God Bless the Broken Road

by Jennifer Dornbush

  “I’m Cody Jackson, by the way. I saw you at church—well, I mean . . .” He extends a hand awkwardly. Amber gives him a look, like his name sounds familiar but she can’t quite place it. “Cody Jackson? I know your daughter, Bree.”

  “Oh, you’re the go-kart builder.”

  “Actually, I’m a race car driver by trade. I’m here working with Joe for a bit.”

  “Training. I get it.” Amber knows all about Joe’s past racing successes and that from time to time he’ll take on rookies or troubled drivers and train them for Gibbs’s team. Cody doesn’t act like a rookie. Not with all that swagger. “Well, nice to meet you. I’m Amber. And welcome to Clarksville.” She hands him a menu.

  “No need. I’ll do the pancakes.”

  “Short or tall stack?”

  “Tall. I’m starving.”

  “Joe has you working hard, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. He does. Sounds like you know something about that old geezer.”

  Amber smiles. “I’ve known Joe for about nine years. And if Gibbs sent you down here to train with Joe, you must have some potential.”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “And you must be one of Gibbs’s problem children.” His smile frosts. She pricked his ego. Oh boy. “Don’t worry. If anyone can whip a racer into shape, it’s Joe.”

  “He has a rather unorthodox way of going about it,” says Cody.

  The bell dings at the front door. Amber glances up to see two families enter.

  “Bacon or sausage with those pancakes?”

  “Bacon.”

  She scribbles down his order.

  “You got it. Anything else?” Amber motions for the waiting parties to occupy the two booths along the window.

  “Well, yes, I was . . . I was wondering if we could maybe grab some coffee sometime.”

  Flutters again. Did he just ask her out?

  “Oh, ah . . . I’m not really . . . I can’t right now.”

  “Nothing fancy. Super casual.”

  “That’s really nice, but I . . .” Amber freezes midsentence. Until this moment she has not given dating a single thought. And she’s not sure how she feels about it.

  “Look, I’m new in town, I just thought it would be nice to get to know someone. You know, other than Joe. And a bunch of kids. Maybe Friday?”

  The cook’s bell dings from the kitchen, saving her. “Hold that thought. I’ve got to get that.” She rushes off, leaving him hanging. It’s unfair. Awkward. But she panicked. Amber grabs the order from the kitchen window as she floods with a variety of mixed feelings. Discomfort. Insecurity. Excitement. She puts Cody’s order in, drops off a few menus to the newcomers, and forces herself to return to Cody’s spot with more coffee.

  “Cody. I’m flattered by the ask. I really am. And I wish I could say yes. But it’s just not a great time for me.” She blurts it out and sees Cody struggling with the disappointment. “I hope you can understand.”

  “Of course. Yeah. Just thought I’d ask.” She can’t help notice the way his brown eyes turn down at the corners. No hiding his disappointment.

  “Thanks. Pancakes’ll be right up.” Amber leaves Cody adrift in her wake.

  Entering the kitchen and out of his view, Amber takes a deep breath. So this is the next step. Of course it is. Did she expect to remain single forever? It’s natural to move on. And oh, those beautiful brown eyes. And he’s so kind. But . . . but she is so unprepared. So very, very unprepared. And if he’s working with Joe, that means he’s a project. One she probably couldn’t—or shouldn’t—take on right now.

  “Your cakes are up!” the cook shouts.

  Amber swipes the hot plate from the heating rack in the order window. She can’t seem to keep those flutters down.

  chapter twenty-one

  Where’s the Leather Couch?

  IT’S THE LITTLE things Patti notices first. The corner where Amber used to house her four-hundred-dollar KitchenAid mixer is bare. A collective bridal shower gift from the ladies at church. Opening the cupboards, she finds that mismatched thrift-store CorningWare dishes now replace the gorgeous Kate Spade service for eight that Amber and Darren had received piece by piece from their wedding registry. She searches further. What else is missing?

  The wine goblets are gone. The three-hundred-dollar food processor. Amber’s professional knife set. Gone.

