Dwelling Place

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

“Yeah, lack of booze made him nervous.”

  “Ezra Landry, I won’t have you disrespecting your elders.” She softened her features. “Now, since our girls seem to be a bit anxious. . .”

  Sophie turned her attention to the van where the windows had fogged up. Hearts and flowers decorated the opaque surface, along with a message scribbled backward in large letters: Help! We Are Frezin to Death.

  Embarrassment heated Sophie’s cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry. I really need to speak to the girls. Could we talk on the phone, perhaps, Miss Emmeline? You can let me know what you and Ezra decide.”

  “Well, I suppose.” She clapped her hands and smiled. “What am I thinking? We can table this discussion until this weekend’s barbecue.”

  Sophie blinked hard and pasted on a broad smile to cover her surprise. “This weekend?”

  Miss Emmeline nodded. “Of course. The whole church will be there. We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Tell the girls their invitation was delightful.”

  “Their invitation?” She cast a quick glance at the van. “They gave you an invitation to the barbecue Saturday?”

  “Yes, dear, weren’t they supposed to?”

  “Well, um.” She paused to refocus and readjust her smile. “Of course. I’m happy there will be a nice turnout.”

  With that, she made good her escape, slipping into the van before she let her smile fall. “Girls,” she said as she closed the door and swiveled to face them, “what’s this I hear about the entire church being invited to our house this Saturday?”

  “I told Chloe we should ask first,” Amanda said.

  “Chloe?” Sophie turned her attention to the elder twin. “Something you want to say?”

  “Mommy, you said that I could invite anyone I wanted, remember?”

  “I did?”

  Both girls nodded in unison.

  “All right, so how did the entire church get invited?”

  “That was Amanda,” Chloe said.

  “Amanda?”

  The little girl grinned. “I used the printer all by myself this morning while you were getting ready for church.”

  “You did? That’s wonderful.” Sophie paused. “But what does that have to do with inviting the entire church to our barbecue?”

  “I just wanted to make one copy to give to my friend Courtney. But I guess I pushed number one too many times.”

  “She pushed 111, not 1,” Chloe said. “So we took them to Sunday school and gave them to our teacher.”

  Sophie leaned back in her seat and groaned. “You brought 111 invitations to church?”

  “No, Mommy,” Amanda said. “I saved one for Courtney. She was sick today.”

  Sophie turned the key and cranked the engine, then adjusted the temperature up a notch. “Chloe, please use the towel behind your seat to clean off the writing on the window. I don’t think you need rescuing from the cold anymore.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Sophie jumped, then turned toward the sound to find Ezra standing beside the van. A push of the lever and the window lowered, letting in the chilly air.

  Great. “Yes?”

  Ezra stood ramrod straight, his face expressionless. “About that barbecue. What should I bring?”

  Twenty

  “What are you doing?”

  Ezra looked up from his work to offer Calvin a smile. “Making apple pie.”

  Calvin set his briefcase on the table, then shrugged out of his jacket and placed it across the back of the chair. He approached with a caution more appropriate to watching a bomb being diffused than a pie being constructed.

  “I couldn’t find your cutting board, so I made one out of stuff I found in the garage. I hope that was okay.”

  “Yeah.” Calvin shook his head. “You’re chopping apples.”

  “Sure am.” Ezra reached for another apple from the bag. “Something wrong, Cal?”

  “Only that I have no idea what’s come over you.” He walked around the bar to climb atop the nearest stool. Resting his elbows on the counter, he cradled his chin in his hands. “Since when do you bake pies?”

  “I don’t know. I guess since today.” He sliced the apple in half and laid each piece on the board. “I think of it as similar to cleaning deer or fish. See?”

  With practiced motions he used the knife to cut the apple halves, then began the process of peeling them. The core and peel went into the trash, and the apple slices fell into the bowl beside him.

  “Nothing to it. Want to try, Cal?”

  Calvin shook his head. “No, thanks. Besides, you’re doing it wrong.”

  “Doing what wrong?”

  “Peeling that apple wrong. You take the skin off first, then chop it.”

  For the next few minutes, Ezra argued the finer points of apple peeling with Calvin. Finally Calvin rolled up his sleeves and jumped off the stool to join Ezra at the counter.

  “Hand me that knife.” He pointed to a wood-handled knife in the center of the knife block. “Now stand aside.”

  “Hold it.” Ezra planted his feet and dared the lawyer to enter his domain. “I’m not giving up my position to a guy who makes a living behind a desk. Stand aside yourself, pal.”

  “Excuse me, Major Landry. Where are you reporting for duty next week? I have it on good authority they are getting a desk ready for you on my floor.”

  “That’s temporary, Cal, okay? General Scanlon said he’s got something for me at the Pentagon if I choose not to go back into the field. It just has to go through channels. You know how long that takes.”

  “Yeah, longer than it will take for me to show you how to bake a pie—that’s how long.”

  “Oh, you are just begging for me to show you up, aren’t you?”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah, and I can and will. Only let’s make this a little sweeter. Whoever makes the best pie wins.”

  “Wins what?”

  Ezra shrugged. “Who cares?”

