Phoebe and the Rock of Ages

by Becky Doughty

  Phoebe laughed into the phone. “That’s not quite how it went, sir!”

  “Um, yes, I think that’s almost exactly how it went. Oh. I forgot the part where you dragged me to your couch, snuggled with me—you snuggled with me, Phoebe! I mean, the nerve!—then you held my hand, told me to leave, and—”

  “And you, Trevor Zander, Mr. Youth-Pastor-Rock-n-Roll-Jesus-Freak; you kissed me,” she interrupted, glad he couldn’t see the blush she knew colored her cheeks bright pink. “That was all you, buddy.”

  “Ah.” His voice dropped a little and she wondered if he wasn’t feeling a little breathless at the memory of it, too. “Point proved, case closed. No more being alone with you in your home. Not until we’re married.”

  Phoebe gasped and almost dropped the phone in shock. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She had no clue how to respond.

  “But I’ll get that ‘yes’ from you another day when I can ask you properly,” he continued, as though he hadn’t just tossed those life-changing words out between them. “In the meantime, if you’ll say ‘yes’ to doing the cover, I’ll arrange for chaperones—my tech crew, Ricky and Gia, would likely agree to help out if we promise them food and Xbox.”

  She could work with that. “Then I guess I’ll say ‘yes’ to doing your cover.”

  “Excellent! And in lieu of coffee at your place, how about I pick you up for breakfast in about an hour?” His voice sounded odd for a moment, and she thought she heard a creaking sound, like he was changing positions in bed. The thought of him lying in bed talking to her while she was in her own bed made her heart leap. Good grief. Get a grip, girl.

  “You cooking?”

  “Nope, but nice try. I’m not allowed alone with you in my house, either. How does The Griddle sound?”

  Phoebe frowned, suddenly remembering what day it was. She glanced at the clock again. “What about church?”

  “Actually, God likes to eat breakfast, too. He’ll join us if that’s all right with you. Seeing as he can be everywhere at one time and all….”

  Phoebe giggled like a little girl and then covered her mouth with her hand. She did not want her sisters to wake up and come upstairs. Knowing them, they’d launch themselves onto the bed with her and make every effort to embarrass her to Trevor. She lowered her voice and said, “Then yes, The Griddle with God in an hour sounds perfect.”

  “I like hearing you say ‘yes’ to me,” Trevor murmured. She was pretty sure she could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I like saying ‘yes’ to you, Trevor.”

  “I’m holding you to that, Phoebe Josephine Gustafson.”

  “You can call me Phoebe Jo. Or just Jo.” She kind of liked the idea of a new identity.

  “Just Jo. I like the sound of that. I’ll see you soon, Just Jo.” He was definitely smiling now.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  “I like the sound of that, too.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Alice Masters stood in the foyer of her home staring up at the stunning painting on the wall above the entryway table. In color, texture, and style, it spoke of joy and pain, of hope and fear, of everything that embodied motherhood. She loved it for all those reasons and more; she could stare at it endlessly.

  She waited nervously, trying not to glance at her wristwatch again. Cal had been late coming home and was still finishing getting ready. Phoebe Gustafson was coming to dinner with her fiancé, Trevor Zander, an up-and-coming musician from their church—apparently, he was a hot commodity these days, his album climbing both the Christian music charts as well as the secular ones.

  Cal hurried into the foyer, shoving his arms into a cardigan as he walked, one she’d given him just last Christmas. She was pleased that he liked it so much; it was his go-to “dressy sweater” now that the worst of the winter weather was over. With his modified crew cut that left his thick gray hair long on top, and his full mustache, the cabled sweater over a collared shirt gave him a rather dapper appeal.

  “Figured I’d find you here,” he said.

  “You look so handsome!” She smiled appreciatively at her husband and slipped her arm through the crook of his arm as they headed back into the living room to wait.

  Cal sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand in his. “I’m praying for you, Angel.”

  “Thank you, Cal.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder. He was a solidly-built man, and his mere presence made her feel safe. Everything about him made her feel safe. “I love you.”

  He kissed her forehead—he knew her well; Alice’s lipstick was her token first line of defense. When it was in place, she could be brave. It seemed silly when she really thought about it, but Cal understood.

  The doorbell sounded and he rose, then offered her his hand. “Let’s go welcome our guests, shall we?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Cal Masters had taken it upon himself to deliver Phoebe’s bimonthly grocery order, and she looked forward to seeing him every couple of weeks. She thought Cal was probably very much the kind of man Papa would have been.

  So on the third Friday in February, when Cal knocked on her door, she welcomed him into her home without reservation. But this time, along with the boxes of pasta, her favorite Jasmine rice, an overflowing bag of the best fresh fruits and vegetables in town, and various other food items, he brought an invitation for dinner from his him and his wife. Intrigued, Phoebe looked back and forth between the cream linen card in her hand and the fatherly man who’d just unloaded three large bags of groceries onto her counter.

  She’d nearly completed the four new paintings that had been inspired by Cal’s mention of Cerulean back in November, and for some reason, perhaps because the original meant so much to Alice already, Phoebe was curious to know what she’d think of the new pieces.

