Not willing to be nabbed in front of the offending drawer, Jules skittered to the kitchen, her mind working overtime. Images of Rhett cradling the photo in the dark of the night flitted through her brain, and Andi sneaking around corners to glimpse at her father’s raw emotion. Jules’ heart ached. What a loss.
Her eyes flicked to the man in question as he gathered the meat tray and utensils from the counter. A catechism of questions bubbled to the surface, and she squelched them down, forcing her attention to the chattering child pulling a fragile egg carton from the refrigerator. She’d come for a simple meal. And cake. And gifts. Sigh. Simply not simple.
* * *
Andi’s laugh bubbled through the open window. Hmmm, that was odd. His daughter, laughing in their kitchen, without him. Rhett grabbed the red T-bone with long tongs and rotated it to the perfect angle for seared crisscross marks. Jules’ laughter floated out to his ears, and he lifted his head. It was hard to identify the clench in his gut. Jealousy? No. Mistrust? Again, no.
He scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. So what was it? A knowledge, no a sadness, that Andi would be devoid of female interaction. Yes, a yearning angst. Whatever it was, it stifled him, and he shifted to ease his discomfort. He flipped the meat. Yeah, better get used to it. A nanny would bring a lot of changes. Pounding noises echoed from the kitchen, interspersed with giggling.
Although he hated to admit it, Gary Dicen’s words had struck a chord. As an only child, life had been difficult at times. Not insurmountable, yet uniquely challenging. And that was fine. Just not lonesome. He couldn’t stand the thought of Andi being lonely.
Running sounds thudded from inside the house, and the door behind him jerked open. He turned to behold Andi in bare feet, a smudge of red cake batter streaked across her face. A grin split her face.
“The cake blew bubbles, Daddy. Now it’s in the oven. Jules says I can lick the frosting off the beaters if’n it’s okay with you.”
“Sure, it’s—”
But his daughter shoved the door closed and dashed back to the kitchen, satisfied he’d given his approval. He grinned and shook his head. How long had it been since she’d been so excited?
Her happy squeals hit his ears about the same time as the mixer’s whine. The grill flared, and he snatched the spray bottle. That’s right. Some days blazed brighter than others, he ruminated as the burner sizzled and smoke billowed. Rhett slapped the hood shut. And melancholy days just blew smoke. Andi must find her way through, the same as he did. With the Lords’ guidance, and a few good Samaritans like the strawberry blonde in the kitchen, his daughter would grow up just fine.
* * *
Although it shouldn’t have felt so comfortable, Jules soon fell into the process of fixing her part of the dinner. She baked the potatoes in the microwave, divided the salad between two bowls, Andi insisting she didn’t like salad, and started working on the cream cheese frosting with Andi. The child could hardly contain herself. Her tilted eyes sparked with pleasure while incessantly asking questions. Some were actually about cooking.
“Yum. This is the goodest kind I’ve ever had.” Andi shoved the beater, thick with frosting into her mouth. “Daddy’s gonna be surprised it tastes so, so good.”
Jules smiled. “Best kind. It’s the best kind of frosting.”
Andi’s eyes widened as her tongue probed the metal utensil. “Uh-huh, the best, goodest kind.”
Jules chuckled and then sobered. How connected she and this child were on such a short acquaintance. Some children were just easier to bond with. It happened every year in her class. She’d often consulted other teachers, manuals, old conference materials or browsed the internet on children’s personalities to best know how to reach them with academic material.
Sometimes, despite research, experience, and hard work, she was glad to see the backside of certain students. They just clashed. Yet she and Andi had fit together like q and u.
They were finishing the icing when Rhett came through the door with a large covered pan. As he set it down on the island counter, a delicious, meaty smell filled the room. Jules’ mouth watered.
“Well, ladies, let’s feast.”
Andi giggled and threw herself at her dad who promptly picked her up and opened the lid. Even more of the wonderful aroma pervaded the kitchen.
“Ummm…that makes my tummy growl.” Andi squealed as her dad growled in her ear.
