by JoAnn Durgin
Darren shook his hand with a polite smile but said nothing. Small wonder.
“How long will you be gracing us with your presence in town, Mr. Prescott?” This woman seemed in no hurry to move along. She sure was laying it on thick, same as the perfume she must have bathed in.
“A couple of weeks at this point. I’m playing it by ear.”
“Playing the field, you say? Would you like for me to set you up with a—”
“Playing it by ear, Barbara.” Ah, Darren could speak.
“I see. Well, that’s more like it,” she said. “I hear you’ve taken a liking to that pretty Isabella Cockamamie. She’s one of our sweetest unmarried gals in town.” She eyed him up and down like Millicent had done. These small-town Maine women could be fairly brazen. “She’s about your age, I’d say.”
Sidney tamped down the quick rise of irritation mixed with the urge to laugh. “Yes, I’m friends with Isabella Cac-ca-va-le.” He made sure to pronounce it correctly and enunciate. Maybe he was being a jerk, but he couldn’t help it. Last names weren’t a big deal here, he supposed. That was one explanation for why so few people seemed to get Isabella’s last name right.
“Oh well, my mistake,” the woman huffed. “As you might have guessed, I have a little bit of a hearing issue.” This woman had an agenda. He’d seen her type many times. She was a busybody and a gossip. On the other hand, she seemed to hold genuine affection for Isabella, so she couldn’t be all bad. Perhaps he’d be better off not to jump to hasty conclusions. He’d learned not to do it in his professional life, so the same principle should apply in his personal life. Funny how he’d had more of a personal life since coming to Evergreen than the past few years combined in Boston.
“Come, Barbara,” Darren said. “We need to leave Mr. Prescott alone and go to our table now. The server is waiting.”
Barbara gave Sidney an exaggerated wink. “I told Isabella to bring you round to my shop sometime. Jams & Jellies. We’re over on Oak Street if you’d like to come by one day while you’re out and about. I’ll give you a free jar of my world famous blackberry jam on the house.”
World famous? Yes, this woman was prone to exaggeration. “Thanks. Nice to meet you both.” He watched as Darren took his wife by the elbow and guided her to a table on the other side of the restaurant.
“Cockamamie, my…” Sidney closed his mouth. For as long as he’d remembered, he’d cursed, but only under his breath. In private. Not in the courtroom, not to anyone else, and not in his personal conversations on the phone or in person. That didn’t make it any better. Matter of fact, he’d almost let one slip in his conversation with Caroline the other morning.
He wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t above a word or two slipping out when he was severely provoked. Thankfully, he’d learned to control his temper, and keep his anger in check, so it didn’t happen often. His father had cursed like a sailor until the last few years. Bryce never did. Then again, his brother was a better man in many respects.
Sidney had looked at that Bible—the old one that had belonged to Seth’s grandfather—earlier in the morning before leaving the house. He’d gone into Seth’s study and read some random chapters. Done that dumb thing where he closed his eyes, opened the book, and pointed to a passage of Scripture. If God was really watching over him, he figured the Almighty would give him the words He wanted Sidney Jefferson Prescott to hear.
Interestingly enough, he’d landed on Proverbs 2:6-9. Talked about how it was the Lord who was the source of all wisdom, and how God was a shield for those who walked in integrity, and how He’d guard the paths of justice, preserving the way for those who followed Him.
Considering how he’d discussed the issue of integrity with Seth that very morning, the words struck Sidney as being intended for him to read. Is that how God worked? If so, who was he to refute it? Stranger things could happen, stranger things had happened.
The server, a pretty blonde teenager with a nametag that read Kaitlyn, brought his order of grilled trout with lemon butter. As he prepared to eat his meal, Sidney did something he’d never done in his life, in private or in public.
Bowing his head, he began to pray. Not because it was expected, not because he was in church or sitting around a dinner table, not because anyone watched. Simply because he felt the need and genuinely wanted to pray.
Sidney suspected God could see him and maybe, just maybe, He was smiling.
