with sorrow. “Oh, Mom, all you had to do was ask.”

The medical technician delivered the vials of blood he had taken from several patients to the downstairs laboratory. Another technician was looking through a microscope. She straightened, rubbing the back of her neck, and glanced up at him with a smile. “How’s it going, Hiram?”

“Busy day.” He would go off duty in another two hours. “I’m taking my dinner break. I think I need a good jolt of caffeine.”

She went back to looking through the microscope. “Bring me a cup, if you think about it. And a brownie if they have any.”

The cafeteria was almost empty, which suited Hiram just fine. He needed to be alone to think. Walking along the glass-fronted counter, he picked meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn, a piece of apple pie, and coffee. Finding a table in a back corner, he made himself comfortable. From where he sat he could see a full view of the room. He liked to be able to see who was coming in and going out.

He’d found the time and opportunity to read over Leota Reinhardt’s chart. Having a premed major in college, he’d always dreamed of being a doctor. Unfortunately, his grades hadn’t been high enough to get him into medical school. Furthermore, he’d had to drop out of college the last year and help his mother take care of his father, who had developed Alzheimer’s. They’d finally put him in a convalescent hospital.

Every time he took his mother to visit, she came home in tears because his father’s mind was so far gone that he didn’t even remember who she was. It broke his mother’s heart. Maybe if he’d gotten along better with his father, he would have felt the same.

Twice his father had gotten pneumonia. Both times, he tried to convince his mother to tell the hospital not to go to heroic measures to save the old man. “I can’t do that. He’s my husband. He’s your father.” Not anymore, he’d wanted to say. Whatever part of the man that had been his father was long gone. Hiram had begun to hate going to that convalescent hospital. He’d begun to hate the sight of that sick old man who was just the shell of a human being.

He felt sorry for Leota Reinhardt’s family. She was half-paralyzed from a stroke. Add cancer to that, along with congestive heart failure, arthritis, and a few other minor problems like borderline anemia, and her life wasn’t worth living. If she did live, her granddaughter, a real beauty, would spend the next year or two or more working night and day to take care of an old woman who wouldn’t even be able to carry on an intelligible conversation with her. Considering how the rest of the family was reacting, it seemed the old woman hadn’t been all that nice anyway. No one but the granddaughter would miss her.

Every year there were more elderly. People were living longer and longer. All well and good if they were healthy, but, unfortunately, most weren’t. Every year he saw more old people coming into the hospital, filling up the beds, and using up tax dollars he and his generation paid. He’d read that almost 30 percent of the Medicare dollars were going to the care of people during their last year of life. Thirty percent! He’d read that by the year 2040, 45 percent of the expenditures would be paid out to let these people cling to life for a few more months.

It didn’t make sense.

In fact, it seemed cruel to him. Cruel to make the old live longer. Cruel to make the young pay for it. You only had to look at the relatives’ faces after a visit to see that it was agony watching a loved one slowly break down and die. Didn’t he know it from personal experience? Some of his patients reminded him of moldering corpses that, by some accident of nature, still drew breath. They smelled of decay.

They put animals to sleep. Why not human beings?

He hated to see people suffer.

People ought to be able to die with dignity.

If the government could fund abortions for drudges and welfare recipients, why not extend death with dignity to the old? It made perfect sense to him. The arguments were the same. He carried the thought further, rolling it around some more. If people didn’t want to shell out money to support crack babies or babies born into poverty or babies born with handicaps, why would they want to finance long-term care for people who couldn’t pull their share of the workload anymore?

It ticked him off how much money he had to pay in taxes every year. The more he made, the more the government took. And where was it all going? To drones. How long had it been since Leota Reinhardt had held a job and paid taxes into the system? Two decades? Besides that, how many thousands of dollars of taxpayers’ money were going to be spent keeping her alive for a few months longer?

Benefits and burdens should be measured.

It wasn’t right to prolong life. He’d seen people suffer agonies untold with cancer and emphysema and diabetes, where bit by bit the body died off. And family members suffered right along with them. Like he had. Like his mother had. All the talk about dying being a part of living . . . If that was the truth, then what was the big deal in helping the process along?

He’d overheard enough of the shouting in that waiting room to know Leota Reinhardt didn’t want to end up in a convalescent hospital. The family didn’t want to be responsible for in-home nursing care, except the girl who didn’t know what she was getting into. And the guy shouting didn’t want to see the entire estate siphoned away by private in-home nursing care that might last as long as the old lady did.

That beautiful girl ought to be out dancing and having a good time instead of saddling herself with a sick old woman who wasn’t ever going to get any better.

