Along the Broken Road (19 page)

“I hope you’re okay now, Rodney.” And he meant it, because the young man was fiercely devoted and that deserved respect.

“I’m fine. Just more frail than I’d like. I won’t always be. I’m gaining my weight back.”

“That’s great. Hey, if you ever need someone to work out with . . .”

Shock registered on Rodney’s face. Then a smile. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll call ya.”

Ian pulled the cell phone from his pocket. “What’s your number? I’ll call you and you can put me in your phone.”

Ian noticed he’d missed three calls from Mr. Gruber’s number. He should call him, but they were headed back to the retreat after ice cream and he just wasn’t ready for the day alone with Charlee to end.

“What do you do for fun, Rodney?”

“Not much time for fun.” He hooked a thumb toward the ice cream shop. “I grew up working for my stepdad. He owned a construction business.”

Ian leaned forward. “So does my dad. We have a lot in common.”

“My stepdad died when I was eighteen and my mom couldn’t keep the business going. She ended up selling, but if I’d been a little older, a little wiser . . .”

Ian understood. Life could be filled with regrets. Some of your own design, some you had no control over.

“Anyway, I was running jobs for him. I was good at it. Really good at it.” His eyes widened when he said that. “And now I’m working in an ice cream shop for twelve cents over minimum wage. Up for a six-cent raise in another three months. Funny how life works out, isn’t it?”

Ian’s heart went out to Rodney. Funny, no. Not in this circumstance. Rodney leaned over the table and extended a hand. “Good talking to you, Ian.”

“You too, Rodney.”

He grinned. “My friends call me Rod.”

“Okay.” Ian stood and shook his hand again.

Rodney started to walk away, then turned. “It doesn’t change what I said about Charlee. Don’t hurt her. Or you’ll answer to me.”

Ian couldn’t stop the smile. “Duly noted.”

Charlee jogged to the table, her hair—wind wild—flowing behind her. She was beautiful. The most incredible woman he’d ever met. And she was going to be his. Just as he let that thought settle into his heart, another raced to the surface. Something dark, intangible, but real nonetheless.
It’s all going to crumble around you
. The thought, so stark and unwelcome, shot through his system. He rejected it. Pushed it away. Wouldn’t give it a chance to root.

His phone buzzed on the table. As if she’d forgotten she even had a cell phone, Charlee pulled hers from the small shoulder purse she had across her body.

Ian grabbed his phone and answered while he watched Charlee push her hair back. A frantic voice on the other end of the phone caused him to look away from the woman lighting his world. Ian’s heart lurched into his stomach with each word being hurled at him through the phone line. Slowly, he lowered the phone.

“What?” Charlee said, panic rising in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“We gotta get to the hospital. It’s Mr. Gruber.”

Charlee squeezed her eyes shut and held on to Ian while the onset of tears stung her nose. The worst things in life could happen at the most beautiful moments. The air was the perfect blend of sunshiny warmth and cool wind off the Ozark Mountains. One moment, she’d been holding a squirming puppy, belly swollen and breath smelling like milk, the next she was on the back of a motorcycle racing to the hospital and fighting panic.

Cold first, a chilling blast that shot from her flesh inward, settling in her chest. Then blackness as she imagined a world without Mr. Gruber. They’d had no details to go on, just a few sentences of rushed words.
We called an ambulance. They’ve taken him to Mercy Medical Center. We’ll meet you there
. If Ian knew more, he hadn’t shared it. And Charlee knew it was bad. In her heart, she knew. It had to be because when it wasn’t bad, people gave you plenty of specifics. None of that. No, oh, he just slipped and fell and hurt his knee, or, silly man, tried to pry open a can with a kitchen knife, now he needs stitches. No, this was not like that. Charlee laid her head against Ian’s back and closed her eyes. Even on the road, she could feel his lungs expand and deflate, and the motion was soothing. Mr. Gruber would be okay.

