“Is he coming to the Kennedy Center tonight?” Paula asked as she plopped onto the bed with an exhausted grunt.
“I hope so.” I got up and started brushing my hair. “So . . . what do you think of him?” I asked rather sheepishly.
Andie jumped right on it. “Aha! She’s a goner—I knew it. We should’ve brought that no-dating, just-waiting book along with us on this trip.”
I studied my friends carefully. “It’s okay, I can take a joke.” But I wasn’t going to share the intimate thoughts going through my mind. Not now. I had some tall praying to do before I told anyone what I was thinking about Sean Hamilton.
After supper at a Chinese restaurant, we took the Metrorail once again—for the last time this trip—to the Kennedy Center.
Sean showed up in time to sit with us. All of us wore our patriotic competition outfits—navy blue pants or skirts with white Oxford shirts, and the guys wore red dress ties—in case we were winners.
“You look great,” he whispered.
“Thanks, so do you.” And I meant it. Sean was a fabulous dresser, wearing khaki-colored trousers and a light blue shirt. I was proud to be seen with him. And Mrs. Duncan obviously approved, too, because when I caught her eye, she winked at us.
The announcer started the evening by thanking the many choral groups from around the country. I glanced at Andie and saw that she had her fingers crossed. I hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed if we didn’t make it. Andie would be talking of nothing else back home, probably for the rest of the school year. On the other hand, if we did win, she’d be packing and planning for all of us between now and June something.
The man in the black tuxedo stood before the microphone, waiting for the echo from the trumpet fanfare to fade completely. “I would like to begin by announcing the second runners-up.”
In other words, third place, I thought.
Ceremoniously, he pulled an envelope out of his coat. We waited as he glanced at the card inside. “Second runners-up, all the way from Oregon—the Portland High School Choralaires!’
Everyone applauded, and I felt myself getting tense. Did we have a chance?
The group from Oregon headed for the stage. They were happy, from the smiles on their faces. They’d get to go to Austria this summer only if the first-place winners and the first runners-up couldn’t make it. Phooey. I wouldn’t have been smiling!
The emcee continued with his dramatic charade. I’d turned to look at Andie and the Miller twins, and the guy started saying something about the choir from Colorado. I’d almost missed it because of my daydreaming!
I was paying attention now. All ears.
“From the majestic Colorado Rockies—the Dressel Hills Show Choir—our first runners-up!”
Mrs. Duncan motioned for us to stand. Sean was beaming, and I heard him say, “Cool!”
I followed the rest of my friends as we headed down the long, carpeted aisle to stand onstage.
Hard as I tried, it was impossible to see Sean’s smiling face in the audience as I stood there on the wide, expansive stage. The spotlights were so powerful and the place so charged with excitement, I started to hold my breath again.
“Breathe,” Andie said to me over the applause.
And I did. Still, I could hardly believe we were up here. I mean, this was really big-time stuff!
None of us were too surprised when the all-girl choir from New York City took first place. They deserved the highest honors.
Later, at a glitzy ice-cream parlor, Mrs. Duncan congratulated us. “Most likely we won’t be going to Vienna in two months, but we’ve certainly accomplished a worthy goal. I know—and I speak for the principal and all the teachers at Dressel Hills High—you students are absolutely tops. And I’m so very honored to be your director.”
Now it was our turn to cheer her. And we did, complete with whistles from some of the guys.
Sean grinned, apparently thrilled to be in the middle of this celebratory commotion. Later, when things died down a bit and we could actually hear each other without shouting, he told me why he’d asked about Austria earlier. “Your father has some business there this summer,” he explained. “He wants me to go along.”
“Daddy’s going to Europe?” This was the first I’d heard of it.
“I’m going to assist him, I guess you’d say.” He smiled. “More as a traveling companion, though.”
“So my stepmom doesn’t want to leave Tyler?” He was her young son. “Is that why?”
