Fox River. Emilie Richards
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the small first-floor bedroom where Jake had made her welcome.
“I’m facing the window that looks over the front driveway.” Julia lifted her arm cautiously, but if she was indeed facing the window, it was still more than a length away.
“Good.” Karen’s voice sounded calmer than it had since their escape from the clinic.
Julia felt sympathy for the nurse, but right now she was too worried about Callie to offer much support. Maisy had gone to Millcreek to fetch her, and Julia was afraid there might be trouble. “I’ve got it right?”
“You’re right on target. We’ll get this room memorized, then I’ll talk to your parents about setting up the rest of the house so you can move around easily.” Karen paused. “This really isn’t my area of expertise, Mrs. Warwick. You’d do better to hire someone who has experience with the blind.”
“Call me Julia. And you have a job with me as long as you want one.”
“Your eyesight could return tomorrow. I hope it does.”
“Me, too. And if it does, then you automatically become my personal assistant. And don’t think I don’t need one. I’ve been threatening to hire somebody, and now I have.”
“Just remember I warned you.”
“Didn’t you tell me you have a son at home? Do you need to get back to him?”
“Brandon. My mother takes care of him.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and leave for the day? You’ve done more than enough. But we’ll see—” She stopped and wondered how long she’d continue to use that expression. “We can expect you in the morning?”
“Eight? Nine?”
“Nine will be terrific.” Julia managed a smile. “I’m turning now and facing the bed.” She started forward, stopping after several steps. She put out her hands but didn’t touch anything. Karen wisely kept silent.
She took two more steps before feeling for the bed again. This time she felt the spread under her fingertips. “I can make myself comfortable. Go on, now.”
“Nine, then. I’ll come right after I get Brandon off to school. Sleep well.”
“Better than I have in weeks.”
“If you have trouble, try herbal tea or warm milk.”
Julia liked that prescription better than the ones the doctor had issued. “A shot of whiskey in the milk might work wonders.”
Karen squeezed her shoulder. In a moment Julia heard the door close behind her.
She was home. But not in the upstairs room where she had danced to Depeche Mode and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” where she had sketched a thousand portraits of her schoolmates and landscapes of her beloved hills, suffered over trigonometry defeats, talked on the telephone for hours to Fidelity…and Christian.
Her hands rested in her lap, but she felt them ball into fists. She hadn’t slept under this roof since her marriage. Even though she’d only been twenty when she married Bard, she had packed away her childhood and stored it in the attic of her unconscious.
She remembered it, of course. If she had the need she could pull pieces of it from mental suitcases and trunks. When Callie asked, Julia told stories of growing up at Ashbourne, of the winter when she’d had the chicken pox and to cheer her Maisy had dressed up like Santa Claus to deliver Valentine candy nestled in a lavender-and-yellow Easter basket.
She thought now that she had been a pensive child in a happy home. A quiet child in a home where nothing ever went unsaid. A secretive child in a home with no mysteries. No one here had belittled her or tried to change her. She had been accepted and loved, and though at times she had yearned for the more traditional households and parents of her friends, she had also realized just how lucky she was.
Until the day her world turned upside down.
Her reverie was broken by a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called too loudly, grateful to be interrupted.
“I brought you some tea. I remember the way you liked it as a little girl.”
She smiled in the direction of Jake’s voice. “You’re too good to me.” She heard his footsteps.
“No one could ever be too good to you, Julia.” He set something, probably her cup, on the table beside her bed. “It’s our largest mug, about half full. I baked cookies last weekend, and there are two on the saucer beside it. Shall I put the mug in your hand?”
“Please.” She extended her hand and closed it around warm pottery, probably one of Maisy’s projects. Maisy had gone through an unfortunate ceramics era, and the cupboards were still filled with lopsided mugs and plates that couldn’t survive the microwave.
Jake waited until she was secure before he released it. “Two lumps of sugar and plenty of milk.”
“I haven’t had it that way in years. What a treat.”
The bed sagged. She could tell he was sitting at the foot now. “You’ve had quite a day.”
She hadn’t thought of it for years, but now she remembered the many times Jake had come to her room as a teenager, making himself available if she wanted to talk, departing without comment if she didn’t. He never probed, never criticized. Jake had always simply been there. No real father could have been kinder.
“Dr. Jeffers was threatening to have me committed if I didn’t agree to stay there on my own.”
“Could he do that?”
“I don’t know the law, something I’m sure he was counting on. I guess he thought that was his ace in the hole.”
“Well, about now he’s playing fifty-two pickup, isn’t he?”
“I couldn’t get better there. But maybe I won’t get better here, either.”
“What would be the worst thing that could happen?”
“I might never see again.”
“Highly unlikely, but let’s say it’s possible. Then what?”
“I learn to live with being blind.”
“Could you?”
“Would I have a choice?”
“Only a very extreme one.”
She realized he was talking about suicide. “This is terrible. Unthinkable. But I still have my life, my family. I’m not going to do anything foolish.” Tears filled her eyes. “Jake, what is Callie going to think of me?”
He was quiet a moment. “I believe we’re about to find out.”
She heard the pickup, too. “I don’t want her to see me crying.”
“Drink some tea and wipe your eyes.”
The tea tasted like childhood, like rainy afternoons and Black Stallion novels and the wind whistling through evergreen hedges. She had regained her composure, at least outwardly, by the time she heard the old heart of pine floors creaking with excitement.
Then her door burst open. She felt Jake remove the cup from her hands, and she opened her arms wide just in time to catch her daughter’s soft body in a fierce bear hug. She pictured her as she held her.
Callie Warwick had pigtails the color of butterscotch and brown eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. Like her mother she was small-boned and petite. Unlike Julia, she was spontaneous, open and unafraid to show her feelings.
“Mommy!”
Julia wondered if she would ever see her daughter’s sweet face again. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
“Maisy came and got me. And she got Feather Foot, too. I mean she told Ramon to get her and bring her