Ian sped across town and by the time they were in the hospital parking lot, Charlee’s emotions were a frazzled mess. She ran inside the emergency entrance with Ian’s footfalls right behind her. The nurse pointed them to the ICU waiting area. As they rounded the corner, Charlee saw King Edward sitting in a chair facing the TV. Wilma stood at the window and Wynona was pouring a cup of coffee. “What happened?”

They all turned and Wynona got to Charlee first, leaving the coffee cup behind. Quick on Wynona’s heels was her sister, who took Wynona’s hand. “Wilma saw Arnold first thing in the morning. She said he seemed fine. I went to his cabin around eleven. He’d told Wilma he had something for me. When I arrived, I found him facedown on the floor. He’d knocked over the easel.”

Charlee’s hands went to her mouth. “Is he okay now?” There was panic in her voice; she could hear it, alarming and uncontrollable. Ian’s hand rested on her back, offering strength, but she just didn’t think it was enough to keep her upright. He had to be okay. He must be okay.

“They don’t know yet, honey.”

And a look passed between the sisters that Charlee hated. Hated because it was the look her dad and older brothers shared when her mom was dying of cancer and everybody in the entire world was trying to protect her rather than let her be part of the world she loved. Charlee gritted her teeth. “Is. He. Okay?”

Wynona’s eyes filled with tears and Charlee hated that she’d caused them. “He’s still unconscious.”

The room darkened around her to one tiny tunnel of light. Her knees gave way, and had it not been for strong arms shoring her up, Charlee would have collapsed. The world swayed as they helped her to a chair. Ian lowered her to the seat, but kept both hands firmly on her shoulders.

This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. She’d lost her mom and her dad and now the possibility of waking every morning and looking out at an empty cabin where Mr. Gruber once lived . . . no. She just couldn’t. He was going to be okay. “Can we see him?”

“They’re running tests. Not sure if it was just a heart attack or a heart attack and a stroke.” Wilma shook her head.

“Both? They think it could be both? Wait, he’s been unconscious the whole time?” She wasn’t sure why she needed to know that, or what it mattered, but somewhere in her mind, she felt that if she pieced all the pieces together, she’d have a clear picture and he’d be fine. Crazy, of course. Insane. But she needed more details. “Had he complained about not feeling well?”

Wilma shook her head. “No. In fact, this morning, he seemed extremely chipper. Smiles and everything.” And that’s when Charlee realized Wilma and Wynona had already done what she was trying to do. Make sense of it. Put it all together so a clear picture emerged. But there was no clear picture to have because when it came to things like illness, strokes, heart attacks, there were no rules. They came; they took. End of story. “I guess we just have to wait to hear from the doctor.”

Wynona sat down beside her, threaded their hands together. “And pray.”

CHAPTER 11

Minutes crept by as they waited. Charlee paced the floor until her legs ached. She knew Ian was keeping an eye on her even though he stood back, gave her room, gave her space, but he was right there to catch her if she crumbled again. Finally, she curled up in a stiff-backed hospital waiting room chair, settling into Ian’s arms. King Edward was visiting with a nurse in the corner—someone he’d seen earlier and said he’d recognized from the art store. She was a budding artist and Edward was giving her tips.

“Flirting,” Ian whispered in Charlee’s ear and nodded toward the two.

Charlee chuckled. “She is. King Edward is oblivious to it.”

When the doctor stepped in, they all rose. He walked toward Wynona and the rest of the group gathered. “Are you here for Arnold Gruber?”

Charlee felt Ian’s arm lace around her waist. “Yes.”

“We’re taking him into surgery. He has blockages in his heart. Suffered a massive heart attack, but no stroke. He’s diabetic so the surgery can take longer than normal.” The doctor paused just long enough for the group to digest the words.
Massive heart attack. Surgery
. He hooked his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “We’re optimistic, but the surgery is risky.”

“Has he regained consciousness?” Wilma’s face was a mask of concern, but she mustered her strength to ask.

The doctor’s dark eyes dropped for an instant. “I’m afraid not.”

“He will, though,” Wynona supplied; it was both a question and an answer. “I didn’t know he was diabetic.”

“Not sure he knows either. Like I said, we’re optimistic.” And that was neither a question nor an answer.

