Cedar Creek Seasons (36 page)

“What could I have done differently with his care?”

Derrick watched as Beth’s tears trickled a pained acceptance.

“Nothing. From what I’ve heard, the love and honor you’ve shown him probably gave him more time than we could measure.”

Beth looked from the doctor to Derrick, as if puzzling how this unknown medical practitioner would know anything at all about their relationship.

Derrick angled closer. “I told Dr. Mason a little of what you’ve meant to your grandfather.”

“It’s what he’s meant to me! Oh, Oompa.” She leaned against Derrick’s bicep. “I’ll need—” Her voice caught. “I’ll need a minute to get used to the idea.”

Dr. Mason left the two of them alone in the room.

She’s stronger than she looks. Her heart must be breaking
. “Beth, he’s not afraid to die.”

“I know. It’s been his life’s goal.” She shot him a brief, half-formed smile. “Oompa loves this life and has squeezed more joy out of it than most. But he talks about heaven as if he’s been planning this trip for a long time and can’t wait for the boarding call.”

“You’ll be okay, Beth.”

Her eyes scanned the ceiling. “The God who made Oompa comfortable with the idea of saying good-bye to this life for the joy of eternity is the same One who will hold and love me when he’s gone. I know that in theory. I guess it’s time to put it into practice.”

Beth, I hope you give me the opportunity to get to know you. There’s so much more to you than anyone sees on the surface
.

She bent to the floor and picked up her wool and needles. “You’re knitting? Now?”

Her fingers followed the edge of one of her finished projects. “No. I’m reminding myself of the mystery of eternity.” She traced the moebius in its beautifully confounding, seamless, no beginning and no ending shape. Infinity. “Before long, Oompa will discover—like my parents and Grandma before him—what a wonder it really is.”

O
ctober put up a fight but finally acquiesced to November’s insistence. Beth stuffed wool batting along the windowsills in the apartment behind the shop to discourage drafts. Out came the quilts, sweaters, turtlenecks, and mittens. She tucked lap robes around Oompa whether he liked it or not. He seldom resisted and always responded, “Dear child.”

The stories continued, fragile and breathless. Home health care services brought in a portable oxygen machine with tubing Oompa called his licorice whips.

Cedarburg kept humming with concerts and contests, art events, and the stuff of living. Derrick hired more help for Life by Chocolate. He wouldn’t say, but Beth suspected it was so he could spend more time ping-ponging between Oompa’s need for a listening ear and hers.

Beth had always wished for a fast-forward she could use to skip most of November and get right to December. Not this year. She savored even the gray days, their solemn brusqueness a reminder that sometimes life is hard and cold and sends shivers through any remaining leaves, any remaining life.

It took a week or two of Oompa’s coaxing and Derrick’s coaching for Beth to turn her focus from the physical distress her grandfather now felt or would soon experience to the celebration of each moment they had together. The “together” more often than not meant all three.

“Just say the word and I’ll back off,” Derrick told her one late afternoon when holiday customers were oddly scarce in both shops. “I know this is between the two of you. Your grandfather means a lot to me, too.”

“He has that effect on people.”

“But I don’t have a right to impose myself onto the picture. That’s worse than a second cousin twice removed trying to horn in on the family photo.” His eyes, still tea colored, couldn’t hide their liquid sympathy.

“It’s not my call. It’s not even Oompa’s call. It’s God’s call. Oompa loves that he can talk to you freely about heaven and his faith without you backing away from even the tough subjects. And I don’t know what I’d do without y—”

No. Unfair. Unwise. And unhealthy for her heart. He was a good friend and neighbor willing to help out in a crisis. Oompa deserved her full attention. That’s what he’d get.

“I need to get out to the covered bridge one more time.”

Beth took a moment to process Oompa’s ridiculous request. Her irreverent high school friends would have responded, “Fat chance.” She said, “No.”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard enough for you to walk the six-foot hallway from the apartment to the shop. We’ll get out Grandma’s photo albums later this afternoon, okay? You two took lots of pictures out by that bridge.”

“And that’s where I met my Joy.”

Joy? Grandma’s name was AnnaMay.

“She and I had some sweet moments together in that park by the covered bridge.”

Beth rose and smoothed the quilt where she’d sat on the edge of Oompa’s bed. If only she could smooth her emotions as easily. Who was Joy? And why was her Oompa, a happily married man—meeting some woman for “sweet” moments? It couldn’t have been while Grandma was still alive. Not her Oompa.

Who did Beth know in Cedarburg named Joy? Joy Werlitzer? Oompa and Mrs. Werlitzer? Impossible!

Oompa coughed. “Are you going to stand there all day staring at the cobwebs? Or should we get to the shop and see who wanders in needing a little encouragement?”

Lord, do I want to be here if Oompa starts talking out of his head, spilling secrets better left buried?

“Try this,” Derrick said, extending a plate decked with a thick, round, decadent disk of what looked like a cross-section of a tree. “
Buche de noel
. I’m offering them for the holidays only. See what you think of this.”

