Rachel Van Dyken (6 page)

Blaine
wasn’t expecting to be overwhelmed with emotion when he
stepp
ed
through
the back door of the old house. The familiar
staleness
of his father’s cigarette smoke still clung to the
walls, and the odor raked through his memory, dredging up the old loneliness
and hurt
.

This was the same screen door he had slammed the last time he was here. His father wasn’t home at the time, but he had slammed it nonetheless. Perhaps as a statement to that dark chapter of his life. He had wanted it to be over, never to rear its ugly head again. But here he was, and the past was still alive in this place… haunting him here in the present.

An oppressive heaviness settled back into his heart as if it had been here
all along,
waiting for him to return.
He closed his eyes and swallowed back the thick emotion lurking in his throat.

Then he noticed her. She was sitting at the table with her back to him. Her shoulders, draped with wavy dark hair, seemed to tremble almost imperceptibly. He realized she hadn’t heard him come in and was unaware of his presence.

Who was she, and what was
s
he doing in his father’s house
,
s
itting at his table as if she owned the place
?
His breath caught in his throat as a thought struck him – maybe his father no longer lived here – or perhaps
,
was
he was already too late
?

He peered frantically around the kitchen to find something, anything,
which
would answer his questions. But
n
othing
was
out of place. Everything preserved in the exact position
it had been when
he left. Blaine exhaled a silent sigh of relief and turned his gaze back on the unfamiliar woman sitting in his mother’s chair.

Was she yet another example of his father’s disrespect for his mother’s memory?
Dirty old man. She’s far too young for him.
But his father was dying. What sense did it make? He stood and observed her
in silence
for a moment, trying to decide how she fit into his personal nightmare.

It took him by surprise w
hen she spoke. “I’m going to miss you.” Her voice was thick with
regre
t and grief.

So
,
there was
the
connection to his father, and here she was mourning her inevitable loss.

Regardless, she didn’t belong in his mother’s chair. “Odd. I wasn’t aware we were acquainted,” he intoned
, his voice dripping with sarcasm
, aware he was startling the trespassing woman.

She turned abruptly and stood. The full sight of her stole his breath momentarily, but Blaine was a master of disguising his own emotions, so she would never know the effect she had had on him in that first fleeting instant. Her eyes scanned him intensely, and she seemed to be comparing him to something she held in her hand, a scrap of paper, yellow with age. Amidst her double and triple takes she began to stutter, “You’re…
Y
ou’re…”

“Blaine Graham,” he finished for her out of sheer impatience.
She stared at him with her mouth agape as if seeing a ghost.
When she began to waver, he was certain she would faint and stepped forward just in time to break her fall, catching her against his chest.

Blaine swept her limp form up in his arms, and
paced
into the living room
,
deliver
ing her to his mother’s sofa in four long strides
.
He laid her down gently and positioned a small pillow under her head, then sat back onto the coffee table
and stared at her.

“Mara?” The old man’s voice was gravelly and broken, a mere shadow of what i
t had been. Blaine stood abruptly,
glower
ing in the direction of the stairs leading to his father’s room.
His heart leapt up into his throat, and sweat dampened the sandy blond hair hanging over his forehead.
He wiped his clammy palms down the side of his faded blue jeans and glanced back at the woman on the sofa
.

She was stirring now
and her soft moan recaptured his attention.
When s
he sat up
and
appeared dazed
, he offered her his hand
, whispering,
“Are you Mara?”

Ma
ra nodded as she took his hand and
pulled herself
to her
unsteady
feet. “
H
e’s calling for you.”

Sudden realization seemed to register in her eyes
and she shook her head as if to clear the haze
. “Oh! Your father! He needs to know you’re here! You should go up
! Come with me; I’ll take you
.”

“
Wait a minute.
I’m… I’m not ready. I
’d like to get settled first – I’ll
just put my things in my room
, then we can talk about how to proceed
.” Blaine gazed straight into her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t
recognize
his fear.

“Oh.” Her disappointment was evident. He turned to go back into the kitchen. “Captain Graham?”

He spun on his heel to face her again. “Yes?”

“I’m… um, I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve been staying in your room.
” He glared at her, allowing his indignation to reflect in his glacial stare. “It’s just that it’s close to his, and sometimes he needs me during the night.”

A slow, meaningful smirk rippled across his lips. “Of course he does.”

Then it was her turn to glare. Fire leapt into her dark eyes, and her mouth clamped shut as if she were biting back the ur
ge to rip him to shreds with an
envenomed
speech
.

His smirk disappeared. “Fine. Tell me then, Miss
–?”

