What? “Wait. I can’t have a calling. I’m not even active.”
He steepled his fingers and smiled. “Yet you come to sacrament meeting every week.”
Nervous, she twirled the necklace Grandpa Scott had given her. “I don’t know . . .”
“You are an expert on gardening and that’s what we want right now. What we need.”
She was so not an expert on gardening and that made her nervous; she’d doubtless start babbling any time now. She was totally unsuitable for this calling and she needed to help him see that. “I’ll be returning home in nine weeks.”
“Sister Scott, I still feel impressed that you are the woman for the calling, no matter how long you are available.”
Feeling trapped by his calm words, Lori wasn’t sure what to do. Normally she would retreat behind her barriers and turn down anything church-related. But, unfortunately, since she’d met John and come to church and felt the Spirit again, her barriers had weakened and she couldn’t seem to do that anymore. Thoughts ricocheted throughout her skull.
If the bishop would only speak again, maybe she could find some reason to be offended, to say no, but he just smiled warmly and waited for her response.
With a sigh, she reminded herself that these women probably had some good zucchini recipes. She could even set up a zucchini recipe exchange. Or recipes for other vegetables. How hard could this calling be, anyway? And she’d only have to do it for two months and then she could leave.
That’s all the time she had left with John, too. That wasn’t much time. She stared at the bishop. Why didn’t the word “no” just fall from her mouth? Was it because she could already see the disappointment on John’s face when he learned she’d turned down a calling? That shouldn’t make any difference, but somehow it did. And she couldn’t hide from herself the fact that it was his potential disappointment that caused her to say, “I’ll do it. But I can’t promise how well.”
“You’ll do a wonderful job, Sister Scott. I have no doubt.”
Lori wasn’t nearly so sure as butterflies began fluttering against her insides, tickling and agitating her fears.
“The first big activity is at the end of the month. Sister Serena Martinez is on the committee and can bring you up to speed.”
She wondered if Serena had volunteered her.
Bishop Robertson stood and put out his hand again.
Somewhat shell-shocked, Lori stood, shook his hand again, and allowed herself to be ushered out the door.
She, Lori Scott, had a calling in the ward? Where were the lightning strikes? Surely God wouldn’t allow her to do this without objecting?
Needing a moment to regain her composure, she slipped into a side coat closet. Though more and more people walked the halls, chattering, the alcove remained empty, quiet, and dark.
And, as if hiding in the shadows contemplating a new intimidating calling wasn’t enough of a concern, she glimpsed John walking past—with Dawn holding his arm.
Startled, Lori’s first impulse was hurt. But she saw right away that John looked uncomfortable and was trying to pull his arm away without being rude. So this was Dawn’s doing; Lori couldn’t fault the other woman for following her own heart.
In an effort to reassure herself, Lori reminded herself that Dawn would doubtless have John all to herself soon. But, instead the thought saddened her—and, at the same time, birthed a determination to claim her man for as long as she was still here.
Lori stepped out into the hallway behind them. Neither showed any sign of having seen her.
Just feet away, Lori watched Dawn look up at John. “I need some help. Our shower isn’t working, and you were so quick fixing the faucet I thought it might just take you a few minutes—”
John looked even more uncomfortable as he said, softly but firmly, “Dawn, I can’t.”
Joy sang in Lori’s heart. He was being true to her. With a smile and a few quick steps, Lori caught up to the couple and smiled. “Good afternoon, Dawn, John.”
Dawn stiffened, her smile cooling. “Good afternoon.” She turned to John. “Remember. I’ll still be here.”
As Dawn walked off, John looked stricken, as if Lori had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Again. “Lori, really, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Really?” She took the arm Dawn had just abandoned and smiled up at him. “Because it looks to me like you just stayed exclusively mine.”
Surprise and immense relief crossed John’s face. “Yeah. Well, that’s right.” He smiled as though very pleased with himself for having passed a test. Which he had, in Lori’s opinion.
She might only be here for a short time, but while she was here, she expected him to keep his promise. But she had to admit that she was surprised she trusted him.
Calm and peaceful, Lori walked outside, still holding John’s arm. As he opened the truck door for her, he leaned in for a kiss.
And she, like Grandma Scott, was easy kissed.
THE GARDEN GURU
Dear Ms. Scott: I’m tired of cooking the same old thing. Do you have any suggestions for uniquely flavored vege-tables? (Rebecca)
Dear Rebecca: Spice up your cooking with jalapeño peppers. Good for chili, salsa, and clearing out your nasal passages. Whether harvesting for immediate use or to freeze for later, be sure to use rubber gloves or clean the hot peppers under running water; this is one vegetable juice that bites back. Jalapeños are hot, but their Scoville units aren’t so high that you’ll have a serious reaction. You can find a wide range of heat levels, even on the same plant, and more so on different plants—anything from mild to Biker Billy’s hot. This plant takes the heat from the sun and transforms it into heat that will salsa dance on your taste buds. Rather than calling 911 if you have a three-alarm fire, skip the water and go straight to the dairy products (milk, ice cream, yogurt) which can break down the capsaicin oils. Enjoy!
