Cute? Ugh. Cute is so girlish. Is that how he sees me? She steps toward the mantel with a confident stride. “Are you ready to go?”
Cody glances back at the medals. “He must have been an amazing man.”
Amber sees the respect in Cody’s eyes. “He was.”
“Joe told me he died on patrol.”
“That’s right” is all Amber can muster. He better leave it at that.
“These medals have me pretty curious. Do you know what happened?”
Conflicting emotions shoot through her. “He died on patrol with his team. I’ve never really asked beyond that.”
“I can only imagine.” He lets a silent moment go by as they both stare at the medals, lost in thought. “I have the utmost respect for our military men and war heroes.”
“Thank you.” This is not how she imagined this date starting, Cody frozen in front of the mantel. “Well, shall we go?”
“Oh yeah. Of course.”
She leads him to the front door, and at the last second he jogs a step ahead of her to open it. A good sign, she thinks. Darren would approve.
chapter thirty-two
A Burglar Who Knocks
PATTI GOES STRAIGHT from the grocery story to Amber’s house. She knocks once. Twice. Then a third time. She can see lights on and two shadows moving around inside. Why on earth are they not answering the door? The groceries are getting heavy in her arms. She knocks again. Louder. More forceful.
“Amber? It’s Patti! Are you there?”
The door opens a crack. Bree’s eyes peer around the corner.
“Grandma!” The door swings wide to reveal Bree and Hannah on the other side, wielding a rolling pin and a meat tenderizer.
“What are you doing with those?” Patti asks as she steps through the door, both arms cradling brown paper grocery bags.
“We thought you were a burglar.” Bree giggles.
“A burglar who politely knocks three times?” teases Patti.
“We were watching a scary movie, and I guess our imaginations ran away with us,” Hannah explains innocently, closing the door behind Patti.
“And I’m guessing you’re here to babysit, Hannah?”
“Yes, ma’am. Amber went to Harry’s Coffee. She should be back in a couple of hours,” says Hannah, dropping the meat mallet to her side.
“Oh, did she meet Bridgette there?”
“Cody picked her up,” says Bree with a broad smile.
This information does not sit well with Patti, but she puts on a party face. No matter. She still gets to spend time with her granddaughter.
“I see. Well, I brought you a treat. Who wants an ice cream sundae?”
“Meeeeee!” Bree jumps up and down, circling her grandma in a wild frenzy. Hannah grabs one of the grocery bags and heads to the kitchen with Patti. Bree scurries in ahead of them.
As Patti unpacks the bags, Bree’s eyes go wide. There are several gallons of different kinds of ice cream, chocolate and caramel sauce, maraschino cherries, whipped cream, M&M’s, mini chocolate chips, and colored sprinkles.
“Grab the biggest bowls you can find.”
“This is awesome!” says Bree, gloating over the pile of ingredients.
“One big, fat, sugar feast,” Hannah says, scurrying to the cupboards for bowls. “Bree’s never going to sleep now.” Hannah passes a canny look to Patti, and they grin knowingly.
After carefully building their ice cream creations, Patti and the girls all squirm back in their seats on the sofa. Hannah unpauses the movie, and scary music fills the room. The tension on the screen and in the room grows. Patti cocks her head at the TV. It’s an old black-and-white Alfred Hitchcock thriller. Is this what kids are into these days? And does Amber know Bree is watching this stuff? Patti wonders if she should put the kibosh on the program. But there’s no profanity or sex or gratuitous violence—just suspense. A lot of it. She glances at Bree, who doesn’t seem fazed. But will this give her nightmares?
From the screen, squeaky violin music intensifies.
Hannah squints one eye, afraid of what might happen next on-screen. “She shouldn’t go down there!”
Bree slaps both hands over her eyes. “Why is she going down there?”
“She should not go down there.” Patti is fixed on the screen.
“We shouldn’t be watching this,” says Bree, removing a hand from one eye so she can shove a hug spoonful of ice cream into her gaping mouth.
