The first drops of rain come shortly after.
Figures.
That man is a walking storm cloud, and once again he’s rained all over my happy mood.
I shut the door harder than necessary and plop down on the small leather sofa. His comment about the cruelty of withholding truths is still a bur under my skin. My huff echoes through the empty cabin. Working at Grace Community isn’t hurting anyone.
In fact, tomorrow during lunch I will prove exactly how wrong Dillon Kyle’s theory is.
Sandra’s daughter asked for someone to stand in the gap for her, and she will get just that. I may not pray to some imaginary being, but I can certainly read to a blind old woman.
nine
I’m ashamed to say I fell into the worst kind of female stereotype. Not only did I get up an hour earlier than necessary to carefully blow-dry and curl my hair, but I also wore completely impractical shoes and a silky jumpsuit that is far too dressy for the casual atmosphere at Grace Community.
So you can imagine how silly I felt when I found out that Cameron doesn’t come into the office on Wednesdays. At least not until six, when they have praise team practice.
Now my feet and my pride hurt. Worse, I can’t get it out of my head that I don’t know Cameron’s eye color and yet practically melted into Dillon’s. I examine every picture on the wall in the band room, but none of them gives me any clue. They’re either in black-and-white or Cameron has his eyes closed, lost in whatever private place he goes to when singing.
I run my finger along the glass, tracing the line of his cheek, until I realize that someone could easily walk in and catch me obsessing. I’ve done it once again—leapt from one crush right into another one. And worse, this one is wrong on so many levels that I can’t even list them all.
Frustrated, I grab my keys and lock the office door behind me. It’s close enough to lunch that I can leave without apology and hobble to my car, because two blisters have already formed on my big toes.
I looked up Serenity Hills Nursing Facility last night and discovered it’s only ten minutes from the church. Kicking off my shoes, I start the car, determined to do something positive with my day.
The words from the prayer request cascade through my mind as I drive, the details flashing as if on a TV screen. Sandra Cox, pulled from her home of fifty-five years, loves to read, thinks her daughter is a traitor.
At least I can relate to that last one. My own mother hasn’t spoken to me since I told her I was staying in Midlothian with Doreen. She thinks I’m picking sides when really I’m just trying to survive. And since neither of them will tell me exactly what the fight is about, it’s a little unfair to expect me to shut out the only stable person in my life right now. But Mom doesn’t listen and she doesn’t forgive . . . not even her only daughter.
I take my final turn into the parking lot and find an open space. The Serenity Hills Nursing Facility is actually pretty lovely, though smaller than I expected. The building is red brick trimmed with white wood, and despite it being the middle of winter, fresh mulch and bright green shrubbery line the entry. This place obviously keeps a paid landscaper.
The thought immediately jolts me, and I lean closer to the windshield, checking each side of the parking lot for the distinctive white Kyle truck and logo. My relief is almost enough to make me not cringe when I put my shoes back on. Almost.
I manage to make it down the sidewalk and into the building without painful tears but have every intention of begging for a couple of bandages. It is a medical facility, after all.
Or at least that’s what it looks like. A large nurses’ station is the first thing I see, beside two office doors marked Admissions. I force my feet to move until I can lean on the counter. A nurse looks up and smiles. Her canine teeth are crooked while all the others are straight and white. And while the wide smile might seem warm, the lack of makeup and glimmer of moisture in her eyes makes me wonder if she’s having the same kind of month I am.
“Hi, I’m here to see Sandra Cox. But first, would you happen to have some Band-Aids?”
Her brows move, and I can tell I’ve surprised her with the question.
“New shoes,” I say, and since she’s a woman, it’s all I need to say.
She stands and pulls a first-aid kit from the cabinet behind her. “Is there a special occasion?”
“Nope. Just trying to impress a guy.” I have no idea why I’m being so open and honest, but something about this woman reminds me of Doreen, though she’s probably only in her fifties.
“Were you successful?” She hands me three bandages, and I immediately go to work on my feet.
“Not at all,” I sigh. Destiny has given me a cold slap in the face. Whatever stupid romantic notions I dreamed up yesterday need to be crushed.
The nurse is back in her seat when I straighten, the pain substantially lessened now. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Sandra’s in room 205. It’s down the green hallway.”
“Green hallway?”
She points to her right, and I realize that once again I failed to notice the most obvious thing about the interior. The nurses’ station is a hexagon with four hallways, the entrance, and a large dining room feeding into it. Each hall is a different color: blue, green, yellow, and an orangey-red. It’s on the walls, the carpet, and even the room signs that jut out from the doorways.
“It helps the residents find their rooms easier,” she explains.
“Makes sense.” I point to Sandra’s hall and wish I could just once be a little normal. “Green, got it.”
I follow the carpet until Sandra’s room number appears and carefully knock on the door.
“Come in.” The voice is shaky and deep, but definitely feminine.
I step inside, only now considering that this woman doesn’t know me and I don’t know her, and explaining myself is going to be very interesting.
The room is single occupancy, with a small hospital bed on one side and a sitting room on the other. Sandra’s in a pink recliner with a blanket draped over her legs and a Velcro strap around her waist that appears to be hooked to some kind of machine. An alarm, I decide.
“Hi, Mrs. Cox, my name is Jan.” I consider mentioning the church, then decide not to. There’s probably some kind of protocol when visiting, and knowing my luck, I’m doing it all wrong. “I’m here to read to you for a little while.”
Sandra turns my direction, and while I can tell she has some vision, there’s a vacancy in her eyes that highlights her blindness. “Oh, how sweet. Please . . . please . . .” She reaches out her hand, wrinkled and trembling.
I see she wants me to take it, so I do. The skin is remarkably thin and soft, yet her grip is firm. She pulls me to the chair next to her.
“I’ve been ever so lonely,” she says, her hand still a vise on mine. “But I won’t be here too much longer. My daughter is coming to take me home any day now.”
I feel the same pressure in my chest that I did when I first read the prayer. I know Sandra isn’t going home but have no intention of saying so. “Do you have a favorite book?” I ask instead.
“Yes. My Bible. It’s in the nightstand by my bed.” Her voice turns more eager while dread layers mine.