September Love. Virginia Myers
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know what Dad has told you about me, but…” She paused a moment and then, as if she were speaking to a group, she said, “My name is Kayla. I’m an alcoholic.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry but that’s the way it is. But I’m going to try again. I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got Adam to look after. And now you know the worst. Where is that lovely bathroom?”
“It’s right down this hall,” Beth said in sympathy. “You have a view of the back garden—for today, anyway. Your father painted a picture of the back garden. My daughter, Kate, has it. It’s hanging in her living room.”
Beth opened the door of the big room, furnished with the antique brass bed with the hand-pieced quilt covering. The marble-topped dresser was catching a thin sunbeam from the nearby window. The vase of old-fashioned roses looked lovely. She heard Kayla sigh softly.
“And the bath is in there. This is a double, so there are plenty of towels for both you and Adam. I noticed that Adam has skinned knees. I always keep those little colored bandages on hand for when my own grandchildren visit. I’ll get you some of those.”
“Lovely,” Kayla said, her eyes sweeping the huge bathroom with its deep tub and separate shower. She reached out to touch, almost lovingly, one of the downy aqua-colored towels. Then she turned her attention back to Adam, who was again clinging to her skirt. “Adam’s poor knees are my fault. I was out of money by then and couldn’t even afford bus fare. A nice old guy who was leaving Seattle gave me this street map. I thought we’d never make it. Adam is so slow. I guess sometimes I walked too fast and he couldn’t keep up and he fell a couple of times. Really did mess up his knees.”
Beth’s throat ached at the thought of the frantic little boy trying to keep up. His lifeline, the green-and-white skirt, getting farther and farther away down the strange street.
Kayla bent over, talking directly into the small frowning face. “Look, I’m going to take a bath, see? I’m not going anywhere. You go with Beth. She’s got— What have you got to feed him, Beth?”
“Cookies,” Beth said. “I’ve got cookies, Adam. And milk.” This child needed milk, and lots of it.
“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Okay. Cookies.” And he held out one dirty little hand.
Beth took it in hers, clasping it warmly. This is Doug’s grandson. And again she felt a sense of inward weeping. It shouldn’t be like this. Her beloved’s grandson should be happy and healthy and secure. Living in a stable home, with loving parents. She went slowly down the stairs, matching her pace to his short little legs that couldn’t keep up.
“Adam, do you like peanut butter?” she asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I can make you a peanut butter sandwich, if you like.”
He stopped, and she glanced down. He was looking up at her, angry and disappointed. “You said cookies!” he accused.
“Yes. Cookies, too.” How many times had this small child been disappointed? It didn’t bear thinking about.
In the kitchen she quickly found one of the wood booster seats her son-in-law, Greg, had made for short grandchildren. She put it on a kitchen chair. She lifted Adam up and sat him on the seat, wishing fervently that she could wait just long enough to wash him, but she knew with certainty that her promise of food must come first. And from somewhere in her mind rose the conviction: I will never break a promise to this child.
She didn’t call Kate until Adam was devouring his small feast with total concentration—the peanut butter sandwich on her delicious home-baked bread, a house specialty, with a stack of three sugar cookies waiting. She even found in the back of the cupboard the two-handled mug she had used when her youngest grandchild, Meggie, had needed two hands to drink her milk. Then she rang Kate from the kitchen phone.
“Kate, darling, this is Mom. I need a favor.” Some inner caution stemming from a need to save Doug’s pride about his problem daughter made her less than candid. “You remember Doug talking about his daughter? Kayla?”
“Yes. She didn’t come to your wedding. I remember.”
“Well, she’s here now, late but welcome. But she had some bad luck. Her luggage is missing. She’s kind of travel-stained, and I was wondering…didn’t Jill donate her blue challis dress for the rummage sale?”
“Yes. She did. Do you want that for Kayla? It’s clean.”
“Yes, I do. She wants to tidy up for her father. And wasn’t there some stuff in there that Ben had outgrown? Kayla brought her little boy with her.”
“I thought Doug said Kayla had a daughter.”
“She has. But she also has a little boy. About three. His name is Adam.” She glanced over to the kitchen table where Adam was pausing to lick some peanut butter off his hand. He heard his name and, just for an instant, the frown was gone and he gave her a timid smile that she knew she would cherish. Recklessly, she plunged ahead. Kate was such a practical, sensible person.
“Look, what I really need is a lot of things, well, several things. Kayla is about Jill’s size, but thinner. Will you look through what you’ve got and pick some out? She has nothing but what she’s wearing. See what you can do for Adam, too. Just until she can make other arrangements?”
Kate’s unquestioning “Okay, will do. What else?” made her wonder again how she could have had two such wonderful daughters.
“You do most of the pricing at these sales, don’t you?”
“Yes. You mean you want to buy this stuff?”
“Right. It’s iffy if Kayla will get her luggage back. So she’d better have something to wear until she can start replacing things.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll do it now, and send one of the boys over with the stuff.”
“Thank you, Katie. This is really a help. I’ve got two guests coming in before five so I’m going to be busy.”
“Wait. Don’t go yet,” Kate said. “Did you visit the hospital today?” And as Kate said it, the afternoon’s other worries came crowding back. Kayla’s arrival had pushed them aside for the moment.
“No, but Bessie called me. It’s not good, Kate.” Even as she said it, her voice broke. “I don’t think Cyrus is going to recover soon.” She paused, a thousand and one images welling up in her mind. Their pastor, Cyrus Ledbetter, had always been there for all of them. He had married her to Ralph Bennett years ago. He had baptized both their daughters. He had supported them in joy and in grief. And he and Kate had a special relationship. They had worked so hard together to establish the church school, Gilmartin Academy. The very idea that he might not always be there was unbelievable.
As they ended their conversation and rang off, Beth recalled the other problem she had pushed aside. Kate was in the midst of her third pregnancy, and things were not going very well for her. Beth had the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that always came when people she loved were at risk.
Still standing by the phone, she watched Adam. No longer wolfing down food, he had lain his head on the table and was finishing his cookies, half lying down. He must be exhausted. Did he have regular naps? Did he have regular anything? He was using one grimy hand to slowly break up his last cookie into small pieces, which he put tiredly into his mouth. His eyes were heavy. Any moment now he would simply fall asleep where he was.
Beth hurried to make a snack for Kayla. She had forgotten to ask what she might want, so she improvised. While she made a quick grilled cheese sandwich and sliced an orange, she watched Adam fall asleep. When she had these and a small pot of tea on a tray ready, she went to him and gently placed her hand on his tousled head. Instantly, he struggled out of sleep.
“Is it Adam’s nap time?” she asked.
He sat up quickly. “Mommy?”
“Mommy’s upstairs taking her bath. Do you want to go up?” she asked reassuringly.
“Mommy,”