by Tamara Leigh
On my approach to the café, I’m taken aback by the abundance of cars in the parking lot, the majority of which belong to park residents. Not good.
I enter the kitchen to find it deserted, the sound of excited voices coming from the dining room. Doubtless, Bea has stirred everyone into a panic.
“Get it over with,” I mutter, but as I start for the dining room, Lisa enters.
“Everyone’s looking for you!” She rushes forward. “They’re going on about how First Grace has turned its back on them, talking about leaving the church, and pushing poor Gloria to sell the café to save the park.”
Oh, Bea, why couldn’t you have exercised some self-control? “I know.”
Lisa gives me a push. “So get out there and calm them down before Ruby starts bouncing those old folks out the doors—walkers and all.”
I could almost smile. As imposing and outspoken as Ruby is, the closest she’d come to bouncing the older folks would be to offer piggyback rides. “All right.” I start to step past her.
“Did you hear how much First Grace offered for the café?”
“No.”
“Neither did I, but Ruby and Gloria were discussing it this morning. Apparently, it was very generous, because Gloria was agonizing over turning it down. She said it was enough to assure her a very comfortable retirement.”
I swallow. “Then she is considering First Grace’s offer?”
“Nope. That’s why she was agonizing. Said her word was nothing if she couldn’t keep it—as if she’s already made an agreement with someone else.”
I consider the tiled floor; the grout could use a scrub. And that’s not all that could use a scrub. As for the best place to start, that would be the truth. “Gloria does have an agreement with someone else. Me.”
Lisa’s eyes widen. “This is your dream? To own the café?”
“It is.”
“Wow. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.”
“Is that what this is? I was thinking more along the lines of rolls of barbed wire.”
She gives a sympathetic nod. “So what are you going to do?”
Tears blur my vision. “I don’t know. Maybe what I don’t want to do. What I’m screaming inside not to do.”
Lisa closes the distance between us. “Harri, you don’t have to give up your dream. No one would blame you if—”
“If I let the old Harri out? Thought only of myself? Didn’t care who got hurt?”
She does a double take. “You really think that whatever you do today will be judged by your past?” She shakes her head. “I’m disappointed.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you believed in God’s promises.”
“I do!”
“Then why haven’t you accepted His forgiveness? You asked for it, didn’t you?”
I draw a sharp breath. “Yes.”
“Then it was given, and yet here you stand stinking of unforgiveness, considering throwing away your dream in hopes it will absolve you of things you’ve already been absolved of.”
Is that what I’m doing? Maybe a little. But, really, after all I put everyone through, I got off way too easy.
“The old Harri doesn’t exist anymore, so do us all a favor and come to terms with who you are now—a forgiven woman. Then, and only then, decide what to do. If you don’t, you’ll end up bitter. And nobody wants that, especially God.”
Is she right? Am I setting myself up for martyrdom?
“Okay, Harri?”
Not really, but… “Okay.”
Her arms come around me, and I sink against her and drink in her friendship for all it’s worth—until a commotion in the dining room pulls us apart.
“They’re getting worked up.” I glance past Lisa. “I should talk to them.”
“Just don’t make any promises, hmm?”
When I step into the room, it looks more like a town meeting than a dining experience. Immediately, all eyes turn to me. As a murmur goes around, I survey the faces. Of the forty or so occupants, all but a dozen are park residents. And Bea isn’t among them.
Jack offers me a reassuring smile, which I do my best to return as I cross to where Gloria stands before those gathered.
“Harri!” Pam jumps up from the Daisy table. “You have to do something. You can’t let them tear down our park.”
A small, squat gentleman who’s rarely seen outside his mobile home, rises. “You have to convince Gloria to sell the café.”
As I position myself alongside Gloria, a ratchety voice calls, “You have to take a stand.”
Lum and Elva help each other up. “You have to help us, Harri.”
“Yeah,” pipes up an old-timer who, though he’s attended First Grace since its inception and is inching toward eighty years old, still lives on his hundred-acre ranch. “You have to get your father back here. He’ll put a stop to all this nonsense.”
Mrs. Feterall raises a hand. “You have to talk to Brother Paul about this.”
You have to this… have to that…
Harriet jumps up. “Harri doesn’t have to do anything. What we have to do is pray.” She looks around. “We have to ask God to make a way—to provide for us whatever the outcome. Isn’t that right, Harri?”
It certainly is. “I’ll do what I can, but Harriet’s right. Prayer is what we need.”
Gloria heaves a sigh. And I ache for her, knowing it can’t be easy to look like a solution that refuses to cooperate. And all because she gave me her word.
“Now settle up your bills,” Harriet calls, “and let Gloria get back to business.”
Reluctantly, the older folks stir from their flower-bedecked tables.
“Our agreement stands,” Gloria says to me, leaning near. “You hear?”
I am touched that she knows me well enough to sense what’s going through my mind. “We’ll see.”
“Oh!” I halt before the porch, where my perspiring brother sits with Doo-Dah on his lap—Doo-Dah, whom I agreed to watch again. “I forgot!”
