Butterfly Dreams (A Christian Contemporary Romance)

by Bonnie Engstrom

  “Not yet, but we will.” I hang up and start the brainstorming with Brie again.

  I put my fingers on my laptop to google unique salad dressings when my cell rings. Drat, it’s Jerk Number Two wannabe. “Yes, Noel. What is it?” Do I sound curt enough?

  “Betsy, Baby, anything wrong?”

  I am not good at lying. Mutiny, maybe. The fifth commandment comes to mind again.

  I repeat. “What do you want, Noel?” I’m grinding my teeth so hard I can almost feel my gums. “Make it quick, I’m busy.”

  “Busy doing what?”

  Is the man dense or stubborn? Either way, he is driving me nuts.

  “Noel, you are older than I am. Surely, you’ve heard the expression ‘None of your beeswax.” Now I feel contrite. That was pretty nasty of me. He hangs up.

  I go back to my list of ingredients for the salad bar. Low and behold, the annoying cell phone rings again. I am tempted to click that little button on the top that silences it, but since it’s Noel I succumb and press ‘accept.’ The soles of my Merrill sandals are beating a rhythm on the tile floor. I love these sandals, have them in three colors, so comfy, worth the expense.

  “What is that sound I hear? Sounds like a slap-slap.”

  “It’s me beating down the devil.” I clench my teeth again. “What do you want? I’m in a very important meeting right now.”

  “Why’d you answer your phone?”

  “Noel,” I try hard to be civil. “Go back to whatever you were doing. I can’t talk now. Please understand. We will talk tomorrow. Have a good night.” I slam down the phone and put it on silent.

  “Now, Brie, what were we doing?”

  The expression on her face is almost contorted. It is definitely filled with questions.

  “Momma, was that Noel? Were you mean to him?”

  “Not mean, just angry.” I take a deep breath, then blow it out loudly. “The man is dense, sometimes annoying, won’t let up with the questions.” The expression on her face is now puzzled, filled with her questions.

  “B…but, you love him, right?” She fiddles with the pen she is using to write the list. “Maybe you should be more accepting? More tolerant? That’s what you told me to do with Derek, Momma.”

  Gosh, darn and whatever. She is right. If Noel and I have any future together. I suck in my breath, grit my teeth again and call him back.

  “Sorry, Noel.” It is taking a few years off my life to say that. “Guess I was hasty, so involved in my latest project.” He asks, I explain.

  “Yes, Nancy is a sweetheart. She and Lester are old friends, used to be patients of mine. Surely you remember the Memorial Day party you cooked for them?”

  How could I forget the hamburger that landed on his Topsider? “I remember, too well. You were so kind about my faux pas with the meat gracing your shoe.” I clear my throat. A subversive way to buy time. Or, admit being a jerk myself.

  Brie gives me a glare. When I don’t respond she hefts herself out of her chair, wallows over to me and gives me a swift, light kick on my right shin.

  “Ow!” I give her my nastiest scowl and stick out my tongue.

  “Betsy. You okay?” Noel says. His voice sounds worried. I hope.

  “Yes, fine. Well, sort of, maybe.” A faint chuckle escapes my lips. “What does one do with a know-it-all daughter and an errant suitor?” I hear only silence on the other end. Or, can one actually hear silence. Like that old if a tree is falling in the woods thing? Or, when a leaf drops off a tree, is there any way to hear it? Dumb comparison, I know. Still, I wonder.

  Can I really hear the wheels spinning in Noel’s brain? It’s not that hard when you love someone. You have a connection, even a brain connection. Surely, a heart connection.

  Finally, he says good-bye. This time I do turn off my phone and put it in a drawer. I move to my trusty laptop and google Unique Salad Dressings. Brie asks why I don’t use my phone, so much easier she claims.

  “Do you notice, daughter dear, the eyeglasses I just perched on my nose?” She grins and nods, a combo that’s becoming a habit with her. “That’s why. I need big screen text, and someday you will, too,” I say smugly.

  “Wow, Brie, this is fun.” She leans over my shoulder and points to the list of unique dressings.

  “Try that one.”

