Until I Found You (23 page)

With her fingers crossed, she called the admissions manager and explained the situation. “I know this is short notice, but I’m desperate to move my grandmother today. I don’t suppose you have an opening?”

“As a matter of fact, we do.”

Kate asked questions about cost, medical care, and physical therapy. Golden West was far more expensive than Casa Rosa, but she could handle what insurance didn’t cover on her old Sutton salary. Kate rarely made quick decisions, but this one was plain as day. She finished arrangements to move Leona that afternoon, then called Roscoe and explained her predicament. “I hope you meant what you said about taking me back, because I need to work full-time, at least for a while.”

“Of course I meant it. When can you start?”

“How about Monday?”

“Perfect.” For the first time in days, a weight lifted off her shoulders and she felt confident. “I hate what happened to Leona, but maybe this is for the best. I can get caught up on the proposal, and Leona will be in a good place.”

“Do what you need to do,” Roscoe replied. “I’m sorry for the circumstances but glad to have you back.”

She ended the call with a sense of relief, but the calm evaporated at the thought of telling Nick about her decision. She loved him, but her weakened faith put a wedge between them. Until she could reconcile her doubts, she had to be careful of his feelings as well as her own. She’d be weak and dependent the rest of her life if she couldn’t pull her own weight.

She’d explain to him tonight, but now her thoughts were on Leona and the events around the sudden move. Did she thank God for the opening at Golden West Retirement, or was it merely a coincidence? If she thanked Him, did that mean she had to thank Him for Leona’s fall, or at least accept that He had allowed it? The theology was over her head, but resentment nagged at her as she walked back to Leona’s room and heard the dementia patient wail yet again that someone was trying to kill her.

As much as Kate wanted to believe in God’s goodness, she couldn’t reconcile emotional pain with a loving God, or fear with faith. It just didn’t make sense, and no one could explain it to her. Not Nick, who had been struck by mystical lightning on a mountaintop, and not Leona, who was too debilitated for a heart-to-heart. Kate was on this road by herself, and if the truth be told, she liked it that way.

W
hen the phone
at the newspaper office rang at four o’clock, Nick didn’t know whether to expect Kate’s tired voice, someone asking about Leona’s health, or another advertiser downsizing or pulling an ad completely. Winter was tough for the local businesses, including the Clarion. Eileen, the receptionist, was on another line, so he snatched the handset to his ear. “Clarion.”

“Hey, Nick.” It was Geoff at the Acorn. “Is Kate around?”

“She’s in Valencia.” He expected her to walk through the door any minute but didn’t tell Geoff. Considering the week she’d endured, Kate deserved a break. A romantic evening with steaks on the grill, candlelight, and a cozy fire sounded perfect.

“Who’s handling the ads?” Geoff asked.

“I am.” He was a poor second to Kate, even a poor second to Art Davis, the former ad manager. Art had turned the reins over to Kate and didn’t want to come back. “What can I do for you?”

“I hate to do this to you, but we’re cutting back.”

For the fifth time that week, Nick held in a groan at the loss of ad revenue. The Acorn was a big account with a standing half-page ad.

“Sorry to hear it. What are we looking at—a quarter-page?”

“Smaller.”

“An eighth?” Advertising was the
Clarion
’s lifeblood. A winter dip was to be expected, but this dip threatened to spin into a black hole. Nick wished Kate were here. She believed in what she did and shared her enthusiasm in a way that was good for everyone concerned.

“Yes, an eighth,” Geoff confirmed. “It’s just until spring, but you know how things are right now.”

Tight . . . very tight.
Even at the Clarion. The holiday insert had been a huge success, but the windfall had gone to a much needed computer upgrade. Maggie was gone, but now they were paying Heather, and Kate had insisted Nick draw a salary. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. It depended on the paper’s bottom line.

He finished with Geoff, then put together the new ad for the Acorn. He did the best he could, considered asking Kate to redo it when she arrived, but squelched the idea. Nothing had been quite right between them since New Year’s Eve, and he was determined to reclaim the closeness that was mired in work and worry. He’d do whatever it took to help Kate take care of Leona, though he hoped she’d come back to the paper soon. The
Clarion
needed both an editor and a strong ad manager to run efficiently. Aside from the business angle, he simply missed her.

He was proofing the new Acorn ad when his cell phone beeped. Two things caught his eye—a message from Kate and an e-mail from Erica Reynolds, the agent recommended by Ted Hawser and the last of the ten agents Nick had queried. Ted had sung Nick’s praises to Erica, and she’d asked to
see the full manuscript. Both nervous and pumped up, Nick opened the e-mail and started to read.

