by Amanda Tru
“Are you ready to tango?”
At this, Lena roared. “Only you would ask that as I’m making your favorite postre!”
“Dessert can wait. I must dance!”
They did not dance. Instead, she worked to create the feather-light cookies that would melt in their mouths. Her throat tightened as she set half a dozen aside for Wayne. They were his favorite, too. She nearly piled them back on the plate before Ramon noticed and teased her—again. She must show that Wayne was a friend, still—a good friend. And when you made enough polvorones for half the town, you saved some for your friend. Your boss, even.
However, the moment she’d taken the last cookies out of the oven, allowed them to cool completely, transferred them to wax paper, and dusted them with powdered sugar, Ramon was there, “Jealousy” playing on his phone in his shirt pocket. “I must improve.”
Had he not been ten years her junior, did she not know his heart still wept at the grave of his wife, Lena might have doubted Ramon’s true meaning. He was right, however. If he hoped to take his contestant to the end of the contest, he would have to improve. Something lacked in the steps he choreographed, in the way he held her, and as they moved to the living room, she knew what.
“Ramon, you must pretend that I am Marta—that you must win her back, but she makes you angry, too.”
“I was never angry with her.”
This was probably as close to the truth as it could be, but he needed to do it. “You lack the passion. You must want me to follow you. You must push me away—not just with your feet or your hands but with your eyes, the snap of your head, your heart. Then you must make me follow.”
“I can’t pretend you are Marta.”
She stood there, staring, waiting, thinking.
“Magdalena, you know…”
“I do know,” she said. “I pretend that you are Alejandro when I push away. Then I pretend you are W—one whom I love when I return to your arms. Do you see? Think of the man who hit her—think of his cellphone.”
Three rounds—four. The song played in an endless loop that drove her mad. The words, they spoke truth. Jealousy tortures.
“She’s just a little girl, Magda. Don’t let her win. He loves you.”
Lena stepped back and turned to go… do something. But he caught her wrist and twirled her to him. Anger flashed in his eyes. “Don’t be eh-stupid! You love him.”
“He—”
“I don’t care what you think he did. You love him.”
Hand out, she pushed herself away in a classic move. “Love does not make a happy life. We both know this—you from loss. Me from…” Lena choked.
“Wayne isn’t Alejandro,” Ramon insisted. “He’s kind.”
In a move more suited to her natural flamenco, Lena stamped her foot and clapped. “And he has found someone else. He’s not for me.” Before Ramon could object, she stormed from the room, insisting, “I make fish.”
In comfy plaid sleep pants and slipper socks—a concession to his mother, of course—Wayne jogged down the stairs and crept toward the kitchen. A light glowing told him he hadn’t been the only one to think of it. Great.
After the loud creak of the last stair, Wayne knew he couldn’t hide his intended approach, so he headed into the kitchen and hoped for the best. His mother stood at the sink, a plate of pecan pie in hand and a guilty smile on her face. “Hungry?”
He shrugged. “More munchy than hungry. Didn’t get the pumpkin like I wanted at Lyddie’s. I figured you’d have some.”
The way his mother cleaned every bit of sticky goo from the fork before stabbing it in for another bite warned him of impending trouble. “Wayne?”
How he ached to tell her to mind her own business. But you don’t do that to your mother, do you? Not when you love her. Not when you know she just wants to see you happy. With that reminder, he just gazed at her until she continued.
“Did you call and wish Lena a Happy Thanksgiving?”
Wayne froze in the middle of the kitchen and stared. Oh, brother. It was time to make her see how serious he was about moving on. “No. I called Jennie, though. We’re going shopping for new decor for the windows Tuesday night.”
“That sounds like something better suited to your shop manager than some customer.”
As Wayne reached for a plate, he tried to make her see—make her hear how important this new relationship had become. “That ‘customer’ is my girlfriend now, Mom.” He hadn’t said as much yet, but it was time. “It’s serious. I think maybe the Lord had things go so badly with Lena because He had something better for me. Jennie’s quiet, stable, not so emotional. She’s good for me.”
