Waiting for Daybreak
Waiting for
Daybreak
BOOKS BY KATHRYN CUSHMAN
A Promise to Remember
Waiting for Daybreak
Leaving Yesterday
Kathryn
CUSHMAN
Waiting for
Daybreak
Waiting for Daybreak
Copyright © 2008
Kathryn J. Cushman
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota
Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION
®
. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Psalm 56:3 is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cushman, Kathryn.
Cushman, Kathryn.
Waiting for Daybreak / Kathryn Cushman.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7642-0381-7 (pbk.)
1. Pharmacists—Fiction. 2. Competition (Psychology)—Fiction. 3. Middle-aged women—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.U825W35 2008
813'.00—dc22
2008028161
to
Carl Parrish—
A fabulous father and
a totally cool pharmacist
Contents
KATHRYN CUSHMAN
, a graduate of Samford University with a degree in pharmacy, practiced as a pharmacist in Georgia, Tennessee, and California. She left her career to raise her children and pursue her dream of writing; her first novel was
A Promise to
Remember.
Kathryn and her family currently live in Santa Barbara, California.
Paige Woodward sat in the Christmas Eve service, staring at the giant cross that hung above the pulpit of her parents’ church and silently pleading with God.
We’ve been praying our hearts out,
this whole church has been praying their hearts out.
She turned to survey the packed house.
Look at all of them. Mom has been a
faithful servant to You all her life. Why are You letting this happen
again?
Her eyes began to sting, and she knew she needed to stay in control—by appearances at least. She needed to pretend to be strong, and in control, and full of faith, even if she was none of those things.
The congregation stood to sing “O Holy Night.” Paige could hear the words coming from her mouth, so she knew she must be singing, but the beauty of the melody, the magnitude of the words, were completely lost on her. Each member held the candle they’d been given, and as the flame passed from person to person, the dark sanctuary filled with warm light. It had always been the most meaningful part of the service to Paige. Tonight, she merely went through the motions.
She looked again at the cross.
You know, if You heal her, it will
show everyone Your power. The Bible says “ask and you shall receive.”
If she doesn’t deserve Your anointing, who does?
The cross hung silent and dark on the wall. As she’d expected, no answer came. The service ended; the candles were extinguished, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of smoke and the smell of what had once been.
Her family filed out of the sanctuary, speaking subdued greetings to friends, murmuring the ever cheerful “Merry Christmas,” knowing that this year, it simply didn’t apply to them. As soon as they walked out the door, nothing more was spoken. The three of them linked hands and walked through the parking lot in quiet solidarity.
Back at her parents’ home, they seated themselves in front of the Christmas tree and turned on Christmas carols—it was what they always did on Christmas Eve, what they were supposed to do, even if no one felt like it this year. Her mother poured them each a cup of her traditional spiced tea. “Nice service.”
Paige’s father nodded. “Sure was.”
“Beautiful.” Paige tried to work some enthusiasm into her voice, but didn’t really think it came through.
The room fell into silence as they sipped their warm drinks and stared at the tree. Paige couldn’t help but wonder if they were all having the same thought. The same nagging, ugly question. Would this be their last Christmas together?
Paige stood and walked over to the tree. She put her hand on an ornament made out of plastic beads and pipe cleaner. “I can’t believe you’ve still got this ugly thing.”
“That is not ugly. It’s beautiful. You made that for me when you were in kindergarten.”
“Oh yes. Miss Charlton’s class. Best teacher I ever had. She must be getting pretty old, I wonder how she’s doing these days.”
“The question is, how are you doing these days?”
Paige turned to look at her mother. “I’m doing just fine.”
“We all know that’s not true. It’s time you told us what’s going on.”
Paige shrugged. “It hardly matters compared to your news.”
“It matters plenty to me. To both of us.”
Paige looked at her father, noticed the grim set of his jaw. He was prepared to meet this new crisis and do everything in his power to fix it, just like always. Only this time he couldn’t fix it. None of them could.
“I’ve been fired.”
His head snapped back. “Do what? I thought you were up for that promotion.”
“Yeah, well, so did I.”
“What happened?”
