“Naomi had thought she had indigestion.” Pastor Fraser chuckled and raised his wife’s hand to his lips. He deposited a tender kiss on her wedding ring. “Dinah was almost a roadside baby, too.”
“Dad!” Dinah rolled her eyes.
The conversation shifted to another topic and Miranda drew a ragged breath, relieved she was no longer the center of attention. Heart pounding, she scooted farther into the shadow of the tree, wishing she hadn’t committed to watching the fireworks. That meant two more hours in the company of friendly people who wanted her to feel included.
Fortunately, she’d managed to evade answering Anne’s innocent question without lying….
This is why you don’t do friendship, Miranda Jones.
“I think someone’s asleep,” Andrew murmured as the last shower of golden sparks dissolved in the air above their heads.
Miranda brushed the hair off Daniel’s forehead and saw that his eyes were closed. “I’m not surprised,” she whispered. “It’s way past his bedtime.”
“You walked here, right?”
“Yes.” She gave Daniel’s shoulder a gentle shake but Andrew put his hand over hers.
“Don’t wake him up. I’ll take you home.”
“We only live a few blocks away.”
Andrew wasn’t going to argue with her. He rose to his feet, his lean, muscular frame a dark silhouette as he draped Daniel over his shoulder. “Where am I going?”
Miranda knew she couldn’t wrestle Daniel away from him. So she gave in. “Two streets behind the diner.”
“Forget my car, then. It’ll be quicker to carry him there than wait for everyone to leave the parking lot.”
Miranda hurried to keep up so she wouldn’t lose them in the mass exodus from the park. Echoes of laughter and the low hum of voices faded the farther they walked from Main Street.
Most of the houses on Magnolia Avenue were occupied by elderly people who hadn’t been able to afford to move or invest in renovations. They lined the street in a mismatched row, like faded quilts on a clothesline.
“Up or down?” There was a strange inflection in Andrew’s voice when they walked up the narrow cobbled sidewalk to the front door. A light glowed in the window on the second story but darkness cloaked the rest of the house.
Miranda’s stomach knotted. “Up. But I’ll take him….”
Andrew’s eyebrow rose.
“You can look really imperious when you put your mind to it,” she grumbled. “Did they teach you how to do that at private school?”
Andrew’s teeth flashed. Daniel stirred in his sleep and Andrew shifted him more comfortably into the crook of his arm as he followed her up the narrow flight of stairs.
Miranda replayed her morning routine. Had she left the breakfast dishes in the sink? A pair of shoes under the coffee table?
“Daniel’s bedroom is on the right.”
Andrew brushed past her, stirring the tangy scent of his cologne, mingled with sunshine and warm grass. Reminders of the day they’d spent together. A day she hadn’t wanted to end.
Daniel’s tiny bedroom seemed to shrink even more with Andrew in it. Miranda moved Lily out of the way and turned back the covers, watching as Andrew laid Daniel down and carefully pulled off his battered tennis shoes. As if tucking a child into bed was something he’d done a thousand times. The image was so different from that of the carefree, irresponsible player that for a moment, Miranda could almost picture him as a husband and father. Almost.
Daniel’s eyes flickered open and focused sleepily on Andrew’s face.
“Go back to sleep, champ,” Andrew said softly. “You’re home now. Safe and sound.”
Obediently, Daniel rolled over, wrapped one arm around Lily and closed his eyes. In less than ten seconds, he was asleep again.
Miranda backed quietly out of the room, leaving the door open a few inches so she could hear Daniel if he needed her during the night.
The apartment was quiet. So quiet that Miranda wondered if Andrew could hear the wild thumping of her heart. She assumed he would leave after seeing them back safely, but instead, he took a leisurely lap around the living room.
“Have you and Daniel lived here very long?” He paused in front of a curio cabinet where a flock of glass birds nested. She didn’t share Mrs. Enderby’s love of antique salt-and-pepper mills, but it didn’t feel right to pack away things that belonged to her landlady. And it wasn’t as if she had anything to replace them.
