A Special Kind Of Family. Eileen Berger
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keep from staring at her, like he used to in senior high. That perfect, light-complexioned, heart-shaped face above the classic column of her neck; the long blond hair with just enough wave to emphasize its softness and catch the sunlight or moon-glow—or fashioned into French braids, as she sometimes wore it….
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he turned into the alley, pushed the remote, and watched his garage door rise slowly. He drove in, got out of the car and started through the doorway into his house, almost forgetting to lower the door of the garage.
History does, indeed, repeat itself; you were so sure you could manage it this time—being a friend, just a helpful friend. But you never did get over her.
And you still have no idea what went wrong before, or how to keep it from happening again….
He went through the small utility room; everything was in order there and in the good-size kitchen. He’d promised himself that he would keep things neat when he bought this three-bedroom, ten-year-old brick ranch house.
He knew all too well from college days how easy it was to let things go. His room had always been in disarray and he was constantly searching for things. Well, he’d succeeded by sheer will-power in keeping that resolution; how could he now keep from falling even more deeply in love with this remarkable woman?
The sensible thing would be to keep a distance from her physically, but even considering that was painful.
Walking through the broad archway into the dining end of the large room stretching in front of the kitchen and one bedroom, Rob turned left into his office and pushed the answering machine’s flashing button. The first message was from Elmer Harnish, his partner, asking him to call a son of the man whose viewing was scheduled for the next morning at ten, prior to the memorial service. The second was his mother, and the third had been left by Betty Jefferson.
There was no question as to which callback to make first, as he always enjoyed Mom’s upbeat conversations. Several winters ago she’d been asked by Great-Aunt Beatrice Maroney to spend January and February with her in Fort Myers, on Florida’s Gulf side. They got along so well that they repeated this every year, each time her stay getting longer.
Physically better there, Aunt Bea decided to remain year-round. She was doing well, considering her ninety-two years, but diminishing eyesight meant she could no longer drive, and she wasn’t surefooted enough to walk far by herself.
“We appreciate your letting us know about Gram’s accident, and that she was going through surgery,” Sylvia Corland told him. “We’ve been praying for her, of course, but do need an update.”
He filled her in as much as possible, which led to her asking how Vanessa was making out with the five she, too, referred to as Gram’s girls.
“It’s been tough, Mom, so you might want to keep praying for Van. In addition to an extremely responsible load at work, she comes back at night and has to care for everything at her grandmother’s.”
“I’d think the girls would be able to go ahead with some things.”
“I don’t know for sure just what they’re capable of. Women from the church began what I know you sometimes did—they’re sending in the major meal of the day.”
“Well, good! That at least takes off some of the pressure.”
“But she’s trying to do too much—helping the three oldest with preparations for GEDs, making sure the younger ones keep up with their homework, seeing that each one does her part with laundry, cleaning and other tasks….”
“Does she seem overwhelmed?”
“No, she doesn’t, and I admire her for that.”
There was the briefest of pauses. “Just go easy, dear.”
He shouldn’t be surprised, but hadn’t expected her to sense his—love? Infatuation? “I took food for the first day, takeouts from the steak house.” He chose not to mention staying to eat that night or the next one! “Aggie Seaforth prepared today’s.”
They spoke of a number of things, but near the end she came back to their initial topic. “When you see Gram or Vanessa again, tell them they’re in our prayers. All of them are….”
The call to the deceased man’s son took only a few minutes as Rob reassured him that someone would be directing traffic at each of the two major intersections on Broad Street, so cars in the slow funeral procession would not get separated.
Also, there’d probably be no difficulty adding another person who wished to share memories at the service, but this should be discussed with their pastor right away. And it was, of course, too late to have his name on the printed memorial folder.
He was smiling as he made the third call. Betty was four or five years younger than Vanessa and himself, twenty-five or twenty-six. He remembered her in Youth Fellowship during the last year or two before he left for college, a bubbly, outgoing, bright-eyed redhead involved with every program and service project.
She married Paul Jefferson soon after high school graduation, and they now had a four-year-old son, a two-year-old daughter and an infant. “Thanks for calling back,” she greeted, “though you may be sorry you did.”
He laughed. “I promise to at least give you the chance to tell about it before I hang up.”
“I thought you might—hoped so, anyway. I was talking with Miz Aggie, and she said you delivered her dinner to Gram’s. Right?”
He’d already guessed what she wanted and quickly offered to deliver the dinner she would prepare the following day.
He slowly set down the phone. His shoulders were straight and head high as he sat down in the tall-backed oak chair and glanced at the many cubicles in his antique rolltop desk. As good as he felt right now, he should be able to zip through the paperwork which had accumulated over the past two days. If only he could keep from thinking about Vanessa for just a little while….
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