  “Maple Vinaigrette? It has maple syrup in it. Weird for a salad dressing.”

  “So? Think of all the fruit we’re serving. Let’s whip some up and try it.”

  “How about the sesame dressing? That sounds good, too.”

  “Let’s try them both. Pick one more.”

  I pick citronette dressing. It sounds light and sunshiny. Brie jots a list of ingredients for all three.

  We check the cupboards, the pantry and the fridge. Blessedly, we have all the ingredients needed for each dressing. I am not in the mood to run to the market. Actually, I’m not in the mood to do almost anything. But, cooking is my fun, and experimenting is even more fun. We get to work.

  Derek staggers into the small kitchen using his cane. He’s still not good at this and bumps into the bar counter. “What are you two concocting?”

  “Perfect word, Derek. That’s exactly what we’re doing. Have a seat and watch the maestros at work.”

  Brie lifts her hand in a semi-wave to him and blows him a kiss. She goes back to whipping maple syrup into canola oil. “It’s not blending well,” she says. “What if we try it with a light olive oil?”

  “Okay. Play with it, but be sure to jot down what you did.”

  This is so much fun. I’ve always hated grating citrus fruit, but for this experiment—Naw. Fortunately, I have picked oranges and lemons from the trees in the common areas of our community. No way will I pay sixty-nine cents for a supermarket lemon when I can scoop them up by the bagsful for nothing. Only in a pinch would I use the kind of rind that comes in a little spice container. I even squeeze the lemons to extract the juice the recipe requires. Fresh is always better.

  “Ouch!” Derek is rubbing his eye. Guess I got too vigorous with the lemon squeezing.

  “Sorry. Didn’t realize the juice would travel that far.”

  He nods. I suppose that means I’m forgiven. “Wanna be our dressing taster?” I figure he’s a man, and men are more cowardly about new flavors. Women usually like to try new things, hardly complain even if they don’t like them much. I remember Brie’s brother, James, picking through tuna casserole and asking what those little round green things were. My theory is, if Derek has opinions about the dressings, they are either a go, or need more revision.

  I place three tiny appetizer plates in front of him and a plastic bottle of spring water. I dip a piece of Romaine in each dressing and place them on the plates. “Take a bite. Savor it and then take a big sip of water between it and the next bite.”

  He agrees and spits out his first bite. Aw, oh. The maple dressing. But, to be sure, I replace the lettuce with a slice of apple. “Try it on this,” I say. He does, and nods and grins. Does he have the same auto gesture Brie has? Or, maybe it’s a tic.

  “Really good on fruit. Makes all the diff.” He asks for more.

  “Nope. Gotta try the other two first.” I can be so hardcore.

  It seems he has mixed feelings, or tastes, about the others. He likes them okay, but one needs more salt and the other needs more “zip.” I add salt and zip in the form of cayenne pepper, and he grins and nods. This grinning and nodding is getting to me. I know he has a voice.

  Brie and I make adjustments to the recipes, enough to make them our own. Now, we just have to take samples to Fancy Nancy for approval.

  ~

  It’s almost noon. Nancy finally opens the door to my persistent bell-ringing and knocking. She has smeared mascara around her eyes and blinks rapidly. I grab her in a hug. “What’s wrong?”

  She clings to me, but only shakes her head. When she finally lets go I notice she has no ring on her finger. That scares me.

  Brie grabs my arm. “Maybe
we should come back another time, Momma.”

  “No! She needs us…now.”

  I steer Nancy to the opulent butter-leather sofa in her living room and plunk her down. She grabs the afghan on its arm and throws it across her chest. Her face is a blank canvas, and she is staring into the space beyond. Suddenly, tears cascade like Niagara Falls down her lovely, but pale, cheeks. She makes no sound, but her shoulders heave.

  “He left me.”

  It is a simple statement, but filled with pain and unbelief. I, of course, ask the stupid question.

  “Why?”

  She, of course, states the age-old, obvious answer. “I don’t know.”

  FORTY SEVEN

  “Noel, I need your help!” I have left Nancy with Brie holding her and locked myself in another fancy powder room. “Noel! Get your rear in gear. Answer the phone.”

