Special Blessings

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  Candace was saddened that there did not appear to be an overabundance of support in the room, but she told herself that the news was a shock. This family probably would rise to the challenge once it had sunk in a bit more. She also noticed that Noelle Nottington was very, very quiet. She didn't ask a single question, although her eyes flew from speaker to speaker, and she appeared to listen intently to Candace's explanations.

  As she drove home afterward, Candace felt a strong need to pray. “Dear Lord,” she said out loud, “help all those people to be supportive of Lewis and Therese, and fill them all with strength for the challenges they’ll face.”

  Anabelle knocked on Diana Zimmer's door that same afternoon. One more visit to go. This wasn't quite the way she’d planned to spend her weekend, but time was a critical factor with the award dossier.

  Barking preceded human footsteps as Diana and her golden retriever Ace came to the door. The noise ceased as Diana gave the therapy dog a quiet command, and then the door opened.

  “Hi, Anabelle. Come on in.” Diana smiled and opened the door wider.

  Anabelle came in, smiling as she glanced at the dog. Obviously dying to approach and greet her, Ace didn't break his stay, but every muscle in the big blond body was quivering with the effort. “It's fine if he says hi,” Anabelle said to Diana.

  When the dog was released from his stay, he bounded to Anabelle and leaned his body adoringly against her, pushing his head beneath her hand in a broad hint for her to start petting him.

  Anabelle stroked his head. “What a good boy you are.” She looked up at Diana. “Our dog's a shelter special, and although he's a pretty good dog, he's nothing like this.”

  Diana laughed. “Everyone I meet says the same thing. I could make a fortune training dogs if everyone who admired Ace actually hired me.” She glanced at the folder under Anabelle's arm. “So what's this about? You said it had something to do with the Hope Haven Hounds program.”

  Anabelle nodded. “I know you already went through this once, but we had a few more questions, so I’m back again.”

  Diana frowned. “Went through what?”

  “Your annual statistics. You know, for the award nomination?”

  Diana shook her head. “No one's talked to me about that.”

  The first time she’d heard similar words, Anabelle had been surprised and dismayed. But after five other experiences that had gone in very much the same manner, she was neither.

  She explained to Diana that she needed the numbers of patients that the program had served in the past year. After a short visit, Anabelle thanked Diana, took her leave, and headed for Penny Risser's house.

  Penny had been expecting her, and she opened the door wide when Anabelle came up the walk.

  “I got statistics,” Anabelle said. “Unfortunately, that seems to be the first time any of the organizations have been approached about it. I fear Em didn't guesstimate so much as she pulled numbers from thin air.”

  “My experiences were the same,” Penny said. “I don't think Em made a single effort to find real numbers.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m not quite sure what to do next. We have the right numbers, but I suppose we have to speak with Em about it before the next meeting.”

  Anabelle tapped a finger against her lips for a moment. “Before we just barge in and ask her why she falsified numbers, let me do a little sleuthing. I’m in a quilting group with Genna Hamilton. They move in the same circles. Maybe there's some oblique way to bring it up without coming right out and telling her what happened.”

  “It's better than anything I could think of.” Penny shook her head. “Which was nothing.”

  Sunday evening supper in the Bell home was not going well. They were approximately two minutes into the meal, and Gideon already had received and answered a text.

  “Gideon,” James said when his son's phone buzzed a second time, “please stop texting at the table. You know our family's rule about that.”

  “You mean your rule about it,” Gideon said. “I don't care if anyone else texts while we’re eating.”

  “It's rude,” Fern said in a quiet voice. “Meals are for sharing your day and your thoughts and concerns with your family and for listening to theirs.”

  Gideon scowled, but he put the phone in his pocket and ignored it the next time it buzzed. James, Nelson, and Fern soldiered on with a three-way conversation to which Gideon contributed nothing. Hoping to draw him in, James said, “Didn't you go to a movie last night? What did you see?”

  Gideon looked up from his plate and mumbled the name of a current film. Surprised by the choice, James said, “That's a little different for you, isn't it? I thought you liked action-adventure types of movies.”

  Gideon shrugged. “I do, but this was interesting.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you chose this one because you had a date with Jenni.”

  Gideon flushed, and Nelson snickered. “You called that one, Dad.”

  “Shut up,” Gideon said to Nelson.

  “Gideon!” Fern sounded quite upset. “That is not acceptable language in this house.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” the boy muttered.

  “May I ask you a question, Gideon?” James was determined to be courteous and respect his son's boundaries. Within reason. “Why didn't you tell us about your date?”

  Gideon immediately looked defensive. “I’m not stupid, Dad. I can tell you don't like for me to date. Honestly, I just didn't feel like dealing with it.”

  “That's not strictly true, honey.” Again, Fern stepped in. “We don't mind your dating at all. What we do mind is when you try to hide your activities and actions, and when you assume you know what we’re thinking without asking us.”

  “It's true we’re concerned about some of the decisions you’ve made lately,” James added, “but if you don't talk to us about them, how are we to understand?”

  Gideon sighed, toying with his fork. “All right, all right. I promise I’ll try to talk more to you guys.”

