Derailed (33 page)

“Oh yes, to get my box of pictures and papers from the basement. But . . .” A sad frown clouded her face. “. . . we couldn't find it. Don't know what happened to it. It was down there the last time I looked.”

“Well, we have some good news for you. We found it.” Estelle beamed as she nodded to me. “Harry.”

“Is this what you were looking for?” I picked up the box and put it on the floor in front of Mattie, then knelt down and pulled open the lid. “It got moved out to the garage attic before you came, and no one remembered it was up there. We just found it the other day.”

Mattie leaned forward to look and then clasped her hands to her withered cheeks. “Yes! Yes! . . . That's our wedding picture. Oh, my. Wilhelm and I were only nineteen.” She chuckled. “Both our parents didn't think we'd last, but we did, fifty-one years.”

I stood up and sat down on the edge of the bed while Estelle kneeled down and went through the pictures and keepsakes with the old woman. Mattie had a story for each one, and Estelle listened
tirelessly. I watched them, regretting my previous impatience. Estelle was so good with elderly people. I felt a renewed pang of loss. Would've been so nice if Mom could've lived downstairs and enjoyed the support of my caring wife.

Mattie's stories rambled on and on. I began to wish we'd accepted that offer of folding chairs when a bell chimed somewhere out in the hall.

“Oh.” Mattie sat up, eyes wide. “That's the lunch bell.” She pointed to her roommate who'd been glued to the soap she was watching the entire time we'd been there. “She can't get out of bed, but I'm up and around now. Would you like to come downstairs and have lunch with me? I can have two guests a month, no extra charge.” She made a sour face. “But the food's not very good.”

Estelle stood up with a groan over stiff joints. “Maybe some other time, Mattie. It's been so nice seeing you. Glad you've got your box now. Oh, by the way, we have another box out in the car. Has some hats in it. We'll bring it in before we go.”

“Hats? I don't remember any hats. Maybe they belonged to someone else.”

“We'll bring 'em in anyway, and if you don't want them, maybe someone else here would enjoy them.”

Couldn't imagine anyone wanting those flowery things, but I kept my mouth shut.

Mattie rose slowly from her chair, steadying herself a moment by hanging on to it until she grabbed her cane hanging on the back. She raised it, pointing toward the door. “Don't really need this any longer, but around here, they make me carry it for safety. When I get home, I'm gonna retire it.”

We accompanied her down the grumbling elevator. I ran out and brought back the box of hats. Then we said our good-byes, and left to grab something to eat at a Subway before heading back into the city.

We'd been cruising east on I-90 for fifteen minutes, lost in our own thoughts until I said, “She sure is countin' on returnin' to her old place.”

“Yeah, sounds like all her memories are tied up there. Kind of a sweet nostalgia.”

“Kinda sad, if you ask me. She's living for this fantasy.”

We rode on in silence for another mile or so when out of the corner of my eye I saw Estelle lean forward and turn to me. “Harry, maybe it doesn't have to be a fantasy.”

“What? Whaddaya mean?”

“Well, we have to do
something
with that apartment. I don't know what her finances are, but what if she could move back in?”

“Estelle! She couldn't make her payments before; what makes you think she could afford rent now?”

Estelle leaned back. “I don't know. It just seemed like . . . like it might be a God thing, ya know. Like he might bring her home to spend her final days.”

“Yeah, but you're . . .” I stopped myself from accusing Estelle of getting caught up in the fantasy. I loved her for the soft heart she had for elderly people, and I didn't want to crush that. “I just don't think it's practical,” I continued. “But you're right, we do need to put it on the market soon. With Mom's passin' and all, we just haven't had time.”

“You're probably right.” Her voice trailed off.

But the disappointment in her voice got to me. It was a crazy idea. It would've meant another jerk around in my life. The old lady had to move out because she couldn't make her mortgage, so now she was gonna move back in? Nah! Wasn't gonna happen.
But
 . . . a thought whispered in the back of my mind . . . 
wouldn't that be just like God?

