“Will you give this room to someone else?” she asked as she filled a suitcase with the collected items.
“No. It’ll be waiting for Willow when she gets out of the hospital. She’ll be able to do the remainder of her recovery here. We aren’t tossing her out on the street.”
Holly turned toward the woman. “Of course you aren’t.”
“I’m thankful she has family who can step in to take care of AJ until she’s able. Very thankful.”
Holly’s throat tightened. All she could do was nod in reply.
She returned to the common area and discovered that someone had brought AJ there. Jed was sitting on the edge of a chair, not quite turned fully away from her. The little boy stood in front of him, staring upward while wearing a serious expression. Almost as if he understood that Jed had become someone important in his life.
“Heck of a thing, isn’t it, AJ?” Jed said.
I can’t be wrong. Look at him. He couldn’t fool me that much.
She must have made a sound, because Jed looked over his shoulder.
She forced a smile. “I’ve got everything.”
“Then we’re ready to go?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.” He stood. “What do you think, AJ? You ready too?”
AJ remained silent and wide-eyed.
“All right.” Jed scooped the boy up into his arms. “We’re off.” He turned to face Holly.
O God, don’t let me be wrong about him.
They left the shelter in silence.
* * *
That night, after more than a few rough hours, Jed stared down at the sleeping child. Things hadn’t been too bad until AJ started to miss his mom. Then the tears had begun and hadn’t stopped until the little guy wore himself out. Holly had been with Jed part of that time, but she’d been called into the restaurant, and he’d had to muddle through on his own.
“Okay, God. I said yes to You. Now what?”
His phone buzzed. As he left the bedroom, he slipped the phone out of his pocket, hoping he would see his brother’s face on the screen. Instead, it was his dad’s. Was he ready to have this conversation? If not, he could simply not answer. But that didn’t seem right.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I’m up. But I’ve had a crazy kind of day.”
“Oh?”
While pacing the living room, Jed relayed all that he’d learned and all that had happened over the past couple of days. His dad listened without interruption.
“The kid’s sleeping now,” Jed finished. “I hope he’ll stay that way through the night. I’m feeling lost. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Make sure small things and poisonous things are put up high. Other than that, you’ll figure it out as you go along. He’s not an infant. He’ll communicate more than you realize.”
“Thanks.” He said the word without meaning it.
“You know, your mom had her suspicions that a girl was somehow involved in Chris taking off the way he did. She mentioned it again a few days ago. But neither one of us had an inkling we had a two-year-old grandchild. It’s a lot to take in. Have you told your mom?”
“Not yet.”
“Would you like me to tell her?”
He considered the question, then answered, “Maybe you’d better.”
“She’ll want to get in the car and drive to Boise as soon as she learns about AJ.”
“I’m not sure she should do that, Dad. Willow might freak out. She doesn’t want to hide AJ from family, but her history makes her a bit wary. That’s my read on it.”
“Okay, son. I’ll trust your judgment on this and ask your mom to do the same.”
“Thanks.”
“You sound tired. I’ll let you go. Keep me informed.”
“I will. ’Night, Dad.”
“Good night.”
As he slid the phone into his pocket, he returned to the bedroom doorway and stared at his nephew’s sleeping form. Take care of him, God. He hasn’t had the best start. Turn Chris around. Make him a good dad to this boy. I don’t know how to fix any of it, but You do. I’ll trust You for the answers. One day at a time.
Wednesday, December 31, 1969
On New Year’s Eve, two hours before midnight, the house was quiet except for the creaks and groans caused by the cold wind blowing in from the northwest. Helen was in bed, sound asleep, and Grant and Charlotte were at a friend’s party, ready to welcome in the new year. Andrew remained in the kitchen, sipping a cup of decaf coffee, his Bible open on the table before him, a notepad and pen nearby. It felt familiar, this night, this room, this quiet house. Even when the children were young and at home, Andrew had usually been alone in the kitchen as the calendar turned from December to January. He’d read his Bible here. He’d prayed here. He’d sat at this table and written to his sons when they were serving in the armed forces.
He wouldn’t be sorry to say farewell to 1969. So many troubling things had happened. Not only Helen’s health issues. Not only his own physical troubles. Troubles far beyond the two of them. There’d been that accident involving Senator Edward Kennedy that had killed a young woman in a place called Chappaquiddick. There’d been those ghastly murders in California at the home of that young actress, Sharon Tate. Hurricane Camille and the flooding that followed had killed more than four hundred people across several southern states. And only last month had come the news of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam, a horror that had occurred more than a year earlier.
“God, save us from ourselves,” Andrew whispered as he rose from his chair and went to the rack near the door. There he donned coat, hat, and gloves and stepped outside into the frigid night air. Leaning into the wind, he made his way to the barn. One of the horses nickered as Andrew entered. Another horse bobbed its head, as if to say, “Good to see you. Did you bring a midnight snack?”
Andrew moved to the first stall and rubbed Blue Boy’s head. The dappled-gray gelding was aging, like Andrew himself, but he was able to carry grandkids when they came to the farm for a visit. Those visits happened too infrequently to suit Andrew. No matter how many years passed, he still wasn’t used to how quiet the farm had become without a passel of children around.