Paige had practiced all the ways that she would explain the whole process to her parents. Break it in a gentle way, explain the story slowly and logically, without any emotion. Somehow, sitting before the twinkling tree on Christmas Eve next to her mother, whose body had once again betrayed her, she forgot every word.
She looked at her father, unable to bear the shock in her mother’s eyes. “They fired me because I killed a man.”
Ten Weeks Later
Paige Woodward contemplated the reinforced back door of Nashville’s Free Clinic and the patchwork of blue covering the exterior. Each shade of navy, indigo, or azure covered another level of graffiti. The defacing spray paint wasn’t gone, simply hidden beneath a layer of color that didn’t quite match the original. Patch jobs. They didn’t change the truth; they only covered it up.
She shook off the thought and put her key in the door. The musty odor never seemed to fade here, in spite of the janitorial crew’s best efforts. This dingy lobby would soon be packed to capacity with illness, hunger, and hopeless faces looking to Paige for help—but she could only do so much. Some pain went beyond the bounds of medicine. She had been living that truth for the last few months.
Rufus Toskins emerged from a back hallway, wearing his usual overburdened expression, baggy suit, and bow tie. Paige stopped and waited for him. Today, at least, would bring good news, and now would be a perfect time for him to walk over and deliver it.
Rufus did not acknowledge her presence. In fact, he jerked his head around and blitzed through a door to the opposite hall—like a medical resident rushing toward a code blue.
Strange. Her stomach tightened, just a little.
You’re imagining
things. Get busy.
The usual array of workers from the Richardson Construction Company passed through the lobby as they went from one wing to the other. One of the men—older than the rest, perhaps late sixties—walked over to her. “I need to take some measurements in the pharmacy. Okay if I come back there with you?” He wore a faded flannel shirt, scuffed boots, and a friendly smile.
Paige unlocked the glass door and held it open for him. “Have at it.”
He nodded, then walked to the back wall of the dispensing area, measuring tape in hand.
Why was Rufus acting so funny?
The thought would not leave her mind. She removed the stack of yesterday’s prescriptions from their tray, put them in numerical order, then filed them in manila folders. She picked up the phone and retrieved voice messages, wiped down the faded surface of the chipped countertop, and washed her hands. Still, the door to the back hallway remained closed, with Rufus somewhere on the other side.
It’s just not like
him to turn away like that.
A mistake? Just the thought of the word caused this morning’s bagel to sink in Paige’s stomach.
It couldn’t be. She checked everything so carefully now. Please no. She jerked open the file of yesterday’s prescriptions and flipped through it, one white rectangle of paper at a time. The doctors’ black scribble varied in legibility, form, and neatness, but her own blue-inked initials beside the date and the drug manufacturer remained constant. She checked and rechecked what she’d written, looking for any hint of a slip. There was nothing. Of course there wasn’t.
She allowed no room for error in her work. None. Never again.
At nine o’clock, Rufus emerged from the back hallway, unlocked the front door, and edged toward the pharmacy. He began to twirl a ring of keys in his hands, the keys jingling through repeated somersaults. Why wouldn’t he look at her? “Paige, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Something to tell me?” She adjusted the lapel of her lab coat. “Something like I’m off probation, I hope.”
He put the keys in his pocket and looked up, but not quite at Paige. “Oh, well, yes, of course you are. But there’s more to my news, unfortunately. Bad news.”
Paige didn’t want to hear any more. All that mattered to her was that she had completed her probationary period. She’d get a pay increase and full benefits. More important, she’d be returned to the ranks of the worthy for the first time since Atlanta.
Rufus tugged at his tie and shifted from side to side. Whatever it was, he obviously didn’t want to say it any more than she wanted to hear it.
“Out of my way. This is an emergency. I’m dying.” A shriveled woman in a filthy denim dress shoved Rufus aside and plopped her elbows on the counter. She pounded against her chest, coughed once, and pointed a bony finger at Paige. “I need you to give me one of these right now. I know all about the procedures, but give me a pill now, or I’ll be dead and all that paper work won’t matter.” She wheezed again, as if to illustrate the point.
