Silence met her offer and for a quick second she wondered if she’d lost the call, but then Cam hummed a light Hmm, a habit she remembered as if high school were yesterday.
Which it wasn’t.
“Thanks, but no. They’re at the Grishams’ for the day, having fun with their girls. I wouldn’t want to interrupt that and it would be rude to ask them and not take the Grisham kids.”
“Or take them all,” Meredith suggested. She didn’t know Mrs. Grisham, but Tony had been a year ahead of her in school. Would it seem weird to stop by and see if the girls wanted to go? Probably. And Cam’s reaction? Not wanting to interrupt their fun for God? For Christ? For Good Friday?
That was sad beyond words.
“You’re right,” she went on, gliding over his missed opportunity to figure out this whole God relationship thing. “Gotta go. I’m coming over after services. I want to begin work on that first spa room upstairs and Heather’s coming by later for a workout.”
“All right.”
He was either prickly or busy or both. And maybe she’d touched a nerve by offering to take the girls, but hadn’t he said they’d gone to church with friends before? So maybe it was her. Or the rush of feelings swirling around them. Cozying up to the girls probably seemed like backdoor politics, and she’d seen enough of that to last a lifetime.
She headed to Jamison, determined to spend at least part of this afternoon with God. Just God. The service at the White Church at the Bend was in its opening minutes as she stepped into the old building.
Soft yellow light warmed the dark day. And while her brother Matt’s quick patch job at Thanksgiving had stopped the roof from actually leaking into the sanctuary, the yellowed ceiling spots and scent of mildew said the aged structure needed help. Help she hoped would be forthcoming between her family’s largesse and their skilled workmanship.
Katie Bascomb plunked soft notes on her violin. The violin was more fiddle than anything else most Sundays, but today Katie coaxed sad, drawn-out notes from the polished instrument. Their poignancy drifted on damp air, the heating system not quite enough to dry the dankness in the ceiling. The roof. The walls.
And suddenly Meredith was glad she wasn’t attending service in some perfect church. Some pristine palace of prayer. Because the tired holes in her soul felt at home here, in this battered house of God.
She had done the right thing by coming home. Putting old demons to rest. Starting fresh, beginning anew.
And it felt good. Oh, so good. She slipped into a seat alongside Maude McGinnity, a Jamison old-timer. Maude reached out and clasped her hand in welcome, a signal of hope. Camaraderie.
As Katie’s notes waned, Pastor Si raised his hands high. He wasn’t wearing his famous Louisiana football jersey today, but he wasn’t decked out in vestments, either. Not Si. He sported black pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt that read, “Preach the Gospel at all times. When all else fails, use words.”
The old quote made Meredith smile and cringe. Live your faith. That’s what the words meant. Set an example by what you do, not what you say.
She hadn’t done that for a very long time, but she could. She knew she could.
“Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” Si quoted the solemn entreaty in a strained voice, emulating the sorrow and pain of crucifixion.
Meredith’s heart stretched wider, recognizing her personal weakness. Forgiveness. Tough gig. Easy in word, so hard in deed. And forgetting those wrongs?
Impossible.
His words touched her. He and his brother had lost their parents in the terror attacks on the World Trade Center years ago. Once in a while he talked about the ensuing lapse of faith and trust that had followed those heinous times.
But he’d turned things around, despite his loss.
And so could she. Yes, she’d sinned. She’d lived a life some would consider normal for this day and time, but Meredith was beyond fooling herself. Prettying up behavior with excuses was a thing of the past.
Accepting it? Moving on?
That was the here and now.
She saw Maude home. The driving rain made surfaces slippery, and Maude seemed to favor her left hip.
“I’m fine,” Maude insisted as Meredith put a gentle grip on her arm for the outside stairs.
“I know that.” Meredith grinned at her. “But I’m putting Si’s words into practice. You were listening, right?”
Maude smiled back. “He’s got a way about him, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.” He did. Simon’s simple, matter-of-fact preaching felt good. Simple and direct. She liked that. “And he’s way cute.”
“Cuter than Cameron Calhoun?” The teasing glance said not much got by Maude. Or the rest of the town, for that matter.
Meredith shrugged one shoulder. “No one’s cuter than Cam.”
“I thought as much.” Maude turned the door handle to the quilt shop, let herself in, then smiled at Meredith’s surprise. “I never lock the door on Good Friday. Overnight, yes. Today, no.”
“Brave.”
“Or foolhardy, but for that little space of time.” Maude directed her gaze toward the circle of churches, visible through the colonial-style window on her right. “I like to think the world’s a nice, normal place again, where folks respect what others have and work for their own.”
Meredith gave her an impromptu hug. “I love that idea.”
Maude hugged her back. “An old woman’s ramblings. You have a good day, now, and thank you for seeing me home. But you’re going to be soaked going back to your car.”
“It’s just rain. And I’m going straight home to get changed because I’m painting a spa room tonight.”
“I’ll be one of your first customers,” Maude declared. “I think I’ll keep my natural salt-and-pepper shade, but a new cut-and-curl might be just the ticket!”
