Disaster Status (21 page)

She shifted her weight, her running shoes sinking into the sand as she scanned the darkening ocean. It seemed impossible that she’d stood in this same spot with Scott this morning; that he’d emerged from the sea and wrapped his arms around her. Kissed her and joked that
“You were nowhere in my books. But I’m beginning to think that could be a good thing.”
It had been wonderful and hopeful, but now . . .

Erin tried to blot out the pain of holding Cody as he’d cried this afternoon. It tore her heart apart to see him watching that door, waiting for his uncle. He’d pretended the broken promise didn’t hurt. But she knew it did. She’d felt that way herself far too many times. That awful Christmas, the night of the father-daughter dance . . . too many times before and after. How could Scott expect her to accept that his career plans justified that kind of pain for Cody? that anything took more priority than love of family and faith in God?

“You were nowhere in my books.”
She nearly groaned at the irony. Scott McKenna would never be on the same page as she was. Because they were following different books. Her book would take her to church with her grandmother Sunday morning, would help her write a new prayer to support her coworkers at Faith QD. The same book brought her to Pacific Point to help her grandmother. It was the reason she was here. Scott’s book—full of spreadsheets and policies and career ambitions—would take him to Portland. Away from his family . . .
and me.
She’d met men like that before. The first one she’d ever loved broke her heart and had just moved back in with her mother. How could they all be so foolish? Her mother, her sister . . . all of them. Again. She swiped at her eyes, refusing to give in to tears.

“Please, Lord,” she whispered, lifting her gaze to the sky, “help me stay strong when everyone around me is so weak. You know how hard I’m trying to make things right, to protect Nana and my family. You know I’m tough, but I need you to help me. Don’t let me make the wrong decisions. Keep me strong. I need your help.”

She stood still for a moment, letting the breeze sift through her hair, then turned and glanced up the wall toward the sound of soft tinkling. Annie’s sea glass mobiles. She squinted in the deepening dusk. Arlo stood on the porch with a few of the young people from the beach crowd. Listening probably. Annie said it was his gift. For some reason, it made Erin think of her grandmother, sitting on her garden bench each day with her Bible open beside her. Eyes closed, face lifted . . . listening with the ear of her heart.

She was struck by a breath-catching wave of homesickness, zipped her jacket, and headed back toward the beach house. She could hardly wait to get there. Nana would understand everything. She counted on that.

+++

Sarge took a throat-scalding swallow of vodka, set the glass on the cluttered dresser, then limped to the closet. He slid the cheap, plastic hangers along the rod, searching through his meager clothing: two sets of tan scrubs, the frayed cotton robe he’d taken from the VA hospital, a wrestling team jacket, half a dozen shirts he’d picked up at a Sears clearance sale . . . the sport coat he’d worn to church that last Christmas Eve with his wife and son. He couldn’t start thinking about that. He had to find . . . He grabbed a fistful of hangers, dropped them to the floor, then peered into the darkness toward the back corner.
Where the—?

There. He hadn’t seen it since he’d last moved. But he’d never have lost it. He pulled the Army fatigues from the hanger, his stomach tensing at the feel of fabric in his hands. He laid them carefully on the unmade bed, took another swig from the grimy glass, and lurched toward the bathroom. One more thing left to do.

He checked the equipment he’d smuggled from the OR: scissors, electric clippers. They’d do the trick. He’d look the part as he made up for the past. For all that had happened way back, when . . . A wave of nausea made him clutch his belly as the images returned. The tents, the desert sand . . . children’s sad, lifeless faces. He swallowed hard and stood upright, back rigid and shoulders squared. At full attention. For one last mercy mission.

Sarge raised the scissors, slid it against his scalp, snipped hard . . . and then dropped his ponytail into the toilet.

+++

“Rich?”

“No. It’s me,” Scott mumbled, squinting at his nephew in the darkness. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was trying to get comfortable in this chair.”

“That’s okay. Has the night nurse been here yet?”

“I haven’t seen anyone in a while.” He checked his lit watch—2 a.m. “Maybe they came in while I was asleep.”

