Healing Wounds

By Mary Gant Bell

How many times have you thought about healing the wounds from your past? Thomas considered it for more than half his life. Most people know him as a butler or chef to Catherine and Robert Webber. But is that all he did with his life? Healing Wounds peeks behind the scenes, revealing the life few people were privileged to witness. Thomas was a quiet man, never one to seek the spotlight. Yet he had a gift, an ability he shared with anyone who asked. His unique talent blessed people in far-reaching ways.
His gift, however, came at a price. Thomas paid this price from a young age, and it followed him into adulthood. The traumas embedded in his heart could rob him of his future. Will his friends be able to help him? Can the woman who loves him release the demons from his youth?
Healing Wounds tells the story before the story. It begins before Thomas meets Catherine and follows the rocky road of their friendship through the years.
Healing Wounds is book 6 in the Under the Garden Tree series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359960576

Book preview

Chapter 1

Taking a deep breath, I relaxed into the freedom I had in this moment. Most people become impatient waiting for the stoplight to change. I always found it humorous that people hope the green will shine forever and pray the red lasts no more than a blink. Never happy one way or the other.

Not me.

My soul relishes the pause provided by that solid red orb. Feeling the purr of my 2019 Lexus LC convertible’s engine through the smooth leather seats. Smelling the cedarwood-scented air freshener perched on the vent, like an athlete on the edge of the diving board. Watching the cross-traffic streak past, imagining where they are in such a hurry to be. Or where they are anxious to escape.

I would know about escaping. I’ve done it plenty of times myself. Sometimes I ran to avoid arrest, other times to dodge an embrace. Occasionally, I couldn’t tell the difference between the two.

I suppose we all have them in our lives. I call them Velcro people. The ones who cling no matter how hard you try to shake free. The bloodsuckers who drain your last ounce of energy. The do-gooders who refuse to give up their own last glimmer of hope that there really is good inside of everyone.

Even me.

Chapter 2

My car provided an escape, a refuge, from those who wanted to rehabilitate my errant ways. I still remember the first car I acquired. It was 1975. I had just turned fifteen and didn’t have a license to drive. I watched that car for weeks, abandoned in front of a vacant residence. It didn’t appear to belong to anyone, so I gave it a good home. Better said, it provided a home for me.

The inside reeked and not just because it had not had a healthy breeze blow through its windows in weeks. This smell was more profound, penetrating through every fiber of what was left of the carpet. When sleep eluded me, I would try to pinpoint the source of

the odor. In the end, my best guess was regurgitated vodka mixed with the cheapest perfume made by man. This is probably why I insist on diffusing a manly scent in my car today.

I was able to endure the smell during those first weeks because the back seat, which became my bedroom, was intact and actually quite comfortable. Since the fenders and hood were so beat up, no one questioned the blankets spread across the back seat. Besides, it’s not like I was hosting dinner parties or inviting friends for a drink.

Since I was young and homeless when I stole my first set of wheels, the car’s exterior didn’t interest me. It never broke down at inconvenient places. I often thought about buying spray paint to hide the blemishes. In the end, spending cash on food and gas trumped vanity items like spray paint every time.

I lived pretty well for a street kid back then. I worked as a line cook at a local café. It kept me far enough away from the customers but still provided a view of the dining area. Whenever cops came to eat, I took out the trash or had to use the can. My boss never suspected a thing. When the fuzz got too close, I could depend on my car to provide an escape while blending seamlessly into the neighborhood.

I didn’t really have any friends in those years. I was friendly enough with my co-workers to not be considered mysterious. I learned early in life that people love to solve a mystery, even when it is none of their business. I went to work, did my job, and then drove until I decided where to sleep for the night. I also learned that the laundromat and the grocery stores never kicked people out for loitering. I could walk the produce aisles until my feet bled, and no one would ask why I was there.

