Hope Springs

by Kim Cash Tate

  “You sabotaged your own career,” Shelley said, “when you stopped giving 110 percent so you could be home evenings and weekends.”

  All the frustration he’d felt at that time came bubbling up. “I wanted to be with my daughter and my wife . . . except she was never there.”

  Shelley didn’t respond at first. Then, “You knew my career was important to me.”

  He nodded, his jaw tight. “I did. Just didn’t know how important.” Questions he’d had in those first nights after she’d left returned to him. He didn’t necessarily want to ask them now, but he was too on edge to stop himself. “Who did you marry, Shelley? Me or the powerful attorney you hoped I’d become? Did you ever really love me?”

  A long pause followed. Finally, “You’re a good man, Kory. It would’ve been hard not to love you. It just . . . wasn’t enough.”

  Kory stared at the court complaint he’d tossed atop his desk. Shelley Miller v. Kory Miller. There was nothing left to say. He had to file an answer to the complaint, and he’d do it as soon as possible to move the process forward.

  “Kory, so you don’t hear this anywhere else,” Shelley said. “I’ll be scheduling a hearing date at the soonest possible time, thirty days from now. Martin and I are getting married right after.”

  And he thought the sheriff was the twist.

  He lowered the phone from his ear to hang up, but felt compelled to bring it back. “What will you do, Shelley, when you find out that Martin isn’t enough?”

  Soft laughter drifted through the phone. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  He clicked off, still stewing, when he felt the phone vibrate in his hand. He looked down and answered. “Hey, Janelle.”

  “Hey. I was thinking . . . why don’t you and Dee join us at the house for dinner this evening? Something tells me you could use a friend.”

  So many thoughts swirled in his head. He said simply, “Thank you,” because one more word might’ve broken him down.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wednesday, January 6

  Stephanie was so sleepy her eyes were about to drop from their sockets. She’d jokingly called this boot camp, but the joke was on her—she was being put through her paces. She’d been awakened every morning before dawn by Grandma Geri’s coughing, and every morning thus far they’d had an early morning appointment at the hospital. So getting back to sleep was useless. Before she knew it, it was time to wake the kids and get them dressed and fed. After Daniel caught the school bus, she and Tiffany had been playing every conceivable game under the sun—Trouble, Old Maid, dolls, jump rope, even a chalked-up game of hopscotch outdoors.

  Now she’d taken a moment to rest her bones on the sofa. She took the liberty of closing her eyes. All she needed was a short nap . . . but she felt a fuzzy sensation under her nose and jumped, eyes wide. It was the stringy hair of a Groovy Girl doll.

  Tiffany threw her head back with laughter.

  “Tiff, what are you doing?” Stephanie whined. “You’re supposed to be taking a nap.”

  “I grew out of naps.”

  “That’s not what your momma said.” Stephanie was almost groggy. “I want you to go lie down for a while.”

  “I did, but I couldn’t fall asleep.”

  “You only tried for five minutes. Go try again. I want you to lie down until I call you.”

  Stephanie wanted to give a cheer when Tiffany scurried away, but she was already drifting, one of those deep sleeps you can feel yourself falling into, chest rising and falling, steady breathing moving to a soft—

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Stephanie flew upward, eyes wild. “Tiffany, are you okay? What is that?”

  “I’m playing Trouble,” she yelled from her room.

  Stephanie collapsed back on the sofa. Lord, You know I don’t do kids. This is why. The only children she’d ever babysat were her friend Dana’s. But she’d known Dana her whole life, which meant she’d known Dana’s kids her whole life. Those kids knew from the jump how Stephanie rolled—naptime meant naptime.

  “Tiffany,” she called, “I thought I told you to lie down.”

  “I am lying down. I’m playing in bed.”

  “Okay, then let me be clearer. I want you to lie down, close your eyes, keep your hands by your side, and count sheep.”

  Tiffany giggled. “Count sheep?”

  Lord . . . ?

  “Stephanie?”

  “Yes, Tiffany.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Okey-dokey. No nap. Stephanie swung her legs over the side of the sofa and walked into the kids’ bedroom. Tiffany was on her bed, drawing circles in the air.