Mom’s jaw set hard and firm. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
I’m trying to convince you!
“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued. “I’m sure this Jennie is a very nice woman, but you don’t talk about her like you did Lena.”
“Or maybe…” Should he say it? Maybe not, but what else could he do? “Maybe you just hear what you want to hear. Lena was good for me, Ma. I know that.” He pulled pie from the shelf and unwrapped the aluminum foil from around the edges. As he did, he gave her his theory on the Lord using each other to prepare the way for a new life. Again. Only the third time. Not bad for twenty-four hours.
“You don’t talk about Jennie the way you did Lena. I don’t hear it in your voice. Something’s missing there. She’s a rebound, plain and simple. Talk to Lena. A relationship—”
Wayne smashed the aluminum foil back down on the pie and shoved the whole thing back toward the shelf. He replaced the plate and stepped back. “Mom, you’re going to have to get used to the fact that it’s over with Lena. I’m probably going to ask Jennie to marry me.”
“What? How—it’s too soon! Just weeks since you bought that ring for Lena.” She reached for his face. If he let her, she’d cradle it in her hands like he was five again and whatever she said, she’d expect him to just accept and follow—just like he’d done back then.
Wayne had had it. He backed away again and turned to go. “And now I care for Jennie. Goodnight, Mom.”
With each step up the stairs, Wayne’s anger grew. The door slammed shut. Well, it shut with as much force as he dared. Sure, he was a grown man, but in his mother’s house? He wasn’t a fool!
And now I’m up here with no pie and a mom who is stuck on a woman she’s never even met for a daughter-in-law. Great.
Years of waking at three in the morning didn’t cease just because he’d gone home. Add to that the time difference, and Wayne found himself unable to stay in bed a minute after four o’clock the following morning. A walk, a shower, and a few minutes in prayer whittled away an hour, but the day stretched out before him.
At least if Mom asks if I prayed, I can say that I did. And I’m still convinced Jennie’s the one. I just need to be bold. Not boring. Lena was right about that. I can be predictable and too cautious. I’ll be bold. I’ll take that ring and give it to a woman who will love it because she loves…
That wouldn’t work. He’d thought Lena loved him, and Jennie wasn’t anything like Lena. She could be bored with him for all he knew, but she would like the ring. That much he didn’t doubt. She might not love me yet, but maybe she will… someday. She said she thought people didn’t use their heads when they chose someone to marry. Well, she can use hers.
The words on the page of his Bible blurred and faded as he planned what he’d say—how he’d do it. I was right with Lena. It needs to be special. She needs to know that I will cherish her. A woman should feel cherished.
Decision made, Wayne only had to worry about just how to do it. A small, private moment in some romantic place? It worked for movies, but… Something about it felt… lacking. Perhaps at Marcello’s or while looking at Christmas lights. That sounds romantic enough…
Another idea blossomed. The ornament exchange at church. Everyone would be there to celebrate with them. Lena would have loved somethin
g like that. Maybe… Lena does have a better pulse on romance than I do.
It was one more way he needed to remember to be thankful for his time with her. Okay, Lord. I get it. I do. I needed to learn a thing or two, and she taught me. I’ll even thank her. How’s that?
Creak! That bottom step announced his mother’s arrival seconds before she entered the kitchen. Wayne looked up from the battered old table where he’d learned to color, learned his numbers, learned fractions, and wept over algebra—not that he’d ever admit that now. She’s a good mom.
“Morning, Ma. Sleep well?”
The chic “grandma-do” looked like a Meg Ryan cut gone wrong first thing in the morning. Still, no one in the world had a prettier mama than Wayne and Lydia Farrell. Everyone had always said so, and time hadn’t changed that. “Ma, you’re still the prettiest mom ever.”
“Now, I know that’s Lena’s influence. Call her, Wayne.”
“Why can’t it be Jennie’s? Or maybe I just happened to remember how much my father loved and admired you? Maybe I got old enough to remember that people need to hear nice things.”
