by Rebeca Seitz
He made a getaway before she could change her mind. At the edge of the field, he turned and noted with satisfaction the disappearance of defeat from her profile. It shouldn’t matter that much to him—he knew he had no business letting a woman matter at all to him, much less one with a dog that might never be able to accept his cat.
She threw back her head, and that long black hair swung free.
Major Carter could deal.
Jane stared into the tree’s maze of limbs and knew she had to be losing her ever-loving mind. Having interest in a man—any man, especially that chauvinistic man—was the last thing she needed. What was she thinking? And he was a sci-fi fan. Ugh. Bill had given her more than enough of those stupid shows with horrible makeup, bad acting, and unbelievable story lines. It had been one of the things she hadn’t missed after her move. And now she was going back to it just for a free dinner and no cleaning? Yes, the mind had definitely taken a detour from reality.
But the show was only an hour. And she needed to get to know her neighbors anyway. The next time the bright idea of moving furniture came in the middle of the night or she was staring at Wilson’s forty pounds of dog food, wondering how to get it from Blazer to apartment, he’d come in handy. Every girl needed a heavy lifter in her life, and since Bill had taken his muscles with him to the e-mistress, she might as well get to know her neighbor. One dinner and one more horrendous episode of Stargate SG-1 would not kill her. Right after, she could be on her way, heavy labor secured for the future.
A smile crossed Jane’s face. This was a pretty good idea.
“Don’t get any ideas, boy.” She looked into Wilson’s sorrowful basset eyes and patted his head. “Your momma has no interest in men. She’s happy and satisfied with her girlfriends. But you put me in a bad position by chasing his cat this morning, so I’m going to go make nice. We might need him to carry your dog food one day.”
Wilson licked her hand as she stood up and began making her way back to the apartment, leash tightly in hand and thoughts firmly in place. At the breezeway, the dog stopped to sniff a rock just as she heard the University of Kentucky fight song. She rushed inside her apartment to the kitchen wall and grabbed the phone, cutting the battle cry off in midring.
“Hello?”
“Jane?”
“Yeah, Lydia. It’s me.” The leash clicked open as she pushed its lever and a freed Wilson walked over to his water bowl.
“Mari’s here, and we’re going to head on over to Mac’s. Are you ready?” The SportsCenter music blared in the background.
“Sure. Let me put Wilson back in his crate, and I’ll grab my stuff and head on over.”
“Great. Be careful. See you there.”
“You too. Bye.”
She hung up the phone and turned the ringer volume down on the side. “No need making the whole apartment building listen to the UK fight song, right, Wilson?” He stopped lapping water and looked at her. “Crate, boy.” Wilson turned and sauntered off toward the bedroom. Now, why couldn’t men be that obedient?
Her cell phone rang just as she was securing the last latch on Wilson’s crate. She dashed back into the living room and snatched it up off the end table.
“Jane Sandburg.”
“Jane, darling, it’s Sonya!”
Jane gritted her teeth and reminded herself to check the freaking caller ID before answering next time. “Hi, Sonya. How are things in Europe?”
“Marvelous, as usual; thank you for asking. I saw the most fabulous scarf in Hermès this morning and have just this minute decided I simply must go back for it. You would not believe how soft that silk is. I’ll just have to get you one as well. Would you like blue or green?”
“Oh, Sonya, there’s no need for that. But thank you for thinking of me. Was there something I could do for you?” Directing Sonya in a phone conversation was a lot like herding cats.
“I was just calling to check on your plans for our fall banquet, darling. Is everything in order for the most fabulous fund-raiser Nashville has seen this year?”
Jane tried not to panic as thousands of details pushed themselves up from the back of her brain. Nothing was confirmed yet, though telling Sonya that would come right after snow cones started being served in the lake of fire.
“Everything is on task, Sonya, no worries at all,” she assured the heiress currently sitting as president of the board of Nashville’s largest charity. “I should have some ideas to run by you when you get home.”
