by Duarte, Judy
Lynette turned, and her lips parted. “You mean just for fun?”
Carly gave a little shrug.
Were they actually going to become friends?
Lynette smiled. “Sure, Carly. And I’ll bring the popcorn.”
“You got it.”
As Lynette stepped onto the porch, Carly said, “Good night.”
Lynette flashed her one last smile.
Yes, it had been a really good night. She wasn’t sure how Grant was going to play into all of this, what with the attraction she was feeling for him, but something told her she was going to need a new friend.
Especially when she might have lost one of the few she’d had.
Chapter 16
After leaving Helen’s house on Thursday, when Lynette had been so hurtful and mean, Susan had gone home and eaten several helpings of chocolate ice cream, which had always been her comfort food of choice.
It had been soothing for a while—until the guilt had kicked in and she’d realized how many calories and grams of fat she’d consumed.
Two days had passed, and she’d yet to hear an apology, which left her still annoyed beyond measure. But last night, while she’d been tossing and turning and praying for sleep, she’d given some thought to the various conversations they’d had over the past several months.
If push came to shove, she had to admit that she wasn’t entirely sure that she’d actually come right out and told Lynette that she wanted to date Grant—or Max, either, for that matter. She’d just implied that she’d been interested in both men. But how hard was it to notice someone’s enthusiasm, especially when she was delivering cookies and Christmas ornaments?
Of course, Susan was still hurt over the comments Lynette had made about her mixing up numbers, especially now, while she had all the ingredients for brownies spread upon her kitchen counter and a recipe she’d never followed before. She’d been praying that she’d get it right, that she’d measure everything as directed.
Since Barbie had specifically asked her to bring brownies to Lydia’s House for the party on Monday afternoon, she’d decided to make a practice batch or two. Just in case she screwed up, she had a backup plan. She would make a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies, which were sure to turn out perfectly. That way, she would have gotten at least one thing right.
She was still stressing about attending that party, though. And feeling a little guilty at the same time.
Maggie had been right when she’d said, They’re just like you in a lot of ways, vulnerable, loving, kind . . . They cry when they’re hurt.
At this very moment, that statement rang true for Susan, too. She always tried to do the right thing, but her best-laid plans didn’t always turn out the way she wanted them to, whether it was reading and following a recipe, keeping a running total of poker winnings, or finding a new husband. And like the residents of Lydia’s House, she, too, hurt when someone pointed out her flaws.
She wouldn’t feel so sad and vulnerable, though, if she had a husband and a family of her own. She’d be too caught up in the Christmas rush—shopping, wrapping gifts, decorating the house—to stew about anything else for very long.
Instead, she was merely going through the motions, hoping no one could see how very lonely she was.
But God knew what was going on inside, and He was the only one who could make things right. So standing in the kitchen, with a dusting of flour on her hands and an ache in her heart, she bowed her head.
Lord, I’m hurting something awful. You know how badly I want to have a baby, and time is running out. Please don’t let me spend another holiday alone, without the one thing that would make me whole.
You’ve blessed me in other ways, and I’m grateful for that. I also realize that I don’t deserve anything You’ve given me or even this request I’m making. But please make the pain go away, Lord—or at least make it tolerable.
Just as she was going to wrap up her prayer with an Amen, an unexpected thought came to mind, chasing away all the others.
Are you forgetting something? it asked.
She didn’t think so.
How do you expect to find joy amidst the anger and bitterness in your heart?
Anger and bitterness? The only one who’d annoyed her, at least recently, had been Lynette, but those feelings hadn’t had a chance to take root yet. Had they?
Even so, she couldn’t very well forgive the woman she’d considered a friend and forget those hurtful comments she’d made until Lynette actually apologized. And so far, Lynette had yet to utter a single word of remorse.
Why wait?
Well, because, as far as Susan was concerned, the ball was in Lynette’s court.
It all seemed logical, fair, and just. But as Susan held fast to that belief, it grew a little hard and unwieldy in her grip.
Okay, so I’m being a little stubborn, she thought. No one’s perfect.
As she raised her head and opened her eyes, she studied the ingredients that lay before her, waiting to be measured, whipped into a batter, and baked in the oven.
Flour, cocoa, eggs, butter . . .
They aren’t very tasty in and of themselves, are they?
No, other than the sugar, they’d be dry, bitter, slimy, or greasy in the mouth.
But in the hands of a baker, just imagine what they could become.
True, she thought. When blended together, heated to a certain temperature for just the right amount of time, the mix would become a rich, chocolaty treat.
You need a Master Baker in your life.
Susan’s thoughts, it seemed, were running away with her. And that was just plain crazy.
Of course, it wasn’t crazy to let God take charge of her life, but thinking that He might actually be talking to her was. So she shook it off and tried to focus on the recipe.
Yet even as she studied the words, she couldn’t help wondering if God could actually work in her life like that. Could He take the ugly ingredients—the disappointments, the bruised feelings, the broken dreams—and create something beautiful?