“How can you ladies stand the suspense?”
“It’s like a jack-in-the-box. You don’t know when the pop! is coming, but you keep cranking the handle,” says Hannah.
“I hate those things,” says Patti.
They watch the movie to its end. As the credits roll, Hannah texts her mom to pick her up. Patti notices Bree’s eyelids drooping sleepily as she struggles to stay awake.
“Bedtime, peanut. Head on up and get your jammies on while I see Hannah out. I’ll be right up,” says Patti, shooing Bree off the couch. Bree waddles to the stairs.
Hannah gets her things as Patti reaches into her purse and hands her a healthy sum.
“Oh, Mrs. Hill, you don’t have to pay me. I’m doing this as a favor to help out Amber.”
“That’s very kind. But I insist. Put it away in your college fund. Education’s not cheap these days.”
“Thank you. I’ll use it to buy Sunday school supplies. And thanks for the ice cream.” Hannah heads out the door to her mother’s waiting vehicle.
Patti climbs the stairs to Bree’s room and finds her in her pjs at the windowsill, fiddling over Matt with a pair of earbuds.
“What are you doing, sweetie?” Patti comes up next to her and sees that Bree has the earbuds sunk into the soil next to a tiny green hump of a stem pushing its way through the topsoil.
“Matt loves music,” she says.
“Oh, he does, huh? What kind?”
“Country, mostly. Rascal Flatts is his favorite.”
“I see.” Patti grins at her granddaughter. “He’s got good taste, then. Looks like he’s going to be a healthy little sprout.”
“I told her Matt would grow. She didn’t believe me.”
“Who didn’t?”
“Mom.” Bree rearranges the gray sweater around the base of the pot. “But I have faith.”
“Okay, kiddo. Bed.”
“Good night, Matt. See you in the morning.”
Patti pulls back the covers, expecting Bree to hop in. Instead, Bree pauses to kneel at the side of her bed, folds her hands, and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. “Hi, God. Thanks for Grandma and ice cream and Hannah and scary movies. Please say hi to Daddy. Make Mom feel better. And help Matt to grow big and strong. Amen.” Bree hops into bed, pulling the covers tight up to her neck.
Simple prayer. Simple faith. If that’s what helps Bree get through this time in her life, then so be it. That, and scary movies. Patti tucks Bree in quietly, not wanting to disrupt the mood. “Good night, peanut. Love you,” she whispers.
“Good night. It’s fun having you here.”
“It’s fun being here. See you later.” Patti kisses her on the cheek as Bree’s weary eyes fall closed. She’s asleep before Patti can turn off the light.
Patti pads downstairs, checking the time. It’s almost ten. She expected Amber to be home by now. She cleans up the kitchen and washes the dishes. Ten fifteen. Patti goes through the house to turn off the extra lights and settles into one corner of the sofa with an afghan. She searches for a magazine to read and spies several in a basket on the end table. Extending her arm over the side of the couch, she reaches for one, inadvertently jostling the basket off the edge of the table. It topples over, the contents spilling across the floor. A small pile of mail slides out from in between the magazines. Patti scoops up the paperwork, noticing the envelopes are marked with overdue notices. Electric. Gas. Water and sewer. Credit card companies. She sifts through them, prying into the contents.
Suddenly, she spies a piece of mail that h
as fallen underneath the couch. As she picks it up, the letter slips from the envelope. Reading the first few sentences, Patti is flooded with disappointment and disbelief. What is going to happen to this little family?
chapter thirty-three
Scrabble
CODY’S FIREBIRD ROARS to a stop across the street from Harry’s Coffee Shop, a Scrabble-themed coffeehouse that is a welcome addition to Clarksville’s struggling downtown district, and the only place one can go for a coffee after the sidewalks roll up at 6:00 p.m.
“Sit tight,” Cody tells Amber as he throws the muscle car into park.
