Song of Renewal (31 page)

“I called her at Christmas.”

“But you missed her birthday. Unconscionable.”

She sat back, crossed her arms and legs, and peered at him intently, as though deciphering an ancient text for the first time, as though he were testifying at a murder trial. Raymond shifted uneasily, rolling his neck and shoulders. “Don’t. Don’t look at
me like I’m under a microscope, Charlc. In view of all your stated grievances, all justified, it was very difficult for me to come here.”

Charlcy reached out, palm up, and pumped her fingers impatiently for more. “And?”

“Hell, Charlcy,” Raymond muttered and swiped a big hand across his face and closed his eyes for a moment, clearly fighting to hold on to his composure.

“Charlcy.” Liza could stand it no longer. She felt like a voyeur. “Should I leave?’ She began to rise, cutting a concerned glance toward Angel’s bed,

“She’s asleep,” Charlcy said softly, picking up on Liza’s need to protect Angel from upsetting scenes such as this. “If anyone leaves, it will be Raymond and me. I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I did see that she was asleep.”

Raymond rose quickly to his feet and snatched up his Stetson. “I’m sorry, too, Liza. I truly wanted to come and see Angel – all of you, in fact. I’ve missed you. I’m glad Angel’s rallied. Lots to be thankful for.”

“We’ve missed you, too, Raymond,” Liza said. “And yes, we are grateful beyond words that our girl has come back.” She hugged her brother-in-law warmly. At least he would be family for a little while longer.

Charlcy stood then. “You never did tell me what’s going on, Raymond.”

He looked at her like he wanted to hit her. Gazed at the ceiling, fidgeting with his hat brim. Then he visibly caved in. That was the only way Liza could later describe it to Garrison. He sort of wilted. “Okay, Charlc. I’ve been in Atlanta for the past few months. Near Emory.”

The fury in Charlcy’s blue eyes slid into wariness. Her mouth dropped open. “Emory? What – ” Then realization visibly hit her like a Seaboard Coastline freight train.

“The big C, honey,” he said softly. “I didn’t want you to see me – ” He took a deep, dragging breath and bucked up, eyes moist as they met her stricken ones. “That’s why. I’ve got to tell Lindi. Will you help me?”

That did it. Liza, heart in throat, watched Charlcy’s last arsenal walls crumble, topple into dust. Saw terror seize her – something that looked so alien in Charlcy that it altered her entire persona. How vulnerable she looked. It splintered Liza’s heart.

Raymond fidgeted, craggy face uncertain, consoling as he watched Charlcy’s disintegration. “Aah, honey,” he groaned, threw the Stetson aside, and held out his arms to her.

After about five seconds of virtual hand-wringing resistance, Charlcy sailed into his fierce embrace, where she gulped back tidal sobs, grasping in her white fingers the back of Raymond’s shirt until Liza listened for it to rip. She herself stood frozen, hands to mouth, tears spilling over.

Moments later, they excused themselves to journey down the hall, into the little chapel for a private talk. Liza watched them leave, emotions flailing inside her. Sadness, fear, happiness – they bounced against one another, none willing to concede.

Who would have thought the world could turn on a pinhead so swiftly? So unexpectedly. The ramifications of Raymond’s and Charlcy’s situation stunned her. The emotions agitated inside her, churned until a profound thing that had all but vanished from Charlcy’s odyssey separated itself from the conflux and rose to the top like golden, sweet butter.

How Liza had prayed for her sister to grasp on to something solid, something that would pull her up from that pit of disillusionment. Something to renew her. Who’d have believed it might turn out to be Raymond?

Charlcy had been so implacable in her unforgiveness toward him. But things were subject to change with love thrown into the chaos, weren’t they?

Liza smiled and walked over to Angel’s bedside and peered down into the young sleeping face. As though sensing a profound occurrence, the long eyelashes fluttered, then opened.

“Mom?” Angel said, blinking against sedation and gazing blearily about. “Where’s…uncle Raymond? Why did you...let me sleep? I wanna talk to ‘im.”

“He’ll be back.” Liza’s laugh slid from her, loose and rich. It felt good. “Honey, my bet is that you’ll have plenty of opportunities to talk to Uncle Raymond.”

Yes, it felt good.

Garrison’s paintbrush flew over the canvas and he felt a sense of being set free and soaring with life’s goodness. Late, late that night, he stood back and smiled at the results. From the canvas, his own features regarded him with a celebration of life and joy.

Of fulfillment.

Henry David Thoreau once said, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” Garrison smiled at having escaped that fate, knowing that his journey to find his heart’s song had delivered him to this very moment in time. No money in the world could buy the feeling of waking up each day and doing a job he loved, that used his talents in a challenging way.

Garrison had found his song.

His heart now sang with it.

“That was tough.” Raymond’s big hands clenched the steering wheel. He and Charlcy had left their daughter, Lindi’s Atlanta home over two hours ago and were exiting I-85 into Spartanburg. “But she took it like the trooper she is.”

“She is that,” Charlcy agreed, her voice thick with emotion. She was quiet for long moments. “But then, she’s had lots of practice in recent days.” The words were weary rather than accusatory, and Raymond seemed to understand because he didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least.

Charlcy knew he was hurt by her directness. At the same time, she was aware that he also knew she was put together and wired for unqualified candor. That’s why it had always worked for them. They understood each other. At least

“Hey!” Raymond said suddenly, swiveling his head to gaze at a landmark. “Let’s stop by Hank’s Place.”