Arrgh! Just give me a
straight
path, okay God?
Besides . . . “Besides, Estelle,” I said much too forcefully, “what about Rodney?”

My wife gave me an odd look. “Rodney? What about him?”

“Where would he go?”

“I don't know. You weren't thinkin' . . . Harry, we never promised him anything. In fact, at one point you were real clear that he couldn't even come.”

I sighed. “I know, but . . . where's he gonna go? He's doin' good. Got a job. I'm thinkin' maybe it's not right to kick him out on the street.”

“Of course not, Harry. I'm not sayin' kick him out. But he's grown. Don't you think we should at least raise the question of what's next?”

“All right. We'll ask him, but I don't want it to come across like we're tryin' to get rid of him. Been thinkin' 'bout how I wasn't there for him all those years. And now, when he's tryin' to do good, maybe the best thing would be for him to stay in that apartment where he's close to DaShawn—gotta think about him too, ya know. And we'd be right there to lend support and give him . . . give him—”

“Some free meals,” Estelle offered, and we both broke into a hearty laugh, relieving the tension that had arisen.

“Ha. Remember that ol' cigarette ad, ‘I'd walk a mile for a Camel'? Well, you can bet Rodney'd walk a mile—or more—for a little of your cookin'. We all would!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But seriously, Harry, with his job, he could get his own place.”

“Or pay for the apartment downstairs.”

“On what he makes?”

I shrugged. “Well, we were gonna give my mother a break on the rent, charge her just enough to help us meet our mortgage. Why not give Rodney a similar deal?”

Estelle waited a moment as an airliner zoomed low over us and touched down at O'Hare Airport. Then . . . “You're serious, aren't you? Well, I'd be open to that
if
it's the right thing to do. But what we need right now is a little guidance from the Lord.”

“Now, that would be great.” The cynicism in my voice surprised me. “What I mean is . . .”

“Well, what
do
you mean?”

“I don't know.” Maybe I needed to exercise trust.

But before I could say more, Estelle said, “Well, can we pray about it?”

“Oh, sure. That'd be good . . . but would you pray?”

I didn't know whether she was peeved at me or just collecting her thoughts, but after several moments, she began in a soft voice. “Father God, we thank you for how good you've been to us. We
thank you for the beautiful home you've given us. And we want to use it to your glory. We don't know whether that space downstairs should be Rodney's or someone else's. But most of all we want your will. We want it to be used for your glory. And, Lord, we thank you for the good things that are happening with Rodney, and we pray that they continue. Don't let him fall back into his old life. Plant his feet on the solid Rock, Jesus, and you are that Rock. Bring him to you. We're askin' this in the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.”

Estelle's prayer touched me. Whether Rodney lived downstairs or in some other apartment, the good things happening in his life might not last without a relationship with Jesus. I knew that's what he needed, just like I'd needed it. Lately, I'd been blaming God for derailing all my plans. But Estelle's prayer reminded me that it wasn't all about me.

I felt a sudden swell of love for my wife. Estelle always seemed to raise me up to be more than I'd be otherwise. That's how it'd been from the time we first met. It's how I knew she was the one for me. She saw me as the man God intended me to be and made me want to be that man—for her, for my family, for God.

I slowed for the tollbooth, but when I got back up to speed and had merged into the traffic, I prayed too. “Yes, Lord. We both want what's best for Rodney. Please guide us . . . and I wanna thank you for my dear wife.” I started to choke up but managed one more. “Thank you.”

I'm one of those don't-rock-the-boat guys.
Even if something needs attention, I'm liable to avoid a socially awkward encounter if the status quo is more or less copacetic and likely to remain that way. But if something's hanging fire that might blow us out of the water, I'm all over it. That evening, as we sat around the supper table while Estelle served some leftover apple crisp she'd brought home from the shelter, I looked for an opportunity to settle our future.

“Hey Gramma,” DaShawn said, “can I have some ice cream on my apple crisp?”

