I nodded, following her into the family room; over the mantel was a lovely oil painting of Lisa Leann draped in pink velvet and pearls. I was temporarily distracted. “The movie. It was good, yes.”
Mandy herself was a sort of pregnant china doll with porcelain skin, strawberry hair, and sparkling brown eyes. She started to sit up until I said, “Don’t get up. You rest. I know how important it is when you’re this far along.” I turned back to Lisa Leann. “I’ll be going now.”
We walked together to the front door. “Lisa Leann, I don’t know a lot about the Aunt Ellen thing, but—”
“It’s something Clay thought up,” she said. “It’s just a local thing. You can see that by reading the introduction to it in last week’s paper.”
“I’m sorry to say that with the holidays, I just didn’t get around to reading it.”
Lisa Leann shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, Lizzie. I was just trying to get the ball rolling … to get people to start writing in their own questions.”
“And have they?”
She beamed. “You bet they have. Why, I’ve got a doozy coming up in the next paper.”
“Sounds like you had a doozy in last week’s too.” I paused. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow.”
I left Lisa Leann’s and headed back home, my heart heavy and my soul weary. Oh, Lord, I thought. Church tomorrow … I wonder what disaster awaits me there?
25
Potluck Day
Clay decided to add evening walks to his morning routine, as he’d done that first night, thereby speeding the whole weight-loss process along. The route up and down Main Street, however, was becoming a bit of a bore. To shake things up a bit, he walked toward the Summit View Mountain range in the east, then turned right on Fifth Street. It was a bit hilly, but Clay determined he could stand the extra strain on his muscles.
The cold air invigorated him. He took in deep breaths and blew out puffs of white-gray vapor from between his chapping lips. He’d worn a knit cap on his head, and he pulled it down farther over his ears. Burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he shivered a bit. Tomorrow, he vowed, he’d dress even more warmly.
When he finally reached the top of Fifth, he was on Tumbleweed and was forced to make a decision to go either right or left. If he went right, he’d be closer to home. If he turned left, he’d head into more of the residential areas. It was safer walking.
Energized by what he’d done so far, he turned left, then right again onto Pitkin.
Pitkin was where Lisa Leann lived. He opened his reporter’s eyes a bit wider when he saw Lizzie Prattle’s car in the driveway.
Today was Saturday, he remembered. Potluck day.
He cocked a brow. What might have transpired, he wondered, to bring Lizzie Prattle to the home of Lisa Leann Lambert?
26
Taste of Disaster
Even though Lizzie’s visit took some of the edge off my anger, the more I thought about the Potluck Club incident, the more I felt betrayed. I stomped around my kitchen, slamming drawers and cabinets as I prepared to make Mandy’s favorite dish, honey orange pork chops.
I paused, rubbing my temples as a slight headache started to expand its territory. I needed to calm down. The last time I was this mad was back home in Houston when Darla Miller left my recipes out of the church choir cookbook on purpose, the little darlin’. Of course, as it was my recipes the ladies of the church had wanted in their personal cookbook collections, the fund-raiser was a bust. Though nobody can blame me for that one.
Those same ugly feelings I’d dealt with back in Texas revisited me the moment Donna Vesey barged into the Potluck Club, waving my wonderful advice column and hollering like her house was on fire and I was the one who had set it ablaze.
So, a few men asked her out. Was that a crime? I’d think she’d welcome the attention.
A thought struck me, and I giggled. If only I could get her to supply me with a list of names of those desperate enough to call her Taste of Disaster for a date. That list of lonely hearts would be a great start toward getting my dating service going.
I have to say, though, I felt bad about Vonnie. Of course, I wanted her to recognize the solution to her problem, but I’d never intended that she recognize herself. That’s why I took care to disguise the situation. However, I don’t think she would have known my advice was especially for her if Donna hadn’t spilled the beans. And what was so wrong with my advice in the first place? If Vonnie was willing to give up those letters that inflicted so much pain in her marriage, Fred’s feelings of betrayal would be resolved almost instantly. I shook my head. I guess there was more to her feelings about her dead husband than I’d first suspected. That must be the problem. Vonnie’s in love with a ghost. Poor girl.
Vonnie aside, I had a good mind to give up on those Potluck ladies, and I would have too, that is, if Lizzie hadn’t been such a dear to return what was left of my cake. Still, despite her advice, I wasn’t ready to talk to Donna or Vonnie. I mean, I was as hurt as anyone in this. I was the dissed author. Did they know what it felt like to have your words slammed? So why did I get labeled as the bad guy?
I looked up to see Mandy rubbing her tummy. Though she was twenty-three years old, she looked like a pregnant schoolgirl. Her smooth skin glowed and her strawberry blond hair perched in a high ponytail on top of her head. Just precious.
“Did I wake you?” I asked. “I saw you’d fallen asleep during your movie.”
“Oh no, the herd of wild elephants stomping through your kitchen woke me up.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, and Mandy joined me with a glass of milk. “I’m sorry, darlin’; I didn’t realize I was being so loud. I’m so used to being the only one around this place.”
