Stuck in the Middle (31 page)

God was not like Daddy. Of course he wasn’t! But maybe she’d been so hurt by her father’s desertion she refused to allow her heavenly Father a place in her life. Blinking to clear her vision, she knew she had discovered the truth. When she heard Mrs. Sachs speak about God’s power, didn’t Joan feel God nudging her? When Ken talked about how his faith affected his life every day, didn’t she feel a tug deep inside? When Karen asked, “What do you believe?” didn’t Joan feel the weight of God pressing her, waiting for her answer?

She slowed to a walk, her breath coming in gasps. An oscillating sprinkler watered the yard beside her. Heavy drops splashed onto the pavement with a loud
tap
,
tap
,
tap
in the stillness of the early morning, a wet accompaniment to her thoughts. She had turned another corner and could no longer see Ken and Trigger.

But she did respond to those feelings. She took charge at Sunday school, organized their group, got them focused on a project that could really do some good. Didn’t that count for something? Surely God was happy about that.

A slight breeze blew cooling moisture into her sweaty face. Maybe God was pleased with her actions, but what was her motivation? Did she really come up with this project idea because she wanted a closer relationship with a heavenly Father? Or with Ken? Or was she just bored?

She stopped. The sun, rising above the houses behind her, cast long shadows on the road. She drew in a deep breath. The truth was, God had been trying to get her attention and she had ignored him because she was afraid. Afraid of being called a fanatic. Afraid of giving up control. But most of all, afraid of being hurt again.

I will never leave you, nor forsake you.

Was it true?

Oh, how desperately she wanted to believe it! Suddenly she realized she didn’t care if Tori and Allie called her a fanatic. If only she could believe that she had a real Father, one who loved her and would never leave her. If she could believe that, she would give her whole heart to him.

“God, I want to believe in you.” She closed her eyes, her head tilted back to the sky. Sweat dampened the skin on the back of her neck. Anyone driving by would think she was a lunatic, but she didn’t care. “I want you to be real in my life the way you’re real in Ken’s. I want you to be my . . . my Father. And I promise to be whatever you want me to be.”

The whirling tornado of emotions slowed, and a peaceful calm stole over Joan’s heart. With an assurance that left her lightheaded, she knew what God wanted of her. He wanted her to be his daughter. His beautiful, cherished, much-loved child. Her limbs felt light, and before she knew what she was doing, she started running again. Like a little girl running into her Father’s outstretched arms.

~ 22 ~

Joan unlocked Abernathy’s front doors a few minutes before 9:00 with her heart still light. She stepped outside to breathe the fresh air. Big, puffy clouds were rolling in, painting patterns with sunlight on the parking lot. Before today they were just clouds. Now they were tools in the hands of an Artist who wanted to color the world just for her.

Rosa’s car, with two people in the front seat, pulled into a parking space. Ah, it looked like she would finally get to meet the infamous Luis.

She lifted a hand in greeting as Rosa stood from the passenger side, her happy mood dimming when Rosa did not return her smile. Instead, she looked sad, hesitant, as their eyes locked across the top of the car. Joan lowered her arm. So. The decision had been made. almost fearful. This was the man who evoked such passionate emotion in the willful, determined Rosa?

Luis stood, and Joan studied him in surprise. He was shorter than his wife, with the same jet-black hair and sun-kissed skin tone. He walked beside Rosa, staring at Joan through eyes so dark they might have been all pupil. His gaze shifted away from her face. Why, he looked timid,

Gathering the comfort of all her professionalism around her, Joan held her hand toward him. “You must be Luis.”

His grip was firm. He pumped her hand and then shoved his into his pocket without a word.

“Luis want to meet you.” Rosa was having trouble looking Joan in the face too. She stared at the concrete between them. “He want to explain to you our reasons to move to Las Vegas.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” Joan was proud that her voice betrayed none of the hurt and disappointment she felt. She was losing her friend.

“Miss Joan.” His voice a high tenor, Luis made her name sound even more exotic than Rosa did, the J coming out as a Y. “We come to
Los Estados Unidos
to make money we not can make in Mexico. Here we make
mucho
to send back to our family in Juarez. But we . . . ,” his hands waved as he searched for a word, “we lonely to be together. What good is money if we not have each other?” He put an arm around his wife and pulled her close to his side. “Rosa is my family. Tiffany is my family. If I do not have my family, money is no good for me.”

The love shining from his eyes as he gazed at his wife, and in Rosa’s as she looked at him, pierced through a barrier in Joan. She felt the beginning of tears prickle the back of her eyes, an all-too-familiar feeling lately. What would she give to have someone love her that much?

Wonder stole over her as she realized she did. Her Father had told her just this morning how much he loved her, and that he would never leave her. For some reason, that made Rosa’s departure not as devastating as it would have seemed before. Joan would miss her, but she knew this was the right thing for her friend.

And for Tiffany too. That little girl deserved to have both her parents with her. She especially deserved a father who loved her, as Luis obviously did. She was young. She’d adjust to her new home, make new friends, and be happier because she was part of a real family. An American family, just like Rosa wanted for her.

