Bring Me Home for Christmas (11 page)

She’d grieved that as much as anything.

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Seven

The sound of Denny moving around the room woke her before the sunlight. She heard the shower, the water in the sink, the toilet. Then he came to the bed and gently touched her cheek. “I’m sorry to have to wake you,” he whispered. “After you get some breakfast, you can nap the day away in Preacher’s house if you want to. But I feel like I should take the boys out to the river. After all, I asked them to come.”

“Hmm, go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

“Becca, I don’t want to even think about you trying the stairs.”

“Don’t worry. If you write down the number, I’ll call the bar and see if Jack or Preacher can help me down.” She touched his cheek and gave him a sleepy smile. “That way, I can have my morning grooming without you standing right outside the bathroom door. Okay?”

“You promise? You’ll call the bar for help?”

“Sure,” she said, lying through her teeth. She had absolutely no intention of calling anyone. But she did have a plan. “Can I make a long-distance call from that phone?”

He hesitated for just a second. “No problem,” he said.

“Thanks. Go on. Have fun. Let me sleep some more.”

She rolled over and heard Denny leave the apartment. She sighed gratefully. She felt disgusting and in dire need of a fluff and buff. She’d had only sponge baths since falling into the mud hole. Her hair felt itchy and greasy and she’d had only one change of clothes.

When she was completely sure he wasn’t coming back, she pulled herself out of bed. She hopped over to the door and threw the dead bolt. Then went back to the bed where she sat on the edge for balance and stripped down to her panties. She was planning a good scrub and reassembly.

She started by figuring out how to kneel. With her hands on the rim of the tub, she lowered herself carefully, first onto the knee of the splinted foot. Then the other knee. Painless. Then she started the water and prepared to wash her hair. Ahhh…scrubbing her scalp felt like pure heaven.

Next came a real bath. Despite the discharge nurse’s recommendation that she make do with sponge baths out of the sink for a week, she was overdue for a good soak. Keeping her wrapped ankle dry while getting in wasn’t that easy, but she used her head—she lowered herself into the tub before there was too much water, which kept the splash manageable. Likewise, she had to let most of the water out before attempting to leave the tub.

She felt like a new woman!

She had to use her blow-dryer and apply her makeup while seated on the bed—although her balance was exceptional, she didn’t trust herself to stand on one leg for more than a minute at a time. Next, she had to find a sharp knife in one of Denny’s kitchen drawers to use to open a seam in her jeans—the only way she’d get into them.

Finally, she donned jeans, one boot, one of Denny’s socks pulled over her splint to keep her toes warm, a turtleneck and bright purple sweater, then sat on the bed beside the phone. She thought for just a moment before dialing Doug’s cell number. She punched in the private-caller code first. The last thing she needed was for Doug to call this number and have Denny answer!

You have reached the cell phone of Doug Carey. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.

She actually sighed in relief. She cleared her throat. “Hi, Doug. Just checking in. We had to get off the phone so quickly yesterday because you were getting on the plane that I didn’t have a chance to tell you there’s hardly any cell-phone reception around here. I can use the phone at the restaurant sometimes and you can leave a message on my cell and I’ll pick it up when I have a signal… But I’m fine and I’ll call when I can. Have fun with your family!”

She realized she hadn’t said the obligatory I love you before hanging up.

“Oops,” she said to no one.

With a sigh, she pulled on her jacket and looped the strap of her purse over her arm. She used the crutches to get out the door, then stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at the long, frightening descent.

Then she sat down on the top step. She slid her crutches down and carefully lowered her butt to the next step. And the next. And the next.

And she laughed.

She even practiced going up a few steps using the same method.

There was no reason to risk falling and breaking the other leg. If she could stay upright while riding a twenty-foot wave, traveling twenty miles an hour, she could get up and down these stairs without doing further damage.

Yup, she thought. I don’t need no steenking baby sitter!

Jack’s Bar was only a couple of short blocks from Denny’s little efficiency. Under any other circumstances, that might’ve felt like miles on a pair of crutches, but Becca was so pleased with herself she didn’t feel tired at all. When she faced the porch at Jack’s and the three steps up, she gave them careful consideration before taking them one slow step at a time.

