Last spring, Mom and I had been enmeshed in the drama concerning Ben Ventris and who had killed him. And now, only a few months later, here we were again, neck-deep in trying to figure out what had happened to Andrea Worth.
At night, when all the busyness of the day should have been laid to rest, my mind kept swirling. Where was Andrea? How could we find out what had happened? And, judging from all the warnings I had been getting, how wise were we to continue?
But there was another key figure in this drama, for a very different reason—Grant Hendley. I would have to be blind not to know that Grant still loved me. And, as disloyal to Jake as it seemed, I could not push away all those long-ago memories. Grant’s and my romance had continued for three years. After we both got out of high school, we had looked forward to a future together.
I well remembered the night we sat in his old Chevy truck and spun our web of dreams. He had just gotten a very good job in the oil fields of western Oklahoma and I had begun working for a small newspaper in Tulsa, trying to decide whether I wanted to pursue my dream of college and a newspaper career. But young love seemed much more important than a college degree so we planned our wedding.
Then, fickle creature that I was, two months later, Jake Campbell walked into the newspaper office and turned my head. Dark, handsome Jake with his ready grin and his knack for making people laugh. Jake was graduating from the University of Tulsa and had a bright future in front of him.
“So, what are you doing stuck in this office, Darcy?” he had asked me. “Why aren’t you going to the university here or in Tahlequah? You would be great as a reporter. Now’s the time to prepare for tomorrow.”
Loyalty to Grant struggled with the excitement and wonder of being near Jake. So, suppressing the guilt I felt over breaking Grant’s heart, I married Jake. I regretted the pain I caused Grant, but I had never regretted my decision to share my life with Jake.
Had Grant found somebody else during the years after my marriage? Or maybe there had been a lot of “somebodies” but none that he married. After we broke up, he had quit his job in the oil fields, returned to Levi, and gotten a degree from Northeastern State University in Tahlequah.
Since losing Jake, self-doubt and guilt reared its ugly head. This time, the shoe was on the other foot as far as Grant was concerned. How could I feel that old attraction for him when I was supposed to be a grieving widow? It was a heavy load—one that seemed unbearable at times, one I couldn’t talk about to anybody.
Sometime around 3:00 a.m., I slid off into a solid sleep and was dreaming of driving down a strange highway over a river when I became aware the road ahead forked off in two directions. I wasn’t sure which fork to take. The meaning of that dream certainly needed no interpretation.
At 6:30, Mom cracked open my bedroom door and called, “Get up, Darcy. We’ve got some decisions to make and I want to talk to you about some things.”
It probably was not permissible to throw a pillow at one’s mother. I groaned. “Oh, Mom, I’ve got a headache and I slept so little last night. Couldn’t it wait until eight?”
“No. Get up and take some aspirin. Drink a cup of coffee. We need to be on the road by 8:00 and I want to stop by the donut shop and get some of those cinnamon rolls you like so well.”
Experience had taught me there was no arguing with that tone of voice. Then her words finally got through to my foggy brain. On the road? We need to talk. What on earth was so vital that it could not wait until later in the day? I slid out of bed and reached for my jeans and a T-shirt. When I stumbled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, Mom was filling a big aluminum thermos with hot coffee.
She glanced at me. “You’d better wear a sweatshirt. It’s a little cool this morning.”
I grinned. “Yes, Boss. Where are we going, might I ask? I thought we’d covered nearly everything when we talked last night. Has something come up this morning?”
She turned and gave me one of those direct stares that stated plainly now was not the time for discussion. “We’re going out to Granny Grace’s property. We’ve got some decisions to make that require plain talk and that’s a good place to go to clear our minds of clutter and get away from that telephone!”
“Well, yes, I realize the earthquake stopped me from going out there and you and I both enjoy it, but . . . .”
“Besides,” she continued, “you need a little guidance with your life. I’m your mother and it’s my responsibility to tell you things you need to know.”
Guidance in my life? Had she relapsed a few decades? Why was I being spoken to as if I were a child? I sat with my mouth open and watched her march out the kitchen door.
“We’ll take my Toyota,” she called over her shoulder.
I usually drove my Escape when we went anywhere together. Apparently, this morning I did not have a choice.
