Season of Joy

by Virginia Carmichael

  “We don’t want to be late,” she said softly.

  He dropped his hand and grinned. “Definitely not. Especially if you’re one of those early people.”

  She shot him an amused glance and let him lead the way.

  * * *

  Calista had always heard that phrase “church family” but had never really known what it meant. Maybe because her own had been so twisted by her father’s need for control and her own fear. Whatever it was, she got it now.

  Grant held the hymnbook for them both and she sang along with the familiar stately tune, but inside she was anything but sedate. She had never felt so at home since her mother died. From the moment they stepped through the doors, they’d been greeted and hugged. Grant had already fielded three offers of lunch by the time they’d made it to a pew halfway up the sanctuary.

  The little church was filled to the brim and after an hour all the bodies had made it pleasantly warm. She glanced around as the organist paused, then started another verse. Old people, families, singles, teens, everybody was here. A little boy directly in front of them sat sideways on the pew and ran a tiny toy car up and down the wood. His mother, without pausing from her song, reached down a hand and rubbed it through his soft black hair. They all seemed so at ease, so happy. She never remembered church this way. Her father had always parked them in the front row and they were bound for a whipping if they even twitched during the service.

  As the last notes faded away, Grant turned toward her and said, “I forgot to tell you, we usually go to the parish hall for doughnuts. Is that okay?”

  Calista blinked. Doughnuts, too? This was definitely not the church of her youth. “If you knew me better, you wouldn’t even have to ask that question.”

  He let out a soft chuckle and helped her into her coat again. “Someone has a doughnut problem? But I thought you were a runner.”

  “That’s why I’m a runner,” she said, giving him a quick wink. “On the other hand, maybe we should skip the after-church social because you just might see a side of me that’s better off hidden.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” He shook hands with an older man whose white mustache bristled as he smiled.

  They walked the ten yards to the parish hall and joined the after-church crowd. It seemed as if everyone had stayed for coffee. A giant poster was taped to the front door announcing a spaghetti dinner and silent auction to benefit the Downtown Denver Mission next Sunday. The kids shed their coats and ran through a pair of doors into a modern-looking gym.

  “Hi, Eric.” Calista didn’t know why she was surprised to see Grant’s best friend here.

  “Hi there, new girl.” His wild red hair had been tamed a bit, probably by the dark-haired woman next to him. As she came around her husband to give Grant a hug, Calista saw her rounded tummy. Eric introduced her, with a flourish. “This is my wife, Marla. And our baby.”

  Marla took Calista’s arm, steering her toward one of the tables. “Don’t mind him, he’s never serious.”

  Eric was certainly a lighthearted guy.

  “Let’s park it here while the men get us some sustenance.” Marla gestured to the chair across from her and they sat down, leaving Grant and Eric to wait in line.

  “When is your baby due?”

  “Three weeks. Right in time for Christmas.” Marla flipped her long dark hair over one shoulder and rubbed her tummy.

  Something in that gesture touched her heart. How would it feel to have such a tiny person to hold for the first time? “I guess you can’t wait.”

  “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this baby my whole life.” Her smile was tender, then wry. “And at this point, I swear I really have been. It’s hard to waddle around with twenty pounds strapped to your front.”

  Calista laughed. No wonder women felt so off-kilter. She felt a pressure on her shoulder and turned her head to see a very old woman standing next to her. She was tiny, with curling steel-gray hair. Her brown eyes were fixed on Calista, and although her mouth was smiling, nothing was getting past those eyes.

  “Are you Grant’s new girlfriend?” Her tone was light, conversational.

  Calista shook her head, struggling to marshal her thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Marla laughing into her hand.

  “Well, if you’ve got plans for the boy, I want you to know we’re all very fond of him. We want the best for him, especially now after all that trouble with his father.”

  Calista’s face went hot. Did this little old lady think she was a gold digger? She watched the woman’s eyes travel over Calista’s outfit, stopping at the hem of her dress, right at the knee.

  “I understand.” That was all she could manage. Her voice seemed to have become stuck somewhere in her throat.

  “Mrs. Herne, how are you this fine morning?” Grant’s deep voice behind them cut through the chatter in the parish hall. Calista wanted to bolt from the scene but instead she turned and met his laughing gaze. His smile faltered at her subdued expression and he looked from Mrs. Herne to Calista and back again. He laid the small paper plates of doughnuts on the table and cocked his head.

  “Now, see here. I won’t bring her back if you’re going to give her a hard time.”

  “I wasn’t! Not at all.” To Calista’s surprise, the old woman’s lined face turned pink and her eyes widened. “I was just letting her know how fond we are of you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Grant folded his arms over his chest and pretended to fix a beady eye on Mrs. Herne. “I bet you were. I can take care of myself, you know. I’m a big boy.”

  By this point Marla was wiping tears from under her eyes and her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. Eric dropped into a chair across from them and bit into a doughnut.

  The old woman stood her ground. “Yes, Grant dear, but even big boys get their hearts broken.” And with that she gave his arm a little squeeze and walked away.

