by Dunn, Sharon
He didn’t turn around. “Please go,” he said more forcefully.
She bolted out of the room and raced down the hallway. She ran all the way through the waiting room, down the hall to the elevator. Warm tears rimmed her eyes as her throat constricted. The elevator button blurred when she reached out to push it.
She was grateful that there was no one else in the elevator. Her hands touched the cold metal of the railing as she pressed against the back wall. Quinton and Newburg were right. What kind of an idiot gives up a good-paying job to play with dolls?
Tasha stepped out onto the street. The Denver sky was almost black. Cold wind cut through her, and she buttoned her wool coat to the neck. Wiping the tears from her face, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She pushed through the crowd of people on the sidewalk. Walking would help her think things through. Her feet pounded the sidewalk. Shop windows featured female mannequins dressed in red, green and black velvet, silk and lace. She used to design pretty dresses like these. Maybe she could still get her job back at Newburg Designs.
* * *
Philip touched the delicate face of the Heather doll. There was that subtle smile and the piercing eyes, the face that seared his memory. He shivered. Photographs had never had this effect on him. “This was supposed to be for Mary,” he whispered. He gathered the doll into his arms, holding it close to his chest. He had turned his back on Tasha because he hadn’t wanted her to see he was crying. Stupid male ego.
Philip closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the doll against his heart. He was alone with his grief and his God. A stream of tears flowed down his face. He clicked off the light. He cried for a long time, set the doll back in the box and stared at her. He hadn’t let Heather go until this moment. She was gone. That was his reality. He had been holding on to the irrational hope that she would come back. That her death had been some sort of dream that he would awaken from.
He touched the doll’s black skirt. With his own light turned off, the Christmas lights and flashing neon outside seemed even brighter. While he cried, he prayed. He hadn’t voiced his anger or deep sorrow to God until now. He’d been focused on Mary and what she needed to get past this. Really, his holding on to Heather was probably why Mary couldn’t let go.
Did Tasha have any idea of what her talent could do? When he saw her again, he would have to let her know. He’d been rude. His emotional response to the doll had caught him off guard.
He walked down the hall to the waiting room. A receptionist with thick glasses and curly blond hair sat behind the desk.
“Bess, did Tasha say where she was going?”
“She ran out of here pretty fast.”
He had no idea how to get hold of her while she was in Denver. He didn’t have a cell phone number for her. He called and left a message on her machine, saying he wanted to get together with her. When he and Mary went to Grace’s for Christmas, he would explain why he’d been so abrupt.
Uneasiness stirred inside him. He needed to tell Tasha he had lined up a grant for her to make dolls for the children’s hospital and the shelter for abused kids. And he still hadn’t paid her.
Maybe when he got up to Pony Junction, he could ask her out to lunch and tell her the good news. Now that it felt like the barrier between them was finally gone, he’d use any excuse he could find to see her again.
Chapter 11
With her hands shoved in the pockets of her long coat, Tasha walked until she found herself downtown on Larimer Street. Larimer Square featured art galleries, craft shops and clothing boutiques. Tasha stood outside the storefront called The Boutique. A window dresser fussed with the mannequins, one of which was dressed in a pink evening gown with silver trim around the heart-shaped neckline. That dress was Tasha’s design, but the other mannequins were wearing holiday dresses she did not recognize. Tasha wondered if Newburg really had fired Octavia Monroe, as she’d said she would.
“Come here for old times’ sake, did you? I didn’t know you were in town. What brings you back?”
Tasha looked up into Quinton’s face. As usual, every wavy blond hair on his head was in place. “No I—I’ve been thinking—” On her walk, she’d stopped by some of the toy shops where she had placed some of her dolls. Not many people were buying her dolls. Just one more confirmation that this doll business had been a huge mistake. “I’ve been thinking about coming back...to Newburg.”
A smile crossed Quinton’s face. “Really? I’m sure we could work something out. Sales have been way down since you left.”
