Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Christy fiddled with the sheaf of papers the lawyer had given her on Saturday morning and hoped the conversation with her potential client sidetracked her thoughts from the contents of the legal documents. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I graduated from college two and a half years ago with a degree in architecture, got a full-time job where I did my internship, lived in my own apartment, paid my own bills. Eleven months ago, a man’s brain aneurysm ruptured as he was driving home from work. His SUV hit my car when he ran a red light. I woke up in the hospital three weeks later with a spinal cord injury and no feeling from my waist down.” Despite Brenna’s succinct description, the sudden change in her voice told Christy the trauma still, not unexpectedly, lived on in the young woman’s mind. “The only reason I know what happened is because there were eye-witness accounts and his wife came to visit me three or four times a week while I was hospitalized. Her husband died at the scene, leaving her and their two teenage kids behind. He was only forty years old.”
Smothering her reaction took much less effort over the phone than it would have in person. It didn’t, however, prevent a surge of grief—for all the victims of that horrible tragedy.
“It’s actually fairly common to never fully regain those memories.” She forced herself to direct the discussion away from that aspect, knowing from experience and training that sympathy instead of empathy would only prolong Brenna’s tendency to define herself by the accident and her inability to walk instead of who she was. “I’ve never met an architect before. Tell me more about it. What kind of buildings do you design?”
Her redirection seemed to work when Brenna launched into an enthusiastic description of past and current projects. After several minutes of chatting about a career she obviously enjoyed, the young woman laughed. “Sorry. I can get a little carried away, talking about all the fun stuff I get to do. I’m lucky to have a great boss. She held my job for me while I was recovering and offered to let me work remotely as long as I get the job done.”
“No need to apologize. You love what you do, which is more that a lot of people can say. I’m really glad to hear your boss has allowed that flexibility.” Christy straightened the will, stuffed it back in its envelope, and slid it into her computer bag. Out of sight might not guarantee out of mind, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt. “I never sleep well in hotels, so I did a little research on the occupational therapy practices in the area last night. Some names were familiar. People I’ve met at conferences, worked with at one time or another, a few from college. Since I already have connections with them, I sent several emails to see if they know of any openings or temporary positions. I’m planning to contact a few more places after our phone call. In the meantime, tell me what your goals are. What you’d like to accomplish. Where you see yourself a few months or a year from now.”
“Hmm.” At least ten seconds of silence passed, hinting that Brenna was hesitant about sharing her thoughts. As determined as she’d been to get home by herself from the basketball game last night, she had to have some wishes and dreams for the future.
“What’s the most important thing you want to achieve? No wrong answers, and I promise not to laugh or try to convince you to think smaller.”
“I, uh…” A noisy exhale carried through the phone. “I want to live on my own again. Either a small single-story house or a first-floor apartment with a ramp and wide hallways. Lower kitchen and bathroom counters. Everything made to work with my disability, without inconveniencing my dad in his house because he thinks he should take care of me now. I know he means well, but I’m a grownup, and I want to be treated like one. The city council voted to use this year’s annual fundraiser to help pay for renovations. You probably saw signs for it when you drove through town. Claus for a Cause. It’s next weekend. I’d like to use the money to make the necessary changes on my own place.”
“This is what I’m talking about.” A surge of pride chased away the lingering ache for all Brenna had lost.
“The only problem is finding someplace in town. The few apartment options here are mostly older homes that have been split into duplexes—upstairs-downstairs spaces. Not that there are many available. And the real estate market here is practically nonexistent. People don’t move in and out of Creekside very often.”
As the manila envelope of legal documents caught Christy’s eye a few inches away, an idea formed in her head. The solution to the stress-inducing situation of dealing with her father’s estate was simple—if she could make it work the way she wanted to. She scribbled a note to email the lawyer with the numerous questions that immediately filled her thoughts. “So, this is a good start. Make a list and think about the steps to make those things happen. It should be like a resolution list, but you can make it any time, not just for the new year.”
“Okay.” Confidence and drive came through in Brenna’s response, a sure sign she was prepared to work hard to succeed. “Oh no! This is bad. Really bad.”
Alarm bells went off, setting Christy’s nerve endings on edge. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need me to call 9-1-1 or come over?”
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m good, but I got an email from Mrs. Barber that she needs to go stay with her very pregnant granddaughter for a few days. Her grandson-in-law has to travel for his job or something, and the baby is due any time now.” Brenna groaned. “Crap. This completely messes up Mrs. Claus’s Cookie Kitchen on Saturday. We’ve already assigned all the volunteers to their posts and our backup Mrs. C relocated to Columbus in September. You wouldn’t happen to love making cookies, would you?”
