Building a Family Read online

  “What’s Tabbouleh?” Cassie asked.

  “You’ll love it. It’s got mint and tomatoes in it.”

  “Mint?” Cassie asked.

  John let her down and led her to the table. “Let’s try some hummus on pita bread first.”

  “Hummus?” Cassie asked. “Do bees make it?”

  John laughed out loud. “Good question. Let’s see if it takes like honey.” He dabbed a bit on a pita triangle and held it out to her.

  Cassie licked it. “It’s not sweet.”

  “No, but I like it.” John made one for himself and popped it into his mouth. “Come on and sit down, Delia. This is so refreshing. A real treat.”

  While Delia slowly, reluctantly made her way to the table, Cassie tried everything on the mezze platters but then only asked for seconds of the melon. John helped her serve herself.

  Delia sat down beside her husband and reached for an olive. “Are you of Mediterranean descent?” she asked Kerry Ann.

  Harry snorted. “No, she just takes weird cooking classes and then we have to eat what she makes.” Then in opposition to his critical tone, he picked up a pita triangle and dove into the Tabbouleh with gusto.

  Along with Mavis, Delia sampled the platter of various appetizers, her face disconcerted, pleasure and shock vying for prominence.

  Eleanor sat down next to Cassie and began to sample the mezze, too. “Kerry Ann, everything’s delicious.” Eleanor tried to hide her satisfaction that her mother hadn’t been able to insult Kerry Ann. And Delia had been shown that a farmer’s wife could do more than fry pork chops or grill hamburgers. Why did her mother always assume superiority?

  Eleanor glanced at Pete and caught him looking at her mother with a puzzled expression. He gave Eleanor what she thought was a smile meant to let her know he wasn’t upset.

  But she still wished that her mother didn’t always have an agenda. And what had Mavis meant about her mother’s insecurity? Her mom was strident about her independence. Didn’t that mean she had almost too much confidence? And today, she’d blatantly displayed how little she cared about others she didn’t deem worthy. What if she treated little Jenna like this? Cold fear trickled through Eleanor. I won’t let that happen.

  After the feast, and it had been a feast, was devoured, Pete glanced at the faces around the table. Every one looked full and content—except for Eleanor’s mom whose face appeared pinched with disapproval. What was with that woman?

  “Why don’t you and Eleanor take the kids outside for some fun, Pete?” Kerry Ann suggested. “Your brother Mike can help me fill the dishwasher, and then we can all just relax in the shade.” She fanned herself with a small, cardboard fan from church. “The humidity has stayed so high this summer.”

  “You come, too,” Cassie said, getting up and taking John’s hand. “You come swing. It’s fun.”

  “Okay.” John rose. “Kerry Ann, you should open a restaurant. Amazing food. Delicious.” He glanced down at his wife. “Wasn’t it, Delia?”

  “Yes, yes, it was. Amazing,” Delia parroted.

  Pete analyzed Delia’s tone. She might be amazed, but she was not happy about it.

  “Harry,” Mavis said, “would you pour me another glass of that fresh lemonade? I’ll take it with me. Nicky here wants to show me his fort.”

  With a wave of his arm, Pete invited Eleanor to join him. She rose and almost everyone trooped out of the screened-in porch.

  Delia rose and walked to the screen door, stepped outside and fainted, falling to the grass.

  “Delia!” John called out, turning back. Reaching his wife, he dropped to his knees. Eleanor followed, but stayed behind him.

  Pete knelt beside John. “Is she breathing?”

  “Yes, she’s unconscious, but breathing. She never faints.” John just stared at Delia.

  Pete took her pulse. As a teacher, he’d been trained in CPR. “Her heart’s beating, but her pulse is slow and faint. I think we’d better get her to the E.R.” He rose. “Mike, help me carry Delia to Dad’s car. We’ll be able to lay her on the backseat.”

  “But won’t she wake up on her own?” Eleanor said, sounding baffled.

  Pete shook his head. “She might, but I’d feel better if we get her to the E.R. If she hasn’t fainted before, it’s a sign something’s wrong.”

