by Lynne Gentry
“I don’t know.” Nola Gay popped the van with a flattened palm. “But I’ll see to it that we make good time.” She gave Leona a hug then went around and heaved herself into the driver’s seat.
They both were so excited that Leona didn’t have the heart to throw water on their plan. Reservation bells ringing in her head, Leona typed in her cell number and passed the phone to Etta May. “Don’t forget to text me so I’ll have your number if I ever need a ride.”
“That old van you drive ain’t goin’ to last forever, Leona.” Nola Gay yelled from behind the wheel. “Why put more miles on your vehicle when you could ride with us?” She cranked the engine and pumped the gas. Black smoke belched from the tailpipe. Over the engine’s roar, she shouted, “You give us a call, Leona. We’ll be here lickety-split.”
Etta May leaned out the window. “We’ll give you the pastor’s discount even though you’re no longer a pastor’s wife.”
Leona clutched the quart of pickles as she watched the Story twins rattle off in their big blue van. She was so busy contemplating the new danger rolling down the streets of Mt. Hope that she didn’t hear Saul’s Lexus glide to a stop. Nor did she hear him get out of the car.
When he touched her elbow and asked, “What was that?” she dropped the pickle jar on the sidewalk.
Hopping back from the shattered glass and sticky-sweet juice, Leona gasped, “You scared the pickles out of me, Saul.”
He looked at the mess and chuckled. “Are you hurt?”
She didn’t know Saul Levy knew how to smile. That he was smiling at her was even more surprising. “You think this mess is funny?”
“Not the mess,” he smiled. “Your assessment of the mess.”
“My assessment?”
“I didn’t know it was possible to scare the pickles out of someone,” he continued to chuckle like it was the funniest phrase he’d ever heard.
“Oh.” Leona wiped her hands on her shirt. J.D. had never laughed at her jokes. He was the funny one. “It’s either laugh or cry, right? And crying has never changed a thing.” She bent and started picking up the bigger pieces of glass. “The Story twins dropped off a housewarming gift in their new Uber van.” Before Saul could say anything, she added, “Don’t ask.”
“Let me help.” He tucked the large manila envelope he was holding under his arm. In the blaze of a West Texas sunset, this man who was never without a starched shirt or a military crease in his dress slacks, started sorting glass and pickles. “Maybe you should get a bag to put this in.”
“Right.” Leona’s moist fingertips trailed the crusty dried paint stains splashed across her shirt. Oh. My. Goodness. She was a mess. Again. “I’ll be right back.” She dashed into the house, calling for Roxie. “I need a trash bag. And a makeover.”
“What on earth?” Roxie bolted from the bedroom, a lampshade in hand.
“Too long to explain,” Leona shot to the kitchen and ripped through the PAPER GOODS box. “Lipstick. I need lipstick.”
“You packed your makeup with the paper towels?”
“No! I need yours. Now!” Leona snatched a plastic bag from the box, pleased that at least something in her life was as organized as her attorney.
Roxie raced to her purse and pulled out a sleek tube of burnt amber. “This shade is totally wrong for your coloring.”
“I don’t care.” Leona peeked into the glass on the microwave door and smeared rusty brown across her lips. Without taking time to blot, she grabbed the trash bag and shot out the front door. “I found one.”
Saul, who was still squatted in the middle of scattered pickles, started laughing. Quietly at first, like he was trying to control himself, and then full out laughing. A belly laugh that shook him from the top of his high and tight haircut to the soles of his shiny shoes. A laugh, Leona found surprisingly attractive. “You looked like a bat on fire flying down those steps.”
Relieved he wasn’t commenting on the jaggedness of her quick lipstick fix, she said, “You’d be surprised what I can do with a trash bag, Saul Levy.” Leona pursed her lips in an effort to even the color and threw the black bag around her shoulders. Around she went, stopping after turning a 360, then jammed her fisted hands on her hips like she was some sort of superhero.
