Left Turn at Paradise Read online

  “I’m sure it must be difficult to find people who are worthy of you,” Layla said, flashing her own Cheshire grin. “Please excuse me.”

  She took off before Tammy-Lynn could respond or release another poisoned arrow. Layla headed after Noah, catching his arm.

  He started and looked down, brows furrowed in confusion. Then his expression cleared. “Layla,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Just walk with me and keep smiling,” she answered, through clenched teeth.

  He must have sensed something amiss because he peered around her as if to discover the cause of her temper. “Who’s that woman?”

  “Old friend.”

  “Well, your friend is shooting daggers at your back right now.”

  “Yep, and I feel every one.”

  “What did you do to get her so riled up anyway?”

  She halted to glare at him. “Me? Why is it automatically my fault that Tammy-Lynn hates me? I never did anything to her.”

  He made a time out sign with his hands. “Sorry. I have sisters. I should know better than to try to understand the female mind.”

  She grinned. “That’s right. Anyway, thanks for the rescue.”

  His mouth quirked. “How did I rescue you?”

  “You showed up,” she said. “Gran and Aunt Grace are here somewhere. Come say hi.”

  He laughed. “I’d love to.”

  Layla finally located her relatives at the bottom of the steps, standing next to a bald-headed older man. As they got closer, she recognized him as Old Man Conklin from down the street. Layla didn’t even know his first name. He’d just always been called “Old Man”. He’d seemed ancient when she was a child. Now, he looked like he was gunning for a listing in Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest man alive.

  “Look who I found lurking in the vestibule,” Layla announced when she reached them. She presented Noah with a little flourish.

  Aunt Grace smiled. “Noah, how nice to see you.”

  Noah nodded. “Morning Mrs. Carter… Dr. McCarthy.”

  Gran nodded her head, but beyond a brief hello she didn’t say anything.

  “Dear, you remember our neighbor, Larry Conklin,” Aunt Grace said, indicating the older man.

  “Of course, Mr. Conklin.” Layla flashed a smile and shook his hand. “How are you?”

  “Layla? Could have sworn you were...” His voice trailed off and he studied her face intently.

  A little unnerved by the scrutiny, Layla turned to her grandmother who remained uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, Gran looked extremely distracted and pale.

  “Gran, are you all right?” Layla asked.

  She turned her head and seemed to force a smile. “Yes. Just tired all of a sudden. Perhaps I need to go home and rest.”

  Larry Conklin snapped his fingers. “Hah!” he declared, pointing straight at Layla.

  Layla jumped. “What?”

  “Now I remember,” he said. “I’d know that girl anywhere. Grew up right in front of my eyes, just like you.”

  A shiver raced down her spine. “I’m sorry?”

  Mr. Conklin waved a hand near Layla’s head. “It was the hair that threw me off. Nearly bald and skinnier than a half-drowned cat. She don’t look like herself anymore.”

  Gran came to full attention. “Larry, what in heaven’s name are you grumbling about?”

  He blinked. “Your daughter Elizabeth. She was here. I saw her outside your house about a week ago. Sittin’ in her car and watching everyone come and go.”

  Gran went white as a sheet.

  Aunt Grace made a sound of distress and clamped a hand around his arm. “Larry Conklin, you shouldn’t tell tales.”

  “It’s no tale.” He whirled toward Aunt Grace. “I saw her plain as day.”

  “Elizabeth…” Gran jerked, and her features went taut. Her hand clutched at her chest, and she gasped in pain.

  “Gran!” Layla shouted.

  “Barbara!” Aunt Grace cried at almost the same moment.

  Noah managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Layla couldn’t move. Her pulse skittered to a halt and then started pounding. For a moment, all sounds disappeared, except for the blood that rushed between her ears like a freight train.

  A shout went up. “Someone call 911!”

  The command shook Layla out of her stupor, and she reached for her cell.

  “I’ll call,” Noah said, grabbing the phone. “You see to her.”

  Aunt Grace threw herself in Layla’s arms. “Oh, Layla! This can’t be happening.”