“And maybe a pedicure?”
Maude’s smile went wide. “I’ve never had such a thing, Meredith.”
“No time like the present to start. Half-price senior discount on the mani-pedi.”
“I’ll do it. And maybe make a habit of it,” Maude added. “At my age, new habits are hard come by.”
“Then let’s change that.” Meredith gave her a quick wave, then darted back into the rain.
The heavens opened. By the time she got to the car she was soaked through. She hit a button and welcomed the blast of an efficient heating system. Yes, she was cold, wet and messy. Wretchedly so.
But she felt great.
* * *
Cam called her cell nearly two hours later. She tried to tamp down the little thrill of anticipation when his number popped into the screen, but no. Her pulse skittered up and her heart smiled on its own. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Are you at the spa?”
“Yes.” She glanced around and said, “Which is where you said you’d be, right?”
“The storm took down a tree at the house.”
“Your house?”
“No. The school’s house. The one where I conduct my classes.”
“Oh, Cam.” He and the kids had put heart and soul into that rebuild. Their care and devotion was evidenced throughout. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No, thank God.”
A tiny smile lit her heart further at his choice of words. Maybe he wasn’t as hardened as he thought. “Did it hit the house?”
“Yes. Took out a front corner. I’m going to be caught up here while we do emergency enclosures and I was wondering if the girls could come over there and hang out? The Grishams will drop them off.”
“Of course. I’ll unlock the side door.”
“They’ll need to eat. I was going to grab Chinese food tonight.”
“Consider it done.”
“Meredith, I—”
>
“Oops, gotta go, Cam. My paint’s drying.”
It wasn’t, but she refused to let him argue about buying the girls some food. Yes, she got it that he’d refused her earlier offer for whatever reasons. Fourteen years meant a lot had happened on both sides of the fence, and giving Cam space and time? She was fine with that. Mostly. Not when she was kissing him. At that point she wanted things to fast-forward with lightning speed.
But rationally, she got it. And she recognized the limitations she needed to set. There was no way to reconcile who she was and what she’d done with being a substitute mother. But she could still hang out with the girls. Chat with them.
Love them.
That emotional truth bit deep, but wasn’t that exactly what Simon said today? To show our love, not just voice it. So she would, because hanging with Sophie and Rachel should never be about her, but about them.
* * *
Cam was cold, wet, tired and disappointed in the day. His well-laid plans had been waylaid by the unfortunate accident at the house, and he’d lost precious work time at the spa while overseeing the emergency repairs to shield the living room corner of the house from further damage. A local tree surgeon had removed the offending tree and the downed electric wires had been replaced by the electric company.
But he’d lost a whole day. Not good. Never good in the eyes of a guy on limited time. He’d have to work extra tomorrow to make up for it, and that only jammed his Easter weekend responsibilities tighter. Why hadn’t he just ordered stuff for the girls on the internet and been done with it?
“Hey.” The girls were shrugging into their jackets as he came through the porch door of the spa. He splayed his hands in apology to Meredith and Heather. “Sorry. It took a while to get the wires back up and the tree cleared out. I didn’t mean to be this late and mess up your workout.”
“You didn’t,” Heather told him. She tossed a backpack to Sophie and turned more fully toward Cam. “They worked out with us.”
“Meredith and Heather taught us some Irish dancing,” Rachel spouted. Delight emanated from her despite the late hour, and she did a quick step-toe move that reminded Cam of a younger Meredith. “And I can do this.” Rachel rose on tip-toe, then three-stepped around the room, joyful and carefree. Sophie followed, her dark hair dancing in the light, the natural bob and weave of the step tumbling her head full of curls.
Only Sophie didn’t have curls. Not in her hair’s natural state.
And his girls didn’t dance, worry about tights or hair bows, fancy shoes or fingernails. And yet both girls sported pink nail polish and step-toed their way around the grand old entrance as if born to it. Which they were with his Irish heritage.
And they weren’t because he was their father, and he had the responsibility to point them in the right direction. And this wasn’t it.
“Let’s go.”
“Did you like it?” Sophie came to a perfect stop before him, her face upturned, eagerly awaiting his approval.
He tugged the upper part of her jacket closed. “You did well.”
“And me, too?” Rachel flashed him an imp smile, her trademark, and despite their inherent differences, it was clear that the girls’ athleticism worked favorably in the dance.
“Wonderful. Now thank Meredith and Heather for a one-of-a-kind night and head to the car, okay? It’s late.”
“Thank you, Meredith.” Sophie gave Meredith a lingering hug, then did the same with Heather, and that surprised Cam. Sophie was the more solitary daughter. And definitely not a hugger. “I had so much fun.”
“Good.” Meredith beamed down at her, braced herself, then wrapped Rachel’s more rugged onslaught in an embrace. “You did great, kid.”
“I know.” Rachel grinned, and the endearing gap in her top front teeth stretched the smile that much wider. “I can’t wait to learn more. Can we practice again?”
“Absolutely. Just say the word.”
Cam drew a breath between tight teeth. He knew Meredith read him, read him like a book, and she’d darted a troubled glance at him as the girls showed off their new moves, but to openly promise them something against his wishes?
