“The in-between.” The life lived between the numbers. Aunt Mags’s life had been one of impact in her family, her church, her community.
Dixie nodded. “Broken is just a method. A means.”
“A means to what?” For a moment Stella forgot she was talking to a potentially crazy woman, and just simply craved wisdom and an answer to her question as strongly as if she were talking to a renowned teacher or speaker.
Maybe she was.
“A means to what matters.”
Stella’s heart raced. No. Dixie was getting vague again, slipping off into that distance. She desperately wanted the woman to stay close. Stay sane. Just for another minute.
“Don’t be afraid of the broken.”
Stella nodded. Their coherent moments were slipping through her fingers like sand. “Okay. What else?” There was more. There had to be more. Please, God, let there be more.
Dixie squinted at the headstone, then up at the sky, as if listening for a voice only she could hear. She grinned wide. “Don’t be afraid of the healing.”
Don’t be afraid of the healing? Now that was crazy talk. Healing was all Stella wanted, all she had ever wanted since first learning of Dillon’s infidelity. No way would she be afraid of it. “What else, Dixie?”
But the woman stood and brushed at the baggy old dress pants with a hole in the knee. Stella determined to buy her a new pair, just as soon as she got paid from the Cameo.
Maybe two pairs. No one deserved to walk around in holes.
“What else what?” Dixie’s voice hardened a little, took on that snappy edge she got whenever she was getting low on sugar. “You better get back to work, girl. That theater won’t open itself.”
True.
Stella stood as well. She smiled at Aunt Maggie’s tombstone and wondered if God let her aunt overhear even a portion of that odd conversation. Aunt Mags would have loved Dixie. Maybe that’s why Stella kept feeling drawn to her. She knew her aunt would have seen past the façade and the shell, too, and would have drawn out the wisdom that lurked beneath the surface. Aunt Mags was good at that—revealing what hardly anyone else saw. Seeing the best in people. Coaxing them to be more than they believed they could be.
Sometimes it just took being pushed a little to realize you were actually being drawn.
Dixie headed back toward her tree, and Stella headed the opposite direction to her car. She turned as Dixie hollered against the wind.
“Told you you needed an umbrella.”
sixteen
She almost didn’t want to go inside the homeless shelter for fear there would still be dripping water somewhere.
But, as usual, her fears were unfounded.
Stella followed her sister inside, lugging another giant box of dishes Kat was donating to the fund-raiser sale. The director of the shelter, Nancy Martin, broke from the crowd gathered to help, and pointed to the far corner of the living area, where boxes were already stacked into several neat piles. “Thanks! Find the pile marked kitchenware.”
She dumped the box in the appropriate stack, then took the next box from Kat. At least that one was full of clothes and not too heavy. “You’re too pregnant to be lifting anything.”
“I’m tired of being helpless.” Kat looked down and rubbed her protruding belly. “But I know. I need to slow down. I had some contractions yesterday.”
“What?” Stella reached out to touch her sister’s stomach, as if doing so could convince the baby to stay put. “Don’t say that.”
“They were minor ones in my back.” Kat shrugged it off. “Doctor said it was just from being on my feet so much. I was told to take it easy.”
Figures. “And yet, you’re here helping coordinate and organize a fund-raiser.”
“I’ll sit down and help. I promise.” Kat held up one hand as if swearing an oath.
“Here, then, take this.” Nancy shoved a label maker into Kat’s hand. “You can sit and make price tags.”
“Perfect.” Stella tugged her sister over to the frayed loveseat in the corner of the room by the dusty fireplace, smiling at one of the older residents who sat half-dozing in the recliner nearby, a folded magazine in his lap. “I’ll unbox and bring you the stuff to price.”
“How do I know what to label everything?” Kat called toward Nancy as she brushed past with another box.
Nancy paused and juggled the box in her hand long enough to point to a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of Kat. “I printed price estimates earlier today. You can follow along as a guide and if anything isn’t listed, just make it up. They’re only for suggestions, anyway.” She continued her mission toward the shelter’s kitchen. “I think people are just going to end up making offers, for the most part.”
“That’s easy enough.” Kat settled in the chair, label maker at the ready. “Let’s do it.”
Stella opened the nearest box and handed Kat a striped throw pillow that had seen better days, but wasn’t nearly as ratty as the shelter’s furniture.
Kat ran her finger down the printed list of furnishings. “Two dollars.” Then she carefully typed in and printed a label, smoothing it onto the front corner of the pillow.
This was going to be a long night.
But as long as they had time on their hands . . .
Stella handed Kat another pillow. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” She wiped her palms on her jeans before digging another pillow from the box. Ever since leaving Aunt Maggie’s grave site the day before, she knew she couldn’t postpone having The Conversation with her sister.
And now Chase had left her a voicemail about an hour before, asking if they could talk at some point before work in the morning. He asked her to call him tonight when she was done volunteering, or come over. But he insisted it was important, that it couldn’t wait longer than that.
Not knowing was making her slightly crazy, almost crazy enough to cancel the fund-raiser prep and go talk to him first. Was it work related—or about them? Maybe he’d been asking himself the same questions since they last saw each other, as she’d been.