  Stephanie sat next to her. “Remember I told you that you needed to eat your sandwich?”

  “But I wasn’t hungry then.”

  “Okay. Good thing I left your sandwich on the table. You can go eat it.”

  “The bread is hard now.”

  Stephanie took a breath. “Tiffany . . .”

  The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Can we go to the diner? We haven’t been anywhere all week, and Uncle Wood said I’d have adventures. And Claire said they have good milkshakes.” She waggled her eyebrows on the last part, as if it were the biggest selling point.

  And it was. Stephanie had been good and ready to say no, but the milkshake was enticing. A change of scenery sounded good too. “Only if you eat that sandwich first.”

  “Okay.” Tiffany tore out of bed and ran into the kitchen.

  Stephanie stared after her. No, that little girl didn’t just play me.

  Stephanie and Tiffany walked into the Main Street Diner hand in hand for their big adventure.

  “Hello there, and welcome!” A woman smiled at them from the hostess podium, grabbing a big plastic menu and a kid’s paper one. “Follow me, please.”

  The diner definitely had a small-town vibe. Servers lingered at tables, talking to patrons as if they knew them. Patrons talked to one another across tables. Décor hadn’t been updated in decades, it seemed—red vinyl, really?—but it added to the charm of the place. It was fairly busy for one fifteen. Almost all the tables were full, and many patrons were still ordering breakfast.

  The hostess led them to a booth for two. Tiffany slid in and grinned as her legs dangled. Stephanie slid in across from her and accepted the menus with a thank-you.

  “What’s your favorite milkshake?” Tiffany asked. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Strawberry.”

  She wrinkled up her face. “Strawberry? I never heard of anyone liking strawberry milkshakes. I like vanilla, like Mommy. Daniel likes chocolate.” She paused. “Mommy said Daddy used to like chocolate too.”

  Stephanie’s heart took a dive. At four years old, there was probably a lot about her father that Tiffany didn’t remember. To have lost a dad at such a young age . . .

  Stephanie smiled at her. “I think you should get a vanilla-chocolate mix, and we can call it a Mommy-Daddy milkshake.”

  “Ewww.” Her eyes brightened. “I know! You can get a vanilla-strawberry milkshake and call it a Tiffy-Stephy mix!”

  “Um . . . I’m thinking . . . no. But how about a Tiffy-Stephy sandwich—PB&J on one side and turkey on the other.”

  “Yuck.”

  “You’ll never refuse this . . . a Tiffy-Stephy drink! With chocolate milk and cranberry juice.”

  “Yuck. Yuck.” Tiffany shook her head twice for effect.

  “This is my last offer . . . a Tiffy-Stephy hug, with love on one side and sweetness on the other.”

  Tiffany flung her arms wide as Stephanie rose up and reached across the booth, a slight tear in her eye.

  Please don’t start this, Lord. I refuse to become mushy.

  “Which one of us is the sweetness one?” Tiffany asked.

  Stephanie laughed. “Honey, I’ve never been accused of being sweetness.”

  “Hey, look at the love. So cool.” Sara Ann had walked up. “Can I have one of those, Tiffany?”

  Tiffany beamed. �
�You sure can.” She scooted over and hugged Sara Ann.

  “Sorry it took so long for me to get to you. This place stays busy lately.”

  Sara Ann definitely had that natural sweetness. She’d stopped by twice to visit with Grandma Geri, and she just seemed nice. Maybe if Stephanie had a Southern accent like Sara Ann’s, she’d seem nicer too.

  “No problem,” Stephanie said. “Our order is easy, one vanilla milkshake and one strawberry.”

  “Large or small?” Sara Ann asked.

  “Small for Miss Tiffany, and . . .” Stephanie glanced down. “My hips are saying ditto.”

  “Miss.” A guy two tables over was flagging Sara Ann, holding up a mug. “Do you plan to refill my coffee today or next week?”

  Stephanie’s eyebrows rose. She looked at Sara Ann.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “We’re short on help. I’m just finishing this order, and I’ll grab your coffee.”