My favorite place to hide was the public library. I left school after the eighth grade. Staying alive became more important than framing a high school diploma. I had wanted to stay in school and join every possible after-school activity they offered. Anything to avoid going home. But the teachers and school counselors asked too many questions about my bruises and weight loss. No one at the library ever noticed my busted lip or when I limped because my parents’ customers kicked my kneecaps while they were high. The library staff ignored me while I read the entire non-fiction section, filling myself with knowledge and becoming well-read for a boy with no formal education. I was invisible at the library. The world simply didn’t pay attention to people like me.

Except Catherine. She paid attention. Probably too much attention. But what was I to do? It was beyond the ability of my youthful hormones to discourage such an earnest and determined young woman. And even though I had a pact with myself to never become attached to another living being, Catherine refused to honor that pledge.

Yes, Catherine definitely paid attention.

Chapter 3

The first time I met Catherine was comical, amusing in the way that years of separation from the event allowed. I had just pressed the start button on the dishwasher when Gus, my boss, told me to take out the trash. I didn’t have to glance toward the dining room to catch his drift. The buzzer on the front door, coupled with Gus’ command, alerted me to the presence of hungry cops settling into their usual corner booth.

Basically, I was hiding from the cops when I met Catherine.

I grabbed the trash can and pushed through the back door so quickly that I smacked right into her. Sticky food particles flew everywhere, including across her pretty smile. I braced for the explosion. Any girl in her right mind would either scream or slap my face.

Not Catherine.

To my surprise, Catherine laughed. The sound of her giggling was like wind chimes, the ones the rich people enjoy while sipping iced tea in their front porch swings. Never in a million years would I have expected that reaction from a girl of Catherine’s stature. Little did I know how many times Catherine’s behavior would surprise me in the years to come.

Once Catherine’s giggles subsided, she apologized. If her laughter hadn’t thrown me into shock, I would have fainted hearing her first words.

I’m so sorry! Catherine picked potato peelings from my shirt as though the act was a common as blinking. I wasn’t watching where I was going and didn’t see you open the door.

Before I realized what I was doing, I grabbed her hand and stilled it against my chest. It was pure instinct to contain her movement. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched me without malice. It was also a primal need to connect with another human being, but I didn’t want to analyze that.

Feeling my heartbeat stopped her laughter. It was either an awkward moment or a romantic encounter. If I had had more experience with women, or even people, I might have been able to understand the sparks igniting between us.

When I finally found my voice, the best I could offer was, No problem.

Here, let me help you clean this mess. I’m so sorry. Catherine reclaimed her hand as she glanced over her shoulder.

Are you looking for someone?

Hmm? Catherine evaded the question, focusing instead on removing the cabbage from her cheek.

I wondered if she was wearing make-up or if her glow was all natural. The cool autumn air tickled her shiny hair, making it dance in the mid-day sun.

Are you looking for someone? I asked again. I could tell by the way she peeked behind her that she had expected to be pursued.

No, not really. Catherine peered again in the direction she had come.

Are you running from someone?

Catherine gave her silk blouse one last brushing. Aren’t you a curious one!

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Frankly, I was surprised that she hadn’t run for her life after she realized who I was. Better said, who I was not. I wasn’t a preppy college boy. Nor was I dressed in a business suit and necktie. I didn’t even own formal attire. My faded jeans, dingy white t-shirt and cheap sneakers should have alerted her that I wasn’t like the other people in her world. I was nobody.

I cleared my throat and responded, It’s just that you looked worried that someone was going to find you. I knew that look. I had seen it in the mirror one too many times. I’ll look for him if you want.

What makes you think it was a male? Catherine frowned as she studied my eyes.

A pretty girl like you…

Who are you hiding from, a handsome boy like you? Catherine retorted.

I’m taking out the trash, not running from anyone. It was time to make my escape.

Most people don’t take out the trash until the can is full. Seems to me there’s someone on the other side of that door you don’t want to find you. The trash is your excuse to disappear. Catherine stuck her dainty little chin in the air as if to challenge me. She didn’t realize how adorable she looked in that pose.

I’m sorry I ran into you. It was a trial to tear myself away from her beautiful eyes. I gotta get back to work.

