The Color of Hope

by Kim Cash Tate

  Trina smiled, nodding. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

  “The one for the lemon bars you made that time too?”

  “You know it.”

  “Awesome!” Sara Ann pumped her fist, then picked up her Bible from the table. “Okay, y’all, turn to Romans 12 . . .”

  Stephanie had thought about it all during the time of closing prayer. When it ended, she turned to Charley. “We’ve given you another reason to stay away from Soul Sisters, haven’t we?”

  Charley looked surprised. “Because of talk about the joint service?”

  “And your grandfather,” Janelle said. “When somebody prayed for God to touch his heart, I thought, I wouldn’t blame Charley for taking this personally. She might never come back.”

  Charley shook her head. “I don’t agree with what my grandpa’s doing either, although I think that he thinks he’s looking out for the best interests of Calvary.” She looked around. “I’m glad I’m here. I didn’t realize the service had been getting resistance on all sides, or all the praying you guys have been doing. I feel like I’ve been in a fog.”

  “You were, in a way,” Janelle said. “You were engaged and thought you had a vision for your life. It takes awhile to see your way clearly to what’s next after a sudden change.”

  “And you would know,” Charley said. “You dealt with a lot worse, with your husband dying.”

  “Well . . . let’s just say I understand,” Janelle said. “How are you doing now, with the breakup and all?”

  “Fine as far as the breakup,” Charley said. “But still figuring out the ‘what’s next.’ I’ve been planning a move to Charlotte.”

  “Sounded like I heard a but in there,” Stephanie said.

  Charley sighed. “You did. I’m a P.E. teacher and left my job at the high school this spring. But just this morning Mr. Maxwell, my assistant principal, offered me the head volleyball coach position, which is what I wanted. At least it was before I decided to leave.”

  “Mr. Maxwell . . . Marcus?” Stephanie asked. “He’s our cousin.”

  Charley looked incredulous. “Okay, who aren’t you related to?”

  “Why did you leave your job?” Janelle asked.

  “After the breakup, I wanted to do something different. Something God-sized. Leaving town seemed like the logical first step.”

  “That’s funny,” Stephanie said, “since I was feeling the same thing this spring and felt God leading me here to do something God-sized.”

  Charley seemed to take that in. “That’s weird. Mr. Maxwell—Marcus”—she smiled—“basically said the same thing. Who would’ve thought God could be doing something here in Hope Springs?”

  Janelle smiled. “I’ve actually been thinking about that very thing for a while—what God might be doing here. Seemed to start when Todd and Travis moved back and took over at Calvary and New Jerusalem. Next thing you know, a combined service is up and running. Then I relocate here, then Marcus, now Stephanie.” She paused, taking it in. “Something weird is going on.”

  “Hmph.” Stephanie glanced around the room. “All I know is, I’m looking at all these women in their thirties—Janelle, Becca, Sara Ann, Trina.” She turned back to Charley. “How is it fair for God to move you out of town? I need another twentysomething around here. Plus, we rock the same music and the same shirt? Nope, you can’t go.”

  Charley laughed. “This is so crazy. I literally have no idea what God wants me to do.”

  “Yeah, well, join the club,” Stephanie said. “I’m here, but I don’t know what He wants me to do here. I guess that makes the two of us doubly Soul Sisters or something.”

  “Which is kind of cool,” Charley said. “Being clueless together.”

  Stephanie laughed with her. “Well, before God whisks you away, we should hang out. Our family reunion starts tomorrow night with a fish fry. You should come over.” She snapped her finger. “You’d be helping me fulfill the hospitality charge too.”

  “Great idea,” Janelle said. She put an arm around Charley. “And here’s the deal. I’m inviting you to be on my team, Team Estelle—”

  “Oh no you don’t.” Stephanie moved Janelle out of the way. “You would actually be more suited to Team Bruce.”

  Charley smiled. “What’s the team thing?”

  “The teams are named after our parents,” Janelle said, “but we’re just having fun with you. Not about coming, though—we’d love to have you.”

  Charley didn’t hesitate. “That’s actually something I’m not clueless about. I’d love to hang out with you all.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday, July 30

  Samara Johnston let herself into the house at five thirty, wondering if her mom would be home anytime soon. She’d spent much of her day at the school gym, thankful for the extra instruction Coach Willoughby had given her, even after the volleyball clinic had officially ended. Sam would miss that part—the coach’s care and attention—but she wouldn’t miss the other girls making fun behind her back. It was easier to stay to herself than to hang on the periphery, seemingly invisible. Not that it was anything new. Her sophomore year would start in a little over a week. There’d be more of the same.

