“No. Not anymore.”
“You mean you’re not going to take forever when you go to the bank to cash your paycheck now?”
“No, I’m not going to take ‘forever’ in the bank anymore.”
“I heard Aunt Debbie say she’s got direct deposit. Maybe you could get it, too, and then you’d never have to even say ‘hi’ to Mrs. Foster except if you saw her at church.”
“Listen here, missy, I’ll handle the banking any way I see fit. Got it?”
“Got it.” Cammy knew she’d crossed the line. She gulped down the rest of her great ideas.
Daddy turned the van to the right. They were almost home. He drove up the hill on their street and turned into the driveway.
Coming to a stop, Daddy pushed the button on the remote above his head and the garage door opened. He pulled the van in and parked.
Cammy waited as he climbed out and slid open her door. Next, he pulled down the metal ramp while she did her job of unfastening her wheelchair and pulling back its brakes. Then Daddy eased her down the ramp, and, taking hold of the handles in back of her wheelchair, he pushed her into the house.
All the while Cammy cheered in silence. Daddy isn’t going to date Mrs. Foster anymore. Yay! Yay! Yay!
Chapter Four
Shadows danced across the living room as Vance lowered his weary body into the equally worn armchair. He relished these precious few moments of quiet and solitude. His muscles began to unwind from the day’s tension.
Sometimes his life felt like a carnival ride, going round and round, spinning faster and faster. His job as a small engine repairman kept him plenty busy by day, and Cammy consumed the rest of his time. Seeing to her basic needs was a full-time job in itself, and getting her to bed each night was no simple feat, either. Between her disability and her continual chatter, Vance was exhausted by the time he kissed her good night and turned out the light. And as he closed his daughter’s bedroom door, he often paused in front of the portrait of Angie that hung in the hallway, wondering why God took her home. He missed his wife, and Cammy needed her mother. He often felt so inadequate as a single parent, as Cammy’s sole caregiver.
Of course, there were days when Vance wasn’t sure who took care of whom, because Cammy was more capable than many eight-year-olds who weren’t confined to wheelchairs. She folded the clean laundry, washed dishes, and made macaroni and cheese right out of the box better than anybody he knew. She was smart. Brilliant, in fact. And sweet. She cared about others—everyone except for Nicole Foster anyway.
He couldn’t help the grin twitching his lips as he added “opinionated” to the list of his little girl’s attributes.
Vance sank his body deeper into the armchair that once belonged to his father. Sometimes it helped to sit here and wonder how Dad would have handled any given situation if he were still alive.
The wisdom chair.
The year after losing Angie, he lost his parents—Dad to prostate cancer and, a few months later, Mama to a massive heart attack. Some folks at church said Mama really died of a broken heart after watching Dad suffer with an illness he’d battled a decade before. He’d been cancer-free for years, until one day it was back and suddenly Dad was dying. Mama and Dad loved each other. Completely. The way Vance loved Angie. Theirs was the kind of made-for-each-other that only happened once in a lifetime.
He pondered his relationship with Nicole. They’d been seeing each other on and off all summer long.
His mind backtracked further and he recalled what a scandal it had been years ago when her husband ran off with her sister, leaving Nicole to support their two kids. Some of the older church members didn’t want to speak to her; it was as if they’d branded her with the scarlet letter D for Divorcee. Other folks pitied her, and still others offered their assistance.
At the time of her divorce, Vance had been too wrapped up in his own hectic life, working and caring for his injured and disabled daughter. That time was a black hole in his life, it seemed.
But then, on this past Easter Sunday, Nicole sat down beside him, looking prettier than the lilies on the altar. It was only then that Vance remembered she was a single parent, too. He wasn’t really up on the whole dating scene; he’d been a married man for most of the last nine years. The very idea of dating felt awkward. Vance felt unsure of himself. It took him awhile, but he finally found the gumption to give Nicole a call and ask her out to dinner and a movie. She accepted.
Ever since, Vance entertained the thought that they were suited for each other, two hard-working people who survived the loss of a loved one, be it through death or divorce. Although Nicole made for good company—she liked to talk and Vance was a pretty good listener—she’d never captured his heart. His interest, yes. But not his heart.
He’d been hoping that, in time, he’d come to love Nicole. Sure, he had Jesus in his heart and Cammy filled a great deal of his life, but Vance knew firsthand the completeness to be found in marriage, and he longed to experience it again. Sometimes it hurt to be around his buddies and their wives, particularly if he happened to glimpse a couple sharing a kiss or holding hands. At least a steady girlfriend made those moments tolerable.
However, Cammy had strong feelings the other way, and no matter what Vance did or said, she didn’t warm up to Nicole. His little girl hardly “ruled the roost” as Nicole once suggested; rather, his daughter’s happiness was more important to Vance than his own. Cammy had gone through enough trials and tribulations at her young age.
Looked like he and Nicole were history.