“Crawford.
Mrs.
Crawford.”

“Oh, pardon me.
Mrs.
Crawford.
Are there any special
re
-
commissions
I should know about for my
mother’s
sewing room
? The room
off the kitchen?
”

She shook her head
sternly
, her anger evidently tying her tongue.

“Good. I’ll take that. I trust I’ll be well out of your way there.”
With that he stalked back into the kitchen and out the back door to where he had left his suitcase.

****

Mara glared as she watched Blaine’s disappearing form. She was half tempted to throw something at him when the screen door slammed behind him. A stifled curse was heard through the door. Obviously he wasn’t in the right
frame of
mind to see his father
right now
. And had he just accused her of being something other than David’s nurse?

Anger anew welled up within her as she stomped her way back up the stairs into David’s room. “Time for your medicine
,
”
s
he s
aid
,
ignoring his pleading eyes.

David looked around her towards the door, then back at her face
.
“Who’s downstairs?”

“The d
evil
,
”
s
he answered
,
smiling as she poured the pink liquid into the glass in her hand. “Open up now
, Mr. Graham
.”

Frowning, he shook his head
.
“Not before you tell me who you were talking to
.
D
id they give you trouble
,
my girl? I know I’m getting weak
,
but I still got my guns locked up over there.” He pointed to the closet, his brow knitted in frustration.

Mara sighed and sat on the bed. David’s anxious look made her irritation with Blaine unbearable. How could he be so insensitive? His father was dying! And he was upset
about her staying in his room?

She opened her mouth to explain but didn’t have to use words. Small tears pooled at the corner of David’s eyes as he grabbed her by the shoulde
rs. “He’s home?
Blaine is home?”

“Yes. Yes, he’s here. He’s downstairs. But –”

“Is he coming up? Did you tell him where I was?”
Anticipation invigorated him, and he sat forward in expectation.

“
Mr. Graham,
I had a few words with him. It might not be the way you were hoping it would be.”

“He’s here. Right? That’s half the battle.”

“Yes. I suppose it is. But I hate to see you get hurt.”

“H
e’s hurt. I did that. Until he’s ready, there’s nothing we can do but pray for him.”

Mara knew he was right, but she couldn’t help but feel protective of her patient.
Eve
n the brief emotional expenditure
took a toll on him
,
and
exhaustion
seemed
to overtake him.

“I think you should rest awhile. I’ll make some lunch and clean up a little downstairs.”

“Don’t worry, Mara. Have faith. He’ll come around.”

She wished she could be so sure.
This was a switch. Usually it was Mara telling David to ‘have faith, everything will be fine.’ Mara adjusted David’s pillows and turned out the light
and went back downstairs.

****

Blaine cursed
again as he carried his suitcase
into the
small
room
off the kitchen.
There was an old cot
folded and leaning
in the corner. It probably hadn’t been used in close to twelve years. The room itself had been used mainly as storage
after
his
mother had passed away. He figured
his father had rarely set foot in there
si
nce
then.

The case dropped with a loud clatter on the wood floor, and Blaine grabbed the cot and set to work putting it up against the far wall. The joints were stiff, and they squeaked as he forced them into position. After spending five years sleeping on a cot just like this one, it wouldn’t take long to get used to the new sleeping arrangement. It would be much more difficult just getting used to being back here.

He cringed at the heaviness in his chest. The emotional turmoil was
suffocating him
. Forgetting this place had taken the better part of ten years.
Dredging it up again was the last thing he thought he’d ever have to do.

His mother’s
old sewing machine sat against the inside wall. She used to sew every Thursday afternoon. When Blaine would come home from school, he would walk in through the back door and sit at the kitchen table to eat the
sandwich she had
laid out for him
. The whirring of the machine reassured him of his mother’s presence. When she became ill, those Thursday afternoons grew fewer and
farther
between.
Then they stopped altogether.

Smoothing the wood of the sewing machine cabinet with his hand
, he remembered his mother sitting there, the way she smiled at him when he came in from school. Before he could stop it, a tear escaped his eye and slipped down his cheek.

The sound of pots and pans banging in the kitchen jerked him back to reality, and he instinctively wiped the tear from his face and turned his back to the door.

There w
as the matter of Mrs. Crawford.

Blaine laughed bitterly as he began unpacking his bag; she was a piece of work. One minute she was fainting at the sight of him, the next making certain he called her by the proper title.

The thought alone made him cringe, especially considering how beautiful she was.
Not that he had ever been smooth with the ladies, but i
t had been a long time since Blaine
had felt so
attracted to a woman
, and it would have been nice to know he could have a chance – even if he wouldn’t know what to do with it
.
Back in this house again, he was going to need the distraction.

