Someday Home (16 page)

In church, the preachers—there had been three so far since Judith had started going to that church—claimed that Jesus was the only person upon whom one could depend totally. He seemed very, very distant just now, certainly not close enough to lean upon.

Memorial Day would be here in two days. Just think. In forty-eight hours she could pay tribute to the bitter, thankless old man who destroyed her past and her future.
Wonderful.

Up ahead, red brake lights flared on. All of them. Cars and trucks slowed to a crawl and before long stopped completely. With a sigh she turned off the engine. She wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. Northbound traffic came through at a trickle. Something big had happened ahead.

Her cell phone broke into song. She dug it out. “Hello?”

“This is Melody. Are you all right?”

“If stationary is all right, I'm absolutely peachy. Why?”

“News radio just reported a huge pileup on 35 South east of Cambridge. I just turned on the TV. They're showing a live feed from a helicopter. What a mess! I was afraid you were in it!”

“I'm sitting behind it.”

“Oh, I'm so glad! Anselm and I were worried you were caught in it; apparently, there are a number of injuries.”

“I can see the news chopper way up ahead there; it just climbed above the trees; now it's below the trees again. I'm going to be really late getting in, Melody. There are no exits for miles. I'm trapped.”

“That's all right. Just get here safely.”

“Thank you.” And then Judith thought of the flowers. “Do we have flowers for the graves?”

“We do. I'll cut them tomorrow so they're fresher.”

“Excellent. Thank you. And wait until I tell you where my dreams are going!”

“I can't wait!”

“Well, you'll just have to.” They both laughed and good-byed each other.

With nothing to do but sit there, she dug her two new books out of the trunk and opened the first one, the one about Krakatoa. Simon Winchester. She recognized the author's name; she'd read one of his books long ago,
The Professor and the Madman
, and had really enjoyed it. Why had she not done more light reading as she tended her father? Years of good reading potential wasted, she regretted that.

The driver behind her blew his horn, startling her. The line was moving! She tossed her book aside and cranked the ignition. The traffic was dismally poky, and it took nearly ten minutes to go half a mile, no doubt because gawkers were slowing to look at the mangled trucks by the roadside that had not yet been hauled away. But then they passed over the wet road where fire trucks had washed away the gas and oil and broken glass and probably even blood. Traffic opened up again and she was back to speed.

When was the last time she had ever been so thoroughly immersed in a book? Years. And what had captured her attention so completely that she hadn't noticed the line moving? Subduction zones! When the traffic had stopped she had no idea what a subduction zone was, and if you had asked her if she cared, she would have said, “No!” And here she was eagerly learning about subduction zones. She regretted all over again losing so many years when she vegetated in Rutherford House.

Melody, Anselm, and their dog, Bozo, all greeted her warmly as she drove up to their house. Anselm carried her overnight bag upstairs, and Melody brought out a big dish of beef stew, setting Judith up at the kitchen table. “Okay!” Melody plopped down across from her. “Tell me where your dreams are going!”

Judith divided her time between telling about her day and savoring the stew. She was really hungry; delicious as it had been, the Thai food had long since left. “I was about a hundred pages in when traffic started to move again, and the author was explaining about subduction zones. Melody, I'm an alien on an alien planet. This isn't me. I've totally changed, and I can't say when it happened. But…well, there it is.”

“And I couldn't be happier for you! You're blooming late, but at least you're blooming! Now, how do you like that shared living arrangement?”

“I hope it works. One is rather aloof, and the other seems to think we're not just housemates but one big happy family and she's the matriarch. And she's rather messy; that goes against my grain. However, I'll be taking classes at Detroit Lakes and one online, so I think between commuting and studying, my days will be pretty much full. Too full to get bored or irritated.” Judith wagged her head. “From Rutherford House to a couple rooms. What a change.”

“Well, if it doesn't work, you know, a room here is waiting for you.”

“Thank you.”

Anselm came in from the mudroom and sat down. “Are you girls all settling in yet?”

“So far, so good. And it's a pretty time of year there.”

