Sarah prayed for the former.
“When are tryouts?” Sarah asked.
Brett swung his gaze to hers. “Monday morning. Craig said he’d drop me off if someone else could pick me up.”
“Of course.” Rita nodded agreement, but her expression was guarded. “Being out of practice, it’ll be a rough go, Brett.”
“I know.” He nodded, stoic. “But I want to try.”
“Then you should.”
He swung out the door, a hand in the air. “See you later.”
“He’ll never make it.”
Sarah and Rita turned together. Liv stood framed in the arch between the living room and downstairs bedroom. She frowned, concerned. “Those other kids have played on travel teams while Brett’s been watching TV. There’s no way he can match their skill level.”
“He was always good,” Rita reminded them, her voice taut.
“Not good enough to overcome two years not playing,” Liv contended. “I wondered why he started running last week. Must be trying to get into shape.”
“Is he?” Rita looked surprised that she hadn’t noticed.
“He goes early, before his barn work.”
Sarah slipped in a change of subject. “Liv, can you get that side garden weeded for me? I can’t do hands and knees work yet.”
Liv didn’t look thrilled, but she nodded. “Yeah. I’ll do it now, before Shannon comes by. We’re going back-to-school shopping.”
Rita’s look of concern heightened. “Shop small. There’s not much in the budget.”
Liv bit her lip and headed toward the door. “I’ve got what I saved from Aunt Sarah. It’s a start.”
Rita met Sarah’s look. “You’re paying her?”
“Here and there. Some for babysitting. Some for yard work. Housework was a given.”
“I can’t do that for them at home,” Rita scolded, her ire cranked a notch.
“They know that. I told Liv she could still work for me once school’s started. Weekends, anyway. And the Cromwells want her to babysit the twins from time to time.”
“They do?” Rita fingered the buttons on her shirt, her expression wary. “Even with my problems?”
“You’re working to overcome your problems,” Sarah reminded her. “And doing well. Don’t borrow trouble, Reet.”
“I don’t have to. Brett is setting himself up for major disappointment and Liv is about to realize our accumulated funds will buy her a sweater. Maybe two. I just hate disappointing them all the time.”
“You don’t,” Sarah comforted. “Things are hard right now.”
“Because their father was a thief and I’m weak,” Rita retorted.
“Sooooo…my turn’s over?”
“Excuse me?”
Sarah blinked, long and slow. “My turn to whine? Feel sorry for myself? It must have officially ended because you’ve taken the reins.” Rita flushed.
Sarah grinned. “No, really, keep going. You’ve been tough for weeks now. Give it your best shot.”
Rita looked torn between laughter and tears. Humor won. As she giggled, Sarah crossed the room and hugged her, laughing along with her. “What a pair,” she teased, hugging Rita’s arm. “Let’s get out of here. Go for a walk. I’m tired of walls, tired of shade. I want to feel the sun on my face. The wind in my hair. Eat really good ice cream.”
“How cliché.”
Sarah grinned as she slipped into scuffed-up sneakers. “But true.”
Spying the two women, Craig released the caulk gun trigger.
Sarah looked better. He couldn’t see her face from this distance, but her walk looked lighter.
He’d prayed for that, wanting her peace of mind, knowing she needed to come to terms with her past. Deal with it, somehow. An angst he hadn’t known existed until the accident brought it to the foreground.
She’d hidden it behind the placid look, the calm demeanor. But Rita was right. There were serious self-confidence issues Sarah needed to wrestle with before she’d ever give her heart fully.
When she did, he had every intention of being on the receiving end.
The women looked up and saw him, perched on his roof-clearing ladder. He raised his arm in a friendly wave. The ladder shifted north. He leaned left to compensate, forcing it to sway back. Once it stilled, he turned back. Rita waved.
Sarah stopped dead, a hand to her mouth as the ladder shifted again. Seeing that, he rocked it once more for effect, watching her reaction. Even from this distance, he saw her eyes widen. Her mouth open. He turned away, grinning.
Naw. She wasn’t interested at all. Not a bit.
Right.