The unstoppable urge to revert to doormat helper slammed into Christy, despite her decision to avoid interacting with the residents of her former hometown. She aimed a glare at the gallon bag of biscotti she’d made to get her through the ordeal of dredging up the past. Cookies had been her stress outlet for years—both making and eating them.
I already offered my OT services.
But… Okay, maybe I can do more to support Brenna without anyone being the wiser.
She forced the tension from her spine with a slow exhale. “Is there a costume? Like a wig and glasses?”
“Yeah, but if that’s a deal-breaker, we can probably change things up a bit. You know, modernize the Mrs. to Ms. Claus and give her a dye job and a stylish pantsuit or something.” Brenna sounded awfully desperate for a replacement. “You don’t have to do the baking part, either. You’ll help decorate cookies in the Family and Consumer Sciences lab with anybody who wants to participate. Frost a cookie. Add sprinkles. That kind of thing. Send them off to the next stop when they’re done. You just have to supervise, restock the decorating supplies on the tables, and talk to the kids.”
Surrendering to her penchant for coming to the rescue, Christy hoped she didn’t regret being part of the big community event. “Actually, I don’t mind wearing Mrs. Barber’s costume, assuming it fits.”
“That’s awesome! Thanks so much. Really.” Clicking and clacking in the background suggested the young woman was typing an email to the original Mrs. Claus. “I’ve let Mrs. Barber know I found her replacement and that she’ll need to drop off the costume to one of us.”
No backing out now.
“Oh, I should also mention you’ll hang out with Santa for a few hours after the cookie kitchen closes. The kids can sit on his lap if they want to. You hand out the goodie bags and then pose with them for pictures. It’s up to you if you want to join everybody for the chili supper in the cafeteria. You get to eat for free since you’re a volunteer, but you might be ready for a break, so don’t feel obligated. Caroling in the park is at seven, with hot chocolate and cider booths. Again, not mandatory.”
Brenna’s excitement muffled Christy’s mixed emotions. The festival had grown significantly in the twenty-seven years since she’d left Creekside—and had changed to a fundraising opportunity for residents in need of assistance. Not once in her childhood had she attended the annual event. The one time she’d asked, her father had shipped her off to her grandparents’ for the holidays early, before winter break even started.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm the unease that had settled in with the news of his death.
I can do this. It’ll help me find closure.
The tightness in her muscles slowly eased, allowing her to focus on the present. She opened the calendar on her laptop. “If you have a list of where I need to be at what time, would you mind emailing me a copy? And you said Saturday, right?”
“Yep, all day Saturday. I’m sending the itinerary with notes about times and places now. There. Done. Let me know if you don’t get it in the next ten minutes and I’ll resend.”
“Great. Thanks.” A notification popped up on the screen, so she navigated to her email account. “It’s h— I thought I got it, but it’s a response from one of the people I contacted last night. Okay, here’s your email. Do you have time to hold on while I see what my former classmate has to say?”
“Sure. Fingers crossed.”
A second response appeared as Christy moved the cursor to the first, sparking a combination of hope and apprehension. Bad news usually traveled faster than good news, didn’t it?
She opened the email from the guy who’d lived down the hall in her apartment building during her final year of grad school. After a cheery paragraph with news about his wife and two children, he raved over her perfect timing. His office had been shorthanded for several months, and her experience meant he was willing to go to bat with his partners to hire her on the spot in whatever capacity she was willing to accept.
Her doubts cleared, but she moved on to the next reply. Again, a job offer practically jumped off the page, this time for a permanent position if she could be convinced by the salary. When she returned to her inbox, a third and a fourth had been delivered.
She took a quick look at both before swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat. Having choices wasn’t something she’d ever expected or encountered. “I have four emails so far. We can pick whichever location is most convenient for you. Or if you prefer a certain provider over another, we can go that route.”
“That’s amazing news. I knew you were good at your job, but this is… Wow. Your peers must really respect you. How soon can we start?”
Brenna’s observation gave Christy a boost of confidence she hadn’t known she needed. Being back where she’d grown up brought up more feelings than she wanted to deal with. “I have some things I have to do this morning. Are you free for lunch? We can discuss the details of each option and make the decision together.”
“Lunch sounds great, but it’s my turn to pay this time. How about Maxwell’s Diner on High Street at twelve thirty? I haven’t had their grilled cheese in forever.”
Thrilled for her new friend’s willingness to try another outing after the trouble on Friday, Christy shoved aside her own reluctance to venture to an old haunt. “Sounds terrific. I love grilled cheese. Meet you out front.”
“Perfect. See you in a few hours.”
Several minutes of silence passed before she finally slipped her phone into her purse and withdrew her car keys. Delaying the first trip to her childhood home since she’d left Creekside wouldn’t make it any easier.
