by Anna Schmidt
So when Justin’s mom got a call from the hospital right after breakfast that Saturday, Justin saw his chance. He assured her that he would take care of his chores, and then he asked her permission to take his bike and ride over to the park. What he left out was that Derek’s house was on the way to the park.
As soon as his mom had boarded the bus, Justin mounted his bike and took off. He would have plenty of time to handle his chores later, but right now the important thing was to catch Derek at home.
He’d never actually been to Derek’s house, just ridden by the long driveway guarded by an impressive pair of black metal gates that opened only when Derek—or his parents—entered some secret code. It occurred to him now that his first problem was going to be getting past those gates. He decided the best thing to do would be to wait across the street and hope that Derek would come out.
He leaned his bike on a patch of grass and then sat down on the curb to wait. No more than five minutes later the gates slowly swung open. A minute later a car came toward him, a woman driving. She saw him waiting there and frowned. “Are you lost?” she asked, her voice high and tight when she rolled the window down.
“No ma’am. I’m a friend of Derek’s. Is he home?”
She glanced at the rearview mirror and then back at Justin. “Do we know you?”
“Well, no—I mean you never met me exactly. I’m Justin Kaufmann. My mom and I live …”
Her smile was one of pure relief. “Oh, you’re the boy who has helped Derek with his math assignments.”
“Yes ma’am.” Justin was confused. His mom didn’t know what had happened? He knew that Mr. Mortimer had met with Derek. Surely he’d also asked to see his parents like he had asked to see Justin’s mom.
“Go on through,” she said with a wave toward the gates. “Derek is having his breakfast on the terrace. Tell our cook that I said to prepare anything you want—pancakes, eggs—she makes wonderful waffles.” She glanced both ways and then turned onto the street. The car window glided silently closed, and Derek’s mom waved as she drove away. Justin mounted his bike and got through the gates as they started to swing shut.
It was pretty clear that Justin was the last person Derek expected to see that morning.
“How did you get in here?” he snarled.
“Your mom …”
Derek rolled his eyes and attacked the stack of pancakes in front of him. “So what do you want?”
Suddenly Justin had no words. He should have thought this through more thoroughly, practiced what he would say, how he would make his case. “It’s about Sally Shepherd,” he blurted.
A slow smile spread across Derek’s face as he leaned back and fixed his gaze on Justin. “What about her?” He pinned Justin with a glare. “Is she home? Why didn’t you tell me she was coming home today?”
“She was supposed to come home a few days ago, but now she’s in the hospital where my mom works. Something about her blood counts not being right.” He was hoping that Derek might feel some tiny bit of sympathy “She’s coming home for Thanksgiving if everything goes okay and I was thinking maybe …”
“You were thinking about letting her off the hook for what she did to us?”
“No. Yes. I mean …”
“Spit it out, Kaufmann. I haven’t got all day.”
“I want you to give me back the glove.”
Derek made a show of looking around as if searching for something. “Gee, now let me think. Her glove?”
“It’s in your locker. I want you to give it back to me Monday so I can return it.”
“And I would do this because?”
“It’s me you should be blaming for getting in trouble with Mortimer. Sally had nothing to do with it.”
“Right.” Derek stood up and moved around the glass-topped table to tower over Justin. “Let’s get something straight here, freak. What I do or don’t do to Sally Shepherd or her precious glove is no longer any of your business. You need to think about what I’m going to do to you.”
He walked past Justin, picked up Justin’s bike, and casually tossed it into the deep end of the swimming pool that took up most of the backyard. Then he turned and walked into the house without another word.
Now that Rachel had entertained the first hint of a romantic thought about Ben Booker, she could not seem to get the man out of her mind. Of course, the more time that passed without James the more the idea that someday she might love again lingered there. In addition to Hester pointing out the eligible men Rachel’s age living in Pinecraft, John had teased her about one older man in their congregation who seemed to have his eye on her.
But how shocked would her friends be to discover that the man she felt drawn to was Ben Booker?
It was impossible of course, and the sheer impossibility of the match made it all the more difficult to turn her thoughts elsewhere. He was not of her faith. He was not of any faith, really, although she had been touched to hear him admit that he did pray.
She had seen him with his patients and their parents. She could never forget the hours he’d spent checking up on the boy whose arm had been nearly severed by the shark, sitting with him in the days following the surgery and stopping by to encourage the teen as he struggled through weeks of rehabilitation. And that was only one example of his devotion to his work. Surely, in spite of the fact that he did not seem to be a churchgoing man, he was ministering to their emotional and spiritual needs as much as she or anyone else was.
But daydreaming about a future with Ben Booker was pure folly. Even taking the issue of religion out of the discussion altogether, a man of the world like that in love with a plain woman like her? It was—as she’d once heard Sally say—beyond ridiculous.
Determined to put aside any fantasy of what it might be like to love Ben, Rachel turned her attention to other matters. She spent hours working to finish the course work for her state certification. She identified and then tried to avoid those places at the hospital where she was most likely to see Ben. She timed her visits to Sally and her parents when she knew he was otherwise occupied. Twice when she saw his car parked in his sister’s driveway, she had suggested to Justin that they take a bike ride down to Pinecraft for ice cream and see if any new rental listings had been posted on the bulletin board outside the post office.