Frustration threaded through Charlee’s system. “What does that mean?”

The doctor pulled a breath. “There’s a thirty-percent chance he won’t survive the surgery. And there’s always the possibility he won’t regain consciousness. Now, I have some paperwork. Who is immediate family?”

Charlee sucked a breath. Mr. Gruber’s daughter. She hadn’t even thought to let her know. “None of us. Mr. Gruber lives at my artists’ retreat.”

The doctor rocked back on his heels. “Oh, the one just out of town? Used to be the old kids’ camp?” He’d shifted right into casual conversation, eyes friendly and focused on Charlee. She wanted to be angry at him for so quickly leaving the intense conversation about Mr. Gruber. But, she supposed in his line of work, dealing with life and death, one had to grow rhino skin. Still, she didn’t bother to answer.

“I know his daughter lives in Kansas City. I need to get a hold of her. This won’t hold up the surgery, right?” Charlee couldn’t believe she’d been so selfish, so lost in her own fear that she hadn’t bothered to let Mr. Gruber’s daughter know.

“Not at all,” the doctor assured. “Just have her swing by admitting at some point.”

Charlee turned to find Ian’s waiting arms. She clung to him as the doctor walked back through the white doors that for so many people offered either hope or despair—sometimes both.

Ian rested his head on top of hers. She listened to him breathe. “I can’t believe I didn’t call her.”

A wide hand swept up and down her back. “It’s better that you waited. You have something to tell her now.”

That was true. At least they knew. Knowledge was power. And power could get you through the toughest of times.

“Here, I have Arnold’s cell phone.” Wynona dug it out of her bag.

Charlee took it and hit a button. Outgoing calls. All to Ian’s numbers, first to the phone in his cabin, then his cell. Cold shot into her chest. Her eyes went to Wynona. “Did you all try to call us after you found him?”

“Not from Arnold’s phone.”

Ian snatched the phone from her hands and stared at it. “Oh no.”

She grabbed the cell when it nearly fell from Ian’s hand. He’d gone pale. “He tried to call you?”

His mouth hung open, eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t know.” His hand came up and covered the lower portion of his face and Charlee focused her gaze on him as the soldier who’d watched his friends die on the battlefield, watched her father die on the battlefield, crumbled. His giant shoulders quaked and when she thought he’d implode, he stormed away from them to the sanctuary of the nearby window where he could look out on a world that continued to spin even though theirs was falling apart.

Too many emotions raced through Charlee. If Ian had answered the call, would it have made a difference? Mr. Gruber had reached out, called when . . . when what? The scenarios ran through Charlee’s mind, leaving a wake of shattered possibilities too painful to neglect. She imagined Mr. Gruber lying on his floor, gasping for air and reaching out for a cell phone only to be put off. She imagined his eyes closing, slowly realizing no one was there for him when he needed them most. Charlee thought she might throw up. She forced the images from her mind. She had a job to do. She needed to contact Mr. Gruber’s daughter. But after scanning the phone, she realized there was no number listed. Gruber’s phone had all of ten contacts. The art store, Charlee, Ian, Wilma and Wynona who shared a cell phone because they didn’t like to use them claiming they could give you brain cancer, King Edward’s cell, Pizza Hut, and the four cabin landlines. That was it.

“How can his daughter’s number not be in here?”

Wynona stared at it as if the look would elicit the number’s appearance. “Well, he hasn’t had the cell that long. I’m sure her number is at his house. Let’s go. King Edward can drive us.”

Charlee considered leaving versus staying. On the one hand, she wanted to be there for Mr. Gruber. On the other, he would be in surgery for hours and Charlee needed to contact his daughter. Reluctantly, she nodded. Her eyes drifted to Ian, still at the window. She crossed the room to him and placed a hand on his arm.

He jolted, surprising her because Ian wasn’t typically jumpy—except, of course, when he was waking from a nightmare. When he turned to look at her, the bewilderment shook Charlee to the core. His eyes were haunted and hollow. She had to swallow before trusting her voice to speak. “Wynona and I are going home to find Mr. Gruber’s daughter’s phone number. Do you want to come with us?”

