Rich in Faith (Richness in Faith, Book 3)

by Peterson, Lindi

  “Oh, yeah.” Their tone, now dejected, raises up the somber atmosphere once again.

  “As soon as he’s well enough, you can go and visit. Until then, we’re hanging out here. Grandma Vera will be here later.”

  I’m thinking thoughts like this. If Grandma Vera meets me, the new nanny, and sees these girls with their hair in such a mess, she’s not going to think me too much of a nanny. Which I’m not, but does it have to be broadcasted?

  Then I remember that her husband has had a heart attack, and lucky me, she probably won’t even notice their hair.

  We all climb out of the car, the fact that we’re not in Florida evident by the lack of thick in the air. Sunlight filters through the boughs dense with leaves that grace the still trees. Walking on pine straw and leaves, we make our way to the front door.

  The stillness surrounding us amplifies as Court unlocks the door, its low creak as he opens it slicing through the air like a scream in the night.

  Slants of sunlight filtering through the windows dot the otherwise dark home.

  “It’s small,” Court says, “but it’s home for the next few days.”

  He starts flipping on lights and the girls run out of the French doors at the back of the living room. I watch as they plop themselves onto the bench swing that hangs from the roof overhanging the deck.

  “If you don’t mind sharing a room with the twins, there’s a pull out couch in there. I’ll let Mom have Dad’s room and I’ll sleep on the one of the couches in the living room.”

  “That sounds okay.” My back aches at the thought of sleeping on the pull-out, but I don’t have a choice. This is being a nanny in true form, but somehow I don’t feel like more of a nanny.

  “I’ll grab the luggage. You can stay here with Bristol and Darling, I’ll go see Dad.”

  “No problem. It’s what I’m paid to do, right?”

  His journey to the front door stops, he turns to look at me. “Absolutely.”

  The door creaks again when he opens it. No one’s entering or exiting this place without an audience. Moments later, he brings in our luggage, depositing mine and the girls’ into one of the bedrooms.

  “What about food?” I ask as he enters the living area. “The girls are bound to be hungry. It’s almost dinnertime.”

  “These cupboards stay stocked. I’m sure there’s something in there for them to eat. Take an inventory. Text me with a list of things you think we need.”

  I make sure I have his cell number stored.

  He walks out to the deck and gives the girls kisses before he leaves. I watch as they smile and light up around Court. Bristol wraps her arms around his neck and doesn’t let go. Their playfulness is endearing, and I wonder if what I witnessed yesterday, the tearing through the house screaming, isn’t their normal behavior.

  Although the nanny, Tracy, did quit.

  Said she was done.

  Maybe she wasn’t a good nanny.

  Maybe they see that I mean business and won’t put up with their tantrums.

  Yeah. That’s it. If you lay down the law early enough, they understand who’s the boss.

  Tracy probably didn’t have that insight. Well, she was young. I’m glad I’m older and have some skill sets. It’s obviously a plus in this job.

  “IF YOU TWO DON’T stop fighting, I’m going to put you in time out.”

  Court is probably not off this mountain yet and these girls are warring. Bristol accused Darling of swinging the swing too fast. Moments later the complaint was Darling had slowed down too much.

  Then war broke out.

  After a failed attempt at separating the two, I finally settle them on the couch, at opposite ends. But within moments they are glued to each other in the middle, arms crossed, faces tear-streaked, that hair still a tangled mess around their faces.

  Nanny 101 where are you?

  “Are you hungry?” Maybe food will take their minds off screaming and fighting.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Since the wrists with the bands are buried in their armpits I can’t tell which one is hungry and which one isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. They both need to eat.

  “Stay here. I’ll fix something.”

  I wander to the kitchen, opening the first door that I’m guessing would be the pantry. My guess is right. There are plenty of canned goods. I slide my gaze past canned sardines, Vienna sausages, and potted meat. If I won’t eat it, I’m not giving it to the girls.