  “Yes,” Kerry Ann agreed. “Pete, you drive and take John with you.”

  “I’ll drive Eleanor.” Mavis grabbed up her purse. “Come on, honey.”

  Soon the two cars drove up to the nearby hospital. Just as Pete parked at the emergency entrance, Delia, lying on the backseat of the older sedan, began to rouse.

  John leaned over the back of the front seat, speaking to her in a low voice.

  Pete rushed inside for a wheelchair, returning as swiftly. “Can she sit up?”

  “Where…?” Delia mumbled, sounding disoriented.

  “At the E.R,” John said. “You passed out.”

  Delia mumbled something unintelligible.

  The two men supported her out of the SUV and onto the wheelchair. John rolled it inside while Pete parked the car. When Pete arrived in the E.R., Eleanor and Mavis were speaking to the receptionist.

  Pete came up behind Eleanor and rested a hand on her shoulder. “They’ve already taken your mom in?” he asked.

  “Yes.” White-faced, she turned to him. “Mother’s never sick.”

  “Your mother never admits to being sick,” Mavis said, sounding angry. “She just won’t listen.”

  Seeing Eleanor’s stricken expression, Pete kept his hand on her shoulder.

  She reached up and pressed it with hers. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  He pulled her into a one-arm hug. “Your mom’s going to be all right. I mean she just fainted. It might have been the heat and humidity.”

  “Let’s sit down,” Mavis suggested, motioning toward the nearly empty waiting room. “I’m sure John will let us know what’s going on.”

  Time passed. Pete sat beside Eleanor and held her hand while Mavis—obviously looking for distraction—switched the waiting room TV to The Weather Channel. Pete listened to the patter about lows and storm fronts, but he focused on Eleanor. How would he feel if this was his mother? He couldn’t imagine his vibrant mother needing medical care. He squeezed Eleanor’s hand, reassuring her.

  Finally John came out, looking dazed and worried. “They’re running blood tests and have her hooked up to a heart monitor. She completely lost consciousness again.”

  Freeing her hand from Pete’s, Eleanor rose and wrapped her arms around her dad.

  With a grateful but worried smile, John returned a quick hug. “I have to go back, honey. As soon as I know anything more, I’ll come right out. I think it’s best if you wait here with Mavis and Pete.”

  “Okay.” Eleanor released him.

  Pete noticed she was blinking back tears. She sat beside him again. He claimed her hand once more and held it. “I’m sure my family’s praying for her,” he murmured.

  Eleanor nodded, obviously unable to speak.

  Oh, Lord, even if she’s a difficult person, help Delia Washburn, he prayed.

  Nearly an hour later, John hurried out to the waiting room. “She’s in insulin shock.”

  “What?” Eleanor voiced the obvious question for all three of them.

  “I know.” John shoved his hands through his thick, silver hair. “It’s just not possible. She can’t have diabetes.”

  Pete held on to Eleanor’s hand. She looked shocked and scared. He gripped her hand more firmly, trying to let her know she could count on him.

  Eleanor turned to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “This can’t be happening.”

  Eleanor stood with her father beside her mother’s bed. As soon as she had been diagnosed as diabetic, Delia had been moved to a room upstairs. Two IVs had been inserted into her arm, and she was receiving insulin and fluid.

  Eleanor couldn’t think. She recalled one time when visiting California, she’d ex
perienced this feeling of disorientation during an earth tremor. As things around her had shaken and she’d stumbled and nearly fell because of the floor moving under her, she’d experienced this same inability to focus.

  My mother is diabetic. My mother fainted in diabetic shock. But that isn’t possible.

  Delia moaned and began moving her head.

  Eleanor’s father reached for his wife’s hand. “Delia?” he said gently. “Delia?”

  Eleanor took her place at her father’s side, opposite the IV pole and other medical paraphernalia her mom was hooked up to. “Mom?” she whispered.

  Delia’s eyelids fluttered open. “Where am I?” she muttered through dry lips.

  John reached for a water glass and pitcher on her bedside table. Soon he held the glass to Delia’s lips. “Take a sip. Your mouth is dry.”