“Octavia?”
“Octavia is still with us. But Newburg was right when she said you were the better designer.”
Tasha stared at the lifeless eyes of a mannequin. “It’s not a for-sure thing. I have a lot of thinking to do.” She was still reeling from Philip’s reaction to the dolls.
Quinton held his arm out for her. “Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?”
She hesitated and then wrapped her arm in his. She needed to clear her head, to be alone and pray things through, but she also needed to eat.
Quinton touched her cheek with a gloved hand. “How about we go to one of our old favorite places?”
She drew back slightly. The past hour had been an emotional roller coaster. “This is not a package deal, Quinton. Even if I do come back to Newburg, it doesn’t mean we get back together.” What was it about Quinton that made her not want to fully give herself to him? She couldn’t pinpoint it. It was more than just his lack of support for her dreams.
Quinton waved his hands. “Okay, then let’s go to dinner as friends.”
“That would be okay,” she said.
He took her to a bistro two blocks from Newburg Designs. Tasha unbuttoned her coat as they stepped inside. Sheer lemon-yellow curtains draped to the floor. The countertop, tables and chairs were all silver. The lighting was subdued. A chalkboard boasted such exotic specials as chilled-carrot soup and salmon-mushroom quiche. She’d been to this place a hundred times. But she’d gotten used to the meat-and-potatoes café at Pony Junction. This place felt foreign to her now. Could she return to life in the city?
“I’d like a corner booth,” Quinton told the hostess, a college-age woman dressed in a purple satin vest and black pants.
When they were seated, he asked Tasha, “So the doll business isn’t what you hoped it would be?”
She bristled at the tone of triumph in his voice. “I’m having a hard time making ends meet, and I’m starting to wonder if this is where God wants me to be.” Quinton wasn’t the best person to share her disappointment with. Her thoughts turned again to Philip and how supportive he’d been when she’d shared her struggles at the hotel.
The waitress set down two glasses of water and two menus.
Tasha didn’t even open the menu. “I’ll have the blackened chicken salad, no dressing, just some lemon on the side and some hot tea, something herbal.”
Quinton ordered filet mignon, medium rare.
Tasha rested her forehead in her palm. “I can’t just shut down the business. I have orders to fill, and now I have a tenant.”
Quinton leaned across the table. “How about this? I’ll talk to Newburg about you doing a couple dresses for the spring show—set up some sort of freelance contract for you. By then, you should be able to tie up loose ends. We can ease you back into the business.”
A tight cord that ran from her stomach through her chest twisted inside her. She could not get the picture of Philip turning his back to her out of her head. “Oh, Quinton, I just don’t know.” Tears welled up again. “I need to pray about it.”
He grabbed her hand. “Isn’t it obvious? You were meant to be a clothing designer, Tasha.” He winked at her. “It’s your gift. It’s your calling.”
Tasha still wasn’t sure. She felt like a boat being washed from the shor
eline out to sea and back to the shoreline. What did God want her to do with her talent? She sighed. “I can do one or two dresses for Newburg for now. I could use the extra money.”
“That’s my girl. Maybe by next season you’ll be ready to come back full time.” He squeezed her hand. “The new designer isn’t half as good as you, Tasha.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She wished people felt the same about her dolls. It wouldn’t be easy to talk her mom into moving to Denver with her. Maybe she could work out some sort of telecommuting arrangement with Newburg.
When dinner came, they ate and visited, but Tasha’s mind kept wandering.
After spending the night with her friend from church, she got up before sunrise, left a note for her friend and drove home. She didn’t feel like listening to Christmas music as she drove. Wyoming seemed even flatter and more barren than it had on the way down. At the top of each ridge, she stared out at the lonely, straight road in front of her and sighed deeply.
As she neared Pony Junction, the highway emptied of traffic. What was she doing living out here in the middle of nowhere? She turned off the interstate and onto a two-lane road. On her way through Pony Junction, she stopped at the hardware store and the bookstore to pull her ads down. She didn’t need any more tenants if she was going to close down her business.