  “Before you give me an answer, there is something you need to know about us. About my wife,” Cal said, briefly laying a hand over the top of the invitation in hers. His gaze was kind, but she could read a hint of sadness there, too.

  “Sure.” Her eyes scanned the card with its pretty handwriting again, as though looking for something she might have missed, and then laid it on the counter next to her cell phone where she wouldn’t forget it. “What is this about, Cal?”

  Cal slid his hands into his pants pockets beneath the grocer’s apron he wore. “My wife wants to meet you in person for a reason,” he began. “I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of people demanding your time, but I’d like you to consider this invitation a bit before you refuse.”

  Phoebe nodded immediately, ready to reassure him that she had no qualms about it. “I enjoy meeting people who like my art, Cal. I’d love to meet your wife.”

  Cal nodded, as though he’d expected her to say just that. “Still, I’d like you to hear me out first. Then take some time to think about it. Pray about it, if you’re a praying woman. Talk to your family first if you’d like.”

  Phoebe cocked her head at him, a bubble of concern growing in her belly. “What’s this about?” she asked again. She crossed her arms and gripped the side seams of her shirt tightly. “You’re worrying me, Cal. I’m not so sure I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not doing a very good job of this. Let me try to explain.” His bushy brows furrowed as he considered what he should say. “You may not remember Alice,” Cal began. “She doesn’t believe you two have ever met personally, and her name, especially now, most likely isn’t familiar to you. She and I married only nine years ago. But she’s been following your career it seems as long as I’ve known her. She’s one of your biggest fans.”

  “I still don’t…understand,” Phoebe said, her heart in her throat. Cal’s every word was carefully chosen and his eyes implored Phoebe to listen, and to agree to this dinner. She felt a fissure of foreboding race up her spine.

  “My wife,” Cal said, and then cleared his throat and started again. “My wife was Al
ice Clinton before I married her.” She must have blanched noticeably—Phoebe felt the color drain from her face in a tingling rush. Cal took her gently by the shoulders and supported her as he added, “Alice is Angela Clinton’s mother. And she’d like to share her story with you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Phoebe called an emergency G-FOURce meeting. The stunned silence that followed after she told them about Cal and Alice Masters was an exact representation of the shock she’d felt at Cal’s revelation to her. But as the sisters discussed the situation, the idea started to take hold, and the general consensus was that the meeting might be a good idea.

  At first, Phoebe insisted all four of them go together. They deserved to meet Alice and hear her story as much as she did. But Juliette, always the peacemaker, the advocate, suggested that perhaps Alice would have a difficult time sitting across the table from all four of them while she told her story.

  “There must be a good reason she wants to do it this way. Maybe she’s shy. Or afraid. Maybe she feels like she already has a connection to you because of the painting, and it’s a place to start, you know? It doesn’t sound to me like she’s trying to hide anything or trying to divide us—Cal did tell you to talk to us, right? ”

  “Yes, and he alluded to her feeling pretty vulnerable about all this,” Phoebe acknowledged. “It’s been four months since he told her he’d met me.”

  “You know, I remember her from court,” Juliette mused, her brow furrowed as she tried to recall details from that terrible time. “She was so quiet throughout the trial. On the day the judge made his ruling, she cried. The room was really hushed—I think everyone knew that no matter what the outcome, everyone would lose that day. And in the silence, I could hear her. She was very discreet and it was totally appropriate; I mean, her daughter was going to jail. But someone told her to get a hold of herself, or something along those lines. It was awful. I still clearly remember that man’s mean whisper.” Juliette shuddered involuntarily.

  “So then it would be easy to assume that there was more trouble than just Angela in the Clinton household,” Renata concluded. “And that most likely, the marriage broke up over it all. That would make sense. And it might shed some light on the real reason why Angela was drinking that day.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Phoebe agreed. “I don’t know what the connection is with the painting—that seems to be a pivotal piece in the picture—but according to Cal, it’s in their front entryway for a reason.”

  “You don’t think she knows about Lily, do you?” Gia asked, her eyes wide with concern.

  “No, I don’t think that’s it.” Phoebe had considered the possibility, too, but had ruled it out. No one had known about her pregnancy. “It’s something else, and I think it may have something to do with Angela. I really do.”

  “Let’s pray about it,” Renata suggested, and all four girls scooted in closer to each other and held hands in a small circle.

  Prayer had become as much a part of their G-FOURce meetings as the opening and closing rituals. Phoebe marveled at how much had changed in her life—in all their lives—in the last couple of years. When Juliette walked out of her ex-boyfriend’s apartment on Valentine’s Day almost two years ago to the day, it was as though she’d knocked loose a stone at the top of a mountain, and had set off an avalanche that was still shaking their little world. None of them had gone unscathed, not even Gia, who Phoebe knew was balanced on the precipice of adulthood. Perhaps the landslide had yet to strike the girl with all its unchecked force, but surely it would. It was almost inevitable. Gia was trying to find a place in the grownup world without her mother and father to guide her.

  At least she had her sisters. The Gustafson Girls. The G-FOURce.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Juliette asked, still holding Phoebe’s hand, even though the prayer had ended. “You’ll take Trevor, right?”

