“I fed three horses, Mom,” Serena informed Callie, when she approached the table where the girls were sitting. “I wanted to ride Mahjong again, but Luke said I couldn’t unless I had your permission.”
Callie glanced in Luke’s direction, saw him drop a bill into the jar Happy Dan had set out earlier. People had been generous all morning, even without fully understanding the cryptic pitch taped to the glass. The jar was a third full already.
With a smile for her daughter, Callie said, “You must be hungry after working that hard.”
Serena nodded importantly.
Kristen grinned up at Callie. “She’s a great kid.”
“She sure is,” Callie agreed. “Now, what’ll it be? Today, breakfast is on the house.”
“I heard that,” Happy Dan grumbled from the other side of the pass-through. But then he grinned. “Good thing I’m such a bighearted guy.”
“Waffles, please,” Serena said. “With lots of syrup.”
“Waffles,” Callie repeated, pretending to write the order on her pad. “With fresh strawberries.”
“If you’re going to be a rodeo queen,” Kristen told Serena, “you’ve got to lay off the sugar, and go easy on fat, too.”
“Why?” Serena asked reasonably.
Luke chuckled, shook his head. “Good question,” he said.
Kristen’s smile was blinding. She was a beautiful girl, and would probably make a wonderful rodeo queen. “Because you don’t want to squash the horse, for one thing,” she said.
Callie bit back a chuckle.
Serena pondered for a moment. “Okay,” she said brightly. “Strawberries instead of syrup.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Callie asked. “Kristen? What about you?”
“The same thing Serena’s having, please,” the girl answered. “And coffee.”
Turning to put in the orders and pour a glass of milk for Serena and coffee for Kristen, Callie nearly collided with Luke. His proximity made her heart flutter a little.
“I suppose you want breakfast, too?” she asked. Considering the hour, he might have opted for lunch.
Luke arched an eyebrow. “That was the general idea,” he said. “This being a café and all—”
Callie blushed. She hadn’t meant to sound abrupt—it was just that Luke made her nervous in a not entirely pleasant sort of way. Momentarily unable to speak, she lifted the pad and tried to look attentive.
Luke chuckled, apparently amused by her discomfort. “Waffles,” he said. “With a side of crisp bacon and some coffee.”
Callie hurried away.
She brought the two cups of coffee first, then Serena’s milk.
Luke was seated beside Serena, and she was wearing his hat, giggling because it covered most of her face.
Except for Happy Dan, Serena’s contact with adult males was limited. Watching her with Luke, Callie ached. Every little girl longed for a daddy, and Serena was no exception. Callie tried to be both mother and father to the child, but there were times when she had to admit defeat, at least to herself, and this was one of them.
Callie was too busy to contemplate her shortcomings for very long, though. There was simply too much to do, since the place was filled with hungry churchgoers, and by the time she’d served everybody, Luke, Kristen and Serena had finished their waffles.
Callie watched, while pretending not to, as Luke reclaimed his hat, kissed Serena on top of the head, said goodbye and left, pausing briefly at the counter to speak to Hal, who was still bent over his legal pad, writing industriously. Kristen lingered a few minutes, chatting earnestly with Serena, then she vanished, too.
Serena looked very small and forlorn, sitting alone in that booth, her body language wistful as she stared out the window.
“Hey, kiddo,” Callie said, squeezing in beside Serena. On Sundays, she only worked a half day, since Happy Dan liked to close early.
“Hey,” Serena responded on cue, turning to look up at Callie and offer a brave smile.
“You’ve had a busy morning.”
Serena nodded. “So have you.”
“Ready to go home and see Cherokee?”
Serena brightened, nodded again.
“We have to stop for a few groceries on the way,” Callie said, thinking aloud.
“Do your feet hurt?” Serena asked seriously.
Callie often complained of sore feet after a shift at Happy Dan’s. Looking at Serena now, she felt guilty for ever complaining about anything. “I feel fine,” she said, smiling and leaning to kiss her daughter’s forehead.