“You don’t use that dangerous ladder at Craig’s, do you, Brett?”
Scooping ice cream into a cone, Brett paused. “What dangerous ladder?”
“The aluminum one that reaches beyond the front roof. I don’t want you on it,” Sarah insisted. “It’s faulty.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because she saw Craig swaying on it tonight and she’s convinced it’s the path to an early grave,” remarked his mother as she fluted edges of a pie.
“Oh. That.” Brett licked his ice cream, nonchalant. “He does that all the time.”
“What?” Sarah stared at him, her mind racing.
“Moves the ladder. He can actually walk it along the ground if he wants to.”
“While he’s on it?” Sarah’s voice pitched up.
“If the ground’s hard enough,” Brett added, admiration edging his tone. “It’s cool. Kind of like stilts.”
Like stilts. Right. Only twice as high and way more dangerous. Sarah ignored the look Rita sent her. Smacking her hand against the counter, she shrugged into a lightweight hoodie, ignoring Brett’s confusion. “I’m checking the back pasture.”
“I did that already.”
She waved a hand and pretended not to hear Rita’s snicker as she trudged away.
Right then Sarah was pretty sure if Craig Macklin toppled from his show-off ladder into an early grave she’d have no regrets. She wouldn’t even take the time to attend the funeral, not with so much work and all.
So why did her heart jump when she saw the ladder sway? Why did she have to fight the urge to run and save the big clown?
Because she couldn’t imagine a life without him any more than she could envision a life with him. She, who never straddled an issue, was trapped in the middle of this one. The mirror appeared kinder today, much to her relief. A vestige of her former appearance came through. Though she didn’t appreciate it before, she was pleased to welcome its return. Funny, she’d always thought her looks a challenge until they really were. Her appreciation of her natural attributes was growing as healing progressed.
The smell hit Sarah as she walked through the kitchen door a few nights later. Pungent. Sour. There was no mistaking it, not anymore. Filled with dread, she approached the stairs. “Rita?”
Nothing.
She mounted the steps quietly. “Rita? You up here?” Peeking in various doors, she found sleeping children, but no Rita. Hurrying back downstairs, the smell grew stronger. She called again. “Rita? Where are you?”
“Here.”
Rita sat in the far corner of the darkened front bedroom, a bottle by her side. It was open, but full. Almost.
“What’s happened?”
Rita stared outside. “What hasn’t?”
Sarah waited, uncertain. “Are we playing twenty questions? Give me a hint, huh?” Cautious, she edged into the room and perched on the corner of the bed.
“You don’t need a hint. I’ll spell it out for you. Brett didn’t make the team because his mother’s been too drunk to get him to games and practice, Liv can’t afford the pants to go with the sweaters she bought because surprise, surprise, there isn’t enough money, and I just got my second quarter statement from Tom’s cooperative retirement fund, showing a net worth of over one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in his account.” Flicking her wrist, Rita sent the funds state
ment flying through the air. “And I can’t buy my kid a pair of decent blue jeans.”
Sarah caught the paper statement. Jaw tight, she had no idea what to say. How to comfort. “Rita, I—”
“There’s nothing you can say,” Rita interrupted. “I can’t give Brett back the two years I wasted. Years that might have cost him any chance he had of playing on the high school team next year. Liv’s spent that same time raising her brother and sister because I was too drunk to do a proper job of it. Skeeter?” Rita mulled the glass of whiskey she held to her face, inhaling deeply. “She’ll have plenty to tell Oprah, won’t she?”
“Have you taken a drink?” Sarah struggled to sound calm, eyeing the bottle and the glass. “Not yet.”
“Going to?”
“I’m sorely tempted.” Rita gazed through the honey-toned liquid, swirling it through the bed of ice. “It smells real good.”
“How can I help?” Sarah leaned forward, hands pressed to her knees. “Can I call someone? Do something?”
“No. No, Sarah.” Standing, Rita gripped the glass. Sarah was afraid the tumbler would crack under the pressure, but it held. “You’ve done all you could, Wise Woman. Now it’s between me and the bottle.”
“And God.”
