A Thousand Tomorrows & Just Beyond the Clouds Omnibus (26 page)

In addition, Kelley does charity work for children and
started a group called “For the Children,” which provides basic clothing to kids at four schools. Her parents have a thoroughbred racing and breeding business in Washington, and Kelley has had the privilege of attending the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes. She is a good listener and is liked by everyone who knows her.

You’ll notice that Kelley Gaylor’s character is a volunteer in
Just Beyond the Clouds
. She works with handicapped people and helps them find their greatest potential. I chose to name this character after Kelley because it was closest to how Kelley is viewed by the people who love her—giving, generous, attentive, and caring.

Al and Sandee Kirkwood, I pray that Kelley is honored by your gift, and by her placement in
Just Beyond the Clouds,
and that you will always see a bit of Kelley when you read her name in the pages of this novel, where she will be
Forever in Fiction™
.

For those of you who are not familiar with
Forever in Fiction™
, it is my way of involving you, the readers, in my stories, while raising money for charities. To date, this item has raised more than one hundred thousand dollars at charity auctions across the country. If you are interested in having a
Forever in Fiction™
package donated to your auction, contact my assistant at [email protected]. Please write
Forever in Fiction
in the subject line. Please note that I am able to donate only a limited number of these each year. For that reason I have set a fairly high minimum bid on this package. That way the maximum funds are raised for charities.

Chapter One

T
he eighteen adult students at the front of the classroom were a happy, ragtag group, mostly short and squatty, with sturdy necks and squinty eyes. All but two wore thick glasses. Their voices mingled in a loud cacophony of raucous laughter, genuine confusion, and boisterous verbal expression.

“Teacher!” The one named Gus took a step forward, lowered his brow, and pointed to the student beside him. “
He
wants the bus to the
Canadian
Rockies.” Gus rolled his eyes. He gestured dramatically toward the window. “The buses out
there
go to the
Colorado
Rockies.” He tossed both his hands in the air. “Could you tell him, Teacher?”

“Gus is right.” Twenty-six-year-old Elle Dalton—teacher, mentor, encourager, friend—looked out the window. “Those are the
Colorado
Rockies. But our trip tomorrow isn’t to the mountains.” She smiled at the young men. “We’re going to the Rocky Mountain Plaza. Rocky Mountain is just the name.”

“Right.” Daisy stood up and put her hands on her hips. She knew the Mountain Metropolitan Transit system better than anyone at the center. Daisy wagged her thumb at Gus. “I told you that. Shopping tomorrow. Not mountain climbing.”

“Yes.” Elle stood a few feet back and studied her students. She’d been over this two dozen times today already. But that was typical for a Thursday. “Everyone take out your cheat sheets.”

In a slow sort of chain reaction, the students reached into their jeans pockets or in some cases their socks or waistbands for a folded piece of paper. After a minute or so, the entire group had them out and they began reciting the information—all at different times and with different levels of speaking ability.

“Wait”—she held up her hand—“let’s listen.” Elle knew the routine by heart. She approached the line and waited until she had their attention. “Everyone follow along with me.” She walked slowly down the row of students. “Bus Route Number Ten will take us from the center at Cheyenne Boulevard and Nevada Avenue south past Meadows Road, left on Academy Boulevard to the shops.”

“Academy Boulevard?” Carl Joseph stepped out of line, his forehead creased with worry. Carl Joseph was new to the center. He’d been coming for three months. His ability to become independent was questionable. “Is that in Colorado Springs or somewhere else?”

“It’s here, Carl Joseph.” Daisy patted his shoulder. “Right here in the Springs.”

“Right.” Elle grinned. Daisy could teach the class. “The whole bus trip will take about fifteen minutes.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look more sure of himself. “Okay. Okay, Teacher. If you say so, okay.” He stepped back in line.

And so it went for the next half hour. Elle broke down the directions. The color of the bus—orange—and how much time they’d have to climb aboard and how long it would take to make the drive down to Academy Boulevard, and how many stops would happen between getting on and getting off the bus.

