Calculated Risk (19 page)

He backed out, let Mom drive into the garage, and then returned to the driveway. He collected his suit jacket and got out of the car. “Cisney too wrapped up in her Amish book to go shopping with you?”

Mom joined him outside, gave him an arched-eyebrow look, and headed for the front steps. “I didn't go shopping.” At the stairs, she turned to face him. “Cisney's father had a heart attack. I took her to the airport.”

A battering ram struck his stomach. “Is he all right?”

She climbed the steps. “He was stable when we left for the airport. She promised me she'd text you when she knows more.” She sounded ticked off.

He planted his fists on his hips. “Mom. Stop. Talk to me. You seem angry with me.”

She sat on the top step, and he sat beside her.

“I'm not angry with you. More like miffed. You should have been here for Cisney.”

“How is she?” How much more could Cisney take, with Jason breaking her heart, and then hanging out with her friends? And now her dad having a heart attack?

“She's brave. Dear. Sweet.”

He wished he'd been here. There he went, feeling guilty again. How was he to know Cisney's dad would have a heart attack while he was gone? Mom's appraising gaze suggested she had more bones that needed picking. “OK. What's the real reason you're…miffed…with me?”

“All your secretiveness about business and Dana.”

He took her hand. “I can clear that up for you now.”

“I'd like that, Mr. Smarty-pants.”

“Monday morning I'm calling my boss with my two-weeks notice. I've taken a job with a consulting firm in Charlotte.”

She pulled her fingers from his and planted her hands against her cheeks, her eyes widening. “Oh, Nick, you're coming home.”

“Yep. I'll come down next weekend to look for an apartment in Charlotte.”

Her smile lit up her face. “Having you nearby will be wonderful, honey.” Her expressions sobered. “What does a career change have to do with Dana?”

“There you go again, worrying. Dana set up a lunch interview for me with the senior partner at the consulting firm where she works. But I accepted the offer from my interview today at a different firm.”

She hugged him. “I'm so excited.” She held him at arm's length. “You and Dana are…?”

“Friends. She's engaged.”

Mom beamed. Then she put a finger to her lips and her expression slumped. “Oh…”

“What?”

She eyed him as if she were trying to decide whether she should voice her concern.

“What, Mom?”

She raised her eyebrows. “See how frustrating it is when you don't know what's going on.”

“I didn't want to tell you anything about the interviews, because I didn't want you, Dad, and the rest of the family to be disappointed if things didn't pan out.”

“But disappointment would have been better than all of us thinking things that aren't true.”

Thinking untrue things had to do with their choices, not his, but he wouldn't make that point. “So what's your sudden concern over my new job?”

“Not over the job…I'm afraid Cisney thinks you and Dana are back together.”

 

 

 

13

 

Near Daddy's hospital bed, Cisney peered over Mom's shoulder. “Hi, Daddy.”

Daddy's eyes fluttered open, and he gave them a weak smile.

Never in her life, even when he had the flu, had Cisney seen him look like this—feeble and vulnerable. Her heart sagged, and she wrapped her arms around her unsettled stomach.

OK. So now, after revelations on the way to the airport, she knew her reaction to Daddy's helplessness stemmed from her misplaced allegiance all these years, letting Daddy rule her aspirations instead of God. But the knowledge didn't stop her fear, disappointment, and, if she was honest, disgust, from plunging forth. She squelched the urge to throw out an excuse and leave the room.

“What time is it?” His voice sounded scratchy. “What day?”

Mom squeezed his hand. “It's still Saturday. Six in the evening.”

His lids at half-mast, he shifted his gaze to Cisney. “You made it.”

“I've been here for two hours, Daddy.” Why'd she need to defend herself, make herself look good in his eyes? Old ways died slowly, but how long would it take hers to croak? She refused to go back inside Daddy's birdcage. Couldn't she just love him with no umbilical cords attached?
Please, Lord, help me rise above these unwanted feelings and be a loving—better— daughter.

“Good news, honey,” Mom said. “The doctor said your heart attack was the least serious type.” She turned her head to face Cisney. “What did he call it, again?”