Chapter 15
After lunch, Sidney sprinted down to Mahoney’s. He couldn’t wait to tell Isabella that he’d prayed. Who knew he could be so excited about saying a prayer? Some of the partners at the law firm would probably be struck dumb if they could see him now. This jaunt to Maine to find himself, run away, or whatever it could be called, had been the best decision he’d made in years. He wished he’d done it sooner, but would things have worked out like this at any other time in his life?
Along the way, several of the townspeople waved, smiled, and called to him by name. Some he’d met personally, some he hadn’t, but it seemed a lot of people recognized him, a strange but wonderful occurrence. Some New England towns had reputations for unfriendly citizens, but he’d never know it judging by the people in Evergreen.
Sidney entered the general store with a bright smile. He found Isabella in Cosmetics, thankfully alone. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her from the floor, and swung her in a circle. “Good afternoon, sunshine!”
“Well, hello to you, too,” she said. “You’re in a great mood. Any particular reason?” She planted her hands on his chest and then slid her hands up to his shoulders.
He lowered her slowly, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to resist drawing this woman close and kissing her.
“Sorry,” he said, lowering her to the floor.
“I see you shaved.”
Sidney caught her hand with his and resisted the urge to lace their fingers together. “Isabella, this probably isn’t anything I should boast about, and I’m not, but I want you to know that I prayed for my meal. I feel like a kid in school who’s received the highest grade from his favorite teacher. I’ve had court victories that left me feeling hollow inside, but the simple act of saying a prayer made me feel like I’ve won a hard-fought case today.” He raised his arms to the side and gave her a brilliant smile. “Who knew?”
He must be nuts. Dreaming. Something.
A gorgeous smile spread across Isabella’s face. “You did?”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “Indeed, I did. I don’t know if God heard it, and—if you don’t think He did—it’s probably best if you don’t even tell me. That way, I can remain forever happy in my ignorance.”
“That’s a very big step, Sidney. I think God hears the prayers of those who are seeking Him. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am, and I appreciate your telling me.”
A man burst into song from somewhere at the back of the store. Isabella laughed at his befuddled expression. Sidney cocked his head to one side. “Just so we’re clear, that’s not God singing back there, is it?”
“No. I’d like to hear God sing, as a matter of fact. That’s Hank Jergens. He’s a regular and plays checkers with Marty for a few hours each afternoon. Ned had a doctor’s appointment today, so that’s why Marty’s not here. Hank will probably sing until one of the other guys comes in, or a tourist, so he can start another game. Normally, he only sings along with Randy Travis and George Strait, but it sounds like he’s expanding his repertoire today. The one playing now is a Conway Twitty song called ‘That’s my Job.’”
“That’s the actual name of the song?”
“Yes,” she said. “My dad loved that one. It’s a sentimental song about a father-son relationship. From what I remember, it’s about a caring dad who called parenthood his favorite job. This is the time of year you hear it most often since it’s almost Father’s Day.”
That thought sobered him to a point, but Sidney refused to allow thoughts of his father to spoil his positive attitud
e this afternoon. “It’s nice to know there might be men in the world who actually feel that way about fatherhood. My dad was a huge influence on my life, but there were things I wish he’d done differently.” Or never done at all. “I’m sure he could say the same about me.”
“I’m sorry about your dad, especially now that he’s…” Isabella’s voice trailed. Sidney understood her awkwardness. It was hard for anyone to know what to say, but he appreciated her compassion.
“Thanks. I’ve never listened to much country music. You?”
“I have to be in the mood, but I’m nostalgic for the old classics,” she said. “The older country legends my dad used to like—Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline. He called their songs ‘true country’ as opposed to the more modern country pop stars. I switch the playlist around for the store. Aunt Clara used to only play gospel music and old hymns, but I try to give the customers a mix.”
Sidney followed her to the front counter. “Which begs me to ask which musical styles won’t you play?”
“Heavy metal, grunge, rap.” Isabella pretended to shudder. “Now what’s really fun? The sing-alongs.”
