by Mae Nunn
Pastor Driskell moved from behind his desk and took the chair next to Drew. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you and then we’ll decide about further counseling.”
Drew’s chest swelled with a deep breath. He twined his fingers together and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
All the practiced thoughts fled as he blurted, “I’m letting everybody down, and I’m afraid God’s at the top of the list.”
“How are you letting everyone down?”
“My father expects me to follow through with our plan for my career, but I can’t. Everything was all mapped out until I met Jessica and now nothing’s going the way I’d anticipated.”
The pastor smiled. “In the thirty-two years I’ve been in ministry, I’ve found very few lives that unfolded according to our expectations. God has a way of changing our plans, and we never see it coming. But the great thing about God is that He’ll never give you more change than you can handle.”
“It’s my father who can’t handle it.”
Pastor Driskell leaned back and crossed his arms. He squinted behind his horn-rimmed glasses as if to get a better look at Drew.
“Are you the oldest child in your family?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“What kind of relationship do you have with your father?”
“We’re close.” Drew dropped his head and stared at his hands. “As long as he’s calling the shots.”
The older man leaned in, laying a warm palm on Drew’s forearm.
“And you think by letting your father down you’re letting God down, too?”
Drew nodded.
“I’ve seen this a thousand times. It’s only natural that your image of our heavenly Father would be colored by your experience with your earthly father. If your father always has to have the last word it only stands to reason that God the Father would, too, right?”
Drew agreed by giving the pastor a weak smile.
“But God doesn’t call the shots, Andrew. He gives us free will to make our own decisions. We experience rewards or suffer consequences because of those decisions, but either way He still loves us. When we consciously live in His will that’s when all things can work together according to His purposes.”
As Drew considered the wisdom of the pastor’s words, his own worries fled and he thought of Jessica. “I have a friend who was abandoned by her father. She doesn’t think God’s there for her. He’s too busy to answer her prayers.” Drew looked for confirmation.
“Exactly.” The pastor nodded. “Lots of people come to the same conclusion. It’s understandable these days when so few parent-child relationships are based on unconditional love and forgiveness. But God is not limited by human characteristics or failings. He doesn’t view us through human eyes. He sees His children cleansed by the perfect sacrifice of Christ.”
“That’s a lot to think about,” Drew conceded.
“It always has been.” Pastor Driskell chuckled, his warm gray eyes crinkled in a permanent pattern. “Feel any better?”
“I’m not sure I can until my father is able to accept the new direction my life is taking.”
“Then I’ll pray that in God’s perfect timing your father’s heart will be softened to your decision.”
“Thank you, sir.” Drew stood and extended his hand. “May I come back to visit with you again?”
“Absolutely. Will you be here on Sunday for worship?”
“I’m certain of it,” Drew answered.
“Will your friend come with you?”
“Good question. That’s an area where I’m not certain of anything.”
At midnight Sacred Arms was dark and quiet. Drew closed and locked the garage door. To stretch his legs after a long evening of sitting with a client, he walked the fieldstone path around the far side of his building.
A soft light glowing through the shuttered windows of the Commons recreation hall caught his attention. Figuring a neighbor was cleaning up after a private event, he turned toward the copper-domed structure. The heavy door swung open easily, admitting him into the cool, silent hallway.
“Hello?”
His hesitant greeting bounced off the marble floor and echoed against the tall ceiling. Getting no response, he continued toward the source of the light that slipped from a door ajar at the end of the corridor. He stood quietly outside the door listening for activity. There was no sound at all, but he had an innate sense that someone was in the room.
Once again he cautiously offered a “Hello?” and slowly pushed the door wide. The single word was all he could manage as he caught sight of the living rainbow contained by the four walls.
Color was everywhere! Crates and crates of flowers, ready to be planted. Petals of brilliant blue, shocking pink, eye-popping orange and buttery yellow softly stirred under the slight wind from an overhead fan. Healthy green ferns, waxed and shining, waited to be coupled with the colorful blooms and repositioned into the new pots, each one an individual work of art.
The assembly line was set up on makeshift worktables of plywood atop sturdy sawhorses. There was every stage of creation, from the skid of somehow familiar empty pots to the rows of finished arrangements.
He moved to get a closer look at the containerized gardens that were complete, down to the shiny silk ribbons adorned with golden lace.
As he reached to inspect the delicate handiwork, the rustle of movement in a dark corner caught his attention. Without a sound he turned slowly in the direction of the motion. A sympathetic smile slid across his lips as he saw the form asleep on the floor.
Jessica lay with her back to him, curled in a ball beneath a ragged old quilt, her blond head resting on a sack of Spanish moss. The covering rose and fell slightly as she breathed deeply, lost in heavy sleep. On the floor beside her an alarm clock ticked away the minutes, probably only a few hours from shattering the silence.
Unable to resist the tangle of softness that spread across the unlikely pillow, he silently crossed the floor and squatted beside her. With no one to see, he gently brushed the back of his hand down the length of Jessica’s hair. Careful not to disturb her sleep, he coiled silky strands around his fingers, releasing her unique scent.