  “I just love her,” Eric mumbled through his doughnut. “I could have used her five years ago when I was dating the wrong girl.”

  Marla wrapped her arm around his shoulders and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. “But you’ve never been on the other side. She scared me silly when I first met her. And plus, your broken heart was very attractive to a shy girl like me.”

  Eric glanced up into his wife’s eyes and frowned. “Broken heart? Did I have a broken heart? I can’t seem to recall...” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead, dropping a hand to her tummy.

  Calista watched them, her throat feeling tight. Her life was so empty of anything that truly mattered. She shot a glance at Grant, and met his eyes. He was studying her face, wondering. It probably wasn’t hard to tell what she was feeling. She suddenly felt like the poor cousin at the family reunion, the one everybody felt sorry for.

  “Hey, I saw the poster for the spaghetti dinner next Sunday.” It wasn’t a great transition, but it would have to do. Anything except broken hearts and babies and true love.

  Grant nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “We can pull in three or four hundred dollars in a day.”

  “But the roof will cost a whole lot more than that.”

  Eric shrugged. “It probably doesn’t sound like much to a CEO like you.”

  Calista put down her half-eaten maple bar. “I do think it’s a lousy way to make money, but not because I’m a CEO. It’s basic business. You’re on a deadline, you know your target and you’re doing a church dinner?”

  “And what do you suggest?” Grant’s voice was light but there was steel in his eyes. “Ask my father to pay for it all?”

  * * *

  Grant’s heart was pounding. Did Calista really think he would take the easy route and ask his father for money? Money that was probably made less than legally?

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “I can see you’re too
proud to take that route.”

  “Proud? Because I won’t accept money from Kurt Daniels?” Just saying the name made him angry.

  “No.” She sat back, choosing her words. “There are other deep pockets in this city. But you’re too proud to go where the money is, and ask for it.”

  Grant almost stood up, he was so surprised. “I’m asking! I spend all day on the phone, calling donors. I send out fliers and do news pieces. I’m practically the poster boy for begging.”

  She was shaking her head, blond hair falling around her shoulders, green eyes deadly serious. If he wasn’t so mad, he would have stopped to enjoy how close she was, how great she smelled.

  “You’re begging where you feel comfortable.” She waved a hand. “Here, your friends. It’s a lot easier to ask your favorite brother to loan you ten dollars than to ask a rich stranger for much more.”

  Grant gripped his head, running his hands through his hair. “Why would I ask a rich stranger for money, when I have close friends and family?” This conversation was so crazy, so unbelievable, that he felt as though all the logic had fallen out of it.

  She laid a hand on his arm, leveled her gaze. “Grant, listen to yourself. It’s not about you, is it?”

  Grant stared at her, their gazes locked. Understanding flooded through him, followed by a healthy dose of shame. He’d been proud. Too proud to beg for himself. But it wasn’t about him; it was about the people who didn’t have a voice.

  He nodded slowly. “I see your point.” He watched her hand drop from his arm, and immediately wished they were still arguing. She picked up her maple bar and took a satisfied bite.

  “Good,” she mumbled. “Because that roof was never going to get fixed on spaghetti dinners.”

  Grant glanced across the table, remembering for the first time in several minutes that Eric and Marla were there. They wore matching expressions. And he knew exactly what they were thinking. He had met more than his match. This beautiful girl with the sharp mind and the bright green eyes, the quick blush and the fighting spirit, she was the one he’d been waiting for.

  And she loved doughnuts, to boot.

  * * *

  “How did the visit to Grant’s church go?” Lana’s bright glance added to the friendly tone of her question.

  “Amazing.” Calista paused on her way back to the offices, handing over a double-shot caramel mocha and a large plate of homemade cookies. It had felt wonderful to hold the steaming drink on her trek down the snowy sidewalk, dodging foot-high drifts. Another Wednesday morning in her favorite place on earth.

  “Ooh, thanks. You sure know how to get on my good side.” Lana accepted the hot coffee and took a careful sip. “So, elaborate on amazing,” she said and bit the head off a gingerbread man.

  “Well, everyone was welcoming, the music was beautiful, the sermon was inspiring and nobody gave me the third degree except one little old lady. I think she has appointed herself Grant’s personal protector against women.”

  Lana snorted, nodding her head. “That would be Mrs. Herne. When my son and I visited Grant’s church last year for a special concert, she spent ten minutes asking me about my romantic history.”

  “Yikes.” Calista couldn’t help laughing, imagining the tiny elderly woman badgering Lana. “But it’s kind of sweet that she’s watching out for him.”

  “Did you pass inspection?”

  “Not on your life. I think my dress was too short for her liking.”

  Lana grinned over her coffee. “I just love that nosy old lady. She’ll keep you in line for sure.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’ll be seeing a lot of her.”

  Lana waggled her eyebrows. “We’ll see about that. I heard a rumor about a Christmas party at the Grant-Humphreys Mansion.”