It would be amazing if He could.
If He would.
Susan had no idea how long she’d stood there, staring at the clutter of ingredients on her counter, thinking about life and the unexpected messes she’d either created on her own or stumbled into.
Would God do something remarkable with her life, if she’d let Him?
She’d certainly like Him to, so she took it a step further.
“Make something out of my mess, Lord.” Then, as though He was standing right beside her, rather than in the throne room of Heaven, she added, “If there’s anything I can do to help things along, just let me know.”
As she returned her gaze on the recipe, another thought sprung to mind. Then feed My sheep.
She’d gone to Sunday school as a child and knew who the Good Shepherd was. And she supposed you could say that she’d fed His sheep when she’d helped Rosa at the soup kitchen last week.
If truth be told, she’d come home that day feeling better about herself than she had in a long, long time.
She supposed Maggie had been right when she’d suggested that the Lils share their time and money with others this holiday season. Maybe Susan ought to talk to Dawn Randolph and ask if she could volunteer at the kitchen on a regular basis.
Again she glanced at the recipe she was trying to follow, one Barbie had suggested she make and take to Lydia’s House on Monday afternoon. She supposed attending the party and providing goodies was another way to help the less fortunate this season.
“All right,” she said out loud, as if God was actually standing beside her in the kitchen. “I’m going to put on a happy face when I go to that party and make the best of it.”
She waited for a response, one of those out-of-the-blue thoughts, but she didn’t get one. Of course, she wasn’t about to worry about that. At least she had some direction and a game plan now: She would go above and beyond for others this Christmas, and in doing so, maybe sh
e would turn the tide of blessings in her favor.
And if it didn’t work out the way in which she hoped it would?
Then so be it. She’d be content knowing that she’d done something to make life a little better for someone else.
On Sunday morning, Max woke earlier than usual—at least in his world nine thirty was early.
He’d fixed a pot of coffee and drank his usual two cups. But then he’d gotten a wild hair, and for some crazy reason he’d climbed into the attic and pulled out several strings of multicolored Christmas lights he’d been storing since the year before last.
Even as he took them down, leaving the other holiday decorations where they were, he wondered why he was giving in to neighborhood pressure.
Or was it more than that?
Maybe Carly had something to do with it.
On Friday night, when he’d gone to Carly’s for dinner, he’d spotted the stockings hung on the mantel and noticed the way in which she’d adorned her house with Christmas knickknacks and the kids’ artwork. As he’d taken it all in, he’d felt a sense of home and hearth he hadn’t otherwise experienced in ages.
For some reason, Carly’s holiday spirit had been contagious, and he’d been compelled to drag out the lights this morning.
Of course, he wasn’t going to go all out, like some of the other neighbors did, by putting up all the other stuff Karen had once used to spruce up the house and yard. But it wouldn’t hurt to decorate that big tree in the front.
After stretching the lights across the lawn, he took the plug to the nearest outlet, which happened to be on the porch, and checked for burned-out bulbs.
As he studied the sparkling display of colors blinking on and off, he slowly shook his head and grinned. How about that? After two years of collecting dust, they still worked.
“Hey,” a voice called from across the street.
Max turned to see Grant cracking a grin as he approached. “It looks like you’re caving in to community pressure, too.”
Although it hadn’t been the neighbors who’d sparked Max’s climb into the attic this morning, he gave a little shrug, implying that Grant had it all figured out, before changing the subject to one he’d much rather talk about.
“How was your date last night?” he asked.
“It was all right.”
Max didn’t pick up any enthusiastic vibes, which he took to be a good sign that he’d been right, that the two weren’t suited.
“So there wasn’t much to shout about?” he prodded.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. It was a pleasant evening.”
Max wouldn’t mind spending an evening with Carly, either, but Grant still wasn’t giving him much to go on. “So are you going to take her out again, or was it just a one-shot deal?”
“I wasn’t so sure at first, and I don’t think she was, either. So I left the option of a repeat date open. But by the time dessert rolled around, and we had a chance to talk a little more, I realized she was a nice woman and figured, why not?”
“Because she has kids.” Shouldn’t that be reason enough to cause a guy used to setting his own hours at work and taking off to the beach anytime he felt the urge to have second thoughts about dating a single mother?
“I’ve considered that,” Grant said. “And for that reason, I suggested we include the boys next time. It’ll give me a chance to see how things go.”
“Where are you taking them?”
“I’m not sure. Since it’s probably best if we wait until after Christmas, I have time to think of someplace we’d all enjoy.”
Max hadn’t especially liked the idea of Grant and Carly going out to dinner, but for some reason the idea of a family-style date wasn’t any more appealing.
Instead of looking Grant in the eye, which might make the guy think Max was more interested in the budding relationship than he ought to be, he focused on the colorful blinking lights stretched across the lawn and said, “So Carly being a package deal doesn’t bother you?”
“I thought it would.” Grant shoved his hands in the pouch pocket of his sweatshirt. “Maybe there’s something about the holiday season that makes a ready-made family a little more appealing.”