“Gets a little boring, doesn’t it?” He patted Blue Boy’s neck again.
Helen had asked him why he kept the horses, now that his bad back made it impossible to ride. The beef steer and the chickens were sensible, she’d told him. They provided food. But what good were the horses? Andrew had answered that they were good for the soul, if nothing else.
He moved to the next stall and stared into the eyes of the mare. Her name was Tempest. A light chestnut with flaxen mane and tail, she would turn thirteen in the spring. He stroked the narrow white blaze on her forehead, stopping when he reached the softness of her muzzle.
Of their three remaining horses, Tempest was his favorite because her lineage could be traced back to the beginning of this farm. Belle had been his father-in-law’s favorite mare back in the twenties, and Andrew had been present for the birth of Belle’s first foal, Jewel. Later he’d been present for the birth of Jewel’s foal, Sunrise; for the birth of Sunrise’s foal, Bunny; and for the birth of Bunny’s foal, Tempest. Tempest’s only foal had been a colt. Andrew had named him Kennedy, in honor of the president who’d been shot two months before the colt’s birth. Kennedy, a darker chestnut than his dam, stood in the stall on the opposite side of the barn. Andrew crossed to the gelding and spoke softly as he doled out pats on the neck.
“You’re the last of the line, boy. Guess that makes you special too.”
He thought of his own family. For now, there was no end in sight of the Henning line. But other things would undoubtedly come to an end, including life here on the farm. Grant would have ideas of his own. Would he keep these horses and the chickens? Would he continue raising alfalfa, or would he want a different crop? What about the garden? Was Charlotte a gardener, or would she tur
n the large plot back into lawn?
“I don’t like change. I hadn’t realized how much I dislike it until this year.”
Kennedy gave him a shove with his muzzle.
“Yeah. I know.” He chuckled. “Change is the only constant.”
He gave the horse one last pat, then headed back to the house to see in another new year.
Chapter 24
Holly sat at her kitchen table, laptop open before her, papers strewn across the table. She closed her eyes as she took another sip of coffee from her mug. Tension coiled in her stomach.
“What am I going to do?”
She’d been called to the restaurant the previous afternoon because one of the servers had abruptly quit, and she’d been needed to fill in. But that had been a minor problem compared to what she’d found waiting in her office. A letter informing her that there were past-due taxes on the building, and the penalties were steep. Nathan—before the breakup—had supposedly taken care of the taxes and insurance and so many other financial matters. She’d trusted he’d done as he’d said. But apparently he’d let more slide than their relationship.
“I’ve been such a fool.”
Her gaze shifted to the beautiful new range. If she’d known about the taxes, she never would have used the rent money from Jed to buy it. As wonderful as it was, it wasn’t a necessity. She could have made do without it. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of spare time for baking anyway. It wasn’t as if there was any hope left of starting a home-based business. That dream was dead. She’d lost it when she thought she could trust her heart.
From the basement, she heard AJ squeal, a sound of delight rather than distress. She was glad of that, for Jed’s sake. But she couldn’t do anything to help him. She couldn’t even help herself. Better to leave him to his own devices. Better to put distance between them now, before it was too late. Even if he was everything she’d wanted him to be, even if she wasn’t wrong about him, it was all too late. His stay in Boise was temporary. He’d met with his brother. Something would be worked out. Jed would go back to Washington. Maybe so would Chris. Perhaps even Willow and AJ.
And none of it’s my concern. I can’t let it be my concern.
With a sigh, she rose from her chair and walked toward the bedroom. Time to shower and dress and leave for the restaurant. None of her troubles would be solved by wishing them away.
* * *
Holly cried on the way home that night. She’d had to keep up a brave front during her hours at the restaurant, but once in her car, she’d given in to her tattered emotions. That afternoon she’d had a long talk with her CPA, and his first impression about her financial situation hadn’t given her a lot of hope.
It would be bad enough if she had to close the restaurant. She would feel like a complete failure if she lost the inheritance from her aunt and uncle, even if reopening Sweet Caroline’s hadn’t been her idea, even if managing it felt like a daily struggle. But worst of all were the people who would be hurt if Sweet Caroline’s closed down again. Her employees. The women from the shelter who were learning to cook. Even the customers who’d become regulars. All would be affected because she’d made serious mistakes, because she’d trusted someone she shouldn’t have trusted, because she hadn’t checked and double-checked and triple-checked every detail.
After pulling the car into the garage, Holly turned off the engine. Then she sat there, unmoving, waiting for enough energy to open the door. It didn’t happen for a long while.
