Lily for a Day

By Carolynn Carey

Marti Darnell figures the time is long past when she could have bonded with her daughters, both of whom are now married women with lives of their own. But then her husband Harold falls on her and breaks her ankle, and she discovers that life has a way of simultaneously throwing curves and bestowing second chances. When a conglomeration of broken bones, shattered marriages, rekindled love affairs, and a mystery or two disrupt life on the formerly peaceful Darnell Daylily Farm, Marti is forced to rely on her maternal instincts and pray that she doesn’t inadvertently screw up somebody’s life, including her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carolynn Carey
• Release date: Nov 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502281616

Carolynn Carey

Carolynn Carey is the award-winning author of twenty-five books. In addition to her contemporary novels, she writes Regency romances. Several of her books have won or finaled in national contests such as the HOLT Medallion, the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Maggie, and the International Digital Awards. Carolynn lives in Tennessee where she spends her days writing, reading, knitting, and watching for text messages about the amazing exploits of her only grandchild. To receive notification when she has a new book coming out, sign up to receive her newsletter. For more information or to contact her: www.CarolynnCarey.com [e-mail]

Book preview

Titles by Carolynn Carey

Historical Novels

A Simple Lady

Compromising Situations

The Secret Christmas Ciphers

My Elusive Countess

The Mysterious Merriana

The Untamable Antonia

The Barbourville Series

Celebrations of Joy (A Novella)

A Summer Sentence

Falling for Dallas

Dealing with Denver

Dreaming of Dayton

The Forgotten Christmas Tree

At Home in Barbourville

The Bow Wow and Meow Campaign

Barbourville Christmas Reunion

Chasing Dreams in Barbourville

McCray County Series

McCray County Retreat

Contemporary Titles

My Cupcake, My Love

Christmas with Tiffany

Prognosis for Happiness

Lily for a Day

Holly Grove Homecoming

For information, visit Carolynn’s website:

www.CarolynnCarey.com

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Dedication

THIS BOOK ABOUT A MOTHER and her daughters is dedicated to Iris Lester, who could herself write a book on bringing up daughters, and for Allison, who survived having me as a mother.

Acknowledgments

THE SETTING FOR THIS book, a daylily farm in Tennessee, owes much of its ambiance to Oakes Daylilies in Corryton, Tennessee, one of the most beautiful spots on Earth. And as the author of this book, I owe thanks to Mr. Stewart Oakes for kindly supplying me with information on daylilies, including shipping dates when the season begins in the spring. However, any errors that might have crept into the book regarding daylilies, their growth habits, their propagation, their care, and any other aspect of their existence are the sole responsibility of the author.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

THE AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGES the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft

Granola: Biggs and Featherbelle, LLC LTD LIAB CO

Chapter One

Not all clouds bring rain.

—English saying

The day Harold fell off the roof and broke my ankle, I knew our way of life was about to change. I just didn’t realize how much.

In fact, in those first few seconds after he landed on me, I didn’t know much of anything because he’d knocked the breath out of me. I had to push him away before I could breathe and when I pushed, he started groaning. Turns out that even though I’d unintentionally cushioned his fall, he’d broken his right wrist.

If it hadn’t been for his bad knee, which he’d hurt when he stepped in a hole out in the field a couple of years earlier, he could have gotten up and walked for help. As it was, he didn’t have the strength to push himself up off the ground with just one good wrist.

Fortunately for us, sprawled there on the soggy ground, the temperature was mild for a March morning in Tennessee. We’d had a thunderstorm the night before and when I’d stepped out of the kitchen after breakfast to follow Harold, the rain-cleansed air had ignited in me a deep craving for spring.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to pause and enjoy the fragrances of damp soil and spicy pine. I’d been too busy trying to talk Harold out of climbing up on the roof of our office building to retrieve the limb that had been blown there by last night’s strong winds.

Good grief, Marti, Harold had snarled back over his shoulder as he shuffled down the driveway. I nailed those shingles onto the tarpaper myself. I can sure as hell get a little limb off the roof. If you’ll just stand under the eaves, I’ll hand it down to you.

Harold swears to this day that mildew on the roof caused him to slip but I figure his knee gave way on him and he didn’t want to admit it. I’d been nagging him for well over a year to have knee surgery but he’d consistently refused. Not that I could blame him too much. Knee surgery doesn’t sound like an afternoon at the circus.

But that didn’t keep me from silently ranting at him when I realized I’d injured my ankle pretty badly. Thank goodness I’d stuck our portable phone in my pocket and could call for help. It was lucky too, that Steve Webb was at the shed.

Steve works for us many days out of the year and I’d seen his bright red pickup headed toward our work shed that morning as I’d trailed after Harold. I pulled the phone from my pocket, knowing I could get through to the shed, which uses our business phone number, and Steve would come pick us up in the company van.

There are several advantages to owning a business such as Darnell Daylily Farm. Having an employee like Steve Webb is one of them. Of course Steve was much more than an employee. He was also a friend and a neighbor. He’d grown up just down the road from us, so I’d known him all of his life. I knew I could count on him in a time of crisis.

