Troubled waters, p.28
Troubled Waters, page 28
Evelyn chuckled. “It’s what we do best.”
“Now, you’ve got all the information about tomorrow. And you’ve got my phone numbers so you can reach me anytime. As soon as I return from New York, I’ll call to see how the interview went.”
Evelyn smiled at her daughter. “We’ve both got important interviews, don’t we?”
“We sure do,” Macey said warmly. “You’re going to do fine. They’d be nuts not to hire a terrific lady like you.”
“Ditto.”
Macey had already started her car to let it cool. Evelyn knew her time was short, and Macey was looking at her watch again. She had to say it. She had to tell her daughter, to explain and, if possible, make things somewhat right.
“Okay, I’ll call you in a couple of days, at the most,” Macey said, embracing her mother one last time. Evelyn melted in her arms and clung a little too tightly for a little too long. She didn’t care. It might be the last warm body she would ever hold. “Okay, Mom, okay,” Macey said, prying Evelyn off of her, chuckling a bit. “At least I know I’m loved.”
“You are,” Evelyn said, still unable to stop the tears. “So much.”
“I know,” Macey said sincerely. “And you are, too.” Macey glanced at her car. “I better get going.”
Evelyn nodded and watched as her daughter turned to walk down the steps. Say something. Say something, you old chicken. Say something!
“Macey?”
Now on the sidewalk, halfway to her car, Macey spun around and looked at her mother. “Yeah?”
Evelyn hesitated. The moment of truth. “Have a good trip.”
Macey nodded, smiled, waved, and continued walking to her car. She slid in, and the car slowly made its way down the gravel driveway toward the road. Before pulling the car onto the road, Macey gave one last smile and wave. Evelyn waved back, but she couldn’t smile. Her lips trembled, making way for gasping sobs. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and cried into the soft cotton. Soon all she saw was a cloud of dust sent up from the car’s wheels on the gravel. Just like seventeen years ago, she hadn’t said a word. Twice in her life now she’d let her daughter go without trying to make things right. Because of her being too afraid of angry words.
Too afraid of the awful truth.
Evelyn stumbled into the house, weary from the heat, weary from her grief. Her feet dragged along the wood floors. It hit her then that she had an entire day to fill up. What would she do for hour after hour? Upstairs she knew a half-sewn business suit lay draped across her sewing table. She’d have to finish that. She must call Patricia to have her hair done before the interview tomorrow. She’d need to feed the chickens.
A thought crossed her mind as she stepped into the kitchen. She would get a dog. Go rescue an old geezer like herself from the pound. She never much cared for cats. They were too sneaky, always seemed like they knew something more than they were letting on. But dogs were loyal, and it wouldn’t hurt her none to have someone to help guard the house. Savannah and Stephanie would enjoy a dog, too, and could help take care of it. The idea of getting a dog brought some comfort to Evelyn, but not much. It passed as quickly as the cool of the morning.
In the kitchen she decided to make herself coffee. But then she saw she’d already made some earlier. There it sat in the pot. Yet it was old; she needed fresh coffee. She dumped out the old grounds, took out a new filter, and measured a new batch. That took less than five minutes, so Evelyn decided she would figure out what to make for dinner later.
She stared into her freezer and tried to think of what she could fix for one person. Nothing came to mind. Maybe she should start buying those frozen dinners Patricia was always raving about. She closed the freezer door and decided to tackle the problem later.
She called the church office to see if anyone had recently died or had a baby or needed any type of meal or dessert or beverage. Pastor Lyle said everyone was doing fine but thanked her for her concern.
She decided to feed the chickens, and that took about fifteen minutes. She watered the tomato plants, which took another five. Twenty minutes later the sun felt to be drawing closer to the earth, so Evelyn thought she’d better make her way back inside. The coffee was ready, and Evelyn poured herself a cup but left it sitting on the counter because suddenly it didn’t sound good to her.
She went to the living room and straightened the pillows on the couch and then gathered some of the old magazines and threw them in the wastebasket, only to retrieve them after deciding to go through each one to make sure she’d read them all. She found two National Geographics she hadn’t read yet. Taking the two magazines upstairs, she laid them on the nightstand in her bedroom.
It was 10:10 when she climbed the stairs. She made her bed, checked the hamper to see how much laundry was there. Three dresses and some underwear. Not enough for a load. She moved to the bathroom to put on a little lipstick just in case someone stopped by during the day. She rubbed in her wrinkle cream, too, just for something to do, and then lotioned up her hands.
At 10:17 she opened the drapes in her room, straightened a few items on the top of her dresser. By now she felt a little tired, so she decided to sit on her bed for a moment. A couple of minutes later she found herself staring at the small drawer of her nightstand. In the darkness of this drawer was the unsent letter. She pulled out the drawer, immediately revealing the stark white envelope with Jess Steigel neatly printed on the outside, along with their address. Macey’s name was written at the top left-hand corner, along with the last known address Evelyn had for her. She thought about opening the letter and rereading it, but knew it would only make things worse.