With that, Callie transferred her tips from her apron pocket to her purse, tossed the apron into the laundry basket in the back room behind the kitchen, and said goodbye to Dan and Hal.
Dan gestured toward the money in the jar on the counter. “Aren’t you taking this with you?”
“Put it in the safe,” Callie answered.
“Soon as I’ve drawn up the papers,” Hal put in, “we can open a proper bank account.”
“Don’t you at least want to count it?” Dan pressed.
“I trust you,” Callie said, after shaking her head. She was in the café doorway by then, and Serena was tugging impatiently at her hand.
After shopping for groceries, Callie and Serena went straight home.
And found the Carson brothers, Walt and Pete, unloading a truck-load of lumber next to the barn.
“There must be some mistake,” Callie began, jumping out of the Blazer. “I didn’t order any lumber.”
She’d known both Walt and Pete since kindergarten—they ran a small construction company part-time and worked the night shift at the mill. Watching her approach, Walt smiled.
“Luke Banner did,” he said.
“Why?” Callie countered.
Serena, anxious to look in on Cherokee, dashed past the three grown-ups and into the barn.
Pete pushed back his billed cap and scratched his head. “He said your barn needed work.” Pausing, Pete assessed the structure. “He was sure enough right about that.”
“Wait one second,” Callie protested. “I can’t afford—”
“Luke said to put it on his bill,” Walt said.
“He’s going to help us with the work, too,” Pete added helpfully.
“But—”
“We’d better get this lumber unloaded,” Walt went on.
Confounded, Callie checked on Serena and Cherokee first, then went into the house, looked up Luke’s number and called him.
“Dr. Banner,” he said.
“Luke,” Callie said, “Pete and Walt Carson are outside, unloading lumber. They told me—”
“I meant to bring this up at the café,” Luke said, when Callie fell silent, “but you were pretty busy.”
Callie was fairly strangling on her pride. “I don’t need charity, Luke,” she whispered, although Serena was in the barn and there was no one to hear. “I know the place is run-down, and I’m grateful for your help with Cherokee, but—”
“Callie.”
“What?”
“This isn’t charity—it’s more like a bribe. You’ve got three extra stalls over there, and I’m in a temporary overflow situation here. Frankly, I’m hoping you’ll take Mahjong and a couple of the others until I’ve got a few more stalls open and sort of—well—foster them. I’ll provide the hay and anything else they need, of course. Kristen can stop by and help with the grooming and exercise.”
Callie’s eyes burned. Luke was being so generous. Why was she having such a hard time allowing that? “Well, you don’t have to rebuild the barn, for heaven’s sake,” she protested, blinking hard and doing her best to maintain her dignity.
“Don’t I?” Luke asked practically. “First high wind, it’s going to come down. And then there’s winter. It’s a miracle it hasn’t already collapsed.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Lots of reasons, Callie. Because I can. Because it’s right. And—” Here, Luke stopped and cleared his throa
t. “And because one summer I took a girl to a dance and kissed her and I’ve never forgotten how it felt.”
Callie didn’t know what to say to that. She remembered the kiss, too; the light warmth of it still tingled on her lips. “We shouldn’t have,” she said. “Denny—”
“Denny’s gone, Callie. And he’d want you and Serena to be happy. It’s too soon to say any more, so I’m going to leave it at that. Consider it food for thought, though.”
Callie began to cry, silently and for so many reasons she couldn’t have listed them all. “Luke—”
“What?”
She drew a deep, quavering breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you.”
There was a smile in his voice. “You’re welcome,” he said. “I have to take another call, so I’d better let you go.”
“Goodbye,” Callie said, long after Luke had hung up.
She was still standing there in the kitchen, holding the telephone receiver in one hand, when Serena burst through the back door.
“Mom? Are we going to carry the groceries in?”
Callie had forgotten the groceries. “Yes,” she said, but she still didn’t move.