One injection. That’s all it’d take. And all Leota Reinhardt’s suffering would be over.

No one even had to know.

He looked up and around the room, vaguely uncomfortable, defensive. Sometimes he felt as though someone was watching him . . . as though someone could read his thoughts. A pity he couldn’t say what he thought without risking his job. He was more compassionate than most; he cared about patients, and he hated watching people suffer. Why should he feel apologetic for wanting to help a patient die with dignity?

It had been hard the first time. He’d felt sick for days afterward. Sick with guilt, sick with fear, sick with feelings he couldn’t even identify. But he’d gotten over it. He thought about it all the time and the reasons why he’d done it. It was right; he knew he was right to do it. He had made the decision after overhearing the patient’s twenty-year-old daughter, hysterical and screaming at the doctor, “Can’t you do something? Why does she have to suffer like this?”

The doctor hadn’t had the guts to do what should’ve been done weeks earlier. But he had. During the quiet hours of the night shift, when all the visitors were gone and the nurses were working on charts and counting meds, he’d gone into the room and given the patient an injection. She hadn’t even opened her eyes. She had died with dignity.

The second time had been a little easier, and with each one after that he’d spent less and less time feeling anything but relief. He’d helped ten patients in a hospital in Southern California, most of them with cancer or emphysema. Then he worked in San Francisco and, over a period of three years, helped twenty more with AIDS. Seeing all those dying patients had gotten to him. All that suffering, not to mention the cost. Thousands and thousands of dollars a month, just to keep one patient in medicine. How insane was that?

He had several vials of morphine and succinylcholine chloride in his locker, given to him by one of the nurses he’d gone out with in San Francisco. He wasn’t alone in the way he felt. There were others, and the numbers were growing.

There were so many who needed help. After all, where was the dignity in being incontinent, slobbering, and half-paralyzed?

If he were in Leota Reinhardt’s place, he’d want someone to show a little mercy.

Nora stopped trying to defend herself and listened. Annie stopped lashing out and accusing and began to relate everything Leota had told her about those early years. For the first time in her life, Nora began to see things through her mother’s eyes, and it hurt.

Oh, how it hurt.

She kept seeing that dream image of her mother on her knees in the garden looking toward the house with such longing in her eyes. Had it been a dream? Or had she seen her mother like that time and again while she was in the kitchen doing her grandmother’s bidding, soaking up the bitter words and letting them take root in her soul?

“She loves you, Mom.”

“She never said so.”

“She showed you by working.”

“I would’ve liked to have heard the words.”

“Maybe you did, but you weren’t listening.”

Nora started to cry. How many tears had she shed in her lifetime? Gallons for herself. And now she was weeping for her mother, feeling the pain as though it were her own. And wasn’t it? “I don’t know what to do!”

Annie was crying, too. “Help me, Mom. I want to bring her home.”

“The doctor said she needs to be in the hospital. She’s so sick.”

“The doctor said she needs extensive care,” Annie said, determined.

“But you’re giving up your whole life!”

Annie leaned forward, her hands open, pleading. “Mom, she doesn’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend every day I can with her. Don’t you want that now? Don’t you want the chance to get to know her? You never did before. You never saw her or who she really was.”

Nora was afraid, so afraid, of making the wrong decision. How many times in her life had she been wrong? So many times she couldn’t count. And this time it mattered. It mattered so much. “I could spend time with her in a hospital. There are excellent ones, you know. There’s one not far from us, isn’t that so, Fred? You could come home, Anne-Lynn. We could go together and visit her.”

“It wouldn’t be the same and you know it, Mom. If Grandma had a choice, when the Lord calls her home, she’d want to be on a chaise longue in her garden.”

Nora felt torn. Fred put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. He was looking at her, the tenderness of his expression encouraging her. You know what’s right, Nora. You know in your heart what your mother would want. Wouldn’t you want the same thing? To have your family around you . . . to be in your own home?

“All right, Annie,” she said in a broken voice. “I don’t fully agree that this is best, but I’ll help you.”

“We’ll bring her home tomorrow.” Relief filled Annie’s eyes, eyes so warm and thankful. Nora had never seen that look in her daughter’s eyes before—at least, not for her.

“Tomorrow might be too soon, Annie,” Fred said. “The doctor said she’s very weak. Maybe it’d be better to wait a few days.”

“Mom, please.”

Nora let her breath out slowly. All the wasted years of bitterness. Maybe this one act might pave the way to a new relationship with her mother, however brief it might turn out to be. “I’ll help you bring her home tomorrow morning.”

