Leota's Garden (53 page)

“I am tired. And since I answered the telephone, you know I’m not sick or dead.”

“I’ve been thinking . . .”

Leota could imagine. With Annie’s soft heart, she was probably worrying about those papers she’d signed and what they might mean. The poor dear probably thought her grandmother had covered all the bases and now intended to zing off like a fly ball, right over the center fielder’s head and out of the park. Home run, straight into the Lord’s arms. Well, not a chance. Not now. Not when she had a faint glimmer of hope. Thanksgiving had given her that.

“Sometimes thinking too much can get you into trouble, honey. What you did will help me sleep nights, Annie. Now, don’t feel you have to call me every single day. Spend more time painting something wonderful and stop worrying about this old hag.”

For all she said to Annie, she couldn’t sleep. Tired as she was, her mind was whirring. There was a constant buzzing in her ears, like a hive of busy bees. She finally gave up and got out of bed. She still needed to write letters to Eleanor and George, explaining why she had done things as she had.

She sat at the nook table, wrapped snugly in her bathrobe. Her feet were cold, despite her slippers. She didn’t want to turn the heat up yet. She never turned it up until seven in the morning. It was barely three.

The note to Annie was easy . . . precious Annie, open and free of all resentment, a breath of fresh air in this house of stale memories. George’s letter was a little harder. He reminded her so much of Bernard, holding all his troubles inside. What could it be? Business? Thank God he anesthetized himself with television sports rather than alcohol. Or was that any better? She hoped Jeanne would break through to him before his children were grown and gone.

Eleanor was another matter. Leota drafted three letters and discarded them all. Every time she tried to think of ways to explain herself to
Eleanor, she felt deeper despair. No amount of explaining would get through to someone who had already made up her mind, and Eleanor’s was set in stone. Finally, Leota wrote simply what was in her heart. The only thing she could do was state the truth. Simple, brief, heartfelt. Let Eleanor do with it as she would. Folding the letter, she tucked it in an envelope. Then she put the letters where she hoped they would one day be found.

She felt strange. She sat on the edge of her bed, troubled. The buzzing in her ears had grown worse. She felt an odd sensation . . . then a ping in her head, one small stab of pain, and finally a strange warmth—like someone’s hand cupping her ear. Her right arm was numb. When she stood to go into the bathroom, she had no feeling or strength in her right leg. There was just dead weight, pulling her down, down, down . . .

She heard a thud, but could make no sense of it. How had she ended up on the cold, wood floor?

Corban noticed two newspapers on the porch when he came up the steps. The mailbox attached to the side of the house next to the front door was jammed full. Frowning, he rang the doorbell and waited. No response. Usually, Leota was watching television on Wednesday mornings. He didn’t hear a sound coming from inside the house. Frowning, he went around to the back. Sometimes she sat at the nook table and worked crossword puzzles while waiting for him.

The shade was down. It was never down during the day.

He uttered a curse and ran around to the front door again. “Leota!” He pounded on the door. Still no response, not a single sound. He dug in his pocket for his keys, jingling through them until he found the one she had given him. He jammed it in the lock and opened the door.

“Leota?” He stepped into the house for the first time uninvited, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. The stench assaulted his senses, as if the toilet had overflowed. Breathing through his mouth, he called her name again. When he stepped into the corridor, he saw her lying crumpled beside her bed. She looked dead.

Sick at heart, he went down on one knee. He took her wrist. Her skin was paper thin and she was cold. Her eyes were open and seemed
blank until he put his hand gently over them, intending to close them. She made a grunting sound, and his body jerked back in surprise.

“I’ll get help,” he said. He didn’t want to leave her on the floor, but he was afraid to lift her and put her on the bed. What if she’d broken bones when she fell? Moving her could hurt her even more. Standing, he yanked the spread off the bed and covered her carefully. “Hang on, Leota. Don’t you die on me!”

After making the call, Corban opened the front door and went back into the bedroom to sit on the floor beside Leota. “Just hang on.” He held her hand and rubbed it. “Hang on.” He kept saying it like a mantra—“Hang on; hang on”—while his mind was screaming,
Hurry, hurry!
It took ten minutes for the fire truck and paramedics to arrive, the longest ten minutes of Corban’s life. He stood and moved back out of the way, feeling helpless while the EMTs worked. They were swift and efficient, but it was clear things didn’t look too good.

“Too dehydrated to get a line in her,” one said.

“Pulse reedy . . .”

“Let’s get a move on!”

“Are you a relative?”

“A friend. I’ll notify the family. Where will you take her?”

The technician gave him the name of the hospital.

“Wait a minute!” Corban stepped over before they wheeled Leota out the door. He was afraid they were wheeling her right out of his life for good. He took her hand, his own shaking. “Leota.” Her gaze wandered to him, dazed, confused. He wondered if she could understand anything. “I’ll call Annie, Leota. Then I’ll come to the hospital.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Hang on!”

Annie knew something was wrong the moment the classroom door opened and Susan came in. “Corban called. Your grandmother collapsed. They’ve taken her to the hospital in an ambulance.”