She’d always been an independent kind of girl. Even in her relationships with others, she’d never been afraid to make her own way or to have a mind of her own. She had her faith, too, trusting in God’s guidance. But when it came to Sweet Caroline’s, had she listened to His voice, or had she relied on her own wants and desires? Why had He let it come to this? To the point where she could lose it all? If it all came crumbling down, if she lost her home, too, how would she support herself? She couldn’t launch a catering business after this. No one would give her a loan. And even if they would, if she lost her home, too, she wouldn’t have a kitchen to cook in. She had no reserves. It felt as if the dream was dying a second death.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. At least she’d received some good news about Willow. Her young friend was expected to leave the hospital next week. The use of her arms would be limited for a while to come, and her wounds would need tender care, but at least she could heal in a more homelike environment. At Lighthouse the other women would tend to her and love on her. Maybe AJ could visit her there if it wouldn’t upset him too much to leave again.
Another deep breath, and Holly was ready to get out of the car and go inside.
When she closed the side door of the garage, she appreciated how easily it moved since Jed had repaired it. Reminded of him, she wondered how his day had been. Was AJ happy, staying with the uncle he barely knew? Did Jed look anything like Chris, making the child feel some measure of comfort?
I can’t think about him. I can’t. Let it go. Let him go.
Only two days had passed since she’d admitted to herself that, like it or not, she was falling for Jed, but it seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened in those two days. She hardly felt like the same woman who’d stared at her reflection in the dressing room mirror and reminded herself that she wanted to see life as a cup half full. But her life wasn’t half full. It was empty . . . because she’d trusted where she shouldn’t trust, because she saw what she wanted to see, not what was true.
She huffed out a breath of air as she moved on.
Inside, Pumpkin welcomed her home with a loud meow. After setting aside her purse, Holly picked up the cat and buried her face in the feline’s long hair.
“Sweetheart, what am I going to do?”
Pumpkin answered with a purr.
“You never lie to me, do you? You’re just who you say you are.”
She carried the cat with her into the living room, stopping long enough to turn on the lamp before settling onto the sofa.
“I’m at the end. I don’t know what to do. God, I need Your help. There’s no hope without You.”
* * *
The buzz of his mobile phone penetrated Jed’s sleep. He sat up, surprised to find himself on the sofa. He didn’t remember lying down, but he must have at some point while watching television. It was still on, the volume turned low. He reached for his phone, but it stopped vibrating before he picked it up. A missed call notice was on the screen, the Idaho number unknown to him and no caller ID. Probably a spam call. He set the phone on the coffee table again.
Stifling a yawn, he checked the time. Ten o’clock, but it could have been midnight, judging by how tired he was. He wondered if Holly was home from the restaurant. She usually was before now. But if so, he’d slept through any sounds she might have made.
He got up and went to the bedroom doorway, looking in on his nephew. Light from the kitchen revealed AJ sleeping on his belly, his knees tucked beneath him. Cute kid, especially now that he was asleep. It had been a long day for the both of them, but somehow they’d made it through.
Jed turned toward the bathroom. A few minutes later, after brushing his teeth and donning pajama bottoms, he returned to the living room to turn off the lights and television. He was reaching for the control when his phone began to vibrate. He picked it up. It was the same number as before.
“Hello?”
“Jed . . . me.”
“Chris.” He felt a spark of anger. “Where the heck are you?”
His brother’s brief response broke up, crackling sounds blurring his words.
“I’ve left you messages. About Willow.”
“This job . . . would. Will . . . couple days.”
Frustrated, his grip tightened on the phone. “Chris, can you hear me? It’s important you know what’s happened.”
Only crackling sounds came through the speaker. Then silence.
“Chris?” Sinking onto the sofa, Jed looked at the phone. Nothing. Its
screen had gone dark.
Did he hang up on me?
His temper started to rise a second time, but he checked it. Something didn’t add up. Obviously his brother was having phone troubles, no matter where he was or why he was there. Did that mean he didn’t know what had happened to Willow? Did Chris not know she was in the hospital and AJ was staying with Jed? And if he didn’t know, did Jed have cause to be angry?
What he wouldn’t give to be able to talk about this with Holly. Being with her put him at ease for some reason. Even yesterday, when he’d felt so uncertain about taking charge of his young nephew, he’d felt steadier when she was with him. Being without her felt . . . wrong.
Monday, January 12, 1970
A snowstorm left behind a world of white. Trees bowed beneath the weight of dense snow, and the fence across the road looked like nothing more than bumps beneath an ivory carpet. Andrew stared out the window above the kitchen sink at the slate-gray sky. The weatherman had promised them a second round of snow before the day was done.
“It’s really slick, Grandpa,” Grant had told him before he and Charlotte left for their jobs in Boise. “Don’t go out in it. There’s no need to. All the chores are done, and the last thing you need is to slip and fall.”
A retort had risen to Andrew’s lips, but he’d swallowed it back. His grandson hadn’t meant to sound as if he were talking to a child. Still, that’s how it felt to Andrew, and several months’ worth of such comments from children, grandchildren, and friends had begun to wear on him. His back was the problem, not his mind. He still had a measure of common sense. It seemed that the popular phrase “Don’t trust anyone over thirty” had morphed from distrust into disregard. In his day they’d respected people of mature years. In his day they’d—
He brought his thoughts up short, knowing he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Grant showed him nothing but respect and love. It was the inactivity that had made Andrew supersensitive.
How Sweet It Is Page 20