Leota dozed. It was difficult to sleep with all the noise and activities of the hospital—nurses coming and going, a patient in the next bed moaning until she was given another shot that eased her pain and made her sleep so soundly she snored like a man. Then there was that medical technician who seemed to hang around. He’d just a minute ago stood in the doorway, then moved on when a nurse had said something to him.

Her mind drifted back to the years just before the war, when Bernard had been whole. She could see him in that dance hall, watching her. She could remember the wind in her face as they sat in the rumble seat riding home.

The tune of “Don’t Sit under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else but Me” ran in her head. She could see Mama Reinhardt knitting socks for Bernard. She remembered the air-raid sirens going off and the block warden in her hard hat knocking on the door and telling them they had to black out the windows better because light still showed through. They’d saved everything for the war effort. Bacon grease for making ammunition, toothpaste tubes, tin cans, glass jars, newspapers and magazines when she’d finished reading and rereading them a dozen times. Nothing was wasted.

How her victory garden had flourished! She’d grown enough rhubarb, lettuce, cabbage, tomatoes, peas, corn, beets, carrots, and potatoes to keep the neighborhood fed. Mama Reinhardt had canned hundreds of jars of cherries, plums, apricots, and applesauce.

She could still see that Jewel Tea truck come around the corner, selling everything from hairpins to crackers. And the Borden’s milk truck and the Swedish bakery truck. She used to sell some of her vegetables to old Toby, who came around with his pickup. He always ran out of produce long before he ran out of customers.

She thought of Cosma, her dear friend. She’d never forget the permanent Cosma gave her. She said I looked like Rita Hayworth with all my red-blonde hair in wild curls. We went shopping in San Francisco, and the sailors whistled, and all I could do was cry because I kept wishing Bernard were home to see how nice I looked. Cosma took a picture of me in that one-piece sunsuit I wore all summer long in the garden. I struck a Betty Grable pose. Bernard wrote back and said the guys in his unit told him he’d married a “dish.” I wonder what I did with that sequined beret? I used to have a straw hat with giant roses and a chapeau with a barnyard of feathers. How funny I must have looked!

She let her mind fill with memories of Eleanor and George when they were little. She loved the tiny curls on the back of George’s neck, the smell of soft skin in the curve of Eleanor’s baby neck. And those chubby legs.

“Mama.”

Let me dream about those far-off days as though they were near again. Lord, let me remember what it was like to have a whole man looking forward to a bright future and two babies, healthy and happy. Don’t let my mind drift to the dark years.

And yet, they too were sweet in their own way.

Yea, though I walked through the valley of the shadow of death and I dwelt in darkness, You were light to me. My Lord and my Redeemer. All those years, when Bernard sank into his depression and used to call out for help, I looked up to You. How many times did I go out into the sunlight and walk with You in the garden and talk with You in my heart? How many times did I go out there at night and look up at the moon and stars? And You were there with me. You, the lover of my soul.

The medical technician was back at the door again. What did he want? Why was he back again? He was behaving oddly, looking down the hall one way and then the other. Was he back to take more blood? Surely the two test tubes he took this afternoon had been enough! He’d had a carrier with tubes in it when he came into her room before. His hands were empty now.

He came into the room, pausing to watch Leota’s roommate sleeping. His presence distressed Leota. Something about his manner filled her with dread.

Lord, what’s going on here? Why is he behaving so oddly? I’m afraid. What am I afraid of? I’m in a hospital! They help people get well here, don’t they? Why this feeling of danger?

Eleanor is coming back tomorrow. Fred said he was bringing her. I could feel her heart softening. Oh, God, the years I’ve prayed for this to happen. Maybe tomorrow morning will be a new beginning. Maybe tomorrow morning, I can touch her hand without her pulling away. Maybe tomorrow morning, I can tell her I love her and have her finally believe me.

The man moved away from the other bed and approached hers. He didn’t look her in the eyes but glanced toward the door one more time. How odd. “Just a little something to help you sleep, Leota.” Why would he carry a syringe in the pocket of his coat? Any half-wit would know it could become contaminated.

For just a second, he looked into her eyes.

That was all the time Leota needed to know what the man had come to do.

Troubled, Nora stared out the front window of the car. It was raining, and the windshield wipers swished back and forth. She had no cause to worry. Fred was an excellent driver and the traffic was light this time of night. So why this strange sensation of restlessness?

“What’s wrong, honey?” Fred said, flicking the headlights to bright again after a car passed by them.

“I don’t know. Just a funny feeling.” She felt the strong urge to go to her mother. Now. Not tomorrow morning. Now—turn around. Go back to the hospital. It was foolishness.

“About what?”

