How Sweet It Is

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Jed slowed as he drove off the freeway. “Hang on a second. I’m driving and need to concentrate.” He turned onto a major thoroughfare and moments later into a motel parking lot. “You still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “It’s about Willow. And AJ.”

  There was a pause before Chris said, “So she told you, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I suppose you’re gonna let me know how I’ve screwed up again.”

  Jed closed his eyes, sorry that was the first thing Chris expected from him. “No. I need to tell you that Willow’s in the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Chris shouted the word into the phone, his concern evident. “What happened?”

  Quickly, Jed explained about the accident. He also told Chris that he had AJ and why.

  “Hold on a second,” Chris said.

  Jed could tell his brother was talking to someone else, although he couldn’t hear what was said.

  “I just talked to the guy driving the truck. He says we oughta be back to Boise by four. Five at the latest. What hospital’s she in?”

  “St. Al’s. Don’t know the room number.”

  “And AJ’s okay?”

  “He’s good. We’re getting to know each other.”

  “Thanks for stepping in to help.”

  Jed’s chest tightened. “We’re family, bro. I love him because I love you.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d told his brother he loved him. But he meant it. More than expected. “Call me after you’ve seen Willow.”

  “I will.” There was a catch in Chris’s voice, as if he was equally surprised by Jed’s words. “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  As soon as the call ended, Jed started the car. Talking about love, remembering the importance of family, had made him more ready than ever to see Holly.

  * * *

  The phone call with her dad wasn’t nearly as bad as Holly had feared it would be. He’d listened without comment or interruption, and when she was done, he hadn’t chastised her for any of her decisions, not even the bad ones. Instead, he’d shared words of encouragement. By the end of the call, while her situation hadn’t changed, her emotions had calmed. And that was a victory in Holly’s mind.

  Going into the restaurant, poring over spreadsheets, staring at the accounting program on the computer, none of it would alter anything today. Monday she would have to start taking steps and making new, hopefully better, decisions. Difficult ones but better. But for the rest of today, she was going to do something that made her happy.

  Baking made her happy. Baking had always made her happy. And so that was what she planned to do now.

  When Holly had bought this house, the workspace in the kitchen had been the deciding factor. While the room wasn’t huge, it was perfectly arranged. She’d known it would be perfect for the cottage industry she’d wanted to launch. Cakes, cookies, and cupcakes. Brownies and muffins. Fruit pies, pastries, biscotti. Even dog biscuits. She could have started her home baking business with any of them or all of them—if she hadn’t been tied to the restaurant. To a restaurant she would probably have to close. With employees she would probably have to let go.

  Today was a day to make cupcakes, she decided, because they would allow her to experiment with various frostings and decorations. Cupcakes would make her smile again, if only for a little while.

  She grabbed an apron from the hook on the back of the utility room door. A birthday gift from her sisters, the apron made her happy too. Fluorescent colors seemed to explode across the fabric. Trixie claimed it could blind a person if stared at too long.

  The next thing she needed was the perfect playlist. That was easy. “Alexa, play my 1960s dance music.”

  To the words and melody of “Feeling Good,” she slow danced around the kitchen, getting the ingredients and utensils she would need from cupboards, drawers, pantry, and refrigerator. The Monkees serenaded her as she measured flour and sugar and vanilla, convincing her that she was a believer. By the time the Drifters made her imagine herself under the boardwalk, she had the first twelve cupcakes ready to slide onto the center rack of the oven. And almost as if preplanned, “How Sweet It Is” began to play as she spread frosting on the finished product.

  “‘How sweet it is to be loved by you,’” she joined in. But as she sang, her thoughts turned in a heartbeat from sugary confections to Jed, and her happiness evaporated. Tears welled in her eyes. Oh, why hadn’t she been more careful with her heart? It would have been sweet to be loved by him, but—

  “Holly!” Jed’s voice came to her through an open kitchen window. “Holly, I need to talk to you.” His knock sounded on the front door, making her jump.

  Wiping her eyes with a dish towel, she went to answer it. He stood on the stoop, alone. “Where’s AJ? What’s wrong?”

  “AJ’s fine. He’s with Ashley and Ben. And I talked to Chris. He’s on his way back to Boise. He’s anxious to get to Willow. You don’t have to worry about those three. I have a feeling they’re going to be all right.” He paused, a small frown crinkling his forehead. “But what about us, Holly?”

  “Us?”

  He took a step toward her. “A couple weeks ago, I told you I wanted to see if we might become something more than friends. I think we were doing that. Becoming more than friends. I know it’s true for me. Don’t pull away now. Don’t end the good that might happen just because you’re afraid to trust me.”

  “I never said—”

  “No, you haven’t said it. But I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t trust me.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. She felt in danger of tears again.

  “Holly?”

  “No, you aren’t right. It isn’t you I don’t trust.” She drew in a quick breath. “It’s me. I don’t trust myself.” She turned, leaving the door open, and returned to the kitchen.