The plates were soon out, potatoes peeled and salad ready while the rest was carried to the sunroom. Uneasiness clenched Jules’ abdomen. It had been fun messing around with Andi, cooking, chatting, and sharing a secret or two, but to sit at a table, mimicking a family, well…yikes. Nothing to do but fake it. Like mouthing the word, watermelon, in the choir when she didn’t know the words. Yep, it was time to watermelon.
Andi escorted her to the sunroom table and indicated her chair. Jules slid her stiff body into the seat. Rhett appeared with the last of the condiments, and the awkward meter jumped to ten. Andi, oblivious to the tension, clapped her hands and started an off-key version of, ‘Happy Birthday.’
The child exploded from her chair and pushed her father to the seat next to Jules. “Here’s where the birthday boy sits.”
He laughed and pulled her up in his lap to load her plate and mash her potatoes. “All right, Peaches, go sit in your chair.”
She clambered down with giggles and soon sat.
Rhett set the plate before her. “You want to say the prayer?”
She nodded with exaggeration. “Yeppers.”
Silence ensued. Andi blinked at her father. He gave a half grin. “Go ahead.”
“No, we gotta hold hands like we always do. Only, there’s more people, so…” Her brow knitted. “I’ll take this one of yours, Daddy, and one of Jules’. You hold mine and Jules’ , and she’ll have mine and yours. ’Kay?”
Oh, boy. She grasped Andi’s hand and reached across the table for Rhett’s. The half grin widened as she met his eyes. Gotta be the perfect definition of ill at ease. His brow lifted. Humor? Or most likely discomfort. She didn’t have time to decide which as they bowed their heads in prayer.
“Thank you, Jesus, for my birthday Daddy. It’s a special day ’cause Jules is here. Thanks for the cow, and the velveteen cake with no bubbles. But most of all for the bestest, goodest frosting. A-men.”
Jules coughed to cover the snicker. Andi barely took a breath before she began to prattle about anything and everything. The steak tasted wonderful and Jules told Rhett so. Other than that, it was a rare opportunity when an adult spoke. Andi, however, never let them suffer in awkward silence, and Jules could’ve kissed her.
The timer went off in the kitchen, and Andi bolted from the room to the kitchen. “Jules, Jules, the cake. My rabbit cake.”
Jules gave a courteous smile and excused herself to thankfully leave the table. Their birthday concoction was perfection and smelled wonderful. They put the ‘velveteen’ cake on the cooling rack and returned to the table. Andi was full of conversation as to the merits of her baking achievement.
“It’s so red, red, red. Like a Valentine. Or a heart. Only not a real heart. That’s yucky. But kinda like playdough, only it smells better.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought. “Tastes better too.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been eating playdough,” her father teased.
Her brows thundered. “Well, I forgot I hadn’t washed my hands, and I put them in my mouth. But I didn’t really eat it.” She shuddered. “It’s gwoss. It made me gag.”
A deep rumble tumbled from Rhett’s throat, and Jules caught her breath. Good gravy, the man was drop-dead handsome. She turned her eyes to the wilting salad. Only a few more minutes, and she could hightail it back home.
“Then my teacher said I shouldn’t put my hands in my mouth anyways ’cause of germs, so I tried to remember. After cake, Jules and I are gonna swim. Do you have your bikini, Jules?”
Jules choked and grabbed her napkin. The child switched subj
ects faster than a tornado. Besides, how should she answer that? Her gaze flicked to Rhett. Surely he’d stop all this nonsense.
But his grin widened. “No, Andi. There will be no swimming today. It’s only April and much too cold. Besides, I don’t think Jules brought her bikini.”
Her mouth fell open, and he threw back his head, laughing in delight.
“She can wear one of mine.”
A short chuckle flew out, and Jules fixed her eyes on her plate.
“As interesting as that sounds, the answer is still no.” He stood and collected the plates before she could form a witty rebuttal, but he flared an eyebrow at her. “How ’bout you girls finish the cake, and I’ll go wrestle the grill.”