Or maybe he just wanted to talk about the Cameo.
Either way, one thing was certain. Whether Chase was interested in her or not, she had to know what was going on in her sister’s head about the whole situation. Because if Kat shut her down, then it wouldn’t matter what Chase did or said or wanted later tonight. She’d already have her answer.
And then maybe she could spare them both some extra heartache.
“Why is everyone donating pillows?” Kat frowned as she slapped another two-dollar label on the fringed fabric in her lap. “Anyway. Sorry. Rhetorical question. What’cha got?”
Stella moved to the box marked kitchenware and handed Kat a used but quality blender. “It’s about Chase.”
Kat kept her eyes on her label. “Is he being a jerk again?”
“No.” Hardly. In fact, he’d been quite the hero lately, which was half the problem. Assuming attraction to Chase was a problem.
Yeah. It was.
She swallowed hard, trying to force a casualness she didn’t feel. “Actually, he’s been really helpful.”
Kat looked up, her expression wary. “How so?”
“Just, you know. Working. At the Cameo.” No, oh no. This wasn’t going as planned. “And beyond.”
What? How had that even slipped out of her mouth?
“What kind of beyond?” Kat narrowed her eyes, the blender forgotten as she stared at Stella.
Her stomach did a double flip. Why did she even try anymore? She was bombing every serious conversation she tried to have lately. “I mean, he jumped my car the other day when the battery died.”
“I thought Dad helped you get to the mechanic.” Kat still hadn’t finished her label.
“He did, the next day. Chase helped make sure I got home in the rainstorm.”
“How noble.”
Stella pointed to the blender and Kat reluctantly slapped a label on it and handed it back.
“It was. We had been fighting over something stupid, and yet he still—”
“Fighting?” Kat snorted. “Now that sounds more like Chase. What trouble did he start this time?”
Trouble? Oh, there’d been Trouble. With a Capital T.
“Ladies! Working hard, or hardly working?” Howard grinned as he wandered up to them, fingers hooked through the straps of his overalls. He stopped beside Stella and took in the scene before him. “One more than the other, maybe?” He nodded at Kat’s stomach.
Only Howard could get away with such a comment. She’d seen her sister erupt over much less.
Kat smiled and shook back her hair, batting her eyes with intentional overdramatics. “Howard, if you’re going to flirt, you should really check with my husband first.”
He let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll do that, ma’am. I’ll do that. I know my place, though.” He elbowed Stella in the ribs. “First in line for her cupcakes.”
Stella elbowed him back. “You’re a smart man, Howard.” She wanted to ask him about Dixie, but wasn’t sure what to say. She’d had enough relational awkwardness to last her a lifetime the past few weeks. Besides, how did two homeless people date? Where did they go? They were just friends who probably cheered each other up, helped provide for the other. All of the homeless community stuck together, as evidenced by the turnout for the monthly meals and even the fund-raiser preparation.
“What did you make for the big sale?” She knew Howard would contribute something, even if it was an animal he whittled out of a spare hunk of wood he’d discovered in the forest off the interstate.
“Rocking horse.” He pointed behind him to the area designated for toys. “Someone donated the wood for me, and I took care of the rest around my schedule at the Cameo.”
Stella craned her head to see. The piece was somehow basic and crude, not stained or polished, but it looked as if it’d been sanded smooth. It was a sweet contribution, one that showed Howard’s skill, but further proved how frustrating it must be to have the talent to succeed but not the means to do it with. She made a mental note to ask Chase if she could give Howard the leftover stain from the stage. It’d look beautiful on the horse.
“You did a great job, Howard.”
“What’d you make, little missy?”
Stella pointed to the pile of dresses peeking from a garment bag that was draped over the back of the couch. It’d taken them two trips to get everything in from Kat’s car, and those were the first things she’d dumped.
Including the royal blue gown.
Mom would have to deal. There was no coming back from that memory.
“I’m donating an era.” Apparently.
Howard nodded as if he understood. “I see. Well, you ladies get back to work.” He winked at Kat. “Or hardly working, anyway.”
“You’re giving away all those dresses? How did I not see those earlier?” Kat looked back and forth from the garment bag to Stella in surprise.
“You were busy with all your kitchenware and baby-toting.” Stella brushed it off, not wanting to make those dresses any more of a big deal than they’d already been. She’d already decided to wait and not sell her wedding rings. Not yet. She didn’t feel near the panic over letting them go as she had before, but still the timing wasn’t quite right.
Baby steps.
“What did Mom say?”
Stella set the blender down at the product table before digging through the box for another item in need of a label. “She helped me clean out my closet.”
“But what did she say?”
Darn her sister’s intuition. “She’s supportive.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now, anyway. It took a minute, but she’s cool.” Well, a minute was an understatement, and cool was probably one too. But at least it was done.
“Whatever. I’d grill you on that, but I’d rather get back to what you were saying about Chase.” Kat pointed as if she could pull up the interrupted conversation on an iPad screen. “You were saying he started some kind of trouble. Picked a fight with you.”