“No, I don’t think I would.” He stood, his eyes locking with hers. “You’ve done more with far less than any woman I’ve ever known.”
He’d noticed. Surprise deflated Leona’s stiffened shoulders. All those years of scrimping and saving and barely getting by and she’d thought no one cared. She stood there, draped in plastic, reveling in the fact that her sacrifice had been duly noted and, from the admiration in Saul’s eyes, appreciated. Heat flushed her face. “Thanks.”
Saul nodded toward the bag she wore, indicating he needed a place to dump the stack of glass he balanced in his hands. Leona removed her trash bag cape. As Saul dropped in the broken shards, his hand brushed hers. Intense warmth surged through her body and loosened rusty emotions she’d screwed down years ago.
Hot flashes, she reasoned. What else could it be? “I can get a broom for the rest. Clean it up later.”
“We’ve about got it.” Saul bent and scooped up a pile of pickles “You know, I’ve been thinking, you could have built a mansion on the lake, bought any house in this town, including the parsonage, and yet you chose a fixer-upper in a modest neighbor.” His head tilted in the direction of her small brick ranch in need of lots of work. “I suspect by the time you work your magic, this house will be every bit the showplace you’ve made the parsonage.” He dropped the pickles in the bag.
Magic. He thought her capable of magic. “Or it could be lipstick on a pig.”
“Excuse me.”
“A southern saying for an investment that may not be sound.” She pointed at the large envelope tucked under his arm. “Is that for me?”
“It is.” He looked at his sticky hands and then at the package. “Mind if I wash up before I hand it off?”
“Sooner or later you’re going to get tired of cleaning up Harper messes.” Leona pulled the ties on the trash bag. “This way.”
Saul double-timed his steps, cutting off her retreat into the house with his solid body. “Leona, you’re not making a mess of anything, least of all J.D.’s investments.”
J.D.’s money had become more of a burden than a blessing. Until now, she’d never considered how nice it was to have someone who knew the full weight she carried. “Really?”
“Really. In fact, you’ve grown your husband’s portfolio considerably and I suspect by the time you’ve finished with this property, it will have appreciated as well.” Approval leapt from his gaze and got snagged on a need she thought she’d buried.
She was her own woman now. The only one she needed to please was God. But having a man she was growing to respect professionally pleased with her abilities was intoxicating. “Who knew all those years of stretching a dime into a dollar would prepare me to handle millions?”
Saul’s smile lifted his mustache. “God.”
“God has some explaining to do.” She carried the trash bag up the steps. “Don’t expect much. It’s only my second night away from home...I mean,” she stopped and turned. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“The parsonage may belong to the church, but the home you made in that house will always belong to you.”
Sentiment from a man she considered to be a junk-yard dog? The thought unsettled her nearly as much as learning her husband had kept secrets from her.
“If you’re not careful, Saul Levy, someone might find out a heart beats beneath that stiff shirt.” Leona pulled the handle on the screen door and the frame came loose in her hands.
Saul lunged and caught the screen door before it crash down on her. The envelope fell to the stoop. “You alright?”
Nose to nose, their faces separated only by rusty screen, they stood immobile. Both were breathing hard, more from the surprise of the door’s collapse than the fact that Saul’s sticky hands were secure
ly clamped over hers, Leona told herself. Her sputtering pulse short-circuited all the half-way sensible things she should have said. “Saved me twice in one night,” tumbled out of her mouth, as disorganized and unkempt as her appearance.
Saul released her immediately and took a step back. “One of the dangers of my job.”
“Don’t think you’ll have to save me forever.”
“I don’t.”
The way he said it, so self-assured and certain, fit his personality. What didn’t add up was his certainty in her, a certainty that had eluded her at every step of this new journey.
Hands shaking, Leona leaned the broken door against the house. “Come on in. If you dare.”