Dear Nick, Memoirs are a
tough sell right now. While your experience is deeply moving,
the story just isn’t right for the current market.
Sorry for the bad news.

Heaving a sigh, he stared blindly out the window. All rejections stung, but this one cut deeper than the others because he’d been so hopeful. What did he do now? Did he send the book to ten more agents or trash it? Somehow he’d gone from being king of the bad-boy travel guides to the unpaid acting editor of a small-town newspaper in a money slump. Between the book rejection and Geoff’s call, Nick’s pride had taken a beating—not a bad thing for a man with an ego a mile wide, but he hated the sense of failure. Kate wasn’t the only person in need of a little TLC tonight. So was Nick. Cheered by thoughts of the coming evening, he read her text message.

Had to
move Leona to new hospital. Can’t make dinner. Can
we meet nine-ish—your house? Have problem. Need to
discuss.

“Crud,” he muttered to himself.

He’d been looking forward to a relaxing evening together, and now they had another problem driving a wedge between them. A hospital move didn’t happen without a reason, and Kate was driving to Meadows at night, something she avoided. The situation couldn’t be good, and somehow it involved him in a way that demanded a face-to-face conversation. With his jaw tense, he texted back that nine was fine, then half slammed the phone on the desk. He’d do anything for Kate. He loved her. He wanted to tell her how he felt, set a wedding date, marry her, and have a real life.

He missed her every minute of the day.

He was also tired, lonely, worried, and sad. And a little
mad at God. Having gone through trials of his own, Nick knew what she was experiencing. She needed God more than she needed Nick, but she needed Nick, too—not as a crutch or a man on a pedestal, but as a friend and partner, someone who’d gladly share the load.

His frustration ebbed to a manageable level, though hurt and anger lurked just below the surface. Needing to burn it off, he picked up his phone and truck keys, asked Eileen to lock up, and headed for the door. He considered going for a drive, but he’d learned his lesson about the need for speed. Instead, he drove to Coyote Joe’s, where he spotted Colton loitering in the parking lot. He was probably waiting for a ride home from Mindy. Even in the heavy coat Nick had put under the Angel Tree, the teenager was shivering in the cold.

Nick pulled up next to him. “Are you hungry? I’m buying.”

Surprise lit Colton’s dark eyes, but his scowl returned in a blink. “No, thanks.”

Nick wasn’t all that hungry either. “It looks like you’re waiting for your mom. Do you need a ride?”

The scowl morphed into hope. “Yeah, but I have to ask her.”

“So ask.”

Colton was in and out of the restaurant in fifteen seconds. He hopped inside the truck, and Nick turned toward the driveway. “Where to?”

“Home,” he said. “The apartments.”

The run-down building housed eight families and was the closest thing Meadows had to a slum. “So you’re still living there?”

“Yeah. It sucks.”

Nick steered in that direction, but it felt wrong to drop Colton off and leave. The teenager looked bored to his eyeballs, a condition Nick knew well and what had led him to write both
CFRM
and the book now collecting rejections.
They were almost at the apartment building when Nick had an idea. “Have you taken Driver’s Ed yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have your learner’s permit?”

Colton gave him a sideways look. “I got it last month. Why?”

“Want to practice?”

“Practice what?”

“Driving.”

Colton’s face lit up. “Sure, but—”

“Let’s do it.” Nick veered into the school parking lot, empty now, and stopped in the middle of the asphalt striped with parking places. He and Colton switched places, Nick gave some instructions, and Colton turned the ignition and hit the gas. For the next hour they drove in circles, figure eights, and S-shapes that mimicked mountain roads. With each turn of the steering wheel, Colton’s smile beamed a little brighter. Nick enjoyed it, too. Teaching Colton took his mind off both Kate and the book rejection—everything except the fun of seeing a boy get a taste of manhood. They practiced until the halogen lights popped on, then Nick told Colton to head to the apartments.

They had a bit of a scare when Colton ran a stop sign and Nick yelled, more at himself than the boy. Colton turned red and cursed, but Nick recovered quickly. “Don’t sweat it,” he said as Colton parked the truck. “Everyone messes up sometimes.”

The teenager hesitated, then looked Nick in the eye. “What about you? Have you messed up?”

They were talking about more than driving. The question was about graffiti, growing up, and Nick’s wild days. “I’ve messed up a lot.”

He waited for Colton to continue the conversation, but the
boy donned his customary scowl, said nothing, and climbed down from the driver’s seat. If he wanted to hear more, he’d have to ask. When the two of them met on the sidewalk, Nick tapped the hood of the truck. “We’ll do this again. How about next week?”

