“In what?” Gigi asks, finishing her eggs.
Joan moves her own eggs around the plate, not wanting to eat them. “In what we can’t see.”
“Like the wind,” Gigi says, shoving the last of the toast in her mouth and then showing it to Christopher, making him giggle.
Joan puts her fork down, looking at Gigi, taken aback by what she’s said. “Like the wind,” she whispers, watching Gigi and Christopher as they each open their mouths full of food. She’s never thought much about the wind, but without giving it a moment’s thought, her five-year-old daughter has touched on something unseen but real. “We see what it touches,” she says.
“What what touches?” Gigi asks, reaching for her milk.
“You’re so brilliant and amazing!” Joan says, adoring her daughter and son. “You both are!”
“Why?” Gigi says, tipping the cup to her mouth again.
“Because you said we can’t see the wind! We can’t see the wind, but we see what it touches, don’t we? The trees, the grass, flags, lakes, our hair … or at least your hair,” Joan says, chuckling.
“Our ball when it’s in the yard,” Gigi says, joining in. “Our faces and umbrellas and … what else?”
Joan opens her arms. “Everything! The wind touches everything outside, and when our windows are open, it touches our curtains and things inside the house!” She props her arm on the table, resting her chin on her hand. “Like I said, you’re brilliant!”
Gigi smiles and says, “What does it mean?”
Joan rears her head back, laughing. “It means, today’s the day! We may not be able to see God, but just like the wind we can see what He touches, right?”
Gigi shrugs. “Yes!”
Joan takes a bite of her egg and marvels at what has just happened. Was it just a cute-kid moment? Or did God use Gigi to speak this simple—but what Joan believes is a profound—truth, to her? Six months ago, Joan would have believed it was a sweet, funny-kid instance, but today? Today she ponders if God uses the smallest, most mundane moments of the day to speak to us. She’ll have to think more about that and figure out what she believes. She takes another bite of egg and lifts the recipe for her mom’s chili out of the recipe box. How many bowls of this chili did we eat throughout the years? I always made it on the days we went sledding. Remember that morning we went sledding at Grandma and Grandpa’s and you broke your arm? It was so windy that day! Joan rereads the words: It was so windy that day! She stares at the words. Of all the recipes to choose, she picked this one that describes the wind on that long-ago day. Can this be chalked up to coincidence or is God repeating or clarifying something for her? She shakes her head, not really knowing what to believe, and keeps reading.
We wrapped scarves around our faces, but the wind was blowing right through them! It was so strong! In the emergency room you said, “There better be a bowl of chili left when I get home!” You weren’t concerned about your arm, just the chili! This is the recipe I made for your sixth-grade Halloween party. I made two huge pots and they both came home empty. I remember so many of those kids said they’d never eaten chili before. That made me so sad because I just couldn’t imagine a home without a huge pot of chili. I always mixed the kind of beans I’d use: chili beans, kidney beans, red beans, and black beans. I loved making it and boy, did all of you love eating it! When you were a teen, I had to use three or four pounds of ground beef because you loved it as leftovers. And yes, on that cold, windy day when you broke your arm, there was a pot of chili waiting for you! Chili makes your house smell great when it’s cooking, and there’s nothing like coming home from school to the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. At least that’s what you always told me! That’s still a favorite memory for Joan: coming home from school and flinging open the back door to the smells of cookies, rolls, cakes, casseroles, bread, chicken, or beef baking inside the oven, or a pot of soup simmering on the stove. She looks back down at the recipe. I didn’t have a lot of skills, but I could cook and I’m glad I could because I still remember the times we spent around the table together. I believe it makes families closer. I really do! Joan smiles at the four smiley faces her mother drew at the bottom of the card.
After she puts the last bite of salad into her mouth, she gets up, smiling at the kids. “So, who’s helping me?” Gigi bounces out of her chair and Christopher turns as far around as he can in the high chair, looking for her. “Come on, big guy,” Joan says, lifting him out and getting a kiss from him. “Let’s make the house smell good!”
October 2012
It isn’t as easy as Travis thought it would be to find someone who recognizes the name of Bud the farmer. No one at the parks department recognizes the name, and he dreads telling Lauren that in his search, he has only hit dead ends. He is using a leaf blower around the gazebo in the Grandon town square when he notices Robert Layton waving at him. Robert’s law office sits on the square, just two doors down from Marshall’s Department Store, and Travis’s family has known Robert and his family for as long as Travis can remember. He turns off the leaf blower as Robert steps toward him. “I haven’t seen you since I’ve heard the news,” Robert says. “Congratulations!”
Travis takes off his Grandon Parks Department hat and wipes his forehead. “Thanks!”
“When is Lauren due?”
“In December.”
Robert nods, smiling. “A baby for Christmas. Fantastic! Is Lauren doing well? If I get home this evening and Kate learns that I’ve neglected to ask all the pertinent questions, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Travis chuckles. “She’s doing great. She’s taking time to do some decorating in the house and get the room ready for the baby and is learning to cook.” A thought strikes him, and he interrupts Robert as he’s about to ask another question. “Hey, Robert! You don’t happen to know a farmer named Bud, do you?”
Robert shields his eyes from the sun as he looks at him. “Bud Waters?”
Travis’s eyes light up. “Really? There is a farmer named Bud?”
Robert nods. “A dairy farmer.” Travis beams at the words. “He sold the farm fifteen or twenty years ago.”
The smile leaves Travis’s face. “Do you know where he lives now?”
Robert looks up to the sky, thinking. “Drake County, I think. It’s been a lot of years to remember. Why?”
“Lauren really wants to find him. Hoping he can help her find somebody else.”
“Well, let me poke around. If I find him, I’ll let you know ASAP.”
“That’s great, Robert! Thanks. What can we do for you for helping us?”
“Name the baby after me,” Robert says, walking toward his office. Travis laughs, but as he starts the leaf blower again, he looks at Robert’s back as he walks away, wondering if he was serious.
NINETEEN
October 1972
Joan sits in one of the chairs in the chemo room at the cancer clinic as the chemo drips through the IV line and into her arm. There are two other chairs inside this room; the chair next to her is empty, but the one near the door is taken. A young man around twenty or so sits in the chair, and a woman who Joan believes is his mother sits next to him; her hand is on his arm, and Joan thinks of her own mom at home with Gigi and Christopher.