  Friday, February 6, 1970

  God wrapped Andrew in His love on the day of Helen’s funeral. A cocoon of peace that surpassed all understanding. It shielded him from the effects of too many expressions of sympathy. It protected him as people shared their personal stories about Helen, reminding him of all that he’d lost. It gave him the ability to move through that sad and trying day, from the memorial in the church, to the graveside service, to the reception at the grange hall, and finally back home again.

  Throughout the day there had been someone always by his side, but it hadn’t been the person he most wanted to be there. He wouldn’t have that privilege again until he stepped into paradise for himself.

  In the five days since Helen’s passing, Andrew had learned a new lesson: It was possible to grieve deeply and still trust in the goodness of God. It was possible to weep unstoppable tears and still know that God loved him. He hadn’t understood that before. He understood it now.

  “Grief takes its own time,” someone had said to him at the cemetery. “Don’t try to rush it. It takes as long as it takes.”

  He knew that platitude—and all of the others he’d heard throughout the day—had been kindly meant. He knew the words had been spoken out of love and concern. He even knew that he’d said similar words upon similar occasions in his lifetime. He wished now that he could take some of the words back. He wished he’d known a better way to comfort and encourage.

  Perhaps there wasn’t a better way.

  When the last of his family had left the farm—returning to their own homes, carrying their own grief—Andrew bid Grant and Charlotte an early goodnight and went to his room. The room that had been theirs, his and Helen’s, for a lifetime. The room that should still be theirs. Evidence of his wife was everywhere. The brocade curtains she’d made a few summers ago. A shawl draped over the back of a chair. Her spare glasses on the nightstand. A large, framed drawing of a calf that she’d talked him into buying at the fair, calling it an early anniversary gift to them both; it had hung above their bed for twenty-some years.

  At her dressing table, he picked up the silver-handled hairbrush.
The set—brush, comb, and mirror, along with a silver tray—had been a high school graduation present from her parents. Years ago the bristles had captured long dark hairs. Now, shorter gray hairs were woven through them. He held the brush close to his nose, wanting to catch a whiff of the floral-scented shampoo she’d favored. It wasn’t there. Less than a week had passed, but the fragrance was gone. He felt robbed—and unbearably alone.

  “Oh, my girl. My darling girl.”

  He sank onto the padded stool, picturing Helen as she’d sat on it through the years, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Big with pregnancy. Getting gussied up for one of their rare nights out. Bemoaning the changes in her appearance as she’d grown older.

  “How will I manage without you?”

  He closed his eyes, remembering her in his arms as they slow danced in the living room while Nat King Cole crooned “Unforgettable” on the radio. It had been one of Helen’s favorite songs. Whenever she’d heard it, she’d wanted him to dance with her, despite his two left feet.

  “Who’ll dance with me now?”

  Tears welled, blurring his vision, making the room swim before him. He wanted to rail against the disease that had robbed him of his other half. God had joined him to Helen. God had made the two into one, and now his other half had been torn away, taking part of his heart with it. How was it possible to go on living in this half state? Shouldn’t he fall down dead too?

  “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? Hope thou in God.”

  Despite the tears streaking his cheeks, Andrew felt his spirit grow calm.

  “‘Hope thou in God,’” he whispered.

  That was how he would go on living. He would hope in God. One day at a time. One hour at a time. Perhaps one minute at a time. When the pain grew too much to imagine a tomorrow without Helen, then he would simply do the next thing that needed to be done today. God’s grace came not a moment too soon or too late. It came in the moment it was needed. That was a truth he’d learned in the past, but he would have to recall it again and again.

  “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? Hope thou in God.”

  He released a breath as he pushed himself up from the stool, able to rise, despite his broken heart, because he still hoped in God.

  Chapter 27

  Still on the stoop, Jed said a quick silent prayer for guidance, then followed Holly inside, stopping in the archway between living room and kitchen. Signs of baking were everywhere, and dance music played from a speaker. More of her favorite oldies, judging by the current tune.

  “Alexa, off,” Holly said, and silence filled the room.

  Jed moved to the opposite side of the island. “Now let’s talk about me. I’ve decided I’m not going back to Tacoma.”

  That made her eyes widen.

  “First reason is because you’re here, so here is where I want to be. We can’t figure out if there’s going to be an us if we’re in two separate places. Relationships require proximity and time.”

  “What about Laffriot?”

  “I haven’t decided. I’ll have to discuss things with my dad. Whatever we decide, I’ll still be here.” He leaned toward her, hands on the counter. “One thing I won’t do is go back to working twelve- and fourteen-hour days, week in and week out. I’ve discovered there’s more to life than work. There’s more to life than building a business and chasing financial success. You’ve taught me that.”

  “I have?” She looked fragile and uncertain. Lost, maybe.

  He longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. “Yes, you. You work hard, but you also make time for God and you make time to love others. You make time for Willow and all the other gals from the shelter. You care about people at church. You give of yourself, even when it isn’t easy or convenient.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I may have a lot more time for all of that in the future.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head even as she took a step back from the counter, as if needing space between them.

  “Come on, Holly. Take a chance. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sticking around. That’s my commitment to you. That I’ll give you the time you need to figure this out.”