The chair nearly toppled over as he shoved it back—not an easy thing for the heavy old chairs that had managed to survive his rough treatment over the years. Mom called out for him, but Wayne took the stairs two at a time to get away. Well, he did for the first two or three steps. His knees creaked in ways that he wasn’t used to, and the ankle still didn’t appreciate the up and down of stairs.
Wayne managed to get his bedroom door shut before he heard the creak of the first step. The closed door did not, however, deter her. A sharp knock sounded. Great. She’s mad.
Barbara Farrell stared at the door for half a second before she gave a sharp rap on the door. He’ll just tell me to go away…
Without waiting for a response, she opened the door. The sight of Wayne flat on his back on his old twin bed with one arm flung over his eyes almost halted her. Almost. “Wayne?”
“Sorry, Ma. I shouldn’t have overreacted like that.” He sat up and met her gaze with pain-filled eyes. “It’s just…”
“Just?”
Before her eyes, Wayne nearly transformed into the little boy he’d once been—hurt because another kid didn’t like him. He no longer looked at her. Rather, he looked everywhere but at her. “It just feels like what you want for me matters more to you than I do.”
It had always been that way—Wayne sharing his feelings with her, Lydia only opening up if their father took her away for a long talk. And he’s not a little boy anymore. Remember that.
“Ma?”
Barbara sat beside him and held him as if he was four again. So much for not treating him like a child. She needed to do something—say something. “You know I love you, son.”
“I know.” He dropped his head to her shoulder. “Lena didn’t want me, Mom. I know you think I really didn’t try, but I did. I tried everything—even just giving her time. I told her about the engagement ring, and she just hung up on me.”
“But you’re rushing into this Jennie thing. You don’t talk about her—”
He sat up stiff and instantly distant. “I can’t. You’re set on talking about Lena. Jennie is a great girl, but you won’t let me talk about her, because you’re so fixated on a woman who rejected me.”
Atop the little chest of drawers that had once held his shorts, pants, T-shirts, and unders, Wayne’s suitcase sat. He swung his feet around the side of the bed and hopped up. Digging into the side pocket produced a small box. Silvery gray, the leather cover spoke of quality. He loved her so much. He still does. I see it. But how do I get him to see it?
Without a word, he passed it to her.
Barbara took a slow, steadying breath and flipped the lid. It sprang back revealing one of the loveliest rings she’d ever seen. “Oh, Wayne…”
The bed creaked as he sat beside her and stared at it. “It was more than I wanted to spend, but the minute I saw it, I knew it was perfect. If that stupid woman hadn’t been wearing ankle buster heels, it would be on Lena’s finger, and she’d be downstairs bossing me around, demanding that I show her where I went to school and where my first girlfriend’s house was.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have said it. Barbara didn’t know, but the words came anyway. “Do you hear yourself? It’s about Lena. Why are you so set on this Jennie when your heart is obviously—?”
He jumped to his feet, pacing. The room seemed to shrink as he took three long strides, pivoted, and took three more. “Because Jennie is there—for me. I can make her happy. She’ll make me happy. That has to count for something.”
“I hear you desperate for a woman instead of the one who still holds your heart. You can’t see it, but I—”
Once more, Wayne moved to his suitcase and dug inside. Jeans, sweatshirt, underwear, socks. He might have left, but seeing her still with the ring in her hand, he snatched it up and bolted for the door. “Fine. Whatever.”
The minute he’d stepped through, Barbara followed, calling after him, “I’m not done talking to you, Wayne Farrell.”
Wayne’s reply came sharp and fast. “Bet you wish you’d given me a middle name now, don’t you?”
It worked. Barbara stood there staring at the closing bathroom door. Dumbfounded.
Still fuming, Wayne would have shot past his niece’s flower shop and on toward the highway, but a candy apple red Ford Focus parked out front changed everything. “Emma!”