He crossed his arms on the counter with a wide grin. “Let me guess. Musicals?”
“You know it, counselor. Later in the summer, they show musicals on the big screen at Evergreen Park and everyone sings along. Guaranteed, it’s the most clean fun you can have north of Boston.”
When Isabella started to sing the song from The Sound of Music about the lonely goatherd and then started yodeling, his laughter nearly drowned out the sound of the bell.
If he didn’t know it before, Sidney knew it now. He was falling in love with Isabella Caccavale. Maybe he was already there. When had that happened? As though in a stupor, he stood rooted to the floor, marveling over this newfound revelation.
Stopping her singing, Isabella shot him a look as she greeted her customer. “Good afternoon, Letitia. How are you today?”
“Hi, Isabella. I’m fine, but Larry’s got a nasty head cold.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need help finding anything?”
“I just need a box of tissues and maybe some cough drops. You know how the cough comes at the end of a cold, and those middle-of-the-night hacking spells can be the worst.”
“Check the Cold/Allergy aisle,” Isabella advised. “Tissues are on the endcap.”
Sidney called to the customer. “Mrs. Baldwin, have you tried mashed potatoes?”
Isabella widened her eyes and her giggles bubbled over. Letitia darted a glance at her and then at him. Clearly the woman thought he was crazy. Maybe he was. He’d said a prayer and realized he was falling in love. What more could a guy ask from a Friday afternoon in small-town Maine?
“As a matter of fact, mashed potatoes can’t cure this. You must be Caroline’s brother. Stanley, is it?”
“It’s Sidney.” He stretched out his hand.
“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you. I heard you’ve been in town. I’m guessing you must have already met my Larry.” She shook his hand.
“Only by reputation. I tried to buy out Isabella’s full stock of bagged potatoes the other day, but she insisted on keeping some for you since she expected you to come into the store. She told me how much your husband loves his mashed potatoes. I can’t blame him. They’re a personal favorite of mine, too.”
“I see.” Letitia obviously didn’t see, but hopefully she wouldn’t fault Isabella or take her business elsewhere. The woman turned to go. “Enjoy your stay, and I hope to see you again.”
“I can’t believe that entire conversation,” Isabella whispered, still giggling, when Letitia moved out of earshot.
“It’s a gift, what can I say?” Sidney tapped her nose. “Listen, I’ll stop loitering, but I have a question before I go.”
“What’s that?” Crossing her arms on the counter, Isabella faced him. Oh, she was lovely. He needed to keep talking or he might break his resolve and kiss her.
Patience. It’s too soon.
“Speaking of a job, does Hank have one? For that matter, does Marty have a job, other than being a father?”
Isabella visibly swallowed, her laughter gone. “Hank lost his right leg in a work-related accident, and he’s on permanent disability. He does handyman jobs to make ends meet. He’s not married. Marty makes furniture in his garage and does fairly well.”
Guilt rushed through him. “I’m sorry if my questions came across as unkind. I had no idea about Hank, but I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”
“No harm done.” Her voice was kind, so gentle. “You couldn’t have known. You’ll be happy to know Ned loves the library books you brought in. As far as I know, he hasn’t tried to sneak behind the counter to touch the pickle jar.”
“It was the least I could do. Glad the plan worked,” he said. “I’m sure you understand my underlying motivation in borrowing the books wasn’t exactly altruistic.”
Her lips curved. “You mean you weren’t trying to promote the whole reading is fundamental concept?”
“Only insofar as books are a good alternative to Ned pulling pranks on the gorgeous owner of Mahoney’s General Store. I guess I wanted to do something to help a friend. I envy the close friendships you share with Caroline and Liesel. The friendship Seth shares with Paul.”
“Surely you have friends.”
He met her gaze. “Not close ones, no. I’m going to work on that when I go back to Boston.”
“I’m sure Seth and Paul will be happy to be your friends. And then you have…well, me.” Was it his imagination or did Isabella seem somewhat sad when he’d mentioned leaving?