“Obviously.” Though Tyler’s mouth is tight, his eyes are beyond fluent, as in “That’s the Harri I know. Good old unreliable Harri.”
I try not to take offense, because he has no idea what kind of day I’ve had—trudging through my waitressing job and hiding out in my office at First Grace to avoid Maddox. “I’m sorry. You’re not going to miss your plane, are you?”
“It’ll be close, but I should make it.” He straightens and hands Doo-Dah to me as I mount the steps. “I would have left him, but I never got the carrier back from you.”
My fault—surprise, surprise. I tuck Doo-Dah against my chest. “I really am sorry. It’s just that…” I blink away tears.
“Are you all right?”
Why does he have to sound concerned? Frustration, even anger, I can handle, but not this. “Yeah.” I fumble for the keys in my handbag. “It’s just been a long day.”
“Liar.”
I startle in remembrance of the last time he called me that—when it was true in a very bad sense. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice my reaction. He’s too intent on brushing my hand aside and rooting out my keys.
I don’t protest, and a few moments later he lets me into my mobile home.
“Thanks.” I lower Doo-Dah, and Dumplin’ comes bounding down the hall. “Be nice!” I call as he zips past.
“Better you than me,” Tyler mutters. Hand on the doorknob, he sighs. “I really don’t have time for this, Harri, but what’s up?”
How strange is that? My big brother is taking the time to find out why my insides are such a mess. I have every intention of brushing off his question, but a sob escapes.
“Harri?”
I wave a hand. “You’d better—hic!—go or you’ll miss your—hic!—plane.”
He takes my arm. “You’re going to owe me for this, so you might as well get your money’s worth and tell me.”
I long to send him away, but more, I long for someone to talk to. And
so, sitting beside him on the sofa, I spill the beans. “So what do you think?” I draw the back of a hand across my moist eyes.
“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do.”
My laugh is bitter. “Why not? You used to be pretty good at it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that how you got yourself into so much trouble—by listening to me?”
He has a point. “I’m talking about before I… went ‘prodigal.’”
“Well, times have changed. You’re an adult now, and I’m no longer the know-it-all big brother. Whatever you decide about the café, it has to be from you. And prayer.”
“You’re right.” I draw a deep breath. “Thank you for missing your plane for me.” For me.
He rises. “If I’m going to catch the next flight, I’d better get going.”
“Sure.”
“See ya, Doo-Dah… Dumplin’.” He heads for the door.
It’s then I realize I haven’t heard a peep from the kitchen. Shouldn’t I have heard something—something low and threatening? After all, Dumplin’ was visibly pleased when Doo-Dah left the last time. As I cross to the door, I glance into the kitchen. And there they are—Dumplin’ under the table, keeping an eye on Doo-Dah, where he sits on the refrigerator between the Jelly Belly container and the pink helmet.
At the door, Tyler turns and, after some hesitation, says, “I’m proud of you for the hard work you put into buying the café.”
Proud. “Really?”
“The only thing is, even if you hold Gloria to her word, your expectations are unrealistic.”
“What do you mean?”
“This idea that everything will be perfect, that you’ll live happily ever after with the regular café crowd.” He sweeps a hand up. “They’re old, Harri. Near the end of their lives. And you aren’t even close to the middle of yours. You need to stop playing it safe and just be you: Harri, who has been forgiven.”
Why does he have to sound so much like Maddox? And Lisa? And Harriet? And did he really say “forgiven”?
I don’t want to cry again, but the tears and the hiccupping return. And, to my surprise, Tyler’s arms come around me. It’s a forced hug. An awkward hug. A not-sure-I’m-ready-for-this hug. But a hug.
“Tyler?” I say into his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to say this one last time, okay?”
I feel him stiffen. “What?”
I pull back. “I’m sorry. Sorry I slapped Gina, sorry for breaking up the two of you, sorry she and her family left the church, sorry about your broken nose and ribs.” I replenish my air. “Sorry that I messed up your life.”
He stares at me, jaw convulsing, then nods. “I know. But what you need to know is that you didn’t mess up my life.”
“But you’re not married.”
His eyes widen a moment before he chuckles. “That’s because I haven’t found the woman I want to spend my life with, not because Gina was the love of my life.”
“But you wanted to marry her.”
“We were nineteen, Harri.”
Rushed with relief, I’m tempted to hug him again and hold on tight, but I know he’s in danger of missing the next plane out.
He pushes the hair out of my eyes. “All better?”
“Oh yeah. Lots.” I lean forward and kiss his cheek.
He startles, but when I draw back, it isn’t distaste on his face, but a smile. “You have my cell number. Call me when you decide what you’re going to do.”
Clearly he means it. I watch him all the way to his car, and five minutes later, I’m on my knees thanking God for what just happened between us. Fifteen minutes later, I’m on my stomach flipping through my Bible and coming back time and again to 1 Corinthians 1:10: “Brothers and sisters, I encourage all of you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ to agree with each other and not to split into opposing groups. I want you to be united in your understanding and opinions.”