  He could read the internal struggle in her eyes. For a while, he thought he would come out on the losing end.

  Unexpectedly, she reached for a cupcake and held it out to him. “Try one?”

  “Sure.” He took it. Even if he hated cupcakes—which he didn’t—he would have accepted it just to please her.

  “Jed, I may lose the restaurant. I may lose the house. Maybe I’ll end up bankrupt.”

  He stopped peeling the paper cup from the cake.

  “I made some poor decisions a year ago, and they’re coming back to haunt me now.”

  He set the cupcake aside. “Tell me.”

  There followed a lengthy silence, then finally, “See the cup half full, not half empty.” Her eyes were downcast, her voice barely audible.

  It seemed a strange thing to say, but he schooled his face not to reveal that thought, should she look up. When Holly moved to the table and sat down, he followed, taking the chair opposite her. She drew a slow, deep breath, and then began.

  * * *

  In a halting voice, Holly told him everything, told him every stupid choice she’d made. She told him how overwhelmed she was by the debt and the responsibility. She didn’t try to paint herself in a favorable light. How could she? She hadn’t been forced to take out loans or to open the restaurant. She’d chosen. Perhaps she’d been influenced by Nathan, but it had still been her choice. The results were her own fault. She talked with her gaze locked on her folded hands, not wanting to see the moment he realized what a fool she’d been—even though she’d told him that in advance. When she finished the lengthy tale, she fell silent, hardly breathing, and waited.

  “You know what you haven’t said.” Jed waited a moment, forcing her to make eye contact. “You haven’t said what you really want.”

  “I want to be out of debt. I don’t want to let other people down. I don’t want to fail.”

  “No. What do you want, Holly?” He leaned closer. “I’m a good businessman. I can help you get through this crisis. I know I can. Together we can figure out the tax situation and how to get the restaurant back on a firm financial foundation. And we can rescue your personal finances too.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to—”

  “But what do you want after all of that’s done? We’ll sort through all the financial problems. But then what? What does Holly want? What’s your dream?”

  His questions made tears well in her eyes, and no amount of blinking or swallowing could stop them from falling. She heard the genuine caring in his voice. He wanted her to have her dream, whatever it was. Almost from the day he’d moved into the basement apartment, he’d been chipping away at the wall around her heart. But this—his desire to see her pursue a dream—caused it to crumble.

  “Jed, I can’t ask you to—”

  He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “I know you aren’t asking for my help. I’m offering. Because I’m in love with you. Maybe it’s crazy. Maybe we haven’t known each other all that long. But that’s how I feel. That’s how it is with love. You fall in love gradually, and then suddenly. Well, I’m at the ‘suddenly’ part, and all I want is a chance to show you what that means. All I want is the chance to prove I’m the guy who’ll be at your side. Always.”

  His words made her heart somersault.

  “I won’t let you down, Holly. Not ever.”

  Oddly enough, she believed him.

  Saturday, May 30, 1970

  Andrew walked across the small cemetery toward the resting places of his wife and their middle son. It was the twenty-fourth time he’d made this walk on a Memorial Day, but the first Memorial Day that he’d made the walk alone. The place was quiet this morning, although he saw American flags and flowers decorating
a number of graves, so he knew others had been there before him.

  Reaching his destination, he opened the folding stool he’d brought with him and sat upon it. A light breeze rustled the leaves in a nearby tree.

  “I’m here again, Helen. Another Decoration Day.”

  He knew, of course, that his wife wasn’t in the grave. Her earthly remains were there, but not Helen. She’d been set free four months ago. But still, it was comfortable to talk as if she was there, as if she could hear him from heaven.

  “You won’t believe it, but I bought myself some art supplies. I’m trying my hand at painting. I even signed up for a class this summer at the high school.” He chuckled. “Not sure there’s any hope for me. Not sure I’ve got that artistic soul you spoke of, but I’ll give it a whirl. For you.”

  He remembered the day she’d told him to get a hobby. He’d thought her suggestion a little crazy. He wished now that he’d bought the art supplies while she’d been with him. He could imagine how she would have enjoyed his early efforts. She might even have teased him. He missed her teasing.

  “Oh, my girl. I wish you were here. Some days I think I’m doing well. Others are harder. Sometimes I feel stuck. Like I’m in a waiting room. Like I can’t go forward and I can’t go back. Do I even have a purpose anymore? That’s what I’ve wondered. Grant is ably running the farm, and Charlotte is such a help to him. Reminds me of us when we were young.”

  He looked up at the blue sky, puffs of clouds interspersed here and there, moving slowly from west to east. Memories drifted through his mind in the same way. After a while, he drew a deep breath and looked down, this time reaching for the Bible he’d brought with him.

  “Listen to this, Helen.” He opened it, thumbing the pages until he found the one he wanted. “‘The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand.’ That’s from Psalm 37. And I realized something when I read it this morning. God directs our steps, but He also directs our stops. There’s a purpose in His delays. I’ve learned that walking is easier than waiting. Waiting takes patience, and I haven’t always had an abundance of that. I grow frustrated with inaction.”