Lost and Found Faith

by Laurel Blount

  Maggie felt a twinge of irritation, but she squashed it good-naturedly. He didn’t understand. Most people didn’t. “Easier, sure. Better, nope.”

  She deftly sliced the rolls, stacking them on the stainless-steel counter at Neil’s elbow. She’d better hurry and get these done so she could help with the rest of the prep work. They’d never get finished in time at this rate.

  She watched him out of the corner of her eye as they worked. Like most people unused to food service, Neil started off slow, but he got a little faster as they went, still careful to put exactly the right amount of chicken salad on each croissant half. She felt herself relaxing as they found their rhythm.

  “You do this every week?” Neil put another finished sandwich into a brown bag and added it to the growing line on the counter.

  “Just about, until school starts back up.” She put down the knife. She’d give him a chance to play catch-up while she moved their finished sandwiches temporarily into the walk-in fridge. She didn’t want them sitting at room temperature too long. She grabbed a tray and began to line it with the opened bags.

  “This is a lot of work for you.”

  Maggie laughed. “I guess it is, but I don’t mind. Kitchens are my happy places. The heart of the home, and all that.” She glanced affectionately around the bakery. “I think of Angelo’s kitchen as the heart of Cedar Ridge. I love working here.”

  As she reached for the farthest bag, she leaned near Oliver. The little boy shrank away, pressing himself closer to Neil’s side. Maggie winced, but she made herself smile.

  “Excuse me, Oliver,” she murmured.

  Sympathy flickered in Neil’s eyes. “Your mom’s a really nice lady,” he said. Oliver looked up adoringly when Neil spoke, and when he mentioned Maggie, the child looked over at her. To her astonishment, the wary little boy’s eyes connected directly with hers, making her breath catch in her throat. She swallowed and smiled encouragingly.

  Oliver didn’t smile back, but he held her gaze for a precious second or two. Then he looked away, stuck his thumb back in his mouth and leaned his head against Neil’s side.

  Maggie’s heart soared. Eye contact was huge. All the attachment experts said so, and she’d struggled from the start to get any from the little boy. This, she told herself firmly, was real progress. A tiny step forward, maybe, but a real one.

  She smiled at Neil. Thank you, she mouthed silently. Like Oliver, he didn’t smile back, but the eyes behind the glasses crinkled at the corners, and he nodded.

  They worked companionably after that. When the sandwiches were finally finished, Maggie flexed her cramped fingers. “We’re in the home stretch. Now we put in the pretzels and the cookies and a napkin.” She retrieved the cookie containers and lined the elements up on the counter. “Then we fold the tops and put the bags in the coolers to transport to the school.” She popped the top off the first cookie tub, and as Neil leaned over to look, she felt a thrill of happy anticipation.

  She’d been trying to think of a good cookie idea all week. She’d been stumped until last Saturday. The temp had topped eighty-five, and she’d pulled last year’s flip-flops from the back of her closet. That was when it had struck her—the perfect summer-vacation cookie.

  After a quick study of Pinterest, she’d baked them. Three hundred sugar-cookie flip-flops, iced with various colorful designs and enclosed in cellophane bags tied with curly blue and green ribbons. Maggie surveyed them proudly, breathing in their comforting aroma. They’d turned out well, even if she did say so herself.

  “What do you think?”

  “Those?” He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. “We’re putting those in brown paper bags?”

  “Sure. Aren’t they cute?”

  “They’re...elaborate. They must have taken you hours.” He lifted a cookie, iced green with sunny yellow straps and polka dots.

  “Well, yeah, but they were fun. They taste good, too. Here.” She pulled a broken cookie from her scrap tin. “I always save the casualties for taste-testing.”

  He snapped the cookie piece in two and handed half to Oliver, who accepted it happily. Once again, Maggie felt a jab of envy. When she’d begged Oliver to taste these cookies, all she’d gotten was a cold look.

  She sighed and turned her attention back to Neil. “So?”

  “They’re great.”