As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. The last thing in the world she wanted was Ian on his bike in his present state. He looked like a stiff wind could do him in. It was a while before he answered, his gaze going from her to the door and back as if his mind was trying to catch up and couldn’t quite get there. “He called me, Charlee. And I didn’t answer.”

She closed her hands over his strong upper arms. “It’s not your fault, Ian. You couldn’t have known anything was wrong.”

“He needed me.”

“Ian, you can’t blame yourself.” She squeezed, hoping beyond hope the pressure of hands to arms would send assurance through his system. “We couldn’t have known.”

He didn’t exactly nod, but more jerked a slight movement that let her know he understood . . . maybe didn’t believe it, but at least understood. “I’m going to stay here. In case.”

Charlee nodded. “We’ll be right back. I don’t want to be gone long.”

Charlee stood on her toes and pulled Ian’s head toward hers. He came easily, but for the first time since they’d met, when she pressed her lips to his, there was no reaction. His mouth was a hard line that didn’t alter as she touched hers to him. As Charlee walked away, casting one quick glance back at him, she had to wonder how much this event might change him. Ian was no longer the soldier come home, ready to start over. Ian was the man on the battlefield who’d survived when others hadn’t. And that created a strange detachment she wasn’t sure she had the power to reconnect.

“Not here, either.” Wynona dropped her hands to her hips. They’d scrounged through Mr. Gruber’s things until they found an old phone bill. But there were only a handful of long-distance calls on the bill. “It’s got to be one of these, right?”

Wynona nodded, pulling her long hair over her shoulder and out of her way. “Yes. He told me just the other night he talks to her every week. Do you know the Kansas City area codes?”

Charlee shrugged. “Here, we can pull it up on his computer. Find the area codes and narrow these numbers down.”

Wynona went to the desktop and moved the mouse. “Just a minute, he’s on Facebook. Oh, this is Ashley’s page.”

Charlee crossed the room to gaze over Wynona’s shoulder. There on the screen, a beautiful woman with Mr. Gruber’s eyes held a chubby baby girl in her arms. Charlee was about to destroy her world and hated that fact. “Is there a phone number listed in her contact information?”

Wynona clicked around like a pro. “No. She works at Bradley and Baker on the plaza. Maybe we could call there?”

“It’s Saturday. Worth a try, though. I mean, at this point we don’t have anything else.” Before calling, they checked the numbers from Gruber’s phone bill, but none of them was a Kansas City area code.

Charlee called Bradley and Baker and got the answering service. She explained it was an emergency and please to let Ashley know it was concerning her father. She left her number.

Wynona had disappeared from the living room and came out of the bedroom looking as if she’d seen a ghost. Mr. Gruber’s favorite robe hung from her hand and she nearly tripped over it as she stumbled out of his room.

Charlee rushed to her. “Wynona, what is it?”

She didn’t speak, but pointed to the bedroom.

Fear shot into Charlee, but she had no choice but to go. There, posed beside the bed on an easel was a picture of Wynona. Charlee’s heart jumped into her throat. A ray of dazzling light held the woman in silence. Her head was back, long white hair a silken shroud splayed over her shoulders, long flowing gown clinging to her legs in a night breeze you could practically feel. It was beautiful. Breathtaking and almost unearthly. With her head tilted, a beam of illumination caught the soft shade of one eye, making her look as if the light wasn’t surrounding her, but was born from her. It was a masterpiece like no other.

“Oh, Wynona, it’s incredible.”

The woman who’d been frozen only a moment ago seemed to disintegrate. Hands came up to her face to collect the tears that flowed freely from her eyes. And it hit Charlee. “He must really care about you.” Because this kind of painting wasn’t just paint and canvas, brush strokes and planning. This kind of painting could only be created from the purest and deepest of love.

Hollow eyes found Charlee. “I don’t . . . I don’t want to lose him.” And then the crying became sobs while Charlee wrapped her arms around Wynona and let her melt.