Shampoo and potting soil.
Jessica chose that moment to roll over and shift to her other side. Just for a second her heavy lids opened and she smiled dreamily. He held his breath, wanting to reach out and touch her, to make her know he was real. Her lids slid closed again and she dropped back to sleep with a drowsy moan.
The soft sound was almost his undoing. The choice between leaving her to rest for the few hours remaining and waking her to steal those hours for himself was a battle.
Until he recalled that she didn’t trust him.
“Stay away from me.” Her words rang in his memory.
He considered the long conversation he’d had with Pastor Driskell. It stood to reason that Jessica’s inability to rely on her father, the most important man in her life, would cause her to be suspicious of all men. Drew was no longer angry that she’d accused him, simply hurt.
No matter how drawn he was to the gorgeous creature under the faded quilt, he’d never impose himself where he wasn’t wanted.
Standing, he backed away slowly, careful not to disturb anything in the room. Glad for the chance to slip out completely unnoticed and determined to do something to make things right.
Chapter Twelve
Three more days. Jessica glanced at the clock that had become her nemesis. Seventy-two hours. If she hadn’t needed to keep such a close eye on the remaining time, she’d have hurled the ticking monster against the stone fireplace that took up a full wall of the cluttered recreation room.
If Madeline called one more time for a “minor request,” Jessica was certain she’d scream.
The woman must think I’m a magician! she thought.
Could Jessica do something extra on the front steps? Would it be too much trouble to coordinate with the florist on
the ribbon? Were there any edible flowers in season? Would she be free to spend the wedding day at the house organizing all the outdoor decorating?
There just weren’t enough hours left to do everything, and the tick, tick, tick of the infernal clock reverberated in the room like a time bomb. Even making the short walk from the Commons to her own place was a luxury she’d all but given up days ago. Other than a quick trip each morning for a shower and clean clothes, she confined herself to the rec room.
Left alone to create the spectacular containerized gardens, Jessica was making her visions become reality one by one. Everywhere she turned, the living flowers were like her children. Their faces lifted for her approval and nodded their delicate heads in agreement.
Madeline had pushed far beyond the original plan. During the meal, two hundred vivid daylilies would cradle servings of spicy shrimp salad. There would be pleasing formations on the front steps that hinted of the bursts of color in the back garden. The same satin-and-lace ribbon would segue beautifully from the floral arrangements in the pre–Civil War chapel to the last pot of flowers by the back gate.
Flowers and ribbons were the least of Jessica’s worries. The last request would be the hardest to fill and what she lacked, most of all, was time. Now she frantically called Sam Harrelson in search of a crew to support her with some expensive Saturday overtime.
“Oh, Sam, thank you so much!” She almost cried from relief. “If you can have two or three guys and a box truck here that morning, I swear I’ll kiss you the next time I see you!”
The seventysomething great-grandfather would likely try to collect on the offer. “Miss Holliday, don’t you worry none. Me and my boys’ll be over there at first light.”
Dressed in pedal pushers and what looked like an original Woodstock T-shirt, Becky Jo arrived with thick homemade sandwiches, a jug of sun tea and a worn-out pair of gardening gloves.
“I thought you had clients this afternoon.” Jessica was suspicious, but grateful for the unexpected company.
“I did, but they all canceled on me. Weirdest thing.”
Jessica accepted the tall glass of tea and took a cool swallow to clear the lump suddenly lodged in her throat.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” Becky Jo replied. “You can’t afford to pay for help and you’re too hardheaded to ask for it. I won’t stand by and let you fail when this place and your business mean so much to you. You know I’d love to have you come back to Dallas with me. But only out of choice, not necessity.”
“Thank you,” she whispered to her best friend. Jessica was enveloped in Becky Jo’s hug.
“Goodness gracious. It looks like a rainbow exploded in here.” The petite woman in the doorway was barely recognizable in rolled-up jeans, a denim work shirt and a baseball cap. If the voice hadn’t given her away, the sparkling diamonds at her ears, neck and wrists would have done the trick.
“Valentine! What are you doing here and what in the world have you got on?” In the years since Jessica had purchased her home, she’d never seen Valentine Chandler in anything less than sheer nylons and alligator pumps.
“Well, dahhhlin’, I thought you might be able to use a little help. Believe it or not, I’m not always in designer suits. As you can see, I do own one pair of jeans.”
“Then let’s get to work.” Jessica beamed her approval.
Four hours later, Jessica was giving serious consideration to discharging her volunteer army. As much as she normally enjoyed the company of Becky Jo and Valentine, their constant barrage of good-natured insults was testing what little religion Jessica had.
“I told you to let me do the ribbons. I was tying gorgeous Christmas bows before you ever learned to tie shoes,” Valentine complained to Becky Jo.
“You mean before my mama learned to tie shoes, don’t you?” Becky Jo couldn’t resist. “And besides, you’re the one who insisted your years of haute couture were the perfect experience for picking just the right flowers for each pot, dahhhhlin’.”
“Well,” Valentine huffed. “We could hardly trust your taste. For heaven’s sake, you look like a twopound bag of melted skittles half the time and a garage-sale junkie the other half.”