“Walt and Pete said they’d help, if you want them to.”
Callie was about to say, We’ll do it ourselves, when she stopped. It was a fine thing to be independent, but everybody needed a hand sometimes, and she wanted Serena to be able to receive help as graciously as she gave it. “Sure,” she said instead. “That’s nice of them.”
Serena’s eyes shone with joy. “And we’re getting a new barn!”
And so it was that Walt and Pete carried in all the grocery bags and stayed for a late lunch of bologna sandwiches, pork and beans and cookies.
After they’d gone, Callie cleared the kitchen table, got out her beads and tools and some old pieces of painted china she’d purchased at garage and estate sales and on eBay.
Making jewelry always soothed her nerves.
Serena, meanwhile, helped by sorting beads into color groups and arranging them in necklace shapes on Callie’s bead-board. She had a knack for design, even at the tender age of seven.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Callie asked, going through various small bits of china, which she’d already trimmed with special snippers. She finally selected an old-fashioned portrait of an Indian maiden rowing a canoe and smiled at her daughter. “Besides a rodeo queen.”
“Could I be a mommy?”
Callie’s heart squeezed. Despite her limitations, Serena could look forward to a fairly normal life, but motherhood might not be an option.
“Well,” Callie said carefully, “you’d need a husband first.”
“You’re my mommy,” Serena reasoned, “and you don’t have a husband.”
For some reason, Callie thought of Luke at that moment, not Denny. And she heard Luke’s voice in her mind, too. Because one summer I took a girl to a dance and kissed her and I’ve never forgotten how it felt.
“I did have, though. Your dad.”
Serena frowned, thinking hard. “Kristen’s friend Denise had a baby last month, and she doesn’t have a husband.”
Callie sighed. “Okay, it’s best to have a husband.”
“Maybe you should get another one. Then I’d have a dad.”
Oh, Lord, Callie thought. How did we get from what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up to this? “It’s not quite that easy,” she said.
Serena beamed, inspired. “You could marry Luke!”
“Hold it,” Callie said, setting down the china piece.
“But he’s nice!”
“Yes,” Callie agreed. “Luke is very nice. He’s a good friend. But that’s as far as it goes.”
Serena sagged a little. “Oh.”
Callie leaned in her chair and planted a noisy kiss on the top of Serena’s head. “We’ve always done just fine on our own, haven’t we?”
Serena nodded, but she looked patently unconvinced. “I’m the only kid in my class who doesn’t have a dad,” she reminded Callie quietly.
Callie hugged her. “You do have a dad, Serena. His name was Denny Dorset, and he loved you very much.”
“He’s in heaven, though,” Serena said. “And that’s far. Can’t he come and visit us or something?”
Callie could barely speak. “We’ve been over that before, sweetie,” she replied, once she could trust her voice. “Heaven isn’t far—it just seems that way. I know it’s hard not being able to see your dad, but I’m sure he watches over us, always.”
“But he can’t visit. That’s against the rules, right?”
Callie swallowed painfully. “Right,” she said.
“It’s a bad rule,” Serena insisted.
“Nothing about heaven is bad, Serena. You know that. It’s just that there are a lot of things we don’t understand.”
Serena sighed, fiddled with the array of green beads she was arranging on what she called the necklace board. Callie considered the design and laid the bit of china at the base, to see how it would look.
“Gorgeous,” she said. “Maybe you’ll grow up to be a jewelry designer.”
Serena’s attempt at a smile was heartrending. “Tell me a story, Mom,” she said softly, touching the Indian maiden with the tip of one finger. “Tell me about this girl in a boat. Where is she going? What’s her name?”
Relieved, but still choked up, Callie considered the china maiden. “Her name is—Tiger Lily,” she said, winging it. Fortunately, she’d had a lot of practice at that. “She’s on her way to the trading post.”
“What’s a trading post?”
“A store.”
“Like Wal-Mart?”