  “Grab it now or I’m out of here.”

  Stephanie touched her arm. “We’re done, Sara Ann. Go ahead and help him.” Though I might have another idea what to do with that coffee.

  “So sorry again, sir,” Sara Ann said. “Be right back with the coffeepot.” She scurried away.

  Tiffany’s brow wrinkled. “Miss Sara Ann is so nice. Why was that man mean to her?”

  Stephanie looked over at him. “Well . . . I guess he really, really needed some caffeine that very second. And Miss Sara Ann’s taking care of so many people that she couldn’t get it when he wanted it. She said they need more help.”

  “Couldn’t you help?”

  “Well, no, sweetheart. I don’t work here.”

  “That’s what I meant. Couldn’t you get a job here?” She sounded so matter-of-fact, like it made sense.

  “No, actually I can’t get a job here,” Stephanie said. “My job right now is taking care of you.” She smiled, glad for the out.

  Tiffany got that wrinkled brow again. “But Mommy said she’ll be taking care of me a lot of times ’cause Grandma doesn’t have to go to the hospital every day. So you can do it.”

  Stephanie leaned over. “Little sweetness one, the other reason I can’t work here is because Cousin Stephanie is a little low on patience. I would’ve—well, I couldn’t have handled the situation like Sara Ann.”

  Sara Ann returned just then and set the milkshakes on the table. “Can I get anything else for you gals?”

  Ask what kind of help they need.

  No.

  Stephanie smiled at Sara Ann. “We’re good. These look delicious.”

  “Can I have a straw?” Tiffany asked.

  “Now, how’d I forget that?” Sara Ann fished inside her apron pocket.

  Ask.

  Ugh.

  “Uh, Sara Ann . . . I was just wondering. What kind of help do y’all need here? I’m assuming a full-time commitment, several hours every day?”

  She handed out their straws. “Oh no. I mean, that’d be nice, I guess. But we’d take whatever we could get.” She looked hopeful. “Why, you know somebody?”

  Stephanie peeled the paper from her straw. “Nope. Just wondering.”

  Sara Ann started toward another table. “All right. Well, point ’em here if they come to mind.”

  Stephanie bent her head and sucked her shake, marshaling her defenses.

  Not doing it, Lord. This wasn’t part of the deal. Helping Janelle and Grandma Geri . . . that was the deal. It would actually take away from my ability to help them if I got a job. And I don’t even work. I’ve never wanted to work. That’s why I wanted to marry a doctor. She looked up and surveyed the diner. And if I got some strange unction to work, it wouldn’t be here. I mean, seriously . . . maybe the Chanel shop . . .

  “Stephanie, why are you so quiet?”

  “Oh.” She sighed. “Talking to God. You ever talk to God?”

  “Sometimes I tell Him I miss my daddy.”

  “Aw, sweetheart. I’m glad you talk to God about that.”

  Tiffany drank some of her shake. “What do you talk to God about?”

  “Lately, if I feel like He wants me to do something, I’m usually telling Him why I don’t want to do it.”

  Tiffany gasped. “You tell God you don’t want to do something?”

  “Yep.”

  “Does He listen?”

  “Good question, Tiff. He does listen actually.”

  “Do you get your way?”

  “So far . . . never.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Friday, January 8

  Becca awakened as Todd slowed the car and took the exit into Hope Springs. It was already dark on a Friday night. They’d decided midweek to drive down so they could move some of their things early and assess what needed to be done to the house. The U-Haul attached to the back made this trip unlike any other—their first as near-residents.

  She had worked much of the trip, polishing her message, then practicing it for Todd. He’d given great feedback, telling her what worked, where it lagged, how it resonated overall. Only three weeks until she’d be on the platform giving it. But she looked forward to being in the audience for the kickoff conference of the year in two weeks. Meanwhile, she was enjoying the buildup. She’d been blogging this week about this new phase of her ministry, and she’d been pleasantly surprised by the feedback. People she’d never heard from were telling her that they were regular conference attendees and were already praying for her.

