by Tamara Leigh
“So …” A cake-faced Birdie in tow, Bonnie sidles up to me where I lean against a Bradford pear tree that still sports a scattering of brilliant leaves. “… another cousin.”
I’ve been keeping an eye on him too, and so far things appear to be going well—with help from Daisy, who sits between her brother and father at a table on the edge of the gathering. “Antonio,” I say.
“Pretty good-looking if you discount the nose—hawkish, don’t you think?”
“Like Uncle Obe’s.”
“I’m tired.” Birdie reaches to her mother. “Pick me up.”
“Magic word,” I say. Oops. It’s no longer my place.
Birdie sighs. “Please.”
“Why, isn’t that polite.” Raising her eyebrows at me, Bonnie lifts her daughter and kisses her forehead. Once Birdie settles on her shoulder, my sister returns her attention to Uncle Obe. “I’m happy his prayers were answered.”
They certainly were. As were my prayers for their reconciliation. Thank You, Lord.
Bonnie sighs. “His dementia is getting bad, isn’t it?”
“Good days, bad days, though the bad ones are on the rise.”
“Sad. But at least Mama’s lookin’ good.” She points her chin at where our parents lean toward each other over a small table.
“She’s doin’ well with her diet. More, I think, Daddy’s doing well with her.”
“He needed the scare.”
God turning bad into good.
“You look well too, Bridget—better than I’ve seen you in years.”
“Her heart’s not constipated anymore.” Birdie peers at her mother from beneath her lashes. “And I taught her how to say happily … ever … after weal good.”
“Did you?” Bonnie fights a smile. “Hmm.” Her gaze slides to me. “It sounds like you fixed your aunt Bridge right up.”
“She’s gonna miss us.”
My sister looks doubtful, but I nod. “I hope you’ll get out this way more often, Birdie. I’ll be sore lonely without you.”
“I know.” She closes her eyes.
“Speaking of lonely …” Bonnie whispers. “Who’s this J.C. character with whom you were sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g?”
Miles has been talking, but now is not the time to tell the story, though maybe when Bonnie and her family return for Maggie’s wedding at the end of the month. “He’s not here anymore.”
“Okay?”
I shrug. “He might come back, but I don’t know.” My nose tingles. “What I do know is … I’d like him to come back.”
She beams. “Then you really are ready.”
“I’m gettin’ there, and I have you to thank for putting me on the hook when I made Birdie cry.”
She wrinkles her pert nose. “That’s what little sisters are for.”
I open my eyes wide. “Really? And what are big sisters for?”
She pats her daughter’s back. “Being great aunts.”
I hug her over Birdie, and I know everything will work out. One way or another.
He did not do that. Oh yes, he did—flew right past me, though it’s not as if I’m slowpoking it on Pickwick Pike. Doesn’t the fool know how dangerous these curves can be?
I glare at the back of his head, though little is visible beyond the headrest. He—or she, if she likes very short hair—needs a talking-to. And I just might do it, bridesmaid dress and all, if I didn’t have to put the pedal to the metal to overtake him. Even if Ford were up to the task, it isn’t worth the risk to life and limb.
“Go on, then,” I mutter as the car disappears around a curve ahead. “And consider yourself lucky.”
But that’s not the last I see of the car. When I hit the straightaway a minute later, there it is, straddling the two lanes, brake lights lit. What is he doing? Trying to pull what I pulled on that Wesley woman and …
“Jesse.” As I brake twenty feet back from the car, the driver’s door swings open, and a man steps out. I’d know him anywhere, even with the sunglasses he removes as he walks toward me, even without the jangling.
The autumn breeze goes in one window and out the other, freeing more of my hair from the soft upsweep Maggie pinned this morning.
J.C. sets his forearms on the ledge beneath my rolled-down window and looks from my face to the soft green dress. “Reverse déjà vu.” His gaze returns to my face with a smile.
I drop my hands from the big steering wheel. “Why?”
“To ask if you still want to get there with me—where we both need to go.”
I doubt I could ever count the number of hairs that stand up all over my body. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Even though I’m a Pickwick to your Calhoun?”
His face turns serious. “I made it matter, but it doesn’t. What matters is you, Bridget. I want to know you beyond the mess I made of us.” He reaches through and gently tugs at one of many loose hanks of hair.
I moisten my lips. “What about the estate?”
He inclines his head. “Your proposal is good, and we want to go forward with the purchase. But that’s separate from what’s between us.”
My heart has the thuds again. “All right—as long as you don’t turn it into an industrial park.”
“I think you’ll approve.”
When his hand grazes my jaw, I turn my mouth into it and say against his palm, “I’m glad you came, Jesse.”
“I hoped you would be.” He pulls his hand back, and when he opens the door, his gaze goes to my feet. “Barefoot too.”
I wiggle my toes. “Wonderfully so.” Then I slide into his arms, and we kiss right there on Pickwick Pike. And it feels … right.
When J.C. lifts his head, I know my out-of-practice lips will evidence where he’s been. Not that I care. “It wasn’t coincidence that you found me on the pike, was it?”