Cody raised himself on his elbows, blue eyes luminous as he looked at the bedside table. “He hasn’t come. I can always tell by the water bottles. He brings fresh ones.” He turned toward the shadowy doorway, and the night-light illuminated his blond curls, so like Colleen’s that Scott’s chest constricted.

“Maybe it’s his night off.”

“No. He’s always here.”

“No one works seven days a week.”
Except me, lately.

“It sure seems like it. He brings the water or books. Or sometimes we just talk. Well, mostly he listens. I talk.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott tried to ignore a wave of regret. He and Cody used to talk a lot more.

“Yeah. You know, I tell him about my homework. Or about how I used to play soccer or how funny it was when Great-grandpa was teaching Jonah to yodel. And . . . about Mom sometimes.”

Scott’s heart wedged into his throat.
You’ve never talked about her with me.

“Anyway, he’ll be here. You’ll meet him.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Grace, peace, grace
. . .

Eyes closed, Iris inhaled slowly, ended her quiet time, and welcomed the morning with all her senses—the texture of the sun-warmed wooden bench, scents of salty air and sweet narcissus, twitters of a house wren, and the lingering taste of vanilla coffee. Gratitude filled her.
Grace, peace
—

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of clattering in the kitchen beyond. Erin. She closed her Bible and set it on the tile-topped table. After her granddaughter’s mood last night . . .
Father, give me strength.
For long-term peace, Iris was willing to risk this fray.

“Nana?”

“I’m out here.” She raised her cup. “Bring the carafe and join me.”

Even if Iris hadn’t heard her during the night, she’d have known Erin slept fitfully the instant she saw her. She was still dressed in her running clothes from the night before, hair tumbled, eyes red-rimmed and smudged faintly with mascara. She filled Iris’s coffee cup, poured her own, and then sighed and sank onto the bench beside her. The scent of vanilla steam wafted between them.

“I’m sorry,” Erin said, peering over the rim of her cup. “Maybe you should go to that garden tour without me. I’ll never get myself together in time.”

“No, they’re holding it tomorrow too. Right now I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” Iris pursed her lips for a moment. “No messages from Scott?”

“I wasn’t expecting any.” Erin lifted her chin, the streaky mascara making her look like a tough little clown telling a sad lie. “But I got three more texts from Deb. And an e-mail from Mom. You know what that’s all about.”

Iris nodded. “But you still don’t think you should call Scott?”

Her granddaughter moaned. “Are you going to start this again? I told you all that because I thought you’d understand.”

“All he asked was that you listen.”

“To what? His plans to move away? How this new career opportunity is so important that nothing else matters?” She stared into Iris’s eyes. “You can’t imagine how awful it was to see Cody watching for him, waiting and waiting. And see him cry like that, and—”

“Yes, I can. Because I did it. Over and over.” Iris gently grasped her granddaughter’s chin. “With you.”

“This isn’t about Dad.”

“Isn’t it?”

Erin pulled away but not before Iris saw pain and familiar anger in her eyes.
Please, Father . . . strength.

“I don’t get it,” Erin said. “Mom is your daughter. You know how many times Dad broke his promises. To her, to us, to everyone. You know how many times he left us waiting and watching and . . . hoping.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “You know how much it hurt me.”

Iris took hold of her granddaughter’s hand. “Of course I know. I was there, darling. And here in this house, all those summers.”

“Then how can you expect me to give him another chance, to listen to what he has to say now? or to what Scott has to say? How am I supposed to believe that any of that would be the truth?” She shook her head. “I thought you’d understand. All I’ve ever wanted was what
you
had. It was everything . . . everything right. That’s why I changed my name to yours; that’s why I came here all those summers. To be part of what you and Grandy had, to be where everything was always happy, and—”

“Don’t!” The word came out sharper than she’d intended, and she winced at the look on Erin’s face. “I’m sorry. I only meant that I can’t let you hold me up like some paragon of virtue. I’m afraid I’ve made it harder for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Iris took a slow breath. “I let you run away from your parents and run to us. Maybe I even encouraged it. So I could protect you, comfort you, dry your tears, and bandage your fingertips. All because I loved you.”

“I know that, and I’m grateful. It was exactly what I needed.”