Sean nodded. “Saundra thinks someone should be with your dad because of his heart problems.”
I sighed. “Well, lucky you.”
He held the door for me as we left the ice-cream place. “Who knows, maybe you’ll get there yet.”
“That would be nothing shy of a miracle—I mean, those New York singers aren’t going to miss out on the international competition. No way!”
“Miracles happen,” he replied. That would have been the last exchange of words between us if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Duncan—fabulous teacher that she was.
Discreetly, she came over and said the rest of the group would head on to the Metro station if Sean didn’t mind escorting me back to the hotel.
“Sure, I’ll be happy to,” he said gallantly.
The choir and sponsors strolled down the street, and when they were out of sight, Sean and I began walking slowly back to my hotel.
“Thanks for sharing the evening with me,” I began. “It was really special.” I almost said, “because of you,” but didn’t. I had a feeling he already knew.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything, Holly.” We looked out over the beautiful Potomac River in the distance. The sky still had a touch of color and light in it. “I wouldn’t have missed you.”
His words touched my heart. They were trustworthy and good. Just the way he was.
I was almost afraid to look up at him, worried that he might see in my eyes the things I felt.
“Do you mind if I call you occasionally?” he asked. “Is it okay with your family?”
I nodded. “It’s fine. I’d like that.”
“And we’ll keep writing, both regular letters and email.”
“Yes,” I whispered, scarcely finding my voice.
We were silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of dusk. Then he said, “Your director is really terrific, you know. Please tell her thanks for me.”
I glanced up at him, grinning.
He added, “Some teachers might’ve had a problem with our getting lost today.”
“I know what you mean. But Mrs. Duncan’s the best.”
He reached for my hand unexpectedly. “She’s actually quite terrific, but she’s not the best.”
I was looking into his face now, no longer bashful. But I was determined not to get emotional. Shoot, I wanted to be able to see this wonderful friend of mine clearly. Besides, tears on a night like this were way overrated.
“Well, I guess this is good-bye,” I offered. “Have a good flight home.”
“Thanks.” He turned to face the river then, our shoulders touching as we looked out toward the sunset. “More sightseeing tomorrow?”
“We’re scheduled to see the White House and the Capitol with our state senator.”
He teased, “Watch your camera!”
“Don’t worry.” We walked on slowly now. “I honestly thought you were going to be hauled off to jail today,” I said.
He chuckled. “We made some interesting memories together, didn’t we?”
“No kidding.”
“And,” he said softly, “hopefully they won’t be the last.”
I should’ve been prepared for what came next. He looked at me and said, “You’ll be in my prayers, Holly-Heart. I want God’s will for both of us, individually and otherwise.”
It was sweet. A direct result of the conversation we’d had earlier.
“I’ll be praying for you, too.” It was a promise I would keep.
IT’S A GIRL TH
ING
Chapter 17
We, the fabulous first runners-up from Colorado, toured the Red, Blue, and Green rooms of the White House the next morning. Then came the East Room, where the president held press conferences, followed by the State Dining Room. We received special treatment from our state senator because of our newly acquired status. Hotshot show choir members we were!
Somehow, he arranged for us to meet the Secretary of State, and later we “accidentally” ran into the First Dog, who seemed rather pleased about being made over by so many doting teenagers. I almost took a picture of the perfectly groomed pet to show to my ordinary fluff-ball kitty back home, but I remembered Sean’s advice about flash photography and refrained.
Overhead were enormous, crystal-laden chandeliers—one of the things that really grabbed me about this place. And the wide, wood molding around the fireplaces, doors, and windows. Maybe I was beginning to change my taste—old, historic things really were cool.
The Oval Office—the president’s workplace in the west wing—was off limits to the tour, of course, as were the First Family’s private quarters upstairs. I was curious what those rooms looked like, but having seen as much as I had here on the tour, my imagination took over. I decided the very next time anyone ran a special on the White House, I would tune in.