  Delia drank and cleared her throat. “Where am I, John?”

  “You’re at the local hospital. You passed out after lunch.”

  “Passed out? I never faint.”

  “Mother,” Eleanor said, “you fainted, and you’ve been unconscious now for over three hours.”

  Delia looked at her, obviously puzzled. “I remember eating lunch at the farm. And you’re right. I did faint. Must have been the heat and humidity.”

  “No, Delia,” John countered. “You have been in diabetic shock. Your blood sugar level was three hundred and eighty-two. You could have died.”

  Delia stared at him, her face crunched up. Finally, she inhaled. “John, this isn’t the time for joking.” She moved to pull out the IV.

  John grabbed her hand and wouldn’t let go. “Leave that alone. Those IVs are to give you needed insulin and fluids. The doctors expect you to stabilize by tomorrow morning. And on the day after, you’ll be taking diabetic training. Then I’ll check you out and take you back to Mavis’s house to convalesce.”

  Delia glared at him. “You are talking nonsense. I eat healthy foods, and I keep myself at the same weight I was before I got pregnant with Eleanor. I do not have diabetes. It’s impossible.”

  “It’s possible because you have it,” John replied with steel in his tone.

  Delia’s expression became belligerent. “Someone in the lab mixed up my test results with someone else—”

  At this critical moment, a nurse entered. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve regained consciousness, Mrs. Washburn.”

  “It’s Doctor Washburn. And my husband says that this hospital has misdiagnosed me with diabetes. I do not have diabetes. There has been some mistake in the lab.”

  Eleanor cringed at every rude word of denial.

  The nurse said nothing, just turned and walked from the room. Delia sputtered in irritation.

  The nurse returned to the side of Delia’s bed. “I’ve brought a glucose monitor. Please give me your hand.”

  Glaring, Delia offered the nurse her free hand, still muttering under her breath about incompetence.

  The nurse calmly pricked Delia’s finger and let the drop of blood fall on the glucometer strip. “Mr. Washburn, would you read the number there please?”

  John leaned over and read aloud, “Two hundred and thirty-one.”

  “Well, that’s progress but we need to get her blood sugar level down below one hundred before your wife will be out of danger of further insulin shock. Or death.”

  Delia gawked at the woman, who went on to calmly check Delia’s IV bags and readings and left with a cheery, “I’ll be back with a snack.”

  “Now do you believe us?” John asked sternly.

  Delia’s mouth pinched together. Finally she said, “This is just a rural hospital. I don’t have diabetes. I’m perfectly healthy.”

  Eleanor watched her mother fold her arms and glare at the IV pole.

  “You have diabetes—” John spoke in a quiet but determined tone “—and you’re staying here until they get your glucose to a healthy level, and you’ll be taking the diabetic training day after tomorrow.”

  Delia wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  What would they do if Delia refused to take this seriously? Eleanor worried her lower lip.

  “Hey,” a voice came from the doorway. Pete stood there. “I don’t want to intrude, but Mavis has gone home. She needed to feed her cat.”

  “What did your mother put in that meal?” Delia snapped. “She made me sick.”

  Everyone froze in place for a moment. Eleanor hoped Pete wouldn’t try to argue with her mother. Some denial was probably normal, but her mother always dismissed everything that didn’t fit what she had decreed must be reality.

  “That’s not true, Delia,” John said. “You need to start being sensible. Now.” John checked his watch. “Pete, will you take our daughter down to the cafeteria? Make her eat something. It’s due to close in five minutes.”

  “Dad—” she tried to object.

  “Please bring me back a sandwich,” John said, waving her away. “And bring me something to drink. I’ll be staying the night here.”

  “Come on,” Pete said, gesturing Eleanor to come with him. “We’ll have to hurry. The cafeteria’s in the basement.”

  Eleanor walked to him and didn’t look back. They hurried to the elevator, rode down two floors and then whisked through the hall to the deserted cafeteria.

  “We don’t have anything left to sell except what is in the coolers,” the woman at the register said. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite, anyway,” Eleanor admitted.

  “But you need to eat,” Pete said, cupping her elbow, drawing her toward the coolers. “And your dad will need something for the long night.”