“Cool.” Colton headed up the cracked concrete walk but stopped halfway and turned to Nick. “Thanks. That was fun.”

Nick gave a wave and watched until Colton opened a door with chipped green paint. The drapes in the window were faded and torn, but Sadie barked a greeting that made Nick smile. There was hope for boys like Colton, hope for all men, including Nick. He may have given Colton the thrill of his first driving lesson, but the teenager had returned the favor by reminding Nick why he’d written his memoir. With the driving lesson fresh on his mind, he went home and sent queries to ten more agents.

He lost all track of time until headlights flashed in the window. When the car engine stopped, he set aside the computer and went to the door, opening it as Kate reached the top step. A week ago she would have walked into his arms and hugged him. Tonight, she stopped two feet away, her posture ramrod straight and her face rigid in the glow of the porch light. There wasn’t a trace of softness in her expression, only a purposeful stare that warned him not to touch her. Apparently she had come tonight to fight for something, not for the comfort he longed to give.

Hurt and irritation pulsed through him, but he pushed the reaction away with compassion. Frightened people protected themselves any way they could. They said things they didn’t mean and built fortresses. Kate could have whatever she wanted from him, whatever she needed. His fear was that she would ask for nothing.

Stepping back, he opened the door wide. “Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

As he hung up her coat, she headed to the couch where he’d kissed her the night of the November storm. With her expression guarded, she perched on the edge of the thick cushion and laced her hands in her lap. She looked tired, worried, and small. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m all right.”

Nick knew Kate’s ways, how she answered some questions directly and dodged others with diplomatic neutrality.
I’m all right
was a dodge. A firm
no
would put distance between them, which she seemed to want; but she never ate while she drove and was probably half starved. A clear
yes
would fill her stomach, but she would have to accept food from his table, a gift from his hand. Food was complicated in a strange emotional way, so he offered something simple. “How about a bowl of soup?”

Her brows lifted hopefully. “Chicken noodle?”

“With saltines.”

She followed him to the kitchen but stopped to gaze out the window that faced Mount Abel, a silhouette barely visible on a moonless night. He wondered if she could see it at all, then focused on the task of dumping the soup into the old saucepan he also used for camping. The kitchen seemed particularly Spartan. There were no canisters on the counter, no curtains on the windows. There wasn’t a single feminine touch in the entire house, except for Kate’s reflection in the cold, black glass. The silence between them seemed to breathe, a living wall as he poured the soup into a ceramic bowl shaped and painted like a chicken—a dubious treasure sold at Meadows craft fairs by Betty Dayton, a widow surviving on Social Security.

Kate turned to him. “It smells good.”

He set the bowl and a spoon on the table, added a paper
towel for a napkin, and fetched a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. Kate saw the chicken bowl and gave in to an amused smile. “That’s a Betty original.”

“I have a whole set.”

“So does Leona,” she said. “Plus a gravy boat shaped like a turkey. That’s one of the best things about Meadows.”

“Soup bowls?”

“No, people helping one another.” She lifted the spoon to her lips and sipped. “Thanks. This is good.”

Nick set a water bottle in front of her. Rather than crowd her at the table, he leaned his hips against the countertop, twisted the cap off the second bottle, and took a long swig. She ate several bites of soup before pausing to wipe her lips with the paper towel. When she lowered it, she gave him a tentative look. “I moved Leona to a different nursing home.”

“That was fast.”

“It had to be. You wouldn’t believe what I walked into this morning.” In a calm, clear voice, she described the cries of the dementia patient, Leona’s exhaustion, and the director’s inability to move Leona to another room. “I couldn’t leave her there.”

“Of course not.”

“It took some effort, but I found an opening at Golden West Retirement. It’s a continuing care facility—one of those places with apartments if you can manage pretty well on your own and full nursing care if you can’t. Leona’s in the nursing section, but it doesn’t feel at all like a hospital. There’s a patio and a mulberry tree right outside a sliding glass door, and we can put pictures on the walls.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It is, but there’s a problem.”

“Money?”

“Yes and no.” She pushed the bowl away. “I hope you meant
what you said about doing whatever it took to help with Leona.”

“Of course, I did. I love you.”

She stared at him, her expression blank until the air whooshed from her lungs. Eyes wide, she pressed the fingers of one hand to her mouth, as if she had witnessed something terrible. Nick wanted to kick himself. What kind of fool made a first declaration of love in a kitchen that smelled like canned soup? In spite of his effort to give Kate all the time she needed, he had moved too fast. It wasn’t his best moment, but he’d never been more truthful. With his words now mired in silence, he realized how profoundly he meant them, and how much he wanted to hear them back.