The Inn At Rose Harbor Part 31

Stunned, Abby remained frozen, standing outside as the cold wind whipped about her. Her hair flew in her face, slapping against her cheek as if to punish her for her audacity.

Calmly, ignoring his wife's outburst, Mr. White held open the screen door. "Come inside, Abby, it's chilly out there."

With her feet weighed down with reluctance, Abby stepped into the house. "Thank you," she whispered, as the warmth welcomed her. The first thing she noticed was that they had rearranged their living room and bought new chairs and a sofa. Pictures of what she could only a.s.sume were their grandchildren lined the shelves of the bookcases on each side of the fireplace.

"Sit down, please," Mr. White invited, indicating the sofa. "It's time we talked-past time, really."

"Yes, it is," Abby agreed, although the words nearly stuck in her throat. She kept her coat on and sat on the very edge of the cushion.

"You'll need to forgive Charlene; losing Angela remains difficult for her. She's had a hard time of it."

Abby folded her hands, placing them on her knees. "I visited Angela's grave for the first time. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it was as if I could hear her speaking to me. She asked me to contact you and Mrs. White."

He smiled briefly. "As a matter of fact I've had a few conversations with my daughter myself. Unfortunately they are all one-sided and I'm doing all the talking."

Abby didn't elaborate on her experience. If she did, she feared the Whites might think she was nuts.

"Tell me about yourself," Angela's father asked, making polite conversation. "Are you married? Children?"

"I haven't married ..."

"Yet," he finished for her, "you're much too pretty to remain single much longer."

Embarra.s.sed, Abby glanced down at her clenched hands.

"Greg's married now. He has two children, and lives in the Spokane area."

Angela's brother was older by two years and he'd lived on campus in Pullman for their last couple of years of high school.

"Sarah's nine and Andy's seven," he added.

Abby glanced again at the framed photo of two youngsters on the fireside bookcase. Their gleaming faces smiled into the camera, sweet and innocent. Angela would have been a wonderful aunt to these two precious children.

Until then, Abby had avoided looking at Angela's high school graduation photo, which was prominently displayed on the wall above the fireplace. It nearly filled the entire s.p.a.ce. Angela had never been fond of that particular pose and was probably outraged that her mother had chosen to display that shot. Actually, Abby agreed with Mrs. White. Angela looked ... perfect. The mantel was covered with a dozen or more candles in varying sizes as if it were a shrine to her memory.

Mrs. White returned to the living room, her hands knotted into fists at her sides. "You have a lot of nerve to show up here out of the blue."

"Charlene, please," Mr. White pleaded. "You must know how difficult this is for Abby."

"As it should be." The older woman glared at Abby, her eyes filled with accusation.

"Sit down, honey," Mr. White said as though pleading with his wife.

Mrs. White looked like she wanted to defy her husband, but she must have read something warm and encouraging in his eyes, because she took the chair next to him.

"Do you have something you want to say?" Charlene asked Abby.

"Yes, of course." The lump in Abby's throat felt watermelon-size. "First off I want to tell you how very sorry I am-"

"Sorry. You came to say you're sorry? It's far too late for that."

"Charlene," Mr. White said softly, "let her finish."

"If Angela had been driving that night, you would have been the one killed," Mrs. White continued, ignoring her husband.

"I wish Angela had been driving. I would much rather have been the one who died." It wasn't like this was a new thought. Abby had gone through all the might-have-beens a thousand times or more.

If only they'd stayed later at the mall.

If they hadn't stopped for dinner after shopping; if they hadn't lingered over their meal, then Angela might be alive today.

If only she'd been paying more attention to the road instead of singing Christmas songs.

The what-ifs had hounded Abby for years, and they didn't seem to get any better with time.

Charlene sat with her back stiff, and avoided looking at Abby as if the mere sight of her alive and well was a painful reminder that her own daughter was buried in a graveyard only a few minutes away.

"That night ended Angela's life and it forever altered mine." Abby's voice cracked and she swallowed hard in an effort to hold back the threatening emotion. "I drove the car that killed my best friend. That isn't something one ever forgets ..."

"Or forgives," Mrs. White inserted.

"I don't imagine it is," Abby whispered. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her fingers had gone white. "And I should know because I've never been able to forgive myself."

