Someday Home Read online

  “Oh, Orson.” Only the tip of his tail moved. “Oh no.” The tears broke through immediately. She dropped to her knees beside him. He tried to lift his head but even that effort was too much. The whimper again.

  “How do I get you to the car?” She leaned closer and spoke into his ear, petting him all the while. His breathing was slow and shallow. His legs twitched, but would not obey, or could not.

  Where were the guys? Off on a job. She hit speed dial for the office. “Annie, can you come help me carry Orson to the car. He can’t get up.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Lynn grabbed a blanket out of the cupboard and rolled it up beside Orson’s back. When Annie burst in the door, together they lifted the dog up enough to roll out the blanket under him; then Lynn threw her purse over her shoulder, and together they lifted him and carried him to the van.

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “No, someone needs to be here when the kids get off the bus. I saw Maggie leave for her shift at the hospital, so no one is there. Turn off the oven, please. I didn’t get the cookies baked. Call Dr. Knight’s office and tell him I’m on my way.”

  At least the vet was in Barnett, not clear in Detroit Lakes. Talking to the dog all the way, she spun gravel in the vet’s driveway and parked at the back door.

  Dr. Knight came out and joined her at the rear of the van. She clicked the door open as she said, “He can’t move.”

  One of Dr. Knight’s volunteer assistants came out and stood beside him. Lynn could not remember the boy’s name.

  But they didn’t even bother to carry Orson inside. After a quick check of vitals and reflexes, Dr. Knight looked at her, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Lynn, but I think this is it. We could shoot him up and you could take him home again, but very soon…” He stopped and wagged his head, stroking the old dog all the while. “I think it would be a lot easier on him if we put him down right now.”

  “I figured.” Lynn ignored her tears and crawled up in the van. She laid her cheek against her furry friend. “Time to go see Paul. I’m sure he’s waiting for you on the other side of the bridge.” She sat and raised his head to her lap. He licked her hand, staring at her with trusting eyes. He sighed and was gone within seconds of the injection in his leg.

  Dr. Knight smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Lynn, so sorry. He was a magnificent pooch. And a good friend, I know. Do you want to take him home to bury him or shall I cremate him?”

  “Cremate him. I’ll scatter his ashes on the lake like we did Paul.”

  “Okay. You want some more time with him?”

  “No, he’s gone.” She laid Orson’s head back down and scooted out of the van so that the young assistant could step forward and pick him up.

  “I’m so sorry, my friend.” Dr. Knight hugged her. “You want someone to drive you home?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be okay.” At the first turn out, she pulled over and dissolved into tears all over again.

  Chapter Two

  The entire family but for Lillian gathered at the big house for supper and a sob fest. A friend was gone, and like Grampy, Orson was not coming back. He’d gone over the bridge. When people or animals or anything else died, there was no coming back. If G’ma said it once, she said it ten times. So did Phillip. Each of Phillip’s children talked with their mother, who pretty much said the same thing as the others.

  After they went home, Lynn left the dessert dishes in the sink and staggered up to her room on the north side of the loft. Surely the well of tears would be drained dry by now. Until she saw Miss Minerva curled in the middle of the bed as if waiting for her.

  “The dog is gone and now you can come up here, is that it?”

  The cat yawned wide, pink tongue curling, surrounded by very sharp and very white teeth. Minerva finished her stretch, all four legs, claws extended and retracted as she relaxed. And purred, eyes slitted, the pink interior of her ears nearly transparent against the lamplight.

  Lynn fought to keep her eyes off the dog bed waiting at the foot of the bed. She should have asked Phillip or Tom to gather up Orson’s beds, toys, and bones, but she’d not thought of it. Tomorrow she would wash and pack everything away in a box on the chance that there might be another dog living here sometime. Her eyes brimmed, but other than making her nose run, the storm may have subsided.