Melody beamed. “Judith is going to be a world-renowned anthropologist and discover new ruins.”

Anselm bobbed his head. “Congratulations! Does the world know about this yet?”

“The world!
I'm
not even sure of it.” Judith sighed. “I'm about the same age as Dr. Pollan, my advisor. She has years of research and publications behind her, and I haven't even taken freshman anthropology yet. It's daunting.”

“But it's doable!” Apparently Melody harbored no doubts whatever. “That's the important thing. And Anselm, they found a dog. Rather the dog found them. Judith, tell him about it.”

She did so, and then, very weary, excused herself and went to bed. She expected to toss and turn a lot; she'd been doing that lately. Instead she fell asleep quickly and slept through to morning.

The next day Anselm went to work and Melody made reservations at their favorite restaurant for Memorial Day dinner. That afternoon, Judith and Melody cut the flowers for the graves. They laid them in a huge Eskimo cooler with a bag of ice. The flowers pretty much filled the cooler.

Flowers. For her father. Judith should be starting to mellow; instead she was getting angrier. Should she mention anything about it to Melody? No. But all those years she'd lost were starting to eat at her big-time. Now that she saw what her world could have been like, the loss began to really weigh on her.

Her father had the money to hire a nanny. Judith should have left home and completed her education, going against his wishes if necessary, not trying so hard and so long to please him, because she never could. She should now have a desk stacked high with important business, and some rocks that meant something to her and weren't just rocks, and maybe an Indian pot or basket or something…and a dualie in the corner! How she envied Dr. Meredith Pollan!

At the very least she should be president of the board of directors caring for the Rutherford House. She should own it! She'd earned it, God knows.

That night she tossed and turned and did not sleep well again.

The next morning Judith felt like she was in a fog. She nibbled a roll for breakfast and drank too much coffee. Melody and Anselm chatted merrily about a shed he wanted to build out back. Judith listened to them yak and didn't even hear what they were saying. She wished she could get back to her new book. Her new life. Instead she had to go honor her father.

Anselm put the cooler in the trunk of their car and Judith climbed into the backseat. She had her new book in her purse, but she couldn't read it on the road, thanks to the motion sickness she had apparently inherited from her mother. Mom could get sick on a porch swing.

Betrayal. Loss. That was all she could think about. It was consuming her and she didn't care. She wanted it to consume her. She was such a pitiful excuse for a failure. An old woman with nothing. Nothing.

The fog swirled around her brain and made time pass and made time stand still. Now, finally, they were at the cemetery. The cemetery was flooded with so many visitors today that Anselm had to park out on the street. He and Melody swung the cooler between them and headed for the Rutherford plot, Judith dragging along behind.

The Rutherford plot was something of a tourist attraction in itself. A huge plot with twelve grave spaces, nine of them occupied, it was surrounded by a black iron fence with an arch over the gate. The fence was made of hundreds of spears pointing upward. What was Judith's grandfather thinking of when he had the fence installed; try to keep the ghosts in and the living out? A marble statue of a serene-looking angel with huge folded wings stood on a pedestal in the middle, eight feet tall. The angel extended its right arm out over the graves, and in its left hand it held a scroll of some sort. Judith had been told once what it all meant. She'd forgotten.

Judith half expected to find Mr. Odegaard at the gravesite and dreaded the thought that she might. She didn't even want to look at him ever again. Melody pressed a green plastic vase on a pick into the ground at the head of Judith's mother's grave. Anselm poured water into it, and Judith carefully chose flowers in complementary colors. She clipped a couple of the stems shorter to create a more visually pleasing bouquet.
There!

She stood up.
I love you, Mom.

Melody pushed a similar pot into the ground at the head of Judith's father's fresh grave. It still smelled damp, earthy. Anselm poured some water in. There were no flowers that Judith disliked—they were all beautiful—but some she liked less than others. She chose flowers she liked the very least and stuffed them into the vase without thought or effort.

She stood up. Stared at the nameplate. Sebastian Rutherford.

