Chapter 4
“DEER MEAT?” ASKED Sam. “Like Bambi the deer?”
“Yes, Pumpkin. Like Bambi.” Hope smiled, remembering that her first reaction to Will’s dinner suggestion was exactly the same. Sam was turning out to be a pint-size version of his mother.
“Ugh,” he groaned. “I don’t want to eat Bambi.”
Hope stared at him in the rearview mirror as he covered his face with his little hands, mortified by the very thought.
“It’s okay, Sam. I won’t make you eat it if you don’t want to.”
“Hey Mama?”
“Yes hon?”
“How come Mr. Will and Katie are coming over for dinner tonight?”
She smiled. “Because they’re our friends, and I thought it would be nice for all of us to have dinner together, so I invited them.”
“How come Mr. Will has never come to our house with Katie before?”
Hope shrugged. “I guess because I never asked him before.”
“Hey Mama?” Sam asked again.
“Yes hon?”
“It’s snowing,” Sam said.
Maybe wishes DO come true, Hope thought as she peered at the snowflakes gathering on the windshield. “Now, little man, when we get home, I want you to wash your hands and be ready for dinner, okay? Mr. Will and Katie should get there right after we do.”
“Okay Mama.”
“That’s my good boy.”
At home, Hope started two pots of boiling water; one for frozen corn on the cob, the other for green beans, and threw a pan of dinner rolls in the oven. She didn’t know the first thing about cooking deer steaks, but knew that Will would show her how. Peering into the fridge, she spied half a pumpkin pie left over from the week before, and crossed her fingers with the hopes it would be fresh enough for dessert. Sam washed his hands as instructed and waited at the table.
“Is it time yet?” he asked at a quarter to eight.
“Not yet honey.” She pointed to the kitchen clock. “When the big hand gets to the twelve, that’s when they’ll get here.”
Sam waited patiently as Hope moved in a rush, organizing and cleaning up the living room and kitchen.
“Mama?” he called out to her.
“Yes?”
“The big hand is past the twelve now.”
Hope peered at the clock to see that it was ten minutes past. “Soon, sweetie, soon. They’re probably running just a few minutes late.” She glanced down at her phone. No missed calls and no voice mail.
Hope dashed to her room to change out of her scrubs and into blue jeans and a sweater. She ran a brush through her hair, then dabbed her favorite perfume behind her ears. Returning to the kitchen, she checked on the food, then took a seat at the table with Sam. Their eyes darted toward the clock.
“It’s way past the twelve now,” he pointed out.
Hope frowned when she saw that it was, indeed, twenty after. She waited another ten minutes, making small talk with Sam and fidgeting nervously in her seat like a school girl waiting on her prom date.
Finally, Hope reached for the phone and dialed Will’s number. It went straight to voice mail. She disconnected the call without leaving a message.
“I’m really hungry,” Sam whined.
She nodded and went to the kitchen, preparing a plate of vegetables for him, then adding a baloney sandwich and a glass of milk. Sam ate every bite, yawning toward the end of his meal.
Hope gave him a bath and tucked him in.
“Mama, where are Mr. Will and Katie?” he asked, barely able to stay awake.
“I don’t know, honey, but I’m sure everything is all right.” She crossed her fingers as she tucked him in. Sam was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
She returned to the kitchen, fixed a small plate for herself, and watched the door while she ate. She was hoping, praying that there would be a knock; that Will would show up after all, and would have a really great excuse for being so late.
But he never did. And Hope wondered if it was just his way of letting her know that he wasn’t interested in having dinner with her, not tonight, not ever.
She went to bed feeling embarrassed, sad and confused. Where were they? She tried not to cry, but exhaustion and disappointment got the better of her. She wiped tears from her eyes as she turned off the bedside lamp.
Hope took a deep breath.
What would she say to Will in the morning? Would he even acknowledge her? He seemed like such a stand up guy. Could she really have been so wrong about him? Doubt and worry circled her head as she finally drifted off to sleep.
That night she dreamed she was back at work, and Mr. Smith was suffering even worse.
“It’s all your fault,” JoAnn said to her in the dream. “You should have left the blinds open,” she fussed at Hope. “Open!”
Open Page 4