It was dark by the time she pulled up to her studio. A chilly, drafty barn was nothing to race home to. She swung the door open, expecting to be hit with bitter cold. Instead, heat blasted her face. She stepped inside. Eli’s woodworking shop was set up in his corner. He had made more progress on the animals he was carving, but she still couldn’t tell what they were.
She slipped her coat off. She was still warm. Her eyes moved slowly upward. The ceiling had foam sprayed all over it.
Eli had insulated her barn. Bless his heart. Then she noticed the cut logs stacked neatly by the stove. She walked over to the woodstove and tore off a note that was taped on top of the wood. “No charge. My old bones just needed it to be a little warmer in here.”
She shook her head and smiled. That Eli.
Tasha looked sadly around at the shelves of dolls. What would she do with all of them if she shut her business down? The thought of going back to Newburg, of giving up her dream, made her heart ache. But what was the point of the dream if it wasn’t helping anyone and if she couldn’t get her head above water financially?
Her message light on the phone blinked. When she checked the caller ID, she recognized Philip’s number. She didn’t want to talk to him or even hear his voice. It hurt too much.
All her delusions about the dolls having some higher purpose had been shattered by Philip’s reaction. Tasha slumped down into the upholstered chair by the stove. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knee.
* * *
The next day, Tasha drove out to her little white church, stopping by the parsonage to get a key from Mindy. She walked up the aisle and over to a corner by the stage where a five-foot-tall poster of Christ on the cross hung. She sat in the hard wooden bench and stared at the poster. What do I do, God?
Feet pounded on the carpet as someone came up the aisle. Tasha craned her neck.
A woman holding a piece of paper in one hand and a broom in the other stood in front of her. “I grabbed this off the bulletin board.” The woman held the paper still long enough for Tasha to see that it was her ad for tenants. She was maybe forty with straight, stringy hair that just touched her shoulders. Close-set eyes and a tiny ball of a nose gave her the appearance of a squirrel.
“Oh, my ad. I forgot to take that one down.”
“I could really use a studio to do my painting in.”
“Well, actually, I—”
The woman held out her hand and smiled. Her smile evaporated the dullness of her expression. “You probably don’t know me. I’m on the volunteer cleaning crew. I saw you come in.”
The woman’s words spilled out so fast Tasha didn’t have time to interrupt.
“My name is Andrea. I moved here to help my sister. She’s a single mom with two kids. Helping take care of two kids is stressful. Painting is my outlet. If I could get out of the house a couple days a week, just to have some time to do something creative, that would give me the strength to help Bridget and the little ones. How much do you charge?”
“Well, I—”
“I’ve got an income from investments. I used to be in business.”
Sales, no doubt, thought Tasha, judging from Andrea’s rapid-fire presentation. “My other tenant pays two-fifty a month.” Her responses to Andrea were a little slow. She must be tired from the long drive—and from the emotional tilt-a-whirl she’d been on.
“That sounds fair to me. The income from my investments allows me to help my sister without worrying about finances. That’s God taking care of us, don’t you think?” Again, she did not wait for Tasha’s reply. “I’ll come by later and we’ll make it all official, paperwork, etc.” Andrea held out her hand. “It’s settled, then.”
Tasha rose to her feet. “Yes, I guess. It’s just that I—” She was exhausted. Trying to explain the whole complicated dilemma, all the indecision, seemed overwhelming. Tasha shook Andrea’s outstretched hand. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Good. Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Andrea raised her eyebrows, drew her lips into a straight line and waited.
Tasha’s mind raced full speed ahead. She had better say something in the few seconds Andrea had allotted. “Do you mind Elvis and Benny Goodman music?”
Andrea laughed. “Not at all. Sounds like fun. I’ll bring my stuff by when we do the paperwork. You have no idea how much this means to me. The painting is my therapy, my coping mechanism.”