  “Soooo . . . this is your new normal, folks,” Todd said, looking left and right as he drove slowly down the street. “You got your twenty-four-hour convenience store by the gas station—always good when you’re hankerin’ for junk snacks late at night; your Main Street Diner to my right—but if you’re hungry, get there by three; Clotill’s consignment shop—will give Nordstrom a run for its money any day of the week.”

  Becca snorted. “Don’t tell Nordstrom they’ve got fierce competition here. They might put the squeeze on ol’ Clotill.”

  “The great things about this location will be: one, no fast food restaurants—”

  “That’s not a great thing, Daddy.” Claire had awakened about the same time as Becca. “They need a McDonald’s.”

  Todd turned down the road that led to the house. “No fast food restaurants means no fast food calorie temptations for Dad. Two, no Starbucks—”

  “My turn,” Becca said. “How’s that a great thing? I need lattes and frappucinos.”

  “No designer coffeehouse means no designer coffeehouse daily expenditures.”

  Becca laughed. “Guess I’ll have to learn to make my favorite coffee drinks at home.”

  They continued down the road and rounded the bend. “What’s going on over there?” Becca asked.

  Cars covered the grass outside the Sanders home.

  Todd pulled into an open spot between the homes. “I don’t know. Probably family visiting Grandma Geri.”

  Becca and Todd had been saddened by the diagnosis and were praying for her. “Have you talked to her since her first chemo?” she asked.

  “No, only before. But I talked to Janelle yesterday. Grandma Geri had a couple of rough days and nights, a lot of vomiting.”

  “We should stop over tonight.”

  “Absolutely.” He looked in the back where Ethan was still sleeping. “We’ll take them inside and get settled a bit, then pop over.”

  They opened the van doors in the back, and Todd scooped up Ethan. Claire climbed down from her seat. “I wanna see Tiffany,” she said. Her little feet inched toward the Sanders house.

  When Todd and Becca told her they were relocating to Hope Springs, that was her first question. “Will Tiffany be there?” That was all she needed to hop on board.

  “Hold on, little lady.” Becca took her hand. “We’re not heading over just yet.”

  Ethan was awake now and jumped down to walk up the steps on his own.

  Todd unlocked the front door and flipped on the light in the entryway, and Becca stood there, ta
king it all in with new eyes. This house was very different from their St. Louis home. They were both older houses, but this one was historic-old. Much more character and even a little bigger.

  Becca walked farther in, flicking lights as she went, wondering how they would meld the furniture from the two houses. They’d have to give away a lot, and they’d have to totally clear out three of the four bedrooms here. They could keep the guest room furniture in one. Now that she was here, she could see the trip was really needed.

  Todd’s phone rang, and Becca listened as he answered in the kitchen.

  “Hey, Janelle . . . Yep, just got here. We’re stopping over a little later . . . Oh, really? Okay, sure. Be right there.”

  Becca met him as he came out of the kitchen. “What’s up?”

  “Janelle said they’ve been taking photos for an album she’s putting together for Grandma Geri to flip through while she’s doing chemo. They’re about to take a pic of my crowd—Janelle, Libby, and Travis—and they want me in it.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Becca said, adding, “as long as they keep that camera far from me.” Her hair was pulled up lazily for the long drive.

  “Come on, kids!” Todd called. “We’re headed next door.”

  “Yaaay!” Claire stretched the word out as she ran down the stairs and to the door, opening it for them all.

  They followed Todd to the front entrance. He pushed the door open and—

  “Surprise!”

  He paused in the doorway as at least two dozen faces smiled at them.

  Travis stepped up with a wide grin and pulled him into a handshake-hug. “Come on in, Pastor. This is all for you.”

  Todd looked tentatively around. “What’s all for me?”

  “The barbecued ribs in there, for one thing.” Travis looked proud.

  Janelle raised a finger. “Caveat. Dad and Uncle Wood are gone, so there were stand-ins at the grill. You’ll have to test ’em yourself.”

  Todd glanced skeptically between the two of them. “Travis didn’t get near the grill, did he?”