“Why, thank you, Valentine.” Becky Jo smiled down at today’s fashion statement. “I never thought you really appreciated my multidecade retro look. Actually, I wasn’t sure you could see it for the glare off all that cubic zirconia.”
Valentine held out a hand and cast an approving smile at her jewels. “You better hope you have to shade your eyes from stones like these one day, dahhhlin’ girl. And you could, if you’d just let me take you shopping someplace besides the thrift shop.”
Jessica listened silently, her agitation mounting as the two women exchanged fashion tips veiled as insults. To make matters worse, everything coming off the assembly line looked, well, nothing at all like the pieces she had crafted by herself.
The personal touch she’d worked so hard to achieve was simply not evident in the eight containerized gardens the team had put together. Nothing short of ripping them apart and replanting would be acceptable.
The clock ticked feverishly.
Sixty-eight hours left and I might as well have spent the last four in a bubble bath, for all the work I’ve accomplished, she thought.
A quick count indicated that there were still two dozen planters to be etched with metallic gold and decorated with the now dwindling supply of expensive ribbon. Then came the creative part of combining the many blossoms to produce a garden that was similar to the rest, but uniquely different.
Jessica had busied herself with the pots, glad to delegate the planting to Becky Jo and Valentine for a few hours. Big mistake. They were good friends who meant well, but they were also friends who would drive her out of business if she didn’t get rid of them fast.
“Hey, ladies. Can a guy crash this private party?”
The question bounced off the high ceiling. All three women turned toward the masculine voice.
“There you are, you handsome rascal!” Valentine’s immediate gushing over Drew Keegan made Jessica and Becky Jo exchange puzzled looks, eyebrows raised in question. Valentine held out her arms for a hug. “I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”
It was evident he’d come to understand hugging was a standard Southern greeting. Without pause, Drew returned the embrace. Above Valentine’s head he nodded hello to the other two women, then turned his head to survey the room.
“Wow, Jessica, you’ve done some amazing work here.”
She cut her eyes at him skeptically.
“I mean it.” He nodded approval. “It’s stunning.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to get credit for one’s hard work now and then.” She impaled him with an icy stare.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” Valentine came to his rescue.
“I’ve been on the road quite a bit lately, scouting the countryside for special parts and partial restorations we can complete for our showroom.”
“Well, the folks at Sacred Arms miss you.” Valentine spoke pointedly at Jessica. “So don’t stay away so long.”
Jessica turned her back to the group, determined to ignore his presence.
Her dismissal didn’t seem to affect Drew. “Actually I’m home for the next week and looking forward to some time to hide in my own closet, if I want to.”
Jessica sputtered into the glass of tea she’d just raised to her lips. Embarrassed, she glanced around to see two heads turned in concern, a third in amusement. She waved over her shoulder to show she was okay.
He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation. “Jessica introduced me to a place that serves great Mexican food. Would you ladies consider accepting a dinner invitation?”
Jessica remained with her back to the others, eyes fixed on her work. By now she figured the three would get her silent message. She should have known better.
“Heck, yeah, if you really mean it,” Becky
Jo agreed.
That did it. Jessica whipped around to take in the scene of her roommate making a date with their traitorous neighbor.
“As a rule, I don’t go out during the week, but a girl does have to eat.” Valentine cast in her lot with the others.
All three turned hopefully toward Jessica, who shook her head emphatically. She should be grateful to him for getting the two out of her hair. Instead she felt her stomach rumble with jealousy.
“I couldn’t possibly leave.” When she noticed her friends’ guilty faces she immediately added, “But you two go on. You’ve earned it for all the help you’ve given me today. I’m so far ahead now that I can get a good night’s sleep.”
“How about some carryout?” Becky Jo offered.
“That would be great.”
“Do you need anything else?” Drew asked. “Some of those pots look pretty heavy. If they have to go up on that table just let me know and I’ll be glad to lift them for you.”
For the first time she let herself stare him directly in the eye. He stood there so appealing, so innocent. It was unnerving and he knew it. He was doing it on purpose, complimenting her work, offering dinner, wanting to help.
“Thanks, but I have everything under control.”
She remembered the clock.
I hope.
Dinner was lively and enlightening. Drew nursed sweet tea and the two women expertly squirted lime into their long-neck bottles, regaling their host with stories of growing up in the South. Their formative years were decades apart, but they were sisters under the skin, with amazingly similar stories of Easter shoes and beauty pageants.
With three empty bottles to her credit, Becky Jo couldn’t resist asking Drew why he’d complained about Jessica’s business. Before he could defend himself, Valentine’s head popped up from the earnest effort of folding a fajita.
“Is that what Jessica thought? That Drew was the one who complained?”
“Yes,” the other two chorused.
Valentine pressed a palm to her flushed brow.
“Mercy sakes alive! I didn’t tell her it was our property developer, Daniel Ellis, who called because I knew she’d be mortified to think he was critical of her. They’ve always been so fond of each other and, quite frankly, I was surprised he did such a thing.”