“He doesn’t drink.”
“Good example, then. Hang onto Him, Rita. That faith I’ve always seen in you. The faith that helped you respect others when my brother cheated them. Maligned them.”
Rita’s face twisted into a mix of anger and shame. “I hate what he did to us. To me. Sarah, I hate the man and he fathered my three children. I look at them, and I see Tom. I hear them and I hear Tom. When they do something wrong or selfish, I see Tom and I can’t forgive his crimes. How can I help them through this when I can’t find a way myself?”
“News flash,” Sarah told her. “They’ve gotten through it. Yeah, they’ve got some damage. But they’ve bounced back farther than you.”
“Because they didn’t share responsibility for his choices,” Rita lamented. She stared through the glass, the curve warping her features. “It’s no use.” The glass twisted in Rita’s hand, her long fingers straining white. “I am what I am. And I don’t want to face it anymore.”
“Rough night, huh?”
Sarah turned, surprised. Brooks Harriman stepped into the room, his eyes trained on Rita. “How does it smell?”
Rita didn’t look up. Just kept her eyes on the glass, nostrils flared to capture the scent. “Real good.”
“I bet.” He moved to the bed with casual demeanor, lounging on the end opposite Sarah. “So. You planning to do it?”
“Maybe.” Rita eyed the glass, fascinated. “Maybe not.”
“Well, let me know because I’d like to go for coffee if you don’t.”
“I drink tea.”
“They serve that as well.”
Sarah leaned over. “Brooks. How—”
He waved her off. “Sarah’d be glad to get rid of that for you, Rita, while you and I head out. What do you say?”
“I want it so bad.” Rita’s voice thinned. Strained. Like she wrestled the devil himself.
Brooks nodded. “I know.”
Sarah angled her chin, watching him. Understanding dawned over steady ticks of the wall clock.
Rita called Brooks for help. Sarah darted a glance from him to Rita and back again. Brooks acted like he had all the time in the world while Rita weighed the biggest decision of her life, her expression tight.
“I’m a lousy mother.”
Brooks lifted one shoulder, his steady gaze locked on Rita. “They’re young. Time to fix things, yet.”
“I’ve got no money.”
“You’ve got two hands and two feet, all in working order. Get a job.”
To Sarah’s surprise, Rita almost smiled. “I could, you know. I’m a smart woman.”
“I’ve never doubted it.” The man’s face and tone were sincere.
Rita pulled a deep breath. For a long moment she looked like she might pitch the whiskey-filled tumbler across the room. Her arm arched to do just that, then she paused. Looked it over. With a sigh she handed the whole lot to Sarah and rose, reaching a hand to Brooks. He stood and grasped the hand she offered. Head angled, he eased her forward. “Let’s go get that coffee.”
She didn’t look back. Not at Sarah, the glass or the bottle. Dropping Brooks’ hand, she headed for the door, leading the way. “I said tea.”
He pretended surprise, then winked at Sarah. “Oh, that’s right. Tea, then.” Following her out the door, he sent Sarah a reassuring look. “We’ll be fine. She paged Kim, but I’m her backup. Kim’s mother had a stroke so Kim was unavailable tonight.” His glance indicated the discreet pager attached to the back of his waist. “I was in the shower so it took me longer than it should have.” Now his gaze shifted to the door. “I’m glad it wasn’t too late.”
Sarah nodded, then sat once they left, a glass in one hand, a nearly full bottle of whiskey in the other. After a deep breath she rose, dumped the contents of both down the drain, wrapped the bottle in layers of newspaper to avoid the curious eyes of the recycling crew and threw it away. Restless, she went outside.
She tried to ignore Craig’s yard light, the beacon of hope it offered. With the kids in bed, the sheep at peace and Rita under momentary control, the night seemed wanting.
She didn’t realize she was shaking until she tried to settle into the lawn swing. Body tremors jerked her legs against the seat’s wooden edge. Restless, she stood and walked to the road’s edge, eyeing her neighbor’s yard. His drive.
