High Hurdles Collection Two (5 page)

Joe flinched. “How'd I miss that?” He crunched into his stalk of celery and handed DJ half of each kind. “You gonna help me?”

“What's it worth to you?”

Joe crinkled up his eyes like he was thinking hard. “It's worth you not having to set the table and load the dishwasher by yourself.”

“Gran would help me.”

“I have a feeling Gran is going to be pretty busy with two sick little boys.”

“Did you have to remind me?” DJ picked up the vegetable brush and attacked the red potatoes Joe poured into the sink.

“You have a problem with that?” Joe brought out a bag of carrots and began peeling them.

“No.”

“Sounds like a yes to me.” He dumped a peeled carrot in with the scrubbed potatoes.

DJ glared at the potato in her hand and scrubbed so hard the red came off.

“So?”

“I really like the boys.”

“And?” When she didn't answer, he added, “But?”

“They take so much time and they are so … so hyper.”

“Maybe it seems that way, but they're really more busy and active than hyper. You just haven't been around little kids much, and those two are a double handful.”

“I guess.”

“Now, what's really bugging you?” Joe finished peeling the carrots and washed his hands. “Hand me the butcher knife, will you?” He quartered the carrots and potatoes, the knife blade slamming into the cutting board.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“Nope. Let's get it out—now.”

DJ chewed on her lip. “I … I feel like a creep.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.” She pushed herself away from the counter.

“Not so fast.” Joe snagged her arm with one wet hand, leaving a print on the arm of her gray sweat shirt. “Give, girl. This is GJ, remember? I've interrogated hardened criminals. One confused teenage girl, especially my granddaughter, is a piece of cake.”

He handed her the bowl of veggies and, opening the oven door, pulled out the roaster. With the lid open and steam rising, he ordered, “Dump 'em in.”

DJ did as asked. “I'm too old to be jealous of two little boys, sick ones at that.” The words gushed as if from a wide open faucet.

“You're a better man—excuse me, woman—than I am, then, because I feel jealous over the kids or even Mel's painting at times.”

“You do?” DJ's eyebrows shot up.

“Sure, we all do. Only some, like you, are honest about it bothering you. Most grown-ups have just learned to hide their jealousy and suffer in silence. Some even make the other person miserable by getting even or making smart, cutting comments.” He closed the oven door.

“But I thought Christians weren't supposed to feel jealous or mad or—”

“Get even or say things to hurt another's feelings or all kinds of things. Of course we're not supposed to, but sometimes we do. We're human, and we have feelings. But the sin is acting on those feelings. Feelings are neither good nor bad—they just are. It's when you let them take root and begin to poison your mind and soul that you get into trouble.” Joe leaned against the counter, waving his celery stalk for emphasis. “There are times when you'll have feelings or thoughts that aren't the best, but let them go. Saying ‘I feel really angry' is like popping the top on a can of soda. It lets the fizz out. When Robert was your age, I gave him a punching bag so he could beat his anger out on that rather than on his sister and brother. It helped—a lot.”

“Robert got mad?”

“He had a terrible temper.”

“Are we talking about the same Robert—you know, the man who married my mother?”

“We sure are. If he gets mad at you, he'll tell you about it. But if he hadn't learned to feel the feelings and then let them go, he wouldn't be where he is today. He's an effective leader and boss because he can control his temper. And let me tell you, there have been plenty of times in his life to test that out.” Joe crossed one leg over the other as he nibbled the last bite. He nodded. “I'm really proud of that man. And thank God He answered our prayers. His mother and I spent plenty of time praying for Robert and his temper.”

DJ, in a matching pose, nodded beside him. “I was just looking forward to time alone with you and Gran.” She forced the words past the rough spot in her throat.

“Thanks for telling me.” Joe uncrossed his arms and slid one around her shoulders, drawing her closer to his side. “Bet you miss Gran a lot at times.”

DJ nodded. The words wouldn't come this time, but the tears tried to.

“Well, I'll tell you something. I am so grateful she married me, and I couldn't love you more if I'd met you the day you were born.” He paused and cleared his throat. “So I'll try to be sensitive to when you two need each other all to yourselves and make sure you get that time. And I'll try hard not to be jealous, but it won't be easy.”

DJ leaned her head against his shoulder. “Th-thank you.” She sniffed. “You got a tissue anywhere nearby?”

He snagged two from the box on the windowsill. “Here.” Giving her one, he used the other. When they'd both blown their noses and wiped their eyes, they paused. Sure enough, a car door slammed.

“I better go help her.”

“Me too.” DJ followed him out the door.

Bobby and Billy were scrubbing their eyes awake when they opened the back doors to the minivan. Joe picked up one pajama-clad boy and DJ the other so Gran could bring in the suitcase.

“Bobby or Billy?” DJ whispered to the boy with his head on her shoulder.

“Bobby,” he croaked back.

Inside, when she tried to set him down, he clung to her with both arms and legs.

“You want to go to bed?”

He shook his head once and hung on.

DJ followed Gran and Joe down the hall and into the guest room with twin beds that the boys called their room. With cowboy bedspreads, minibikes, and a basket of balls, bats, baseball gloves, and dump trucks in the corner, the room certainly looked like a boys' lair. Gran had already taken the twins' matching monkeys out of the suitcase and laid them on the pillows of the turned-back beds. Joe and DJ set their burdens down and tucked the blankets around the sleepy boys. Each with an arm over a monkey, the two turned on their sides and instantly fell back to sleep.