Another victory! When she made it inside, she was wearing a smile brighter than the sun.

“Hey,” Jack said from behind the bar. “I was expecting a call from you! Denny said you’d need a little help getting down the stairs.”

She hefted herself onto a bar stool, lifting her leg onto the one right beside her. “Hah! Fooled him, didn’t I?”

“Becca,” he said, putting a coffee cup in front of her. “You shouldn’t take chances. What if you’d gotten hurt? I mean, more hurt.”

“Jack, I didn’t take any chances,” she said. “I was very careful and went down the stairs on my butt.” She grinned and tapped her cup. “Oh, please, coffee. I was so busy getting cleaned up—in private—that I never even looked through Denny’s cupboards for coffee!”

He chuckled at her and poured. “How’s it working out with your new roommate?”

She took a sip of the steaming coffee. “Poor Denny,” she said. “If it wasn’t bad enough I crashed his party, then I became his invalid to take care of because he feels at least partially responsible. What a load, huh?”

“Why does he feel responsible?” Jack asked.

“He was picking at me, so I told him to pull over and I…” She made a face. “I jumped out without looking.”

Jack frowned. “He shouldn’t be doing that—picking and arguing. If I do that with Mel, it never goes the way I think it will. Big mistake.”

“You do that?” she asked.

“Been known to, yeah.”

“I’m amazed,” she said. “You really don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

“Because I’m ninety-five percent sweetheart and five percent asshole.” He smiled, pushing the cream and sugar toward her.

“This coffee is so wonderful, I don’t even need the cream and sugar, but that’s how I usually fix it. Spoon, please?”

He put a spoon and napkin on the bar for her. “That’s how I trapped Mel—the coffee. I’m only particular about a few things, and coffee is one of them. She was on her way out of town. She couldn’t wait to make this little one-horse town a memory, but she wasn’t leaving without a cup of coffee.”

She grinned at him. “And she stayed for the coffee?” she asked, dressing her cup.

“No, kiddo. The coffee distracted her just long enough for me to make my move. In the end, she stayed for me.” He smiled right back at her.

Becca looked around and realized she was the only one in the bar. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s after nine-thirty, Becca. My breakfast crowd is early. Plus, it’s the day before Thanksgiving—people are busy. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I’m starving! You have no idea what an ordeal a hair wash, bath, dressing and walking a couple of blocks can be.”

“Preacher was making omelets earlier. He always has bacon and sausage. What would you like?”

“I usually just have cereal, but I think I need some protein. Would you ask him to just break up a little sausage in the eggs and make a small omelet? Maybe a tiny bit of cheese?”

“I’ll ask, but I warn you, it’s very hard for Preacher to think small. Stay tuned,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

It was just a few minutes when Paige carried a plate with an omelet on it out to the bar. Jack was right, Preacher wasn’t good at making anything small. “Wow,” she said when Paige put it in front of her.

“It’s wonderful, you’ll see. I have to make a run into Fortuna this morning. Can I pick up anything for you?”

“Oh, I hate to ask favors…” Becca said, taking a second bite of a fantastic omelet.

Paige leaned on the bar, facing her. “What do you need?”

“Well, if you’re anywhere near a store that sells sewing supplies, I need a seam ripper.” She lifted the leg with the cast and opened jeans. “I used a sharp knife this morning, but I can see the advantage of having the right equipment. Before I slice off a finger or something.”

“I’ll not only be near that kind of store, I’ll be in one. I’m going to buy construction paper, glue and craft stuff. The kids all get out a little early today because of the holiday and we’re going to make some table favors for Thanksgiving dinner. The bar is usually quiet on Wednesday night before the holiday, so Jack and John can handle dinner alone. There are a bunch of town kids who want to make stuff for their tables.”

Becca’s fork paused in midair. “Don’t they do crafts at school to bring home?”

“Not so much,” Paige said. “They do have Thanks giving stories, an assembly program and they make stuff for the school bulletin boards, but nothing for our tables. And we’ll have a nice, big crowd here tomorrow. Of course, other people have big family gatherings, too, so we’re meeting in the church basement. It’s fun for the kids.”