“I don’t think so anymore. I think what you needed was a grandmother who helped you face your problems, not run away from them. You needed to learn that people, especially family, can be flawed and fallible and that they make mistakes. Hurt each other. And need . . . forgiveness.” Iris expected the look she saw on Erin’s face. It only proved she needed to tell her everything. No matter how hard it was.

“Are you saying you think Mom’s right to take him back? that she should forgive him?”

Iris nodded.

“But how can you say that? After the kind of marriage you had, the kind of man Grandy was?”

“Because of that. Because your grandfather was the dearest man alive and our marriage was a blessing.” Iris forced herself to look directly into Erin’s eyes. “But mostly because it was only an act of forgiveness that kept us together. I nearly lost it all.”

“Lost it?”

“My marriage. My husband.”

“I still don’t understand. I . . .” Erin’s eyes widened. “Wait, do you mean . . . ? No, I can’t believe this. Are you saying Grandy was unfaithful to you?”

“Not your grandfather,” Iris whispered. “I was the one.”

+++

Erin’s breath caught, and she let go of her grandmother’s hand. “What?”

“It’s true. I wish it weren’t. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this now.” Her grandmother shook her head. “Right here, where you used to dress in that costume and wave your Lasso of Truth. I’m finally giving it to you. I hurt your grandfather terribly. I made a selfish, awful mistake that I’ll always regret, but—”

Erin clutched the edge of the wooden bench. “I don’t want to hear this. I can’t.”

“I know you don’t want to, but you need to.”

A splinter pierced Erin’s fingertip and she flinched. She stared at her grandmother, a confusing snarl of anger making her stomach churn again. “Why? So you can take away the last hope I have about honesty, family loyalty . . . lasting love?” She choked and her eyes blurred with tears. “How can you do this to me right now?”

“Oh, Erin,” her grandmother groaned softly. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you; can’t you see that? I’m trying to give you something I should have given you a long time ago. My own experience with grace. That’s where our real hope is. Your grandfather’s forgiveness after I told him—”

Erin stood up, shivering. “I’m s-sorry. But I need to go. Take a run or . . . go out awhile.”
God, keep me strong . . . oh, please.

Her grandmother reached for her hand. “Sit back down. A few minutes more, that’s all. I want to explain things. Will you please just listen?”

Erin rubbed her arms but the shivering continued. “I can’t. This . . . and Dad, Scott, everything . . . it’s too much right now. Maybe later. I don’t know.” She took a step away, then turned back. “Can I ask one thing, though?”

“Anything,” her grandmother answered, pulling her Bible onto her lap.

“When did you tell Grandy?” She steeled herself, knowing any answer made it real.

Tears brimmed in her grandmother’s eyes. “That summer you were working on the stained glass. The day he won Elmer at the county fair.”

Erin stopped in the kitchen to grab her purse, then hurried out, head down, before she could imagine her grandparents dancing there in each other’s arms.

+++

“You look beat, Scotty.”

Scott ran his fingers across his beard growth, then looked across the cafeteria table at his grandfather. “I’m okay. Thanks for insisting on this breakfast. I missed dinner last night. All I had was the granola bar a housekeeper brought for Cody.”

His grandfather studied him for a moment, and Scott noticed—with a pang of sadness—how much older he seemed lately. “Was it worth it?”

“The granola?”

“The trip to San Jose. Your meetings at the fire departments.” He rubbed a fingertip across his little dog’s head. “Was it all you’d hoped it would be?”

Scott hesitated, remembering Erin’s reaction to his news, then pushed the memory aside. “Actually, I had some even better news, and I’m still trying to take it all in, but they’re offering me the position in Portland. Chief of emergency medical services. I’m flying up there Sunday afternoon so we can finalize things Monday morning. After that, I’ll tell the rest of the family. The fact is, there’s no real opportunity for career advancement here in Pacific Point. Not for several years, anyway. And you know how important that is to me.”

“I do,” his grandfather said, lips tugging toward a smile that did nothing to change the look in his eyes. “You’ve worked toward this for a long time. You must be thrilled. Congratulations.” He reached across the table and gave Scott’s forearm a firm squeeze.