My daughter looked around the condo with an appraising eye. “This place certainly suits you. It’s very elegant. Though I can’t imagine where you’re going to put your seven themed Christmas trees this year.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “I’m hoping to squeeze in two. One angel tree in the front hallway, and then another full of dancing snowmen in the living room, and maybe I could get a drummer boy tree in the corner of the master bedroom. Though it might block Henry’s closet.”
Mandy smiled and rubbed her tummy again.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, the baby’s kicking a little, I think. So, who are you so mad at?”
“No one.”
“Mom, it’s not me and Ray, is it?”
“You two? Oh no. Honestly, it’s just my new column got a bad review.”
Mandy picked up a copy of the edition, which was still lying on the table. “Your new Aunt Ellen advice column? How could anyone complain about that? You did a great job, Mom.”
“That’s what I thought, but apparently one of my so-called friends got a little bent out of shape when her life began to imitate my art.”
“Well, that’s not your fault.”
“I know.” I stood up and went to the refrigerator and pulled out my pitcher of orange juice. It was half empty.
“I just made this,” I complained.
“Sorry, Mom, I had a couple of glasses while you were out.”
“That’s okay. I only need half a cup for the sauce.”
“You’re making honey orange pork chops tonight?”
“You bet.”
“With your whipped mashed potatoes with garlic?”
“Of course. Should be ready by the time your father and Ray return from the ski slopes—in the next hour or so.”
“What can I do to help?”
I pointed to a sack of potatoes and handed her a potato peeler. She stood up and moved to my side.
“Mom, now that I have to cook for Ray, I hardly remember cooking with you. Was I just too busy with cheerleading and my studies?”
I nodded, then glanced at her progress and gasped. “You’ve got peels all over everything. That’s a job to do over the sink.”
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br /> She studied me for a moment then moved her operation. “I remember now.”
That caught my attention, and I stopped stirring my sauce. “You remember what?”
“The kitchen was always your domain. I could never do anything right.”
I turned, wide eyed, and put my hand on my hip. “Amanda Ann, you know that’s not true.”
“That’s how I remember it.”
Before I could say more, a voice called from the study. “Mommm.”
Mandy smiled. “You go see what Nelson wants, I’ll be fine in here—alone in your kitchen. That is, if you trust me.”
Her mischievous grin made me laugh, and I winked. I turned off my burner. “Just don’t burn the place down, okay?”
She nodded solemnly, teasing me back. “I’ll do my best, Mom.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and scurried to see what my tall, handsome nineteen-year-old son wanted.
I found him draped over a web page he had pulled up on my computer. He looked almost preppy in his ivory sweater and jeans, that is, except for the way his auburn hair hung over his brown eyes. I’d have to coax him into a haircut before he returned to the University of Texas, where he was a business major minoring in the party life.
“What do you think?” Nelson asked.
I read the web address. “TheWeddingHelps.com?”
“Your new website.”
I gasped. “Mine?”
I pulled up an antique straight-back chair I kept in the corner of the office and sat next to Nelson. Sure enough, there on the screen was the name I’d just painted in gold letters on my shop window: Lisa Leann’s High Country Weddings.
“Why, Nelson, this is wonderful!”
“I’m going to need some more copy to put here and there, as well as a description of all the services you offer.”
“Including my dating service?”
“You bet,” he said. “I’m going to work on that software next. But be thinking of what else you’d like to include.”
“Like my column?”
“Great idea. I’ll work that up now.”
I looked at my son as a warm feeling of pride began to grow. “How’d you know how to create all this?”
“Just finished a business web design class,” he said.
I rubbed the top of his head. “You smarty.”
Suddenly there was a scream from the kitchen, followed by a loud thud.
“Mandy?”
No answer.
I rushed to the kitchen door, but even before I rounded the corner, I could see potatoes rolling past the kitchen tile and onto the carpet.
“Mandy?”
And then I found her. My beautiful and very pregnant daughter lying in the middle of the floor, surrounded by potatoes and an upside-down pot. Water was everywhere.
I was running so fast, my slick tennis shoes slipped when they hit the tile, and I performed a ballet of sorts. Trying to keep from falling on my child, I ended up grabbing the double sink as if it were a handle and holding myself upright.
“Mandy!”
“I’m okay, Mom.”
“What are you doing on the floor?” I asked as I bent down to lend her a hand.
Nelson appeared in the doorway. “What happened here?” he asked.
“Help me get her up,” I commanded. “But watch your step.” Together, we got Mandy to her feet, where she doubled over in pain.
“Mandy, what is it?”
“Help me to the couch,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
I wasn’t so sure. “What happened?” I demanded as she tried to catch her breath.
She looked up, tears in her big brown eyes. “I was trying to take the pan of potatoes to the stove when I had a contraction that doubled me over. That’s when I dropped the pot then slipped on one of the potatoes that rolled under my feet.”
“A contraction? Are you still having them?”
“I’m afraid so. They’re pretty strong too.”
I looked up at her brother. “Nelson, get Mandy to the car. I’m going to make a quick phone call.”
I dialed Vonnie’s number. “Hey, Von, it’s Lisa Leann.”