  There was a strange tone in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just...” He gestured at the clutter surrounding them. “Croissants, homemade chicken salad, these fancy cookies. This isn’t what I expect when I think of a kid’s sack lunch.”

  “Obviously you haven’t been eating my lunches,” Maggie informed him with a laugh.

  “This doesn’t seem like overkill to you? I lived on PB&J sandwiches when I was a kid, and if I dropped one, I just shook the dirt off and ate it anyway. Do you really think they’re going to appreciate all the extra work you put into this?”

  Overkill. She froze in the act of putting one of the cookies in a bag. “Probably not,” she agreed quietly. “But just because they don’t know to appreciate my best efforts doesn’t mean they don’t deserve them. I’ll deal with the cookies. Can you manage the rest?”

  There was a beat of silence before he answered. “Sure. I’ll do the pretzels, and Oliver can be in charge of the napkins.”

  “I don’t think he feels like—” Maggie broke off as Oliver obediently stuffed a flip-flop-printed napkin into the sack Neil slid toward him.

  “Good job!” Neil chucked a bag of pretzels in another sack and pushed it toward the toddler. “Next.”

  Oliver grinned and put in another napkin.

  Neil grinned back. “We make a good team, buddy.”

  Maggie’s smile wobbled as she returned her attention to putting the colorful cookies into each bag.

  Yes, Neil and Oliver made a wonderful team. Too bad her name still wasn’t on the roster.

  * * *

  Neil was assigned the job of carting the heavy coolers from the bakery van to the tables they’d set up in front of Cedar Ridge High School. Since Oliver insisted on clutching a fistful of Neil’s pant leg and walking alongside, it was slow going. When he finally lugged up the last ice chest, Maggie was struggling with a disposable tablecloth.

  The sea-blue plastic rectangle billowed in the breeze blowing off the mountains, and Maggie’s lips pursed in a pout of concentration as she battled it down. She made a colorful picture against the blue, with her spring-green shirt and her red curls shimmering in the sun. As he watched, a gust of wind whipped the edge of the tablecloth out of her grip, and she laughed out loud as she fought to reclaim it.

  The joy in that unselfconscious laugh hit Neil like a blow. When was the last time he’d laughed like that? He couldn’t remember. And yet in spite of her worries about Oliver, Maggie was still able to enjoy herself.

  “There!” She clamped the last corner of the material onto the table with a triumphant grin. “Now, behave yourself.” She bent to rummage in a striped tote and produced several pairs of brand-new flip-flops in various colors and patterns. She scattered them along the edge of the table.

  He frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Decorating.”

  Decorating. With shoes. Okay. “Need any help?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” She straightened and shaded her eyes. Knots of kids and teenagers were ambling down the sidewalk, and cars were pulling into the parking lot. “Just in time, too. You man the drinks, and I’ll pass out the lunches.”

  “Sure. Do we have some kind of list to go by?”

  “Nope.” Maggie began pulling lunches out of one of the coolers. “Put the ice chest on the table and pop the top. The kids like to pick their own drinks, and the line moves faster that way.”

  Neil heaved the cooler onto the table and lifted the lid, revealing layers of ju
ice boxes and milk cartons nestled in ice. “If you don’t have a list, how do you know who’s supposed to get the food?”

  Maggie laughed. “Simple. If they’re hungry, they get a lunch. Hi!” She waved to a group of approaching girls. “How are y’all doing?”

  Kids flocked to the table, accepting the lunches and the hugs Maggie offered with equal enthusiasm. Their careless chatter slowed when they reached Neil. The kids, many of them his own students, slanted him a cautious glance before pawing quickly through the ice to make their drink choice.

  None of them seemed inclined to make conversation—much less to hug him—so there was nothing much for him to do except observe the kids’ reactions to their fancy lunches. So he did.

  The sandwiches were well received, and most of the kids had a mouthful of chicken salad before they’d walked three feet away from the tables. But Maggie’s flip-flop cookies were the real hit of the day.