  I spy some tuna and grab a can.

  Opening the refrigerator I see eggs and mayonnaise among other items of food. As I boil the eggs, I find a loaf of bread and couple bags of chips. This will work.

  Encouraged by the silence of the girls, I mix all the fixings together to make tuna salad. I spread the mixture on the bread, and after securing two plates I place some chips on each plate between the sandwich that I had cut in half, at an angle even.

  The presentation is nice.

  I set the plates on the table and walk to the couch.

  My breath hitches at the sight of Bristol and Darling asleep in each other’s arms.

  “They look like angels when they’re sleeping, don’t they?”

  I jump at the feminine voice. A very nicely attired older woman has just walked in the front door.

  The door I didn’t hear creak.

  This must be Court’s mother.

  Her grayish blonde hair is styled in a cute, short style. Her clothes look expensive and probably are.

  Her face? Worry is etched across an aging, yet beautiful face. With all their money you know she could have work done, but it doesn’t look like she has.

  Her angels-sleeping comment flutters through my brain. “Yes, they do.”

  “Then the horns come out when they’re awake. Mercy.” She pushes the door behind her, then sets her Coach purse on one of the bar stools.

  Heading into the kitchen, she stops at the table and points to one of the plates. “Do you mind?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  She slides into the chair and bows her head momentarily. Placing the napkin I had set on the table into her lap, she picks up a chip. Tears glisten in her eyes.

  I feel awkward with a capital A.

  “Please sit. It’s good to have another female to talk to.” She motions toward the direction of the other plate.

  Heading toward the awkward with a capital A, I slip into the chair.

  “I’m Vera Treyhune. And I’m assuming you’re the new nanny.”

  “I am. Shelby Madison. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You sure are a pretty thing. Court loves beauty. It’s interesting though. You’re the exact opposite of MaryLeigh with your dark hair, brown eyes and fair skin. Her hair was blonder than blonde, her eyes bluer than blue and her skin tanner than tan. All of which were accentuated by hair coloring, blue contacts and tanning beds.”

  Her tone doesn’t give away her feelings for Court’s deceased wife. Vera speaks like she’s spouting off a list. “My friend recommended me for the job. I actually thought it was a housekeeping job. I really—” I stop short of telling her I have no experience with children.

  Vera Treyhune already has too many things to worry about.

  “The girls hate tuna.” She places a small bite of the sandwich in her mouth.

  Very dainty. I notice her fingernails are polished to perfection. Everything about her looks expensive, feminine, and well put together. “That’s good to know.”

  “I guess you don’t usually do the cooking. That would be Mrs. Stratton’s job. And you are new.”

  Again, there is nothing judgmental about her tone. Simply factual. I take a bite of my sandwich, squelching comments regarding how out of my comfort zone I am. I took the job; I need to act like I know what I’m doing.

  Do I ask this woman, whom I’ve just met, how her husband, whom I never met, is doing? Is that proper?

  “Cal loves tuna.” She breaks her chip in two now. “He likes a little oni
on and a lot of relish in it.”

  I take a bite thinking how he wouldn’t be liking my tuna too much. I’m also thinking this is a good segue into finding out Cal’s condition. “Has anything changed? With Cal?”

  With Cal. Like I know Cal. Like he’s my friend. Like my father wouldn’t give his left lung to be able to ask that question to the Queen of NASCAR, Vera Treyhune.

  “No. Still the same. But I have faith. It’s the only thing that is keeping me going right now.”

  I don’t have a response for her.

  She’s my Jesusy mom and NASCAR dad all rolled into one.

  Can life become any more ironic?

  MOONLIGHT

  “THAT WAS A nightmare,” Court says, walking in the door.

  “Daddy!”

  The girls run to him, well energized after the spaghetti dinner that Vera made them before she left to go back to the hospital.

  “What was a nightmare?” I hope Cal didn’t take a bad turn.