  Layla tried to give her aunt a reassuring look and knelt on the pavement by her grandmother’s head. “Gran?” She was pale and sweating, but not unconscious. “Gran, where does it hurt?”

  “Everywhere.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, the wail of a siren cut through the air. A moment later two paramedics jumped out and loaded Gran into the ambulance. Layla watched, helpless to do anything. Terror clawed at her throat, and she wanted to scream. Yell at Gran. Tell her to get up, and assure everyone that she was fine.

  “God, please let her be all right,” she prayed. She couldn’t lose Gran. Not after losing everything else.

  A hand touched her shoulder and Layla turned to find Aunt Grace. Tears poured down her cheeks, but her shoulders were straight. “She’s going to be fine.”

  “You don’t know that,” Layla said.

  Her jaw firmed. “Yes, I do,” she said, as if daring anyone – even God himself – to contradict her. “Come on. We need to get to the hospital. Barbara needs us now.”

  Noah appeared by their side. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Layla said.

  “Don’t argue with the man,” Aunt Grace said, taking his arm. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can find out what’s going on.”

  Noah wrapped a steadying arm around Aunt Grace and helped her to the car. He broke a few speed limits getting to the hospital. Once there they were directed to a waiting room. Layla collapsed into a chair and wrapped her arms around her middle to ward off the chill that seemed to have enveloped her body. Aunt Grace paced the floor as if she couldn’t bear to stay in one place. She even left the room at one point, claiming she had to make some calls to let everyone know.

  Before long, the waiting room began to fill. Janie and the new Reverend Montgomery arrived, along with Janie’s father Pastor Worthy and other members from church, Aunt Grace’s quilting circle, hospital staff, and neighbors. All of them becoming a distant blur of faces and voices. Layla huddled in the chair as the awful reality crashed in on her. She curled up in the seat, sick with fear. Her stomach revolted, and for a moment she thought she might throw up. She took deep, bracing breaths and tried to think positive thoughts. Said more prayers than she’d uttered in the past fifteen years.

  She couldn’t believe this was happening. Gran had always been the rock. The steady presence. The reassurance that Layla was loved.

  “Where’s my mommy?”

  Gran looked up from the papers she was reading, her expression frozen. “What Baby?”

  Layla folded her arms on top of her grandmother’s desk and lowered her chin. “All the other kids in kin’garten have mommies. Where’s mine?”

  Gran’s eyes shut tightly. “I don’t know where she is, Baby.”

  Layla lifted her head again. “Why’d she leave?”

  “Because she was very unhappy,” Gran said, her voice soft and sad-like.

  Layla didn’t understand. “Why was she unhappy? Was it ’cause of me?”

  “No. Oh no!” Gran made a sound that was close to crying and scooped Layla up. “It was nothing you did. Your Mommy had a lot of troubles. She didn’t know how to handle them so she went away to try and figure it all out.”

  “How long does figurin’ out take?” Layla asked, fighting back tears. She hated to cry. Maybe if she was good and didn’t cry, Mommy would come back.

  “I’m not sure.�
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  “Didn’t she love me?” Layla asked. “Was I bad and that’s why she left?”

  “You weren’t bad.” Gran squeezed until Layla’s ribs hurt. “She brought you to me because she knew I would love you. And I do. You’re my Laylee Bug. I will always protect you and love you. No matter what your mother did, you have to know that you are special and wonderful. You’re my miracle. My second chance.”

  Layla turned, curiosity drying her tears for now. “For what?”

  Gran framed Layla’s cheeks. “To do things right.”

  Layla jerked back to the present when she felt someone touch her knee. She looked down at the hand, which was wrinkled and dusted with tiny brown age spots. Aunt Grace’s hands. Hands that had made chicken soup when she was sick in bed. Hands that had made the purple and mauve quilt that draped across her bed. Layla laced her fingers though her aunt’s.

  “She’s going to be all right,” Aunt Grace said. “You just believe that.”

  “Okay.” She laid her head on Aunt Grace’s shoulder as hot tears slid down her face.