Callie chuckled and, since Serena was absorbed in Tiger Lily and not looking directly at her, took the opportunity to dry her eyes with the back of one hand. “Sort of.”
“What’s she going to buy there?”
Callie drew a deep breath, let it out. Straightened her shoulders. “She’s been making lovely necklaces with her mom. And she’s taking them to the trading post to sell.”
“Does she go to school?”
“Of course she does. School is very important. And Tiger Lily wants to have a good job when she grows up.”
Serena frowned, studying the nubile Tiger Lily, with her buckskin dress and long, flowing hair. “She looks pretty grown up already.”
“Okay,” Callie agreed. “She’s already grown up. But she’s not very old, because she still lives with her mother.”
“Where?”
“In a village.”
“Does she have a horse, like Cherokee?”
“Absolutely.”
Serena smiled, and her eyes were full of earnest hope when she lifted her gaze to Callie’s face. “Does she have Down syndrome, like me?”
Oh, God, Callie thought. “Yes,” she said. “I think she does.”
“Do you think she has a dad?”
“No,” Callie said, still improvising. “She did once, of course, but he had to go to heaven. So now it’s just Tiger Lily and her mom—Dancing Feather. But they’re very happy together. They have lots of friends in their village, and they make beautiful necklaces to sell at the trading post.”
“Not on eBay?”
Callie laughed. “Not on eBay,” she said.
“Tiger Lily should get a computer,” Serena decided. “Then she could sell her necklaces on the Internet.”
“She really should,” Callie agreed. “She should get a computer.”
Serena’s smile brightened. “Okay, she has a computer,” she said, taking up the threads of the story Callie had invented. This was part of the story game. “And she’s really happy. Tiger Lily, I mean. She’s happy because her mom is going to get married again, and then she’ll have a dad, like everybody else in her class.”
“I see,” said Callie—and she did, only too well. “Don’t you have some homework to do?”
That night, after supper and Serena’s bath and the story, Callie tucked her in and
kissed her.
“Good night, Dancing Feather,” Serena said.
Callie smiled. “Good night, Tiger Lily,” she replied.
And she didn’t cry until she was out in the hallway, where Serena couldn’t see.
Back in the kitchen, she strung the beads Serena had chosen, carefully set the china image in silver and attached a bale. The piece was exquisite, and it would bring a high price—if she’d been willing to sell it.
She knew she couldn’t part with Tiger Lily, though. Not after the story she and Serena had spun around her.
Callie set the necklace aside, methodically put away all her tools, the beads and the design board. Then, reaching for her jean jacket, she ducked outside under the spring stars spattered across the sky.
She sat down on the back step, where she and Denny had had so many long, heartfelt talks. Where they’d tried to count the stars, and even laid claim to a few of them. From the barn, Cherokee nickered companionably, perhaps sensing her presence.
Callie wrapped her arms around her knees and sat with her spine straight and her chin high, biting her lower lip. “It’s lonely without you, Den,” she said very softly.
There was, of course, no answer besides a soft breeze whispering through the leaves of the maple tree nearby. She and Denny had planted that tree together, soon after they’d learned that Callie was expecting Serena. It had been a spindly seedling in those days, but now it was tall and sturdy, with branches that sheltered birds and provided shade in the heat of an eastern Washington summer.
“As soon as our baby’s big enough, I’ll hang a tire swing from the strongest bough,” Denny had said, full of dreams as always.
Callie smiled at the memory and, at the same time, blinked back tears. They’d had so many dreams, she and Denny, and most of them hadn’t come true.
They’d sat on this step and wept together after the doctors had told them their child would suffer from Down syndrome. They’d clasped hands, and Callie had rested her head against the side of Denny’s shoulder, each of them leaning on the other.
Now, as always, there were many things Callie wished she could say to Denny—that she was doing the best she could, but sometimes her best just didn’t seem good enough. That for all the satisfaction and joy of parenthood, it was hard raising a child alone.
More Than Words Volume 4 Page 5