Her statement was met with silence. Mrs. White angled her neck toward the ceiling and appeared to be fighting back tears.

"I miss Angela every single day," the older woman whispered. "Not a night pa.s.ses that I don't yearn for my daughter."

"I miss her, too," Abby whispered back.

"Every day?" Mrs. White challenged.

"Most days ... over the years the ache has gotten lighter, but that doesn't mean I don't think about her often and-"

Again Angela's mother interrupted her. "But the bottom line is that you're alive and she's not. You can marry and give your parents grandchildren."

"I haven't married," Abby said, cutting her off, her hands stretching toward them pleadingly. "In fact, it's as if someone pressed the 'pause' b.u.t.ton on my life since the night of the accident. I don't date; I avoid relationships. I live in a town where I don't have family. I just do my job and stick to my own business. I've carried this load of guilt and grief until it's become too heavy for me to haul around any longer."

Both of Angela's parents stared at her.

"I a.s.sumed that everyone else blamed me for the accident, too, but they don't. I met Patty Morris at the downtown pharmacy and waited for her to reject me ... only she didn't. She was happy to see me. So happy in fact that she invited several of my closest high school friends to meet me for lunch this afternoon. And while no one overtly mentioned Angela, she was there; she was with us. I could almost hear her laugh. I could feel her smile. And because she smiled so could I."

Tears flowed down Mrs. White's cheeks. Mr. White's, too. He reached in his rear pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes and then loudly blew his nose.

"Angela is gone and as much as I would like to bring her back, I can't. I'm so sorry I can't. This trip home has shown me something that I've overlooked all these years." Abby sniffled and reached for her purse to search for a tissue.

Before she could locate one, Mrs. White handed her one from the box that rested on the lamp stand next to her.

"Thank you," Abby whispered.

"You were about to say something," Mr. White said, gesturing for her to continue. "Something important."

After blowing her nose, Abby scrunched up the tissue in her hand. "What I've overlooked all these years is that this grieving, this guilt, isn't what Angela would have wanted for any of us. She was the most generous, happy person I ever knew. I couldn't be around her and not want to laugh. The minute she walked into a room, the light got brighter. She'd be shocked at what's happened to me ..."

"And me," Mrs. White added. "I've grown into an old woman."

"A cranky old woman," Mr. White added, reaching for her hand to show his affection in spite of his comment.

"Michael James White, you will apologize for saying that," Charlene insisted.

"Well it's true, and I've done the same thing. We let our bitterness nearly destroy us ... and our marriage. Abby's right; Angela was a happy person and she would have wanted us to be happy. She would hate what we've become."

"How am I supposed to live without my daughter?" Charlene cried out as the tears streaked her cheeks. "How am I supposed to forget she died and is forever lost to me?"

"We don't want to forget Angela," Mr. White answered. "We had her for nineteen wonderful years. She was our treasure, our joy. We have our memories and until we see her again that will have to carry us. Do you seriously think Angela would want us to destroy our lives because she died?"

"No, she wouldn't," Abby answered. "She'd be the first one to tell me to live and to enjoy life. She'd be the first person to rea.s.sure me that while it was tragic that she died, it was an accident. She'd be first in line to tell me I can't accept the blame for a freak accident. I hit ice on the road. Other than the ice, the only one to blame is G.o.d Himself, and frankly, I'm unwilling to take on the man upstairs."

Mr. White stood and walked over to where Abby sat. Automatically she stood, too, and he reached for her hands, holding them in his own. "If you came to us today to seek absolution then I'm giving it to you, Abby. You've punished yourself enough. Be happy, child. Give your parents grandchildren and perhaps ... perhaps you'll consider sharing them with us. I think Angela would be pleased if you did."

"I think she would be, too," Abby concurred.

"You mentioned earlier that Angela wanted you to seek us out," he continued with the question.

Abby nodded.

"She wants us to give you what you need."

Abby blinked back tears. Mr. White dropped her hands and reached for her to give her a hug.

Abby started to sob and so did he. "G.o.d called our daughter home. It isn't your fault, but if you feel you need our forgiveness then you have it."

"Thank you," Abby whispered, mumbling the words as it was impossible to speak clearly.