For many of them the lesson was a review. They tackled a different route every week, memorizing it, drawing it out, play-acting it, and finally incorporating it into a field trip on Friday. When they reached the end of the thirty most common bus routes, they’d start again at the beginning. But Elle’s students had Down Syndrome, so most of them experienced varying degrees of short-term memory loss. Reviewing the bus routes could never happen often enough.

At the thirty-minute mark attention spans among the group were fading fast. Elle held out her hands. “Break time.” She looked out the window again. It was a late April morning, and sunshine streamed in from a bright blue sky. “Fifteen minutes… outdoors today.”

“Yippee!” Tammy, a student with long brown braids, jumped and did a half spin. “Outdoor break!”

“Ughh! I hate outdoors!” Sid scowled and punched at the air. At thirty, he was the oldest student at the center. “Hate, hate, hate.”

“Don’t be a hater.” Gus shook a finger at the complaining student. “Ping-Pong is good for outdoors.”

“Tag, you’re it!” Brian tapped Gus on the shoulder and ran out the door laughing. Brian was a redhead who’d been coming to the center since Elle took over two years before. He was the happiest student by far. As he ran he yelled: “We could play tag and everyone could play tag!”

“Yeah!”

“I hate tag.” Sid crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip. “Hate, hate, hate.”

The students headed for the door, all of them talking at once. Straggling behind and lost in their own world were Carl Joseph and Daisy. He was pointing outside. “No rain today, Daisy. Just big bright sunshine. That’s thanks to God, right?”

“Right.” She looked up at him with adoring eyes. “God gets the thanks.”

“I thought so.” He laughed from deep in his throat and clapped his hands five quick times. “I thought God gets the thanks.”

Elle smiled and went to the back room. She poured herself a cup of dark coffee and returned to her desk. Her job at the center had everything to do with Delores Daisy Dalton. Her favorite student, her little sister. Her project. How different life was for Daisy here in the Springs. Two years ago Daisy had spent all her life with their mother an hour east of Denver in Lindon, Colorado—population 120.

The oldest of the Dalton daughters was only nine when their big strapping father left home one morning for his
office job in Denver and never made it back. A patch of black ice on a back country road took his life, and he was dead before the first police officer made it to the scene. There was life insurance money and a settlement against the drunk driver who hit him—enough to allow their mother to stay home, to continue schooling them in their small wood-paneled living room. Enough so that life wouldn’t change in any way other than the most obvious and painful.

Because their daddy had loved his girls with everything he had.

Time flew, and one by one the Dalton girls left home and moved to Denver to attend the University of Colorado. Elle was no exception. She pursued a teaching credential and then her master’s. But Daisy was the youngest, and when she turned nineteen one thing was certain.

If she stayed in Lindon, Daisy was out of options. And that wouldn’t do, because their mother had never dreamed less for Daisy than for the other Dalton girls. Never mind what the doctors and textbooks of that day said about Down Syndrome. From an early age their mom believed Daisy was capable of great things. She believed in mainstreaming and immersion, which meant if the math lesson was about counting money, Daisy learned to count. If it was time to clean the kitchen, Daisy was taught how to run a dishwasher.

When the short bus for handicapped students drove by, it didn’t stop at the Dalton house.

“You girls will show Daisy what to do, how to act and think and behave,” their mom said. “How else will she learn?”

As it turned out, their mother’s thinking was innovative and cutting-edge. When Elle earned her master’s degree in special education, mainstreaming was all the rage. People with learning disabilities could do more than anyone ever expected as long as they were surrounded by role models.

When she was offered the director position at the Independent Learning Center—or ILC as everyone called it—Elle formed an idea and presented it to her mother. They could sell the house in Lindon and the three of them could buy a place in the Springs. Elle would run the center, Daisy would be a student, and their mother could find work outside the home.

Sentimental feelings for the old farmhouse made their mom hesitate, but only for a minute. Life was not a house, and family was not limited to a certain place. The move happened quickly, and from her first day at the center Daisy blossomed. Her friendship with Carl Joseph was further proof.