He forked a generous sample and stuck it too near her mouth to ignore. It smelled divine and melted into wonderfulness as soon as it hit her tongue. “Oh, that’s good.”

“How’s the ratio of pastry cream to cake?”

“You’re asking me, the noncook?”

“Asking you, the best taste tester Cedarburg has to offer. And the one whose opinion I most value.”

Derrick’s attention was so much less irritating than she’d once found it. But something wasn’t quite right. His relationship with Oompa had taken on a conspiratorial air. They whispered, and it wasn’t just because her grandfather’s voice grew weaker by the day. “Speaking of opinions …”

With a second fork, Derrick made his own taste comparison. “Could use more vanilla. Ooh! Or almond. No, you have to be careful with almond flavoring. It can get medicinal.”

“Which brings us back to what I was trying to ask.”

“And maybe a white chocolate drizzle. Just a touch.”

“Derrick!” She took the plate from him.

“Hey, don’t get greedy. I have more, if you’re that desperate.”

She handed him the plate and leaned against the cash counter. “I’m desperate for some answers.”

Derrick captured crumbs with the back of his fork. “About what?”

With suspicion and incredulity fighting for a chance to speak, Beth eventually said, “Do you know about Joy?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve heard Oompa talk about meeting Joy out at the covered bridge?”

His fork continued to chase fudgy crumbs. “Lots of times.”

“And you didn’t find that disturbing?”

The customer restroom door creaked open. Oompa was back in hearing range.

“Find what disturbing?” Pushing and leaning on the pull cart that held his oxygen tank, Oompa crossed the room to his rocker. “Oh, child?”

“What is it?”

“I left my reading glasses on the sink in the lavatory. Would you be a dear and—”

“Of course.”

She left the men to search the powder room.

No reading glasses. Not on the sink. Not on the back of the tank. She checked the floor, behind the door, on the hook on the wall. Nothing.

When she turned the corner into the body of the shop, she caught Derrick and Oompa deep in conversation, Oompa’s glasses perched pertly on his nose.

“Guess they were right here beside my chair,” he said. “Good news, though. Your Derrick’s come up with the perfect solution.”

Quit calling him “my” Derrick, please. He’s more yours than mine, for one thing. And for another, I’m beginning to wonder if I have time or energy for either one of you, much less both!

A muscle in her heart twisted.

Time. So little of it left.

Grace. So much of it needed.

“What solution, Oompa?”

“A wheelchair! Why didn’t we think of that sooner? Beth, you can wheel me out to the covered bridge. Or a
motorized
wheelchair!” Oompa’s plea gained momentum. “I could zoom on down to Herman’s and see if his showroom floor is still cleaner than a Lysol convention.”

Derrick stepped forward and settled into “his” chair. “How about if we take this one excursion at a time?”

A trio of customers looking for Christmas stocking patterns occupied the next few minutes. Would it be fair to pray for a steady stream of customers from now until Oompa came to his senses?

Holding out his cell phone, Derrick approached. “I have to get back to the store. I’m working on a Thanksgiving brownie with a mocha tuille on top. But here’s a number you can call if you want to rent a wheelchair. I’d be happy to pick it up in the Escalade.”

Sometimes there’s a fine line between accommodating and enabling. Given the circumstances, did she have a choice?

The medical rental supply company delivered the wheelchair—a jim-dandy, according to Oompa—the next morning, which was an exceptionally warm day for late November. They testdrove it down the block, Oompa smiling and waving like the grand marshal of a parade. His oxygen tank fit into a clip on the back of the chair. Beth had no excuse but to take the next step—see if it would fit into Derrick’s glow-in-the-dark SUV.

It did.

Step two. Could they get Oompa hoisted into the passenger seat?

Derrick pulled a footstool from behind the second seat. It looked like an unpainted version of one she’d seen in that new children’s furniture shop in the Settlement. Oompa demonstrated how
easy
that made it for him to climb in and out of the SUV.

Step three. Just do it.

When Derrick insisted on driving and helping with the logistics of getting an old man out of town to an even older bridge, Beth didn’t object. She needed all the help she could get. Both emotionally and physically.

She had reluctance to spare, but who was she to deny him a simple joy?

Joy. He’d met the mysterious Joy there on the bridge. Okay, Beth had to admit curiosity served as another motivator.

The leafless trees they passed stood stark against the November sky, like dark veins in marble. The hills seemed eager for a covering of snow. It would come all too soon. At least a dusting by the weekend, the weatherman predicted. Was she ready for the next season?

“Ready?” Derrick rested his hand on her shoulder as he drove but spoke to the passenger in the backseat. She turned to catch her grandfather’s reaction, trying hard to ignore the scent of Derrick’s unusual aftershave—something between lime and sweet basil.

“Been waiting a lifetime,” Oompa said, a smile spreading like warm chocolate.

The county highway, once lined with an occasional farm, now boasted developments of high-end homes among the ancient. New families among the old. New hopes replacing the retired. New seasons.