  Calista felt her cheeks flush and was annoyed at her own reactions. “Oh, that. It’s nothing—”

  Lana burst out laughing. “It’s hard to take someone seriously when they’re blushing and glaring. I would say it’s definitely something.”

  Before Calista could do more than shrug sheepishly, the office door swung open and Jose wandered over. “Hey, ladies. Who’s up for some filing?”

  The two women glanced at each other and laughed.

  “When you say it like that, it almost sounds exciting.” Calista waved to Lana and headed for the office door.

  “Like a lamb to slaughter,” Lana said, laughing.

  * * *

  Another day, another list of phone calls to make. Grant raked his fingers through his hair and stared down at the page. Most of these people should have sent in their Christmas donation by now. Maybe they thought Kurt Daniels’s son didn’t need their hard-earned money this year. The idea made his gut twist in anger. He felt as though his father was circling like a vulture, getting closer and closer to cornering him.

  He hadn’t called since their last conversation, but he was sure Kurt Daniels was going to send the next check straight to the board. And Grant would rather leave the mission than watch it become one more trophy for his father. When he wanted something, he got it. Companies, homes, political influence—it seemed like there was no end to his father’s desperate grabs for power. On the surface, he looked like a man who was active in his community. Underneath, Grant knew that taking money from him was like making a deal with the devil. He had watched political careers soar, then falter when Kurt Daniels decided he wanted the candidate to flip-flop on a campaign promise. Whatever his father touched withered and spoiled. End of discussion.

  Grant shook the disturbing thoughts away and refocused on his long list. Calista had given him a list of corporations and by the middle of the week, he’d begged enough corporate sponsorships to get the roof replaced. It wasn’t hard at all, once he got his head around the fact that he wasn’t as humble as he’d thought.

  But they were still behind where they’d been last year. He rubbed his eyes, wishing that he could stop worrying. God provided; He always had. But it was an uphill battle to have faith when he saw numbers like these.

  He needed to try on his tuxedo and make sure it still fit. Not that he’d changed since the last time he’d worn it at his cousin’s fancy wedding. He was sort of looking forward to the party. It was strange because he hated functions like that, with women so overly glamorous you couldn’t recognize them from their everyday selves. He wondered what Calista would wear, couldn’t even wager a guess. Black-tie parties were carte blanche to layer on the jewels and the fur. Whatever she did, she would look amazing, that he knew for a fact. A corner of his mouth tugged up as he thought of her with the finger-painting crowd. The girl glowed, whether she had blue paint in her hair or was dressed to the nines.

  A tap on the half-open door announced Jose...or rather Jose’s head. “Marisol wants to know if the new chick can work in the kitchen.”

  Grant opened his mouth to correct Jose and then decided against it. He was going to save his energy for a real battle, and he was tired of reminding him that “new chick” wasn’t Calista’s name.

  “She’s in the filing room. I can go get her.” It would be a welcome distraction from his morning’s work. But then, Calista was a welcome distraction at any time, he thought with a grin.

  The small room was almost completely clear of files, with only a few boxes left on a long desk near the door. Calista looked up at his quiet knock, a smile spreading over her face.

  “Hey, you.” The warmth in her voice was like a physical touch.

  “Hey, yourself.” Not the most brilliant response, but his brain had gone blank at the sight of her.

  “Have you come to observe me in my purgatory?”

  “I’ve come to release you.” He couldn’t help taking a step closer. She smelled wonderful, like vanilla and cinnamon.

  “Excellent! What’s the plan, Mr. Director?”

&
nbsp; “Marisol needs an extra kitchen helper, if you’re willing.”

  “Really? I’ve been dying to get in some kitchen time. It’s like a private club and no one will share the secret handshake.” She tucked a file into its place and grinned up at him.

  “Today’s your lucky day.” His fingers itched to tuck the blond lock of hair behind her ear but he had to remind himself that they were at work, and professionalism was key. He cleared his throat. “I really enjoyed Sunday.”

  “I did, too.” Her cheeks turned pink and she paused, chewing her lip. “And Mrs. Herne was very interested in my past. We had a long conversation. Well, she asked questions and I answered them.”

  Grant couldn’t suppress the laugh that rose up in him. “I should put her on a retainer. She’s as good as a private investigator. Between the questions and the fear, I can weed out all the weak candidates.”

  Calista’s happy grin slipped a little. “She’s good. You definitely need her.”

  Grant regarded her for a second, trying to decipher the emotions that flitted over her face. When he figured it out, he stepped forward and lifted her chin with his fingers. Professionalism would have to wait. “There have never been a lot of candidates, and there’s only one right now.”

  A smile played around her lips. “And what did Mrs. Herne decide?”

  “She told me we’d make beautiful babies.”

  Calista’s eyes widened in shock, and her face flushed a deep pink. “She did not!”

  “I’m telling you the truth. Those old ladies have only one thing on their minds.” He shook his head in dismay. “Grandchildren.”

  She snorted and swatted his arm. “I better get to the kitchen.”

  “Tell Marisol I’m dying for some tamales.”

  “Will do.” And she flashed him one last lingering smile that deepened as she slipped out the door.