What’s your name?

Why do you want to know? We’ll never see each other again. We don’t run in the same circles. I thought this was obvious but wanted to prolong our conversation.

Why would we not see each other again? We have so much in common. Catherine’s grin was one part innocence and two parts determination.

I snorted before I was able to contain it. We have so much in common? Just what do you have in common with someone like me?

Catherine’s grin turned into pure triumph. We both hide from people, and we both eat. And if this encounter doesn’t clarify it for you, we were destined to be friends.

Destined?

Yes, destined. Catherine’s chin lifted slightly, causing me to chuckle. Why are you laughing? Don’t you want to be my friend?

I gotta get back to work. That was all that came to my mind.

Since your feet aren’t moving, I’m not convinced you believe that, Catherine noted. Do you want me to walk around front and see if the cops are still inside? I’d do that for you. I’d do that for a friend.

While I walk around the building to see if your boyfriend is still hunting for you?

Laughter came easily to Catherine. See, you consider me a friend already.

What makes you say that?

Are you the sort of person who does favors for strangers? Catherine raised her eyebrows and waited for my answer.

Look, I gotta …

Get back to work, Catherine sighed. I heard you the first time. See you later, my nameless friend. With that, she walked away.

So we had some things in common. We were both running from people, and we knew how to hide. In my mind, that’s where our similarities ended. She lived in a college dorm room, giggling through the night with her sorority sisters, and I was a high school dropout living in a car.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I would soon need to steal my second car.  I bet my new friend and I would never have that in common.

Chapter 4

A couple weeks later, after my encounter with Catherine had dissolved into a distant memory, my car died. It had been sputtering and coughing for awhile, but it was home. It was also old and decaying rapidly. I couldn’t afford to sink any more cash into repairs. It was cheaper to just steal another car. If I had been smart, I would have been watching for my next ride long before my hand was forced.

But I wasn’t smart. After work, I retrieved my duffle bag, the bag that contained everything I owned, and headed to the laundromat. I could spend the night there, washing clothes and evaluating my finances. Ever since I turned eighteen, I had been able to avoid arrest. My adult record was squeaky clean. I could not, however, say the same for my juvenile record. The last thing my juvie probation officer had said was that if I so much as witnessed a crime, he would put me in jail. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

I wanted to stay on the right side of the law. Still, I knew that judges tend to consider your juvenile rap sheet for crimes committed later in life. My eighteenth birthday didn’t reset the score in the sense most people believe it does. Most people assume that once you are a criminal, you will always be a criminal. Judges were no exception.

Committing crimes isn’t like getting a tattoo. It’s not permanent or irreversible. People can change. If I stole another car, would that be like getting a tattoo? Would it make me a loser for the rest of my life? How does the saying go – once is an incident, twice a coincidence, and three times a habit. If I stopped stealing as an adult, did that mean I was no longer a criminal?

Which was more important – not being a criminal or having a safe place to sleep at night? Survival versus someone else’s opinion of me?

I reviewed the balance of my bank account. The numbers were burned inside my head. My savings grew with each paycheck, but I had been holding that money for a deposit on an apartment. I didn’t want to spend it on another car. If I could find an affordable place close to the café, I wouldn’t need a car to get to work.

But did I want to work in that diner for the rest of my life? No one else would hire me. I was a criminal. Gus was an exception. I often wondered if Gus had a rap sheet of his own. He never questioned me about my past and understood my aversion to the police even though I had never mentioned it. It would be a miracle to find another employer like Gus.

As I paced around the washing machines, Catherine came to my mind. I had no hope of ever becoming friends with her. I doubted I would ever see her again. Even so, I fantasized about falling in love and marry someday. I was realistic. I knew it wouldn’t be someone like Catherine. But I did daydream about finding a stable woman and settle down at some point. Would this imaginary wife be more impressed with a low-budget apartment or a stolen car?