To Jules’ relief, he set the dishes in the sink and retreated to the patio. Was he insinuating he’d like to see her in a bikini, or was it simple humor? She couldn’t help but mull this thought as they made short work of clearing the rest of the table and loading the dishwasher. Jules glanced at the clock on the industrial size oven. Ten after three. The afternoon had sailed away. Pleasantly, even.
Smiling at the five-year-old, she pulled a step stool close to the island counter as they decorated the cake. Andi slapped the spongy layers with a butter knife, spattering the frosting. The child gushed over the selections of sprinkles, tasting each one, and shaking most of each bottle onto the white, sticky mound. Rhett’s expectation of this confection had better be relatively low. If it wasn’t, he was in for a surprise. Goosebumps broke across her skin and a gush of warmth rushed through her. No. She understood firsthand how special a homemade cake could be. And somehow, Jules was sure Rhett would not miss that.
She inhaled slowly, moisture stinging her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t quite right she had joined the party. It was awkward, and unnerving, but also homey and comforting. She made up her mind to enjoy this little celebration while she could. Yes, celebrate the fact she was not alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After work on Tuesday, Jules called her daughter from the phone box down the corner from Marsha’s.
“How’s life going?” She breathed deep.
“I had my first ultrasound and everything looked good.” Hannah paused. “Mom, are we really going to act like all’s fine?”
Jules pressed her head to the cool metal of the rusted phone box. “Hannah, this is as fine as it can be for now.”
Hannah’s sigh sounded over the line. “All right. Anything new? Get a cell phone yet?”
“No.” She drummed her fingernails on the metal shelf. “I have a fish pond in my backyard.”
Really? A fishpond? She hurried ahead to cancel the idiosyncrasy of mentioning such a lame fact. “I’ve met a little girl named Andi, and another neighbor has been helping me with the mowing.”
Poor Rhett. He’d been downgraded to an anonymous stranger. She pushed the disturbing thought away.
“Ah. Well, you are a child magnet, Mom.” Hannah gave a short chuckle.
Jules’s lips twitched, and she gripped the receiver. “I hope you never resented that.”
Again a soft laugh filtered over the line. “Kids flock to you like strangers mistake me for a department-store worker. I must wear a sticker on my forehead that says, ‘please ask me a question.’ Yesterday while shopping, an older lady asked me if we had any flip-lid trash cans.”
Jules laughed. It felt good. “Did you tell her you didn’t work there?”
Hannah giggled. “Actually, I knew where they were, so I directed her to them.”
“You should receive a kickback from the local stores. Or quit the bank and get a job there.”
Her daughter groaned. “I couldn’t take a pay cut. Besides, leave PR to assist customers? I’d miss all the stress. No, really. You’re a great mom. I never resented the other kids. I guess I figured it was my duty to share you.”
A motorcycle sped by, and Jules waited, glad for the time to swallow the lump of emotion. “Well, it’s one of my few talents. You’ve always been the best daughter. So understanding. I appreciate that about you, Hannah.”
The line went silent.
Jules cleared her throat of tears. “How’s Jason’s work? Still putting in a lot of overtime?”
“Yeah.” Hannah’s voice grew thick. “But it’s a mixed blessing. We’ve almost saved our entire down payment for a new house. But I seldom see him.”
More silence.
“I really miss you, Mom.” Hannah’s husky voice caught.
“I know.”
“The Lord will work this mess out.”
“Uh huh.” Time to cut this off before she boo-hooed big time. “I really need to go, Hannah. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Call again soon, okay?”
“I will.”
After goodbyes, Jules hung up the phone and clutched the black plastic receiver with both hands, tears brimming her eyes. Would it get easier? Could these deep wounds ever heal?
* * *
The rest of the work week continued pleasantly enough, and although calling Hannah had been a bittersweet ordeal, the rawness inside Jules eased. Perhaps she’d heal after all— somehow.
Trips past the huge church became a daily thing. She missed her relationship with God. No denying it. It was obvious. She’d pulled back, allowed doubt to creep in and grow strangling vines around her soul. She’d even become angry with her Lord, resented Him for allowing her life to collapse into pain. Yet, He hadn’t gone anywhere. She had. Literally and figuratively. His still, small voice whispered her name. Tugged at her heart. And she ached to her very core.