“All we have left is rocky road.”

“Works for me.”

Estelle put DaShawn's dish down in front of him. “Anyone else?”

By the time Rodney and I had opted in, DaShawn had finished his and was getting up from the table.

“Uh, DaShawn, where you headed so fast?”

“Shoot some hoops with Tavis.”

“Hang on a bit. We got some family business . . .” I stopped myself. Perhaps this discussion was best had with Rodney alone. “That's okay. Go have a good time.”

“Thanks, Pops.” He carried his dishes to the sink, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher. “See y'all later.”

“So, what's this about?” Rodney asked as soon as DaShawn had rumbled down the back stairs.

I glanced at Estelle as she put her first bite of ice cream in her mouth. “Well, with Mom's passin', we've all been busy the last couple
weeks, but with the downstairs apartment now finished—thanks to you—we need to make some decisions about its use.” I eyed Rodney to gauge his reaction, but he continued to calmly scoop the last of his apple crisp from his bowl.

“Anyway, Estelle and I were talkin' earlier today as we drove back from Elgin, realizin' with your new job, it's only right to ask whether you'd be interested in renting the first-floor apartment. 'Course, we don't know how much you're makin' or anything, but we're willin' to discuss it if that's something you'd want.”

Rodney slid his chair back from the table with slow deliberateness, leaned back, and crossed his arms as though he were contemplating the origins of the universe. “Well, ya know, I been thinkin' on that myself. First off . . .” He looked me in the eye with genuine warmth. “I really appreciate you askin'. I appreciate being able to stay here while I got my feet back under me . . . and of course, your cookin', Estelle. And nothin's been more important to me than gettin' to know my son again. He's becomin' a fine young man—”

“And you've been very easy to have around,” added Estelle, nodding her head.

“Thanks. But uh . . . I've been thinkin' about another option. Grandma's apartment's still there, and it's a little smaller, more my size, 'specially since I don't make all that much. Maybe I could take over her lease. Think the manager would go for that?”

I thought Rodney would jump at the chance to rent the downstairs apartment. “If it's the money, we'd be willing to talk—”

“Appreciate that, Dad, but there's also all of Grandma's stuff—not my style.” He frowned. “And some of it's fallin' apart, but if we could clean out her old clothes and take back the dishes and stuff, I could get by. I obviously don't have the cash to furnish a crib right now. So that'd help me out big time. And if I didn't have to come up with a security deposit, that'd be even better.”

I glanced at Estelle. If Rodney needed furnishings, we could certainly let him bring Mom's stuff over here—he must've known that—and waiving the security deposit seemed only right within the family. Maybe he had a deeper motive for wanting a little distance.

I found my voice. “Just outta curiosity, Rodney, if we could work everything out for you to be here, would you still rather have Mom's old place?”

“Well, yeah. I think so. You've done so much for me. I wouldn't want to be beholdin'.”

“But if we could work it all out . . . why would you go there?”

He squirmed. “Well, like I said, less money, hopefully no security deposit, and it's furnished—if you can call it that.” He laughed sheepishly, and then his face sobered, and he looked at me with a steady gaze. “But . . . I guess there is one more thing. I know you don't like Donita. I don't really trust her either, but she's tryin', and she's been after me every opportunity she gets to give her a chance.”

Donita!

Estelle saved me from saying something I'd later regret by leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “So you think you'd have a better chance gettin' back together with her if you had a space that was more your own?”

“Yeah. Guess that's about it. Dad's made it real clear she's not to set foot in this place.” He looked at me.

He better believe it, and I wasn't about to back down.

“And I respect that,” Rodney hastened to add. “If anything's gonna happen, I'm the one who should be takin' the risk. I ain't fixin' to put that on y'all and especially not on DaShawn.”

That was the first sane thing he'd said on the subject.

His face hardened. “Whatever goes down, I don't want DaShawn in the middle of it. I know that at the very least we're gonna need some time—and space—to get a whole lot of things straightened out . . . and we may never succeed—”