Out of sight, out of mind became her guidepost.
She certainly had plenty to keep her busy. The pressure she placed on herself to excel increased as she neared the completion of the requirements for earning her certification. Pastor Paul had given her high praise for the work she had done, and Eileen talked as if it was a foregone conclusion that by Christmas Rachel would be a permanent member of the staff. The supervisor sent by the certification board in Tallahassee to observe her work had been equally reassuring.
But getting her license was only one step in the process. There was still the job review, and Mark Boynton had told her that although he had tried explaining her side of things to Darcy, the second perceived offense was still included in her record. “Unfortunately, no one but the boy heard the entire conversation,” he told her. The review was set for the Monday following the Thanksgiving holiday.
Because Hester and John were planning to be away for that weekend visiting relatives near Orlando, Rachel was planning a quiet day with Justin. But Sharon Shepherd wouldn’t hear of it.
“If you have no other plans,” Sharon said, “Sally comes home that Wednesday and she’s so looking forward to the day. I know that she would be so happy if you and Justin could come.” Sharon smiled and squeezed Rachel’s hand. “Surely you know by now that our Sally considers you one of the people she is most thankful for meeting this last year.”
It was difficult to refuse after that. Rachel admitted that she and Justin had no special plans for the day, and Sharon clapped her hands together with delight. “Then you’ll come. It’s going to be such a wonderful celebration—a celebration of true thanksgiving.” She sighed.
“You will allow me to
bake the pies?” Rachel asked.
“Absolutely. Malcolm loves your pies, and so does Ben.”
Of course, Ben would be there. And Zeke. Suddenly Rachel was having second thoughts about the whole idea. But it had been so long since Rachel had seen Sharon looking so happy. How could she disappoint her?
“Malcolm’s mom makes a wonderful sweet potato casserole,” she gushed. “Our dad—mine and Ben’s—won’t be able to come, but I have all my mom’s best recipes. Sage and pecan stuffing, acorn squash soup, and the most wonderful molded cranberry salad.” She ticked off each item on her manicured fingernails. “I thought I would invite Darcy Meekins as well. Ben’s been seeing her and well …” She smiled mischievously. “Malcolm tells me not to interfere, but I so want my big brother to be happy.”
So Darcy would be invited. Rachel felt her stomach lurch.
“We dine at four but don’t stand on ceremony,” Sharon continued. “Come anytime after one and don’t make the pies ahead of time. It’s all such fun with the women together in the kitchen cooking and the men watching their football games and the house is alive with … well, life.” She sighed happily, and then her eyes welled with tears. “Oh Rachel, was it only a few weeks ago that everything looked so bleak?”
Apparently the question was a rhetorical one because Sharon gave Rachel a quick hug and then hurried away. Rachel remained standing outside the children’s chapel, her mind cluttered with everything she needed to accomplish in the next few days. Surely God was taking a hand in making sure that she was kept so busy that she would have little time to think about Ben. And yet somehow thoughts of him were never far from her mind.
Darcy was nervous, and excited. If Sharon Shepherd had invited her for Thanksgiving dinner then surely Ben had approved. Things between them had gotten pretty awkward over the last couple of weeks. Understandably he’d been preoccupied with Sally’s recovery, and the few times they had run into each other at the hospital there had been little time for more than a few words. Sitting down together for a family dinner would be the perfect solution for easing them back into the kind of relationship Darcy had imagined them building.
Imagined.
That was the crux of it. She had to admit that she had fantasized about a future with Ben, envisioning the two of them doing everything together. But she could not get past the reality that some of those encounters at work could have turned into a quick lunch or cup of coffee. There had been time for Ben to ask if she wanted to go for a pizza after work. There had been time to suggest a light supper by the bay or watching an old movie to give him some distance from worrying about his niece and his sister. But it had not happened.
So when Darcy parked her car on the circular drive in front of the Shepherds’ home and saw Ben’s sports car, she had to wonder what the next several hours might hold for her—for them. She opened her trunk to retrieve the bags of fresh herbs and vegetables that she’d brought at Sharon’s urging.
“You must be quite the gourmet cook,” Sharon had gushed when she’d called to invite Darcy for the day.
Darcy’s heart had raced with pleasure at the very idea that Ben might have mentioned the meal she’d prepared for him.
“Zeke says that you’re a regular at the market. I love going there, but I never know quite what to do with all those beautiful herbs and veggies,” Sharon continued. “Come early and prepare your veggie casserole here. It’s a huge kitchen. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”
So it had been Zeke who had mentioned her flair for cooking—not Ben. Well, she would simply have to try harder to impress Ben with her culinary skills. Zeke was wrong about her being wound too tight. She knew how to relax and have fun. The man needed to stop playing the amateur shrink and open his eyes to the idea that she had ever so much more to bring to a relationship than he imagined.
She frowned. Not that she gave two cents for what Zeke Shepherd might think of her. It was Ben she was out to impress. She rang the bell even though the front door was open.