  It was one of the most grudging promises James had ever heard, but after the way Gideon had been shutting them out lately, James wasn't going to complain.

  The moment the meal was over, Gideon cleared his place and vanished. Fern sighed. “I feel like we’ve become the enemy sometimes.”

  James felt a wry smile twist his lips. “I know. I just never thought we’d feel so disconnected from either of the boys. I guess I was naive—doggonit!” He turned and headed for the garage, having caught a glimpse of his bird feeder through the window.

  “Where are you going?” Fern trailed after him.

  “Squirrel wars,” he said succinctly. He marched out the door to the side yard and unrolled the hose from its reel. Pulling a length of it out of sight of the bird feeder, he dragged it around the corner of the house. Then he turned on the water and knelt on the grass, hose nozzle in hand, as he peered around the corner at the backyard.

  “James,” his wife said from behind him. “Are you planning to hit those poor little things with water? You can't do that. It would be like hitting a human with the blast from a fire hose. What if you hurt them?”

  A tiny bit of guilt crept in. “I’m not going to hurt them. Just teach them a lesson.”

  Fern giggled. “Do you know how long you’ll have to do that to get every squirrel that comes to our feeder? You’ll still be out here at Christmas.” She began to laugh out loud. “Assuming they even remember that you’re here from one day to the next. There's not a lot of memory space in those little skulls.”

  Already James had begun to see the humor of the situation, and he began to chuckle with her. Then a new thought occurred to him. “You’re probably right. But there's a great deal more memory space in the brain of, say, an adolescent human male, right? Maybe we should test this theory. If I soak Gideon with water every time he approaches his car to go to Jenni's, will he learn to stay away from the car?”

  Fern shook her head, laughing even harder. “I admit, it might be amusing to test, but I
sincerely doubt it would have the desired effect. Now put away the hose, dear, and come back inside. I made peanut-butter brownies with chocolate icing today.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  CANDACE AND HER FAMILY OCCASIONALLY ATTENDED the Sunday evening worship service. They had decided to do so this week and had arrived in time for the short social period before the service started.

  Just as they did on Sunday morning, the social committee set out cookies and drinks. Candace had just taken the first sip of her coffee when Skip and Margie Mullen and their children walked in.

  “Hello.” She waved at them and then turned to Heath. “Look who's here.”

  If a grown man could squirm, Heath did so. “I might have mentioned to him that we were coming tonight,” he said sheepishly.

  Candace laughed. Then she lowered her voice. “That's fine, but I nominate you to make sure Howie and Eason don't wreck the place.”

  Skip and Margie joined them, and they immediately began discussing Grand Haven and the plans for their shared vacation days.

  Brooke picked up Violet when the little girl reached for her, settling her on one hip before turning to Indiana. “Want to go get some cookies?”

  Howie and Eason, meanwhile, had found each other and already were racing around the perimeter of the room, involved in a vigorous game of tag. “Howie,” Heath called, after the little boy narrowly missed plowing into an elderly woman with a walker. “Come over here, please?”

  Howie pouted, but he approached as directed. “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m going to get some more cookies,” Heath said. “Want to come with me?”

  “More cookies?” Howie glanced at Candace, who normally restricted him to one. “Can I, Mom?”

  “Of course, honey. If it's okay with Heath, it's okay with me.”

  When her fiancé nodded, Howie let out a whoop. “Cool! More cookies.”

  Heath winked at her over his head as he led the child away.

  The pair had barely started across the room when the inevitable disaster struck. Eason had begun chasing another child after Howie's defection. Looking back over his shoulder at the boy who had turned to pursue him, Eason barged straight into a large man with a drink. The drink went flying, most of it landing on Eason.

  “Eason!” Margie rushed to her son's side. “See what happens when you run?” She grabbed a couple napkins from a nearby table and began patting at the juice that had drenched him. Looking up at the dumbfounded man who also was drying himself, she said, “I’m so sorry. Sometimes I think we need to keep a leash on him.” Laughing heartily, she led Eason off to the restroom for further cleanup, while the man gave a halfhearted chuckle as he continued patting ineffectually at the juice spots on his suit jacket.

  Watching the scene, Candace couldn't help but applaud Heath's approach. With just a touch of guidance, the whole unfortunate incident with Eason and that drink could have been avoided.

  Mondays were Rafael's band night. Even though he was pursuing a new dream, working toward becoming a cop, Rafael hadn't given up his music completely. And so Elena still babysat on Monday evenings.

  She had spent this evening baking rolled sugar cookies with Izzy at the little girl's request. Earlier, they had unearthed several plastic Play-Doh cutters from Izzy's collection—a butterfly, a flower, a beach ball, and a kite in celebration of summer—washed them well, and had passed a pleasant hour or so decorating the shapes they had cut out of the cookie dough. It was inevitable that nearly all of Izzy's completed cookies contained some pink coloring, Elena thought, chuckling as she surveyed their efforts.

  “Shall we taste-test?” she asked her granddaughter. “After all, these cookies may taste terrible. We can't possibly serve them to other people without tasting them first.”

  Izzy giggled. “All right.”