“Unstable angina.”

He gave a weak nod and closed his eyes.

“Honey, Cisney and I are going to get some dinner and call DJ again. We'll be back in about an hour.”

His nod barely moved his head.

In the corridor, Mom put her arm around Cisney's shoulders. “I think he's more tired from all the tests than from the heart attack.”

That sounded reasonable. The tension in Cisney's shoulder muscles lessened.

Mom looked almost as worn out as Daddy. She needed support, too. “The doctor seemed pleased with Daddy's test results so far.”

Mom smiled and led the way to the elevators. “Shall we eat here in the cafeteria?”

“You probably haven't recuperated from your overseas flight. Don't you want to eat out, and then go home for some rest? I'll come back and stay with Daddy.”

“No. The doctor said the first twenty-four hours are most critical. I want to stay until he's made it through that time.”

“OK. Then let's eat here.”

The cafeteria was closed.

While they decided what to do, Mom called DJ and Cisney texted Nick.
Diagnosis unstable angina. Least dangerous attack. Dad sleeping. Thanks for your family's hospitality, kindness.

Nick would be glad he could listen to his seventies doo-wop songs in peace going home tomorrow. Just a hunch, though. The trip would seem longer without their silly banter. Would he stop for a shake halfway home? She typed another text.
Make sure you stop for a milkshake tomorrow.
Her fingers hovered over Send. Keeping up their friendship would make things harder in the long run. She held down the delete key.
Move on, Cisney.

Their contacts made, they decided on snacks from the vending machine. Chips and candy bars. Comfort food. They sat on a nearby bench and held hands while Mom asked the blessing.

Cisney's phone bleeped an incoming text.

Mom opened her bag of chips. “Go ahead and check your text.”

She retrieved her cell from her handbag.
Sorry about your dad.
Wish I'd been here. Praying. Deliver suitcase Sun. evening?

She focused on
Wish I'd been here.
He didn't have to say that, and the uncommunicative Nick never would have. There she went again, reading what she wanted into his words, spinning her fantasies. As her friend, he'd merely wished he'd been there to help.

Deliver suitcase Sun. evening?

Her gaze drifted to a dent in the vending machine. She could see him tomorrow with a few taps of her fingers. But he could bring her suitcase to work on Monday. If Daddy was doing well, she'd need to go into the office for a few hours and work on the presentation with her staff. Delegate some tasks. She directed her thoughts back to
Wish I'd been here.

“I see your little smile.”

Her gaze flashed to Mom's as if she'd been caught with sinful thoughts. “The co-worker I spent Thanksgiving with responded to my message about Daddy. I promised his mother I'd let him know about Daddy's condition.”

“His, him?” Mom's tired eyes sparkled light.

“Yes. Nick. He's an actuary.”

“Is there something you're not telling Daddy and me?” Her eyes softened. “Daddy told me about Jason.”

Mom wasn't like Angela, someone she could dump her highs and lows on.

Daddy would expect Cisney to be strong. If she gushed to Mom about Nick, Daddy might hear about it, and the news might do damage to his ailing heart. “No, he's just a co-worker.”

The spark left Mom's eyes as she extracted another chip from her bag.

Nice. Her holding back had lopped off the last bit of Mom's hope. “I do like him a lot, though.”

Mom looked up, the sparkle returning. Her thin smile encouraged Cisney to go on.

“I don't know if you're familiar with actuaries, but they have a reputation for being extreme analytics, weird, and anti-social. Nick isn't so extreme, but he's nothing like Jason—”

“Good.” Mom said the word emphatically.

Cisney's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened as realization hit. She spoke slowly. “You don't like Jason.”

“Not much.”

“I thought you'd love him. He's so much like Daddy.”

“Cisney, I would miss your dad terribly if he was to die. He's my best friend. But you don't like everything about Angela, do you?”

Cisney shook her head. It irked her that Angela rambled on in meetings.