“A few years.”
He wasn’t fast enough to hide his surprise at her answer. And Miranda knew why. As if a curtain had been pulled aside, she saw the apartment through someone else’s eyes. His eyes.
When Miranda had answered the ad in the newspaper, she’d considered it a plus that it was furnished. Never mind it was furnished with an eclectic blend of Mrs. Enderby’s castoffs. When she and Daniel had left Atlanta, only the things that fit in the trunk of her car had gone with them.
As time went on, she’d learned to live with Mrs. Enderby’s velveteen sofa and the mismatched china in the cabinets. She didn’t have the money to spend on things they might have to leave behind. The only personal items on display were Daniel’s school picture in a homemade frame and the bouquet of fresh daisies on the scarred kitchen table. The fresh flowers she purchased every week not only lifted her spirits but gave the dreary room a face-lift. They were a temporary treasure—one she could enjoy but walk away from if necessary.
“Where did you and Daniel live before you moved to Chestnut Grove?” Andrew moved on to study the garish oil painting of a seascape that took up most of the wall.
She’d taken it down once and saw it had been strategically placed there to cover a large tear in the wall-paper. So back it had gone.
Miranda’s shoulders tightened. All afternoon and during the fireworks, Daniel had been a lively buffer between them. But not anymore. Now she was aware of how late it was. And there was no barrier protecting her from Andrew’s innocent questions. When Sandra had hired her at the diner, Miranda had compiled a list of vague responses to satisfy any questions a person might ask. Ordinary questions. But there was nothing ordinary about Andrew Noble or his questions. And his intent gaze had her scrambling to remember the answers.
“South of here.” Honest if a bit misleading. Georgia was south of Virginia.
“Do you still have family? South of here?” His knowing look gently mocked her answer.
What did he want from her?
“No.” She still felt the pain of Lorraine’s absence like a wound that wouldn’t heal.
Her parents had divorced shortly after she’d graduated from high school. Her father’s company had transferred him to Japan, where he’d started a new life but remembered to send her a birthday card every year. Her mother had remarried a career military officer who wanted a wife but wasn’t interested in two daughters. He’d conveniently pretended she and Lorraine didn’t exist. Even before Lorraine’s death, their mother had gradually been withdrawing from their lives.
Daniel was the only family she had.
Andrew picked up the current issue of a finance magazine and scanned the cover. “Light reading?”
“It’s a coaster.” The scowl she sent in his direction backfired. His soft laughter filled the empty corners of the room. And her heart.
“I’m…tired.” It was the truth. She was tired. And confused. And afraid he was getting too close.
Her breath caught in her throat when he took a step toward her, but all he did was tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The gentle brush of his fingertips against her cheek was more comforting than intimate.
“Good night, Miranda.” He smiled. “Breakfast at eight.”
The snick of the door closing behind him jolted Miranda out of the semicoma the touch of his fingers had put her in. She slumped into the old tweed recliner and buried her face in her hands. When she looked up again, the soft glow under the yellowed lamp shade somehow made the room look even more dreary and negl
ected.
Home. Safe and sound. That was what Andrew had told Daniel. But the irony of his words wasn’t lost on her. She hadn’t made the apartment a home. For four years she’d lived in a state of limbo just in case she’d had to take Daniel and leave again.
Treasured photos of Lorraine and Tom were still in a box under the bed. The furnishings couldn’t even be considered a twist on the popular “shabby chic” decor. They were just shabby.
She’d ignored the urge to ask Mrs. Enderby for permission to paint over the water-stained vanilla walls in the kitchen or give the rickety dining-room chairs a decent burial.
She’d set all her hopes on an elusive “someday.” Someday she and Daniel would have a house with a big backyard and a basketball hoop. Someday she wouldn’t have to buy flowers; she’d grow her own. Someday she would pick out furniture in the shades of rose and yellow and green she loved.