Stella pulled out a toaster for Kat. “Actually, I was the one who started the fight—”
“Stella! You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s gotten in your head, hasn’t he?” Kat leaned forward, ignoring the toaster Stella extended toward her. The older man in the recliner nearby stirred from his doze and stared at them both.
Kat lowered her voice, but not enough. “I told you to be careful.”
“I was. He hasn’t done anything.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Kat hissed, loud enough to be heard in the outside back ally. “He’s manipulating you. Just like he always did to me.”
Indignation flared. “That’s not true.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, it’s different. He’s different now.” She came and sat on the arm of the loveseat, close enough to force Kat to use her real inside voice. “We’ve had a lot of talks while working together. He’s been through a lot in the last few years.”
More than she felt comfortable sharing. It didn’t seem fair somehow to publicize Chase’s secrets to her sister—his ex. Even if it would help Stella’s case for him.
“I’m sure he has. But so have you—which makes you a little vulnerable to being manipulated.” Kat yanked the toaster from her sister’s hand and put the label she’d finally printed on the front. “Especially by someone who is as good at it as he is.”
This was getting ridiculous. Why was Kat so convinced Chase was a monster? “I’m not totally blind to things, Kat. Dillon taught me a lot about trust, you can be sure of that.”
“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, Stella. I’m saying Chase is a mastermind. And out of your league when it comes to mind games.”
Now she was forgetting to whisper. “That was ages ago. Why are you so sure he hasn’t changed?”
“Why are you so sure he has?”
They stared at each other, eyebrows raised, the toaster ignored between them.
Stella finally broke the stalemate and carried the toaster to the table. Then she turned and put her hands on her hips, trying to keep her voice level. The ladies working across the room in the kitchen area and folding towels on the buffet counter didn’t need to know their dirty laundry. “Kat, you have Lucas.”
“I know that.” Kat patted her stomach. “Daily reminder here.”
“Then why are you still jealous?”
Kat went so still, Stella almost snapped her fingers in front of her face to see if she was awake. “I’m not jealous.” The words came out low, monotone, almost robotic. When Kat was that level and even, it meant the calm before the storm.
She’d awakened the hormonal giant.
“Well, if you’re not, you sure are acting jealous. Why are you so against the idea of Chase and me?” She was panicking now, desperate to get her sister to see her side. And that desperation nearly did her in. What had changed? Fifteen minutes ago, she was willing to have a brief conversation and then tell Chase whatever she needed to tell him later that night. If it even came up. Casual. Easy. Nothing life changing.
Now, somehow, if Kat didn’t give her blessing, her world was over.
Stella took a deep breath to calm her nerves, willing her heart to settle in her chest before her panic reached a point of no return. She grabbed another throw pillow waiting to be labeled and squeezed it against her chest.
“I don’t like what Chase represents.” Kat’s voice, still calm and even, stilled even further as she placed her hands protectively over her belly, almost as if attempting to cover the baby’s ears. “I don’t like the way he treated either of us.”
“I agree. But why can’t he have another chance?”
“Do you not remember, Stella?” Kat’s voice turned less offended and more imploring. “Just stop for a minute. Remember. Remember all of it. The lies, the betrayal. He was a wedge between us for years. Years, Stella.”
Yes, he was. But part of that had been a lot of miscommunica
tion and a lot of fault on Kat’s part. It was Kat’s grudge, not Stella’s. Why did she have to pay for it now? She hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t intended to steal her sister’s boyfriend.
That wasn’t the way it went down.
But Kat had told her side of the story so often by now, Stella wasn’t sure if she even accurately remembered the full truth.
“You deserve better than that.” Kat held out her hands for the pillow, and Stella reluctantly released it to her. “After all you’ve been through with Dillon . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Don’t bring him into this. It’s different.” She yanked the pillow back, tossed it on the end table. Handed her another one.
“It’s not different, Stella. It’s all part of the same wound. You deserve a man you can trust explicitly. With your whole heart.”
True. She did deserve that. Could she trust Chase that way?
Would she ever be capable of trusting any man that way?
Kat leaned back in the chair, pressing her hands behind her waist and arching her back. “There’s another one.”
She was stressing her sister into labor. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.”
“It’s not an argument. “ Kat took one of the newly labeled pillows and shoved it behind her lower back. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
Once again, the baby of the family. Needy. Dependent. Unable to take care of herself. The barbs, unintentional as they might be, sank in deep.
“Promise me you won’t date him?”
That wasn’t fair. How could she make such a demand? But the pleading in her sister’s eyes ran deeper than the barbs had penetrated. “I don’t know.”
“Stella. I’m trying to help you.” She leaned forward in the chair and held out her pinky as they used to do when they were kids, back in the days when their biggest fight revolved around who ate the last Little Debbie snack and whose turn it was to set the table. “Promise me.”
Stella hesitantly reached out her hand, and latched her pinky around her sister’s. “I promise.” She tried to tell herself the tightening feeling in her chest was just indigestion.
Love Arrives in Pieces Page 20