Читать книгу Family by Design - Bonnie Winn K. - Страница 9

J.C. pulled into the semicircle driveway at the front of the Rosewood Community Church school. He was late. Again. Didi had picked up Chrissy a few times for him, but she was busy. Besides, he couldn’t expect his employees and friends to sacrifice any more than they already had.

The school was nearly deserted. Only the teachers’ cars remained in the parking lot and a few kids were kicking a ball on the playground. Chrissy sat on the steps, clutching her backpack, looking lost.

Poor kid. First she felt deserted when her parents died; now she felt just as abandoned by him. Turning off the car, he got out to meet her halfway. Her face was more than sullen; fear and vulnerability were just as apparent.

“Chrissy, I’m sorry. No excuses. I’m late.”

Although she tried to control it, her lips wobbled. “I know.”

“How about a big chocolate shake at the drugstore?” The old-fashioned marble fountain was one of Chrissy’s favorite places.

“Uh-uh,” she replied, shaking her head.

J.C. would have reached for the child’s backpack so he could carry it to the car, but she still clutched it like a lifeline. She’d had the backpack with her at the pajama party, untouched by the poisonous carbon monoxide. Untouched by what had changed her life forever.

J.C. wished he could think of something to distract her, to ease the pain from her face. But fun hadn’t been on the agenda for quite a while now.

Chrissy settled in her seat, scooting forward suddenly, pulling up a bag that was wedged beneath her. “What’s this?”

“Some trial medications for a new patient. I’ve been meaning to drop them off …” But every time he thought about it, he pictured Maddie’s anger.

“Why don’t we go now?”

He stared at his niece. “You want to go?”

She shrugged. “Nothing else to do.”

Except a mountain of dictation, articles, more work than he wanted to think about. “Right.” But the stop would distract Chrissy. “Nothing else to do.”

The Carter home wasn’t far. J.C. had copied their address on the sample bag. Located in one of Rosewood’s oldest neighborhoods, the house was an unimposing Victorian. Neither grand nor tiny, it spoke of the families that had inhabited it over the generations. The yard and flower beds were tidy, the porch and driveway well swept. But he noticed the aging roof and the peeling paint on the second-story fascia and gables.

An aged but inviting swing flanked two well-worn rocking chairs on the wide porch. It was quiet as they climbed the steps, then knocked on the outer screen door.

Within just a few moments the door swung open. Taken aback, Maddie stared at him, then collected her voice. “Dr. Mueller, I wasn’t expecting you.” Her gaze shifted to include Chrissy. “Hello.”

Chrissy ducked just a fraction behind him. J.C. put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This is my niece, Chrissy.”

“Good to meet you, Chrissy.” Maddie pushed the screen door back. “Come in. I just put the kettle on.”

Chrissy looked up at him in question.

J.C. patted her back. “Actually, we just stopped to drop off samples of a new medication for your mother.”

“Do you have time for tea?” Maddie asked, not a bit of the anger he remembered anywhere in sight.

He glanced down at his niece. She didn’t look averse to the idea. “I guess so. Thanks.”

“Mom’s in the living room,” Maddie explained, leading the way from the small entry hall. She glanced at Chrissy. “In a house this old, they used to call the front room a parlor, but ours isn’t the elegant sort.”

Looking intrigued, Chrissy listened quietly.

“Mom? Dr. Mueller stopped by to have tea.”

Lillian sat in a faded green rocker recliner. Seeing her guests, she brightened. “I love meeting new people!”

“This is Dr. Mueller’s niece, Chrissy,” Maddie began.

Lillian clapped her hands together. “Oh, my! You look an awful lot like my Maddie when she was your age.” She patted the chair next to hers. “Come. Sit.”

Chrissy’s normal reluctance dimmed and she crossed the room. “I thought you knew my uncle James.”

Lillian smiled. “Perhaps I do. You’ll have to tell me all about him.”

Chrissy looked at him, then turned back to Lillian.

“He’s a doctor. And he’s real busy.”

J.C. flinched.

“I imagine you stay busy with school.” Lillian’s gaze landed on the ever-present backpack. “Just like my Maddie, always did her homework straightaway.”

Chrissy stroked the pink bag and halfheartedly shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Lillian’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Sometimes we baked cookies first or built a playhouse.”

“You built a playhouse?” Chrissy asked in wonder as Lillian dug into the purse that was always at her side.

Lillian produced a roll of Life Savers and offered them to Chrissy. “Sure did. My father thought a girl should know how to use a hammer and a saw. He liked to make things with his hands, so he taught me in his workshop.”

Chrissy swallowed. “My dad did, too.”

Lillian patted her knee. “Sounds like we had wonderful fathers.”

Strange. It was as though somehow Lillian sensed Chrissy’s father was gone, as well.

J.C. heard a whistle from the other side of the house. No doubt the teakettle. Considering, he watched his niece, saw that her attention was entirely focused on Lillian. Pivoting, he followed the sound of the fading whistle to the kitchen. A carpet runner covered the oak floor in the long hall; it also muffled the sound of his footsteps.

He paused beneath the arched opening to the kitchen. Maddie was scurrying around the room, pushing strawberry-blond hair off her forehead with one hand, reaching for a tray with the other. Seeing that it was perched on one of the higher shelves, he quickened his pace. “Let me get that for you.”

Whirling around at the sound of his voice, she looked completely, totally, utterly flustered.

“Guess I need to stop doing that. Coming up from behind, surprising you.”

Her throat worked and her blue-gray eyes looked chastened. “I feel terrible about how I reacted the other day. It’s just that Mom’s gotten so fragile, and …” Moisture gathered in her eyes and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m so afraid that the next stroke …” Again her throat worked, but she pushed past the emotion. “I know she needs these tests—”

J.C. lightly clasped her arm. “Being a caregiver is the most stressful job I can imagine. Do you have enough help?”