Instead, she tossed the envelope into the small trash can by the side of the bed and stared at the clock on the nightstand. It was 10:21. She blinked away some stray tears, realizing she’d never been so aware of time in her whole life.
———
Her bags hit a large man on his buttocks, and as she turned to apologize, the bag swung around and knocked a little boy in the head. Many in the crowd nearby scowled at her. She apologized as best she could while still on the move, racing toward her gate, weighed down by her briefcase and her suitcase, which she was hoping to get away with as a carry-on, thus making her venture through JFK much easier and quicker.
A tall, thin, overly made-up woman in navy blue confirmed her ticket and reservation, and finally Macey collapsed into a chair in the waiting area next to an elderly couple dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts. She found herself inadvertently glancing back to the metal detectors at the far end of the airport, hoping to see a handsome man with a dark ponytail, a foot taller than the crowd he was moving with, trying to get her attention. But no one of that description ever came, and soon the woman in navy was calling out row numbers to begin boarding the plane.
With their tickets in hand, the elderly couple stood and walked toward the woman standing at the gate’s entrance. Apparently they were first-class travelers. Macey sighed. She’d been unable to fly first class until St. Louis, but she supposed she was lucky to get a flight out at all. She thought about calling Mitchell, but then quickly decided against it. Mitchell would be fine. He always was.
She slumped in her seat, clutching her bags, and thought of her mom. She’d left her to fend for herself, to make things happen, to survive. Macey had done that since high school. But did her mom have the same fight in her? Now that her husband had passed on, did her mom know enough about the world to live in it all on her own? Macey pushed the thoughts out of her mind, telling herself she would deal with this later, after she returned from New York.
Her thoughts drifted to the network and the exciting possibilities there, but these were soon replaced by one word—Harley. She’d stifled her emotions enough to think more clearly about Noah’s suggestion. It still seemed absurd to her. Nonsense. A cleansing of the soul? It had been almost impossible to speak of the incident with a stranger. To imagine confessing her terrible deed to the man who caused it to happen in the first place? Harley would probably think she was insane for bringing it up. Anyway, he’d only recently been divorced from his wife. Did he really need this right now?
She doubted she could even get herself to go see him, let alone tell him everything and ask his forgiveness. She was strong, but she wasn’t that strong. Noah’s words echoed in her mind. Was it true she would never find peace? Had she hoped to? In one sense it seemed a very complicated step. In another, though, it struck her as straightforward and simple. What she had done was wrong, and she knew it. It had left her soul in shreds. Only in her thirties, she was already left feeling tattered and worn—tired, old, drained. Did she have all this to look forward to for forty, fifty, maybe sixty more years? If time healed all wounds, why then hadn’t she gotten better? Why did the pain feel as sharp and real as it did seventeen years ago? Time had passed, and life had moved on. But something was missing. Even at her most irrational moment, she knew that for certain.
The woman called her group of rows, and Macey rose slowly, lifting her bags while trying to keep her ticket and driver’s license available. She let a number of people go before her; she didn’t know why. Usually she was plenty happy to maneuver her way to the front of any line.
The line moved quickly, and before Macey knew it the woman in navy, with maroon lipstick and sticky eyelashes, was holding her hand out and plastering a smile across her face. “Ma’am? I’ll need your ticket.”
Macey stared at the woman, her thoughts elsewhere. Again Noah’s words rushed back to her mind, and suddenly she understood that what he’d said was the truth. She’d never once in her life asked a single person for forgiveness. She was too proud and too scared to leave herself in that vulnerable of a position. What if they said no and rejected her? What if they laughed at her? Yet what if this was her only way to peace?
“Ma’am?”
Macey looked up and felt the whole world staring at her. The woman in navy still held that same smile on her face, a smile that was definitely forced.
“I’m sorry,” Macey mumbled.
“Your ticket,” the woman repeated.
“Oh.” Macey swallowed hard. She could still turn back. She knew if she left Kansas now, it would be a big mistake. She would never find the courage to come back and do what she needed to do. Noah’s stinging words had to remain fresh in her mind or the dull drone of the world would become the norm again.
“Ma’am, please, your ticket,” the woman said sternly.
Macey smiled as she apologized to the woman, explaining that she wouldn’t be boarding the plane after all, then turned and tried to leave the gate.
She hadn’t foreseen the chaos her change of plans would cause, and she was questioned for fifteen minutes as to why she refused to get on the plane. Luckily for Macey it was a female security officer doing the questioning, and although Macey couldn’t begin to explain the entire story, at one point she simply said, “It’s about a guy.”
The red-haired woman shook her head. “Honey, it always is. Don’t you go letting a man run your life, you hear?”
“I hear you,” Macey said, and the officer let her go.
Before leaving the airport, Macey flipped open her cell phone to call Bethie. Someone was going to have to call Mr. Winslow in New York, and it wasn’t going to be her. She punched in the shortcut to Beth’s cell. It rang and rang and then her voicemail picked up. Macey ended the call there. Where was Beth? She always answered her phone. She’d told Macey she even slept with it next to her pillow.