  Court hugs Bristol and Darling but looks at me. “The hospital. It’s crawling with reporters, cameramen. I knew it would be, but until this morning I had forgotten what it feels like to have a microphone shoved in your face every time you walk out of the door.”

  “You need to get used to it, my friend. It’s where you belong.”

  I look toward the door. The doorframe is swallowed by a man. And not just any man.

  This guy is handsome.

  He’s magazine-cover handsome.

  And apparently he’s a friend of Court’s.

  “Uncle Jared!”

  The girls race over to Jared who scoops them up in his arms and spins a couple of circles.

  I become dizzy watching, grabbing onto the back of the couch. I also snag a whiff of his cologne.

  More than a whiff, actually.

  The overpowering scent has me feeling the beginning of a headache. A man wearing too much cologne has always made me wary. Like he’s trying to cover up something else.

  Or he’s prone to excess.

  Which one is Jared?

  Jared places a kiss on each of their foreheads before setting them down.

  What moments ago I envisioned as the time for the girls to settle down before going to bed has just been uprooted and turned upside down.

  As much of an uproar Jared creates with his bold appearance and wild actions, Court creates the same level of disruption, only in a much quieter way.

  Everything about Court is distinct and deliberate.

  And there’s an air of mystery about him that sets him apart from other guys.

  Guys.

  It now comes to my attention that I haven’t thought of Dale in quite a while. Ever since Vera arrived. Between visiting with her and helping with the girls’ dinner, I haven’t had a free moment to dwell on my lost love.

  Either Dale’s image is fading in my mind, or it’s paling in comparison to the two men in this room.

  A part of me still aches at the loss I feel at not having Dale in my life. When you’ve shared everything with one person for a long time, it’s hard having no one to automatically turn to.

  Of course Dale wouldn’t understand any of this. Not being able to tell two ten-year-old girls apart. Not knowing what to say to a man whose father is in ICU and to see him he has to contend with reporters and cameramen. All whose agenda is waiting to capture a tortured expression on Court’s face, or report the lack of one if it isn’t there.

  Jared looks at me. “I’m Jared James.”

  “Shelby Madison.”

  “Court. Holding out on me, are you?” Jared’s grin is mischievous, reminding me of Bristol and Darling.

  “Jared, Shelby is the new nanny. Remember I told you about her when you arrived at the hospital.” Court turns to me. “Shelby, Jared is a long-time friend and CFO of TAG.”

  “Tag?” I ask.

  “Treyhune Automotive Group.” Court looks at the girls. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Spaghetti. But we ate it all.” Bristol crosses her arms.

  “Ate it all?” Court walks to the kitchen. “What’s a poor dad to eat, then?”

  “Yeah, and poor Uncle Jared.” Jared walks into the kitchen area with Court. The girls are right behind them, but I stay put on the living room side of the bar, still able to see what’s happening in the kitchen but a safe distance away from all that testosterone.

  And all that CFO-ness. Disappointment at the loss of the livelihood I had such a passion for creeps in.

  “I appreciate you coming, Jared.” Court rummages through the pantry.

  “No problem. Cal’s like my dad, too.”

  “I know.” Court sets a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter on the counter.

  Jared grabs two knives from a drawer, making it obvious he’s spent some time here at the man cave, and hands one to Court.

  “Is that what you guys call dinner?” I ask.

  Court smiles. “Not necessarily, but it sums up the extent of my cooking skills.”

  “Ditto.” Jared shoves a cracker topped with peanut butter into his mouth.

  The willingness of these guys to settle for this makeshift dinner warms my heart. Without thinking too much about it, because I know I will talk myself out of it, I walk to the freezer. Spying a cut up chicken, I put it into the microwave, set the defrost setting, and push start.

  Shooing the guys and the girls out of the kitchen, I plop a bag of flour, salt and a can of pepper onto the counter.