  She nodded and filled a tray with a variety of foods she knew her dad liked. They paid at the register, and as they walked out to the seating area, a worker pulled down the grill shutting the cafeteria for the night.

  Eleanor sat at the table Pete had led her to and bowed her head, more in fatigue and despair than prayer.

  Pete took her hand. “Father, bless Delia, John and Eleanor as they go through this hard time. Bless them with Your peace.”

  Eleanor blinked back tears, smiling at him.

  “Now, pick something and start eating,” he said.

  Eleanor looked down at her crowded tray. She opened a salad with a chicken breast and began trying to cut up the meat. “I feel so tired.”

  “Emotional exhaustion,” Pete said. “I know how that feels. I’d rather work sixteen hours of physical labor than worry for a day.”

  She’d forced herself to begin eating, so she just nodded, chewing the cold chicken.

  Pete handed her a dressing packet. “Here. This might make that taste better.”

  She smiled and obeyed him. The ranch dressing did wake up her taste buds. And that made her think about her mother’s accusation about Kerry Ann’s meal being the culprit in her sickness. “I’m sorry my mother said that about your mother’s cooking—”

  Pete stopped her with a hand. “She’s just upset. Diabetes is serious. It will probably take her some time to process. I mean they usually talk about diabetes occurring in people who carry too much weight.”

  “The doctor told us that this might be the result of an autoimmune reaction or a virus that weakened her pancreas. It happens.”

  “First time I’ve heard of it. Come on. Eat.”

  Eleanor had never felt less like eating, but she had to, or now she’d be the one fainting. She made herself take another bite and chew. The few people left in the cafeteria finished and drifted away. Even the elevator music trailed off. Just a few lights glowed over the area of empty tables around her and Pete. Finally, she couldn’t make the effort to eat any more.

  She put down her fork and gazed at Pete. Tears suddenly broke through and poured down. She covered her face with both hands.

  Then Pete came to her side and drew her up and into his arms. He said nothing, just let her weep as she rested her head on his shoulder. She faced away, not wanting him to speak to her. She had believed in her mother�
��s inflexible will and that her refusal to admit any weakness would hold off any illness. Mother had always been invincible. And now that had been proved false. Eleanor’s world had just tilted on its axis, the same as Delia’s had.

  Pete stroked her hair and wonderful currents of warmth flowed from his hands through her. She didn’t move, not wanting to break the connection. His comfort brought strength. She turned her face toward his.

  She opened her eyes and watched his lips come down to hers, and then she was kissing him and he was kissing her.

  She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. His warm lips held her bound to him. Insistent, gentle, coaxing—his kiss stormed her walls and brought them down like stone to powder.

  Finally the kiss, or kisses, she couldn’t tell which, came to an end. Yet he kept her close to him.

  “I didn’t mean to kiss you,” he murmured in her ear. “But you started to cry. Don’t cry, Ellie. You’re not alone in this.”

  She rubbed her face into his cotton shirt, drawing in his clean, healthy scent, giving her a sense of intimacy and connection. “I feel like I’ve known you forever,” she whispered.

  He rested his head on the top of hers. “You’re easy to know.”

  Easy to love? She didn’t know why that thought welled up from deep within, but it rattled her. “You’re a good friend,” she said, withdrawing from his embrace.

  Better to make the move herself than wait for him to pull away. And he would. He was a caring man, but he’d been wounded by his ex, just as she had been by her two broken engagements. Why were some people lucky in love and others not?

  He didn’t pull back, reaching out and smoothing hair from her face. “I guess we better get this food to your dad. I don’t think they’ll mind us taking the tray upstairs.”

  Eleanor nodded and began removing the debris left from her meal. When she’d finished, Pete picked up the tray. “Let’s go.”

  Eleanor wanted to stay here in this quiet, private place, but she knew that wasn’t possible. Just as kissing Pete again wasn’t possible. He’d behaved as if their kiss had merely been comfort, but she knew better.

  Pete led her down the deserted, dimly lit hall to the elevator. At his nod, she pressed the button to go up.