  Yes, I’m shouting which makes no sense on a cell phone unless the receiving one is deliberately on speaker. I just keep hoping as I press redial a zillion times that he will hear whatever musical announcement he has programmed to signify his phone is ringing. It doesn’t help that I’ve automatically turned the bathroom fan on, and I can hardly hear the ringer on the other end.

  It’s been at least ten minutes since I left Nancy with Brie. Guilt is consuming me. Then, I remember, Brie has experience in the husband leaving the wife scenario. Maybe I did the right thing. I tip-toe into the designer living room and hold my breath. Brie and Nancy are sitting side by side and holding hands, and…quietly talking.

  “Tell me again,” Brie says matter of factly. “It helps to repeat it, to go over it.” She should know. Nancy looks down at Brie’s belly and nods.

  “Guess you have some experience in this,” she states. Brie grins slightly and nods. A repeat performance. I suppose I should be used to it by now.

  “He…he.” Nancy gulps sucking down tears.

  ~

  Brie hoists herself into Old Sassy. I guess I should have helped her, but my mind is in a whirl twirling up to the glistening stars, stars seldom seen in an Arizona night. Usually the moon is gleaming and shining, holding court. Tonight, it is blurred a bit by either a recalcitrant cloud or mist. That, according to the weather gurus, means possible rain. How I wish. Tomorrow morning, just in case, I will dig out those cute rain boots I bought on sale last summer at Kohl’s.

  “Momma,” Brie whines, “are you getting in?”

  “Oops, sorry. I was counting the stars.” I climb in, turn the key and nothing. Not even a sputter. I try again three times. “Sassy’s not feeling well tonight,” I say to Brie.

  “Have you looked at the gas gauge, Momma?”

  Oops, again. Yep, the little light is on.

  She stares at me with a half trusting, half mean expression. “I guess I forgot.”

  Brie shakes her head like one does when trying to make sense of a fool.

  “What now?” she says. “There’s no gas station close to walk to.”

  “No, but there’s Noel.” This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for, a reason to get Noel out of Bett’s for an emergency situation. It’s time he moved his sorry rear and came to my rescue.

  Thirty minutes later he pulls up in his “other car,” the Mercedes S65AMG.

  OMG!

  ~

  “Fancy meeting you here. Hello, Brie.” He steps slowly out of his car leaving the door open. Maybe to make a quick get-away?

  “Hi, Noel. Guess we’re in trouble. I hope you can help. I need to get back to Derek.” Brie can sound so little girlish when she wants to get a favor.

  I suppose I taught her that. Feminine wiles. I use them myself. And, I’m kind of proud of it. It’s a gift.

  “Noel, you have no idea how grateful I am that you came. We were really stuck here.” I pause to bat my lashes beneath my new brows. “I hope we didn’t get you out of your sick bed.” I bat again. “We didn’t know who else to call, and I knew you’d be concerned. Bett, too.” I search his puzzled face. Did I overdo it too much? Still, he showed up, and I am really grateful.

  Oops, I forgot to hug him. I throw myself against his chest and collide with a gas can he is holding in front of it. “Betsy,” he says with a snort, “you are still the master of unusual entrances. Very dramatic.

  “Now, can we get to the problem and solve it?” He pushes me away like some fly that’s landed on his sleeve. I stumble and end up in Brie’s arms, almost tumbling her, too.

  “Noel,” she screams, “what are you doing? Why are you treating my mother this way?”

  To his credit his ears turn radish red, and he mumbles, “Sorry.” Like that’s an apology?

  He ambles to Old Sassy with gas can in hand and bangs on her little door that is supposed to open to reveal the hole in which to put in the nozzle to fill the tank. Uh, oh. Sassy’s little door does not cooperate. I get a metal nail file out of my voluminous purse and try to pry it. No deal.

  “Momma,” Brie chirps, “have you turned the key on?”

  I’m sure she knows, as I do, one should never turn on the car when trying to fill with gasoline. Still, I jump back in the driver’s seat and turn the key. Voila!

  After the reluctant little door opens, I turn off the key. Guess I learned something new about Old Sassy. Even a trick from Brie.