Her stomach adamantly disagreed during the entire six-block drive and when she parked in front of the single-car garage that housed her father’s old work van. Instead of letting the past take over, she forced herself to walk to the porch, unlock the front door, and enter the modest house that held too many memories.
His ancient recliner sat in the same corner, facing a newer-looking TV. The couch where she’d done her homework all through school still stretched along the wall between the living room and the kitchen. Even the bookshelf that held her worn copies of Little Women , Black Beauty , and numerous other favorites hadn’t changed or been moved from its place next to the coat closet. A light layer of dust dulled every surface, but clutter was nonexistent and the space said nothing about him or the way he’d lived since her departure.
A pang of regret tried to fight through the numbness, but she buried it with the other feelings she’d long ago relegated to the past. He’d chosen to lie to her about her mother, letting her believe she’d been the cause of her mother’s death. Childbirth hadn’t taken that woman away from them. Her mother had chosen to leave, and he’d chosen to hide the truth to protect his pride.
Christy plodded down the hall toward the bedrooms, half hoping they were uninhabitable and would necessitate staying at the hotel rather than living temporarily in a space with ghosts from her previous life. The expense might punish her bank account, but that was better than facing her already battered emotions for days and nights on end.
She stopped at the closed door to her bedroom. Her heart hammered in her chest as she reached for the knob with a shaking hand.
Just do it and get it over with.
The door swung inward, revealing what amounted to an abandoned tomb. Her hastily made bed, the books piled on her nightstand, a partially open dresser drawer—all of it suggested she’d left yesterday instead of nearly thirty years ago. The only hints she’d been gone longer were a thick coating of dust everywhere and cobwebs fluttering where the ceiling met the walls. Not a fingerprint or footstep marred the surfaces. Clearly, no one had entered her room since her hasty departure.
Did he even miss me?
She shuffled to her father’s room at the end of the hall. Since he could no longer give her a stern warning to stay out, she crossed the threshold for a closer inspection. It was every bit as sparsely decorated as it had been when she’d lived with him, but the floor looked like it had been swept recently—possibly a day or two prior to his trip to the hospital to die—and the furniture and bedding looked relatively clean.
I can do this.
A quick search of the broom closet in the kitchen yielded a sweeper and the cleaning supplies she needed to prepare the master bedroom for her temporary habitation. How much would he hate her invasion of his privacy?
Considering all the times he’d shut down her questions, he was probably rolling over in his grave and thinking about haunting her—as if she didn’t have enough ghosts escaping from the excess baggage she carried with her everywhere.
Two and a half hours flew by while she washed the bedding, swept and dusted all but her old room, and remade the bed. She would have to tackle the closet, dresser, nightstand, and scuffed wooden desk at some point, but the thought of sorting through his private things made her stomach roil. Besides, she had a lunch appointment with her soon-to-be client.
The brisk walk brought back more memories—some good, some bad.
Brenna wheeled toward her as she approached Maxwell’s, a fixture in Creekside since well before she was born. The young woman’s cheery expression chased away the cold seeping through Christy’s leggings.
Pulling open the door, Christy shook off the depressing mood being in her childhood home had sparked and returned her lunch date’s smile. “Hi. I’ve been looking forward to figuring out our plan since we talked this morning.”
With less effort than entering the pizza place had required, Brenna rolled into the diner. “Me too. I even managed the half-mile trip without getting permanently stuck in a pothole.”
“That’s awesome. You’re a quick learner.” With a gesture toward the Please Wait To Be Seated sign, Christy let her companion take the lead.
Brenna glanced up at her before waving at the apron-clad woman hurrying toward them. “Hi, Mrs. Ferris.”
The server’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, as I live and breathe. Brenna, it’s so good to see you out and about. What can I do for you, honey?”
“It’s good to see you too.” After a barely noticeable pause, her lunch date nodded toward the dining room. “Table for two please. If it’s not too much trouble, can we have the empty table in the far corner?”
“Of course.” The server grabbed a pair of menus from the greeter’s stand. “Follow me.”
Without any prompting, their guide slid a chair to the back wall and then took their drink order. “I’ll get those hot chocolates while you look over today’s specials.”
As soon as their lunch was delivered, Christy opened the list she’d made on her phone so they could narrow down the choices. “Before we really dive in, type in your full name and contact information in my notes to pass on to whichever facility we decide to go with. It should speed up the process a little.”
Brenna’s fingers danced over the screen for less than a minute and she handed back Christy’s cell. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
She nodded as she read what the young woman had typed.
Brenna Carlsen.
Her heart stuttered at the sight of her new client’s last name. The young woman’s bright blue eyes matched Sven’s.
Had she really expected her high school boyfriend to remain single forever? To not marry and have children? To not move on?