Her gaze settled on the narrow closet set in the wall between the living room and the kitchen. Somehow, the two suitcases behind the door had come to define their lives.
And she was tired of it.
She walked over to the large window overlooking the street and gathered up a fistful of dusty brocade. The heavy pinch-pleated drapes, in a shade of orange that reminded her of rusty water, would have looked more at home in the great room of a medieval castle.
She pulled a chair up to the window and reached up on her tiptoes, methodically yanking out the silver pins holding the curtains in place. Dust tickled her nose but she didn’t quit. Not until the last of the panels slid to the floor at her feet.
Her fingers traced the intricate, diamond-shaped panels of leaded glass that framed the wide pane. And the window ledge was deep enough to sit on. Almost. She teetered on the edge and braced one foot against the chair to keep herself steady as she rested her cheek against the glass.
The pale glow of a streetlamp captured the shaggy silhouettes of the trees and softened the lines of the houses. And, for the first time, she could see the stars.
Chapter Twelve
Sandra was awake most of the night but lost sleep didn’t bother her as much as it used to. Instead of tossing and turning and worrying that she’d look like a zombie the next day, her perspective had changed. Now she looked at it as an opportunity to pray.
She unlocked the back door of the diner and the musical jingle of the keys drew her attention to the pink bracelet around her wrist.
“You’re right, Lord. We’ve been through a lot,” she said out loud. “But I have to tell you I’d rather go through trials and tribulation than watch the people I love go through them. Why is that? When I know that in the darkest places, Your love shines the brightest?”
After leaving the park the day before, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Kelly and Ross.
After the initial shock of finding the note had worn off, Ross had switched into what Kelly often teasingly referred to as “Colombo” mode. He’d called Jared Kierney to find out if he knew who’d written the letters to the editor that had appeared in the Gazette the week before. One of the letters had blamed the Harcourt family for Barnaby’s illegal activities and the other had insinuated Kelly had deliberately tried to suppress information about the latest documents that had been discovered.
Even though the Gazette was running on a skeleton crew because of the holiday, Jared had called back within the hour. Both letters had come in on the same day via snail mail and both had Richmond postmarks stamped on the envelopes. That narrowed it down to roughly two-hundred-thousand people.
Jared had promised to figure out a way to do some damage control even if it meant interviewing Kelly again to clear up some of the misconceptions the letters had created.
His promise had done little for Kelly’s peace of mind. Sandra had prayed with both her and Ross before she’d left but she knew Kelly was in a battle against fear. Not for herself, but for Ross. And their unborn child.
“Sandra? Is everything all right?”
With a start, Sandra heard Miranda’s voice behind her. She realized the key was still in the door and she hadn’t moved.
“Don’t mind me.” Sandra chuckled. “I was just having a little chat with God. You’re here early.” She pushed the door open and the smell of cinnamon and yeast rolled over them.
“So are you.”
Sandra replaced her lightweight sweater with her signature pink apron and smoothed out the S sewn on the shoulder—a morning ritual Miranda doubted Sandra was even aware of. She didn’t miss the pronounced lines fanning out from the corners of Sandra’s eyes. And she knew what had put them there.
She’d always been careful not to get involved in the lives of the people she worked with. Darcy, with her flare for drama, tried to pull her into the complex web of her life on occasion, but for the most part Miranda had kept herself apart. If she encouraged people to confide in her, she might be tempted to confide in them. The seeds of friendship. And friends would be harder to leave behind than material possessions.
But even though Miranda had rebuffed her many times, Sandra had never stopped reaching out to her. And she’d thought a lot about Kelly and Ross while she’d washed every inch of the picture window. At midnight.
“How is Kelly?” she asked tentatively.