Cody exits his car. Amber draws in a couple of deep breaths as he sails around to the other side to open her door. Amber steps out and faces the coffee shop full of people. Instant panic hits her. It hasn’t crossed her mind that she would be seen in public with Cody. Not that it matters. She isn’t doing anything wrong. But people talk. And they will surely start the gossip train about seeing widow Amber Hill on a date with Joe’s prodigy project, Cody Jackson. It just adds another facet to this new life that she needs to adjust to.
Cody leads her across the street toward the front door. It’s a cool but calm spring night, and Amber marvels at the beautiful glow of the soft lights on Harry’s sign hanging above the storefront. It’s like they’re inviting her into some secret, new world that she has long been outside of.
She steps in. The earthy smell of coffee envelops her, and the solo guitar sounds lap over her in soothing waves, setting her senses at ease. Cody spots a table near the front with a Scrabble board. She finds nothing but friendly glances as they wind their way through the café.
Cody makes sure Amber is settled before he pulls his stool up to the table across from her.
“How good are you at Scrabble?” He grins, shuffling the leftover pieces from the previous café player around on the table to mix them up.
“I know some pretty big words,” she teases. Cody sweeps the pieces off the board.
“But first . . . what can I get you to drink?”
“Just coffee.” Bridgette’s words flow out, reminding her to have fun.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black.”
“Hard-core. Like it. Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Amber nods and turns her gaze to the stage. She finds herself tuned in to the singer’s clear, evocative voice. The musician, Micah Tyler, sure knows his way around a guitar. Listening to him perform gives Amber a sudden urge to pick up her own guitar. The last time she touched hers was just before she received the news. Since then it’s been stashed away. In the corner of her bedroom. Under a layer of dust.
“Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace.”
Amber leans on Micah’s music to pull out of the dour memory of days when she sang and played. Feels like a lifetime ago.
“Sing thy grace . . . sing thy grace . . .”
When was the last time she sang anything but complaints? Hard to find something praiseworthy nowadays. This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice . . . and be glad in it.
Glad for a dead-end job? A bucketful of debt? A boss who won’t give her a promotion? A friend who shuns her? A house she may lose? A meddling mother-in-law?
“Streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.”
Chord after chord blends together. She still doesn’t feel grateful, but she does feel tiny pieces of her heart fuse back together with the balm of Tyler’s voice.
Cody returns with two coffees and a mile-high piece of chocolate cake. “Looked too good to resist,” he says, handing her a fork and setting down the plate between them.
“That is a huge piece of cake!”
“You’re not gonna tell me you’re gluten-free or vegan or allergic to chocolate, are you?”
Amber laughs and dives her fork into the frosting. “Not. At. All.”
They take stabs at the dessert, quickly bringing it to its doom.
So much for just coffee. Amber grins to herself, savoring the rich chocolate ganache center of the cake.
“You have a little chocolate right there above your lip,” Cody tells her. Amber quickly licks it off. “You got it.”
She takes it as a good sign that Cody is the kind of guy who isn’t afraid of pointing out a little mess.
“Enjoying the music?”
“I am. Have you heard this guy play before?”
“Never. Joe told me he was coming through on a coffeehouse tour. I thought he’d be worth checking out. Nothing else to do around here.”
“Good point. He’s good. I like him.” Amber sips her coffee. The song ends, and the café erupts in applause. Micah excuses himself offstage for a quick break. Piped-in background music falls over the room, mixed in with soft chatter from the other patrons. They sip their coffee for a while, alternating between silence and small talk. After a coffee refill and another set from Micah, Cody asks her, “Wanna play a game of Scrabble?”
“I sure do.” Amber stacks her tiles in neat rows below the board. “Prepare to go up in flames!”
Cody winces.
“Oh, sorry. Bad choice of words.”
“No, it’s kinda funny, actually.”
Amber places two tiles down on the board: L and S.
“So, what’s your story? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
“I see you’ve been eavesdropping on the gossip at Rosie’s Diner.”