“Marvelous. I knew I could count on you. I just couldn’t get the fund-raiser off my mind, and Harry said, ‘Sonya, call Jane, and she’ll tell you everything’s fine so you can enjoy your trip.’ I suppose he was right. You’ll let me know if anything arises that needs my attention?”
“Of course. Thank you so much for checking in with me.”
“Ta ta.”
“Bye, Sonya.” Jane snapped the phone shut and wondered if spending time scrapping at Mac’s was wise with so many details still left to handle for Sonya and work not even started for Leota. She looked longingly at her wheeled tote standing silent sentinel by the front door. It would just be a couple of hours, and pulling a late night wouldn’t be bad payment for time spent with the Sisters.
chapter 7
Mac saw Lydia’s car turn in to her cul-de-sac and took a deep breath. Pushing thoughts of yesteryear into the recesses of her mind, she got up and checked on the second batch of mint chocolate-chip cookies in the oven. They were still a few minutes shy of light golden. She reached in the cupboard and pulled down four tall glasses, then turned to the refrigerator to get the milk.
The jail had been as dark and depressing as it was every time she went to bail out Tabby, and Mac knew few better ways to feel better than munching on one of her grandmother’s mint chocolate-chip cookies with a tall glass of milk in the other hand and plans to scrap in the near future.
The energy to welcome a new woman into their scrapping group seemed far away right now. “You brought her here, Jesus. Give me the strength to let her know she’s welcome.”
“Mac? We’re here,” Lydia called out as she came through the cheery white front door.
“In the kitchen. Come on back.” Mac smiled and stood as Lydia entered the kitchen, followed by a short, brown-haired woman with ruddy cheeks and a ready smile. “You must be Mari.”
“Hi, MacKenzie,” Mari said and came across the kitchen to shake Mac’s hand. “Lydia has told me a lot about you. Thanks so much for having me in your home.”
“Child, the pleasure is mine.” Surprising, but true. “Sunday afternoon’s a perfect time for work, in my book. There ain’t no better way to rest, I say.”
“Work? I thought we were going to scrapbook.” She looked to Lydia for an explanation.
“Mac, Jane, and I have started a new business called Sisters, Ink.” She explained the concept to Mari, and Mari giggled.
“Count me in, amigas!”
“What smells so good? Are you making mint cookies?”
Lydia’s nose lifted as she sniffed the air. “All right, spill. What’d Tabby do now?”
Mac sighed, heading over to the oven to retrieve the cookies. “I was makin’ ’em before she even called this time. Tabby called from the jail a couple hours ago.”
“Oh, Mac.” Sympathy laced Lydia’s voice.
“I’ve already gone and gotten her out. I don’t think she did anything this time, but you know I can’t ever be sure with that child.” Mac turned the dial on the oven to zero degrees and pulled the dishtowel from its hook. The blast of heat reminded her of that morning’s conversation as she pulled the cookies out.
“She’s gotten in trouble before?” Mari asked in a small voice.
Mac rolled her eyes, setting the tray on top of a cooling rack. “She got a rap sheet as long as this kitchen.” She hung the towel back on its rack. “Tabby’s been tryin’ to fly right since she had baby Kesa. She just doin’ right with the wrong people, and they bring her down. You know what I m
ean?”
“Yes, I do,” Mari said.
“So what was it this time?” Lydia asked.
Mac told them both about the shoplifting charge and then shook her shoulders. “That’s enough depressin’ stuff for right now. It’s a work day; let’s work.” She pulled glasses out of the cabinet. “You like milk with your cookies, Mari?”
“Oh, I really shouldn’t.” Mari rubbed her tummy. “This thing keeps expanding every day. If I don’t watch it, people are going to think I had another baby instead of adopting one.”
“Well, neither should I, but I pulled my baby outta jail just a little while ago, and I need some sugar to make it through my afternoon. Besides, I always drink milk with my cookies, and I haven’t had any calcium yet today, so this is just a good way to take care of my health.”
“Hmm, when you put it like that, then I see the wisdom of the cookie. Yes, I’d love some milk.”