Sandra poured a cup of coffee and gave it to Miranda. “That’s what I was talking to the Lord about. She went through a terrible time, you know. We all did.” Her eyes clouded with memories. “Lindsey Morrow could have killed Kelly. And now someone else… I just don’t want her to go through this again. The adoption agency has been flourishing the past few years because of her and Eric’s dedication, and she and Ross are so excited about the baby….”
Miranda took her employer’s hand without thinking. “Maybe they should go away for a while.”
Sandra’s eyes widened. “Go away?”
“Take a trip somewhere. Or maybe even move.”
“Chestnut Grove is Kelly’s home,” Sandra said gently. “Her friends are here. Her church family is here. Her parents are buried here. Her life is here.”
“But it’s not safe.” Couldn’t Sandra see that? This was her daughter they were talking about.
“Sugar, the safest place to be is in God’s hands. And that’s where Kelly and Ross and my future grandbaby are. I’ve always believed that if a person runs away, they never leave their troubles behind—they only bring them along.”
God’s hands.
Daniel’s Bible verse played through Miranda’s mind like the words to a song. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.
Who was that true for? People who did everything right? People who’d believed God and never strayed off His path?
“But how do you know you can trust God? You battled cancer. Kelly almost died a few years ago because of Lindsey Morrow. You weren’t able to have more children—” Miranda couldn’t prevent the words that tumbled out but she didn’t understand how Sandra could still trust.
“Sometimes when we’re struggling, the enemy wants us to believe that God takes things away from us. That isn’t true. God wants to give us things. Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. Strength for fear.” Sandra smiled. “What if Daniel ran away from you when he got hurt instead of coming to you for help? It would break your heart. It isn’t so different with God, Miranda. I can trust Him because I know He loves me.” She opened up the palms of her hands. “I’m right here. Remember?”
“Mr. Noble.” Zoe caught up with Andrew at the elevator. There’s someone here to see you.”
“I don’t have time now, Zoe. Did you ask them to reschedule? I’ve got an appointment with Josiah Chrone in fifteen minutes.” He punched the button on the elevator, impatient to get the meeting over with. Zoe had called him at home that morning to tell him Mr. Chrone had insisted they meet for breakfast at his home. Which meant Andrew hadn’t been able to stop at the diner to see Miranda.
But he couldn’t pass up the “invitation.” He hadn’t made a lot of prog
ress with the elusive Mr. Chrone. The elderly widower had a generous heart for the needy and a soft spot for Rachel. Somehow, both of those things combined to create an unexpected stubbornness when it came to dealing with Andrew.
They’d talked on the phone several times and even met for lunch once but they still hadn’t found a point of connection. The point of connection that would gain Josiah’s trust and make him feel comfortable enough to give the Noble Foundation a sizable donation, earmarked for college scholarships to underprivileged high-school students.
Andrew knew, if he needed to, he could enlist Rachel’s help. Connecting with people was one of her gifts. And, no doubt, she could accomplish it from her cell phone. On bed rest. Exactly the reason why Andrew wasn’t going to ask her. He’d overheard the employees discussing the situation around the water cooler. For all he knew, they were keeping score. He hated to admit it, but his pride was at stake.
Zoe looked guilty. And frazzled. “I did mention you were leaving.”
“And?” The door swished open and Andrew took a step forward.
Zoe leaped in front of him, blocking his path.
Andrew blinked.
“He said he would wait.”
The doors closed again. Now he was late. Mr. Chrone didn’t appreciate late.
He sighed. Nothing that torpedoed his day was that important. Not if it wasn’t accompanied by a certain ring tone on his cell phone. “Who is it, Zoe?”
“I’m not sure—”
“Zoe.”
“It’s a little boy. He said his name is Daniel.”
“Call Mr. Chrone and tell him something came up.” Andrew pivoted sharply away from the elevator and strode back to his office.
It was Daniel. He sat in one of the high-back leather chairs in the reception area, feet dangling six inches above the floor. Both arms were wrapped around his backpack.
And he was alone.
For Her Son's Love Page 11