  Felt good in a way just to admit it. No false hopes. No rosy imaginings. In years past she’d told herself she’d find a good friend. She’d even pushed herself to make a friend, to speak in the halls, sit with different girls at lunch. But somehow, surrounded by laughter and camaraderie, she only felt isolated and heartbroken.

  She’d never fit in. Would never have the latest styles in anything. She wasn’t into dating or pop music or social media. And it didn’t help that she looked different—her slight frame made her look more like a middle schooler, and her features were a hodgepodge. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been asked, “Are you black or white?” Was there a right answer? Would they like her if she were one or the other?

  “Both,” she’d say, and whoever was asking usually shrugged and moved on.

  There was no doubt this year would be like all the others. The question was how long she could take it.

  She opened her backpack and dumped the books she’d gotten from the library onto the coffee table—and heard her stomach rumbling. She headed to the kitchen, first taking her cell phone from her bag. Should she call her mother? Her prepaid phone had precious few minutes, but she wondered if her mom was bringing carryout. Or maybe she’d gone grocery shopping this afternoon. Sam had asked her to buy some fruit and vegetables, and chicken and fish, like Coach Willoughby recommended.

  Her steps quickened to the refrigerator, but she sighed when she opened it. Same limited options as this morning. She dialed her mom but got no answer. So she boiled two hot dogs, sandwiched them with white bread, and ate on the sofa, burying herself in one of her new library books—Jane Austen’s Emma.

  A car door slammed suddenly, startling Sam, and she realized she’d fallen asleep. She jumped up and looked out the front window, hoping, and her heart fell. Hank, her mother’s boyfriend, was with her. Couldn’t she and her mom have a weekend together alone? She grabbed her book and dashed into her room, shutting the door. Moments later the TV and radio were blaring. How could they possibly listen to both?

  Her door flew open, and her mother stood in the doorway. Petite like Sam, Teri was only in her early thirties. But with her long, straight dirty-blond hair, tired eyes, and drawn cheeks, she looked years older. “Sam, did you eat all the hot dogs?”

  Sam looked up from her bed, propped up on an elbow. “Yes, but there were only two left.”

  “I told Hank I’d get him one, and they’re gone.”

  Her mom blew smoke from a cigarette, clearly agitated. She always smoked more when she was nervous, and she smoked a lot when Hank was around.

  Sam stared. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know what else to eat, and I was hungry after volleyball and—”

  “Why didn’t you eat the fish sticks? I bought those for you.”

  “Mo
m, I don’t even like fish sticks. I really wanted fresh fish or chicken or—”

  “Sam, life is not about getting what you want all the time.”

  “Teri!” Hank called from the living room. “Where’s the hot dog? It doesn’t take that long, does it? And don’t forget the mustard and relish.”

  Her mom sighed. “Now I’ve got to run to the store.”

  Sam wanted to ask her to bring back apples or bananas, but she stayed silent as her mom pulled the door shut.

  She opened her book and found her page, trying her best to block out the noise . . . and let a tear slide onto her pillow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Checkered tablecloths and scented candles adorned the picnic tables where the earliest arrivals were already chatting. Music streamed through an iPod connected to speakers that carried sound throughout the backyard. The welcome station—a new feature—was outfitted with a banner across the front that read “Welcome to the Sanders Family Reunion!” And the fried fish was already sizzling in a huge outdoor fryer, the delicious aroma permeating the evening air. The family’s annual gathering had begun—minus one.

  It hit Libby as she took it all in on her Grandma Geri’s back porch—for the first time, her grandmother wouldn’t be here. And she’d always been more than here, she’d been central. She and Grandpa Elwood Sanders had started this reunion almost forty years ago. They’d told the story a million times, how it started one year as a tribute to Grandpa Elwood’s parents. Grandpa Elwood and his siblings surprised them by showing up with all of their kids and grandkids. They lamented that they’d never done it before, and Grandpa Elwood decided they wouldn’t let a year go by without getting together. He and Grandma Geri oversaw the planning until they grew older and passed it down. But Grandma Geri remained a central figure, the one who knew every family member who showed up, no matter how distant the relation or how infrequently they came. The void would be palpable.

  The screen door opened behind her, and Stephanie poked her head out. “You’re wanted in the lab.”

  “I was just on my way in there,” Libby said.