CHAPTER FIVE
In the corner of Leona’s tight little galley kitchen, her best china sparkled on the small round table she’d ordered from one of those online discount sites. Roxie had stayed until well past midnight to help with the assembly of all the pieces, including the two tall stools. She’d always thought those little bistro sets were so cute, but J.D. had made it clear he didn’t want to eat towering over his food. Besides, he always said, they had a perfectly good dining set. Why would they want to spend the money?
Why indeed? Had J.D. penny pinched so she’d have to deal with the millions after his death? It would have been so much easier if she’d died first.
Leona crammed the bag of extra furniture screws in a drawer. She’d double-checked the table’s directions several times and couldn’t figure out why they’d had so many screws and washers left over. She’d still be going over every joint if Roxie hadn’t pointed out that this second-guessing herself had to stop, if she was to have any hope of enjoying a fine meal with a fine man.
Water plunked into the sink. Leona cranked the faucet lever and the knob came off in her hand. Something else to fix. She jammed the knob back onto the rusty bolt. The drip would have to wait.
She wiped her hands and peered through the glass of her new oven for the tenth time. To her relief, the chicken was roasting on schedule. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking when she decided to throw this impromptu dinner party. Working with an untested oven was asking for trouble. Anything could go wrong. The sleek appliance could heat too hot. Heat too slow. Ruin her hurried prep in an instant. Then what would she do? Call the Story sisters, and ask if their Uber service delivered pizza? Did her male guest even eat pizza?
“Who doesn’t eat pizza?” Leona muttered to herself as she wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door to her matching stainless steel fridge. Two perfectly tossed salads waited on one of the shiny glass shelves. Cold air swirled around her as she stared at how little she had to offer. Pizza and salad. Not much of a backup plan if her dinner failed. With a nervous sigh, she closed the fridge door. Having nothing to serve was the least of her worries.
She may have invited the wrong man.
The doorbell rang. Tater shot from the kitchen and raced for the front door. Leona ripped the apron over her head, smoothed her hair while glancing at her reflection in the microwave glass, then took a deep breath. It was just dinner with a friend, she told herself. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.
“David? Amy?” Leona hadn’t meant to let her disappointment sound in her voice. She didn’t want to have to explain why her first dinner invitation in her new home had not been to her family.
That wasn’t it.
She didn’t want to tell her son she’d invited a man. Which was crazy.
Leona had mentally replayed the uncomfortable conversation at their last family gathering at least a million times. Before the turkey was cold, Maddie brought up the subject of Leona remarrying. She and David had obviously discussed the possibility behind her back. Each presented a list of reasons as to why their father would not have wanted her to grow old alone. Both had been adamant about her moving on.
Or so they said.
Leona knew from her experience with her own mother that saying you’re ready for your single parent to explore another relationship was one thing. The reality of your parent remarrying was quite another. Although Leona couldn’t be happier with her mother’s decision to elope with Cotton, it had taken time for her to get over someone taking her father’s place. David and Maddie deserved all the time she could give them.
“Smells like Thanksgiving in here,” David came in without waiting to be invited.
Leona shuffled her body between David and his view of the china laid out on her kitchen table. “I’m baking chicken.”
Amy’s beautiful blue eyes took in the living room. “Everything looks so beautifully...settled. How did you do it?”
Leona expected Amy to be pleased she was out from under foot, not impressed she’d accomplished so much in so little time. “Roxie’s worked me like a Hebrew slave.”
David’s long legs carried him to the couch in three smooth strides. Before she could say don’t get comfortable, David said, “You look extra nice this evening, Momma.”
Leona smoothed her new red skirt. “Just got home from work.”
Which was true, but her nosy son didn’t have to know that she’d flown out of the newspaper office at exactly five o’clock, whipped into the grocery store, grabbed two chicken breasts, took the shortcut home, tossed the chicken in the oven, sprinted to her closet, ripped the tags off the new outfit she was wearing, and touched up her hair and lipstick.
“Work all day.” David’s hand showcased the living room. “Unpack boxes every night. And still have the energy to cook a homemade meal.” David didn’t smell chicken. He smelled a rat. He wasn’t buying her story.