Vonnie sounded relieved to hear from me. “Lizzie said you might be calling.”
“She did, but—”
“I know you didn’t mean any harm, but what you did hurt me. I’m not one to complain, but I wanted you to know I forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” I was truly flustered. “Vonnie, I’m having a medical emergency here with my daughter, Mandy. She’s just collapsed with contractions, and she’s only seven months pregnant. Could you meet me at the hospital in Frisco? I could really use your support right now.”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there,” she said. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Pray!”
Less than half an hour later, Nelson was helping me walk Mandy into the tiny lobby of the high-country ER when Vonnie rushed to my side. She was dressed in faded navy sweats and looked as if she’d been crying. Disheveled or not, she took charge of the situation. She pointed to me. “You fill out the paperwork.” She then pointed at Mandy. “I’ll access Mandy.”
Numbly, I obeyed. But first, I turned to Nelson and handed him my cell. “Do you think you could call Dad on his cell phone and tell him and Ray where we are?”
“Sure. Is Mandy going to be okay?”
“I don’t know, but don’t tell them that. Just tell them not to panic.” I rolled my eyes. All I needed was for the men to break their necks, speeding down the icy roads.
After I filled in the paperwork, I sat next to Mandy and Vonnie. I brushed Mandy’s bangs from her sweaty forehead. “How you doing?”
She leaned her head onto my shoulder. “I’m scared, Mom. I don’t want to lose this baby.”
I patted her hand and looked up at Vonnie, hoping she could tell me something. She motioned for me to follow her into the glassed hallway that led to the exit. “What do you think?” I asked.
“She’s having contractions, and that can’t be good. But maybe the doctors can put her on some meds that will help relieve them.”
I nodded, glad for a bit of hope. I thanked Vonnie for her encouragement then rejoined Mandy. A few minutes later, a green-clad nurse called us to come through the double doors. “Sweetie, can you walk?” she asked my daughter. Mandy shook her head, and nurse Sandy, according to her plastic name tag, disappeared, then came back out with a wheelchair. “Here you go.”
As if we were all on parade, Vonnie and I followed Mandy as Nurse Sandy wheeled her into an exam room. We left Nelson alone in the waiting room, looking a little green around the gills. He said, “I think I’ll wait here for Dad and Ray.”
When the men arrived, Ray came on back to hold Mandy’s hand. “It’s going to be okay,” he kept whispering to her. She’d nod, but I could tell she didn’t believe him. “It’s too soon,” she repeated, wiping away a stray tear.
She was right about that. Oh Lord, I prayed, please keep my grandchild safe. Please!
Four hours later, the doctors got the contractions under control. It was skinny Dr. Rollins who finally gave us a report. His green scrubs had a bit of blood splatter, probably from the victim of the car accident in the exam room next to ours. With only the curtains separating us, I already knew that the nine-year-old boy had broken his leg and had to have five stitches in his shoulder.
The doctor patted Mandy’s arm. “You gave us a scare, young lady. Thought we were going to have to call in the Flight for Life to get you to a Denver hospital. But luckily you responded well to the meds.”
I dared to breathe. “That’s good news?”
The doctor nodded, his white surgical mask dangling from his neck like a bandana. He scribbled something on her chart. “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But young lady, you are going to have to promise me something.”
She attempted a bit of humor. “Anything, Doc, as long as it’s not my firstborn.”
The doctor smiled. “I’m putting you on complete bed rest.”
“That won’t be so easy back home. I’m a schoolteacher. I’ve got to be on my feet eight hours a day.”
“You are now a schoolteacher on leave. I’ll write a note to your principal. Where do you teach?”
“At Wildwood Elementary, near Houston.”
The doctor put the notepad down. “You’re from out of state? Texas? Well, that presents a problem. Did you fly here?”
Mandy nodded. “Our flight home is Monday week.”
“Not for you. What you’ve experienced is very serious. If you decide to travel, by air or by car, you’ll risk your baby’s life. You don’t want to do that, do you?”
“No, but—”
I spoke up. “Mandy’s my daughter. She can stay with her dad and me at the condo.”
The doctor looked relieved. “Mandy, you’d better accept your mother’s invitation.”
Mandy looked up at Ray. “But Ray, he’ll have to go home, back to work. I don’t want to be here without my husband.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll call Ray to fly back when it’s time for the baby to come. This will only be temporary.”
I turned to Vonnie, who had quietly been watching my family drama unfold.
She took Mandy’s hand. “It will be all right, dear.” She gave me a hard look then looked back at my daughter. “I’ll be praying for you.”
I would have made a batch of my world-famous cinnamon rolls to take to church to serve as a peace offering for the girls; that is, if Mandy and my family hadn’t just spent the entire evening at the ER. When we got home, all I could do was fret over my daughter until Ray said, “That’s enough, Mother Lambert; I can take care of my wife from here.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Not only because his gesture toward his wife was so sweet, but also because soon he would be on a plane headed back to Houston and I would have my very pregnant daughter all to myself. And barring any more emergencies, I couldn’t be more blessed to be in this situation. Not only would I be there for the birth of my new grandchild, I would be in charge of the whole caboodle.
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