Sure enough, as soon as I got in touch with Steve and told him what had happened, he drove the van down to the office, helped Harold and me into the back and hauled us to St. Paul’s Hospital in Knoxville. And he didn’t waste time trying to talk me into letting him call an ambulance, because he understands that small business people can’t afford the best health insurance in the world.

It was a good thing Steve had his cell phone with him because it hadn’t occurred to me to call Candie before we left home and we were halfway to Knoxville before I even thought of her. Candie’s forever complaining that her Dad and I don’t touch base with her as often as we should.

Mom, she’ll say. I really wish you’d let me know when you’re going to be out in the fields all day. Especially since you won’t get a cell phone. I just don’t understand why you— Oh, never mind. Heavy sigh. But do call me before you go to the fields and let me know where you are so I won’t worry.

Of course the thing about Candie is that she would have worried much more if she’d known we were out working in the fields than if she didn’t know. And if either her father or I ever actually needed to get in touch with her, chances are she’d be with a patient and have her answering machine on anyway.

But we positively had to let her know about our accident this morning, assuming we could reach her. After all, her office was just down the road from the hospital. She’d be fit to be tied if we didn’t get in touch with her.

Steve, I called from the backseat of the van.

Yeah?

Can you dial Candie’s office and tell her what happened? Or leave a message on her answering machine if she doesn’t pick up?

Sure thing. What’s her number?

I called the digits out to him.

Thanks. How are you two making it back there?

I’m okay but I’m worried about Marti, Harold yelled back in a shaky voice. How far are we from the hospital?

I should have you there in about ten minutes, Steve replied. I heard seven little beeps and few seconds later, Steve started speaking again. From his tone of voice I could tell he was talking to an answering machine.

Hi, Candie. This is Steve. Your parents had a little accident this morning. Harold hurt his wrist and your mom hurt her ankle. I’m taking them to the emergency room at St. Paul’s. We should be there by ten thirty. Call my cell when you get a chance and I’ll fill you in. Or we’ll see you at the hospital. Bye.

Harold’s face was pretty pasty by this time. He’d had a heart attack two years earlier and although he wanted to believe that nothing had changed, he was somewhat weaker these days. He sat cradling his right arm in his left hand, staring straight ahead. I reached over and laid my hand on his shoulder. These days, he needed to know I was there for him. My gesture appeared to calm him a bit. He looked toward me and gave me a wobbly smile.

Just hold on, I said, wishing I could do more than offer encouragement.

You too, he replied. Tears filled his eyes and I understood that part of his emotional vulnerability could be attributed to the fact that he was worrying about me. I forced a smile. The last thing he needed was to know how terribly concerned I was about him.

ST. PAUL’S EMERGENCY room was crammed, as usual. Steve had left us in the van long enough to go inside and get a wheelchair for me but since our injuries weren’t life-threatening, we’d been told to have a seat in the waiting room until a doctor could see us. It felt as though we’d been sitting there for hours but I suspect less than ten minutes had passed when Candie came dashing in.

She paused as soon as she came through the front door and looked around for us. Steve raised his arm to attract her attention, then stood and went to meet her. They talked for a couple of minutes. Obviously Steve was filling her in on what had happened. As soon as he finished, Candie marched over to the admissions desk, pulled some sort of card out of her billfold and started talking.

I’ll have to admit that Harold and I garnered a lot more attention after Candie got there. Candie, I should explain, is a psychologist who has a small—some might say part-time—practice and her husband, Dr. Matthew Martin, is a surgeon at St. Paul’s. Matthew has never seemed to have much time for Harold and me. Candie claims he’s extremely busy and I don’t doubt that he is, so I hadn’t even considered trying to contact him that morning.

Or maybe I was just too stubborn. I don’t want to feel indebted to people I don’t like very much.

When Candie finished at the admissions desk, she marched over to the corner of the waiting area where her father and I sat.

Mom! Candie wore her usual navy blue business suit and her dark hair was styled in its usual no-nonsense cut. I can’t believe you haven’t had Matthew paged. If he isn’t in surgery, he would be here right this instant checking out your injuries. If he knew you were here. A heavy sigh. I’m trying to locate him now. Just sit still. She turned and hurried back to the admissions desk.

Considering I had a broken ankle, there wasn’t much I could do but sit still, although I knew Candie hadn’t been speaking literally.

And to be honest, by that time I was more than ready to accept any special privileges my daughter and her physician husband could garner for us. Harold sat staring into space and I was growing increasingly worried about him. I hoped Candie would remember to mention her father’s heart condition to the lady behind the desk. I’d remind her to do so if she hadn’t already.

As it turned out, Matthew had just finished his morning surgeries and was free when Candie had him paged. I don’t know what strings he pulled but Harold and I were taken back almost immediately and Matthew was waiting in the examining room. He quickly told us not to worry because if either of us needed surgery, he would be available for us.