That’s all it took. He whipped a U-turn in the middle of Main Street, and only once he’d put the car in gear did he think to glance around for an eagle-eyed officer. The Lord had apparently chosen not to out his sin to the guy who could make him pay. “And I’ll thank You for that…”
An old truck, rusted enough to make its road-worthiness dubious, approached, and Wayne allowed it to rattle past before he reached for the door handle. But once out, he bolted for the Out of the Blue Bouquet entrance. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting almost immediately.
“Uncle Wayne!” His niece left Emma Sheldon and a bunch of ornaments spread out across the counter and ran to hug him. “I thought you said you wouldn’t have time to come in!”
Oops. Busted.
Emma got him out of that one with a simple greeting. “Hi, Mr. Farrell.”
“Wayne’s fine.” He inched forward, one arm draped around Brooke’s shoulders. “What’re you doing?”
“Emma brought in a bunch of ornaments on consignment. Aren’t they exquisite?”
Handmade snow globe ornaments stood beside a row of metal stamped “year” ornaments. Clusters of vintage buttons and charms combined with miniature rolls of sheet music and created mini sculptures that hung from gold and silver ribbons. Any of them, if not all, would have been just fine for his purposes, but a pair of stained glass birds on a silver branch with a metal sign below that read, “Our First Christmas” caught his attention. “Could you do one like that—special order?”
The way Brooke sucked in her breath told him the gossip had circulated through the family, but Emma didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, but if this is the one you like, you are welcome to take it. I have more at home.” Even as she spoke, she began putting lids on boxes and scribbling something on a sheet.
The warmth of the shop nearly prompted him to scold Brooke for not being careful of her flowers. Instead, Wayne tugged at his shirt collar, moved a tad closer to the refrigerated case, and tried to appear nonchalant. He failed, of course. “I kind of wanted next year on it.”
Was it his imagination or did Brooke relax?
Fingers twitching, Emma grabbed the boxes and shifted from one foot to the other. “I can do that, but it won’t be ready today.”
She’s anxious to get out of here. Busy, or does she anticipate Brooke’s explosion when I leave? The answer didn’t matter. If he didn’t hurry, she’d bolt. “You can just send it to me. But if I could have it by December fifteenth, that’d be perfect. Jennie and I are going to the ornament exchange at church. I’ll
give it to her there and propose.”
A squeaked protest erupted from Brooke, but he shot her a silent order for her to mind her own business. Emma, on the other hand, eyed him with a thoughtful gaze until he almost squirmed. “Are you giving her a ring?”
The ring he’d snatched from his mother’s hands still burned in his coat pocket. She’s wrong. I bought this for the woman I want to be my wife. That’s Jennie.
“Uncle Wayne?”
He pulled out the box and set it on the counter. “Actually, I am.”
Fingers inching toward it, Emma asked, “May I see?”
“Sure.” The girls’ dual sighs soothed his pride and pushed aside his uncertainties. “Will it do?”
Emma spoke first. “It’s perfect. If you would like, I can attach the ring to the ornament itself. That way it’s almost a part of it. I’d tie it so it won’t shake off or anything. I could make the loop extra-long so the ring would dangle just so.”
Brooke nodded approvingly, albeit with noted reluctance. “That would be beautiful, Emma.”
It couldn’t be more perfect. Wayne snapped the lid back down on the little gray leather box and stepped away from the counter. “Perfect. Do that.” He jabbed his index finger at the box. “And wrap it. What’ll I owe you?”
“Shipped?”
He nodded.
Visibly agitated, Emma pulled out her invoice lists and retrieved an empty one from the bottom of the stack. Wayne squirmed as she wrote out something—what, he couldn’t tell. As she passed the paper to him, her gaze shifted to the clock above the door, and she inched away from the counter. Item, price, shipping, handling… it was all right there on the sheet. Just as his eyes reached the bottom, she announced the total. “Fifty.”
As he dug into his wallet for the cash, Brooke made squeaks of protest. However, his phone rang just as he passed Emma the money, cutting off any actual discussion. “It’s Mom—gotta take it. Thanks!”
Emma called out, asking for his address just as Wayne reached the door. “Just get it from Mom. Gotta go.”