  After what seemed like hours, a doctor in scrubs emerged through the swinging doors. He pulled his surgical mask down and went directly to Aunt Grace and Layla. “Hi, I’m Dr. Lawrence.”

  Layla surged to her feet. “Is she—” She couldn’t finish the question.

  The doctor had warm brown eyes, slightly wrinkled at the corners, and an I’ve-got-everything-covered smile. “It was a heart attack, but she’s stabilized now. It’s too soon to tell if there’s been any major damage to her heart, but I think she will be all right.”

  Layla exhaled in such a rush that she felt dizzy.

  “We’ll have to watch her for the next couple days to make sure she doesn’t have another attack,” Dr. Lawrence continued.

  “Thank you!” Layla threw her arms around his neck, but drew back almost immediately. “Sorry.”

  He chuckled, revealing even white teeth. “It’s all right. I did my residency under your grandmother’s guidance. I’m not about to let her go on my watch.”

  “Can we see her?”

  “Once we have her settled in CICU you can go in and see her briefly. One at a time, and only for a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll let you know when you can go up.”

  The doctor left, and Layla turned to Aunt Grace. Tears were swimming in her aunt’s eyes. “Barbara’s going to be all right!”

  “I thought you told me it was a done deal,” Layla said, with a tremulous smile.

  “I only said that for your sake,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I was frightened out of my mind.”

  “You didn’t show it,” Layla said, marveling at this new side of her aunt.

  “How could I? With Barbara in there, someone had to be in charge. She’s always been the strong one. I couldn’t let her down.”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever let Gran down,” Layla said. “Come on, we should let everyone know.”

  Layla went to each person in the room – some of whom had been there for hours – and thanked them for waiting.

  Larry Conklin was among the group. He clutched at Layla’s hands, his wrinkled face taut with concern. “I’m sorry if I had a hand in this, mentioning Elizabeth like that.”

  Layla conjured up a smile, even if part of her couldn’t help but think that Old Man Conklin’s claim about seeing her mother had set off Gran’s attack. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Don’t know what will happen now. Your mother comin’ home will be hard to take.”

  Irritation rose up inside her. “Mr. Conklin, my mother hasn’t come home. I don’t know whom you saw on the street, but it wasn’t her. Please don’t upset my grandmother again.”

  He seemed to want to argue, but then he drew back. “Guess you’re right.”

  Layla needed to see her grandmother and reassure herself that everything was okay. She turned in time to glimpse Aunt Grace slipping out of the room.

  Where is she going?

  Feeling like a low-rent spy, Layla followed her great-aunt down the hallway and through the main reception area. Aunt Grace didn’t pause, but went straight through the front door. When Layla walked outside she saw that her aunt had gone to a small courtyard garden about a hundred feet away. She was talking to a tall woman wearing a brown wrap-dress. A large sun bonnet shielded her face.

  Layla watched as Aunt Grace talked, gesturing dramatically. When the other woman started crying and reached to hug Aunt Grace, Layla knew the time for spying was over. Unease threaded through her as she approached the courtyard.

  The woman in the sunbonnet saw her first. She gasped and straightened.

  Aunt Grace turned. “Layla, what are you doing out here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” Layla said. “Who is this, and why are you sneaking around to see her?”

  The woman took off the hat and a stepped closer. “Layla…”

  Layla’s head whipped around at the almost desperate sound. The woman was pale and emaciated, and judging by the close crop of dark hair that barely her head, she’d had a recent, serious illness.

  “Layla, it’s me,” the woman said.

  Layla found herself staring into a pair of green eyes. Eyes she saw in the mirror every day, she realized with a sickening lurch in her heart. She studied the woman’s features again, and despite the sunken cheeks and lack of golden hair, Layla finally recognized the face she’d seen in pictures all over her grandmother’s house. It was Elizabeth McCarthy.

  “Old Man Conklin was right,” Layla said in a daze. “He did see you outside our house.”

  Elizabeth took one more step. “I didn’t think he’d recognized me.”

  Layla blinked, unable to come up with a response. She couldn’t process what was happening. Her mother was standing right in front of her, looking not like a femme fatale, but like a refugee from a war-torn nation.