“I’m not decrepit.” Leona straightened a lamp shade.
David draped his arms across the back of her new gray linen couch. He definitely wasn’t leaving until he got to the bottom of this. “I told Amy, I’ll bet you Momma will be moving back into the parsonage with thirty-six hours.”
“Did you now?” Leona had never owned anything linen. It was all she could do not to tell her son to be as careful about where he put his oily hands as he should be with his assessment of her will.
Amy went and sat by her husband. “And I told David, when his Momma sets her mind to something, you better get out of her way.”
Pleased at Amy’s definite shift to her camp, Leona perched on the edge of her new swivel club chair. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them quickly. Her new red heels weren’t even scuffed on the bottom. Luckily, David and Amy were so distracted by whatever it was that had brought them here, they hadn’t seemed to notice her new shoes.
Just why were they so distracted? “What’s going on?” Leona asked.
“Can’t a son drop in and check on his widowed mother?”
“You’ve done that several times this week.” Leona eyed them carefully. “Something’s up. You’re glowing. Both of you.”
“Are we?” Amy’s eyes twinkled.
Suddenly the cause of Amy’s uncharacteristic moodiness became apparent. Leona’s heart stopped. “Oh. My. Goodness. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
Their heads bobbed excitedly, grins big as dinner plates breaking across their faces.
“But ...” Leona’s muscles tensed and her defenses rose. What were they thinking? Her shaky hand flew to her lips and stopped the lecture forming on her tongue. She couldn’t ruin this moment of happiness. They knew the risks. This moment of happiness could be very brief and they deserved every second.
Amy was a private person. Leona had worked long and hard to gain her daughter-in-law’s trust. Giving their relationship room was one of the reasons Leona had decided to move out of the parsonage. Amy, like all young brides, needed breathing room. As Leona watched Amy’s nervous hands caress her flat belly she knew it had taken everything within this precious girl to share the news that they’d gone against doctor’s orders.
“We just came from another sonogram,” David’s tone was a little defensive, as if he’d read her mind. “Everything looks good.”
“Another sonogram? H
ow far along are you, dear?”
“Almost eighteen weeks,” Amy could see how keeping something this important a secret had stung. “I was afraid to tell anyone until we were well past the first-trimester mark.”
Bad case scenarios ripped through Leona’s head so fast she could barely nod.
“Amy’s sugar is under control,” David said, irrepressible hope glowing in his eyes. “The doctors feel confident we can do this.”
“We’ve got a long way to go.” Amy’s locked hands formed a shield across her womb. This girl was willing to do whatever it took to protect this little life, even if it meant risking her own. “So we’ve come to ask for prayers.”
“Of course.” Leona opened her arms and swallowed her terrified children in a hug. “I’m so happy.” And she was. New life. A sign from God that they could all go on. “Your father would have been thrilled,” she told David. “And your parents would have been over the moon, Amy.”
“We’re not ready to tell anyone yet, Momma,” David warned.
“Have you told Maddie?” The moment Leona blurted out the question she knew the answer. It was written all over David and Amy’s guilty faces. “Of course you have.” Leona released their hands and took a step back.
Her children had kept secrets from her, and they’d done it while she was living under the same roof. David and Maddie were definitely cut from their father’s bolt of cloth.
“When Amy and I started to seriously consider expanding our family, we both felt we should put adoption on hold until we fully investigated the risks of having our own child. We needed ...” David let his words trail off.
Unwilling to hide her hurt, Leona said, “A medical opinion?”
David shifted uncomfortably. “Momma, we know how you are. We didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“So you talked to Maddie?”
“She said Amy needed three months of optimized glycemic control, folic acid supplements, and a complete workup from a maternal-fetal medicine specialist before we dared to proceed to conception.”
Preferring not to dwell on the nuts and bolts of how this baby came into being, Leona focused on the inconvenient details. “Is that why you’ve made so many trips to the city?”