  She changed into her jammies in the bathroom as always, threw her dirty clothes in the hamper, and wrapped herself in her robe. Resolutely she kept her gaze from straying to the other side of the bed. She’d even thought of moving into one of the other bedrooms, but after two years, surely she didn’t need to do that now.

  Propping the pillows against the oak headboard, lamp lit on the stand beside the bed, she climbed up on the high bed and scooted her backside into the pillows. She’d found her reading habits had changed, too. No more gore, psychotically evil villains, coarse language, downers in general. Cozy mysteries, heroic biographies, whatever book her reading group had chosen for the month and a good devotional and teaching of some kind or another were now her reading materials of choice. She had loved dog, horse—well, general animal stories starting when she could first read page one and kept on reading. A lot of other people must be saying the same thing, because there was a plethora of animal stories available both in print and e-books.

  Before Paul left, she’d volunteered at the library in Detroit Lakes, but since, she’d not had the energy. Coping with life and the family business seemed to take far longer than it used to. Tired. She was bone-aching tired. But sleepy? No. Burning eyes from all the tears, yes, but…She opened her latest book, flipped to the bookmark, and settled in to read. That was another difference; she could read in bed without feeling guilty that she was disturbing Paul. It used to be that she would read in her leather recliner downstairs and come up when she was finally sleepy. He would roll over and mumble good night, having gone to bed after the news.

  No snoring. Orson always snored and snorted when he dreamed he was chasing. Paul had snuffled but that was more comforting than disturbing. No bedroom noise allowed her to hear an owl hoot. A dog barked, probably at Phillip’s; his hunting dogs liked to bay if the coyotes started to sing. Orson used to but hadn’t been able to hear them the last couple of years.

  She tipped back her head. Another hole in her heart. Some might say, “Only a dog,” but somehow Orson had been a living connection with Paul. Tonight it felt like the two holes in her heart were bleeding into each other.

  Phillip had offered to come back after Maggie got home, but she’d declined, sorry now that he’d not done what he wanted.

  Alone in the house, this big, solid house. The refrigerator kicked on. The owl did another flyby. Lord, I know you are here, but right now…A furry paw tapped her hand and a whiskered nose nudged her fingers. She rubbed the cat under her chin and the purr chugged into a gentle rumble. Miss Minerva turned around and curled right into her side so Lynn not only heard her, but also felt the vibrations.

  She laid her book aside, read her Jesus Calling for the day, and rolling on her side, one hand petting the cat, she slipped into a peaceful sleep. The strange ways by which God provided slipped through her mind.

  The next morning she was fine until her feet hit the floor and a cold black nose did not come to rest on her knees. No thumping tail, no whimper to say, Good morning, let’s go for a walk. Fighting back the tears—again, she stumbled through her morning routine—and after dressing (which took some serious self-talk; the bed had looked so inviting, or at least oblivion did), she made her way down the split-log stairs and into the kitchen, where the cat was sniffing the dog dish, water bowl, and then looking out the window to the deck.

  “I know, my friend, he’s gone and he’s not coming back, until we scatter his ashes on the lake, just like we did not so long ago.”

  Miss Minerva left her window spot and came to twine her supple self around Lynn’s legs. Each meow seemed to end on a question mark.

  Lynn le
aned over and, picking her up, she tucked the cat under her chin and went to the window to look out over the lake. A silver trace of fog hovered over the water, soon to be dispelled by the sun that would leap into the day track any moment. She waited. There was something infinitely refreshing and restorative to see that first moment when the golden rim backlit the trees beyond the lake. While the land wasn’t flat, like the Red River Valley not too far to the west, the hills could be called gentle and rolling. People from places like Colorado and Vermont often snorted at even calling the terrain hilly.

  She sniffed and, blinking, blotted her tears with the cat’s head. That was just enough time for the sun to catapult, as if shot with a heavenly slingshot, into the new day. The fragrance of coffee floated from the kitchen and the burble of the coffeemaker ceased with a hiss. “When do you think the loons will be back?” she asked the limp form in her arms, to be answered by a purr rumble.