  Searching the pantry once again, I set out two cans of corn, then grab two cans of potatoes. “Canned potatoes aren’t the best but they’ll have to do.”

  Looking deep into the refrigerator, I spy a roll of biscuits in the back, close to expiring, but they’ll work.

  Saying goodbye to Shelby R. Madison, CFO, I reach back into time and pull out everything Shelby Ray Madison knows about southern cooking.

  I push up my shirt sleeves, wash my hands, and dive into the past I’ve tried so hard to lose.

  UNABLE TO SLEEP, I slip out of the room I’m sharing with the girls, hoping I don’t wake Court or Jared who are bunked out in the living room.

  I slowly open the back door to the deck, making no sound as I exit. Even in June, the night is cool. I rub my arms wishing I had worn pajamas with long sleeves.

  Settling on the swing, I keep it steady as to not make any noise. The full moon slices a pale light through the thick forest of trees. The sounds of the night that surround the cabin make me happy the deck is high off the ground. I feel safer.

  Not that I’m worried about bears or anything.

  Hearing the door open, I hold my breath, wondering who will walk outside. Surely I didn’t wake anyone.

  Court’s lean, yet strong-looking frame steps onto the porch, his gaze turning immediately toward me. “I thought you came out here.”

  His voice is soft, the very opposite of his appearance.

  My bare feet push against the wooden deck, holding the swing steady. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He walks to the railing, leaning on it with both hands and staring into the night. Into the darkness. “You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I had just decided to come out here when I saw you walk by. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. Sometimes I have a hard time adjusting to new places.” Especially after showing my country-roots upbringing in that fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy dinner I prepared.

  What was I thinking? I hadn’t cooked like that in years. Dale didn’t even know I could cook like that. But he was always taking me out or catering in. Besides, with working late every night I had no time to cook.

  “I have a hard time adjusting to the fact that my father had a heart attack.”

  I know he didn’t intentionally make my problem seem lame, but he made my problem seem lame. “I give. Your adjustment is harder.”

  He turns and looks my way. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking clearly right now.”

 
“It’s okay.” And really it is.

  As he walks toward me, I want to reiterate that it is indeed okay. He doesn’t need to be close to make amends.

  “Mind if I join you?” He nods toward the swing.

  Would it matter if I did, I wonder? “No.”

  The swing creaks with his weight, the space between us almost nonexistent. The air has somehow warmed, and I’m betting I couldn’t conjure up an image of Dale if I tried.

  Court’s presence swallows anything that isn’t who he is.

  “My mom likes you.”

  I’m unprepared for his statement. “I like her, too.”

  “She’s strong. She’ll pull my dad through this.”

  I thought about the faith Vera said she had. And the statement Court made about not having faith in anything.

  Yet they both are hoping for the same result.

  “How long have they been married?”

  “Thirty-five years. I’m the honeymoon baby.”

  I laugh. “We have something in common. I’m the honeymoon baby, too.”

  “Brothers or sisters?” He starts the swing moving slowly.

  “No. You?”

  “No. I’m the proverbial spoiled only child.”

  I shake my head. “Only child, yes. Spoiled. No.” I think back to my childhood. Court and I would have never hung in the same circles.

  Ever.

  Visions of my homemade clothes, thrift-store shoes and used toys always had me wanting the finer things in life. I finally acquired the finer things.

  And my life is at its lowest point.

  How did this happen?

  I have two-plus months to regroup.

  “Did you grow up in Atlanta?” he asks.

  To him his question is simple. To me it’s the beginning of a barrage of questions that I don’t want to answer. “A little north of the city. And you?”

  Even though I know he grew up in North Carolina, I want to switch the focus off my upbringing.

  “North Carolina. I bought the house in Florida about three years ago. I miss it here. Do you miss Atlanta?”

  Not wanting to answer, but not wanting to be rude either, I open my mouth to speak but am saved by the sound of the door opening.