Becca put down her fork. “Can I come?”

“Shopping?”

“Yes, that. But can I come do crafts? Paige, that’s my specialty, sort of.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, man, I wish I had my stuff! You just don’t know how much stuff I have—patterns and instruction books and stencils, all kinds of supplies. You know, money’s been so tight, lots of teachers just go buy stuff for the class. I used to hit up my surfing team for donations for supplies and once word spread, I had everyone from my mom’s ladies golf group to the neighborhood firefighters buying stuff for my kids. When the elementary school where I was teaching shut down, they let me keep all the things I had donated or bought myself.”

Paige was frowning. “Didn’t I understand that you’re not supposed to travel? It’s a good half hour, one way, to Fortuna.”

“Do you have a console between the front seats in your car? I can sit in the back and elevate my leg by putting it on the console.”

“You’d be sitting beside Dana, the road queen. She loves to go anywhere. She puts her jacket on every morning and says ‘We go now?’”

Becca laughed. “Even better. Love a road queen!” She shoveled some of her omelet into her mouth. “When are you going?”

Paige shook her head. “Finish your breakfast. The kids won’t be home till around two. We have lots of time.”

“Oh, this will be great,” she said. Finally, she thought—something she was actually good at!

Although Paige argued with her, Becca couldn’t help herself. She had great ideas for Thanksgiving projects for kids. She bought terra-cotta flowerpots, black felt and artificial mums for pilgrim-hat centerpieces; she found stencils for construction-paper turkeys; she knew how to make cornucopias out of paper plates and string, and decorative gourds from crumpled-up colored tissue paper. Then there was the standard turkey out of a hand-print. Actually, that was the tip of the iceberg—she had a million craft ideas. But she didn’t want to overwhelm the kids. She was absolutely in her element.

“I see you’ve mastered pushing around a shopping cart while on crutches,” Paige said. “What a woman!”

There were a couple of other women helping out with the crafts—Denny’s landlady, Jo Fitch, and the pastor’s wife, Ellie Kincaid. By two-fifteen, she was meeting the children in the basement of the church. Ellie’s kids, Danielle and Trevor, were nine and five. Danielle’s little friend, Megan Thickson, was only eight and hung pretty close to her; she seemed awful shy. Megan’s little brother, Jeremy, played with Trevor.

The first order of business was an after-school snack—these kids had had a long day. Jo and Ellie served up milk and chocolate chip cookies. Mel Sheridan brought her kids, though they were too young to do anything constructive—they sat at a table with Dana and colored on a large roll of butcher paper. Of course, there was Christopher and about six other kids who regularly attended Sunday school there and played with each other around the neighborhood.

Becca showed them how to glue precut black felt to the flowerpots, making them look like pilgrim hats. The older kids turned them out like little factories. She cut the colorful construction paper for the younger ones so they could glue the tail feathers on the paper turkeys. And she worked on constructing the horns of plenty from paper plates, then showed the older girls—Danielle and Megan—how to crumple tissue paper into the shape of gourds. Because Megan seemed so shy, Becca spent a little extra time showing her the ropes, trying to make conversation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping your leg elevated?” Jo Fitch asked her.

“I forget, but it feels okay.”

“Forget less,” Jo said. “You don’t want trouble.” She pushed a chair next to Becca so she could put her leg up.

“How did you break it?” Megan asked her very softly.

“Oh, I was careless. I jumped out of my brother’s big old truck without looking first and twisted it funny. It turns out I’m lucky. It could’ve been worse. But I did have surgery and have a couple of screws holding it together!”

“My dad had surgery, too,” she said.

“Oh? Is he all right now?”

Megan shrugged and concentrated on her tissue-paper gourds. “Yeah. Except he doesn’t have his job.”

“Oh?” Becca asked. “What was his job?”

“Logger. He cut down the really big trees. He fell and got hurt and ran out of ability and they won’t hire him back.”

“Ability?” Becca asked. “Ran out of ability?”

“You know. What they pay you to live because you’re hurt.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Becca said. Disability. She wouldn’t correct the child. It was obviously an emotional issue. “But is he healed?”