The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake

by Linda Evans Shepherd

  “Yes.”

  He placed his hands on his hips. “And that’s why you acted the way you did the day we went up to the cabin?”

  “I admit that, yes.”

  He walked back over to the table, placed his palms flat on its surface, and leaned toward me. “I got my cell phone bill, by the way.”

  I shifted a bit but said nothing.

  “Japan? Japan, Goldie? I hope you know I had to take money out of our savings to cover it.”

  “I was angry,” I said. “I was angry with you that you had gotten Charlene Hopefield pregnant and that we’d never be able to fully put this behind us.”

  Jack stood straight again. “And coming to me and just telling me never occurred to you?”

  I smiled wryly. “I wanted you to suffer first.”

  He nodded. “Mmmm,” he said, then crossed his arms and spread his legs wide in that “coach” stand I’d come to know over the years.

  “Are you just going to stare at me or are we going to talk about how we’re going to deal with Charlene and her baby?” I asked.

  He didn’t move. Not even a muscle. “I have no intention of dealing with her or her baby,” he said, keeping his eyes on me.

  “But, Jack!”

  Then he returned to his seat. He leaned over a bit, taking both my hands in his. “Goldie, Charlene Hopefield took eight weeks off from teaching last year. Do you want to know why?”

  I’m sure I looked puzzled. “She needed a long vacation?” I asked.

  “No. She was getting a full-blown hysterectomy.”

  I felt my jaw drop. “A full-blown—”

  “Charlene Hopefield is no more pregnant than you are.” He raised his brow. “Unless there’s something about you that I don’t know.”

  I closed my eyes against the absurdity of it all. “Why that little...” I began, opening my eyes again. Jack was grinning at me, and I began to laugh and cry all at the same time. “I ought to call Japan on her phone,” I said, pulling my hands from his and wiping the tears from my cheeks.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said, pursing his lips together. He folded his arms across his chest again and leaned back in his chair as though God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.

  I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair, keeping my focus on my husband and his adorable face. “Jack,” I said finally.

  “Goldie,” he toyed.

  “Why don’t you go look in the backseat of my car?” I asked, keeping my words to more of a suggestion than a question.

  He nodded toward the crumpled bag from Higher Grounds. “Did you bring more food?” he asked.

  I gave him a half smile. “No,” I answered, shameless. “I brought an overnight bag.”

  Jack leaned toward me. “Well, now. You don’t say?”

  I kept my eyes on his before answering, “I will agree to come home but on certain conditions.”

  “Which are?”

  “I’ll stay in Olivia’s old room. We keep going to counseling and ... we talk. No more secrets. None.”

  He stared at me for another long moment before leaning over the table and extending his right hand. I took it in mine, and we shook on it. “Deal,” he said.

  “Deal,” I said. Then I added, “It won’t be easy.”

  “Nothing worth having ever is.”

  He stood then and gave me a quick wink before walking away. I heard the front door open and close. My cue, I thought.

  I pushed myself away from the table, then stood and walked purposefully toward Olivia’s old bedroom.

  I had come home.

  39

  Going Home

  Somehow—though he wasn’t exactly sure how—Britney had talked Clay into joining her and her family for a weekly Bible study they held in their home.

  “I don’t know,” Clay had stalled, standing on the other side of the card shop counter from her earlier in the day. “Bible study...”

  But then Britney smiled her radiant smile, and he felt his knees go weak. “I promise you not many people are there,” she told him. “So if you think you might be put on the spot in front of a bunch of folks...”

  Clay nodded his head. “So, like, who will be there? Is it the same people every week? You don’t handle snakes or anything, do you?”

  Britney laughed at his humor, endearing her to him all the more. “No, nothing like that, but if you want, maybe we can fly some in from... where? Alabama or somewhere like that?”

  Clay crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, so give me a roll call.”