“Thank you. I didn’t think it was going to happen. But . . . they’d want me to start in three weeks. Move there.” The concern in his grandfather’s eyes deepened. Scott wasn’t imagining it. His stomach twisted. “Do you think Cody and Mom and Gary will be . . . more settled by then?”

“Hard to say. I suppose that depends on the outcome of this new therapy.” His grandfather checked his watch. “The ambulance is coming at one; is that what you heard?”

“Between one and one thirty. How much time should we give Iris for her visit?”

His grandfather shook his head, a sudden smile erasing the concern in his eyes. “She promised to show Cody that geriatric goldfish of hers. And that grand lady keeps her word.”

Scott nodded. He’d been surprised by her arrival, pushing a cart topped by an oversize fish bowl. “Erin didn’t mention that her grandmother had been visiting Cody.”

His grandfather tickled Jonah’s ear. “She doesn’t know. Apparently Erin has strong opinions about what her grandmother should and shouldn’t do. All well intentioned, I’m sure, but—”

“A complete pain in the backside nevertheless,” Scott interjected with a groan. “I’ve been the bull’s eye for a few of her opinions recently. According to Erin, I’m not the kind of man who can be counted on.” His heart cramped unexpectedly.

His grandfather stayed silent, but he held Scott’s gaze.

“She thinks that if I move to Portland, I’ll be letting Cody down. And Mom and Gary, you too.” Scott glanced down at his plate, suddenly finding it uncomfortable to meet his grandfather’s gaze. “She had some issues with her father. Still does. That woman’s a lot faster with a right hook than forgiveness. Trust me.”

Jonah gave a yawn that ended in a soft yodel. Scott chuckled, his tension diffusing.

“You like her a lot.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Scott sighed, unable to deny how much he already missed Erin—and how important her opinion of him felt. “I’ve never met anyone like her. But I don’t know if she wants to be with me. I thought she did, but now I’m not sure. She’s got these expectations, these values . . . and it’s clear she doesn’t think I measure up.” He caught his grandfather’s gaze again and made himself ask, “What do you think? Is she right?”

His grandfather was quiet for a moment, regarding Scott with a look that made him feel both loved . . . and around eight years old. His throat tightened, and for some reason he remembered standing in the cemetery beside him amid an endless sea of blue uniforms. And listening to the mournful sound of bagpipes.

“I think,” he said finally, “you’ll need to answer that one. How do you see yourself measuring up? And more importantly what do you measure yourself against? That’s where you’ll find your answer.”

+++

Leigh set her stethoscope on the office desk and picked up her knitting, glad for the break in the morning’s patient load. It was nearing 10 a.m., so food had likely become more of a priority than aches and pains. Or pinkeye.

She shook her head; her last patient—after missing three days of work for an itching eye—insisted she see someone else first so he could finish his Egg McMuffin. Then left a trail of ketchup-soaked hash browns across the exam room floor when he left. Judy had grumbled aplenty, but Leigh was grateful it wasn’t anything more challenging. Fast-food spills were a blessing in the wake of their pesticide disaster, and ketchup was her preferred shade of red in the trauma room today.

She wasn’t up for drama. She’d slept only a scant few hours last night, and most of those were filled with confusing dreams. One of Charlene Bailey’s funeral, family praying beside a casket covered with blossoming lemon branches—Leigh on her knees, sobbing. And Charlene’s police officer son holding his infant child. Then he’d somehow turned into Nick, wearing his uniform, pleading with Leigh, dark eyes intense.
“You’re wrong, wrong. . . . You can’t bury this. I won’t let you.”

She dropped a stitch, picked it up again, her pulse quickening at the memory of the dream. It had to have been spurred by her appointment with the divorce attorney Monday. Or the e-mail from Nick:
Wait, please. We’ll talk. I’m making that happen.

It almost sounded as if he knew about her appointment with the attorney. She’d only told Erin, but . . . “Law enforcement is a brotherhood. We watch each other’s backs,” he’d told her. Over the years she learned it was true. Cops knew attorneys, firefighters, and medical people; it was a tight, interconnected world.