Chapter Eighteen
“Now that’s more like it,” Serena motioned with her fork toward the Hispanic guy who’d just walked into El Parral Mexican Restaurant. “Mmmm. I do love salsa.”
Lori chuckled. “He is pretty good-looking.”
And he was: maybe five-ten, olive skin, dark eyes and moustache, gorgeous smile. “Want me to invite him over?”
Still staring at the salsa guy, Serena shook her head. “Don’t worry, Sister Scott. You leave this guy up to me.”
And, just a moment later, when he looked their way, Lori got to watch Serena in action. Serena smiled and lowered her eyelashes. The guy smiled in a way that let Lori know he’d gotten the message—and liked it.
“Wow,” Lori said, impressed. “You are good.”
At one o’clock, the restaurant was crowded, the air filled with the sounds of cutlery and laughter and the smells of Mexican food at its best.
The hostess seated the guy a few tables away from them. His moving away didn’t seem to bother Serena, who laughed. “What can I say? Hispanic guys love demure women. They also love blondes, so if you’d batted your eyelashes, he’d have looked at you, instead.”
That brought to mind the image of John’s blue eyes looking at her—and she pushed the thought away. She was thinking about him entirely too much lately, and she had to stop doing that or else she’d never be able to say good-bye to him. She refused to cling to him like—well, like Dawn did. And even as she admitted to herself that her feelings and decisions were bouncing all over the place, she said, “I prefer meat and potatoes.”
Serena laughed. “Can’t get much more meat-and-potatoes than John Wayne Walker. That boy is pure steak.”
“That’s true.” Lori smiled. “So, how was your weekend?”
“It was great. My father drove up and took me to the temple on Saturday.”
“So you have a good relationship with him?”
; “Oh, sure. He calls me his niña bonita.” She shrugged. “What’s not to get along?”
Lori smiled. She liked Serena. The first thing she’d asked Serena when they got to the restaurant was if she’d volunteered Lori for the new calling, but she’d said no, that it had been pure inspiration.
Serena lifted her gaze. “So how do you and your father get along?”
“Oh, well, it’s not quite as pretty of a picture as you and your father at the temple.”
Serena tilted her head. “Want to talk about it?”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
“The beginning, of course.” Serena smiled gently. “Go on.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” Lori sighed deeply. “I didn’t go to church for a long time before I moved here.”
She paused, waiting for some sign of displeasure. Dis-appointment. Dis-something else negative. But there was nothing but concern in Serena’s eyes.
“Okay. And?”
“And there are some things I still don’t understand about what happened to my family.”
Serena gave Lori her full attention. “Like?”
“Well . . . what if someone does something really horrible?”
“How horrible are we talking?” Serena lowered her voice.
“Oh, say, like having an affair and leaving his wife for another woman.”
“Ouch.” Serena raised an eyebrow. “That is horrible.”
“And what if this person—let’s call him Mud—what if Mud left his wife and two kids and married the other woman. What kind of punishment should there be in the Church for that?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I mean, you’d have to talk with the bishop, but I think he’d be disfellowshipped, at least.”
“And then what if this same person is later allowed to be sealed to this other woman in the temple?”
Serena pondered the question. “Well, I suppose you can be forgiven for almost anything.”
“But isn’t that kind of hypocritical? To pretend to honor family and the priesthood when you’ve done something like that?” Lori couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “And what if they have more children, as if the first children don’t matter?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Gently, she touched Lori’s arm.
Lori blinked back tears. She was not going to cry. Not over her father.
“I haven’t done anything like you’re describing, but before I was converted I lived a more worldly lifestyle. I’ve done lots of things I’m ashamed of and I’d never want people to know about.”
“You?” Lori blurted out. “Really?”
“Of course. We all sin. Some people sin and hurt themselves. Others sin and hurt other people. And”—Serena paused and softened her voice even more before continuing—“and some people sin by letting the hurt caused by others bring them to a place of unforgiveness.”
“It’s not my fault my father left.” Lori’s hurt resounded in her voice, a young child stung by rejection, something she always took care to hide, often even from herself.
Serena’s voice was gentle. “But perhaps it is your choice that you’re still unhappy over it. Christ’s Atonement is for everyone. It’s to heal us from the sins we commit, and also from the very real hurt other people cause us.”
“But how does knowing that in the abstract help me here and now? I believe in Christ and in His Atonement—but how can I make it work in my life? I don’t know how.” Her voice shook with unexpected emotion. “I need to know how to do that.”
Serena took Lori’s hand in hers. “All I know is when I repented of my sins and released them to Christ, He took them, and I felt an incredible peace enter my heart and my life. Perhaps if you repent of your unforgiveness and release it, Christ will also send His healing power of love to you.”
Lori wanted to believe that, but it seemed far too simple to work. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it, anyway. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Thanks.”
Serena patted her hand. “I will pray for your healing, that you can release your hurt to Christ.”