He took the last few things from his suitcase and set them on the shelf.
There wasn’t much space in the little room, but he could make it work. After all, he spent most of his time in the confines of a cockpit.
Didn’t
get much tighter than that.

A light knock on the door announced the presence of Mrs. Crawford. Blaine wanted to avoid looking at her, but he had already put the last of his things away, and had no other recourse but to address her.

“Yes?”

“May I come
in
for a moment?”

Blaine sighed and nodded with resignation.

“Did you have breakfast?” Mara walked in, hands clenched in front of her delicate form.

“I ate.”

“Captain Graham,” she started hesitantly.

Oh, great. Here it comes.

“We should talk about your father.”

H
e waited for th
e reprimand he knew was coming.

She glanced around the room sheepishly. There was no place to sit besides the cot, and Blaine knew she wasn’t about to do something so forward. He could have made it easy on her and suggested moving into the kitchen, but instead he held his tongue and waited out the awkward silence.

“Would you mind coming out to the kitchen? I can make some
coffee
.”

This was shaping up to be a long day. And it was
n’t even lunch time.

Nodding again, he followed her out of the sewing room. Instead of sitting down right away he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, eyeing her.

H
er frustration was evident, but
she
exhaled sharply and grabbed the
coffee
pot.

Silence didn’t bother Blaine usually, but the tension in the room
stifled
him. Confrontation was not his favorite, and he had the feeling that’s what was coming. Mrs. Crawford seemed to be the type who had to get everything out in the open. Why were women like that
,
anyway?

She poured the boiling liquid into two cups
,
set them on the table
and sat down in his mother’s chair
. The steam drifted lazily above the cups, dissipating into the air
. It did look inviting, but not enough to draw him into an unpleasant conversation.

“Captain?” She glanced up at him in irritation. “Will you please sit down?”
Bright
green eyes pierced through him. She tossed her wavy brown hair over her shoulder and gestured to the seat across from her.

“I’ve been living here for two months
.
I
was hired to
take care of your father.”
She held the cup in trembling hands.
“The doctor sent him home with an estimate of six months left. I don’t think he’s going to last that long though. He’s gone downhill steadily the last couple of weeks. Faster than the doctor thought.” Blaine’s
eyes shifted nervously
between the cup in her hands and
her face
.

“What are you saying?”
His
gruff
voice sounded foreign
, like it wasn’t his own
.

“He might make it to Christmas.”

Blaine choked on a bitter laugh
and shook his head. “What do you want from me, Mrs. Crawford? It seems you are well qualified to handle this all by yourself.”

“I’m
just his nurse; you’re his son!
” Each word was g
round out with righteous anger.

Heat consumed him, but he maintained a level tone. “You’re using that term loosely,
Mrs.
Crawford.”

She glared at him interminably. A suffocating silence hung between them.

“
It was you who sent for me, wasn’t it? Not him.
”

“Yes… but he asked me to do it. To find you and ask you to come home.”

“Home?” The indignation rose in his throat, and he had to swallow the lump lodged there. Blaine looked away from her toward the kitchen wi
ndow
over the sink and said more quietly, “Why
did
you send for me?”

Mara seemed taken
a
back
;
her head snapped to attention
.
“What kind of question is that? He’s dying; he wants to make things right! There are things you need to know. Things—
”

“—that are
absolutely
none of your business.” Blaine cursed
and stood abruptly from the table.

“
Captain
…”

“
No.
” He
shook his head
, then bellowed,
“No!”
Spinning
on his heel
, he
stormed
into his room
and
slamm
ed
the
door.

Blaine felt out of control. Had he just raised his voice at a lady? Obviously being home had a negative effect on his ability to control his emotions, or was it just the fact that little Mrs. Crawford was irritatingly beautiful
?
It didn’t help matters that every glance at her stirred something within him he couldn’t control. An aggravating involuntary response to her
b
eautiful
clear emerald
eyes and perfec
t
pout. It was his own rotten luck that his father would bring in a beautiful nurse during his last days. Blaine knew she would make him feel better if he were ill
–
all he needed to do was look at her and he felt more alive.
It was upsetting how
deftly
she
ma
de
him feel like the
B
ig
B
ad
W
olf coming into their perfect little house.

Not theirs. His father’s.

Why was it that he always felt guilty for his father’s mistakes?
H
e plopped onto
the old cot
and closed his eyes.
He cursed again.
Meddling woman. Doesn’t know anything.
The long night of travel was catching up to him. Maybe after a little shut-eye he’d feel more prepared to deal with the situation.