To give Matthew credit, he was wonderful that day. Perhaps being in his own element put him at ease. Or maybe he just relates better to people who are in need of medical services. But for whatever reason, he stayed with us throughout the entire procedure so that by the time both Harold and I were in casts and ready to be released, I had revised my opinion of Matthew. I was even inclined to call him Matt on one occasion but a quick frown from Candie had me quickly tacking a Thew onto the end of my previously abbreviated word.

And poor Steve. Not being family, he’d been exiled to the waiting room all that time. Not that he complained. Steve was too decent for that but the slightly glazed expression in his eyes told its own story. He’d been bored out of his mind.

Of course both Harold and I were rolled to the exit in wheelchairs. By this time Matthew had disappeared into the recesses that are reserved for folks who work in hospitals. Candie walked alongside our wheelchairs, carrying my crutches.

Candie and Steve exchanged cool nods. They’d known each other for most of their lives but had never really clicked. Sometimes I thought Candie was jealous of Steve because I treated him like a member of the family. But in any case, she couldn’t take us home that afternoon because her sports car was too small to accommodate me and her father and my crutches, so she bit her lip while helping Steve get us situated in the van.

Once Harold and I were in our seats, Candie stood outside on the pavement and gazed at me through the open window. She sighed, then forced a smile. I’ll be up later this afternoon after I see my last patient, Mom. I’ll stop at the grocery store and pick up lots of convenience foods for you and I’ll bring some Chinese carryout for supper. Also, of course, you’ll need help rearranging the house to make it more convenient for you and Dad for the next few weeks until you’re out of your casts.

Thank you, sweetheart, I said. I appreciate this.

And I did appreciate it. Ordinarily Candie had a way of making me feel inadequate, as though my life would be so much simpler if I’d only put a little forethought into it, but she had been invaluable today and I actually was short of groceries. Perhaps she was right and I really should plan ahead a little better than I usually did. 

In the meantime, I was feeling no pain, thanks to the rather strong pain medications Matthew had finagled for us in the hospital. Harold looked better too. His pain medication, although different from my hydrocodone, was obviously easing his discomfort. His medicines had to be chosen carefully because of his heart condition and thankfully Matthew had been on hand to check on that aspect of Harold’s treatment.

Perhaps it was the effects of the hydrocodone but I was feeling quite fond of Candie at that moment. She hitched the strap of her purse higher onto her shoulder. Are you going to call Glenna? she asked. My good mood evaporated.

I glanced at my watch. It’s eleven thirty in California. She’s probably getting ready to go out to lunch.

Good grief, Mom, I’d think she could take a second out of her incredibly busy day to answer a phone call from her injured parents.

You’re probably right, dear. I mean, obviously you’re right. Glenna would want to know what happened to us. Maybe I’ll call her when I get home and get settled in. There’s nothing she can do for us anyway.

Do you want me to call her? Candie pulled her cell phone out of the side pocket of her purse.

No, dear. You’re probably hungry and I believe you said that you have a patient scheduled for this afternoon. Grab some lunch and get back to your office. I really appreciate that you’re coming up later today.

She appeared somewhat appeased. Okay then. I’ll see you around six. She blew both of us a kiss. ’Bye, Dad. Goodbye Mom. Love you both.

Harold blew a kiss back at her. We love you too, sugarcakes.

Steve turned the key and started the van. He was staring straight ahead but his ears had turned red and I knew he was growing frustrated with us. Not that I blamed him. He was probably hungry too and he’d wasted an entire beautiful day with perfect weather when he could have been out in the fields digging daylilies for shipment to Florida and other parts of the country where spring arrived earlier than it did in Tennessee.

Home, James, I said and he threw me a grin over his shoulder. Steve is positively the nicest young man I know and if I’d had a son, I would have wished for him to be just like Steve.

IT WAS THREE O’CLOCK before we were home and in the house. Steve had helped immensely but I knew he needed to get back to the shed to check the answering machine and the faxes to see how many daylily orders he had to fill. He would probably stay as late as necessary to take care of business. I would have told him to go on home at quitting time but I knew I’d be wasting my breath.

Around six, I heard Candie letting herself in the back door and I yelled at her to join her father and me in the living room. Surprisingly, Matthew was with her. I don’t think he’d been in our house except at Christmastime since before he and Candie were married eight years earlier.

He trailed Candie into the living room and stood by while she unloaded her care packages, which included three new books for me, one book for her father, two cell phones with prepaid minutes on them and a set of walkie talkies so Harold and I could keep up with each other. Our younger daughter is nothing if not thorough.

We thanked her profusely, of course, which appeared to embarrass her and she quickly excused herself to go back to the kitchen. I’ll put the groceries away and then get our supper out, she said. Matthew is going to see how you folks are feeling.

I appreciated the effort Matthew made with Harold, whose pain medication was beginning to wear off. Matthew checked Harold’s cast, took his temperature and blood pressure and listened to his heart. When he appeared satisfied with Harold’s vitals, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a