Max hadn’t thought about it that way. When he’d felt all warm and fuzzy inside while at Carly’s house the other night, he’d figured it was because he’d finally gotten a clue as to what might be missing in his life.
Still, when he thought about Grant dating Carly, his gut twisted into a knot and tightened to the point where he found it hard to feign indifference.
So why was that?
He had no idea—unless he was interested in Carly himself.
But he wasn’t about to go there. Not with Grant— and certainly not out in the front yard, where everyone and their brother might pass by and quiz him about his sudden holiday spirit, which was now fading fast.
“Well,” he said, still focused on the stupid lights, “it looks like they all check out.”
“Where you going to put them?”
“On the tree, I guess.” Max glanced at his watch. “But I’m going to do that later this afternoon.”
By the time he got the lights hung up, especially if Grant continued to shoot the breeze and slow him down, he’d be late to Carly’s house. And he had a stop he needed to make before he got there.
So, while Grant took the hint and headed back to his own place, Max rolled up the lights and took them inside.
Twenty minutes later, he parked in front of Carly’s house, then glanced at the pink box that sat on the passenger seat. He’d picked up an assortment of every donut and Danish the baker had to offer. Max couldn’t imagine a kid who didn’t have a sweet tooth, and he suspected Carly’s boys would have a difficult time choosing the one they’d most like to eat.
Hemingway, who was wearing his flashing, battery-operated collar and sitting in the backseat, barked as though he knew exactly where they were and what they were up to.
“Take it easy,” Max said, as he reached for the donuts, then got the dog out of the car.
He could have told himself to settle down, too. For some reason, as he led Hemingway to Carly’s front door, his pulse had kicked up a beat.
The unexpected rush of nervousness had nothing to do with seeing her again and everything to do with what she had to say about his novel. He’d believed that to be the case, too—until she opened the door, wearing a pair of black denim jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and a breezy smile.
That’s when his heartbeat really went whacky.
And when he realized that he’d arrived ten minutes early.
Did that make him appear too eager?
“I hope we’re not too early,” he said, wishing he would have remained in the bakery parking lot a little longer.
“No, not at all. Come on in.”
As he stepped into the living room, the aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the air, and he was again caught up in that same warm, cozy swirl of coming home.
Before he could ponder a comment, the boys came bounding into the room to greet the dog.
“I brought donuts,” he said, hoping that his efforts would earn him a welcome and a few brownie points.
“Cool,” Josh said. “Thanks, Mr. Tolliver.”
Should he tell the boys to call him Max? Or had Carly taught them to be formal when addressing adults?
Deciding to let it go for now, he handed the leash to Mikey and the box to Josh. “Why don’t you and your brother have first pick?”
Several minutes later, when the boys had each chosen a donut and taken the dog out to play in the backyard, Max took a seat at Carly’s kitchen table, where his manuscript rested next to the donut box like a big white elephant in the room.
Yet for the first time since he’d taken the leave of absence from the probation department, his focus wasn’t on the story he was writing. It was on the pretty hairdresser who was pouring him a cup of coffee.
“How’d your date go?” he asked.
“It was okay.”
Grant had pretty much responded the same way, which further convinced Max the two weren’t going to make a good match.
“Just okay?” he asked.
“Grant’s a nice guy.”
So was Max. But what good had that done him? Even Karen, his ex-wife, hadn’t seen the value in that. And in their case, the old adage had proven true: Nice guys finished last.
Carly carried two red mugs—adorned with snow-tinged Christmas trees—to the table, placed one in front of him, then took a seat. “Before we get started, I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Sure.” He settled back in his chair. “What’s that?”
“Last time you were here, you said that you gave Josh some advice that you wished you’d taken in the past. You don’t have to explain the circumstances, but I was curious about just what that advice was.”
The question took him aback, not because he couldn’t remember the conversation he’d had with her son, but because he wasn’t sure how he wanted to respond, what he wanted to reveal to her.
Opting for disclosure, which had never been easy for him, he said, “I was divorced about a year ago. And I probably could have done something to prevent it, but I didn’t.”
“What could you have done?”
“I might have been a better listener.”
Carly placed both hands on her mug. “You mean you tuned her out?”
More often than not, he supposed, and as much as he hated to admit it, his marriage had started to unravel years before Karen had actually left.
“I guess I’ve reached that post-divorce state that allows a person to admit they might have been at fault, too,” he confessed.
She smiled, nodding. “It’s easier when there’s a villain to blame.”
“It’s taken me nearly a year to come to grips with that.” He wondered if she took any of the blame for her own divorce, but he didn’t ask.
Still, if he had to guess, he’d say the guy had been an absolute fool to let her get away.
“So,” she said, placing a manicured hand on the top page of the manuscript. “Let’s talk about your book.”
“Okay.” Max braced himself for the critique, hoping she had something valid to say, something that would free his muse to finish the last two chapters.