“Help?” Maddie nodded. “Samantha relieves me so that I have some extra time when I run errands, but she has her own family to take care of. Neighbors and people from church sit with Mom, too, when they can.”

He’d reread the file and knew that Lillian was widowed. With no siblings, did that mean that Maddie was the sole caregiver? “It’s important that you have time for yourself.”

She laughed, a mirthless sound. “Hmm.”

Spotting the cups on the table, he took her elbow, guiding her to the table. “Let’s sit for a few minutes.”

“But your niece—”

“Is taken by your mother. Best Chrissy’s acted in a while. Tea smells good.”

Distracted, Maddie glanced at the tabletop. “It’s probably the vanilla you’re smelling.”

J.C. sat in the chair next to hers. “Who else helps you take care of Lillian?”

“Just me.”

J.C. knew that endless caregiving could suck the life from a person. And Lillian had required home care for nearly a decade. “Have you lost some of your relief help?”

“Never had any.” Picking up the sugar, she offered it to him.

“But when do you have time for yourself?”

She lifted the porcelain strainers from their cups. “I don’t think of it like that. This is my life, my choice. It’s hard for other people to understand.”

“What about before Lillian’s strokes? You must have had plans.”

An indecipherable emotion flashed in her now bluish eyes and then disappeared. Had her eyes changed color? Or was it a trick of the light?

“That’s the thing about the future,” Maddie replied calmly. “It can always change. So far, mine has.”

Since J.C. had witnessed that she wasn’t always a serene earth muffin, he sipped his tea, wondering exactly who the real Maddie was. “This is unusual. Don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it.”

“The tea’s my own blend,” she explained.

“How did you come to make your own tea recipe?”

She chuckled, some of her weariness disappearing. “Not just one recipe. I blend all sorts of teas.”

“Same question, then. How did you start making your own tea?”

“I’ve always been fascinated by spices. I can remember my grandfather telling me about the original spice routes from Asia and I could imagine all the smells, the excitement of the markets. So my mother let me collect spices and we’d make up recipes to use them in. Then one day I decided to add some fresh nutmeg to my tea.” Her cheeks flushed as her enthusiasm grew. “Mom always made drinking tea an event—using the good cups, all the accessories. Anyway, Mom bought every kind of loose tea leaf she could find so I could experiment. For a time our kitchen looked like a cross between an English farmhouse and a laboratory. After college I planned to open a shop where I could sell all my blends.” She leaned forward, her eyes dreamy. “And I’d serve fresh, hot tea on round bistro tables covered with white linen tablecloths. Oh, and little pastries, maybe sandwiches. Make it a place people want to linger … to come back to.”

“The tea shop your mother said should be smack dab in the middle of Main Street?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did you ever get a shop set up?”

Maddie shook her head. “I was investigating small business loans when Mom had her first stroke, the major one. Luckily, I’d graduated from U.T. by then.”

“Have you considered starting the business? Using part of the profits to hire someone to stay with your mother while you’re working?”

“Our funds aren’t that extensive. I took enough business classes to know I’d have to factor in at least a year of loss before we’d show any profit. Or just staying even. Doesn’t leave anything for caregiver salaries. Besides, Mom’s happy with me.”

“Don’t forget I’ve got a building that needs a tenant if you change your mind. Plenty of room for a shop and tearoom.” He swallowed more of his tea. “What about the senior center activities we talked about? That would fill several hours a day.”

Maddie’s smile dimmed. “As the first step toward a nursing home?”

“Nothing of the kind. If Lillian responds to her new medication, she could well enjoy spending time with people her own age.”

“Her friends have been loyal,” Maddie objected. “People stop by fairly often to visit her.”

J.C. studied the obstinate set of her jaw. “But not to visit with you?”

Maddie looked down, fiddling with the dish towel still in her lap. “People my age have young families of their own to take care of.”

A situation he knew only too well.

“It’s difficult for someone who’s never been in this position to understand,” Maddie continued. “I’m sure you’re busy with your work … and it probably consumes most of your time, but I can’t walk away from my mother. It’s not some martyr complex. It’s my choice.”

“And sometimes there isn’t a choice.”

Maddie scrunched her eyes in concentration. “Your niece? Chrissy? You said something about how she was behaving. Is there a problem?”

J.C. explained how he’d come to be his niece’s guardian. “I don’t blame her for acting out. She’s lost everyone she loves.”

Unexpectedly, Maddie covered his hand with hers. “Not quite everyone.”

He stared at her long, slender fingers.

“Dr. Mueller? J.C.?”

“Sorry.” He pulled his gaze back to hers. “Chrissy’s been fighting with some of the girls at school, her grades are slipping.” And she was miserable.

“What about your babysitter? Do they get on well?”

“We’ve been through a parade of sitters and housekeepers. Can’t keep one.”

Concern etched Maddie’s face. “Can I help? She could spend afternoons with us. Does she go to the community church school? We’re in easy walking distance.”

“Don’t have enough on your plate?” J.C. was dumbfounded. Maddie claimed she wasn’t a martyr, but …

“It’s what we do.”

He felt as blank as he must have looked.

“You know, here in Rosewood. She’s a child who needs any help we can give her.”

It was how J.C. had been raised, too. “Maybe from people who have the time. You’re exhausted now. I’m not going to add to that burden.”

The fire in her now stormy-gray eyes was one he remembered. “It’s not a burden. I realize my situation isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. And I have enough energy to spare some for Chrissy.”

She was pretty remarkable, J.C. decided. Even more remarkable—she didn’t seem to realize it.