  “You got a deal. Wait. Who’s going to decide?”

  “What about Sophie Comeaux and that lady lawyer of hers?”

  “That’s not fair,” Calvin said. “What qualifies them to judge an apple pie?”

  “Think about it, Cal. They hate us both; thus we are on equal footing. I can’t think of anything more fair.”

  “So I have to change my mind about allowing you to go to that woman’s barbecue?”

  “No, you don’t have to change your mind. We’re not going as guests. We’re going as competitors.”

  Calvin thought a minute, then grinned. “Deal.”

  He retrieved a bowl from the cabinet and dumped half the apples into it. Opening the cabinet next to the oven, Calvin pulled out a black apron emblazoned with the marine logo.

  “I have nine, and you have nine,” Calvin said. “Set aside what you’ve already done, and let’s race. We’ll see who’s the man around here.”

  “The man?” Ezra doubled over with laughter. “You’re wearing an apron, Cal. One look at the two of us and it’s obvious who the man is.”

  “That’s right,” Calvin said. “The man is the one without the stain on his shirt. Now buck up, Marine, and prepare to be bested.”

  Ezra looked down at the streak of flour and spots of vanilla decorating the front of his denim shirt. Eyes narrowed, he set his bead on the competition.

  “It’s every man for himself then. Got a spare apron?”

  ❧

  “Major Landry? General Scanlon’s on the horn.”

  “Thank you, Corporal.” Ezra set aside the security brief from Quantico and picked up the phone. “Hello, General Scanlon. Major Landry here.”

  “Landry, you finished with that nonsense that took you off my payroll?”

  The chair protested as he leaned back. “Actually, sir, the matter is still in progress.”

  “You know I don’t work like that. Give it to me straight. Are you coming back or not?”

  “Sir, I have every intention of coming back as soon as—”

 
General Scanlon let loose an expletive. “What I hear is that you’re gonna be offered a promotion and some fancy desk job at the Pentagon. That true?”

  Promotion? To lieutenant colonel? His father’s rank. The one Robert Boudreaux claimed Ezra would never achieve.

  Ezra took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sir,” he said with as little excitement as he could manage, “you probably know more about that than I do. Right now I’m just pushing papers and praying my legal troubles end soon.”

  “Well, if you weren’t so good at what you do, I’d have shipped you out. You know patience isn’t my strong suit.”

  “Yes, sir, and I’m having some trouble with it myself.”

  “Son, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be straight-up honest with me. Is there a reason you’re not shooting for that promotion?”

  “No, sir.” He glanced at the open door and waved as Calvin walked in.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that I like what I do, sir. The work suits me.”

  Calvin eased into the chair across from him. Ezra wrote a note letting him know who was on the other end of the line, causing Calvin to grimace.

  “I’m going to give you a piece of advice, not as your commanding officer but as a man who has lived a lot longer than you and learned a few things along the way.” He paused. “I know you are the best man in my company. I’ve seen you lead others more times than I can count, and I know you’re good at it. Ever think of ditching all the glamour jobs and teaching?”

  “Teaching?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “What’s not to understand? How many languages do you speak?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And how many tours abroad have you taken since you finished OCS?”

  “Four.”

  “And tell me this: How many times did you find yourself showing everyone else on the mission how to do their jobs?”

  Ezra chuckled. More than once he’d had to report to the general that he’d been sent unqualified men and had to bring their skills up to par. “So you’re saying I missed my calling and should have become a drill instructor?”

  The general chuckled. “Hardly. You and I both know there are schools turning out men just like you for missions like the ones you’ve been completing for years. You learned from someone. Now consider going back and teaching fellow marines what you know.”

  “I’ll consider it, sir.”

  A few minutes later, Ezra hung up the phone. “That was strange.”

  Calvin stretched his legs out in front of him. “What?”

  “General Scanlon wants me to be a teacher.”

  “Interesting.” Calvin shrugged. “Junior high or high school?”

  “Very funny. Try special ops training.”

  “Ooh, secret stuff.” He wiggled his fingers. “So classified they don’t even know about it.”

  “Yeah, something like that. So any progress on this house thing?” He gave his friend a sideways look. “I mean, assuming you retrieved the file from the trash and are continuing to work on it.”

  Calvin ignored the jibe to shake his head. They both knew Calvin’s action had been more of an attention-getting gesture than anything else. As much as he protested, Calvin wouldn’t walk away from a case.

  “Looks as if the judge is in no hurry to set another hearing date. I have a call in to the court, but I don’t know what good that will do. If I didn’t know better, I would have to wonder if God’s trying to tell us something.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve seen some quirky civilian judges in my time, but I’ve never seen one procrastinate on a hearing date like this one.” He paused. “I don’t know. Maybe the timing’s just not right.”

  “Well, pal, time’s something I don’t have a lot of. The general’s getting tired of waiting for me. Then there’s the Pentagon job. General Scanlon told me he heard I was the front runner.”

  “Congratulations, pal. That’s a promotion, isn’t it?”

  “To lieutenant colonel.”

