knot of tension balled up in the pit of his stomach.
The door was closed and he hesitated a moment, his hand on the knob. The last time he’d been in the room, there had been blue curtains at the window and a teddy-bear wallpaper border around the ceiling.
The room had smelled of little boy and been filled with all of Joshua’s dreams, his hopes, his love.
Drawing a deep breath, he turned the knob and opened the door. White lacy curtains billowed at the window, bringing the scent of summer into the room. Pale-yellow walls matched the sunflower designs on the bedspread and accentuated the white wicker furniture.
There was no hint of baby’s-breath-and-powder scent, no lingering reminder of the beloved child who had once slept here, played here.
He placed his suitcase and laptop next to the single bed, almost able to hear the childish giggles that had once filled this space.
Baby Sammy. Named after Sarge, Claire and Joshua’s son had become the center of the universe on the day he’d been born. With Joshua’s dark hair and Claire’s smoky eyes, he’d been a little charmer with a ready smile and an easy disposition.
I miss you, Sammy, he thought. He missed Sammy and Claire and Sarge and the way things had been a long time ago.
“I just remembered that you like extra pillows.”
He whirled around to see Claire standing in the doorway, two pillows clutched to her chest. She held them out to him.
“Yeah…thanks.” He took the pillows and tossed them on the bed, then walked to the window and peered out onto a backyard as tangled and overgrown as the front. “Do you have a lawn mower that works?” he asked and turned back to look at her.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t come back here to mow the lawn.”
He smiled. “True, but if you remember, I used to enjoy yard work. I don’t mind doing it, really. I spend most of the hours of my day sitting at a desk. The physical activity will be good for me.”
She uncrossed her arms and offered him a tentative smile. “Lately there just haven’t seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done. Sarge doesn’t like to be alone and he’s been so cantankerous it’s been hard to get people to sit with him.”
“Claire?” As if to prove her point, Sarge’s voice rang out.
“We’re coming,” she answered and together the two of them left the bedroom and returned to the living room. Joshua sat on the sofa, vaguely disappointed when Claire sat across the room in a chair instead of on the sofa with him. He wouldn’t have minded if she’d sat close enough for him to smell her sweet fragrance.
The evening passed quickly. Although Sarge couldn’t see, his mind was sharp as a tack and he and Joshua battled each other answering questions on first one game show, then another.
During the commercials, they chatted and it didn’t take long for Joshua to get a picture of what life had been like for these two during the past three years. Since Sarge’s blindness, Claire’s sole job was taking care of Sarge, and Joshua had a feeling there had been little time for leisure or fun in Claire’s life.
It was also apparent from several things that Sarge said that money was always an issue, that between his small monthly checks and his medical needs, there was never any money for little extras.
If only Claire had cashed the checks he’d mailed to her, surely the extra money would have come in handy. But he knew why she hadn’t. Claire had a healthy dose of pride; couple that with the hatred of him she’d professed when he’d left, and he’d never really been surprised that she’d refused any money he’d sent her.
It was just after nine when Sarge fell asleep in his chair and Claire said she needed to put him to bed. She wheeled him down the hallway and disappeared into his bedroom. Joshua waited a couple of minutes, then walked down the hallway.
When he looked into the bedroom, he saw Claire struggling to get Sarge from the wheelchair onto the bed. She’d already managed to take off the old man’s shoes and socks.
“Come on, Sarge, you’ve got to help me here,” she murmured, her arms wrapped around the man’s chest.
Joshua didn’t hesitate. He gently moved her aside, then leaned down and scooped the thin man up in his arms and placed him on the bed. Sarge mumbled something incoherently in his sleep, then turned his head and began to snore.
“Thanks,” she murmured, although her voice held no gratitude, but rather an edge of resentment.
He nodded curtly. “You want him undressed?”
“No, he’ll be fine for the night. In the morning I’ll help him change his clothes.” She covered the sleeping man with a sheet, then she and Joshua left the bedroom.
“Would you come sit on the porch with me?” he asked. “It’s a beautiful night and I’d like to talk to you.”
She frowned. “I’m really tired, and Sarge gets up early in the mornings. Besides, if you want to talk to me you can do it right here.”
He eyed her with a small smile. “What’s the matter, Cookie? Afraid to sit with me in the dark?”
She rose to his bait, a flush of color staining her cheeks. “Just for a minute,” she said and swept past him and out the front door.
He followed behind her and together they sank down on the top step with inches between them. For a moment neither of them spoke. Nighttime in Mayfield was always quiet, peaceful.
There were no sirens in the distance, no traffic noises to disrupt the rhythmic cadence of the insects that filled the air. The sky overhead was a blanket of stars and a plump near-full moon hung suspended in the air as if by magic. “There’s nothing prettier than a Mayfield moon,” he observed.
“It’s the same moon that shines in California,” she replied.
He laughed lightly. “I suppose it is. It just looks prettier from here.”
She released a sigh that whispered of exhaustion, and he turned to look at her, noting how the moonlight bathed her beautiful features in a silvery glow.
“How long do you think you can keep this up?” he asked softly.
She didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “As long as it’s necessary.” She sighed again. “You’ve just caught us at a bad time. Things will get better. The doctor expects Sarge to be able to get out of the wheelchair with some physical therapy and time.”
“So, he isn’t paralyzed?”
“No, just weak.”
“Is he seeing a physical therapist?”
She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “Not right now. He’s being difficult and wallowing in pity. But with a little more time that will change.”
“Claire, given a little more time, you’re going to end up in the hospital with a bad case of exhaustion. You need to hire some help.”
“That