  Noel slaps the side of the car and says, “Get in. Try it.”

  I do. It starts. I jump out to give him a kiss, but he is already back in his shiny Mercedes, engine started and easing forward out of Nancy and Lester’s long circular driveway. The coward.

  The runaway? The scaredy-cat? The ingrate? My mind is tumbling to find the right adjective to describe his appalling behavior.

  “Momma, let’s go. I am worried about Derek.” Brie brings me back to the present as she hefts herself into the passenger seat pulling up by the handy little grip above the passenger door. Thank goodness she is worrying about her husband. Obviously, she has more sensitivity than I’ve given her credit for. I remind myself she’s a good kid and has matured immensely in the last month. I need to honor that.

  I reach across and squeeze her hand, but first thing on my mind is filling my gas tank. So important, necessary. Wouldn’t you think?

  “No, Momma. Take me home first, please.”

  After I zoom into the condo complex and give Brie three seconds to jump out of Sassy, I speed away to the closest gas station. Now, if only my credit card will work.

  FORTY EIGHT

  The supermarket gas station, the one where you can use your preferred customer card gas points, is crowded. I get in line behind a BMW SUV. It’s huge tank intimidates Sassy. I can tell because she’s starting to sputter and cough. Well, maybe because she’s bordering on empty. Poor baby must be hungry. Finally, it’s my turn. I pull up to the pump and jump out with my credit card in hand and collide with a woman in a green sweater. (Yes, a sweater in late summer in Arizona. In 104 degree heat in the evening. Must be a snowbird.)

  “Sorry,” she proclaims. “I must be on the wrong side.” She gestures to another car in another aisle. “I thought you had to pull the hose all the way around. Not used to this station.” She is referring to how one can pull the long hose around one’s car if the car gas tank is on the side opposite from the filling tank.

  “That’s okay. I guess you misunderstood. The hoses are long so you can pull them all the way around your car if you need to.” I smile at her ineptitude, and she nods.

  I max my card out at $3.37 a gallon, even with the fuel point discounts. Sassy slurps up a lot. Realizing I need to use the rest room, as well as buy more salad greens, I steer Sassy to a parking spot near the market entrance. I tug on the restroom door to leave as it gets shoved in my face with force. It’s the same green sweater woman. She grins. “Wanna dance?” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Let’s hum a tune,” I say grinning. “Thanks for your sense of humor,” I yell back to her as she enters and I exit. She makes an abrupt one-eighty and clasps my elbow before the door closes.
“My name is Muriel. It’s so nice to meet you—”

  I fill in the blank. “Betsy.”

  To my surprise, maybe consternation, she throws her arms around me in a hug. I am a bit bewildered, but should I be alarmed? Is she one of “those” people who have to hug everyone in sight, or is she just being nice because of our earlier gas station situation? Or, is she lonely? I am about to find out.

  “Forgive me, Betsy. I know I am overly forward. But, you were so kind at the gas station, and…I’ve been so lonely since I moved here.” Her eyes are moist and her lips tremble. “Forgive me,” she repeats.

  A lot goes through my mind very quickly. She could be a scam artist hoping to make a connection to steal all my earthly goods. Or, she might truly be lonely and need a friend. Hebrews 13:2 comes to mind. “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” I decide the Holy Spirit has put Muriel on my heart, and possibly in my life.

  I am about to find out.

  ~

  I park Sassy in an open space in my condo’s parking lot and gesture to Muriel to park in another open spot. We climb out of our respective vehicles, and she rushes to hug me again. I notice she smells good, possibly Jessica McClintock, my old favorite. For the first time I really notice her attire. I’ve never been big on labels, but some are obvious, even to plebeian moi.

  She is wearing a Ralph Lauren sweater set, (yes, in green), and a pair of cut-offs that are probably from Chico’s. I also notice her car. A newish Lexus in black. Very trendy, understated. Her short blondish-grayish hair is styled in a bob, and her earrings are either real, or fake diamond studs. She is not lacking possessions, obviously not poor. Just poor in the human department according to her.

  I clasp her elbow and steer her toward my front door. “You sure about this?” she says. “We’ve only known each other twenty minutes.”