History. The word conjured up the idea of school, and a vision of Fairview Academy’s new third-grade teacher entered his mind. Meghan Jorgenson was easy on the eye, that’s for sure, with her honey-blond hair and trim but generous figure. She’d turned quite a few heads at the Depot tonight. And her little black dress, dotted with strawberries, had elicited a number of complimentary remarks from several men in the place.
Nicole, on the other hand, had nothing good to say about her. “I didn’t vote for her, but obviously some of the parents in our school did. I heard she’s just like her mother,” she’d whispered to Vance. “No morals whatsoever.”
Vance raised the point that she’d passed interviews and background checks. If she had a blemished past, she wouldn’t have gotten the teaching job. He added the fact that everyone knew Loretta Jorgenson was a sweet, Christian lady who wouldn’t allow Meghan to live with her if she wasn’t a decent person. Meghan’s dad, Paul Jorgenson, and his family were good folks, too.
But Nicole didn’t want to hear it. She stood her ground. And Vance let the matter go because he didn’t feel like arguing.
Nicole. Vance squeezed his eyes closed. Lord, what do I do about this woman?
He could tell that she felt more serious about their relationship than he did, and although he knew he’d never love another woman again as he had loved his first wife, he had been willing to settle for a comfortable marriage so Cammy would have a mother. But it was obvious that Nicole would never fill that role in his daughter’s life.
Still, he didn’t want to break the woman’s heart.
Vance recalled a line of scripture that his dad was fond of spouting: “A just man follows in integrity and his children are blessed.” Dad usually meant it as a reminder to Vance and his sister that they ought to be grateful. But somehow it helped bring Vance’s priorities back into focus now.
Cammy’s emotional well-being came before Nicole’s feelings.
Sitting forward, he stood and stretched. Then he strode across the room and turned out the light. As he picked his way through the dark, silent house, he was reminded of a passage from the book of Psalms: “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet…”
Suddenly, his footsteps were sure and his spirit a little lighter. In that moment, he knew he’d made the right decision.
“Meggie? Meggie, wake up.”
The sound of Grams’ voice and the persistent, gentle shaking of her shoulder dragged Meg from a soun
d sleep. She rolled over and peered up into her grandmother’s hovering face.
“Sorry to wake you, but I’m taking some flowers over to church and I wanted to make sure you were all right before I left.”
Meg stretched, feeling confused. “All right? Of course I’m all right.”
Grams smiled and straightened. “Well, honey, it is two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“What?” Meg bolted upright. “Oh, wow, I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”
Grams patted her shoulder. “You obviously needed your rest.”
Meg couldn’t argue. These last months with Dillon had taken their toll on her, emotionally and physically.
“I have a little surprise.” Grams lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. “Your dad, Donna, Ryan, and Kelly are coming for dinner. Your dad said they’d be here about four o’clock, but he’s usually late.”
“They’re coming here?” Meg didn’t know if she felt up to the visit from her father and his “other family.”
“They’re anxious to see you again.”
“Anxious, huh?” She nodded. “Yeah, I can believe that.”
Grams smiled and patted her hand. “Anxious as in they can’t wait. Your dad wants to welcome his oldest daughter to Miracle.”
Meg had her doubts. He never seemed all that welcoming before.
“Your father said they’ll be here right after Kelly and Ryan are done giving their riding lessons. Teaching must run in the family. The kids teach riding to younger children every Saturday.”
“Riding?” A moment later Meg remembered. “Oh, right. They’re into horses, aren’t they?”
Grams chuckled softly. “This is Kentucky, my dear.”
“As in ‘The Run for the Roses.’ I got it.” Meg grinned.
Grams smiled, too, as she stood and smoothed the crinkles from her soft, chambray capri pants. “Well, I’d best be going. Tom’s driving me to church so I can decorate the altar for tomorrow’s service. Some of us ladies take turns showing off our late summer blooms. But I’ll be home in time to make supper.”
Meg’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food, and that, combined with the delicious aroma wafting upstairs from the kitchen, made her mouth water.
As if divining her thoughts, Grams said, “There’s a pan of cinnamon buns downstairs and some coffee, too.”
“I’m starved. You’re fabulous, Grams.”
“Why, thank you.”
Meg glimpsed her grandmother’s pleased expression at the simple compliment, and for some odd reason, it made her feel happy.
She tossed the covers aside and climbed out of bed. Padding to the windows, she pushed open the frilly curtains and pulled up the room-darkening shades. Sunshine poured into the room. After a moment to focus, a sapphire sky met her gaze, birds twittered in the fragrant magnolia tree in Grams’ front yard, and Meg thought that if there was ever an idyllic and picturesque moment in time, this had to be it. Such a pity she’d slept away most of this incredible summer day.
Moving away from the windows, she made her way downstairs. After a quick shower, she went back upstairs to dress and then descended the creaky staircase once more. She entered the kitchen, poured herself a cup of hot coffee, and judged by its fresh aroma that Grams had prepared it right before coming to awaken her.
Meg sipped the hot, strong brew and decided she didn’t mind her grandmother’s maternal ways a single bit. It was actually refreshing. Mom didn’t have a motherly bone in her body. Meg had been the responsible one ever since she could remember.