No division—in its most extreme form, a “split.” Would it really come to that? Probably not, but there would be discontent among the displaced senior citizens. And it’s within my power to prevent it…
But what about my dream?
Harri’s Log: • ? days until the next The Coroner rerun? Still don’t care.
• ? days until Jelly Belly replenishment? Still don’t care.
• ? days until completion of Bible #8—Should I care?
• ? days until Harriet Bisset owns her own café—God knows.
I called her last night.”
After a long silence on the other end of the line, Tyler prompts, “And?”
“She invited me over, and we talked until midnight.”
“You’re letting the café go, I assume.”
I stare out my office window at the mobile home park visible through the trees. “I had to do it. I can’t let their homes be taken when it’s in my power to help them.”
“That sounds a lot like regret.”
“I do regret it. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” Dropping my head back, I shift my gaze to the ceiling. How strange it is to feel numb after all the wracking emotions of yesterday. “But it’s for the best.”
“You did pray through it, didn’t you?”
Did I? “I…some.”
“Well, I’m sure you made the right decision. So when will Gloria give them the good news?”
My laugh is dry. “Everyone will know soon enough.” Though not of my role in it. Gloria objected to keeping quiet about our agreement, but I insisted. I know these old folks, and I won’t burden them with a feeling of indebtedness when I’m the one who’s indebted to them for the love they showed me when I returned broken and needy all those years ago.
“You did good, Harri.”
Tyler’s praise causes a smile to flow to the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, the old folks won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Unless First Grace goes megachurch and ends up needing the mobile home park after all.”
My breath catches.
“Now, Harri, if that happens, it will be years from now, and by then…”
By then, most of the old folks will be gone. But what about those who come after? whose fixed incomes necessitate affordable housing? who long for fellowship among Christian peers? who need easy access to their church home?
“Forget I said anything. Okay?”
Impossible.
“Remember, don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry about itself.”
Tyler leaves the Scripture for me to finish, and I do so grudgingly. “Each day has enough trouble of its own.” To my surprise, the dark clouds that were descending lift, and not just because of the words I spoke, but because Tyler and I shared them.
I lower my gaze from the ceiling and catch sight of something. Or someone. Maddox, who stands in my doorway wearing a face so unmoving a chill goes through me. “Uh, can I call you back? I’ve got someone in my office.”
“Sure.”
“’Bye.” I lower the handset.
“What have you done, Harri?”
His eyes are cold and distant. Miles away from me. Perhaps continents. Scrabbling back through my exchange with Tyler, I try to recall what I said. It’s sketchy, but the one-sided conversation to which Maddox was privy made it sound as if I were up to no good. Unfortunately, I can’t correct him—at least, until Gloria makes the final decision about the café, and that largely depends on a meeting she’s trying to set up with her accountant.
I press my shoulders back. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite to eavesdrop?”
He strides forward and presses his palms to my desk. “Don’t get in the middle of this. Whatever you’ve done, you have to pull back.”
He thinks the worst of me. That hurts.
He leans forward. “I give you my word. First Grace will not abandon the park residents.”
I believe him, but considering what this is costing me, I’m too human not to resent him and his v
ision team. Eventually, I’ll let it go, but right now it’s too raw. And to make matters worse, I still have feelings for this human wrecking ball. “I want what’s best for the older folks.”
“What’s best for them has to be what’s best for First Grace, its other members, and the community.”
“I know that.”
He searches my face, then lays a hand over mine. “Talk to me, Harri. Tell me what’s going on.”
All of me leaps, and I’m tempted to tell him everything. However, not only isn’t it my place to tell, but I’m still angry with him. Though he’s unaware of the decision I made, I can’t help but blame him for putting me in this position. I pull my hand from beneath his. “I can’t. Not yet.”
A shadow falls across his face, and he straightens. “All right.” He turns and strides from my office.
Aching, I look at the phone and silently beseech Gloria to call. But the call I’m longing for probably won’t come until the beginning of next week, as it’s not likely she’ll be able to arrange a meeting with her accountant on such short notice.
I clasp my hands in my lap. I’m trying, Lord. Trying hard.
Harri’s Log: • Nothing worth counting down…
I’d rather cat-sit a dozen Dumplin’s and Doo-Dahs than attend today’s pre-Sunday meeting. Rather read my Bible out of order. Rather miss the first episode of the new season of The Coroner. Rather gobble down a half-chewed mass of mango Jelly Bellys—
No, that would be pushing it. With a shake of my shoulders, I traverse the hall and step into the meeting room, only to draw up short at the sight of the two people sitting at the table. Only two, and yet I’m ten minutes late.
Pastor Paul looks up, the lines of his face etched so deeply that he appears ten years older.
As for Maddox’s face, it’s a study in controlled anger. “Come in, Harri.”
I glance behind. “But where are the others? They—”
“The meeting has been cancelled.”
“Oh.” Then I’ve finally done it. This is the “Good-bye, Harri” I’ve feared. Ironically, it’s worse than expected, and all because my loss is no longer limited to First Grace. I glance between the two men. Yep, my life has officially fallen apart. Again.