No way, uh-uh. “Head to the car, girls. Get buckled in. I’ll be right there.”
For once they did as asked, and that should have relieved him, but at this point of a wasted day, not much would do that except a solid seven hours of sleep. And then he’d do it all again. He watched the girls until he was sure they’d gotten through the second door, then swung back, determined to have his say.
He’d forgotten that Meredith preferred offense to defense. She came at him, her pretty face taut and defensive and reamed him out, big time.
“You big lug. Coming in here all bent out of shape because your day went down the tubes and then acting like that. You should be ashamed of yourself, but if you’re not, I’m ashamed enough for you. What on earth were you thinking?”
“Thinking?” He leaned in, wondering just how much worse this day could get. He was about to find out. “I’m thinking you had no permission to teach my girls how to dance. Or paint their nails. Or fill their heads with all kinds of nonsense about looking good, being pretty, doing hair and any of the other nonessential life lessons you embrace, Meredith.” He infringed on her space further, mad at himself for railing on her, mad at her for taking so much on herself, but then this was Meredith. She’d always stepped out in front of the crowd. But not with Sophie and Rachel. He wasn’t about to allow that.
“You.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, making him glad he still wore his jacket. “Are acting like a Neanderthal baboon. There is nothing wrong with Irish dancing, it’s an historic art, great exercise and marvelous body discipline for sequential movement. It’s as athletic as any sport in the nation, and I refuse to have you belittle me—” the finger poked again as she backed him toward the door “—my friends—” she hooked a thumb toward the kitchen, where Heather no doubt watched and listened to the whole reality-TV-type show they were putting on “—or my job. Got it?”
He planted his feet and maybe it was the texture of the day mixed with guilt over dissing God, church and his dead wife, but whatever it was, he scowled, hissed a breath and said, “They’re mine. Just mine. Don’t mess with them again.”
Her skin paled. Her dark blue eyes hazed with hurt, then shadowed with resignation. She took a broad step back, bit her lower lip, narrowed her gaze and pointed to the door. “Get out.”
He left.
It didn’t matter that he’d regretted the words the instant they flew out of his mouth, or that he knew he was overreacting. At that moment, with multiple internal reactions raging, all he wanted was for the world to leave him alone to raise his daughters as he saw fit, even though he’d managed to mess up Easter. Again.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and headed home, really wishing he’d invested in a punching bag. The last time he got this mad he’d left a hole in the screened porch wall. His knuckles ached, remembering that. He felt stupid, tired and downright disgusted with himself for going over the top.
The girls sent worried glances at him through the rearview mirror.
He didn’t dare say a word, or even open his mouth. He’d already done irreparable harm to a woman who meant nothing but good for his girls, and having voiced his stupid command, there was no way to fix it. Undo it.
What made him act like a first-class jerk to the woman he was falling in love with all over again?
And if he thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, he was wrong. So wrong. Because once the girls were tucked into bed and the lights turned off, the glow of his desktop computer drew him into the upstairs office. He frowned, remembered that Rachel had been online that morning and strode across the room to shut it down. His movement stirred the sensors, and the screen popped up in a blaze of light, a totally feminine screen bor
dered by bright yellow daffodils and pink tulips, an Easter extravaganza of color. And there, midscreen, the photographer had grabbed a shot of seven little girls in a country church setting of flowers and ivy, each one wearing a sweet, pretty dress, suited for Easter.
That’s what Rachel had risked getting into trouble for. A dress. A pretty dress like all the other little girls wore with nonchalance. A dress with ruffles and trim, or maybe a pretty bow.
He sank into the desk chair and wanted to cry, but big boys didn’t cry. Did they?
Not since those first weeks after burying his beautiful wife. Cam dropped his head into his hands. Was he that bad a father? That out of tune?
Obviously so.
Could he fix it? Make amends to his girls? And to Meredith? He groaned at that, remembering the look on her face.
He’d hurt her. And he’d hurt his girls, always so sure that he knew what was best, what Kristy would have done. Sitting there with the computer screen lighting the room in pastel wonder, he realized two things: first, that Kristy loved sports but had been smart enough to realize that not every girl was born to wear cleats 24/7, and that was a lesson he should have adopted and embraced more fully.
And second, that somehow, some way, he needed to find peace with her death. Guilt had frayed a hole in his weary heart and soul, and that was his fault. Sure, he figured God was probably disgusted with him, and why wouldn’t He be?
But he’d been a churchgoer before. And he had a nicely made, very dusty Bible, a wedding gift from his late grandmother. She’d written their names on the inside cover under the inscription The Calhoun Family Bible.
And then he’d gone and dismissed God. Ignored church, shelving the most important aspect of his girls’ lives because he was embarrassed. Guilt-laden. Remorseful.
And a jerk, besides.
He brought his gaze up to the screen and made the decision he should have made long before. They would celebrate Easter as a family this year. Together. At church. And then a lovely Easter breakfast with his mother. And then the girls could hunt for eggs, just like he used to.
A Family to Cherish Page 15
