Leota's Garden

  Far from it, considering the countless times he’d picked up after her. But he saw the mood she was in now—a mood she made perfectly clear had come on because of his ill temper—and he clamped his mouth shut.

  Maybe he was being unreasonable. Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. There were more important things in the world than having the dishes washed and put away, and the cushions on the couch where they belonged. A little chaos never killed anyone, did it? Why did he let it get to him? She’d warned him up front, before moving in, that she wasn’t the neatest person in the world.

  Maybe it was just seeing how that old woman lived in a house coated with grime and caked with dust that had triggered him.

  He watched Ruth. She was seething. She barely washed and rinsed the glasses. Another word out of him, and he was sure she’d pack and leave. He’d make peace with her later. Chinese takeout. A red rose. It’d all blow over.

  Frustrated and restless, he went back into the living room and sat down at his desk and jotted down a few notes:

  Leota Reinhardt. Cantankerous. Demanding. Suffers from arthritis. Needs caregiver. Senile (?) No mention of family. Lives in squalor. Only financial support Social Security (?) Education (?)

  He didn’t know much considering the time he’d spent with her. Next time he’d get her talking.

  Turning on his computer, Corban opened a file and typed in everything he’d observed about the old woman and her surroundings. The more he thought about her, the more she suited his case study. Maybe the day hadn’t been a complete waste after all.

  When he finished, he felt a little more satisfied. He’d be better prepared next time. At least he’d know what to expect. He’d take her a little something, too. Maybe if he poured on the charm, he’d be able to wring some information out of her.

  Reading over his page of notes, he smiled, then crumpled up his handwritten notes and tossed them into the trash can. He hit the Save button on the computer and exited the document, then went on to more important and pressing matters, leaving Leota Reinhardt filed and forgotten.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m not surprised you left, princess. I knew it would happen someday. You know you can come and live with me and Monica in San Diego anytime you want. We’d love to have you.”

  Annie sighed. “I know, Daddy, but I can’t do that. You know how Mom would see it.” Her mother would cast all the blame for rebellion on her second husband, Annie’s father, Dean Gardner. He’d been a convenient scapegoat over the years for a variety of things.

  “What is that noise in the background, Annie?” her dad said. “Are you having a party?” He sounded as though he approved.

  “No, Dad. It’s a parrot. Susan’s bird-sitting. He can get a little loud at times.”

  “Sounds like he carries on a conversation.”

  “He spouts things from television. His owner leaves it on for him while he’s at work. So he’ll have company.”

  “Back to your mom, honey. She sees things exactly the way she wants to see them.” There was a distinct and familiar edge in his voice. “You have to start living your own life and stop living it for her.”

  “I understand that, Daddy, but I don’t want to burn bridges. I love her. I want to be able to see her and talk to her without—”

  “Good luck.”

  Annie sighed. She rubbed her forehead. She knew there were bitter feelings between her mother and father. It was exhausting sometimes, feeling like the base of a teeter-totter of resentments and grudges nurtured on vitriol. Back and forth, up and down. Would it never end? Why couldn’t they understand that she loved them both? They each had their own agenda in winning her confidence. She knew that. She understood it. And it hurt because, whether they realized it or not, her mother and father each used her as a weapon against the other.

  Maybe calling him hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe she should have waited until her own feelings were clearer.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Look. Give me the address of where you’re staying and I’ll send you some money to get you started.”

  “I have money, Daddy. I’m living with Susan Carter. You remember her, don’t you?” She gave him the address.

  “San Francisco? Are you sure you want to live in the city?”

  She could hear the apprehension in his tone. “There’s a security system where we live. We have to buzz people in. It’s a nice little apartment with a Murphy bed. I’m using a futon.”

  “A Murphy bed? When was this place built?”

  She laughed. “Quit worrying, Daddy. I’m a big girl, remember?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come down to San Diego? I’m sure you could get into UC without any problems, considering your grades and SAT scores. You got the okay for Berkeley, didn’t you? Even if you had to wait until next semester—”

  “I’m not going to college, Daddy.”

  “Not at all?”

  “I’m going to school, but it’s not anything like Wellesley or Cal. I’m registered for two classes at the Institute of Fine Arts.” When he didn’t say anything, she knew she had surprised him. Did his silence denote displeasure as well? It was one thing to tell your daughter to do whatever her heart told her to do and another to hear she had tossed aside sizable scholarships to prestigious universities and colleges in favor of taking a couple of art classes. “Try not to worry, Daddy. I feel led to do this. I don’t know why yet, but I have to go where I sense God is directing me.”

  “Honey . . .”

  She had tried to speak openly with her father, but it was difficult. What she said simply did not compute for him because he wasn’t a believer. Telling him God was leading her always made him nervous. Yet she couldn’t lie about it. It was hard to make him see that she needed to be where God wanted her to be. And she felt His unmistakable presence in her artwork. When she was drawing or painting, she felt a rightness about it, a closeness to the Creator who was opening her eyes and ears and heart to the world around her.