When Mr. White released her, Angela's mother wrapped her arms around Abby and buried her head in her shoulder as the two of them wept together.

By the time she left the Whites, Abby had received far more from Angela's parents than she dared think was possible. They had given her their permission to enjoy life again.

Chapter 32.

Sitting in the living room with Mich.e.l.le while Richard slept peacefully, Josh relaxed against the back of the chair. He'd finished sorting through the boxes filled with his mother's belongings from before her marriage to Richard. What he'd found was a treasure trove of memorabilia from his early childhood.

It went without saying that anger and pure stubbornness had nearly cost him all of this. Mich.e.l.le had helped him to look beyond his petty grievances against his stepfather, and he suspected that if he hadn't thanked Richard for relinquishing his mother's Bible he might never have found out about these hidden boxes.

Looking up, Josh found Mich.e.l.le sitting on the ottoman, leafing through his baby book. A smile lit up her eyes as she turned the pages, examining each photograph.

"I was adorable, wasn't I?" he teased. His mother had taken countless pictures of him. It used to embarra.s.s him when he was little.

"You were the cutest boy in the universe," she confirmed. "I wrote that once on my school binder."

Josh knew that was probably a slight exaggeration.

Mich.e.l.le glanced up and seemed to read the doubt in his eyes. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"You loved Dylan."

"For a time," she agreed. "Then I got a clue about who the really great guy was."

He chuckled. "You always did know how to flatter me."

"Not that it ever did me any good," she muttered, and then as if she'd suddenly remembered something she glanced at her watch. "It's time for Richard's medication."

"I'll give it to him," Josh offered, but Mich.e.l.le was already on her feet.

"Let me. You can talk to him once the painkillers have set in. He gets pretty grumpy when he's in pain."

"Don't we all." Josh was in a mood to feel generous toward the older man. The sentiment generally didn't last long. No doubt, within five minutes Richard would start berating him and all that goodwill would swish down the drain.

Mich.e.l.le disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom where Richard's medications were kept. He was taking some pretty heavy painkillers, and while the high dosages had concerned Josh, he could understand that the physician's main priority was keeping Richard comfortable and as pain free as possible in his remaining time. Knowing how stubborn the old man could be, that probably wouldn't be soon. For the first time since his arrival, Josh was glad of that. He found himself hoping for the opportunity to talk more about his mother and, if possible, Dylan.

Mich.e.l.le was in and out of the bedroom so fast that Josh leaped to his feet, certain something had happened. Her eyes quickly met his and she drew in a deep breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Richard isn't responding and his breathing is only intermittent." Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "It's time, Josh, he's dying," she choked out.

The words came at him like a baseball bat in the dark and clobbered him directly in his chest. "Now?" he asked, frozen with shock.

Mich.e.l.le nodded. "I have the phone number for hospice. They know how to handle this ... we should probably call them." She hurried into the kitchen and reached for the pad on the counter. "Would you mind making the call ... please." Talking was beyond her at the moment.

Josh reached for the card the hospice worker had left and grabbed the telephone receiver from the wall. To his amazement his own hand trembled as he pressed out the numbers and waited for three excruciating long rings before the hospice line responded. After relaying the necessary information, Josh headed for the bedroom.

While he wasn't exactly the best stepson in the world, he wasn't going to allow Richard to die alone. He'd been with his mother when she'd taken her last breath, and though it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat, he needed to thank Richard. He needed to let the old man know he appreciated Richard returning Josh's belongings to him.

When Josh opened the bedroom door, Richard's eyes stayed closed. For one frantic moment, Josh feared he was too late and that Richard was already gone. He sat on the edge of the mattress and pressed two fingers against his stepfather's neck. He felt a pulse, but it was weak and intermittent. Mich.e.l.le hadn't exaggerated the situation. Richard was close to death.

By heaven, the old man intended to thwart him once again. Well, if these were the last words Richard ever heard, then that was fine by Josh. "I found the boxes," he said. He spoke loudly enough for Mich.e.l.le to hear him all the way in the living room. He wasn't sure how much hearing Richard possessed at this point, and he wanted to be sure to get through to him.

No response.

"Thank you," he said, even louder this time.