Lisa Jordan - Lakeside Reunion

Her grandmother, Madeleine Matthews, sat in a pea-green vinyl chair in the corner, knitting. The rhythmic clicking of the needles told Lindsey Grandma wasn’t as calm as she appeared. She always knitted when she was stressed. Said it calmed her nerves.

“Some people will do anything to get out of doing laundry.”

Grandma looked up and smiled. She dropped the yarn and needles in her purse at her feet and stood, opening her arms.

Lindsey rushed into her gentle embrace, breathing in the familiar lavender scent. “Hey, Grandma. How are you doing?”

“Oh, my girl, it’s so good to see you.” Grandma squeezed her, and then held her at arm’s length. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“It’s great to see you, too.” She pulled away from Grandma and edged toward the bed. “How’s Mom doing?”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out for yourself?” Mom’s sleepy voice drifted toward her. She turned, giving Lindsey full view of the reddish-purple bruises and abrasions streaking the side of her face.

Lindsey bit back a gasp as she sat on the side of the bed.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry .

She caressed her mother’s swollen cheekbone. “Stairs one? Mom zero?”

“Something like that. I told them not to call you. It’s only a broken leg.”

“Actually, it’s a little more serious than that.” A petite, dark-haired woman dressed in a white lab coat over green scrubs with a folder tucked under her arm knocked on the partially opened door before entering the room. She crossed the room and shook hands with Granddad, Grandma and Lindsey. “Rachel Warren, attending physician.”

Lindsey shook the doctor’s hand. “Just how serious?”

Dr. Warren leafed through the pages in the folder and turned to Mom. “Mrs. Porter, your blood work looks good, but I wish I could say the same about your X-rays. You have a compound tib-fib fracture near your ankle joint. I’ve called in Dr. Geis, our orthopedic surgeon. She had a cancellation and will be able to do surgery right before lunch.”

“Tib-fib?” Mom tried to sit up, but sucked air between clenched teeth.

Dr. Warren laid a hand on her arm. “Please lie back and try not to jostle your leg. Tib-fib refers to the tibia and fibula— the bones between the knee and ankle.” Pulling back the blanket and using a pen as a pointer, she ran it along the front of Mom’s left calf. “Your fracture occurred in the lower portion of your leg, close to the ankle. With this serious of a fracture, surgery is necessary to be sure the bones heal properly.”

Granddad and Grandma asked more questions, but Lindsey’s thoughts swirled like a shaken snow globe. Surgery? People died on the operating table.

Lindsey wandered to the window. She stared at the ugly blue parking garage that grew out of the asphalt and towered above the two-story hospital. Cars the size of ladybugs crawled into parking spaces. She pulled her BlackBerry out of her purse and scrolled through the list of events for the rest of the month. One by one she deleted them from her calendar.

“Lindsey, is everything okay?” Grandma placed her hand on Lindsey’s arm.

She forced a smile. “Of course.”

A few minutes later, Dr. Warren left and a nurse came in to prep Mom for the move to the surgical wing. Lindsey returned to the waiting room with her grandparents.

Molly and Nana were gone. Maybe they were eating in the cafeteria. But Lindsey couldn’t think about them right now.

Granddad struck up a conversation with a man next to the coffee machine. Grandma sat and resumed knitting.

Lindsey paced, clenching her hands as a million thoughts ran through her head. Leaving Shelby Lake was definitely out of the question now. She couldn’t abandon Mom right before surgery. She needed to call her assistant Rita and give her a heads-up.

And, oh, yes, the quilt.

That meant heading out to Mom’s house—the house where Lindsey spent her first twenty-two years. The house so full of memories that she hadn’t returned in five years.

Grandma reached for Lindsey’s hands and pulled her down to sit in the empty seat beside her. She rubbed a thumb over Lindsey’s knuckles, forcing her fingers to unclench. She stared at Lindsey with her faded aquamarine-colored eyes as if reading the thoughts racing through her head. “Everything is going to be fine, honey. You can spend the night at the farm, if you want. Or I’ll come to your mother’s house with you.”

Part of her wanted to pounce on Grandma’s offer, to curl up next to her in the queen-size bed with the iron headboard, fluffy down pillows and handmade quilt like she did when she was a little girl. To hide herself inside the big farmhouse, with its creaky wooden floors and lingering scents of baking bread and cinnamon. But if she were going to be back in Shelby Lake for any length of time, she’d have to return home sooner or later. Better to do it now on her own terms without an audience.

She laid her head on Grandma’s shoulder. “I’m a big girl, Grandma. I can stay by myself.”

Grandma slid her arm behind Lindsey and gathered her close. “Oh, I know. It’s just … well, going home may be a little difficult.”

Getting a loan for her inn was a little difficult. Finding a certified contractor on a Sunday was a little difficult. Going home was … well, that was beyond difficult. She had to suck it up and do it.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine hanging out here until Mom is out of surgery.” Lindsey stood and adjusted the butter-yellow cardigan she wore with her yellow-and-lavender floral skirt. Her open-toed heels were killing her feet. She longed for a hot bath and comfy pajamas.

“While they’re prepping Gracie for surgery, I’m going to see if Granddad wants to go to the chapel with me to pray. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thanks. I’ll wait here until I can see Mom before her surgery.”

“They gave her a pretty strong painkiller. She may sleep for a while.”

“That’s okay. I just, well, I need to be here. In case she needs me.”

“I understand.”

Grandma gathered her yarn. Lindsey touched her shoulder. “Grandma? What if …” Lindsey hesitated, not wanting to go there, but a girl had to face reality. “What if something goes wrong? Like with Dad.”

Taking Lindsey’s hands into hers, Grandma squeezed them lightly. “Honey, you are not alone. Remember that. We’re here with you. And so is God. One of my favorite verses from Psalm reminds us, ‘When I am afraid, I will trust in You.’ The Lord will guide the surgeons and keep your mom safe. Put your trust in Him.”

Lindsey tugged on the cuff of her sweater. “Where was that guidance five years ago? How can I trust a God who takes great people like Dad, yet lets his killer roam free? Praying would be a waste of time. God tuned me out years ago.”

Stephen rested his head against the back of the vinyl chair and shifted Tyler in his lap. The kid was supposed to be lying on the bed, but comforting his son was more important than following hospital protocol.

Ty whimpered and snuggled closer, cradling his head in the crook of Stephen’s arm. “I wanna go home.”

“I know, partner. As soon as the doctor finds out what’s wrong with your wrist, we’ll be out of here.” Stephen adjusted the ice pack on Tyler’s left wrist and prayed the ibuprofen started working soon.

Ty didn’t fight the nurse who took his vitals or gave him pain meds, but when Dr. Warren touched his wrist, the kid let out a scream that sliced through Stephen like a scalpel. More than anything, he wanted to fix it. Take the pain away. Make his son happy again.

His ears still rang from Tyler’s screams upon entering the emergency department. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was in pain or if the hospital brought back memories. Maybe a little of both.