  A world that included family members ripped apart by divorce and dysfunction.

  And perhaps a grandmother who held some key to understanding her mother and herself.

  “The whole point is for me to be on my own, Daddy. Isn’t that what you said? I won’t be living in the lap of luxury, but Susan’s flat is nice and spacious. We’re close enough that I can jog to the zoo or the beach. There was an opening where Susan works, so I’ve already lined up a job.”

  “What sort of job?”

  “Waiting tables. It’s a top-rated restaurant. I’ll earn enough to pay my share of the rent and expenses.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “The Smelly Clove.”

  “Who would want to eat in a place called the Smelly Clove?”

  She laughed. “Anyone who likes garlic. This restaurant is very well known, Daddy. Garlic is the in thing. It’s very good for you.”

  “I’ll send you the checks I’ve been sending your mother.”

  Her father had his own ways of voicing his disapproval. “I didn’t call to ask for money, Daddy. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult now. Remember? Keep your money.”

  “In the eyes of the law, maybe, you’re an adult,” he said ruefully, “but you’re still my little girl.”

  Her eyes filled with quick tears. “I need to stand on my own.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “So you didn’t call for money or advice.”

  “No.”

  “You know I love you, don’t you?” he said tenderly.

  “Yes.” She pressed her lips together. Her heart ached.

  “What’s up, honey? What did your mother say to you before you left?”

  Annie closed her eyes. The hurtful things her mother had said kept coming up and filling her head like so much flotsam. Her father was far too perceptive, but she was not about to regale him with her mother’s hurtful remarks. Why add fuel to the fires of bitterness?

  Her mother might have expectations far and above what any human co
uld manage to fulfill, but her father wasn’t perfect either. Monica was the second woman he had lived with in the past four years, and she was less than half his age. Annie’s mother said her father had a Peter Pan complex; her father said one taste of marriage with Nora was enough to cure any man for life.

  “Can you tell me about Grandma Leota, Daddy?”

  “Leota? What brought her up?”

  “I was just curious. She’s my only surviving grandparent, and I don’t even really know her.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, and Annie sensed he was weighing his words carefully.

  “She must be in her eighties,” he said. “I only met her a couple of times.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Ordinary, I guess. I liked her.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  He gave a dry laugh. “I don’t mean to imply I liked her just because your mother holds some deep-seated grudge against her. I mean I liked her. She made me feel welcome the few times we visited her. The last time I saw her, she made German chocolate cake and homemade meat-and-potato sausage and sauerkraut. I was looking forward to enjoying a feast. Of course, we weren’t there long enough to taste any of it. Your mother launched into some diatribe about the past.”

  Oh, Daddy, let’s not go down that path again. “Did Grandma say anything?”

  “No. She listened. She didn’t say a word that I can remember, not that she had a chance or that anything she could have said would have made a difference. Your mother was in high form that day. I was embarrassed, really embarrassed. Nora gathered you and Michael from the backyard and went out to the car. I didn’t have much choice but to apologize to Leota and leave.”

  “Why didn’t Grandma ever come to our house?”

  “She wasn’t invited. Any invitations extended always came from her. No, I take that back. Your mother invited her to our wedding.”

  “Did she come?”

  “Yes. She came to the reception, too. And she came to your christening.”

  “Then she drives a car.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t remember seeing a car when we were at her place. And I doubt it. She worked in an office somewhere near Lake Merritt. I think she had the same job for years, though I couldn’t tell you what she did. Whatever it was, your mother said she loved her work more than her family.”

  Annie frowned. Was that what her mother had meant about her being like Leota Reinhardt? Annie wanted to study art, and she had to turn away from her mother’s hopes for her in order to do so?

  Why does it have to be a choice between what my mother wants and what I feel led to do?

  “Why the sudden interest in your grandmother, Annie?”

  “I’ve always wondered about her, Daddy. I was just afraid to talk about her with Mom.”

  “And no wonder. She’s not exactly reasonable when it comes to her mother. Why don’t you go see Leota and decide for yourself?”

  “I’ve considered it, but . . .”

  “Let me guess. Your mother would take it the wrong way. Right?”

  “Well . . .” If her mother found out, she would be hurt. She would feel betrayed. But why did it have to be that way? What had happened to cause such animosity on her mother’s part? Was that animosity returned? Her father made it sound otherwise, but he had his own agenda. Still, Annie wondered. Could the estrangement between her mother and grandmother simply be a difference in personalities? Or was there something far deeper going on?

  “You’re just like your grandma Leota!”

  What did that really mean?

  Who was Leota Reinhardt? What had she done that made her so persona non grata?

  “Look, honey. If you live the rest of your life trying to please your mother, you’re in for a lot of heartache.”

  “Daddy . . .”