Overall, my assessment of the magnificent mansion was that it was old. Very old. Two hundred years old, to be exact.
“So, what did you think?” I asked Andie as we made our way outside afterward.
“Too stuffy. A house ought to be a place to relax.”
I smiled at her reaction. “Where you can put your feet up and not worry about it, right?” I thought of my dad’s elegant beach house in Southern California. Now, there was a study in serious interior design. But that was Daddy’s—and Saundra’s—style.
“Do you miss Sean?” she asked later, as we headed for Capitol Hill.
“He just left, for pete’s sake.” I purposely evaded the question. “Well, I have a feeling you’ll be seeing him again.” She tilted her curly head.
“He’s really very special.”
“I can see that,” Paula piped up.
“Hey, whoa—don’t forget about that dating book,” Kayla urged.
I grinned. “Get this. Sean’s planning to read it.”
Andie clutched her throat. “Oh no, it is serious.”
We joked about it, but underlying all of our talk was a sense of doing what was right. We were growing up, trying on new ideas—eager to follow what the Bible said. Yep, we were nearing the end of our freshman year, all right, more mature than ever. But we were far from the end of our coming-of-age.
Next year, and the next, we would attempt to keep our eyes on Jesus, the ultimate grown-up and best example. And, in years to come, we might tell our own children about how we’d tripped and fallen but gotten back up and plugged ahead.
Late Wednesday afternoon we arrived in Dressel Hills, tired but perfectly elated about the outcome of our trip. Mrs. Duncan couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful we were—musically and otherwise.
“I think she’s secretly hoping for a chance at Vienna,” Andie said as we waited in the baggage claim area.
Jared had overheard. “How could that ever happen?”
“Let her dream,” I answered. “She deserves it.”
“Yeah. Some people deserve it more than others.” And he was off to grab his bags, leaving us girls to wonder what he meant.
“That Jared,” Andie said as we pulled each other’s luggage off the conveyor, “does he ever say what he means?”
“He used to,” I chimed in. “Personally, I’m glad those days are over!”
Andie caught my eye. “You and me both.”
It wasn’t long before Uncle Jack, Carrie, and Stephie showed up. The girls squeezed in hard against me as my stepdad gave me a hug.
“We missed you, Holly,” Carrie said.
“We sure did!” Stephie remarked. “Mrs. Hibbard was—”
She stopped when her dad shook his head. “Our neighbor did her best” was all he said.
Carrie scrunched up her nose, and I figured there’d been some conflicts. Maybe with Stan. But I was smart enough not to go there.
We headed for the automatic doors and to the parking lot.
“Someone’s at home, waiting to see you,” Uncle Jack said as he loaded my suitcases into the back of the van.
“I can’t wait.”
Stephie grabbed my hand. “Oh, Holly, our baby’s so-o pretty!”
“Does she look like you?” I asked.
“Almost exactly,” Carrie said. “And Stephie doesn’t mind not being the baby of the family anymore.”
“I never said that,” wailed Stephie.
I winked at her, letting her push in beside me on the van’s second seat. “These things take time,” I whispered in her ear, and she leaned her head against my arm.
Carrie crawled up front, riding shotgun with Uncle Jack. “You just wait till you hold April,” she said, smiling back at me.
“She’s all cuddly and sweet,” my stepdad said. “But then, so were all of you at that age.”
“And we’re not now?” Carrie demanded.
He reached over and swished her long ponytail. “Now you’re cuddly and . . . and . . . sometimes a little bit sour.” It was just a joke, and Carrie loved it. We all did. Uncle Jack was so cool.
The biggest surprise came when I walked into the house. There, in the Boston rocker, sat Stan—holding April.
I couldn’t help it. I stared. Probably longer than I should’ve. “Wow, this is going to take some getting used to.”
“So get over it,” he muttered back at me.
“Hey, I think I must’ve missed something.” I knelt down beside Stan and touched the tiny hand sticking out of the blanketed bundle.