“No, I stopped by the nursery, and Taggart told me about your cousin’s wedding. I sat in the car for two hours, waiting for your truck to pull out of the estate.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously, I had plenty of time to get creative about how to approach you.”
“Reenactment.”
He grins. “More like redo.”
I laugh. “So how are we goin’ to do this, you living in Atlanta and me here?”
“That’s where Parker comes in. I’m taking time off to get where I need to be, and I thought I’d do it here.”
Where I am. “And when you get where you need to be?”
“If where I need to be and want to be are the same, there will be commuting involved. Of course, it will help that I’ll have a development to oversee right here in Pickwick. And that could take years.”
Years … I settle my head beneath his chin and listen to his heart beat near mine. So this is what happens after ever after. “I like you, Jesse Emerson Dirk. I really like you—maybe more than like you.”
“I feel the same.” He holds me tighter, and I can’t imagine being anywhere but here.
“Gol!”
Well, not here, in the middle of Pickwick Pike. And certainly not in front of my brother and sister-in-law.
J.C. and I turn to face the car that has pulled up behind my truck, and I wince as Bart grins at me from behind the windshield and Trinity pops her head out the window.
“Look-it there, your sister has herself a beau, Bart. Can you believe it? ’Bout time.” She waves. “Don’t let us interrupt.”
J.C. looks down at me. “I think we’d better. Dinner?”
I nod. “This time I won’t cancel.”
“Promise?”
I lift my hands, lay my ringless, bandage-less fingers on either side of his face, and touch my lips to his. “Promise.”
First comes love, then comes marriage,
then comes baby in a baby carriage!
Please join us on Friday, April 22 at 6:00 p.m.
to celebrate the blessed arrival
of Trinity and Bart Pickwick’s
&n
bsp; bouncing baby boy at the home
of Bridget Pickwick Buchanan
1 Little Pickwick Pike
Pickwick, North Carolina
Mr. & Mrs. Bartholomew Pickwick
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Bridget Pickwick Buchanan
to
Jesse Emerson Dirk
Saturday, the tenth day of September
at two o’clock in the afternoon
The Pickwick Mansion
1001 Pickwick Pike
Pickwick, North Carolina
Readers Guide
1. Due to the death of her husband, Bridget has a problem with reading aloud the conclusion to all good, romantically minded fairy tales: “And they lived happily ever after.” Are there words or memories or activities from which you distance yourself in order to avoid dealing with pain? What action might you take to air the pain and move on?
2. Bridget’s sister believes grief is contagious. What do you think? Do you believe Bonnie did the right thing in confronting Bridget and demanding she rid herself of her widow’s weeds?
3. Bridget is environmentally conscious, as evidenced by the steps she takes to lessen her impact on the environment and her reaction to others who litter and waste. What steps have you taken to be a good steward of God’s creation?
4. In this third and final book in the Southern Discomfort series, readers continue to witness the path of dementia as Uncle Obe’s memory and ability to care for himself further deteriorate. How have his experiences and those of his caretakers impacted your understanding of this painfully debilitating disease?
5. Why do you think Uncle Obe is able to recite Scripture “without stumbling” and yet struggles with the names of everyday items?
6. When Uncle Obe asks Bridget to pray for him, she grudgingly agrees despite her attempt to keep God on the other side of the door. Have you ever been asked to pray for someone though you didn’t feel moved to do so? Did you pray? If so, how did it feel?
7. For a while, Bridget is the primary caregiver of her niece and nephew. In accepting this responsibility, she also has to accept the task of disciplining the children. Have you had to be a stand-in parent? How did you deal with the issue of discipline?
8. Bridget’s assumption that J.C. inherited his wealth is based mostly on appearances. When have your assumptions about others proven wrong? On what did you base those assumptions? How could you have better acquainted yourself with the person?
9. Bridget’s mother takes ill, causing Bridget to confront God and ask if He intends to take her mother from her as He took her husband. Though Bridget finds herself in a narrow place on the journey back to faith, she resists the temptation to jump off and instead draws nearer to God. Have you ever found yourself in such a narrow place? Were you able to stay the course? If so, what was God’s answer, and how did you deal with it? If not, where are you now in your relationship with God?
10. When J.C. belatedly reveals his deception, the rift that opens between Bridget and him has the potential to destroy their feelings for each other. What situation have you been in that you believe would have benefitted from the truth being revealed earlier? How might it have turned out better?
What does it take to truly make amends?
Public relations consultant Piper Wick wants to persuade Uncle Obadiah not to change his will and humiliate the entire family. Her tenuous relationship with Congressman Grant Spangler depends on it! But her uncles rugged, blue-eyed gardner has her thinking instead about what it means to make amend—and to forgive.
She’s changed, but can she make him see it?
Maggie Pickwick is a lifetime away from her days as head cheerleader and the mistakes she made in high school. Twelve years later, this single mom has traded pompoms for an aucioneer’s gavel, popularity for peace and quiet, and strives to be a good example for her daughter, Devyn. She’s keeping it together just fine, too—until an old flame moves back to her little North Carolina town.
Read an excerpt at www.WaterBrookMultnomah.com
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