  Layla had dreamt of this moment her entire life. As a child, she’d pictured running into her mother’s arms while Elizabeth McCarthy sobbed about how sorry she was for leaving. As Layla got older, anger and bitterness began to replace any desire for a happy reunion. Or any reunion at all.

  Every birthday without even a card. Every Christmas when her letter to Santa failed to bring her mother back. Every Mother-Daughter event at school. Puberty, her first date, graduation, her first real job, a business card with her name listed as Owner/President. Elizabeth McCarthy hadn’t been there to share any of those milestones.

  An icy shield seemed to encase Layla’s heart as she stared at the woman who’d given birth to her. She couldn’t seem to feel anything. Nothing. Not even anger.

  Layla turned to Aunt Grace. “You knew she was here,” she said, a sense of betrayal sneaking past the wall. “You’ve been sneaking around, meeting with her.”

  “No.” Elizabeth McCarthy’s voice was firm. “I only went to Aunt Grace yesterday. I needed advice on approaching my mother.”

  “Because knocking on the door was too hard?” Layla asked, not caring if she sounded cold.

  Elizabeth didn’t flinch at the abrupt tone. “I would have done that, except then I saw you. I hadn’t expected you to be here so I panicked and ran away.”

  “You should have kept running.”

  A terrible, clawing anguish tried to surface, fighting past the shield around her emotions. Layla had to get away. She couldn’t deal with her mother’s sudden appearance on top of Gran’s heart attack. “I have to go back. My grandmother needs me. Aunt Grace, come on.”

  “Wait…” Aunt Grace said, her voice sounding firmer. “I know you’re upset, and I don’t blame you, but it’s Elizabeth’s mother in there. I asked her to be at the house after church—”

  “So that’s why you were so intent on getting home,” Layla said, finally putting the pieces together. “Because she was waiting for us.”

  Aunt Grace nodded. “Yes, and I called Elizabeth to let her know what was happen
ing. She has a right to be here, too. And Barbara needs to see her.”

  “No!” Layla’s anger finally came. Erupting out of her with such force it surprised her. “Don’t tell me about her rights. She threw away any right she had to be a part of this family when she dumped me on Gran’s doorstep.”

  “Dear, be reasonable,” Aunt Grace said, putting out a hand.

  Layla jerked away. “I don’t have to be reasonable. I need to protect my grandmother. She’s lying in a hospital bed because of her.” She turned to the stranger who had never been her mother. “Larry Conklin told Gran he saw you in front of the house, and then she had a heart attack. If you think I’m letting you anywhere near my grandmother now, you’re crazy.”

  “Layla!” Aunt Grace said, aghast.

  “No. I’m done here. I’m going inside.” She spared one more glance for Elizabeth McCarthy. “You keep her away from Gran.”

  Layla stumbled through the doors, refusing to look back. Once inside she leaned against the wall. She swallowed air, trying to get control and put the cap back on her emotions. But now that they’d been released, all the feelings refused to stay quiet.

  Maybe being numb was better than this roiling cauldron of fury.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  She opened her eyes to find a short, round woman with a wizened face and sympathetic eyes. The woman had on khaki slacks and a white, short-sleeved, collared shirt, along with a badge that read “Geraldine Brody, Volunteer”.

  Layla straightened. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, surprised she could sound so calm when her insides were quivering. “I need to find my grandmother. She’s in CICU.”

  Geraldine smiled. “I can help with that.”

  Ten minutes later, Layla walked into her grandmother’s hospital room. Her first sight of Gran – lying in an enormous bed and hooked up to what seemed like a million machines – nearly brought Layla to her knees. Gran looked so small and frail… and still. The beeping, flashing machines seemed to be the only signs of life.

  Layla walked to the edge of the bed. She tried to ignore the gray cast to Gran’s cheeks and the paper-thin skin stretched over ribbons of veins that seemed garishly large. Ignored the tubes and needles. Instead, she concentrated on remembering the doctor’s words that Gran was stable, and prayed that she would get better.