And she spat on it.

M
emorial Day weekend. A lot of the old-timers called it Decoration Day. Lynn liked that. You decorated graves. You flew the flag. You went to the parade, and so many marchers were wearing red, white, and blue.

Lynn stood on her porch with her coffee cup, turned her face to the sun, and breathed in spring.
Aaaah.
While she would much rather work in the flowers and garden, the billing needed to go out—on time. Paul had always been a stickler for billing and paying on time. It was a good habit to have.

Lynn had a mountain of catching up to do for the plumbing business. But should she go check on Angela first or not? Her natural inclination was to try to help whatever was injured or hurting.

Just go check. You don't need a reason to feel guilty because you didn't.
She went to Angela's door and tapped softly. When there was no answer, she silently turned the knob and peeked in. Pausing, she listened. Nope, that sounded like deep sleep. She managed to close the door without a click.
Lord God, what do you want me to do?
Her reading that morning had talked about God's kindness and the value of kindness as one of the fruits of the spirit. But sometimes true kindness pushed on someone to help them over a hard place.

Was Angela just recovering from stress, or was she sinking into depression?
How would I know?
I'm not a doctor.
She headed to her office and settled into the chair, automatically turned on the computer, and pulling out her file of due bills, she attacked them with a vengeance. While she could do her banking online and pay some things that way, she'd not gone in and added new accounts in some time.

Homer barking caught her attention. She got up and went to see. He stood at the back door, tail wagging. The mudroom echoed with another deep bark. “It's okay, boy. That's a good boy. Guess you must feel this is your home if you are ready to announce visitors.” She opened the door to find a package too big for the box, so the mail lady had brought it in. She had probably honked and Lynn didn't hear it. She picked it up and brought it in, with Homer leaping up to sniff it. When she set the box down, he gave it a good going over.

“Good boy, checking everything out.” His tail whacked against her leg, something she'd already learned could be a bit painful. First dog she'd ever had whose tail was a lethal weapon. Orson's and all their Labs' tails could clear the coffee table in one sweep. She got out the box cutter and started to open it before she read that it was addressed to Angela. “Oops.” Talking to the dog was a habit she'd learned a long time ago. She took the box off the dryer and set it on the counter in the kitchen. She snagged a chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookie from the jar, poured herself a glass of water, and returned to her bookkeeping.

The phone. Phillip on the caller ID. She picked it up. “What do you need this time?”

“How did you know I needed something?”

“You only call during the day when you need something.” She smiled to herself.

“I can't get ahold of Maggie, and Jason over at the Plumber's Friend called to say the part we need today was in. Could you please go pick it up?”

“Now?” Of course it would be now. She saved her work on the computer, left a note for Angela, grabbed the outgoing mail, and, dog on her heels, headed for the car. “You think you should go?” Homer stopped right at the door to the seat beside the driver. “You want to ride up here with me?”
Lynn Lundberg, don't help him create bad habits. You know dogs should have a fence across the back and not sit on the seats. Safer for all.
She let him up in the front seat anyway.
Shame on you, Lynn!

Phillip was loading his panel truck for a house call when she got there.

“Heard from Judith?” Phillip asked as she handed him the box of gaskets.

“She was going to check something at the university in Duluth. Not sure what. Then she was going to drive down to her cousin's for the holiday weekend. And apparently they would go to Rutherford to put flowers on the graves.”

Phillip nodded. “You want to go canoeing tonight? Maggie is taking the kids to a movie and I passed on that.”

“Oh, good, I've not been out yet. Let's go see if the eagles are back at their nest. If we take the big canoe, Angela could come, too. She needs to get out.”

“Good. Stick something in the oven for supper, okay?”

“Now I know why the invite to go canoeing.”

Phillip nodded toward Homer. “I see you got someone riding shotgun.”

“He likes riding in the car.”

“You need a fence. We have one back at the house.”

“Bring it along tonight if you would. Thanks.”

“I will. I'm assuming you've received no response to the feelers you put out. No owner has come forward?”