  Miss Minerva never minded being carried around, which was a good thing, since Miss Priss dressed the cat along with her dolls and carried them around. The dolls she dragged by an arm until she was large enough to hold them. The cat, while compliant, had never permitted dragging.

  The return of the loons always meant winter was truly gone and spring had dug in to stay. The two seasons habitually argued through the month of April and sometimes even into May. Snow was not an unknown on Mother’s Day and even later. But this year spring had arrived early. Lynn poured her coffee, fetched cottage cheese and applesauce from the fridge, and plopped the toaster down with her usual two slices of bread. While she used to make full breakfasts for her family, after Paul died, bacon and eggs and all the trimmings were only for company times. She couldn’t count how long since she’d made Paul’s favorite coffee cake or waffles or even omelets. Maybe it was time she invited the grands for a real Saturday breakfast before she lost her touch with pancakes from scratch. While generally not considering herself a snob, she insisted that real pancakes, and also pickle relish and coffee, be made from scratch. Mixes were good for many things but not the three aforementioned.

  She spread the cottage cheese on the toast, broiled it to hot, and layered homemade applesauce over the top, one of her favorite breakfasts and even good for her. She’d learned the idea years earlier at a Weight Watchers’ class. Taking her breakfast out to the leather recliner facing the lake, she sat down, waited for Miss Minerva to make herself comfortable, and leaning her head back, she closed her eyes.

  “Lord, I am having a hard time thanking you for this morning, but you said you appreciate praises, especially when they are a sacrifice. Lately, so much of what I used to love to do has become a sacrifice. Forgive me please, and I do thank you for the beauty of the lake this and every morning, for this furry critter on my lap, for food to eat and even the desire to fix it. I hope Paul and Orson are playing fetch together and enjoying their reunion. I know you know how much I miss them. Did you miss your Son like this when He visited hell in those three days?” She sniffed and heaved a sigh. “Thank you for not letting me go. At least I know that you don’t change. Thanks again. Amen.”

  She dug a tissue out of her plaid flannel shirt pocket, and after blowing her nose, she picked up her rapidly cooling coffee. Elbows propped on the leather arms, she sipped, sniffed, and when she realized that her mind was ambling back along the memory road, she jerked it to the present, set the coffee cup down, and attacked her breakfast. Sitting here like this was too dangerous.

  “Get moving!”

  Miss Minerva jumped to the floor, throwing a disgusted look over her shoulder.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean you. What is on my list for today?” If she didn’t keep lists, she would mess up and not get something, or sometimes anything, important done for the day. That was another one of those frustrating things; she’d never been forgetful like this. Surely she couldn’t be slipping into dementia, not at fifty-two.

  The next afternoon after a brief wait and a close scrutiny from Dr. Eleanor Alstrop, accompanied by a plethora of questions, she got dressed again and joined Dr. Eleanor in her office. Taking the chair, Lynn mentally prepared herself for bad news; she was getting very, very good at that, what with all her experience. No way could she feel this cruddy without something major.

  “Menopause?”

  “Why are you so surprised? You have all the symptoms, and you’re fifty-two; plenty of other women have it start in their late forties.” The doctor templed her fingers and smiled at Lynn over the tips. “Didn’t you suspect?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “But you’ve been skipping periods?”

  “Well, yes, but that was just a relief.” She reminded herself to drop her shoulders; the tension was giving her a headache. “So now what?”

  “So now you have to decide to hormone or not to hormone.”

  “Today?”

  “No, we’ll get the lab results back, see where your scores are, and then proceed.” Dr. Eleanor pulled a booklet out of her bottom drawer and motioned toward a shelf of books. “Take this one, and if you want more information, I keep up on all the latest research. Letters from various schools are right there in those white three-rings. You can and should go online, too. Get all the information you can and then we’ll talk again. In the meantime, I suggest trying the yam and/or soy products and see if they help. I’m in favor of natural methods if at all possible.” She paused and gave Lynn an observing study. “You realize nothing will change overnight? There is no happy, one-size cure in this situation.”