  Patti wanders through the kitchen to the laundry room. Darren had purchased a brand-new stackable washer and dryer for their second anniversary. Both gone. A rusty goldenrod washer now stands next to an off-white dryer with a dent in the door. Secondhand replacements. This is oddly disturbing.

  She continues her tour through the house. In every room the furniture and décor has been replaced or pared down. Amber, who has always had good taste and a crafty style, has done a great job of making the place feel homey, but it’s clearly a secondhand home. And there’s only one reason Patti can think why. Amber’s broke. And bartering.

  Patti stops in the living room to marvel at the thick, dark-stained wood trim, the tall-paned windows, and the stone fireplace. She loves this room. She was so satisfied with Amber when Amber picked this home, a Victorian with craftsman styling, very much like Patti’s own four-story, five-bedroom Victorian. She has spent every Christmas Eve with them around this fireplace since they were married. Excepting the last two years, of course.

  When Darren and Amber bought this house, an idea had sprung into Patti’s mind to send them a generous housewarming gift. She had just earned a bonus from MyWay and wanted to spoil her only children. Putting aside her worry that Amber would think her mother-in-law was stepping on toes by picking out furniture, Patti ordered them the gorgeous chocolate-brown leather couch and matching armchairs she had seen at Crate and Barrel. A perfect blend of Darren’s masculine taste and Amber’s preference for streamlined classics.

  When she went over to see it for the first time, she found Amber sunk into the rich, soft cushions with Bree cuddled up asleep in her arms. Any residual trepidation about stepping on toes was quickly put to rest as Amber declared, “I love it! Bree falls right to sleep as soon as we sit down.”

  Patti now glances around the room, her eyes searching. Where’s the leather couch? All three pieces are completely missing from the living room. In their place are a rust-colored woven wool couch and two mismatched chairs with stains on the seat cushions. Patti yanks a throw blanket from the couch to find it’s covering a six-inch tear along the back. That was a five-thousand-dollar furniture set. What happened to it?

  Shock and despair sink into Patti’s gut. Just how bad are Amber’s bills? And just how little is she earning at Rosie’s?

  “Grandma? Are you coming up?” Bree’s voice calls to her from the top of the stairs.

  * * *

  PATTI FINDS BREE leaning over her desk poking her finger into the soil of her mustard-seed pot.

  “Does it need some water, peanut?”

  “No. But he feels cold.”

  “Oh. He?” Patti enters and sits on the edge of Bree’s bed.

  “His name’s Matt.” Bree goes to her dresser and pulls out a cable-knit gray sweater. She brings it to the desk and tucks the pot inside the sweater, wrapping the sleeves together to form a little cocoon.

  “There you go. That’ll warm you up.” She then adjusts her lamp over the pot. “That should help, too.”

  “You plan to leave that light on all night?” Patti is tickled by Bree’s little routine.

  “Can I? Teacher says plants need light and heat to sprout.”

  “I don’t see the harm.” Unless it raises Amber’s electric bill.

  Bree wanders to the side of her bed and kneels to pray.

  “Hi, God. Please say hi to my dad, up in heaven, and help my mom feel better. I really miss hearing her sing. And please make Matt grow. Amen.”

  Patti unfolds her hands and smiles at Bree. “That was a lovely prayer.”

  “Do you pray, Grandma?”

 
; The question startles Patti. Prayer, in her opinion, is unhelpful, unnecessary, and a waste of time. “I believe in friends, family, a positive attitude, and good old-fashioned elbow grease.”

  “What’s elbow grease?”

  “Hard work,” says Patti. “Nothing is impossible with a good dose of hard work.”

  “Jesus says nothing is impossible with faith the size of a mustard seed.”

  “I see.” Patti isn’t sure where to go with that. She believes in being a good person, but she never had much space or tolerance in her life for religion. It boxes a person in. Too many rules to follow. And too many hypocrites following them.

  “How come I never see you at church, Grandma?”

  “I go to brunch on Sundays with my girlfriends.”

  Bree gives her a look that lets Patti know that not an acceptable answer.

  “What time is brunch?”

  “Eleven thirty.”

  “Church is over by eleven. You could come to church with me first if you want and then go to brunch.”