Mac winked at her. “Gotta take care of them bones, right?”
Mari smiled. “Sí.”
“Y’all go ahead and take your stuff upstairs while I get these out and on a plate. I’ll bring ’em up with some cold milk, and we’ll get started. Is Jane comin’?” She picked up a pot holder from the counter and turned to get the cookies out of the oven.
“I called her before I left.” Lydia and Mari turned toward the stairs. “She was putting Wilson up and then heading this way. You know Jane, always late.”
“Yoo-hoo. Are y’all talking about me?” Jane came into the kitchen, wheeling her tote behind just as Mac set the tray of cookies on the cooling rack. “Can’t leave you girls alone for a minute and you’re telling stories about me.” Jane grinned at Lydia and then saw the tray of cookies.
“Oh, yum. I love cookies. They’re horrible on my waistline but heaven for my taste buds. Mac, you’re the absolute best in the world. My day just got infinitely better.”
Mac laughed at Jane’s childlike exuberance. “Go on up with Lydia and Mari and get your stuff settled. I’ll bring these up with some milk.
“Whatever the cookie lady says, I do.” Jane saluted and turned on her heel toward the stairs. “Can I bring anything up for you? I’ve got a free hand.”
“Sure.” Mac arranged the glasses on a tray in short order and handed it to Jane. “You sure you can handle this tray with one hand?” She gave Jane a doubtful look.
“No problem. I’ve got it.” Jane began gingerly going up the stairs, balancing the tray in one hand and pulling her Tutto tote up each step so as not to topple the glasses.
“Okay, you be careful. I’ll be right up.” Mac watched for a few seconds to be sure Jane did, indeed, have it under control.
Then she turned back to the cookies, hesitated, and popped one into her mouth. “Guess this just means I need more milk!”
Jane entered the scrapping room and exhaled in relief as she handed the tray of glasses off to Lydia.
“Wow, a scrapper and glass balancer. You could take that show on the road,” Lydia said.
“I think I’ll keep my day job.” Jane began unpacking all of her scrapbooking materials. She stopped and turned to Mari. “Hi, I’m Jane, by the way. I’m not sure if you remember, but I was with Lydia at church this morning.”
Mari smiled and reached across the table to shake the hand Jane was offering. “Mari. I remember.”
“So I understand you’re starting a scrapbook for your adoption agency?” Jane asked as she turned back to the task of unpacking and began setting out paper, stamp sets, eyelets, rub-on words, and punches. As usual, she’d packed too much stuff.
“Mm-hmm. We’re in the process of adopting a daughter from Chile. We need to create a scrapbook of our family life so the agency can give it to the orphanage to be shared with our prospective adoptee. That way, she’ll be a little familiar with us by the time we pick her up.”
“That is such an incredible idea,” Jane said. “She’ll know what faces to look for in the crowd when you get there. Brilliant.”
“Well, brilliant in theory, I guess.” Mari’s voice was soft as she watched Jane and Lydia pull out their tools and materials.
“Ave Maria! All this stuff! I didn’t realize scrapbooking could get so involved.” Jane set a big punch on the table. “I have no idea where to start.” Lydia plopped a stack of paper in three different shades of blue and pink on the table. “I just know I want to make the best scrapbook possible for mi hija. I’m hoping you girls can help me out with that.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Lydia blew her hair out of her eyes. “Anything you see on this table or in this room is open for your use.” She waved her hand to encompass everything. “Don’t hesitate to use our stuff or ask questions. Mac is the most experienced of all of us, but we can each help you out.”
“You bet.” Jane tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ve just done one other scrapbook, so I’m a great source for knowing what not to do.” She laughed. “Have you settled on a color scheme yet? It will make things easier if you know which two or three colors you’d like to see on every page.”
“I didn’t even realize there were color schemes.”
“No worries,” Lydia replied. “You should see my first book.
I go from bolds to pastels to earth tones to monochrome black as fast as you can turn the page. I cringe every time I look at the thing, but you’ve got to start somewhere, right?”