  Ever since their parents had arrived in town—Libby’s, Stephanie and Cyd’s, and Janelle’s—the moms, along with Aunt Gladys, had taken over the kitchen, as usual. The girls had taken to calling it “the lab” because these women were serious when it came to cooking up some food.

  Stephanie opened the door wider, and she and Libby headed through a living area and around the corner to the kitchen. The aroma indoors was as enticing as the one outside. The women had been baking cakes and cobblers, and had also made several side dishes—boiled potatoes, green beans, potato salad, coleslaw, and rolls. As much planning as Libby had done, she’d be nowhere if she couldn’t count on the love of cooking in her parents’ generation.

  Libby’s mom, Denise, saw her walk in. “Sweetheart, you need to get going with the hush puppies.” She was stirring the coleslaw. “You sure you don’t want me to do it? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Libby folded her arms. “I’m noticing there’s been more than one offer to take this to-do item off my hands. Y’all think they won’t turn out right, don’t you?”

  “I’m a little nervous,” her mom said unapologetically. “You rarely cook, and I don’t think you’ve fried anything a day in your life. I don’t know why you’re attempting to tackle this for such a large crowd.”

  She wouldn’t be tackling it if it weren’t for Travis. He’d made an offhanded remark that they’d never had hush puppies at the Friday night fish fry, and Libby immediately knew they would be a hit. She’d planned to ask her parents who could do it, the women or perhaps the men, since they could fry them outside while they fried the fish. But Travis had a third option—the two of them. It would be easy enough, he said, though he’d never done it. And it would be fun. Reminded her of the time they tried to fix lasagna while dating and never got further than the noodles that burned. The laughter was almost worth the awful smell.

  “It’ll turn out great, you’ll see,” Libby said, half convincing herself.

  “When do you plan to mix the ingredients?” Aunt Gladys said. “Everything else is about done.”

  “We already did it, in Travis’s kitchen, since the lab was taken.” She made a face. “Had to make Travis and Marcus clean it first, though. Aunt Gladys, have you seen that pigsty they’re living in? I told Marcus I know you taught him better than that. And Travis ought to be ashamed of him—What?”

  Aunt Gladys looked amused, her eyes darting beyond Libby.

  She turned. Travis had eased into the kitchen with the pans of mix they’d made, already shaped into puppies.

  “So you’re doggin’ me behind my back, huh?”

  Libby laughed. “No, I’m not. I told you to your face that place was a mess.”

  “I’ll come over and clean it top to bottom for you and Marcus,” Aunt Gladys said.

  “Aunt Gladys!” Libby’s look chastised her aunt. “That’s their problem, people bailing out the poor bachelors. They need to learn how to clean for themselves.”

  Travis nodded at the pans in his arms. “You want to keep lecturing or get these puppies going?”

  Libby smiled. “Let’s head out.”

  “Holler if you need us,” her mom said.

  “We’ll be just fine,” Libby called back.

  They went to an area of the backyard in which her dad and Travis had set up a small outdoor fryer earlier, a few feet away from the humongous fryer being used for the fish.

  “Hey, look,” Libby said, “Dad’s got us ready to roll. Oil’s piping hot.”

  Travis set the pans on a card table and picked up a bag that was sitting on the grass.

  “Where’d that come from?” Libby asked.

  “I put it over here before I went in the house,” he said.

  Travis lifted something out of the bag. Libby wasn’t sure what it was until he slipped one part over his head and proceeded to tie the back. Then her eyes widened.

  “You bought a grilling apron?” Libby bit her lip. “You’re serious, huh?”

  “You think it’s funny?”

  She gave her head an emphatic shake. “Nope.”

  “Because if you start clowning me . . .”

  “Never.”

  “Good. Because you’ve got one too.” He took hers out of the bag. “Turn around.” Travis placed it over her head and tied the back. “Now we’re official.”

  Libby looked at him. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Not just the aprons. Everything.”

  “I said I would help you this weekend, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. Anyway, it’s partly selfish. My mouth is already watering for these hush puppies.”

  Janelle was walking by as he said it. “As long as you don’t get near the fish, we’re good.”

  Travis picked up the tongs and aimed them at her. “Don’t start, Janelle. You should be encouraging my budding skills.”

  “Whether they’re budding is yet to be seen.” She came closer, surveying their operation. “And actually, I’m wondering who sanctioned this idea of you and Libby cooking anything in mass amounts for actual people. It’s kind of scary.”