The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club (27 page)

 

—from the Methodist Church bulletin

 

 

 

L
ester was at Jake's side that evening when he turned up at Lacy's place. Her belly fizzed with disappointment. She wasn't ready to share her time with Jacob with anyone, least of all with the fellow who was already claiming a good part of Jake's days. Still, her mother had raised her to be polite.

“I'll wait for you out here, marine,” Lester said when Lacy invited them both in.

“I thought he was just working for you at the Green Apple,” she said in a whisper once they were far enough from the screen door not to be overhead. Between giving up the Erté, having the Boston DA leaving urgent messages for her to return his call, and knowing she was about to miss a payment on the O'Leary brothers' loan, Lacy was feeling swamped. All she wanted to do was sink onto the couch beside Jake, drink a glass of Chianti—which she certainly couldn't do with a recovering alcoholic around—and have a little pity party.

“Do you have to babysit Lester for the whole evening?” she asked, ashamed of the whine she heard in her own voice.

“Not the whole evening,” Jake said. “And we won't be babysitting. He wants to visit his wife.”

Lester's family life had been as scary as tornado season. And if half of what she'd heard was true, just as violent. A memory of Daniel, angry over his father's unpredictable viciousness, crackled through her mind like heat lightning. “Given Lester's history, do you think that's a good idea?”

“That's why he wants us to go with him. He wants to see her, but he doesn't want her to be afraid,” Jake explained. “It might put her more at ease to have another woman there. Will you come?”

If Lester was thinking about how his wife might feel, that boded well. And if Heather and the Warm Hearts Club were right, it would do Lacy good to stop brooding about herself and her problems. “Let's go.”

The three of them crowded into Jake's pickup and drove over to Glenda Scott's house. All the way there, Lester's knee never stopped bouncing with nervousness.

His wife lived in a little cottage on Chinquapin Street. Her lawn was about a week overdue for a mowing. A bleeding heart plant with dozens of strands of pink blossoms was about to overrun the steps leading up to the front porch. But the house's slate-blue shake siding and white trim were in reasonably good shape. There was a cane-bottom rocker on one side of the red front door and a porch swing on the other.

When Lacy and Jake knocked, a slender woman with gray hair and equally gray eyes came to the door. She was careful to keep the screen hooked, but her gaze kept darting past Lacy and Jake to where Lester waited, leaning beside the truck.

Lacy introduced herself and then Jake. “Mrs. Scott, you may not know it, but your husband is back in town—”

“I know.”

“If you're agreeable to it, Lester would like to speak with you, ma'am,” Jake said.

“I won't let him come into my house.”

“He understands that and doesn't expect to be welcome in your home,” Lacy said. “But Lester wondered if it would be all right with you for him to speak to you here on your porch. Just for a little while, if you'll let him.” Then Lacy hastened to add, “And he asked us to stay nearby if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

“I think I know you.” Mrs. Scott eyed her closely. “You used to go with my boy, didn't you?”

Lacy nodded.

Mrs. Scott cocked her head at Jake. “And you and Danny were friends in school. Played football together, if I remember right.”

“Yes, ma'am. Our team took first in conference when we were seniors. Daniel was our quarterback. I was his halfback.”

She nodded as if satisfied and looked past them at her husband again.

“Won't you two have a seat on the swing?” She stepped out to join them on the porch. Mrs. Scott motioned to Lester. “You can come on up.”

Lester didn't have to be invited twice. He scrambled up the steps so quickly, Lacy was afraid he'd trip. She and Jake settled into the swing, wondering what the old man had to say that had lit such a fire under him.

For a surprisingly long while, he said nothing at all. Lester just looked at his wife and drew a deep breath, satisfied to be in her presence. It was as if she were the source of all that was good. She was the last summer day of his life and now she was gone. She'd slipped through his fingers like a warm breeze.

His scrutiny made her uncomfortable enough to cross her arms over her chest.

“You look mighty fine, Glenda,” he finally said.

She sat in the rocker, leaving him to stand. “You've been known to lie about other things, too.”

“I mean it.”

Glenda shook her head. “I didn't invite you up here to tell me pretty nothings. That's how you used to do, you know. First you'd tear me down and then you'd build me back up so I'd forget about how crappy you made me feel about myself until the next time. I'm not going to fall for it again.”

Lester didn't say anything. He just nodded and let his chin droop, an acknowledgment that he'd heard her.

“Guess I should thank you,” she said.

His chin jerked upward in surprise. “What for?”

“After you left, I made something of myself. I'm a CNA now, working at the hospital. I paid off this house and own it free and clear. Me. All by myself.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You used to make me feel weak, but I found out I was strong.”

Lester didn't try to defend himself. “That's good, Glenda. You always were the best part of us.”

“Don't think you can sweet-talk me. Those days are long gone,” she said. “
Jeopardy
's about to start and I don't want to miss it. These kids tell me you have something to say. Say it.”

“You probably know I been in jail for a bit and—”

“I saw the notice in the paper.”

“Yeah, I 'spect you did.” Lester nodded agreeably. “Well, what you didn't read in the
Gazette
is that I been seeing a shrink from Bates College. She visited me every week while I was in county.”

Glenda eyed him with suspicion. “Did it help?”

“I think so. Some. I hope.” Lester scratched his head. He'd used too much gel in his attempt to look nice for her, so running his fingers through his wiry hair only made it stand on end. “I mean to stick with the weekly sessions anyway and see can I get my head straightened out.”

Mrs. Scott blinked several times. She welled up, but didn't let a tear fall. Her eyes were overly bright though.