Tasha watched as Andrea strutted up the aisle and disappeared around the corner. She tapped her fingers on the back of the bench, a wild, erratic rhythm. She’d come here hoping to have some peace about her decision to start closing down after Christmas. She prayed through gritted teeth. God, I’m getting some real mixed messages here. What are You trying to tell me? Certainly, she wasn’t supposed to starve. If business didn’t pick up, she’d start incurring more debt. God didn’t want her to be foolish about her finances, did He? With some effort, she was able to pray her familiar prayer without clenching her teeth. I will trust You, Lord.
Chapter 12
Philip opened the door of the hardware store. Mary and her cousins raced inside. Tasha stood by the checkout counter talking to the owner, Al. Her expression when she saw him confused him. Was that hurt he saw on her face?
Philip brushed the snow off his shoulder. The children all greeted her, then rushed past her toward the toys.
“Hey, guys, we’re here to buy a present for your mom and dad,” said Philip.
The kids stopped midsprint and stared at Philip.
“I think Mom wants a dollhouse,” said Damaris.
Shawn jumped up and down. “Daddy wants a ’mote control car.”
Philip shook his head.
“Hey, Philip.” Al busted open a roll of quarters by smashing them against the counter. “We got a whole gifts for gardeners section set up at the back of the store.”
“You hear that, kids?” Philip pointed. “March over to the garden section and find something for your mom and dad—not for you.”
Shoulders slumping, heads down, the kids made their way toward the aisle that held rakes, clay pots and other garden supplies.
Tasha laughed as she watched the children, but she averted her gaze from Philip. She held up the check she had in her hand. “I’ll bring more dolls by later, Al.”
“Can do, Tasha. We’re open until nine for the last-minute shoppers.”
She turned to go. Philip caught her arm just above the elbow. “So you’ve sold some dolls.”
>
She pulled away from him. “Al sold out. It’s the first good news I’ve had in a long time.” Her voice was icy.
“I’m so glad I ran into you. Did you get my message? You left the office too quickly. You didn’t let me pay you.”
“You’ll have to excuse me. I have a lot to do.” She rushed to the door and ran down the sidewalk.
As he was headed toward the door to race after her, Mary tugged on his sleeve. She held up a little girl’s purse. “Will this be a good present for Aunt Grace?”
“No, honey. Go pick out something else.” He watched Mary run to the back of the store before rushing out to the street to catch Tasha.
Philip stood on the street as Tasha went by in her van. She’d seemed upset. Why had he talked about the money? That had not been what he’d meant to say at all. She had put countless hours into those dolls. Why was it so hard for him to be vulnerable, to let her know how much healing the dolls had provided already? Why hadn’t he just told her that when she’d brought the dolls to his office?
Snowflakes drifted out of the sky. The street bustled with holiday shoppers wearing puffy down coats. Children trudged behind mothers who urged them to hurry up when they stopped to gaze into every window.
He pushed the door open and walked inside. There were other things he wanted to tell her—like how pretty she looked with her hair pulled up in a bun and fastened with gold ribbon. Because of Tasha’s doll, he’d been able to really grieve and to finally let go of Heather. He was ready for a new chapter in his life and he hoped that chapter included Tasha.
The children ran up to him holding watering cans, spades and gardener’s gloves.
“Will this work, Uncle Philip?” Damaris held up a pair of pink gloves.
“Let’s go see what they’ve got over there, kids.” He touched Travis’s shoulder.
Damaris pointed to the spout of the watering can. “We could wrap it with a pretty ribbon.”
“Yes, a pretty ribbon.” Philip stared at the garden supplies until they blurred. The children’s voices faded into the background. The truth was his heart had stopped when he came into the store and saw her standing there. Wisps of red curls had escaped her bun and softly framed her face. Her expression was brighter than the Christmas lights. His heart was open to caring about someone in a way that it had never been before.