by Tricia Goyer
“Ma’am.” Christopher approached with a towel draped over his arm. “May I get your chair for you?” He pulled out the dining room chair.
“Why thank you. What a delightful young man.” Charlotte winked at Christopher.
Emily approached with a very grown-up look on her face. “Here is this evening’s menu, ma’am.” Emily had handwritten the menus in her best script. Charlotte read over the menu:
Today’s Special: Dinner of Love
French Onion Soup
Tomato Basil Salad
Parmesan-Crusted Chicken
Garlic Potatoes
Roasted Carrots
Chocolate Heart Tarts with Raspberries
Under this was more script, written in Christopher’s messy cursive. “Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet, and so are you.”
“Why, all this sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to start.” Charlotte patted her belly. “I love French onion soup.”
“Me too. I’m starving.” Bob pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the two large rectangular candles in the middle of the table. It took three times to get the new wicks to stay lit, but Charlotte didn’t mind waiting. She actually thought his fumbling around—unsure of what to do—added to the romance. When the candles finally stayed lit, Christopher shut off the overhead lights.
Charlotte peered closer, recognizing those candles. They were from her hutch and had been a gift from Pete one year for her birthday. Those candles had sat there for three years at least, and had never been used—just like the crystal candleholders that still remained safe and protected. She wondered why she always put off using her nice things—as if there was something better in the future she needed to save them for. Shouldn’t every day with her family be a special occasion?
Charlotte watched Emily in the kitchen. She was pouring soup from a Styrofoam container into two bowls. Emily tested the temperature with her finger, frowned and then put the soup into the microwave for a minute.
Charlotte unfolded the cloth napkin that someone had dug out of the bottom drawer of the hutch and placed it on her lap. She had no doubt this whole thing was Emily’s idea, and she was grateful.
For years she and Bob had gotten into a predictable rut, where neither gave much thought to celebrating special events or even being romantic. Life had become focused on taking care of the farm, their children—and now their grandchildren—and each other.
Emily served their soup, and Christopher brought over two glasses of ice water with lemon wedges.
Bob and Charlotte bowed their heads in unison as Bob prayed, “Lord we thank you for this food, this family, and the love we share.” Charlotte wiped away a tear as she picked up her spoon.
The soup was a bit hot, and Charlotte blew on it. When it was finally cool enough, she took a spoonful and made a mental note to ask Melody for the recipe. There was an ingredient that added an extra zing.
“This is delicious,” Charlotte said.
She glanced up and noticed Bob watching her. He glanced to Emily, as if looking for a cue of what to do next.
“Talk about something romantic,” Emily cued in a loud whisper.
“You know, Charlotte, this reminds me of our first date.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table.
“Our first date?” Charlotte chuckled. “Bob Stevenson, you must be thinking of some other girl, because our first date was going to eat pizza and then driving around.”
“Driving around? Where did you drive?” Christopher asked.
“Shhh.” Emily jabbed her brother with her elbow. “We’re not supposed to interrupt. We’re supposed to be invisible, remember?” Yet even though Emily scolded her brother, Charlotte noticed Emily leaning forward on the kitchen counter as if wanting to know the answer to the question.
“Well, Mr. Waiter,” Charlotte said, addressing her grandson. “We drove all over the countryside.”
“Yeah, we must have used up a whole tank of gas,” Bob mumbled.
Charlotte glanced at Bob. “Remember, you drove me out here to your parents’ farm. That’s the first time I’d ever taken a real good look at Heather Creek Farm. Then we drove to my grandparents’ farm next. Personally, I was glad we drove so much.”
“Why?” Bob asked. He looked puzzled.
“Because my mother always told me that the day I parked with a boy was the last date I’d ever go on, and I was smitten—I definitely didn’t want it to be our last date.”
“Grandpa?” It was Emily who interrupted this time, but Charlotte didn’t mind. “Why does this dinner remind you of your first date?”