“Exactamente.”
“Okay, then let’s pick two colors that will appear on every page.” Both Lydia and Jane watched Mari as she tapped her fingers on the table and tilted her head in thought.
“When I think of Chile, I think of red and orange. You know, big bold colors, like the skirts the women wear that flow out when they’re dancing,” Mari said.
“Great.” Lydia pulled two more stacks of paper from her tote and pushed them across the table to Mari. “Then we’ll use those colors as the theme of the scrapbook.”
“But aren’t those two colors too bold for a little girl?” Mari picked up the packs of red and orange paper.
“Nah,” Jane said. “They’re the colors that her mommy thinks of when she thinks of her. I think that’s a great reason to use them.”
“Okay, then red and orange it is. Maybe we can mix some white and yellow in along the way to soften it up?”
“Perfect,” Lydia said. “I have a ton of it, so grab what you want. Jane, Mac, and I can sort through our printed and textured papers to see if we have anything that would work with your color scheme.”
Mari stared as Jane and Lydia began sliding more sheets of paper across the table to her. She reached down beside her chair and retrieved a box full of photos.
“Um, chicas, I think I need some help here.” Mari gave a bewildered look at a box crammed with photos. “How do I know where to start?”
“That’s always the hardest part for a new scrapper,” Mac said as she arrived at the top of the stairs with a plate piled high with cookies in one hand and a gallon of milk in the other. “I always start by grouping and ordering.”
“Grouping. Of course, grouping . . . What’s grouping?”
“I put the pictures into groups according to events. Birthdays, anniversaries, parties, and other events. Then I arrange the events in the order they happened.” Mac set the plate of cookies in the middle of the table and took the cap off of the gallon of milk. She began filling each glass and passing them around the table.
“Okay.” Mari took her glass. “Most of my pictures are from the past month. Everywhere John, Emmy, and I went, I took a picture so little Andrea would get a chance to see our everyday lives. So I guess I need to put those in order now, yes?” She took a drink.
“Yes.” Mac handed a glass to Jane.
“Got it. Then what do I do with these pictures of my parents and John’s parents?” She waved them in the air.
“Did you take them this month?” Mac filled another glass and handed it across the table to Lydia.
“No, they’re
older pictures. I wanted to include them so Andrea can meet her abuelos.” Mari reached out and took a cookie from the plate.
“How about putting them at the end?” Lydia said around a mouthful of cookie. “You could do a section of ‘Meet Your Extended Family’ or something and put pictures of grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles.”
“Oh, I like that idea.” Mari began pulling photos out of the box and putting them in the suggested groupings and order. “I don’t know how in the world I would have done this without you ladies.”
“Well, I’m glad you don’t have to find out,” Lydia said, taking a drink of milk as Jane and Mac nodded their agreement.
For a while, the sound of paper cutters and eyelet setters combined with Mac’s humming as each woman worked on her scrapbook. Slowly, their layouts emerged from the different scraps of paper and embellishments. Jane looked up from her work and snagged another cookie from the plate in the middle of the table.
She sat back on her stool and took a drink of milk, considering the layout on which she was working. Wilson was lying beside her suitcase, his massive basset head resting on the handle. In the background of the photo her apartment seemed to be a state of chaos. There were blurry boxes and what looked like packing tape and markers.
Jane picked up the picture and contemplated the state of her scrapbook for the thousandth time. In twenty years, would she want to look back on this stuff? Would she even want to remember these dark days of packing up her entire existence and moving to a place of her own because her husband had chosen his e-mistress over her? And if she wouldn’t want to look back on it, then why was she bothering to scrapbook it in the first place?
She sighed and put the picture back into its position in the layout. Wilson’s expression didn’t match the glee pronounced by the bones dancing across the paper in the background.
“Problem?” Lydia reached for a cookie of her own and looked at Jane’s layout.
“No, I guess not.” Jane tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed again.
“The layout looks good. Maybe add some black ribbon behind that main picture to tie it to the journaling.”