  “I’m there, of course. Mom and Dad. My brother and Michelle Prattle.” Britney grinned and wiggled her shoulders a bit. “Don’t tell,” she said in a near whisper, “but I think Adam is going to... you know... pop the question pretty soon.”

  “Really? To Michelle?”

  “No, to Velvet James. Of course to Michelle!” She wiggled her shoulders again like a child in front of a toy store window. “Isn’t that awesome?”

  Clay agreed it was. “Okay, so who else?”

  Britney had run down a list of about four more names, pouted, then smiled, and he had acquiesced.

  Hours later, he was leaving his first honest-to-goodness “home group.” Britney’s father had led a study and discussion on Genesis 31. Jacob leaving the “world” behind and “going home.” Something stirred inside him... something strangely familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Something he’d felt years ago while sitting in Vonnie’s Sunday school class. What was it?

  On his way home he drove down the street where the Dippels lived. Way past dark, he noted, and Goldie’s car was parked in the driveway.

  Her car was in the driveway, and all the house lights were out.

  It looked, Clay surmised, as if Mrs. D. had gone home too. He slowed his Jeep until it came to a stop at the stop sign. Though no traffic was heading his way, he remained where he was. And he wondered what it would be like to have someone to go home to...

  Donna

  40

  On the Lunch Menus

  When had Clay taken this picture? I wondered as I sipped my first cup of joe with a copy of yesterday’s Gold Rush News spread before me. There I was on the front page in an article entitled “Hero of Summit View.”

  I was backdropped by the majestic mountains and dressed in my uniform, with my arms folded across my chest. It looked as though I was contemplating the future as the wind blew through my curls.

  Clay. He was always snapping photos, but this one looked like it was from the Mayberry RFD Gazette. All it lacked was an American flag and Andy Taylor’s grin.

  The subheading read “Local Hero Saves Summit View Couple.” Goldie and Jack were pictured in a small photo below mine. The article went on to describe how I’d rescued Tina Long and risked my life to save her baby.

  Another article authored by Clay was on the front page of the living section. It featured a picture of Lisa Leann with her Christmas tree tea table, along with a story about the Christmas tea. The article had even contained a write-up about the shenanigans of my mother and sister. I don’t know how Clay had done it, but I’d come out smelling like a rose.

  Then there was Clay’s editorial on the second page of the paper. It told about the civil lawsuit I was facing. Clay had even managed to dig up the one witness to the tragedy, a Mr. Leonard Davidson, who was pictured leaning against his Jeep. He was quoted as saying, “I served in ’Nam, and I can tell you that officer’s actions were the bravest I’ve ever seen. Not only did she single-handedly rescue that mom, but she then risked her life to save the baby. That officer deserves a medal, not a lawsuit.”

  I looked back at the paper. Normally, I detested reading about myself, but now, fighting the legal battle of my life, the articles were a godsend, perfectly timed with my hour of need.

  The phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Hello, Donna?”

  “Vonnie!” I looked at the white kitchen clock that hung above my refrigerator. It was 8:30. “I don’t normally
hear from you so early in the a.m.”

  “I knew you’d be up, getting ready for your deposition. And I wanted to see if you saw yesterday’s paper.”

  I wiped a few crumbs from my honey-coated biscuits off the article I’d been reading. “Yeah, I was just looking at it.”

  Vonnie proudly read, “Donna Vesey, who teamed with snowmobile expert Wade Gage, was the first officer on the scene of the massive snowslide to help rescue a local couple, Jack and Goldie Dippel. From the safety of her Summit View home, Goldie Dippel later said, ‘If it weren’t for Donna, Jack and I would still be snowed in at Summit Ridge. Donna risked her life to save ours.’”

  I felt a blush burn beneath my coating of makeup that Lisa Leann had shown me how to apply just the day before. I took another sip of my coffee and told Vonnie, “Clay’s been a pal to write this. Maybe it will even help, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “What I don’t get,” Vonnie said, “is you saved that woman’s life and in the process almost lost your own. I mean, it’s very sad about her losing her baby, but you weren’t the one who drove her car off the road and into the river. You did everything possible to help.”