  “Thank you for the offer. I’ll think about it.” Bree has it all figured out, doesn’t she? Hard to resist such an earnest offer. Hate to have to disappoint her.

  It’s not the first time Patti has been asked this question. There was one other time in her life. When Darren was in high school. He was a sophomore and dating a girl who invited him to an after-school Bible study organized by the young-adults ministry of Clarksville Community Church. He started going to impress the girl, but after a while a friendship ensued with the youth pastor. Within no time, that pastor had sunk his hooks deep into Darren and convinced him that he was full of sin and unworthy of doing anything good without God. Patti had called it propaganda. Darren was a good son with a good heart. Darren disagreed and said that everyone is born into sin and needs reconciliation with God through Jesus Christ. He wanted to become a Christian.

  Patti was no atheist. She believed in some higher being. A God, perhaps. Jesus—well, he seemed more mythical. She was quite sure she didn’t have need for either on a day-to-day basis. As evidenced by her bank account, she was doing pretty well on her own.

  After a few months, Darren and the girl broke up. Patti was somewhat relieved and felt assured that Darren would stop going to church. However, within a couple weeks, Darren announced he was going to be baptized and live his life for God. He had said things to her like: “Finding my purpose in serving my Savior.” “Letting Jesus take over my heart.” “Choosing the path of righteousness.”

  Darren’s Godspeak sounded cultish, but as they talked more, Patti saw that perhaps being a Christian wasn’t so awful. It meant that Darren promised he wasn’t going to drink alcohol, do drugs, or fool around sexually. Patti was definitely on board with all of that, and she gave her consent.

  Darren invited her to come to church and be a part of his baptism ceremony. Patti agreed to attend. The people seemed nice enough. But the ceremony was odd and creepy. All this talk about being born again. It was kind of gross. And exactly how is being reborn physically possible? The pastor’s message was about getting rid of old wineskins and replacing them with new ones. None of it made sense. She felt uncomfortable the entire service as she lingered in the background. After the three-hour service, Darren celebrated with his new “Christian brothers and sisters.”

  That’s when it clicked. Darren had always wanted siblings. She rationalized that somehow this God club satiated that longing. And truthfully, they seemed to be good influences. Darren could definitely do worse. So much worse. The Christian cult seemed like a good compromise. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about getting those 2:00 a.m. police calls like her friend Bethany. The things those kids put her through.

  No. Patti didn’t go back to church after that. And she sure wouldn’t be starting now. Even at the bequest of her beloved granddaughter.

  “Did you brush your teeth?” Patti asks Bree. Bree smiles exaggeratedly at her, bearing all her teeth. “They look clean to me.”

  Patti gets up from her seat on the corner of the bed. She pats it. Bree’s signal to jump in.

  Patti swoops in for a kiss. “Good night, peanut. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” And with that, Bree slides under the covers. Patti tucks her in with another hug and turns off the light.

  “No, no, wait. Keep it on.”

  “Sorry. I forgot.” Patti turns the light back on. She looks down at the fallow pot swaddled expectantly in the sweater. “Sweet dreams, honey.”

  Patti hopes they will be about her father.

  She heads down the wooden staircase to the living room to wait for Amber on the musty, scratchy, threadbare couch. As Amber rids her life of so many familiar things, Patti wonders if Bree will start to forget details about her dad. That, coupled with the fact that Amber won’t even take Bree to her daddy’s gravesite . . .

  Amber may be too stubborn to accept help from Patti, but she’s not going to let the memory of Darren slip away from Bree.

  chapter twenty-two

  My Daughter’s Future

  AMBER DRAGS HERSELF to the parking lot shortly after eleven thirty and gets into her minivan. It takes a few turns of the ignition before the engine revs up and she can put it into gear. It’s bad. It’s been bad. For months. But she keeps nursing it along as the repair slides lower and lower on her list of financial priorities.

  Amber drives home with the windows down and the radio cranked so she can stay awake. She flips through the channels, landing on an obnoxious voice barking out a commercial.

  “Apply now! Get paid now! Bad Credit? No Credit? Come on down to Perfect Payday. At Perfect Payday, we don’t care about your credit score. Get a cash advance today!” The voice grates on her, and she’s about to change the channel. But then something causes her to pause. “We’re open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. On the corner of Maple and Fifth. No application required. No waiting period. Walk out with cash in hand!”