Her two grandchildren seemed transfixed with seeing their grandparents sharing a romantic dinner together. Maybe it was because it was something new and different. Seeing the interest and joy on their young faces reminded Charlotte that they hadn’t grown up with a mom and a dad. Whatever they saw concerning romance they’d gotten from TV. No wonder they were so interested in being part of this dinner.
Bob cleared his throat. “Well, it reminds me of our first date because your grandma’s just so pretty. As pretty today as she was back then.”
“Bob Stevenson, that’s the second time you’ve told me that tonight.” Charlotte could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. Bob wasn’t one to give compliments often, but when he did she gladly accepted them.
“Well, dear, that’s because it’s true.”
“Salad’s next,” Christopher interrupted, bringing out the next course. Charlotte nodded as she took a bite. “Yes, I remember this salad dressing recipe. I think I learned to make it in home ec.”
“Me too,” Bob said. “Although mine turned out so bad even the dog wouldn’t eat it. In fact, I believe the garbage disposal spit it out too.” He laughed.
“No way.” Emily’s face brightened. “Grandpa took home economics? I had no idea you know how to cook, Grandpa.”
“I didn’t then, and I still don’t. But that’s where all the girls were. I wasn’t stupid, you know.”
“So you met in home ec?” Christopher’s eyes grew wide.
“I was a senior. Your grandma was a sophomore. Of course, she didn’t give me the time of day back then …”
They talked and laughed some more, and by the time the main course was served, Christopher and Emily had pulled up two chairs to the table and had joined in. It was a good thing too, because Melody had outdone herself with the portions. Charlotte glanced around at the smiling faces, and she could only think of one thing missing—Sam.
“You know, I can’t remember the last time we ate dinner by candlelight. We should do this more often. Maybe when we’re all here.”
Though she was disappointed that Sam hadn’t been a part of this night, Charlotte was happy that he was with Paul—spending some much-needed time with his buddies. She hoped Sam would get more settled with Jake and Paul, and they’d become better friends. Even now, Charlotte resisted the urge to call Sam and see how everything was going. Sam was nearly an adult now—seventeen. And with good choices like this would come ever greater freedom in the future.
Charlotte knew she’d just have to get used to it.
SAM SAT IN THE FOLDING CHAIR next to Paul’s computer, staring at the screen but not really seeing it.
“Have you seen the one where the guy totally biffs it off the handrail? Oh, man, you gotta see this.”
Paul opened the YouTube video, and Sam tried to focus on the shaky video of a kid trying to jump to the top of a handrail so he could ride down it. Six inches too low, the kid’s knees hit the rail and he flipped, flying through the air like a rag doll before finally crumbling at the bottom of the step. Sam had seen the same type of thing a dozen times before in real life. Still he tried to react, for Paul’s sake.
“Man, that musta hurt.” Sam cringed, pretending he was as into the videos as Paul was. The truth was, his mind was fixed on the snow outside the window. It fell white and heavy.
“Hey man, can you look up the weather report?” Sam flipped his ha
ir across his forehead. “You know, just to see what it’s doing tomorrow …”
“Yeah, okay …” Paul clicked to another skateboarding video of a kid trying to jump an empty, plastic trash can on his skateboard. The kid didn’t get high enough, and he fell into the trash can and then bounced off, landing on his shoulder. More laughter burst from Paul’s mouth. “Man, what was he thinking?”
Sam took another drink of his soda and ignored the tension tightening around his chest, even though he tried to act as if today was just like any other day. On the inside it felt as if someone was wrapping bailing wire around him, pulling tight and tying it down.
Paul glanced over at Sam, as if suddenly remembering he’d asked about the weather. “Why do you need to know the weather?”
Sam shrugged. “Oh, I was just thinking maybe we could snowboard or something tomorrow. Just wanted to make sure the weather would be good.”
“Yeah, we probably could mess around on the back hill. Paul chuckled and punched Sam’s arm. “I’ll check it out.”