  Twenty-one

  October 9

  “I’m here. Now let’s get this party started.” Bree strolled into the kitchen wearing a vibrant orange ensemble and carrying two shopping bags along with her matching orange purse. “You can go change now.”

  “Hey,” Sophie said. “This is what I’m wearing.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” She deposited her bags on the table, then riffled through the nearest one until she found what she was looking for. “Ta da!” she exclaimed as she pulled out a pair of jeans and what looked like a garment more fit for Amanda or Chloe than an adult. “Come on. Let’s see how it looks on you.”

  Before Sophie could protest, Bree led her down the hall to her bedroom. She thrust the clothes into Sophie’s hands, then pointed toward the bathroom.

  “Go. Now. You have no time to argue.”

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Bree smiled. “Nothing at all, honey. I wear baggy jeans and sweatshirts, too, but not in public and especially not at parties. Please just give these a try. I promise they’re very tasteful.”

  Doubtful but curious, Sophie closeted herself in the bathroom and slid off her favorite jeans and sweatshirt, then reached for the outfit. A moment later she stood back and stared at the woman in the mirror.

  The jeans fit as if they’d been made for her, not loose and broken in like her other pair but not so tight as to be indecent either. And the top, its jewel-tone colors and soft-draped neck flattered yet covered while the tucks at the waist fit nicely.

  It was nothing she would ever buy for herself. Still, Sophie had to admit she liked the result.

  A quick knock and Bree tumbled in, a pair of black strappy sandals dangling from her hand. “I couldn’t wait to see how you—”

  She froze. Silence reigned.

  “Okay, that’s it. I shouldn’t have listened to you. Hand me those clothes. I don’t have time to play around.”

  Bree scooped up the offending garments and stuffed them into the hamper. “Oh, I don’t think so. Sophie, you look gorgeous. Don’t move. Wait—put these on.” She thrust the sandals at Sophie, then scampered away only to return seconds later with her handbag. “Go over by the mirror.”

  Sophie struggled to buckle the left shoe, then stood. “I think the last time I wore heels I was at the prom. No, wait, my college graduation.”

  “Well, it’s high time you fixed that lapse in fashion. Now come over here and let me see what I can do with that hair. It’s lovely, by the way, but it just needs a little help. Oh, and those cheeks need some color.”

  In the span of ten minutes, Bree remedied her lack of proper makeup and twisted her hair into a loose bun, leaving soft tendrils around her face and down her back. A stranger stared back at her from the mirror.

  “Mommy?” Chloe stood in the bathroom door, a smile on her face. “Amanda, come see Mommy.”

  “Ooh, Mommy, you look so pretty,” Amanda said. “You don’t look old anymore.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” Bree said. “Come on, girls—I need your help making bouquets for the centerpieces. Think you’re up to that?”

  Off they went, down the hall toward the backyard. Bree remained at the door, however.

  Sophie turned away from the stranger to smile at her friend. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” she said. “Not anymore, that is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bree shook her head. “Honey, I love you like a sister. You know that, right?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Then will you understand when I tell you that I’m worried about you?”

  “Why?”

  Bree touched Sophie’s curls. “Because I’m afraid you’ve forgotten how to have fun.”

  “Auntie Bree!”

  “Coming, darlings,” she called before turning her attention back to Sophie. “Remember what
life was like before you gave up on love?”

  “I didn’t give up. . . .” She let the words hang there, knowing they weren’t true. “All right, maybe I did. But I’m much happier now. No disappointments, no broken hearts.”

  “And where was God in this decision, Soph? Did you consult Him before you closed off your heart?”

  “I’m not you, Bree. I don’t seem to roll with the punches the way you do.” She offered a wry smile. “I certainly don’t have the way with men that you do. Any advice? I mean, I do have over a hundred people coming over for dinner. What if I’m forced to have an actual conversation with an eligible male?”

  Bree shook her head. “Be yourself, Sophie. Be who God created you to be.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  Ding dong.

  “Auntie Bree!”

  “You get the door, Sophie, and I’ll handle the kids.”

  Sophie started out on uncertain footing, but by the time she got to the door, she’d recalled the proper way to walk in heels. Like riding a bicycle.

  She opened the door to find Ezra and his attorney standing on her porch. Neither looked particularly happy to be there, although the attorney wore a more sour expression than his client.

  Both had donned jeans for the occasion, although the lawyer’s were pressed and starched while Ezra had obviously opted for comfort. The attorney’s button-down look proved a counterpoint for Ezra’s maroon Marine Corps sweatshirt and sneakers.

  “Come in,” she managed over the tightening sensation in her stomach. “What do you have there?”

  “Apple pies.” Ezra pressed past without further comment to her. “Kitchen’s this way, Cal, but you might as well leave yours on the front porch.”

  Sophie teetered behind them on her heels, making sure not to trip as she rounded the corner. “Just set them on the counter.”

  The attorney gave the room a cursory glance, then turned his attention to Sophie. “Two things. First, my apologies for being early. My client was a little lead-footed.”

  “I drove the speed limit,” Ezra said. “Not that you noticed for all your complaining.”

  “Second,” he said, “I am here under protest. Ezra seems to think it appropriate to socialize despite ongoing litigation, but I don’t.”