“I was just thinking about seeing my mother tomorrow morning and wishing I didn’t have to wait that long.”

“Do you want to go back to the hospital?”

Nora looked at him. “It’s after midnight, Fred. She’ll have gone to sleep long ago.”

“And if she were awake? What would you want to say to her?”

Her throat felt so hot and tight. She looked out the windshield again.

I’d say I’m sorry. I’d say I do love you, Mother, even though it’s never seemed as though I did. It was because I loved you so much that I’ve been so angry. I’d say please forgive me for all the cruel things I’ve said and done. I’d say so many things I’ve kept bottled up for decades. She sobbed. “Mama, I’ve missed you. That’s what I’d say.”

Fred reached over and brushed his knuckles lightly against her cheek. “We can go back if you want. Say the word and I’ll take the next off-ramp.”

She almost said yes, then mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? It was well past midnight. She was letting her emotions run away with her again. She had spent a lifetime letting her emotions control her. Besides, she could imagine what the nurses would have to say if she showed up at this time of night and insisted on seeing her mother. What was she supposed to say? I want to make amends? I want to wake up my mother so I can say I’m sorry?

“It’s all right, Fred,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh. “I can wait a few more hours.”

What did one more night matter?

Oh, God, don’t let him do this. Oh, please, Lord. Annie said to hang on. Fred said to keep the faith. Eleanor is so close to becoming herself again. Lord, help me!

She could hardly move because of the medication already given her. She raised her hand, but the technician only smiled. “I understand,” he said. “It’ll all be over soon. You won’t suffer anymore.”

Oh, God, he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know what he’s doing! I’m not alive for my benefit. I’m alive for the sake of my children. Oh, Jesus, open his eyes! Show him! Make him understand. Oh, Jesus, stop him from doing this terrible thing! I want to live. I want to see my daughter in the morning. I need time, just a little more time.

Her mind was in torment, her heart in terror.

What will happen to Eleanor when she comes? What about George? Will he withdraw more and more until he’s just like Bernard? Oh, Lord, my sweet Annie. Will she think I gave up? Oh, Father in heaven . . .

She could feel the coldness of death approaching, darkness closing in around her.

“It won’t be long now, Leota,” the man said. “Shhh . . . don’t struggle.” He put his hand over her mouth. “Relax and let it happen.”

Hang on! Hang on!

She tried to claw at his hand but hadn’t the strength to break free.

Hang on . . .

But she couldn’t. Her mind and will were not sufficient to overcome what he had done. He lifted his hand, took hers briefly and squeezed it. “It’ll be over soon,” he said as though he were doing her a favor. He frowned as she looked up at him. “It’s better this way, better for everyone.”

Oh, this poor deluded boy. He doesn’t look much older than Corban. She watched him turn away and quietly leave the room. He must think he’s done something good. Oh, Lord, forgive him. He doesn’t know what he’s done.

She thought of what Bernard had found in Germany all those years ago. This boy thought she had no quality of life. He thought her life wasn’t worth living anymore. She had no purpose, no value. Is this mercy, Lord? Is it?

Her heart broke.

Oh, Lord, Lord, I waited so long to be reconciled. I prayed a million prayers. And tomorrow might have been the day of salvation for Eleanor. Oh, my sweet, beloved baby girl might have returned to me. Oh, Jesus, how I’ve longed for such a day . . .

It’s time, beloved.

Light, warmth. The Presence of love was with her, raising her from the husk of her body and wiping her tears away. I have counted every one and kept them in a bottle. The Voice was within and without and all around. Come, beloved. See what I have prepared for you. She vibrated to the sound of love, like a harp played by the master.

Still, a part of her resisted. What of my children, Lord? I love them so. What will become of my children?

If they seek Me, they will find Me. He held His arms wide. Trust Me, beloved.

And with a sigh of surrender, Leota Reinhardt went home.

The telephone rang as Nora was finishing the last touches of her makeup before she and Fred headed back to the hospital. Everything froze inside her at the sound. Fred answered on the second ring. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her heart was drumming. Dropping the mascara, she hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Who would call at six thirty in the morning? Only Annie. Or George.

She came into the family room and saw Fred standing with his back to her. He was talking softly. He put the telephone receiver down slowly and turned toward her.

“Annie?” It was all she could manage. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she’d pass out.

He nodded. He didn’t have to say anything. The reason for Annie’s call was written all over his face. “I’m sorry, Nora. I’m so sorry.”

“We should’ve gone back last night. I should’ve told you to turn around!”

“You had no way of knowing.”

Hadn’t she? Oh, God, why didn’t I listen to You?

Her mother was gone.