Joan reached for them both, pulled them into a hug. “I hope you’ll be happy in the home you build together.”

Joan stepped through the hospital’s main entrance. Her watch read 7:15. Gram would have finished supper an hour ago, and was probably watching her evening game show.

As she hurried toward the elevator, her eyes fell on the person leaning against the reception desk. Shock coursed through her body, bringing her to a standstill.

Ken.

Stomach in her throat, her face heated in a flash as their gazes locked. She knew he’d be here, knew she would run into him tonight. But she didn’t think he’d be waiting to waylay her inside the front door. He must think her a total infant after the way she behaved this morning.

He crossed the room in three steps, his eyes never leaving hers. “I knew you’d be here soon.”

She tore her gaze away, staring instead at the stethoscope hanging around his shoulders, the collar of his white jacket, anywhere but at his face. “I wanted to see Gram.”

She swallowed. Of course she did. He knew that. Why was she stating the obvious?

“I know. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. And that you weren’t”—his head dipped, trying to catch her eye—“mad at me.”

She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Of course not. I’m just feeling a little foolish for running off like I did this morning.”

His warm finger touched her chin, tilting it gently upward. She couldn’t breathe, the breath snatched from her lungs by the green depths of his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re foolish, Joan.”

The way he said her name, drew it out like he wanted to savor the taste on his tongue, washed over her like a caress. Who needed a nickname? When Ken said it, her name flowed into her ears like heavenly music. All awkwardness fled as his finger rose to brush her cheek. If she leaned forward and tilted her head, their lips would touch.

If only the woman behind the reception desk wasn’t staring at them with such obvious interest. Ken noticed and his hand dropped to his side. Mouth twitching, he took a step backward. “I’ll let you get up there.”

Blushing to the hair roots, Joan nodded. He fell in step beside her as she walked to the bank of elevators. When she punched the Up button, the door swooshed open immediately. Just her luck.

He leaned against the side panel to keep the door from closing. “Dr. Boling is going to be late tomorrow, so I’ll be stuck here in the morning. I’ll miss our walk.”

Disappointment washed over her, but she nodded. “Do you want me to take Trigger? I’ve got an old leash at the house I can use.”

“He’d love that.”

“It won’t be the same, though.” She gave him a shy smile. “I was sort of hoping we could continue our conversation. I promise not to cry or run away.”

The elevator door tried to close, and he shoved it back with his shoulder. “Any time. Maybe we could go to dinner one evening.”

A lopsided grin turned her stomach into a fluttering mess.

“Just the two of us.”

A date! He was asking her for a date! Breath shallow, unable to tear her gaze away from his eyes, she managed to respond in a composed voice. “I’d like that.”

Triumph shone in his face. “Me too.”

He stepped back, and the doors swished closed.

Joan melted against the elevator’s back wall. They hadn’t set a time or place, but she had definitely been asked for a date. Two almost-kisses and an almost-date! Tori might not approve, but Allie would be thrilled with her progress.

Joan stepped off the elevator and caught sight of Mom leaning over the nurses’ station counter talking with a woman seated on the other side. When she saw Joan, she straightened. Her face took on a guarded expression, which sent a shock of fear coursing through Joan. Was something wrong? Surely Ken would have mentioned it. Unless he didn’t know.

Joan approached, bracing herself for bad news. “What’s wrong? Has she taken a turn for the worse?”

Mom’s brow cleared. “No, not at all. She’s doing really well, in fact. It’s just . . .” She glanced at the seated nurse, grabbed Joan’s arm, and propelled her down the hallway. They stopped in the deserted waiting room at the end. “She’s being released tomorrow.”

“But that’s good news.”

“It is.” She nodded. “But she’s not being released to come home. She needs some extra help and some PT that Dr. Winterton feels she won’t get at home.”

Cold fear tickled in the back of Joan’s mind. “I’ll take off work. I’ve got some time off coming—”

“Joan.” Mom stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You’re not a nurse or a physical therapist. Mother will be better off at a facility where they have skilled people who can help speed her recovery.”

“A facility like Waterford?” The word rolled off her tongue with a bitterness that was more habit than a true expression of her feelings.

Mom winced. “They have an excellent nursing program. I promise you, it’s only temporary. In a couple of weeks when she’s recovered enough to take care of herself, she’ll come home.” Mom rested her chin on clasped hands, as though beseeching her to agree. “I’m sorry, Joan. I know how you feel about this.”

Joan stared at the pleading in her mother’s face. With a growing amazement, she realized Mom didn’t know how she felt—because Joan didn’t feel the same as the last time they talked about the assisted living center. True, she wasn’t happy about this development and could get angry or upset if she allowed herself. But there really wasn’t any reason to feel that way. Gram wasn’t being taken from her. She knew that now.

I will never leave you, nor forsake you.

From somewhere deep inside, a sense of calm welled up to drive away the fear that she would lose someone else she loved. No matter what happened, Joan would never be alone.

She took both of Mom’s hands in hers. “It’s okay. I understand.”