  He sighed heavily. “Okay. I’ll leave it alone. It’s your decision.” He hesitated. “What do you hear from your brother?” His tone was so dry, Annie winced. He had never gotten along very well with his stepson. Michael was the product of Nora’s first marriage to Bryan Taggart. Taggart had bowed out of his son’s life as soon as the divorce was final. Michael had been three at the time. Annie’s father had once told her that her mother had made several efforts to extract money from Michael’s father for child support. However, the legal expenses and emotional upheaval hadn’t been worth what her mother called “the paltry amount of guilt money.”

  Taggart had moved to another state, remarried, and had other children. When Michael was sixteen, he found out where his father was and contacted him. Somehow, his mother had gotten wind of it. She had a sixth sense about such things. That single telephone call had been like a foul stench in her nostrils. Sometimes she was like a bloodhound on matters that she deemed against her authority. That time, she caught the faint scent, followed the trail, and treed poor Michael, baying at him until he confessed. Annie would never forget her verbal evisceration.

  “How could you do this to me? After all I’ve sacrificed for you! I’ve loved you and been there for you all your life, and this is the thanks I get!” Not that Taggart had opened the door for Michael. In fact, from what little Annie remembered from that terrible fight between her half brother and her mother, Taggart had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with his son.

  Would the same thing happen to her when she talked with her grandmother? Would the door be forever closed to her? And what if her mother found out she had gone to see her grandmother?

  “Annie?” Her father’s voice drew her back to the present.

  “Oh, Michael’s fine, last I heard.”

  “When was that?”

  “Christmas. He sent a note.” She hurried on rather than tell him it was addressed to her mother only. While she had idolized Michael, he had never cared much for her. The note had been just that, short and to the point. He had earned a promotion and was making more money, both bits of news to cheer her mother and give her excuses for why he never had the time to come home for a visit. “I called and left a message just to let him know I’ve moved out.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s busy, Daddy. You know how hard he works.”

  Her father didn’t say anything to that, which was just as well. Nothing he could say would ease the hurt Annie felt. The truth was, her half brother didn’t seem to care about anyone but himself. He certainly had little time to spare for the mother who doted on him and bragged about him at every opportunity. “My son who graduated with honors from Columbia . . . My son who was courted and hired by a Fortune 500 company . . . My son who is so handsome he could have been a model for GQ . . .” Nora Gaines enjoyed the reflected glory of being Michael Taggart’s mother.

  “If you do decide to go see your grandmother, tell her hello from me, would you?”

  “I haven’t decided whether to go or not, Daddy.”

  “I hope you will, honey. Something’s eating at you. And it never pays to let someone else do your thinking for you. Not even your doting father.”

  Annie thought about her grandmother over the next few days. She couldn’t seem to get Leota Reinhardt out of her mind. She thought over everything she remembered about her, which was not very much, and everything her mother had ever said about her, none of which was good. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she should go and see her grandmother, no matter what the cost.

  And the cost would be high. She could count on that. Still, some little seed of unrest was taking root and growing inside her.

  Why, after all these years, should this plague her so? Just because her mother had accused her of being like her grandmother? It hadn’t been the first time that shot had been fired. Why had it hit the target now? Why should it hurt so much to be compared to someone she didn’t even know? Maybe it was the implication that wanting to take a path other than the one planned for her was somehow wrong and bad. What had Leota done? And why?

  Annie prayed about the situation and all that was
bothering her. She prayed for release, but it didn’t come. If anything, the gentle nudging became a push. Even during her devotional time in the Word, her grandmother would come to mind. “I am the vine; you are the branches. . . .” Annie knew very well that Scripture referred to Jesus, so why did Leota Reinhardt come to mind every time she read it?

  Was it because Grandma Leota was the last of the vine from her mother’s side of the family? Her grandfather had died before she was born. She had only heard about Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa Reinhardt. Everything her mother said about them was in rosy contrast to the dark hues of Grandma Leota. “They were the dearest people I ever knew,” her mother had said once, “and so giving. Why they put up with my mother, I’ll never know. She never had time for anyone but herself.”

  “Unless you are born again . . .”

  Lord, I don’t know what You’re trying to tell me. Are You saying Leota Reinhardt doesn’t believe in You? I don’t know anything about her other than if I go to see her, it’ll hurt Mom if she finds out.

  And what about Leota Reinhardt? What if she didn’t know Jesus Christ as her Savior and Lord? What then?

  That concern began to outweigh all the rest. What if no one had ever cared enough to tell Leota Reinhardt the good news about Jesus Christ? What if she was unsaved? Annie was plagued by guilt. Every which way she turned, she faced it. She felt guilty about not going to Wellesley; she felt guilty about disappointing her mother; she felt guilty about calling her father and trying to learn something from him about Leota Reinhardt, because it had merely given him more fuel to fire his hate for her mother; she felt guilty about doing nothing.

  What made it worse was what it told her about her depth of faith. If she could stay where she was, safe and silent, she might as well cast her faith aside. If she wasn’t willing to risk anything—everything—to bring the word of the Lord to her own grandmother, she might as well close her Bible and go to Wellesley or Cal or wherever the stronger of her two parents deemed she should go.