“Come on in,” Malcolm called as he came toward her. “Need some help?” He held open the screen door to let her pass then took the shopping bags from her. He smiled and tilted his head for her to follow. “Sharon? Reinforcements,” he called as he led the way toward the kitchen.
In the background Darcy could hear the sounds of a college football game, and then Ben’s shout as his team scored a touchdown.
“Who’s playing?” she asked Malcolm, suddenly much preferring to be in the family room with its big-screen television—and Ben.
“Florida State and Florida.” Malcolm set the bags on the island counter and grinned at her as another roar—this one more like a groan—erupted from the family room. “Oops, sounds like somebody’s team messed up. Glad you could make it, Darcy,” he said as he left.
Darcy smiled and turned to greet Sharon and Sally as well as Malcolm’s mother, Angie. And one person it had never occurred to her would be there—Rachel Kaufmann.
Rachel couldn’t help but notice that Justin had seemed more than a little nervous about sharing Thanksgiving dinner with the Shepherds. When they were still at the guest cottage, he kept glancing outside, up toward the Shepherds’ house. “It’s just dinner,” she told him, assuming that was the cause of his jitters.
“I know,” he mumbled. “So Sally came home yesterday?”
“That’s right. She was discharged right after lunch.”
“She’ll be there, then?”
“Well of course she will, Justin. She lives there. What is going on in that head of yours?” She playfully ruffled his hair hoping for a smile.
But none came. Thankfully the moment they arrived at the Shepherds’, Zeke took Justin in hand. “You like football?”
Justin shrugged and Zeke grinned. “Me neither, but it’s part of the script for today.”
For the first time all morning Justin showed some real interest in what the day might bring. “I don’t understand.”
“ ’Tis a day of rituals dating back decades,” Zeke announced. “No worries. I’ll help you through it. For starters, your mom and all other females are banished to the kitchen while we men …” He actually puffed out his chest and pounded it so that Justin laughed. “We men take up our places in the man cave with the ginormous television and watch a bunch of college kids run up and down a field trying their best to give each other concussions.”
Rachel frowned. “I don’t know if—”
“It’s a show,” Zeke assured her. “Now from time to time you ladies in the kitchen are going to hear the men do any or all of the following—cheer, shout, groan, possibly cry out as if in pain. You must ignore all of it because it’s part—”
“—of the script,” Justin said, grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s right. So, Rachel, you run along and bake those pies while Justin and I …”
Just then Sally came down the stairs. She was much thinner than she’d been a few weeks earlier, but her blood levels had been normal for more than a week now and the special eyedrops, tinted glasses, and regimen of medications prescribed to treat her GVHD and rebuild her immune system seemed to be working. Still, she was frowning.
“Mom,” she called out and then seemed to notice that Rachel, Justin, and Zeke were standing in the hall next to the stairway. “I can’t find my glove.”
“You don’t need your glove today,” Sharon called back. “Come here. I need some help.”
“That’s right,” Zeke said as he relieved Justin of the basket of supplies he was carrying and passed them along to Sally. “Women in the kitchen and men …” He wrapped his arm around Justin’s shoulder.
“Got it,” Sally said with a roll of her eyes. “But if Florida State gets ready to score …”
“No worries. I’ll send my minion here to fetch you. Now scoot.”
Rachel liked Zeke so much. Hester had confided to her that lately Zeke’s interest in settling into a more orthodox lifestyle had been on the rise. “I think he might be falling in
love,” she’d whispered. “Why else would he have this sudden interest in how he looks and what he wears?”
It was true. The Zeke that Rachel had met when she first came to Florida was far different—at least in appearance—from the man leading Justin off to watch the game. This current Zeke was dressed in jeans that fit him without the benefit of the piece of rope that doubled as a belt he’d worn when she’d first met him. He was also wearing a solid blue shirt, sleeves rolled back to his elbows, and what looked to Rachel like new sandals.
“I’m really glad you came today, Rachel,” Sally was saying as she led the way to the kitchen. “Mom wasn’t sure you could do this—I mean, that maybe it wouldn’t be right, you know, because of your religion.”
“Thanksgiving is a lovely tradition, Sally. Dinner with friends and family all pausing to consider the many blessings God has given them,” Rachel assured her. “How could there be anything wrong with that?”
Sally grinned. “Can I help you make the pies?”
“I’d love it.”
By the time Darcy Meekins arrived, Rachel was up to her wrists in flour and dough, a wisp of her hair having worked its way loose from her tight bun and tickling her nose as she showed Sally how to roll out the crusts for the pies. By contrast Darcy looked like a magazine cover model. She was wearing a sleeveless print sundress, her hair pulled back but loose around her shoulders, and her makeup so perfect that it was like she wasn’t wearing any at all.
“Darcy, why don’t you set up over here?” Sharon directed, pointing to a clear area of the large granite-topped island that dominated the room.
From the family room came a rising chant of, “Food! Food! Food!” Rachel blushed when she realized Justin’s voice was a part of the chant.
Malcolm carried several empty soda cans into the kitchen. “Halftime,” he commented as he took the cans out to the recycle bin and then headed back to the family room with a fresh supply of soda.