Paul typed in the address for the weather Web site, and Sam leaned forward. A smile curled his lips as he noted it would be clearing up after breakfast.
Long enough to get me down the road …
“So you want some chips or something? My mom said we had to fend for ourselves until Jake got here with the pizza.”
“Sure, got any sour cream and onion?” Sam rose, excitement causing his heart to pound harder.
One more night … then so long, Nebraska.
“Hey, is Jake bringing over his game controllers too?” Sam took the steps from the basement to the kitchen two at a time.
“I told him to.”
The kitchen was modern and fancy—unlike his grandma’s kitchen back home. At first when he’d moved to Grandma’s house, Sam had thought of that kitchen as foreign and ancient. Now it was hard to believe there’d been a time when he hadn’t felt comfortable there. He opened Paul’s fridge and noticed there were just a few jars and some containers of leftovers. His stomach growled, and he wished he could have a piece of his grandma’s homemade bread with strawberry jam or maybe a nice thick meatloaf sandwich. One last time.
There was a pounding on the kitchen door, and Sam turned to see Jake’s face pressed against the glass. Paul hurried over and opened the door. A stream of cold air flooded into the house, and with the arctic air came a flurry of snowflakes.
“Hurry, man, get in here and shut the door. If the floor gets all messed up we’re gonna have to be the ones to clean it up.”
Jake stepped in and stretched out the two pizza boxes in his hands, as if he were offering the pizza as a peace offering.
“Dude, chill. How was I supposed to open the door with my hands full? If you want a piece of the pie … you better welcome the guy.”
Sam moaned. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.” Still he couldn’t help but laugh at the dorky look on Jake’s face.
Jake set the half-cold pizza on the counter, and Sam grabbed a piece, taking a big bite. Jake emptied his pockets that held one game controller and two video games he’d been wanting to play for a while.
“Dude, we’re going to be up all night at this rate.” Sam smiled, realizing he actually enjoyed being around these guys. And as he took another slice of pizza he made the decision just to enjoy the night. Not to think about tomorrow. Not to think of his car that had a horrible heater. Or the snowy, icy roads heading out of town.
Chapter Fourteen
Hey, Grandma, listen to this.” Charlotte had barely stepped into the kitchen when Christopher’s words interrupted her thoughts— or rather lack of thoughts. She’d been headed to the coffeemaker, and she could tell from the eager look on Christopher’s face that he wasn’t going to wait for her to have a first cup before he read the paper he was waving in his hand.
“What’s that, Chris?”
The ringing of the telephone interrupted her words. Charlotte glanced at the clock. It was before 8:00 AM, and there were very few people who called at this hour. She immediately thought of Sam. Was he already ready to come home? Was it a sign that the night hadn’t turned out so well after all?
“Hello?” Charlotte answered.
“Mom, it’s me, Anna.”
Charlotte released the breath she’d been holding. “Anna, hi. How are you? How are Bill—and the girls?”
“We’re all great—just great. But I was listening to my voice mail, and I just heard the message you left last weekend about Sam’s birthday. I don’t know how I missed it unless Bill listened to it and saved it without telling me.”
“Oh, I understand.” Charlotte rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and then cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear as she turned her attention to the coffeemaker.
“We had a nice time. I made Sam’s favorite cake.” Charlotte stopped short of mentioning that Sam hadn’t eaten a piece, or that he hadn’t seemed impressed with his presents. When it came to Anna, Charlotte always felt as if she couldn’t let her weaknesses show.
“Yes, well, I still feel horrible, and I did get Sam a little something. Will you be around this afternoon for me to swing by?”
“Actually, Sam’s staying at a friend’s house. He probably won’t be in until later. Why don’t you guys just head over for dinner?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth Charlotte wished she could take them back. Anna was an excellent gourmet cook, which meant that now Charlotte would need to make a trip to town because the spaghetti sauce she was planning on whipping up just wouldn’t do. She knew she shouldn’t let her daughter-in-law intimidate her like this, but Charlotte wanted Bill’s family to feel welcome in his childhood home. And if it took fancy-schmancy food to accomplish that, then so be it.