Leaning across the counter, Sidney kissed her cheek. “Thank you for being my friend. And now, in Marty’s absence, I’m going to the back and challenge Hank in a rousing game of checkers.”
Chapter 16
Early Saturday morning, Isabella cranked up the music on her iPod and plugged in her earbuds as she bounced outside the store to the beat of Mandisa’s “Overcomer,” one of her Top Ten all-time favorite contemporary Christian songs. How could anyone hear that tune without wanting to sing and dance? Light and energizing, it was a song of empowerment. A song of hope. A song that reminded Isabella that no matter what hardships and challenges may come into her life, she could face them with the power of God inside her.
“Yes! It’s all about grace!” Isabella pumped her fist in the air as a young couple jogged by with their two kids in one of those side-by-side infant strollers. She’d never seen them before, so they must be visiting the area. “Morning! Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” They probably thought she was nutty, or full of energy, or both. She refused to be embarrassed or intimidated. What good was an infectious faith if it didn’t spill over and flow out of her?
In a way, “Overcomer” could be her personal theme song. Life and others had tried to knock her down, but she’d survived and ultimately emerged as a more content, fulfilled woman. In some ways, Tristan’s betrayal had strengthened her. Not that she’d ever want to go through that experience again.
She was different than she’d been fourteen months ago. Maybe she’d come to Evergreen to lick her wounds after the breakup, but she’d prayed about the decision and followed the leading of the Lord. She’d made some bad decisions morally, but after confessing those sins, she’d been wrapped in the kind of warmth, mercy, and forgiveness she didn’t deserve.
Still bouncing to the music, singing along, Isabella moved around the corner of the store and unlocked the small outdoor storage area. Hauling out the green garden hose, she tugged it to the front sidewalk. After closing the front door, she ran back and turned the knob—grunting since it liked to stick—and cranked on the water.
A few moments later, she aimed the hose at the front window. Isabella sprayed the window, the bench, and the sidewalk. She stepped closer and inspected a dark spot on the ground. Someone must have dropped chocolate ice cream at the base of the park bench. She concentrated on the spot by training th
e hose on it, but it proved stubborn. Grabbing her bottle of cleaner from her hip belt, she sprayed the ground liberally. “Take that! And that!” She cackled like a crazy person. “And that should take care of you!”
A dark flash in the corner of her eye caught her attention. “Well, hello there, Humphrey. How are you this fine day?” The cat blinked lazily and then darted off when she continued her work. “Come back and see me again later!”
Next she worked on another area closer to the curb while she waited for the biodegradable solution to soak into the chocolate stain. Lifting her face to the morning sun, Isabella smiled. Thank goodness the rain would hold off until sometime tomorrow in order to give them a perfect evening for the Twilight Dance.
The guys normally hosed down the building and sidewalk each morning, but she enjoyed the physical exertion on occasion. She’d given Clyde the day off since Aunt Clara had tipped her off that he always spent the entire day of the Twilight Dance pampering Ginny, his wife of forty plus years. He made it almost like an anniversary—lunch at a favorite restaurant, followed by either a relaxing massage or a leisurely hike, dinner, and then dancing the night away. Clyde loved to dance, and didn’t allow his limp—an old sports injury—to slow him down.
Isabella sighed at the pure romance of it all.
She couldn’t imagine being married to someone for forty years. One thing was for sure—she’d need to like them as a person. Be friends with them. That was a large part of the problem in her relationship with Tristan. They’d jumped right into being more than friends in the physical sense. Even now, her cheeks flushed with shame at the thought. She’d been in love and disregarded everything she’d been taught. She’d been a “good girl” until she met him during her undergraduate days at UCLA. Tristan’s intelligence and quick wit had drawn her to him. Charismatic and gregarious, he was nice looking without being drop-dead gorgeous, but she wasn’t the glamour girl type he usually dated. A lot of girls—tanned, blonde, stereotypical California girls—wanted Tristan. The fact that he flirted with them should have been her first clue the odds were against the man being faithful to one woman for an extended period.