Thirty minutes later, without any further comment or “guidance,” Mom pulled her Toyota into the turnaround under the biggest tree on the knoll where my grandparents had lived and she had grown up. The house that overlooked the valley and Ventris River burned down many years ago. Thankfully, it was empty at the time. The land, once owned by Granny Grace’s parents, had stayed in our family for four generations. I actually owned it now. It had been Jake’s and my dream to build a retirement home here someday had fate not intervened.
Mom handed me the thermos and cinnamon rolls and pulled an old quilt out of the back seat. We walked toward the top of the little hill where the sun was warming the grass. She spread the quilt on the ground and motioned for me to pour the coffee.
She settled down in the sunshine, crossed her legs, and came up with a surprising pronouncement. “I’ve made a decision.”
I poured the coffee, waiting for further information.
“I want to build a new house on this site; that is, if you okay it. We can have it as a retreat and when we feel the need to get out here and think, we won’t have to sit on the ground like we are now.”
That was a shocker. I had tried to talk her into building a new house for several months but she always responded that she wanted to stay in the old house because she had so many loving memories of my father there.
“But, Mom, I don’t understand . . . .”
Then she threw in the clincher: “I’ve already drawn up a building plan myself. Our house will sit right on top of this hill where we can see for miles in every direction. It will have two bedroom suites—one for each of us—two other big bedrooms, a large office with built-in bookshelves for you, a big kitchen with all new appliances, a four-car garage, a full basement with a storm shelter, four bathrooms, three up and one down—”
“Four bathrooms? Are you serious? Why four bathrooms and why all the spaciousness? This sounds like a mansion instead of a retreat.”
Was she well? Maybe she had had some sort of a stroke? This certainly didn’t sound like frugal Flora Tucker. But she looked well, happy even. Maybe planning for the future was just what she needed.
She held up one hand. “I know. I know. I’m actually kidding about the four bathrooms. But the point is, Darcy, I’ve got plenty of money and can afford to build. In fact, I’ve already called a builder to lay out the location for the basement.”
Before I could think of an adequate reply, she gave me a sideways look. “It’s time to think about the future, for both of us. I’m only 67. I plan to live for 15 or 20 more years, and there’s lots of things I’d like to do, and having a house out here on my mother’s old home place is one of those dreams. Your dad and I had once thought to build a home here, just as you and Jake planned to do, but of course that didn’t happen.”
We sat and thought for a few minutes of the men we had loved. Andy Tucker had been gone for nearly 20 years, but I knew my mother still thought of him every day.
Suddenly she brought up another real shocker of a subject. “And another thing. I believe it’s time for you to move on also.”
Maybe it was my sleepless night, but I was having trouble keeping up with this conversation. “Are you kicking me out, Mom?”
She snorted. “Of course not. “I’m talking about Grant Hendley. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him, and the years obviously have not changed the way he feels about you.”
Once again, she gave me no chance to reply, which was a good thing because I seemed to have lost the power to speak.
“When the two of you are together, I can see the attraction. Grant’s a good man, a smart man, highly respected in these parts, and I reckon it’s time you quit acting like he’s somebody you hardly know.”
This was a long speech for my mother. Then she added, “Now you look me in the eye, Darcy Campbell, and tell me you don’t care about that man.”
“But, Mom, Jake hasn’t been gone long . . . .”
“I know, Darcy. You feel guilty about still caring for Grant.”
Sudden tears stung my eyes and I nodded.
She took my hand. “Look at it this way: You’re still young. You’ve got a lot of good years ahead of you. And if you could ask Jake how he felt about things, do you really think he’d say you should go on just the way you are now, being lonely and missing him all the time? Of course not. He’d say if you had another chance at happiness he’d sure want you to take it.”
I squeezed her hand. It was a relief to have her voice all these dilemmas and conflicting thoughts.
“Besides, try to imagine if things were the other way around, and Jake had a chance at a good, smart, hardworking woman who would be a real partner and really love him, wouldn’t you want him to grab that happiness?”
I hugged my wise parent. There was no doubt she was right. Once again, Granny Grace’s acres and my mother had helped me put things in perspective. One weight had been rolled off my shoulders. I knew without a doubt, whether I told anyone or not, that I still cared deeply for Grant Hendley.