She still cares about Lester, even though he hurt her,
Lacy realized. No matter what he'd done, Mrs. Scott didn't have a toggle switch in her heart. She couldn't turn the caring off. Lacy was glad Mrs. Scott was smart enough to protect herself though. She still insisted on distance and control of the situation, as she should.

“I hope seeing a therapist works for you, Lester,” Glenda said.

“Me too. Only wish I'd done it sooner. If I had, then maybe . . .” When she didn't say anything, he continued, “O' course, I been helped by some other things, too. I joined AA while I was in the lockup.”

“So. You sobered up because you couldn't find a drink while you were in jail.” Her features twisted into a scowl. “Are you expecting applause?”

Lacy had the feeling that Mrs. Scott wouldn't have been brave enough to be sarcastic if she and Jake weren't a stone's throw away.

“Reckon I deserve that. But one way or the other, I earned my thirty-day chip and I mean to keep up with it now that I'm out.” He didn't add that he had to if he wanted to remain a free man. “Anyways, one of the twelve steps is that we have to give ourselves what they call a ‘moral inventory.' I'm sorely lacking in the morals department, but I 'spect you know that better than anybody.”

Mrs. Scott didn't say a word.

“Anyways, I'm wanting to get myself some, so I'm jumping ahead a bit to step eight. I had to list all the people I hurt while I was drinkin',” Lester explained, “and I guess it's no surprise to you that your name's at the top of that list.”

Mrs. Scott looked away. Lacy tried not to imagine what she might be remembering.

“I done wrong by you. Whatever bad thing you're thinking about me, I'm worse than that and I know it,” Lester said, his voice taking on a ragged edge. “And I'm here to tell you, I'm sorry.”

“And that makes it all right?” she whispered. “Sorry just doesn't get it.”

“No, I know it don't. That's why I got to make amends.”

“Lester, you terrified me and our son for years.” Glenda stood and retreated to the far corner of the porch, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. “How can you make amends for that?”

“I don't know. It may be that I can't. I'm not expecting you to forgive me. I wouldn't ask that of you.”

“Seems like you are.”

“Well, I'm not. I don't deserve for you to forgive me. I'm just here to tell you that when I look back on our life together, I want to kick my own butt.”

As apologies went, Lacy didn't think it was very elegant, but it seemed to reach Glenda. Her lips twitched, but she kept silent.

“If knockin' my head against a brick wall would knock some sense into the old me, I'd do it in a heartbeat. All my meanness, all them . . . them hateful words I said, all the horrible things I did . . . God, I'd give anything if I could take it all back.” Lester's voice broke and his eyes filled with tears. “But I can't and I'm heartsick about it, more than I can say. It fair eats at my gut.”

Lester rubbed a hand on his concave belly, as if that would quiet his demons. “When you're on the street like I was, sitting through a sermon is the price you pay for a free meal more often as not. The preachers always talk about hell, all the time telling us it's filled with fire and brimstone.”

“You think it's not?” Glenda said in a small voice.

“I know it's not. I been there, you see. It's a dark, cold place, and it's filled with regret. It's lookin' back and seein' yourself like you was somebody else. You're saying stuff and doing stuff you wish you hadn't, and you just keep seeing it happen over and over again. The worst of it is, you can't change a darn thing.” He hung his head. “That's what hell is.”

Glenda's hand lifted slightly in his direction, as if something inside her wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, but then she pulled it back.

“Like I say, I'm not lookin' for you to forgive me,” Lester said, still studying the boards between his feet as if they held the secret to life, “but I hope you'll let me make them amends. No strings attached. Ain't no way I can balance the scales either way. It's not much, but it's the only way I can think of to show you how sorry I am.” He raised his head and met her gray-eyed gaze. “Will you let me?”

It was a little like watching a rosebud unfurl in slow motion, a minor miracle. Lacy could see the exact moment when something changed behind Mrs. Scott's eyes and she decided to give her husband a chance.

Not to undo their past. That was impossible, but at least she was willing to let him do what he could to make her present better.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked softly.

“Well, I owe you a ton in support. I thought I might start there. Thanks to some folks that call themselves the Coldwater Warm Hearts Club, I got myself three or four jobs now.”

“You're working?” she said incredulously.

Lester nodded. “And two of the jobs actually pay me cash money. It won't make me no Rockefeller, but I was thinkin' I could give you half—no, make that three-quarters—of everything I bring home.”

Glenda frowned. “If you do that, you won't have enough to live on.”

“You let me worry about that. I been living on next to nothing for years. I don't need all that much, you see,” he went on to say quickly. “For the price of doin' some gardening, I got myself a nice little place to stay. Jake lets me eat at the Green Apple on the days I work there. And he's been known to feed me even on the days I don't.” Lester winked in Jake's direction. “Anyways, since I'm getting paid a little there at the grill and at the hardware store, even a quarter of what I make will have me feeling like a prince. I've had nothing for so long, I won't hardly miss what I give you.”

“Well, that'll be nice, then, Lester,” Glenda said, speaking slowly and choosing her words with care. “And I appreciate it. Might be I could put the money away for Carson.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned—”

“It's okay, Glenda. I know we got a grandbaby. I seen him . . . from a ways off, you understand. I didn't like to intrude or nothin' where I'm not welcome, but I watch him and his momma at the park sometimes. He seems like a sharp little fella.”

“He is.”

“Then, too, besides the money, I was thinking I could maybe help you out around here on Sunday afternoons,” Lester said.

“Doing what?” she said, her guard instantly up.

“Well, you've taken real good care of the place, but I could do odd jobs for you.”

She took a step back. “You can't come into my house, Lester.”

He nodded. “I understand. That's fine. But I could take over some of the outside chores for you. I could wash your windows or do the mowing. And I was noticing that the shingles on the garage are starting to curl. I could replace that roof if you want.”