“And you're still snickering at my efforts, aren't you?”

“You got a dog, Mom; just accept that and enjoy him. Sure wish you'd let me try him on a hunt.”

She snorted. Hunting indeed. “You have Rowdy. That's enough. Although Homer would probably do well. He seems to understand so much. He settled in mightily easily.”

“How's your roommates thing going?” Phillip studied her a moment. “Something is worrying you, I can tell.”

“I'm a little worried about Angela. Been praying for her. She talks to Minerva; I heard her out on the deck, but not much to us—yet, I hope. And she sure sleeps a lot.”

“Depression isn't surprising in her situation.” Phillip scratched his chin.

“Especially if they were close. I personally could go and dump a pile of chicken manure all over that guy.”

“Uh-uh. Not long lasting enough.”

He laughed and stepped back. She waved and put the car in gear. As she drove off, she looked at the big, goofy face beside her. “Like you'd be happy with a fence.”

What time was it? Oh, good grief! Angela tossed her travel alarm aside. How could she sleep so much? True sleep, too, not the dozing, waking, dozing she used to do.

And she was still tired.

She dragged herself out of bed and made it, did her bathroom thing, and propelled her weary body to the kitchen.

Breakfast? Hardly worth it. Lunch. Compared to her fridge at home, this one was a cornucopia. Lynn did love to cook. She chose some good-looking stuff at random and arranged a plate for the microwave.

Lynn and Homer came bouncing into the kitchen with their usual exuberance. Angela turned with a partial smile. “Good morning. Barely.”

“Good morning. What are you having?”

“Leftovers from last night. And toast, I can't get enough of your bread.”

Homer strolled over and plopped down beside her.

“Warm up enough for both of us, then, please.” She nodded to the dog sitting by Angela's feet. “You have a friend.”

Angela leaned over to pet Homer and got a slurp on her chin. “Eeuw, I really don't like dog slobber.” She wiped her chin. “Judith seems to have taken it upon herself to walk him, but with her gone, I can do it. I'll take him out later.”

“Good. Thank you.” Lynn fetched another plate from the cupboard. “I love leftover pot roast. Well, I love pot roast no matter what.” She set the table out on the deck and helped carry the meal out. Homer followed closely, riveting his gaze on the pot roast.

Angela and she sat down; it was cool and cloudy, the sky cover growing ever thicker, but still gorgeous out here. Lynn looked down at a monster-sized paw on her knee. “No, Homer, none for you. You already ate this morning.” He answered with his well-practiced soulful whimper and sniff. Those lugubrious eyes rolled up toward her. His thick tail beat out an affirmation. “Sorry, fella, won't work.” Resigned, he flopped down beside her. “Thank you, Angela. Great lunch idea.”

“You're welcome.”

End of conversation.

But then, Angela could not feel less like chatting.

As they were finishing their meal out on the deck and dark thunderclouds were gathering, she glanced at Lynn; she was being studied.

“Angela, are you all right?”

She shrugged. “All I want to do is sleep. I could go back to bed right now, I think. At least when I'm sleeping I can't think of the mess my life has become.”

“Interesting. Why do you say a ‘mess'?”

“I have no job, therefore no income.”

“You had said you'd check with Realtors here.”

“I know. But right now the thought of starting all over in a new place where I know nothing and no one and have zero contacts makes me realize, I don't really want to do that anymore. I was trying to become the successful woman Jack wanted, but I don't like the woman I became. I guess more precisely, I don't like real estate as a career. And obviously, after I changed everything, Jack didn't like the new me, either.”

Lynn's mouth dropped open. “Wait. You became a Realtor just so you could be successful?”

“It sounded like a good idea at the time. And he seemed to like it at first.”

“You mean Jack?” Lynn snorted. “Of course, but I don't even like to say his name, unless I put
jerk
behind it.”

That made Angela smile.
Jack the Jerk.
She wasn't the only one to think it. “Thanks.” She picked up the last half of toast and spread jam on it. “He likes his women thin—svelte, he calls it—so here I am, watching my weight carefully. On the other hand, I don't want to gain and be frumpy again.”