She’d seen him twice since the ladder incident, both times in passing. He’d tipped his hat the first time, a sun-bleached Syracuse Orangemen cap that had seen its share of wear. She’d nodded back, biting her lip, tamping her pulse.
The other time had been after church. He didn’t stop, or even slow down all that much. Rita had accompanied her and the kids to Holy Trinity. Pastor Weilers welcomed Rita in his typical open style. Craig’s glance noted the scene, then caught her eye. He didn’t wink, didn’t tilt his head and give her that slow, amused smile, the one that quickened her pulse. He’d offered a quick nod, a brief meeting of the eyes. “Sarah.”
She’d colored at the single word, despite her best efforts. Not that the world in general would detect it. Her bronzed skin tone was forgiving when it came to blushing, but somehow Craig always noticed.
Not that day, though, so why was she walking the roadside, willing him to come out? Talk to her. Share her burdens.
Leaning back, Sarah stared into the night. Stars twinkled and planets glowed, their steadier light mute testimony to their solidity. The moon hung, nearly full, its light dimming nearby stars.
Her ancestors had used these beacons. They’d planted and harvested, mapping seasons by the stars. Gazing upward, she felt an almost physical tug.
God. Dear God, she prayed.
Sarah curled into the top of a grassy knoll, deep in thought, listening to the voice of her heart.
She had let fear and anger consume her. It had raised its ugly, self-pitying head and gnawed at her spirit. Feelings she’d thought long buried had surged forth, their strength magnified by her lack of faith.
The grass felt cool and damp beneath her legs, the air fresh and sweet upon her face. A face that was nearly healed and no longer painful. “Beauty is fleeting, and charm deceptive,” she remembered, plucking strands of grass. “How did I lose sight so quickly, Lord? It frightens me that it can happen like that. One day strong and faithful, the next cowering and timid. Is it so delicate, this balance?
“And what of these feelings I have for my neighbor?” she mused, studying the light above Craig’s garage. “It would take small effort to love him as myself, but you know that. It’s just…there’s so much more at stake. Rita. You saw how fragile she was tonight. How can I do something that might push her over that edge? Tip the scales in disfavor?
“And Craig’s grandmother? Would I be a constant
reminder of the evil that took so much from her?”
The words of the 119th Psalm flooded her. “I have strayed like a lost sheep. Seek your Servant, for I have not forgotten Your commands.”
But I did, she realized, leaning back, her eyes upturned. I forgot to trust, to hand over the reins. I wanted the power to reap and sow on my own, not seeking Your counsel. Your plan.
The stars hung quiet and bright above. Kitty-corner, Craig’s light glowed moonlight yellow. Inside he slept, most likely, unless the pup kept him up. Warmth and contentment bathed her as she contemplated her feelings for Craig Macklin. For the moment, she’d let him sleep. Mull her choices. Their choices.
No longer did she feel alone in this temptation. If it was of God, she’d know soon enough. If not, she’d have that answer as well.
“Strengthen me, according to Your word.” How had she forgotten such an easy plea? That answer was simple. She’d let fear and pity grab hold of her heart, but no more.
Smiling, she nodded to the circle cast by Craig’s yard light. “Sleep well, beloved.” She grimaced at the heat the phrase infused, even with no one about to see it, then pressed cool palms to her warm cheeks, laughing at herself.
The laughter felt good. It took everything she had to hold herself back when what she really wanted to do was run to his door, throw herself into his arms and give way to the feelings accosting her.
She clamped down the urge, a hint of common sense reminding her she hadn’t been all that agreeable lately. The man might find her sudden change disconcerting. Or downright crazy.
Drawing a breath, she blew him a kiss, unseen. It would do, for now.
But tomorrow…
She didn’t allow herself to think his feelings might have changed with her constant rebuffs. The matter was in God’s hands. What would be, would be, but Sarah mentally scanned her wardrobe, frowning. Her closet lacked clothing destined to catch a man’s eye.
Shopping was a must. She eased through the door, not wanting to wake the children. She couldn’t remember the last time she bought herself a new dress. Two Easters past? Maybe three?
Waiting Out the Storm Page 17