Once in the kitchen, Gran shook her head. “At least Maria got them to the emergency clinic early this morning. The doctor said it looks like strep throat, and they both have congestion in their chests, too. She got them on antibiotics and had the doctor take a look at her, too, since she already felt terrible. By the time I arrived, she was coughing her head off and running a temp. Good thing she called me when she did.”

“So who's taking care of Maria?” Joe asked.

“Her sister is going to check on her. I'll call her again first thing in the morning. We could always make up a bed for her here if we need to.” Gran rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers.

“You okay?” DJ asked.

“Just a headache.” Gran blew out a breath. “Are the potatoes and carrots done, do you think?”

“Ahh, probably not quite yet.” Joe made a face. “How about I make you and DJ a cup of tea and you go put your feet up on the hassock.” He turned to the cupboard. “What kind do you want?”

“Orange spice.” Gran glanced DJ a question.

“Fine.”

As soon as Gran sat in her new wing chair—she now had one at each house—DJ pulled the matching hassock over, let Gran get comfortable, then took her place on the floor beside her grandmother.

“How was the ride?”

“Heavenly.” DJ leaned her cheek on her grandmother's thigh.

Gran stroked DJ's hair. “I'm glad you had fun.”

DJ told her about everything they'd seen and done, with Joe adding bits and pieces when he set their full teacups on the end table and relaxed in his recliner. One of the boys coughed, catching their attention.

“Poor little tykes,” Gran said. “When they are sick enough to sleep like this, they must be really sick.” She checked her watch. “They need their antibiotics pretty soon and more to drink. I should have gotten fruit juice bars on the way home, but I couldn't take them out of the car. Maria said that's all they've wanted since last night. Good thing Robert didn't realize how sick they were, or he would have postponed the honeymoon.”

“He knew you and Joe were near.”

“And who knew Maria would catch it, too?”

“Must be pretty contagious stuff.” Joe sipped his coffee. “We all better take our vitamin C and some of those herbs you found, Mel.”

“I already did.” Gran sighed after a sip of tea. “This tastes so good. And the dinner smells wonderful. You want to stab the potatoes, darlin'? See if they're done?”

No one moved. Finally DJ asked, “Who are you talking to?”

“Well, I meant Joe, but if you want to go, feel free. If they're done, I'll come make the gravy.”

DJ rose from the floor. “No, no, GJ, don't get up. I'll do it.”

He opened one eye. “You talking to me?”

DJ pinched his stocking-clad big toe and ambled into the kitchen. She could hear Joe and Gran talking in the living room, a comforting sound, like a creek murmuring over pebbles and sand. Feeling like she could give them something back, DJ went ahead and made the gravy. While it simmered, she set the table, including the salad Gran had ready in the refrigerator. She sliced the pot roast and laid the carrots and potatoes on the platter surrounding the meat.

“Come and eat,” she said from the doorway.

Both Gran and Joe roused from a doze, blinking themselves awake.

“Ready for the gravy maker?” Gran asked, pushing herself up from the softness of her chair.

“It's all done. If you don't get a move on, it will be cold.” DJ cleared her throat.

“You sound like me.” Gran patted her granddaughter's cheek as she entered the kitchen. “Oh, how lovely that looks. DJ, what a nice thing to do.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Joe said, gripping DJ's shoulder. “You know, Mel,” he said as he pulled her chair out for her, “this kid is definitely a keeper.”

“Oh, I've known that for fourteen-plus years.” Gran winked at DJ, but her brow wrinkled when DJ cleared her throat again. “You have a frog in your throat?”

“Something like that.” DJ took a drink from her water glass.

“Well, you better not get what the boys have. The clinic doctor told Maria this is a vicious bug going around this year.” She reached her hands out to Joe and DJ. “Let's say grace. DJ?”

DJ cleared her throat again. It felt like a sheet of sandpaper was wedged in there. “For health and strength and daily bread, we give you thanks, O Lord. Thank you for my family, please take care of Mom and Robert, and make Bobby and Billy and Maria better. Thank you for the ride into the park today, too. Amen.” She squeezed her grandparents' hands and reached for the salad bowl. “I don't know if there is enough salt in the gravy, so you better try it first.”

Their conversation during dinner was punctuated several times by coughing from the boys' room, but still the twins didn't wake. When they were done eating, Gran laid her napkin on the table and sighed. “I hate to wake them, but they need their medicine. Cough syrup might help, too.”

“You go ahead, Mel. I'll do the dishes so DJ can get her homework done.”

“I can help.” DJ gathered her salad bowl and silver onto her plate and stood.

“Thanks, but no thanks. You already did your share.”

“Okay, but remember, I volunteered.” DJ set her things on the counter and ambled down the hall to her bedroom. Spreading her books out on the bed, she attacked her history chapter first. After reading that, she made a list of four things she might want to do a term paper on. After an hour on the algebra, she still hadn't finished. And the problems that were done could be right or wrong—she had no idea. How come she had such a horrible time with algebra?

Halfway through her grammar assignment, she felt her chin hit the book. Lifting her head again took all her remaining strength.

Blinking and swallowing hard, she got a drink in the bathroom, donned her nightshirt, and mumbling an apology to her unbrushed teeth, fell into the bed.

When she awoke to the sound of crying some hours later, her head ached and her throat felt like someone had been walking around in it wearing football cleats.

Chapter • 4

“Gran,” DJ croaked from the school phone on Monday. “Could you please come and get me?”

“Sure, darlin', one of us will be there in ten minutes. I knew you should have stayed home today.” She paused to cough. “Excuse me. Now, don't you go waiting outside in the rain. We'll meet you at the door in front of the office.”

“You have to come sign me out.” Now it was DJ's turn to cough.

“Will do. At the office, then.”