Charlcy perked up. Spontaneity was one of the things she’d always loved about Raymond. “I would love one of their frosty root beers. It’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

“As the crow flies, about a million years, sugarbabe.” Raymond swung his red Toyota pickup into the graveled parking lot. He jogged around and opened her door, causing her eyebrows to lift. This new Raymond was no slouch when it came to being attentive. Of course, he’d always been considerate, but this was a brand new level for him, coming around to assist her from the vehicle. Made her feel real special.

Outside, they passed smokers loitering about, grumbling about the new no-smoking policy inside and calling out good-natured insults and insincere flattery to one another.

Garth Brooks’ jukebox song spoke of friends in low places as they swung through the door. Raymond’s Western garb fit right in with the Levis and Wranglers, boots, and a spattering of Stetsons. They singled out a corner booth, away from the
dance floor and bar, where the music appeased rather than thrashed.

Charlcy felt his hand surreptitiously cup her denimed bottom as she walked ahead of him. When she cut him a sharp look, he winked at her and she grinned in spite of herself.

Raymond slid into the seat opposite Charlcy, his eyes doing a slow, thorough search of her face, as though he’d lost something and could find it there amongst her features. This was the Raymond who’d literally knocked her off her feet in a Gilley’s-type bar all those years back.

She and her teacher-girlfriend had been enjoying the echoes of
Urban Cowboy
in the highly publicized Texas Café/ Bar when she’d trekked to the bathroom. On her way back, a cowboy slammed into her as he exited the mechanical bull. Next thing she knew, he was picking her up from the floor and setting her on her feet as though she were no heavier than a toy Chihuahua.

For full-figured Charlcy, that was no mean feat.

Gazing into her eyes with genuine concern was a Sam Elliott double, mustache, low, drawling voice, and all.

Gawd. He was gorgeous.

She had immediately recognized him from the rodeo earlier that day. What a figure he’d cut on that broncing horse.
Mymymy,
the energy bursting from him created an aura of power that nearly blew her away. “Don’t you get enough punishment without doing that bionic-bull thing?” she’d wisecracked, drawing an eruption of pure appreciative masculine laughter.

“Sure thing, sugarbabe,” he’d quipped right back in his lazy Texan drawl. “But then I wouldn’t be standing here flirtin’ with you right now, now would I?”

Those eyes had never left her face on that long ago night. Just as they adored her at this precise moment.

Charlcy felt the heat-flush start at her neck and crawl slowly upward. “Where’s that waitress?” she snapped to cover her feelings. Still, those hawkish eyes never wavered. Charlcy took a deep breath, glared back at him, and said, “What?”

He gave a lazy shrug and lolled back against the seat. “I just wanna look at you, Charlc. You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Belying his laid back demeanor, the words husked, thick with emotion.

Which only amplified Charlcy’s discomfort, stirring up and bidding unpleasant memories of betrayal. “Why? Have you been looking?” Immediately, she regretted flapping her tongue so indiscriminately.

His eyes flickered for only a moment, then settled back into their intense surveillance. “Nope.”

The Western-garbed waitress’s arrival scattered the hovering dark nuances of deceit. They ordered two root beers and all-the-way hot dogs.

“What?” Charlcy sniped, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward. “No real beer?”

“No more alcohol,” he growled, deadly serious. “Cost me too much.”

When they were alone again, Raymond unexpectedly reached across the table and grasped Charlcy’s hand. “C’mon, let’s dance,” he murmured, tugging her to her feet and steering her to the peanut-shelled dance floor, causing Charlcy’s heart to do a little flippity-do.

God, the guy was so…
manly
in his confidence. In that moment, a double-edged sword pierced her with both love and hate – love for this sensitive, caring man – hate for the one who’d shredded and barbecued her, then left her in a smoldering heap not so long ago.

But when he pulled her into his arms for Anne Murray’s “The Rest of Your Life,” she melted against him and inhaled his own special smell of aftershave, leather, and soap.

All man.

He caught her in his long, strong arms and swung her around in a whirling, perfect countrified waltz. And she felt utterly content. Then she wondered crazily how one woman could feel so many emotions so at odds with one another?

Lordy, she didn’t know. All she knew was that right then, at that precise moment, she felt complete while they moved as one over the crowded dance floor. Her cheek pressed to his, she smiled. For a broncing cowboy, he was sure light and graceful on his feet. As for rhythm, she didn’t even want to go
there
.

Anne Murray’s song ended and they returned to the booth, where they dug into their hot dogs and cooled off with the frosty mugs of icy root beer, relaxed and living in the moment.

The moment began to ebb when memories elbowed their way into Charlcy’s fragile psyche. She resisted them for as long as she could before her up front, in-your-face side stepped up to bat.

Charlcy’s finger drew circles on her mug. “Raymond, why did you cut us off? Lindi and me? Why didn’t you let us help you? I was angry at you, sure. But if you’d just told me you were sick, I’d have been there for you.”

He shifted, his eyes going grave as they focused on his big hands clasped before him on the table. “Because – I didn’t feel free to tell you. I didn’t think you’d be able to forgive me for – ”

He shrugged tersely, cleared his throat and began again. “With prostate cancer, I didn’t know how things would turn out. With surgery, sometimes a man can’t always….”