Words Get In the Way by Nan Rossiter Page A

to a shady grove, and Callie stopped. The pines whispered softly around them, and Henry gazed at the simple white marker. He walked up to it and traced his finger lightly over the engraved letters:
     
VIRGINIA DEERING WYETH
JUNE 19, 1949–NOVEMBER 23, 1994
BELOVED WIFE ~ DEAR MOTHER
FOREVER FRIEND
     
    Callie watched her son’s innocent gesture and realized how much her mom would have loved him. She would have known what to do. She would have known how to reach him. She would have held him and hugged him and loved him with all her heart.
    “Oh, Mom, I miss you so much,” she whispered.
    As she silently watched, Henry picked up a smooth, white stone and placed it on top of the headstone. As he stepped back, though, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and he reached for Callie’s hand. She looked at the sky and felt the heavy stillness of the air. “Guess we should get going,” she said reluctantly. She scooped him up onto her hip but lingered a moment more, and wished they’d brought flowers. “Next time,” she whispered. A resounding crack echoed across the valley, and Henry whimpered. “It’s okay, Hen-Ben,” she said, hugging him. She ran her hand lightly along the headstone and then turned to hurry up the hill.
    Just as they reached the car the skies opened up and, in the time it took to strap Henry in and run around to her side of the car, Callie was drenched. She dove into the front seat, quickly rolled up the windows, and decided to wait for the storm to pass. The rain thundered on the metal roof and streamed down the steamy glass. A rivulet formed on the inside of the windshield and trickled down, dripping on the dashboard. Over the years, her dad had tried several times to fix the leak, but when it rained hard enough, or when the wind blew just right, water always managed to find its way in.
    Callie watched the fat droplets form and splash on the dusty dash and thought of Linden. She shook her head. How can I even think of asking him? After everything that’s happened, how can I ask the one person in the world that I hurt most to look after the child that resulted from that hurt? The irony is too much! She watched the lush trees swaying back and forth in a green blur and prayed, “Oh, God, help me. Please give me a sign.”
    The storm finally passed, and she looked in her rearview mirror. Henry was sound asleep. She started the car, drove slowly out of the parking lot, and headed east. When she turned onto Route 124, she began to notice that cars were pulling over. She looked in her rearview mirror and listened for a siren, but she didn’t hear one. Why are people pulling over? She slowed down and watched as people got out of their cars. One person was even holding a camera. Finally, she looked up through the passenger window and spotted what everyone was looking at: A brilliant double rainbow was spanning the eastern sky.

19
    T he air was ominously still and heavy with moisture as Linden measured and cut the wood for the new treads, and it wasn’t long before a distant rumble confirmed the approach of a summer storm. He made one final cut, fit the tread, glanced at the sky, and decided he’d better clean up his makeshift shop. He gathered his tools, brought them inside, and then hurried to the barn to usher the animals inside.
    Twenty minutes later, an eerie darkness shrouded the yard. The dogs had been only too happy to be invited into the kitchen. They stretched out on the cool linoleum and wondered if there were any snacks in their future. Linden turned on the stove light, looked under the aluminum foil that covered Mrs. Connor’s cookies, and shook his head in dismay. “Only two left. I don’t know if there’s enough.” With their heads on their paws, the dogs watched Linden as he ate the first cookie, but when he started to lift the second one to his mouth, they picked up their heads and gave him mournful looks. Linden laughed, broke the cookie in half, and gave them each a piece.