  Phoebe didn’t know how she would have survived last year without her sisters’ love and support. Thoughts of Lily often kept her up at night, and she’d curl her body around the dull ache of a wound that would never quite heal. She’d decided to leave Lily in the hands of God—and Jeff and Theresa—for now. If the Rogers weren’t reaching out to her, she needed to respect that, because it had never been part of the adoption agreement. In fact, it had been strongly discouraged by the program. But when the girl turned eighteen, Phoebe would contact Jeff and Theresa and ask them if Lily had any interest in meeting her. She hoped and prayed they’d say ‘yes,’ and that maybe she’d have a chance for a relationship with the girl, but she would let them decide. She would let God orchestrate things his way. It was the most difficult decision she’d ever made, but one she knew was right.

  She nodded. “Now that my initial shock has worn off. Yeah. I think I’m ready for this.” She squeezed her sisters’ hands and then sat back into her corner of Juliette’s sofa. “I’m a tough nut to crack, but I’m learning what forgiveness means. It’s not about forgetting, you know? But about accepting and who we are and where we are and why, and learning how to move forward from that point.”

  Renata’s head bobbed in time with her foot bumping against the baby carrier close by where Charise napped contentedly. “Well said, girlie.”

  “And in the process of forgiving myself, I’m figuring out how to accept God’s unconditional love for me, which is really tough. It kinda goes against everything I’ve believed about him my whole life. But I’m starting to see myself the way he does, I think. Like a bride dressed in pure white. You know how my loft is—everything is white and fluffy. Like that.” She rolled her eyes at how silly it sounded, but she added, “Sometimes I think God, himself, inspired me to decorate it that way, like he’s been trying to tell me all along how he sees me.”

  Gia spoke up, leaning forward on her cushion with such eagerness. So often the girl had the most profound things to say, and the three older sisters turned to listen.

  “Actually, I think that totally makes sense. Do you know that Phoebe means pure and radiant?”

  Phoebe had known that, but the other two were delighted with the symbolism.

  Gia held up her hand to quiet them and continued. “But get this. So does Lily. It means pure, too. And the lily flower is symbolic for purity and innocence. Don’t you see?” She flashed that wide-mouthed smile at them, her eyes bright with revelation. “God has wiped the slate clean for you, Phebes. For all of us. And I really believe he put Lily’s name on the Rogers’ hearts because he wanted to show you how much he cares about you—about all of us—even when we’re not aware of him working his plan.”

  The G-FOURce often included tears these days, but no one seemed to mind.

  So Phoebe said ‘yes’ to one more thing she would never have dreamed of agreeing to even six months ago. She and Trevor were having dinner with Cal Masters and his wife Alice, Angela Clinton’s mother.

  And Phoebe was looking forward to it.

  THE END

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt:

  GIA & THE BLAST FROM THE PAST

  The Gustafson Girls Book 4

  * * *

  A Note from Becky Doughty

  Did you enjoy getting to know Phoebe in this third book in The Gustafson Girls series?

  I write heartfelt and wholesome Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, and Women’s Fiction. It’s all fiction, mainly because nonfiction is hard! Yes, I’ve tried. Let’s just say I like to color outside the lines when it comes to facts. But emotions and feelings and the roller coaster ride that comes with all relationships? Oh yeah.

  I like to say I write HOPE-fully ever afters. Hopefully ever after because real life isn’t always wrapped up in a pretty pink bow, is it? I write fiction about real-life people and real-life situations. Because we love to escape into our fiction, but we want that escape to resonate with us, right?

  If you’re looking for fiction with relatable characters, relevant situations, and redemptive s
torylines, I invite you to check out some of my other books and series. You may meet your next BFF (Best Fiction Friend)!

  Visit me online at BeckyDoughty.com, and sign up for my newsletter while you’re there. You’ll get notified of book and audiobook new releases, sales, and recommendations, giveaways, and more.

  Where hope lives and love wins. Every single time.

  ~ Becky Doughty

  Love stories about quirky neighbors? Tales of Misfits and Oddballs?

  Then you’ll feel right at home in Pemberton Manor.

  Sign up for Becky’s newsletter today and read every Pemberton Manor Short Story for FREE when they release!

  AN EXCERPT…

  GIA & THE BLAST FROM THE PAST

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gia stood in the hushed foyer, dressed in apple green and carrying a button bouquet of peach roses and paper-petaled Bells of Ireland. Beside her, Ricky stood tall and nervous in his dark suit with the slim fit pants that made him look rather debonair. But when he grinned down at her—to her surprise, even in her strappy heels, he still had a good couple of inches on her—she released the breath she'd been holding, and slipped her hand into the crook of his proffered arm.

  Just in front of them, Renata and Tim waited in silence for their cue, but Tim's large hand curled affectionately around his wife's where it rested on his forearm. The dreamy smile on Ren's face as she glanced up at her man gave away her thoughts; Gia was certain her older sister was remembering her own wedding only six months earlier.

  Behind Gia and Ricky, Phoebe and Trevor whispered words too soft to catch, but Gia knew the things they said to each other were tender, and knowing Phebes, probably a little trashy, too, and full of promises of their own.