Mom, the quintessential party girl. For whatever reason, that lifestyle had never appealed to Meg. She’d always had the ability to look ahead, and she knew the party was going to end someday. And then what? Mom might find herself alone with nothing when she got to be Grams’ age. But Meg wanted more. Meg desired to be established somewhere, to make a contribution to this world, whether great or small, to find inner peace, and to be surrounded by people who loved her.
Was that asking too much out of life?
Meg meandered into the sunny dining room when suddenly every clock in the house began to chirp, chime, and gong. The mechanical clamor startled her, but it felt so surreal to be standing in the midst of the weird symphony and she had to laugh aloud. Talk about being surrounded!
She shook her head, smiling.
By the time the last bird cuckooed, Meg had seated herself in a comfy position on the outdated, oversized plaid couch. Setting her coffee on the oak side table, she used both hands to shake out her long hair and help it dry. Another hour and her father would arrive.
Was he really coming by to welcome her? Or did he intend to let her know that her presence wasn’t appreciated? Did he think she’d try to hit him up for money or that she was sponging off of Grams? She’d been told Dad accused Mom of trying to “squeeze every dime” out of him. Did he think the same of Meg?
She couldn’t guess. She hadn’t seen her father in years, even though his horse farm was only about four miles away from Grams’ house and right down Spice Ridge Road. When Meg was a kid, he had seemed strict, unrelenting. Mom hated Dad—perhaps because he’d remarried and found happiness while every one of Mom’s relationships sooner or later fell apart. And Meg? She had always tried to stay out of their way, to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.
Meg lifted her coffee mug, took a sip, and continued contemplating. Then, ever so slowly, a book resting on the end table next to the wooden rocker came into focus. The volume’s worn leather cover had caught her eye. Meg stood and walked a few paces to the table and read the book’s title: Daily Strength for Daily Needs. Lifting it, she flipped through the pages and realized she held a collection of motivational readings. Curiosity caused her to turn to today’s date. Like the horoscope in the daily newspaper.
Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God (1 John 3:21).
Meg wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. She pondered the verse’s meaning for several moments before her gaze was drawn to the poem on the preceding page.
THOU art my King—
My King henceforth alone;
And I, Thy servant, Lord, am all Thine own.
Give me Thy strength; oh! Let Thy dwelling be
In this poor heart that pants, my Lord, for Thee!
G. Tersteegen
The piece read like something out of a Shakespearean play. Dillon could definitely take a few lessons from this guy, Tersteegen. Dillon’s poetry mirrored Mother Goose, hardly William Shakespeare. How had she ever thought Dillon’s work was intellectually stimulating, soul-stirring?
Her mind whirred and the muscles in her chest constricted with memories of her painful past until a line on the page in her hands jumped out at her, capturing her attention.
Give me Thy strength. . . .
It dawned on her then that she could use a little Divine Intervention about now, and she read the words over again, voicing them out loud. “Give me Thy strength; oh! Let Thy dwelling be in this poor heart…”
She closed the book and replaced it on the table. Seconds later, she heard a car pulling up Grams’ unpaved driveway. Making her way to the windows, she peered outside and caught sight of the silver gray Suburban. Her heart pounded with uncertainty.
Dad and his family had arrived.
Chapter Five
“Retta, you’re acting as squirrelly as I ever seen you.”
“What? Why, that’s not true. I’m just—well, I’m excited about Paul coming over and I’m happy about Meg staying at the house. That’s all.”
Tom disagreed by chortling. Loretta ignored him and concentrated on arranging the pile of begonias in two matching cut-glass vases. She decided the mix of pink and white blossoms would grace each side of Calvary Hill’s altar in a way that would justify all those hours of back-straining weeding she’d done all summer.
As if divining her thoughts, Tom said, “Jenny Jenkins is gonna be right jealous when she sees those fine flowers up there.”
“You’re staying to dinner tonight, aren’t you?” she asked him.
“That’s the third time you asked me, and all three times I told you yes.” Tom sported a jovial grin, adding more lines to his already crinkled face. “If that’s not squirrelly, I don’t know what is.”
Loretta tamped down her impatience with the man and realized he might even have a point. “Maybe it’s a female thing.”
“Usually is,” he quipped.
“Oh, stop.” She cast him an annoyed glance before sticking a few more stems into one of the vases. “You know it’s my prayer that Kelly and Ryan come to know and love Meg. It’s only right. She’s their older sister.”
“Half sister.”
“Sister, just the same.”
Tom didn’t retort.
“As for Paul, well, he’s finally acknowledging what a beautiful, successful woman Meg is. I almost dropped the phone when I heard him say he’s proud of her. I told him he needs to tell Meg that.” Loretta paused. “You know he’s always been afraid she’d end up like Tricia, moving from man to man and city to city.”
“Well, now, Loretta, I don’t have to tell you that some things you just can’t force. Relationships is one of ’em.”
Love Finds You in Miracle, Kentucky Page 4