  “God knows I tried.” I looked at the clock again. “Oh, it’s getting late, and I still have to figure out how to apply Lisa Leann’s mascara without poking my eye out.”

  “Oh dear, how did your makeover go?” Vonnie asked.

  “Fine, as long as I don’t mind my new industrial strength glow,” I said.

  Vonnie giggled. “Before you go, I wanted you to know that the whole family prayed for you this morning: Fred, Mom, me, and David.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said.

  “David says you two are doing lunch today. I think he has a surprise for you.”

  “Really? Did he get that job with the Summit View paramedics?”

  “I’m not spoiling his good news. Call me later, okay?”

  We’d said our good-byes, and I soon found myself standing in front of my bathroom mirror trying to wipe a mascara smudge off my cheek with my finger. This makeup stuff was harder than it looked. Of course, it would help if my palms weren’t so sweaty and my hands weren’t trembling. I took a deep breath. I didn’t know how I’d make it through this day.

  I stood back and tried to look at the makeup’s effect. Not as good as Lisa Leann’s job, but passable.

  I looked at my watch then grabbed my jacket and hurried to the Bronco.

  As I drove toward my attorney’s office I decided it felt pretty good to know that Vonnie and her family were praying for me. Not that I deserved it. I still wasn’t on speaking terms with God, though I sat in church when I wasn’t sleeping off a night shift. I’d been surprised to see Wade there lately too, sitting right next to me as David sat between Vonnie and me.

  “We all need a higher power, meaning God,” Wade had told me one night as he’d gone on another ride-along with me. “At least, that’s what I’ve been learning in AA.”

  “How’s that going for you?” I’d asked.

  “Been sober for several weeks now, though I don’t think I could have made it if Pastor Moore hadn’t helped me.”

  “He’s not your sponsor, is he?”

  Wade shook his head. “Nice try. But you know I can’t talk about that stuff, Donna. I can tell you that Moore has been counseling me, first down at the café and now at his office. Moore’s shown me that the power of God is a very real thing.”

  “So you’re putting it on God and not just a higher power, huh?” I asked, thinking on the language of what was probably the most famous twelve-step program out there.

  “You should try it sometime,” Wade answered.

  I gave him a look, and he smiled at me.

  “Yeah, well...”

  Wade gave me a sideways glance and grinned. “They say alcoholism is a disease, but as Pastor Kevin says, with God’s help, people can change.”

  I only nodded. I hadn’t known a lot of recovered alcoholics, but maybe Wade could recover. At least I hoped so. There were so many things I could forgive him for, but I wasn’t sure I could forgive him for being a drunk. And even though he’d spent these last few weeks sober, his wasted years still stood between us.

  I found a parking space near the card shop. I still had a few minutes before I had to go in, so I sat in the cab of my truck, trying to build up my nerve. I watched a dark green SUV pull into a spot near mine. A small dark-haired woman climbed out of the passenger’s side. It was the Long woman, Tina, and her tall but thin husband, Errol. They were early.

  She saw my sheriff ’s Bronco and shot me a cross look as Errol scowled. Their faces told me their motivation for the lawsuit. Apparently it had been easier for them to deal with their grief by blaming me. Now, three years later, they were ready to make me pay.

  I shook my head. How could I follow that angry couple up the stairs? How could I face their wrath, their loss, a loss I understood more than anyone realized?

  I closed my eyes. God, I can’t go in there. I can’t. I took a deep breath. If you’re really there, please help me.

  It was ironic, me praying to God. We hadn’t been on speaking terms in years. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in him; it was just I didn’t think he believed in me.

  Do you care about me? I asked. Because if you do, I need to know. If I believed you loved me, I think it would make a difference; it would give me a reason to trust in you.

