Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,90
as Aaron, who had the tools and supplies needed to help Lexie set up the room for Shane. Tomorrow they’d be installing several grab bars and a frame on both sides of the toilet, as well as laying a ramp up to the front porch. Shane would be bringing other devices with him. But even with help, Lexie knew that his adjustment would take patience and courage—on her part as well as his.
The mood around the supper table was subdued. The only conversation centered around the plans for the weekend. Ruben and Pedro would be taking four bulls to a rodeo in Bisbee. Tess had offered to drive Whirlwind to a competition in Gallup, freeing Lexie to pick up Shane and get him settled.
At times like this, everyone missed Callie. Her love of good food and good company had made meals happy occasions. Now supper was just food, the spaghetti sauce too bland, the pasta overcooked, and the garlic bread store-bought. The worst of it was, it didn’t matter anymore. Eat and get on with whatever came next. That was the order of things these days. Without Callie, even sitting on the porch and watching the moon come up had lost its magic.
Lexie cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and went to her room. By the time she’d showered and laid out her clothes for tomorrow, she was ready for sleep. She lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of Val rummaging in her room across the hall, moving furniture and putting things away. It was nice having Val home, she thought. Tess had always been the boss, unwilling to let go of her duties and have fun. Val was more like a real sister, more like a girlfriend. With that thought, Lexie drifted into sleep.
* * *
She was deep into dreams when she felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her awake. “Lexie!” It was Val. “Wake up! You’ve got to see this!”
“Huh . . . ?” Startled, Lexie opened her eyes and sat up. “What time is it?” she asked, still groggy.
“It doesn’t matter.” Val, dressed in the baggy tee and leggings she used for pajamas, thrust the open candy box before her. “Look at what I found in this box!”
“This had better be good, Val.” Lexie swung her feet to the floor and turned on the bedside lamp.
“Trust me, it is.” Val sat down beside her and laid the box on Lexie’s lap. “Take a look.”
The box held old photographs, some in black and white, some in faded Kodachrome that had turned to a sepia color. There were about a dozen of them. They appeared to be arranged in chronological order—but maybe Val had done that. Lexie’s pulse raced as she held the stack in her hand and viewed the images one by one.
The first picture showed two children dressed for the first day of school. They were standing on the front porch of the house, the pretty little girl looking nervous, the boy, older and much taller, with a mop of dark blond hair, appearing to comfort her. The girl reminded Lexie of Val in her old school photos. But this wasn’t Val. And girls didn’t wear those little ruffled dresses to school anymore.
“That’s our mother, isn’t it?” Lexie asked. “But who’s the boy? As far as I know, she didn’t have a brother.”
Val gave her a mysterious smile. “Keep looking,” she said.
The second photo showed the same girl and boy, a little older, her in a swing, him pushing. In the next picture they were riding horses with the ranch house in the background. By now the boy was beginning to look vaguely familiar, but Lexie still couldn’t place him—he certainly wasn’t her dark-haired father.
There were more photos, then the classic prom picture—strapless formal, ill-fitting tux, in front of a big crepe paper heart. Lexie stared at it, the boy’s maturing features finally recognizable.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “That’s Aaron, isn’t it!”
“I was wondering when you’d catch on,” Val said. “Go on, keep looking.”
The last two photos told the story—the young man in the uniform of the U.S. Army. The beautiful girl poised to kiss him good-bye, a modest diamond engagement ring on her finger. The last photo was a formal portrait of a soldier—the sort of picture a girl would keep next to her bed while she waited for him to come home.
There were letters tied in a bundle—too personal and too painful to read—and, in the bottom of the box, wrapped in a