Scrambling to put her art supplies away, Annie tried not to cry. “Is she going to be all right?”

“I don’t know, Annie.”

Everyone was staring, some with sympathy, others annoyed at the
interruption. The instructor came over. “Go ahead, Miss Gardner. I’ll gather up your things and leave them at the office for you.”

“Which hospital?” Annie said, racing down the hallway with Susan. She started to cry. “Oh, Suzie. I
knew
something was wrong when Arba called me Monday night. I should’ve gone back then.”

“Your grandmother told you herself she was fine.”

“I shouldn’t have believed her. I should’ve gone to check on her. I should’ve called her last night.”

“Annie, you can’t be everywhere at once. Besides, no one ever knows when their time comes.” She grimaced. “Sorry.” They went out the doors into the misting afternoon air. The sky was overcast with a heavy chance of rain.

“I’d better drive,” Susan said when they reached the parking lot. “You’re in no condition to get behind the wheel.”

“You’re on the schedule to work.”

“Let them fire me!”

Annie took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
Lord, You’re in control. I know You’re in control. No matter what happens, I know my grandmother’s life is in Your hands.
“I’ll be okay, Suzie. I knew this would happen someday.”
Oh, God, not so soon. I’ve only had a little time with her. I want more!

“Give me your hands.” Susan planted herself in front of the car door and held hers out, a determined glint in her eyes. “I’m not letting you go until you stop shaking.” Annie did as she asked. Susan held her hands lightly for a moment. “Okay.” She kissed Annie’s cheek. “Just go slowly, would you? It won’t do any good if you have a wreck getting to the hospital.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.” She opened the car door and slid in.

“Safety belt.” Susan was holding on to the door and watching her.

“Yes, mother,” she said dryly. “Oh! Did you call my mother?”

“I’ll call her as soon as I get to work. That’ll give you enough time to get to the hospital before she does.”

If
she does.
Annie couldn’t help the thought. Would her mother even bother to come?

Oh, God, if Mother doesn’t come now, I’ll go and drag her by the hair to the hospital!

Fighting back tears, Annie started the car and backed out of the
space. Aware of Susan’s watchful gaze, she shifted carefully and drove slowly from the lot. As soon as the traffic cleared, she pulled out and was on her way.

Hang on, Grandma. Oh, Lord, don’t take her yet. Please, don’t take her!

When he arrived at the hospital, Corban couldn’t get much information on Leota’s condition. The first question was always “Are you a member of the family?” As soon as he said he was just a friend, they refused to tell him anything. Even when he said he was the one who had found her and called 911, they were hesitant to reveal anything.

Frustrated and worried, he decided to sit it out in the waiting room. When Annie arrived, she would tell him what was going on and how Leota was doing. He wasn’t going home until he knew.

She arrived, racing down the corridor, her face ashen. “My grandmother was brought in. Leota Reinhardt. Where is she, please?” When he touched her arm, she turned. “Oh, Corban!” She flung herself into his arms. “Thank God you found her!” The nurse gave him an apologetic look and told Annie her grandmother was still undergoing tests. She would notify the doctor that Mrs. Reinhardt’s granddaughter had arrived.

They sat in the waiting room together, but Annie couldn’t sit still for very long. She paced, sat, got up and looked out the window, paced some more, sat. Corban saw Eleanor and Fred before Annie did. Eleanor Gaines looked pale and stressed, her eyes dark but not red-rimmed from crying, as Annie’s were.

“Mother!” Annie said. Corban noticed she didn’t fling herself into her mother’s arms, but kept a safe distance from the cold front. “Thank God you’ve come.”

“What’s
he
doing here?”

At Annie’s quick blush, Corban clenched his hands. How had a woman like Eleanor Gaines
ever
produced a daughter like Annie?

“Corban found Grandma. He’s the one who called 911.” Annie gave him a grateful smile. “He’s been waiting to find out how Grandma Leota’s doing.”

“How is she doing?”

“Nice of you to ask,” Corban said before he could stop himself.

“That’s uncalled for,” Fred said quietly, his hand firm beneath his wife’s elbow.

“Sorry.” Corban ran a hand back through his hair. He conceded he had spoken too quickly, but Eleanor Gaines’s attitude made him boil.

Annie was crying again. She turned away from her mother and stepfather and sat down on the sofa, burying her face in her hands. Eleanor looked uncomfortable.

“Anne-Lynn.” She approached hesitantly, her hand hovering over Annie’s hair, then sat down slowly on the sofa beside her daughter. “This wasn’t unexpected.”

“It was to me,” Annie said, hiccuping a sob.

“Get ahold of yourself, dear.” Eleanor glanced quickly around at the others sitting in the waiting room. Her eyes grazed Corban’s with dislike.

The feeling is mutual, lady.

She took a fancy handkerchief from her leather purse and offered it to Annie. “Your grandmother is very old. Things are bound to go wrong with her health. We all go sometime, dear.”