“Not at all. I just know that if you’re working with Joe, it’s not by your choice.”
Cody draws a few Scrabble letters and adds them to his tray.
“The last race I drove, I had a little fender bender. My car caught on fire.”
“Was it your fault?”
“Maybe. But I still managed to finish the race. Even with the front half of the car in flames.”
“Congratulations.”
“Those weren’t exactly the words Gibbs used.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, that was the last race where I actually crossed the finish line.”
“Well, what’s the main problem, then?” Amber’s heard enough of Joe’s racing stories to know that every driver has his Achilles’ heel.
“Turns. I realize how dumb that must sound.”
Amber cocks her head at him. “I don’t follow.”
“Joe says I take them too fast.”
“And what’s he doing to help you?”
“He keeps telling me patience, persistence. So far, I’ve spent more time building go-karts than turning laps.” Amber senses the frustration in his voice.
“When do you think you’ll get back out on the track?”
“My first race is next week.” Cody adds a couple of letters to the board, spelling “CAR.”
“Wow, ‘CAR.’ Five whole points.” She giggles. “Is that all you ever think about?”
“Can’t help it. It’s who I am.”
Amber senses a touch of defensiveness.
“It’s okay. I get it. Darren used to say the same thing about being a Screaming Eagle.” She smiles and lets him know it’s okay. “When you’re passionate about something, it just comes out all over everything in your life.”
“I heard you used to have that kind of passion for music, Ms. Church Choir Director.”
Amber takes her turn at the game and her time formulating a response.
“At one time, church was the center of my life. I used to spend a lot of time there.”
“And now? Why don’t I see you there?”
“Busy. Working.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I don’t know. I guess I filled my time with other things and stopped seeing the point.”
“That’s an honest answer.” Cody lays another tile on the board. “R.”
“Bridgette told me you’re a pretty good singer.”
“Bridgette talks too much,” says Amber, brushing it off. “How about you? I didn’t peg you to be the churchy type.”
&
nbsp; “I wasn’t the churchy type. Till coming here.” Cody chuckles and lays an I up from the R. “But I guess it doesn’t hurt. I drive a tin box around a track at two hundred miles per hour. Guess I could use a little more faith.”
“Fair enough.” Amber raises her coffee cup to her lips as Micah returns to the stage and applause trickles through the café. He strums a few chords to warm up. Amber’s eyes instinctively go to his fingers.
“Some songs just get better with age. Feel free to join me on this one.”
His fingers pluck out the first few bars, and he folds his voice into the lyrics of an old-fashioned hymn, “Blessed Assurance.” Amber immediately recognizes the tune. She looks down at her letters and adds to her Scrabble word. E. S.
Cody watches her form the word “LESS.”
Without knowing it, Amber is mouthing the words to the chorus. “This is my story, this is my song. Praising my Savior all the day long.” The tune flows effortlessly. A piece of her soul awakening. “Praising my Savior all the day long.”
Cody is mesmerized by her as Amber gets lost in the chorus, a soft voice coming from her lips. After a moment, she looks up and realizes he’s staring at her. Her lips purse.
“You should be up there onstage.”
“What? Oh no. Sorry . . . I’m so embarrassed.” She glances down at the Scrabble board. “Hey, it’s your turn.”
Cody takes a piece, examines it, and then places it on the Scrabble board to complete her word—“LESS” to “BLESS.”
“Sometimes less is more.” He looks up at her.
“Clever. Twenty-one points for you.” She scribbles down the score on her napkin.
“Amber, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“This sorrow you’re carrying around. Do you think God meant for you to have that?”
The question rocks her to the core. When she doesn’t answer, Cody scrambles to rephrase.
“I didn’t express that right. I mean, it seems like both of our lives have really gotten thrown off track.”
The pun is not lost on Amber, who unfurls a grin. “Agreed. And . . . what’s your point?”
“Do you believe God is still blessing us despite everything that seems to be going wrong?”
God Bless the Broken Road Page 13