Mom hesitated then spoke. “Like most young women, I thought I could change the things about your dad I didn't like, so I let him bully me into marrying him. Then I let him browbeat me into forcing his name on DJ. He wasn't honoring a family name. He was putting his stamp on his son.” She looked down toward her lap and smiled. “I liked the name Peter Cameron.” Her gaze returned to Cisney. “I was glad when your brother later insisted on DJ, instead of your dad's choice of Don Jr.”

Big revelation. Mom had opinions. About Daddy. Did she want to hear more of this? It wasn't as if she could cover her ears and utter la-la-la until Mom stopped.

Mom's gaze drifted toward the end of the antiseptic hall. “Your dad and I had some rough first years.” She took a chip from the bag and held it.

Cisney stared at the suspended chip. Daddy's heart attack was unlocking tongues right and left today. Hers. Ellie's. Mom's.

Mom went on. “I came to the Lord about that time, and made a choice to love my husband with the Lord's help. And I do love him. Do you understand what I'm getting at?”

Cisney lifted her gaze to Mom's. She did want to hear more. Being an ear for Mom was important, and for her own healing, she needed to listen. “I think so.”

“Cisney, I haven't been the best mother to you, but I've watched you and hoped and prayed you'd be all right. I was afraid to upset the apple cart, but now I think it's more important to be honest. So, I'm going to tell you what I see, and maybe you can pray about it. It might help you in some way.”

Cisney dropped a chip back into her bag. She searched Mom's eyes. Was Mom going to tell her what was wrong with her character? Hearing her flaws from Jason was bad enough. But from Mom?

Mom took Cisney's now trembling hand in hers. “I'm going to say this as simply as I can.” She hesitated. “Daddy raised you to be like him and to marry someone like him. He can't have both. And I've watched you struggle with this dichotomy for too long. You've worked so hard trying to be like him and at the same time do what pleases him. Do you honestly think Daddy could be married to Daddy?” She tugged her lips into a thin smile and rolled her eyes.

Daddy marrying Daddy? An analogy for disaster.

Mom tapped Cisney's hand with her finger. “The good news is that you didn't turn out like him, as planned. And my prayer is that you will marry for love, Cisney. That you find a Christian man whom you choose for all the right reasons God has stored in your heart.” She scrunched her chip bag and dropped it into the trash receptacle next to the bench. “I'm truly sorry I didn't speak up sooner.”

“Mom, stop berating yourself. You gave me what I needed most. An introduction to Jesus.”

Mom's smile untapped Cisney's emotions. Could she spit out what she wanted to say without bawling? She swallowed hard. “I think the Lord planned this whole holiday, Mom.” Her voice quavered. “I think Jesus has been working in all our hearts, even Daddy's.”

“I'm praying that's so.” Mom reached up and brushed Cisney's bangs from her forehead. Her hand froze. “How did you get that awful bruise?”

 

****

 

Cisney unlocked the door to her apartment, dragged herself inside, and plopped her keys onto the kitchen counter. If she felt like this, how did Mom feel at age fifty-three?

Scrunched in hospital waiting room chairs, they'd gotten only snippets of sleep through the night. This Sunday had been the longest she could remember, even without church on the schedule. At least, they all could breathe easier.

Daddy looked better and had garnered some orneriness.

The kitchen clock read minutes before six. Every muscle, except her stomach muscles, which growled for food, begged her to forget cooking. She dropped two frozen slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.

What would Mom eat? She'd ordered Cisney home, promising to leave Daddy's bedside soon. Who was she fooling? Soon meant eight-thirty, when visiting hours were over.

Cisney spread peanut butter and jelly on the toast and replayed this morning's coup. When Daddy mentioned Jason, she'd kissed his forehead, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I believe it's time I run my own love life, Daddy.” His injured look stung, and she'd almost caved and hired him as her lifetime matchmaker and manager, but when he saw she wasn't budging, he'd chuckled and said, “That's my girl.”

She pumped her arm. “Yes!” Why hadn't she respectfully put her foot down a long time ago? Sometimes a bully needed to see his victim's backbone, before he changed his attitude and became a supportive friend. Like Robin Hood and Little John. Would Daddy become her Little John? There she went again, spinning her fairytales.