“Thanks,” Lori repeated, genuinely grateful. “And now I suppose we should talk about something else. Anything.”
“Perhaps about good men. Salsa men. Meat-and-potatoes men.”
Lori lifted her glass of root beer. “To good men.” Which, of course, made her think of John again.
“To good men,” Serena repeated, clinking her glass with Lori’s.
As if on cue, the salsa guy appeared. Smiling at them both, he bowed slightly. He looked straight at Serena of the batting eyelashes. “Do you beautiful señoritas mind if I join you?”
~
Lori was still chuckling about Serena finagling a date with the salsa guy, whom she’d made sure was LDS before he’d finished his burrito. He would be picking her up next weekend for—what else?—salsa dancing.
Sitting in a lawn chair on the patio, the ceiling fan circling lazily above, Lori sipped a glass of lemonade and tried to relax.
A streak of something raced across the back lawn, startling her. It turned out to be Charles’s cat racing toward the fence and jumping over it into Agatha’s yard.
Charles’s cat. Charles’s garden. Charles’s column.
She couldn’t seem to stop worrying about what she’d be writing in the column this next week. She’d spent hours preparing the many recipes she’d gathered, and she was growing weary of zucchini. She hadn’t liked it to begin with.
She took another sip of lemonade, relaxing further.
Utah did have its advantages. The air here was warm—the thermometer on the outside wall beside her read ninety-three degrees—but the breeze from the fan kept her comfortable in her black shorts and T-shirt. Without the horrendously high humidity she’d grown up with, the temperature here didn’t seem nearly as hot as in New York at the same number.
That old saying was true: It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. She’d like to see some of these Utahans survive a New York summer. Or winter.
“Hey,” called out Agatha.
Lori looked over to the adjoining fence. Agatha held Charles’s white cat aloft. “Lose something?” she teased.
Lori laughed and pushed out of the chair, crossing to the fence to chat. “No, I think both she and I are happiest when she’s with you. Are you sure Charles didn’t kidnap her from you?”
“Well, Fluffy is one of the kittens from the last litter my old cat—Sally—had. She started coming over to visit her mother, and never got out of the habit. It drives Charlie absolutely bonkers.” Agatha laughed at the thought. She definitely had a mischievous streak in her, which Lori liked.
Agatha set the cat on the ground in her own yard. It sauntered under a tree to lick a front paw.
“I hear you have a new calling in the singles ward,” Agatha turned back to her. “How’s that going?”
“You heard about that, huh?”
“I passed John Walker in the store and he mentioned it.” Agatha patted Lori’s hand, which was resting on the top of the fence. “I think you’ll do just great.”
“Remind me how you know John.”
“His parents and I all graduated from high school back in the sixties, way before you were born. I see them once a year at his mother’s night-before-Thanksgiving pie party.” Agatha waved her hand. “But enough about my old age. Tell me about your calling.”
“I have an activity in a couple of weeks and the theme is—of course—zucchini and other vegetables. And I’m really nervous about pulling it off.”
“Why, sweetie, don’t worry about a thing. You’ll be great.”
Not convinced, Lori said, “I really need a killer zucchini recipe to fix and serve.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Agatha shrugged.
“You’ve got a great one already.”
Lori raised an eyebrow in question. “Remind me where I’ve hidden it.”
“You really are worried, aren’t you?” Agatha chuckled. “Charlie has a wonderful recipe for zucchini chicken curry. It’s to die for. It’s probably on his computer.”
“Do you think he’ll mind if I use it?”
“Oh, land sakes, no.” Agatha waved a gardening glove in dismissal. “He’s been promising forever to put that online during zucchini month. He must have forgotten to leave a note for you about it, in the flurry of other notes he left.”
Lori laughed. “You know about the notes?”
Agatha laughed warmly. “Sweetie, I’ve lived next door to the man for decades. I couldn’t help but notice the notes, which he leaves for everything. Always has. Once he even left a note on my front door telling me I was over-watering my petunias. He was wrong, of course, but that didn’t stop him from leaving the note.”
Lori laughed with Agatha. “Are you sure he won’t mind?”
“He told me I was free to find that recipe and use it. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Now, would he have told me that if he didn’t want to share it?”
Lori smiled. She really could use a popular recipe. Could it be this simple? Right under her nose the entire time? “Well—”
“Didn’t you say he told you to use whatever you found in his files for the column?”
Agatha was right. Charles had told Lori that in one of his notes. “Okay. I’ll look for it.”
Agatha nodded. “You’ll be doing Charlie and me both a favor. In addition to the activity, you could use it in your column.”
Lori wasn’t aware of how concerned she’d been until the relief filtered in. She would use it. She’d help Charles keep his promise—she’d even make sure to mention it in his column. “Thanks for the tip. You’ve saved me once again.”
Agatha waved her glove a second time. “Be sure to bring the printed recipe—and have everyone else bring their recipes, too. Everyone always asks for them, anyway.”
“Thanks, Agatha. I’ll do that,” Lori said, grateful for the older woman’s experience in matters of Enrichment Night.
How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini Page 18