  Lynn shook her head, making a face at the same time. “Well, I guess I should be grateful it’s not cancer or some terrible disease, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced around the bookshelves that held more pictures than books and a collection of Eskimo carved soapstone animals. She blew out her breath. “So, where do I get those yam and soy products you mentioned? I’ve never been much of a fan of soybeans. Tofu makes me gag.”

  “There are other ways of using soy than just tofu. Although if you season tofu with poultry seasoning and fry it, it’ll taste just like chicken.”

  “I always think someone suspect when they say something tastes just like chicken.”

  “Me, too. I’ll call you as soon as the results come back. But while I have you here, how are you doing emotionally, regarding the grieving, that is?”

  Lynn closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I figured that all this stuff I’m feeling might be due to the grief. That’s one reason I came in. Shouldn’t I be over the grieving by now?”

  “It’s how long since Paul died?”

  “One year, nine months, and a day or two. Not that I’m counting or anything.”

  “Still get angry?”

  “At times, nothing like earlier.”

  “Uncontrolled crying?”

  “If you mean, can I stop it or keep it from starting, sometimes. But I’ve learned that the tears do stop and that I might as well just give up, cry it out, and it’ll go away. You never know what will trigger it. Paul’s dog had to be put down two days ago. That was horrible.” The tears welled immediately. “That house is mighty big for one person and a cat. I heard every sound. Packed up all his things the next day and put them out in the garage in case I get another dog.”

  Dr. Elly was nodding slightly and frowning just a bit.

  “What? You going to tell me to go out and start meeting men? Someone said that the other day, and I felt like swinging whatever I could get my hand on. Like I want another man in my life.”

  “Paul would want you to be happy, and if falling in love again happened, I think he would be the first to encourage you.”

  “No matter how much I miss Paul’s hugs and humor and presence, uh-uh. And besides, where would I meet any new men?”

  The doctor shrugged. “When the time is right, you can be sure God will bring the right man to you. After all, He did before, didn’t He?”

  “We always thought so. But it wasn’t supposed to end this way. We’d grow old toget
her and enjoy not only our grandkids, but the great-grands and maybe do some traveling and learn about retirement and…”

  “And go through menopause and possibly serious illnesses and…” Dr. Eleanor smiled. “I know. But right now, we’re dealing with this one thing. I do have an idea. Are you serious about that house being too big?”

  “Well, yes, but no, I’m not selling it. Phillip already suggested that, in the hopes it would make the finances improve.”

  “The plumbing business is not good anymore?”

  Lynn shrugged. “The boys are doing a fine job, but like everything else, times are tight.”

  Dr. Eleanor pulled another pamphlet out of another drawer and handed it across the desk. “A friend of mine back east decided to check into shared housing after her husband died.”

  “Shared housing?”

  “Makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Two or three people sharing a house, each with a private bath and possibly a sitting room or some such. Not family members, which is a good example, but the people are related, so something different. There are even nonprofits springing up to assist people who are interested to find each other. Women in their late forties, early fifties, who have a career, are the largest group taking part in this. It can be not only financially beneficial but emotionally as well.”

  Lynn took the pamphlet and barely glanced at it before sticking it in her purse. “Well, it’s not like I don’t have family nearby.” She pushed herself up with her arms, getting that instant flush that could make her sweat in a snowstorm. “Good thing I have AC in the van.”

  “We’ll see if we can get on top of that. If you could keep a journal of what happens when, that might be helpful.” She stood. “I’m here if you need to talk. There’s no crime in either talking with a counselor and/or trying some antidepressants for a bit. If you have a headache, you take something and it helps. Same principle.”

  “Thanks, my friend. See you in church on Sunday?”