“You missed everything,” Stan said quietly. “But it made all the difference.”
The guys in my life—when would they ever start saying what they meant?
“Are you telling me you’re glad I went to Washington? That you wouldn’t have fallen in love with your baby sister if I hadn’t?”
He tried to conceal the smile. “Don’t be smug,” he said. “Wanna hold her?”
“What do you think?”
He stood up and let me sit in Mom’s rocker, then placed my sister gently in my arms. “Oh, April,” I cooed down into the precious, tiny face. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
“We changed her name,” Stan said flatly.
“How come?” I asked, shocked.
“She didn’t exactly look like an April,” he said.
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “Well, she does to me,” I replied.
Carrie was giggling now. “Our baby has a nickname,” she chanted. “Can you believe it?”
That figured. Uncle Jack was the master giver of weird and wacky names.
“I almost hate to ask,” I said.
Mom came slowly downstairs just then, looking tired but radiant in her prettiest bathrobe. “Welcome home, honey.”
“Did you honestly change April’s name?” I asked as she kissed the top of my head.
She headed for the couch and Uncle Jack. “Modified it, I guess you’d say.”
“To what?”
“April-Love,” Stan said at last. “Because she reminds Mom of you.”
“Oh, really?” I studied the rosebud face. “Maybe it’s the shape of her chin.”
“I thought you said she looked like me!” Stephie insisted.
Uncle Jack put his arm around Mom and they snuggled, admiring their first child together—now asleep in my arms. “April is a combination of all of us.” And my stepdad went right down the line. “She has her mother’s eyes . . . and my good nature.”
We laughed, then settled down for the rest of his comments.
“She has Stan’s determination, Phil’s smarts, and Mark’s appetite.”
“Poor kid,” whispered Carrie.
“Now, hold on a minute,” Uncle Jack said. He looked at Mom and gave her a peck on the end of her nose. “The baby has Stephie’s dimples, Carrie’s little nose, and Holly’s . . .” He stopped, adding to the suspense. “She has Holly’s good heart— and that’s all there is to it.”
I made the chair rock gently and felt the first, sweet stirrings of tiny April. Here we all were together. The people who mattered most in my life . . . and this new little one.
“By the way, Stan,” I said, looking up, “thanks for what you did . . . helping me be able to go to Washington.”
“It was nothing” came the reply.
“Well, thanks anyway,” I repeated.
“Hey . . . whatever.” Stan was much too cool to show his true feelings, this brousin of mine. But maybe, just maybe, April-Love would help him with that macho stuff. From what I’d seen, she was already beginning to soften him up.
“Congratulations,” Mom said about show choir. “Wish we could’ve heard you sing.”
“Oh, you will,” I told her. “Mrs. Duncan has some big plans for us . . . media coverage, the works. Dressel Hills hasn’t heard the end of us yet.”
We sat there, taking turns talking. Later, Uncle Jack decided to have a short devotional. While he read from the Bible, I watched April’s wee face, noting the family marks. The set and color of Mom’s eyes, Carrie’s nose, and Stephie’s demure dimples . . . but most of all, the blessing of God.
Someday, I decided, if it was God’s will, I would have a husband and a family. Maybe it was a girl thing to be thinking like this. Or simply a direct result of having had a fabulous weekend with Sean. Whatever, it was a good thing. And so very right.
That night a big, white moon shone brightly through my window as I looked out over the mountains of the continental divide. I remembered watching for Santa’s elves to tiptoe over those mountains when I was a little girl. Of course, I was way beyond that now—too grown-up to believe in such childish things. I had better things to believe in. Someone to believe in. A Savior and friend—Jesus Christ.
When I slept in my own soft, four-poster bed, I dreamed I could hear the angels whispering “Holly-Heart” to me outside my window. And in their heavenly voices I heard the excitement of tomorrow—my future. The future that my all-wise heavenly Father lovingly held in His hands.
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