  The girls squealed, trading among themselves to get a cookie that better matched their outfits. Even the guys seemed impressed—although, Neil noticed they actually ate their cookies, while the girls stowed theirs carefully in purses.

  “Well, ain’t this something? Iceman’s manning the ice.” Dex Greene, one of his American history students, was rummaging through the drinks. “What happened, man? You being punished for something?”

  “Nope, just helping out.” Neil spoke evenly. He and Dex had tangled repeatedly last year over the teen’s habit of skipping class. When the kid had blown off the final exam, he’d flunked him. Dex requested a meeting so he could “explain” and get another shot at taking the test, but Neil had made it clear that the fail was final. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

  “Yeah, that sounds like you. Real helpful.” Dex snorted a skeptical laugh. “You got any apple juice left?”

  “I think there’s some at the bottom.” A disturbing number of his students had turned up today. Would they have gone hungry without this outreach? He’d had no idea so many of their families were struggling financially. How had he missed that?

  Also disturbing was the fact that Dex was the only one who’d spoken to him. On the other hand, almost every kid coming through the line had not only spoken to Maggie but hugged her, as well. They all seemed to know her, and she remembered more of their names than he did.

  This wasn’t good. He’d been more disconnected than he’d realized.

  Dex rummaged in the ice until he unearthed a small green box with an apple on the front. “Awesome!” The boy leaned down, and for the first time, Neil noticed a tiny child clinging to Dex’s left hand.

  Dex caught him looking. “I know he’s not a student, but Maggie said it was all right,” the teenager said defensively. “Rory can’t have milk. He’s allergic. But he’s okay with apple juice.”

  Neil nodded. “No problem. Help yourself.”

  “Dex,” Maggie called from the other end of the table. “You forgot your other bag.”

  The boy shot Neil a wary look. “That’s okay, Mags. Rory and I can share. I know it’s one lunch per customer.”

  “That rule doesn’t apply to you, kiddo. Here.” Maggie tossed a bag in Dex’s direction. He caught it handily and grinned.

  “You got a good arm, Mags.”

  That was right, Neil remembered. Dex played baseball. Or he had. Now that he’d failed history, he wouldn’t be eligible.

  Dex looked back at Neil. “That’s Maggie’s kid, isn’t it?” He nodded at Oliver. The toddler was standing close to Neil, sucking his thumb.

  “Yes.” He laid a hand on Oliver’s head. “He’s a friend of mine. Better grab another drink for yourself, Dex. Not enough in that little box for two people.”

  His former student lifted an eyebrow as he reached back into the cooler for a carton of milk. “Careful there, Iceman. Somebody might get the idea that you actually got a heart.” The teen offered Neil a mock salute, then led his toddling charge into the shade of an oak. The two of them settled in the grass to explore their lunches.

  The line had thinned, but most of the kids hung around, eating their lunches picnic-style on the ground. Maggie was busily setting the remaining few lunches out on her table. She glanced up as Neil walked over.

  “That was nice of you,” he said, “letting Dex have an extra lunch for his brother.”

  Maggie’s eyes strayed to Dex, who was carefully breaking up the pretzels for Rory and laying them on a napkin unfolded on the ground. “You know Dex?”

  “He was in my American history class last year. Occasionally. When he wasn’t cutting school.”

  “Ah.” Maggie set another lunch on the table. “Well, I’m not surprised he missed class. Last year was tough for them. Their mom passed away in October.”

  “What?” Neil frowned. He hadn’t known that. “I’ve been a little...out of touch lately. What happened?”

  “Car accident.” Maggie wiped her hands on her apron. “She was from the next town over, so I didn’t know her well, but it was really tragic. The dad’s not in the picture, so Rory and Dex moved in with their grandmother. She’s not in the best of health, and it took the doctors a while to get Rory’s milk allergy diagnosed, so he’s been sick a lot, too. Dex has had his hands full. Hey!” She raised her voice and waved at the students. “Do me a favor and come get the extra lunches and drinks, okay? I don’t want to lug this stuff back to the bakery. And if anybody wants these flip-flops, take them, too.” There was a rush to the tables, and in no time all the remaining food was claimed.