A little extra effort in order to have some family time shouldn’t be a bother. This was what life was about—these people God had brought into her life. “Can you come?” Charlotte asked again.
“Well, we don’t have plans. So yes, we would love to come for dinner.” Anna’s voice had an uncharacteristic lightness to it that made Charlotte glad she had asked. “It’s been ages. Is six o’clock okay? Why don’t I bring a salad?”
“Sounds great. We’ll see you at six. And I’m sure Sam will be thrilled that you were thinking of him.”
“Yes, well, it’s just a little something that Bill helped me pick out. I’m not too familiar with teen boys—”
Charlotte heard one of her granddaughters call to Anna. “Looks like Jennifer needs my help with the computer printer. It’s been acting up lately. I better go. See you tonight.”
Charlotte hung up the phone and turned to see Christopher standing there, waiting for her attention.
“Can I read it to you now?” he asked.
More than anything Charlotte wanted to start her coffee, pour a cup, and then curl onto the couch and read her Bible. Yet Christopher looked so adorable in his pajamas and ruffled hair that she couldn’t say no.
“Sure, what is it?”
“My story. For the school paper, remember?”
“Oh, yes.” Charlotte leaned against the counter. “How could I forget? Is it about life on the farm?”
Christopher nodded and then cleared his throat, lifting the paper so he could read it better. “Maybe people think that winter on a farm is boring. Sometimes they are right, but there is exciting stuff going on too. Since this is my first winter on a farm I’ve learned a few things.” Christopher paused and glanced up at Charlotte. “I don’t have the whole thing written. This is just the beginning.”
Charlotte retrieved the coffee canister from the cupboard and opened it, breathing in the aroma. “Okay, go ahead. Sounds good so far.”
Christopher cleared his throat and then continued. “First, my grandpa says that on a farm it’s important to work smarter, not harder,” Christopher read. “That’s why he taught me how to melt snow in big barrels inside the barn. Grandpa says this does as good a job as a long hose, a well, and an electr
ic pump.
“The first time Grandpa told me to do this he said, ‘Fill ‘em up, cover them with clear plastic, and wait a day.’ Grandpa said that even on a cold day it stays about 50 degrees in the barn.” Christopher glanced up.
Charlotte offered him a smile as he continued.
“The next day I went in and the snow had melted! I added more snow to the top and waited until the next day. I did that a few more times, and soon I had fifty gallons of rainwater in a barrel. The horses and cows don’t seem to mind that they’re drinking snowflakes.” Christopher giggled. “That’s just the first part—”
“Grandma!” Emily’s voice interrupted. Charlotte could tell she was calling down from the top of the stairs.
“Yes, Emily?” Charlotte called back, too tired to move from her spot.
“Can Ashley stay over tonight? I promise I’ll do my chores. Ashley will help too.”
Charlotte couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to agree. “Yes, fine. But shouldn’t you wait a little longer to call her? You don’t want to wake up the whole household with a ringing phone, do you?”
“Don’t worry, they’re up!” Emily called.
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow as she listened to the scampering of Emily’s feet across the floor as she ran to the upstairs extension. Then she turned her attention back to Christopher. “Your story is good. That is so creative, drinking snowflakes. You know … that would be a good title for the story.”
“Yeah.” Christopher nodded. “So, do you think it would win the prize?”
Charlotte bit her lip. She doubted that information about melting snow would win a story contest, yet she wondered how she could help Christopher without hurting his feelings. “Well, Christopher, to me it sounds a little more like a report than a story.” Charlotte tried to be gentle.
“What do you mean?” Christopher’s eyebrows folded into a frown.
“I mean you’re just telling about what Grandpa taught you. It’s good, but there’s no scene. Maybe you should try to write it so that you take us on an adventure with you—so we, the readers—can experience the event through your words.”