“Hard to think of you as looking frumpy. You look good in whatever you put on.”

Angela stared at her. “You mean that?”

“Of course. I never say something I don't mean.
Forthright
is a term I've heard used to describe me.” She dabbed up crumbs with a dampened finger. “It would be easy to be domineering, but God seems to be working on that.”

“You're a very strong woman.”

Lynn smiled. “Right, on the outside. Marshmallow interior.”

Angela giggled, then sobered. “I understand your Paul was still in his prime, and those photos of him, he looked so young for his age. The shock must have been especially bad since he'd not been sick.”

“It still is.” She changed the subject quickly. “Did you see that box addressed to you? It's on the counter.”

“Why, no, I didn't look.”

“There's a knife in the block by the stove.” Lynn picked up their plates and carried them inside to load the dishwasher while Angela opened the box.

“From Gwynn and Charlie.” She peeled back the box flaps and stared at the box within. It looked to be about basketball size. But when she tried to lift it out, it was stuck.

“Here, I'll hold the outer box.”

Angela opened the card that was taped to the top of the dusty blue box. “To our mom, because we love you. Welcome to your new life.” She looked to Lynn, shaking her head.

“Well, open it.”

Angela slit the tape with the cutter and lifted up the lid. “Tissue paper.”

“They didn't want it to break.”

She peeled back the first layer of paper to find another envelope and pulled out a…“Fishing license!” Another layer yielded another envelope. “And a gift certificate to Cabela's for a fishing pole.” Nestled on the bottom of the box was still another box. She opened it. “A fishing reel.” She read its cardboard packaging. “For fly-fishing. Do they fly-fish here?”

“Sure do. And Phillip asked if we wanted to go out in the canoe tonight. How does that sound to you?”

“Are you sure? I mean, I don't want to intrude.”

“Angela.” Lynn took her hand. “There is no pressure here to perform for anyone.” She blinked. “My friend, you can heal here and truly begin a new life. Your kids are wonderful, and they are welcome to visit. Charlie loved it here; those years ago that were only yesterday.”

Angela stared at her. She sniffed and blinked, and in spite of her efforts, a tear rolled down her cheek. “I-I feel so worthless.” She shook her head slowly. “So very worthless.”

Lynn took her by the hand and led her over to the leather couch that faced looking out the window. She sat down and pulled Angela against her. “Now, cry it out.” She picked up a box of tissues off the huge square coffee table and handed it to her.

“If I— If I start crying, I might never stop.” The tears ran faster. She hiccuped.

Lynn wrapped her arms around her. “They run out eventually.”

Angela let loose great gulping sobs, mopped, blew, and kept on crying, punctuating everything she tried to say with more huge sobs. “I-I didn't expect…I mean, I thought our life was all right and he…he was lying to me. I hate him and I hate her and I hate hating. I don't hate people!” She melted into Lynn as she had melted into her mother when she was a small child. She needed Mom now, she needed comfort, and there was no comfort, no peace in the whole world, and…Sobbing. She could not stem the sobbing. And Mother held her close, stroking her back, purring platitudes about God. She needed the cosseting if not the platitudes.

Homer sat by her knee, kissing her elbow, whining, his tail thumping. He lurched up onto the leather sofa cushions and snuggled his head under her arms to lay it in her lap. The more she cried, the more he whimpered, then sat back and, nose in the air, broke into a full-throated basset song.

Angela sat straight up and stared at Lynn, who was fighting to keep from laughing, then at the dog, who stared back at her and then gave another abbreviated howl, like a coda to his performance.

Still getting surprised by random sobs, Angela sat up away from Lynn's arms, feeling a bit awkward. She reached over and patted Homer, earning herself a hand lick. “This is one loving and lovable dog.” She blew her nose. “I'm using up all yo— The tissues.”

The room had darkened during her childish crying jag, and a distant rumbling made her look up. Lightning zagged in the east.