  All the flip-flops vanished, too, except for one suspiciously small red, white and blue pair. Maggie wiggled them in Dex’s direction.

  “Would these fit Rory?”

  The boy loped over and took the shoes from her hand, turning them over to check the size. “Yeah! Thanks, Mags.”

  “Phooey. Thank you for not making me pack them up and take them home,” she answered cheerily. She turned to Neil. “Do you mind helping me load up the coolers? Just dump out the ice here and put them in the van for me. Then you’re all done.”

  She spoke politely, but there was a reserve in her voice that hadn’t been there before. Clearly, he’d slipped a few notches in Maggie Byrne’s opinion.

  He didn’t blame her. He was Dex Greene’s teacher, for crying out loud. How had he not known that Dex had lost his only parent in a car accident?

  If anybody could empathize with that loss, Neil certainly could, but he hadn’t even known about it, though he was sure the tragedy must have been talked about at school. He’d have heard about it, if he’d been listening.

  He hadn’t been. If he had, he’d have found out that fully half of his students needed help to get a square meal during summer vacation.

  Well, Audrey was right. He’d disengaged with a vengeance. No wonder she’d wanted to bench him.

  He poured out the melting ice and carried the coolers to the bakery van, a process once again made more complicated by Oliver. Apparently sensing that Neil was gearing up to leave, the little boy glommed on like glue.

  He didn’t mind. Maybe having a kid stuck to you like a burr made the job tougher, but it felt better than getting the cold shoulder from kids you’d seen every weekday for nine months.

  And deserving it.

  When everything was finally loaded, he latched the van’s back doors. Maggie slipped her deflated tote bag over one shoulder. She’d clapped a floppy straw hat on her head, and its open weave threw shadow sprinkles over her face. Even standing in a ninety-degree parking lot with a sheen of sweat on her face, the woman managed to look cute.

  “Thanks, Neil,” she said politely. “You were a big help.”

  He hadn’t been, not really, but he was glad he’d come. It had been an eye-opening experience. “You’re welcome.”

  “We’d better go. I need to run Oliver back to Ruby’s and then get to the bakery. Angelo’s alrea
dy handled the lunch rush by himself, and he’s probably ready to go hide in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Suddenly, Neil felt reluctant to end things this way, with this new coolness between them.

  “You were right,” he blurted out. “About the fancy lunches, I mean. The kids loved them.”

  She tilted her head. The shadow spots danced merrily over her cheeks like extra freckles, but her face was uncharacteristically serious. “Folks like to be fussed over. Especially these kids, because they don’t get enough of that kind of attention.” She smiled, and the shift in her expression did something funny to the pit of his stomach. “I can see why it might’ve seemed silly. But when a person turns to me for help, I think they deserve the best I can give them. Today my best just happened to be flip-flop cookies and chicken salad croissants, that’s all. Come on, sweetie.” She reached for Oliver. “Let’s go see Grandma Ruby.”

  Shaking his head furiously, the toddler gripped Neil’s shirt and set up a howl that echoed against the brick walls of the school. He struggled and kicked as Maggie tried to disentangle him. Neil winced as Oliver pummeled her with his feet.

  “Do you want me to buckle him into the car seat for you?”

  “That’s okay.” Maggie’s hat was askew, and her face looked ashen as she spoke over Oliver’s cries. “I’ll manage. Ruby and I will get him settled down once I take him home. Thanks again, Neil.”

  The child’s protesting screams turned into sobs when Maggie finally succeeded in pulling him into her arms. He sagged limply in her embrace, crying pitifully as she buckled him into the car seat.

  Neil waited until the bakery van had bumped out of the parking lot, until he could no longer hear Oliver’s now-muffled howls. He gave the high school building a long look before heading for his Jeep.

  He’d better get back to the cabin and settle in. He had some serious thinking to do.

  Chapter Five

  Neil tapped his computer keys and clicked Send. Then he stretched and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel.