by Jayna Morrow
Garrett smiled and seemed satisfied with her answer. “There’s something I want to do first.”
He jogged over to the passenger side of his truck and dug around in the glove compartment. A moment later he returned to her side, a piece of silver metal in his hand. With a snap, he opened it to reveal a blade. The man didn’t carry his pocketknife in his pocket, but maybe he wasn’t allowed to on campus. She cocked her head to one side quizzically.
“I want us to carve our initials in the tree.” He gripped his bottom lip between his teeth, like a little boy who wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. “Do you want to?”
Micara smiled, touched beyond words. Carving initials was an old-fashioned gesture…but it was a romantic one. She nodded and linked her fingers through his.
“I’d like that.”
~*~
Garrett wondered if he was losing his mind. He’d awakened this morning—the day of Roger Bertram’s funeral—with a strange thought in his head. He didn’t know whether it was a useful thought or a faulty one. Death doesn’t have to be the end; it can also be the beginning of a new way of life.
This was the start of something new and positive for Matthew and his family. His family would never have to go back to the way life was before. But the same rang true for each and every person in this town. Right? Why hadn’t he ever considered this? What if the end of their old way of life wasn’t the end, but merely the start of something new?
Many of the townsfolk wouldn’t see change and progress in that way. His brother, for starters. Still, it gave Garrett something to ponder.
By that afternoon, he’d admitted to himself that he had never wanted to sell his property at all—Gabe’s check remained uncashed in his wallet. He was just too stubborn to let go of his dream and his own plans for his life. But all that had changed now. He’d met Micara and restored his broken relationship with his Savior.
Death more or less painted that same picture. Nobody wanted death, but it was inevitable. People feared death the same as they feared change. But change was inevitable, too. Instead of letting it put us in the ground, we needed to embrace it—recognize change as nothing more than a temporary re-routing in the course of our lives and go with the flow.
Garrett had changed his mind about selling his land, had in fact changed his position on how he felt about almost everything. He possessed a new pair of eyes to view the world, and he wanted to make yet one more change in his life. He wanted to marry Micara. He longed for the privilege of holding her in his arms…having a family with her. And he wanted to raise that family in Sweet Home. All of that seemed possible now. His mindset was a whole lot different from what it had been a few months ago. Micara would be content in a little house in the country. She adored the sweet, simple life that Garrett himself had only recently realized was a cherishable commodity. One question remained. Did Micara love him as much as he loved her?
He made his way through the crowd to where Matthew stood near his father’s coffin. The funeral service had been modest and simple, with a message of hope for the family. He shook hands with the young man and then pulled him forward into a firm hug. What could he say that hadn’t already been said in some variation by every person in attendance? I’m sorry for your loss? Everything will be OK? Let me know if you need anything? None of those were adequate.
With watery eyes and without saying a word, he stepped back and nodded. The right words would come in due time. But with the end of football season just around the corner, he didn’t have long to come up with something.
~*~
Micara walked out of the cafe as Garrett marched up and threw his arms around her in front of everyone. They’d just had lunch after the Bertram funeral service and made plans to spend a quiet evening with her mother and MeMaw, watching a special on television. The public display of affection surprised her and, for a moment, left her a little self-conscious. They were, after all, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with people all around them. But then he leaned back and captured her gaze. Something in his eyes told her that he saw far more than her physical appearance, and that made her glad.
He held her for a moment longer. “Maybe it’s the funeral, but I just need to hold you right now.”
“Anytime you get that feeling”—she slid her arms up and around his neck, clasping her fingers behind his head—“You should go with it.”
He grinned.
She loved that boyish smile and wanted to see it as much as possible. She also loved his beautiful eyes when they focused on her. And his skin, sun-kissed from being outdoors so much during football season—especially when that tanned skin touched hers in a sweet embrace.
Garrett pulled her a little closer. “I can’t help but love you.”
Her smile grew into a grin so full it hurt her jaw. She knew it. She knew he loved her. “You love me?”
“Only with all my heart.”
She squinted against the sunlight blazing in her eyes, but that blinding glare was nothing compared to the burst of emotion in her heart. Her love for Garrett made the sun’s heat seem puny. “That makes two of us.” She took his hand and led him across the street to a park bench a little farther from listening ears. They both took a seat, and Micara scooted close to Garrett. “Now tell me what made you decide to blurt out that you love me in front of the Sweet Homemade Café.”
His blue eyes fixed on her face, honest and intent. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long. I realized at the funeral that life’s too short to drag your feet.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I made the mistake of not being honest with you in the beginning, and I don’t want to do that anymore. From now on, I’ll say what’s on my heart. I want to live my life actively, not passively.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest. “That’s wonderful, Garrett.”
“You just watch and see. No more dwelling over the past, no more wishful thinking, only positive thoughts.” He tightened his grip on hers. “I’ll learn to be satisfied with what I have and take one day at a time.”
“Garrett.” She hoped he could see how content he’d made her. “I believe in you.” She moved even closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “You mentioned that you’ve been doing some writing at night. Tell me about your story.”
“Let’s see. I already told you that it’s about a boy who loves to read and uses information from books to solve mysteries. I’ve got enough material to make it a series, each one featuring a different mystery.”
Micara nodded her head. “You could be onto something with the series thing. Kids love series novels.”
“I agree. This first one is called The Mystery of Mason’s Escape. It involves a swimming pool, a yappy little dog, and a haunted clothesline if you can imagine that. But I was a child when I jotted down the notes for this, remember?”
“I remember. You were a kid, so those ideas should work well for kids.”
“Ya think?” He grinned. “It comes together in a rather unique and surprising way. When I was a kid, we had an above-ground swimming pool. It wasn’t big enough for all five of us, so I would pick a corner to myself, let out enough air so I would sink to the bottom, and I’d have private underwater adventures for as long as I could hold my breath. I kept wishing for a secret opening at the bottom, like a spelunker’s cave that led to another world. And that’s where my story takes place. What I longed for happens to Mason. He dives down to the bottom of the pool and finds an underwater cave—and he can breathe when he’s in it. It’s amazing. Makes me wish I was a little boy again.”
“Living in Sweet Home?”
Garrett was silent for a moment. He had so many wonderful childhood memories with his brothers. Then he nodded. “Yeah, growing up here in Sweet Home was pretty amazing. I had a wonderful childhood. Thank you for helping me remember that.”
15
Sweet Home Thank You Fest & Chili Cook-Off
November
Garrett had told her that he loved her la
st month. They’d spent almost every day together since then and were getting into a routine. Her family loved him almost as much as she did. As for his family, well, the Hearths had issues to deal with in their own lives. But she and Garrett prayed for them and tried to reach them in any way they could. Gabriel was one tough hombre, and the others lived so far off. Still, Micara had faith the Hearth family would be restored. She didn’t want to meddle too much and risk making things worse, as she had with the development situation.
Life drifted along for the residents of Sweet Home. More and more heavy construction plodded underway. Nobody knew what would happen, but they hoped for the best. The restaurants and RV park benefitted from the presence of construction crews. They brought revenue to the sleepy town.
Even the Thank You Fest was bigger and better than usual. More people packed the streets downtown. More vendors lined the route, more food, more live music. The changes in town brought both good and bad.
The biggest changes Micara had seen came from within. She’d changed from a person of remarkable faith who’d wanted a certain outcome, her way, to a person of remarkable faith who was more willing to trust in God’s plan.
Garrett had changed, too. He now trusted that everyone had a purpose, even when that purpose wasn’t what they expected. He was working hard to write his childhood stories into a young adult series. Writing was his true calling, and he realized that now, as he’d told Micara.
“Oh, look, it’s Hank and Joy.” Micara pointed at the couple walking hand-in-hand toward them. When they met, Micara hugged her friend.
The sparkle had returned to Joy’s eyes since she and Hank reunited. Hank had agreed to go public, and they’d been blissful ever since.
Micara loved seeing them both so chipper. The expressions on their faces now match their jubilant sense of style, Joy with her chunky jewelry and wild patterns and Hank with his flashy ties. “Have y’all had lunch?” she asked.
“We were just about to get something.” Joy glanced at Hank, who nodded.
“That booth has the best chili this year, in my opinion.” Micara pointed. “And it’s for charity. All profits benefit the Angel Tree at the bank. Y’all wanna get a bowl and join us for lunch?”
Hank and Joy again nodded at each other for approval. “Sounds delicious. Let’s do it.”
The four of them moseyed to the booth and purchased bowls of chili and cups of sweet tea, which came with a raffle ticket for one of MeMaw’s homemade quilts—a paneled one that illustrated the history of Sweet Home. They took their food to a grassy picnic area shaded by large oak trees. A cool but pleasant breeze moved the air a bit.
“Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm, this is good eatin’!” Hank tucked his napkin into the front of his shirt. “That ole’ Rip Terrell sure can cook a pot of chili. It’s no competition.”
The other three, mouths full, nodded in agreement.
Minutes later, Hank spoke again. “So Micara, tell us what’s going on with you. What’s new?”
She stirred her chili. “We’ve hit a rough patch, but we’re pushing through.”
“Oh, no. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Concern laced Joy’s soft voice.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the people next to my grandmother sold their land. Construction has started already, and pretty soon, there will be a strip mall right next door. There’s already a steady stream of noise and traffic and dust. These people work so fast. It seems like the construction doubles every month. We’re managing the best we can.”
Garrett patted her hand. “In the meantime, we’re working on a Plan B. Micara told me once that having a Plan B is a good idea.” He winked at her, and her heart swelled. Plans for moving his parents’ tree to his property were underway, but widening the road had been delayed, so they had plenty of time now.
“Yes, it’s always beneficial to have a Plan B.” Hank nodded and wiped a dribble of chili off his chin. “Shows you’re flexible and open to other ideas. It also increases your success rate two-fold. And how about you, Garrett?” He and Joy turned their attention to Garrett.
“I have good news and bad news.”
“That’s usually how it works. Let’s hear it.”
“The good news is that I finished plotting out two novels in my young adult series. The bad news is that I’ve hit a snag with the actual writing. Just because the books are for kids, doesn’t make them any easier to write. Man, it’s frustrating.”
Joy sent him a sympathetic look. “Of course it is, but you hang in there. You’ll find your groove, and then those books will write themselves.”
“Writing is my purpose, and I’m not giving up.” He held up his glass of iced tea for a toast. “To success and happiness.”
“Success and happiness.” They touched their paper cups.
“Speaking of success.” Hank sloshed his drink, and a few drops spilled onto the picnic table when he set it down. “How about that football team of yours? It’s been a fantastic season. I’ve meant to call you into my office and congratulate you personally, but there’s been a lot happening at the school. I do appreciate everything you do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barnes. That means a lot to hear that from you.”
“Are you ready to finish up another season?”
“I’m ecstatic to be in the playoffs. It’s been a long, but fruitful season. But I’m not ready for it to end. I’d like to see the team win at State.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” Joy started gathering their empty bowls, a huge smile on her face.
Garrett nodded. “In a couple of weeks, we’ll see. And the team looks exceptional. Next year will be weird without Matthew, but I believe in the new crop of talented boys coming up.”
“That’s wonderful. Glad to hear it. How’s Matthew handling everything since his father died?”
“Remarkably well. He’s all set for college next fall. Micara and I are already planning to get season tickets. So we’ll be busy every Saturday next year.”
Micara let out a deep breath and nodded her head. Attending sporting events was something she’d never done before meeting Garrett. She might never enjoy watching the game as much as she enjoyed visiting with friends and watching the cheerleaders and the half-time show, but it was a start. Each game for the rest of this season could be the last, so Garrett had made sure she would be in attendance every time.
“No plans, no working late. It’s the playoffs, and I want you there,” he’d told her.
Of course, she would be there. She wouldn’t miss a game for the world.
~*~
The stadium busted at the seams with fans of all ages.
“Micara, over here.” Joy and Hank occupied seats on the fifty-yard line and about halfway up. They had quite a setup with seat cushions, blankets, and a cooler. Everything was red and white. Like a little house in the stands. “We saved you a seat.”
She waved back and smiled and then turned to her family, who had insisted on coming tonight, even though the weather had turned cold.
“MeMaw, do you want to sit with Joy and Hank?” MeMaw didn’t like football or crowds or late nights. She made an exception for her booth, but to attend for the fun of it… Micara didn’t know why her grandmother had even wanted to forego a night of sales to watch this game. Maybe she wanted to show support for Garrett, too.
Micara’s mom liked football—could do without crowds, but was always ready for a night out with friends. “If you’re going to the game, then I am, too.” Her earlier words didn’t make sense because Micara attended every game, and her mother had never insisted on tagging along. But here they were, the three of them. And Hank and Joy just happened to save three seats. Perfect.
“Yes, let’s sit with them,” MeMaw answered after a quick survey of the bench seats. She was particular about where she sat, not too high, not too low, not too far left or right, but not dead center either. She didn’t like to sit under an air vent or near anyone who smoked. Picky, picky, picky.
Dressed in red sweatshirts and
jeans, the three ladies edged sideways through the row of Eagles fans. Making way for them was a challenge for people with babies, food, and long legs. Some of the men had to stand. All the kids had to do was draw up onto the seat.
After a round of excuse me’s, they were situated on the cold, metal bleachers. The field was empty. Garrett was nowhere in sight, but it was early. The cheerleaders situated their equipment on the sidelines, and the band members made their way to a special section in the stands.
Micara had never cheered or been the athletic type. Music was her thing back then, and she had played in the band. On Friday nights, she’d taken her seat in the stands and played her heart out. As if on cue with her thoughts, the band started warming up. The toot of horns and bang of drums filled the night air. The flute section practiced two eight-counts of the school fight song.
The crowd took that as their cue to scurry to their seats.
Micara checked her watch—still ten minutes before seven. Not long now.
When the band played the first notes of the National Anthem, it startled her. Was her watch slow? After observing a moment of silence, the crowd sat. Then the cheerleaders walked onto the field carrying a large banner. Once they reached a certain point, Micara could no longer see over the people standing in front of her. She took her seat, knowing the football team would soon run through the large paper banner, and the game would begin. She’d be able to see once they settled down.
“Looks like the cheerleaders are ready to welcome the Eagles onto the field.” The announcer’s voice boomed over the loud speakers. “Let’s get up and show them our support.”
The few fans not already on their feet stood and started clapping along with the rest. Some made claws with their fingers and yelled, “Eagles! Eagles! Eagles!” Friday night in all its glory.
Micara’s senses were in overdrive.
Then as suddenly as it began, a hush rushed over the crowd. The fans quieted only when there was an injured player on the field, but the team hadn’t come out yet. Heads turned, searching the crowd for something or someone.