Macey rubbed her forehead, wracking her brain, trying to come up with other options. As the seconds passed, her heart fluttered at the thought of what she was about to do. Was she really going to cancel an interview with the network? It was doubtful she’d get another chance. She was throwing her dream away to chase after inner peace. Only days ago she’d seen the job in New York as the means to finally achieve for herself a life of peace and happiness. So much had changed. Yet so little, too. She still didn’t have answers to all the questions that had hounded her for years.
Outwardly the circumstances hadn’t changed much. But inwardly things were different, and she knew it. Before coming home, canceling a chance to work with the network would’ve been the most irrational thing she could conceive of.
Now it seemed almost rational. Somehow it seemed right. And with no guarantee—no guarantee of answers or peace or happiness. She was taking a risk.
Macey activated her cell phone again and called the station. If Bethie wasn’t answering her cell phone, she knew for certain where to find her. A few rings later the station operator answered.
“This is Macey Steigel. I’m calling for Beth Munson.”
“One moment, Ms. Steigel.”
After a few measures of horrible elevator music, a woman said, “Macey, hi!” It was Starla Clover, one of the reporters. What was she doing answering Bethie’s phone?
“Starla . . . hello. I’m sorry, they must’ve transferred me to the wrong phone. I’m calling for Beth.”
“I’m at her desk. I was looking for a pencil sharpener.”
“Oh. Is she there?”
“No.”
“No? Where is she? It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the earth.”
Starla chuckled. “Not quite. She had an emergency appendectomy early this morning. Hold on.”
There was indecipherable mumbling for a moment, and before Macey could identify the muffled male voice, Mitchell was on the phone. “Well, well. Look who it is.”
Macey’s eyes rolled. “Mitchell.”
“Don’t sound so glad to hear from me.”
“Likewise,” Macey said. “You were pretty coldhearted the last time we spoke.”
The tension in Mitchell’s voice eased up a bit. “Yeah, well, I was mad. I’m slowly but surely getting over it.”
“Good. Because it wasn’t personal.”
A pause was followed by, “Are you in New York?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“I’m assuming then you’re on your way.”
“No.” The little word came easier than she thought it would.
“No? Did your flight get delayed?”
“I’m not going.”
Mitchell laughed sardonically. “You’re not going?”
“That’s right. I’m not going,” Macey repeated. “Some things have happened here. Things I don’t expect you or anyone else to understand. But I’m canceling my interview.”
She could hear Mitchell breathing heavily into the phone. “Have you lost your mind?”
“The jury’s still out on that one,” Macey said, only half jokingly.
Silence passed over the phone line for half a minute, and then Mitchell said, “Am I to assume you won’t be returning to Dallas, either?”
“No, you’re not to assume that, Mitchell.” She shook her head and wished she could see Mitchell’s expression, read his eyes. “I plan on returning home. I’m sorry this is hard for you to understand. But, as cliché as it may sound, it’s something I’ve got to do.”
The familiarly intense but friendly tone that Macey was so accustomed to from Mitchell returned. “I don’t understand it, but I guess that’s not important.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I’m about to kill Alexis, so can you give me a time frame or anything? Will you be back next week?”
Macey smiled. Mitchell was back to normal. “I will,” she said. “I promise.”
Her ear filled with Mitchell’s heavy and relieved sigh. “Fine. Then we’ll just count on that.”
“Thanks.”
“We’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. Bye. Oh, Mitchell, wait.”
“Yes?”
“What hospital is Beth in?”
“Medical City.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
Macey quickly dialed information to get the number to the hospital, connected, and got the operator. “Medical City Dallas Hospital.”
“Beth Munson’s room, please.”
“Hold.”
A few clicks pounded in Macey’s ear like a jackhammer. So she had a little surgery. Surely she could still call New York for her. With all that was going on, she wasn’t going to have to call New York herself, was she?
“Hello?” The voice sounded unfamiliar.
“Um . . . hi. I’m calling for Beth. Is she there?”
“No. She’s still unconscious. Who’s this?” The voice sounded slightly impatient.
“Macey Steigel. I work with Beth.”
“Oh. Well, she won’t be at work today, I’m afraid.” The voice was now irritated.
“Of course.” Macey closed her eyes and managed to find her humanity. “How is she doing?”
The voice lightened up a little. “They said the surgery went fine. She’s in recovery right now.”
“Are you a relative?”
“Sister.”
“Oh. Well, um . . .” Macey scratched her nose and realized her prayers would go unanswered here. “Tell her Macey called and I hope she’s feeling better.”
“I will. And thanks for calling.”
Macey pushed the button that ended the call, then groaned out loud, causing a couple of people passing by to turn and look. She would have to call New York herself. She found her phone directory in her briefcase, looked up the number, and slowly punched it in.
She never heard what the operator said, only that someone had answered.
“Uh, Mr. Winslow, please.”
“Hold, please.”
The seconds ticked by and then, “Mr. Winslow’s office.”
“Is Mr. Winslow in?”
“He’s with someone at the moment. With whom am I speaking?”