Since the answer to that question was obvious, I decided to skip the car and search for an apartment. That thought made my stomach turn. I had never had a permanent place to call home. I’d been on my own since I was about twelve. I hadn’t avoided a life of crime, but I had dodged becoming a drug addict like my mother and whatever man she called her husband. Sometimes I wondered if they were still alive or what became of my siblings. The answers to those questions came with far too much risk, however, so I pushed those thoughts aside.

Focus on the future. I still had the impression that I had some degree of control over my life. Little did I know just how fragile that illusion was.

Chapter 5

It took me all of two minutes to unpack my duffle bag in my new apartment. It wasn’t an apartment exactly. It was more like a room with a tiny kitchen. The stove only had two burners. Considering the fact that I had no pots or pans, it didn’t seem to matter.

It took me two more minutes to realize I would need some basic supplies. Maybe cooking would be cheaper than eating out every day. I could invest in a pot, plate, and one cup with the money I saved on gas. With any luck, there would be enough left-over cash for a cot and pillow. I wanted to be stingy with my funds though. I still wanted another car. The survival skill of being mobile was too deeply rooted in my being to exist without transportation.

When I shopped for supplies, I needed to remember my number one rule: Don’t own anything I would regret leaving behind if I had to skip town without notice.

That is how I came to be in the dime store that fateful day. I was debating between two different pots, regretting that I hadn’t paid closer attention to how big the inside of the oven was, when someone bumped into my back. I turned around to find Catherine’s smiling face.

Hey, Stranger! Catherine’s blue blouse electrified the sparkle in her eyes. Funny running into you again.

Cute. I couldn’t help but smile. It was obvious that she had run into me on purpose. Plus, she exuded this happiness that was irresistible. She was the single bright spot in my otherwise monochromatic life.

Catherine inspected the contents of my basket and asked, What’s all this?

A few things for my new apartment.

Make sure you buy extra place settings and glasses. Catherine shifted her own basket to her other arm. You’ll need to be prepared when friends come to visit, Thomas.

Thomas? Why did you call me that?

Since you refuse to tell me your name, I have to call you something. Catherine selected a set of dish towels and added them to my basket. You’ll need something to clean these. Don’t forget the soap.

Then she was gone.

I was Thomas from that day forward.

That was the first of many changes Catherine would make to my world.

Chapter 6

Hey, kid. Gus shifted a toothpick to the other side of his mouth and pointed toward the dining area. Your date’s here.

I frowned and continued flipping burgers. Gus was not known for his sense of humor so I wasn’t sure what to make of his comment. I glanced toward the window from instinct, not curiosity. There she stood, waving and smiling. She acted as if we met for lunch every day.

Clock out, Gus grunted, taking the spatula from my hands. You can make up the hours some other day.

I hesitated. What makes you think she’s here to see me? Maybe she’s meeting someone else.

Go on. Figure it out as you go. Just like the rest of us poor schmucks did.

I took off my apron and considered my options. I could ignore her and keep working, but Gus had eliminated that option. I could bolt out the back door and try to make it to my apartment before she found me. Or I could have lunch with her and maybe even a little conversation. I figured one lunch would be enough for her to realize that she shouldn’t be associating with the likes of me. So, I walked to the dining room, wishing I had combed my hair. There was no law against eating at lunchtime.

Hi, Thomas! Catherine’s smile illuminated the room. Should we eat here or go somewhere else? I waitressed at a pizza joint back home, so I’ll eat anything but pizza. Are you the same way about eating what you cook all day?

You think we’re having lunch together?

Catherine’s chin went in the air. Of course. Isn’t that what friends do?

How did you know I would be here today? Are you stalking me?

If I were stalking you, you would not see me. Think of this as more like borrowing, like a canoe at the lake. I’ll return you after lunch.

With that, she linked her arm into mine and led me down the street. For someone who considered himself capable of handling any situation, I was overpowered by her innocence and charm.

Are you ever going to tell me your real name? Catherine asked, pointing to Barney’s Burger Shack.

My name is Thomas. I held the door as she glided past me. Sliding into the booth, I buried my face in the menu. The instinct to hide hadn’t left me completely.