Where was that strong and dedicated Christian? She’d taught Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, Church Camp, volunteered for practically every committee or project, until it appeared as if she were going through the motions. And maybe, that’s exactly what had happened.
She willfully ignored the direction of her thoughts and stopped at the library. A quick check at her emails and she’d grab a book to busy her mind. As she entered, the poster for the volunteer reader again caught her eye.
“Hi.”
The voice behind her made her whirl about. A heavy-set, dark-haired woman smiled and gestured to the sign. “You interested? We’re still looking. We prefer someone with experience with children, but at this point, a warm body would do.”
She laughed and Jules smiled. “Actually, I’m a teacher. Well, I was. I mean…I’m not teaching currently, but I just left a position where I taught for fifteen years.”
“Really?” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “That’s great, if you have the time. Let’s go to my computer so I can get your information. We’d hoped to start this program a few weeks back, but we’ve had to delay it.”
Jules bit her lip and followed her to the library counter. Was this wise to do now? She rubbed her sweaty hands on her jeans. It sounded fun, yet…what kind of emotions would surface?
“We’ll run a background check, and you’ll need to leave a couple of references, but why don’t I just slate you for next Monday while I sort all that out.”
Twenty minutes later, Jules exited the brick building, five children’s books tucked under her arm. A thrill of excitement shot through her. The position paid nothing, and there’d only be five to ten children, but it didn’t dampen the delight of being the new volunteer reader for library school. She grinned, closed her eyes for a moment, and did a little happy skip. My gracious, what was she thinking? E-mails forgotten, she walked home with an extra spring in her step.
Jules read and re-read the bright picture books each night, several of them like old friends. Sometimes she recited aloud to her empty house, which made it seem not so empty, although the echo of her voice mocked her. Three old classics and two new ones. Once she stepped in front of those children, her natural storytelling ability would kick in big time.
She’d wanted to share the books with Andi, but it might seem odd to show up randomly at their house. Sometimes they stopped by on the weekends, so she waited eagerly for the Saturday sh
ift to end. But the Carsens never appeared.
At promptly 5:02 Sunday morning, Jules’ eyes cracked open and shifted to the clock. Why did she bother checking? She sat up and reveled in the early dawn’s sunlight that grew stronger with each break of day. It was Sunday. Sunday. She sighed and rubbed her sleep-swollen face with her hands. Rolling out of the bed to the cold floor, she caught sight of the bright blue package with the large blue bow. Oh, yes. The undelivered gift. She’d forgotten it in all the hubbub of their unexpected arrival. Now, a moot point. She shrugged. Back it would go.
After her shower, she rummaged through clothes hanging in the bedroom closet. The black silky pants and ruffled short-sleeved shirt came to light, and she tugged it out. The black shirt sported a few tie die swirls. There was no way this still fit. Did it? She fingered the material. Was she really thinking of wearing them? Dare she?
Before she could change her mind, she’d slipped them on and pushed her feet into a pair of low black sandals. Yish, baggy. Like a little girl playing dress-up in her big sister’s clothes. She tilted her chin with determination, grabbed her purse and strode to the door.
Walking up the hill became a bit of a journey in dress clothes, but her shoes were comfortable, so she set a brisk pace. As she approached the huge edifice on the corner, people milled on the sidewalks, all drifting to the lofty arched doors with the brass handles. Stepping into the flow of chatting people, she received several nods and greetings. She put a hand to her stomach. Evidently a horde of moths had taken up residence. Why was she so nervous? It was only church.
In the foyer, an older couple welcomed her with gentle smiles and handed her a program. She tried to calm her racing heart. Sitting alone just seemed plain wrong. Off to her left, she located the balcony stairs. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad up there. With determination, she fixed her eyes on the carpet to avoid the who are you? stares, and nearly sprinted to the steps.
At the top, a few people were already seated and several standing or chatting. She went up a couple of rows and sat next to the aisle. Occupying herself with her purse and the program, she still managed to overhear a familiar voice drifting up the stairs. Andi. Surely not.
Reviving Jules Page 8