Elle sipped her coffee, stood, and made her way to the window. She sat on the sill and watched her students. A center like this one would’ve been unheard of fifteen years ago. Back when most of her students were born, their parents had few options. Half the kids were institutionalized, shipped off to a facility with little or no expectation for achievement. The others were sent to special education classes, with none of the stimulation needed for advancement.

Elle took another sip of coffee. The ILC was good not just for her students—most of whom came five days a week, six hours a day. It gave her a purpose, a place where no
one asked about the ring she wasn’t wearing anymore. She glanced at her watch, stood, and headed for the door. Some days her work at the center not only gave her a reason to move forward, it gave her a reason to live.

She opened the door. “Break’s over. In your seats in two minutes.”

“Teacher, one point!” Gus waved his Ping-Pong paddle in the air. With his other hand he grabbed the table. “One more point. Please!”

“Okay.” Elle stifled a smile. Gus was adorable, the student who could best articulate his feelings. “Finish the game, and get right in.”

The transition took five minutes, but after that everyone was seated and facing her. The center took up a large space, with areas designated for various activities. The bus routes were practiced in a carpeted alcove with a large blackboard on one wall and several benches framing the area. Another corner included a kitchen and three kitchen tables with chairs. Social skills, cooking, and appropriate eating behavior were taught there.

The next session was speech and communication. The learning area was again carpeted, and students sat on sofas and padded chairs—simulating a living room setting. The idea was to get the students comfortable in everyday living situations, learning how to read social cues and interact correctly with others.

Elle looked at her students. “Who would like to share first?”

Daisy’s hand was up before Elle finished her question. “Me, Teacher!” Daisy got a kick out of calling Elle “Teacher.”
Daisy tipped her head back and laughed, then looked at Carl Joseph for approval. “Right? We’re ready, right?”

“Uh…” Carl Joseph pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He seemed confused, but his eyes lit up as he connected with Daisy. His words came slow and thick and much too loud. “Right, Daisy. Right you are.”

“Shhh.” Daisy held her finger to her lips. Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “We can hear you, CJ.” There was no disapproval in her tone. Just a reminder, the way any two friends might encourage each other.

Carl Joseph hunched his shoulders, his expression guilty. He covered his mouth and giggled. “Okay.” He dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I’m quiet now, Daisy.”

The others were losing interest. Elle motioned to the spot beside her on the carpet. “Daisy and Carl Joseph, come up and show us.”

“Yeah.” Sid scowled and punched at the air again. He was the most moody of the students, and today he was in classic form. “All right already. Get it over with.”

Undaunted, Daisy stood and took Carl Joseph’s hand. His cheeks were red, but when he focused on Daisy, he seemed to find the strength to take the spot beside her at the front area of the class. Daisy left him standing there while she went to the nearby CD player and pushed a few buttons. The space filled with the sounds of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.”

Daisy held out her hand and Carl Joseph took it. After only a slight hesitation, the two launched into a simple swing dance routine. Carl Joseph counted the entire time—not
always on beat—and Daisy twirled and moved to the rhythm, her smile filling her face.

Elle’s eyes grew damp as she watched them. Neither friendship nor love had ever been this easy for her. But this… this was how love should look, the simple innocence of caring that shone between these two. The way Carl Joseph tenderly held Daisy’s hands, and how he led her through the moves, gently guiding her.

Today’s date hadn’t escaped her. It would’ve been her fourth wedding anniversary. She rubbed the bare place on her ring finger and bit her lip. How many years would pass before the date lost significance?

Then, midtwirl, Carl Joseph accidentally tripped Daisy. She fell forward, but before she could hit the ground, Carl Joseph caught her in his arms and helped her find her balance again.

“You okay, Daisy? Okay?” He dusted off her shoulder and her hair, and though she had never hit the ground, he brushed off her cheek.

“I’m fine.” Daisy had years of dance experience. It was how their mother made sure Daisy got her exercise. No question the slight trip-step hadn’t hurt her. But she balanced against Carl Joseph’s arm and allowed him to dote on her all the same. After a long moment, she and Carl Joseph began again, laughing with delight as they circled in front of the class.