Chapter 23 #2
“Then maybe you should let me finish what I was trying to say. Yes, Paul was a wonderful husband. None better as far as I’m concerned.
But having God’s help has made all the difference.
I wouldn’t have survived losing Paul if God hadn’t been there for me.
And anything good inside of me is a direct result of God’s influence.
I guess I’m suggesting that you consider asking him for help. Because you do seem to need some help.”
“Thanks a lot.” Kitty scowled.
“You’re the one who just told me you’re a god-awful mess, Kitty. If you don’t want my advice, just say so.”
“Are you going to kick me out?”
Riva thought hard, silently begging God to lead her. “Not today. But I am giving you notice. If some things don’t change, you will have to find other arrangements.”
“There’s that word again. Change. I don’t know how to change.”
“Are you asking for suggestions?”
Kitty stuck out her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.”
Thinking this might be her best chance to have Kitty as a “captive audience,” Riva decided to go for it. “For starters, I don’t think you should be drinking at all. Give the party girl act a break.”
“Seeing that I’m confined to my bed at the moment, I suppose I don’t have a choice.”
Riva glanced around the messy room. “You don’t have alcohol hidden in here, do you?”
Kitty just shrugged, but her eyes darted to the closet, which appeared to have regurgitated its contents, with clothing and purses and shoes pouring out.
But what caught Riva’s eyes was a pair of tall black boots, standing up straight.
And this was definitely not boot season.
She got up to take a closer look. One boot contained a partially full bottle of vodka.
The other held a nearly empty Jack Daniels.
“Classy,” Riva said as she pulled out the bottles.
“Excuse me. I was stressing over Danny.”
“And this helps?”
“It dulls things.” Kitty fidgeted with the frozen peas on her foot. “Do you think I need to see a doctor? I don’t really want to, and I’m sort of between insurance providers right now.”
Riva took a peek at the ankle and shrugged. “I guess that’s up to you. Doesn’t look too serious to me. Do you have any elastic bandages to wrap it with?”
“No.”
“Well, I have some in my first aid cabinet.”
“You have a first aid cabinet?”
“Of course. I had a wild, sports-obsessed son who was good at injuring himself.” Still holding the two bottles, Riva opened the door. “Any more booze hidden in here?”
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
Riva frowned at the bottles in her hands. “Sure could’ve fooled me.”
“Ha ha.” Kitty growled. “Thanks. Now I’m craving a Manhattan.”
“I’ll get that elastic wrap.”
As Riva closed the door behind her, Laurel poked her head out of her room. “Windy told me about Kitty’s ankle. Do you think she’s faking it to get you to feel sorry for her so you’ll let her stay?”
“Being that she injured it before I had a chance to tell her about our concerns, I have to assume it’s legitimate.”
Laurel’s brows arched. She nodded toward the liquor bottles in Riva’s hands. “Wow, you hittin’ the hard stuff now?” She laughed as Riva headed down the stairs.
“I hope this is all she had in her room, but the place is such a disaster area, who knows?”
“Did Kitty get an X-ray?” she asked, following Riva.
“No, she doesn’t seem to want to see a doctor.”
“Right. Easier to fake it and milk it for all its worth.” Laurel followed Riva through the kitchen.
“Maybe . . . but I have to admit the ankle is a bit swollen.” Riva dumped the contents of the bottles down the sink drain.
“And Brent had his fair share of twisted ankles. This looks similar. Brent’s sprains usually healed fairly quick though.
He’d often be off his crutches after just a week.
But then he was young. At our age, well, it probably takes longer. ”
Laurel snorted. “Like Kitty will ever confess she’s our age, or even close.”
Riva dropped the glass bottles into the recycling bin, then rinsed her hands.
“Does Kitty have crutches to get around or will Marcus be stopping by to transport her as needed?”
Riva ignored Laurel’s jab. “No crutches yet, but I think Brent’s spare set is in the garage.”
Laurel continued to shadow Riva as she perused the first aid cabinet, eventually unearthing the storage container with elastic bandages. She held the plastic box out to Laurel. “How’re you at wrapping an ankle?”
“Seriously? You want me to help that little witch?”
“Oh, Laurel.” Riva frowned and shook her head. “What would Jesus do?”
“Tell her to get up, pick up her bed, and walk?” Laurel smirked. “Maybe have her fix us something to eat, then go and sin no more?”
“Funny.” Riva handed Laurel a rolled bandage. “I happen to remember heroic tales of you playing school nurse when no one else was there to step in, and I also happen to know you’re first aid certified. Why don’t you handle this while I hunt down the crutches? That could take me a while.”
“Fine. But if she gets gangrene because I wrap her foot too tightly, don’t sue me.”
“As long as you don’t put a tourniquet around her neck, I won’t report you.” Riva reached for a bottle of Advil. “Offer her a couple of these for the pain, Nurse Ratched.”
“Or just give her the whole bottle with a stiff drink?”
“Laurel!” Riva scowled. “I never knew you were so wicked.”
Laurel looked genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. I never used to think of myself as hardhearted. But that woman—she just pushes all my buttons.”
“Maybe God is giving you an opportunity . . . a lesson in turning the other cheek, loving your enemy.” She held out the Advil. “Being a good Samaritan.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Laurel waved a dismissive hand, then grabbed the pills. “Save your preaching for Sundays, Riva.”
As they parted ways, Riva thought about her little sermonette. Truth was, she wasn’t much fonder of Kitty than Laurel was. But she felt sorry for the confused and complicated woman. It went against the grain to help someone so self-centered, cynical, and irresponsible.
Except that, unless Riva was being gullible, it seemed Kitty had experienced a true aha moment just now.
After all, she’d just admitted she was a mess and recognized her need for help.
What if this really was a turning point?
What if God’s plan for Kitty was to keep her right here and to use Riva and the other women to guide the poor lost lamb toward a better path?
Okay, that might be a long shot at best, but maybe it was better to try and be wrong than to be wrong and not try.