  I sighed. What a dumb prayer. I checked my makeup in my rearview mirror then got out of my truck, feeling heavy with dread.

  It was time to face the past.

  As I stood at the top of the stairs, I hesitated, knowing that when I pushed open the office door, my life would never be the same.

  When I reached for the doorknob, the door swung open, and there was Goldie. She silently greeted me with a hug then ushered me inside, past the angry eyes in the waiting room, and into the conference room where a court reporter, as well as Chris and his friend, Van Lauer, shuffled through papers and conferred in low voices.

  Goldie, who looked most professional—and different somehow— in her smart red business suit, settled me into a gray leather chair at a large mahogany table before disappearing to return with a steaming cup of coffee. “Black. Just the way you like it,” she said with a smile.

  Van, who I’d learned in recent days was the attorney who’d been hired as a legal consultant to represent the interests of the Boulder County Sheriff ’s department, turned to me. He was handsome with his gray hair combed back from his tanned face. “Now, Donna, as you know, in a few moments the other legal team, as well as the Longs, will be invited in. Their attorney will have a chance to ask you a lot of questions about the details of the accident and rescue. A lot of the questions will be routine, but some of them will be rather pointed and meant to trip you up. But even so, don’t forget this is a fact-finding mission. Though the other side hopes they can trip up your testimony so they either settle out of court or contradict your testimony at trial. But try not to worry. We have truth on our side. Just don’t allow your sorrow over the death of the baby to lead you into any kind of false confessions of guilt. Okay?”

  I nodded as Chris stood up. He wore a dark blue suit and maroon tie and reeked of hometown charm tinged with sophistication. He walked over to where I sat then bent down to give me a hug of encouragement. “It’s going to be okay, Donna.”

  I nodded.

  “Did I tell you we’ll have a special assistant in the room today?” He motioned to Goldie, who said, “I’m in charge of filling the water pitcher, refilling the coffee cups, and praying for you,” she said.

  I smiled weakly.

  Too soon the Longs and their legal counsel faced us at the conference table. After a lot of preliminary questions about who I was, how long I’d been a sheriff’s deputy, and the details of my career and marital status, as well as the date, time, and circumstances of the accident, Mr. Lauer said to me, “Donna, in your own words”—he gave a stern look at the balding Lo
ng attorney, a Mr. Anderson—“tell us what happened on the night of March the 15th, three years ago.”

  I’d admired the effect his glare had on Mr. Anderson, who suddenly seemed subdued. So, that’s why they pay Lauer the big bucks—his commanding presence.

  Time passed as I relived the horror of being flagged down by Leonard Davidson during a torrential rainstorm. That’s when I discovered a sedan beneath the flooded canyon river, a river yawning past its banks.

  I described how Leonard had helped me tie myself to a nearby pine tree with a long piece of rope I kept in the back of my Bronco. I explained how I’d braved the frigid waters, alone; how I’d pulled Tina Long from the hood of the car; how she’d grabbed me, pulling the both of us beneath the debris-filled current and how I’d fought to turn her around so I could safely pull through the wild current, using the rescuer’s hold. I told how I’d managed to pull her to the bank only to have her tell me that her baby was still in the car.

  The faces in the room were replaced by the drama as it swam before me. I quietly told of going back into the floodwaters; of becoming trapped beneath the water when the roof of the car had lodged against my foot; of finally breaking free to the surface for a breath. I told how I pulled myself down to the window of the car by the door handle, then entered the car, freeing the baby from her car seat.

  The tears came as I told how I’d been struck by the log as I neared the safety of the bank and described the moment when I’d realized little Bailey Ann had been ripped from my grasp.

  I could hear the soft sounds of weeping, and I realized the sounds came from both Tina Long and from me.

  I took a sip of water and tried to recover my composure.

  After a few more clarifying questions about my testimony from Chris, it was Mr. Anderson’s turn to cross-examine me. “You didn’t have a proper grip on the baby, did you?”

  “Proper grip?”