  They were just finishing their cookies and glasses of milk when Cesar walked in. Elena took one look at his face, and her buoyant mood took a plunge. “Hello,” she said, striving for an enthusiastic tone. “How did your training go?”

  Cesar had attended a computer training session at police headquarters after his regular shift. The department had recently gotten new software for entering criminal data that would interface with a national database, and every cop and support staff member in the Deerford Police Department was required to learn to use it.

  Before he could answer, Izzy piped up. “Want a cookie, Tito? Buela and I made them tonight. We cut them all out and made them pretty, see?”

  “I see.” His smile looked tired to Elena's eyes. “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow to have mine, okay? We had refreshments at my meeting.”

  “Izzy,” Elena said, “it's bath time. Would you like to go run the water?”

  Being permitted to run the bathwater was a coveted task, and Isabel reacted predictably. “Sure.” The word was barely out of her mouth before she was flying back up the hallway.

  Elena smiled and then returned her attention to her husband, who looked dejected. “What's wrong?” she asked.

  Cesar shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “It took me twice as long as the young guys to figure that program out. I felt stupid.”

  “That's not stupidity,” she said. “That's because you’re not very familiar with computers.” Cesar would use their home computer only if he was really, truly desperate—and if he couldn't talk Rafael or Elena into looking up whatever it was he wanted for him.

  “I guess.” His voice was flat, his shoulders slumped. He held up a DVD case and waggled it in the air. “I brought home a student copy of the program with some sample data to enter. I’ve got to figure out how to do this before we switch over, or the kids will be all over me.”

  “I’ll help you if you like.” Elena rose and went with him into the living room where their computer desk was located. She sat beside him for a few moments until he got it loaded and started, but soon she heard Izzy calling.

  “Buela, I’m ready for my bath now.”

  “Go ahead,” she told him. “I have to bathe Izzy, but you can show it to me after she's in bed.”

  Elena rushed her granddaughter's bath as much as she dared. As she was drying Izzy's hair, the bass beat of the band stopped, indicating that tonight's rehearsal was probably over. She was just tucking Izzy into bed when she heard the sound of the band members’ cars departing, and a moment later, Rafael strolled in.

  “Hey, Mama. Want me to take over here?”

  “That would be great.” She rose, giving her granddaughter a kiss and then letting Rafael slide past her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Night, sweetheart. See you in the morning.”

  “Night, Buela. Thank you for making cookies with me.”

  Such a polite child, Elena thought. She might not have had a mother in her life for the first six years, but no one could say she hadn't had a fine upbringing.

  Cesar was still glued to the computer when she returned. She started to slide into a seat beside him, but she paused when she noticed the energy with which his fingers flew across the keys. “Want a cookie?” she asked casually.

  “That’d be great,” he said, never taking his gaze from the screen. “I think I’ve got this program figured out.”

  Elena smiled to herself as she went to the kitchen. Obviously, he wasn't feeling so incompetent now. She put several cookies on a plate and poured him a glass of iced tea, figuring he’d prefer that to milk. Just as she was about to carry the plate and glass into the living room, Cesar strode into the kitchen.

  He slipped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled her neck. “Sorry about the bad mood.”

  “It's okay,” she said. “We all have our moments.”

  “Are those cookies for me?”

  “They are.” She turned in his arms and smiled up at him. “But I’m afraid there's a fee.”

  “Oh?” He drew her comfortably closer.

  “A kiss,” she told him gravely.

  Moments later, Cesar was paying the fee when Rafael en
tered the kitchen. “Argh!” He stopped in the doorway and clapped his hands over his eyes. “I’m going blind.”

  “Go away,” Cesar mumbled. “We’re busy here.”

  Rafael leaned over and snatched the plate of cookies that were still setting on the counter. “No problem. Consider me gone.” As he went back the hallway, his laughter floated back to them.

  Contrary to Candace's expectation, Therese and Lewis Nottington did not look happy or visibly relaxed at Tuesday evening's birthing class. In fact, she thought they looked distinctly sad and dispirited. She could hardly wait to talk with them after class and was so distracted that she lost her train of thought a time or two and barely managed to remember what she’d been about to tell the group.

  Heath had an evening meeting at the hospital. He’d arranged to meet her when they both were finished, and her heart skipped a beat when he ducked into the back of the room and took a seat in the corner just before the class ended. Several women turned their heads to check him out. Candace knew what they were seeing: gleaming blond curls, sparkling blue eyes, adorable dimples in both cheeks, and a trim physique. She allowed herself a moment's pleasure that he was hers. He caught her eye and grinned, and to her chagrin she felt a blush heat her cheeks.

  Sternly, she recalled herself to her work and, moments later, ended the class. As usual, she was bombarded by couples with questions. The Nottingtons and Heath waited patiently until she was done.

  As soon as possible, she gathered her materials and walked toward the back of the room. Heath smiled at her. “We’ve introduced ourselves,” he told her. “Lewis wondered if we’d like to grab coffee or a snack.”

  “Coffee,” she said with fervor. “I need coffee.”

  “How about Cuppa Coffee?” he suggested. “It's close enough to walk—if you feel good enough to walk,” he said, turning to Therese.

  She smiled. “Walking is good for me.”