  She takes in the information. Considering. Is it really that easy? What’s the catch? And just how much could she borrow?

  “Hurry down to Perfect Payday! Cashiers are waiting for you now!”

  Amber quickly changes the dial to a country station. “Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts is playing, and it brings a small, tired smile to her lips.

  Her fingertips tap to the beat on the steering wheel. The song seems to offer her a moment of relief. After a few measures, she finds herself mouthing the words. Little notes escape from her lips. Deep inside her, the music finds a pulse . . . and a very tiny piece of her heart stitches itself back together.

  * * *

  AMBER MANAGES TO stay awake for the twenty-five-minute drive home. She pulls the minivan through the dimly lit alley in back of her house and crawls her vehicle into the attached garage at the rear. She trudges through the back door leading into the kitchen and tosses her purse on the counter. She sees Patti’s purse lying on the table. For a brief second she forgets that Bree has been with Patti all night.

  As if on cue, Patti enters the kitchen, looking put together and fresh, even at midnight. How does she do it? MyWay beauty products, no doubt she’d say.

  “Hi, Amber.”

  “Patti. So sorry I’m late. Cleanup took forever. And then I stayed to prep for the a.m. shift.”

  “I remember those days. Done at midnight. Back at seven.”

  Sarcasm? I’m in no mood.

  “Was Bree good for you?”

  “A perfect angel.”

  “Thank you for coming over.”

  To Amber’s relief, Patti gathers her purse.

  “I’m happy to. I’ll plan to pick her up again on Thursday.”

  “Yeah. Great. Bree will love that.”

  Patti starts for the back door, then pauses. Amber can feel Patti’s mind working something up.

  “Where’s your leather furniture set?”

  Amber braces herself. Now? We’re going to do this at midnight in my kitchen? “It’s gone.�
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  “I can see that. Why?”

  “It just felt like too much for us.”

  “Bree loved that couch.”

  “We don’t need such large pieces of furniture now that it’s only the two of us.”

  Amber stands her ground, but she can see Patti isn’t through.

  “And where’s your formal dining room set?”

  “Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “It was a good, solid piece.”

  “For what? We’re not exactly hosting dinner parties over here.”

  “You might in the future.”

  “The future’s so far off.”

  “How are you going to pull yourself together?”

  “Patti, you know what? I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

  “When will you give some thought to your and your daughter’s future? I’m just wondering what your plan is.”

  “Please, Patti. Not now.”

  “Your daughter needs more food in this house.”

  With that, Patti shows herself out.

  Why is this all happening? Why is God punishing me over and over and over? Can’t I just get a break? And why does Patti have this knack for always catching me at my lowest? Darren would be appalled at the condition of her life.

  Her stomach growls. In her efforts to show Rosie what a hard worker she is, she forgot to take a dinner break. A hunger pain sends her to the pantry. She unscrews the lid of an empty peanut butter jar. The cracker box contains a single stale cracker. A can of kidney beans. A package of noodles. Oh, wow. Patti’s not kidding. Amber tries to remember the last time she went grocery shopping for more than bread, milk, and eggs. When was the last time they sat down together for a meal that she made in this kitchen with ingredients that didn’t come out of a can, jar, or box?

  Amber collapses at the kitchen table. Her gaze lands on the MyWay bag she stuffed into a corner under the kitchen cabinet. She’s convinced it’s taunting her. She pictures herself, plain-faced Amber Hill, peddling powders and perfumes. Hosting makeup parties for wrinkly old ladies. Strutting around town in heels. For a second she sees it the way Darren would, and it makes her giggle. Darren would be ROFL to find Amber wearing a MyWay badge and dutifully acting as heir to Patti’s beauty empire. He admired his mother to the moon and back, but never missed an opportunity to razz her about being the town beauty queen. She could sell her wares to a fan at one of Darren’s football games or a cashier at a McDonald’s drive-through. And she had. The woman had the grace, finesse, and the persuasion of a diplomat. Her gumption was so annoying.