by Loree Lough
She wouldn’t ask that of him. No, if he decided to make Amarillo his home again, it would have to be because Max wanted it—not to spare someone’s feelings, not to please someone else, but for reasons of his very own.
“Do you…do you have any idea what you’ll decide?”
“It’s good money. No, great money. Nate could go to any college in the world. And the house…it’s huge, with a big back yard and a swing set, and a place where he can ride his bike…”
Like her own father, Max was prepared to sacrifice, to suffer for his child. She admired that. Respected it. But she was living proof that no amount of money can buy happiness; she would much rather have seen her dad happy and at peace, than have had all the luxuries his money provided. And she told Max so.
“Nate’s a great kid. He’ll be happy if you’re happy,” she said.
Max nodded. “Part of me knows that, of course. And part of me feels he should never have to want for anything.”
Customers’ forks clinked against their plates as their quiet banter echoed through the diner. The dishwasher clanged pots and pans against the deep stainless-steel sink while Andy’s spatula scraped against the grill. It had never been clearer: Life goes on, no matter what. Oh, Lord, she prayed, use me now to bring Max back to You.
“You’ll make the right decision,” she said, patting his arm.
He swung to face her. “You’re that sure of me, are you?”
Lily read the smile in his eyes. Instinct made her comb through the hair behind his temple, then slide her fingertips across his manly jaw. “Yes, I’m that sure of you.”
If he could read her heart, he’d know how far from the truth her answer had been. How could he even consider making a life-altering decision like this without consulting the Almighty!
“Have faith, Max,” she blurted. “It’ll take you much farther than worry.”
His expression turned hard again. “Faith. Don’t make me laugh. Name me one reason I should believe in that.”
“It pulled you through after Melissa’s suicide. Got you through Nate’s illness and your mom’s surgery.”
“Faith had nothing to do with it,” he insisted. Jabbing a thumb into his chest, Max added, “I got me through. God had nothing to do with it…as usual.”
The way he tacked on the qualifier reminded Lily he’d once believed—strongly enough to ask God’s help, to hope for miracles. “God can’t control human beings. I’m sure He wishes He could, but He gave us free will. The best He can hope is we’ll make the choices He’d make for us…if He were in control of us.”
“Oh, don’t give me that Bible-thumping, Sunday-go-to-meeting nonsense. I’d have better luck playing with an eight ball than I’d have with prayer.”
Obviously, this was neither the time nor the place to try to change his mind about God. But something had better change it, because as much as she loved him, Lily couldn’t envision herself spending decades defending her faith! “You have so much to be grateful for!” Lily said, sliding off the stool. “I’d say ‘count your blessings’ if it didn’t sound so trite.” She grabbed her purse. I’d say you’re acting like a spoiled, immature boy, too—if she didn’t think it would add fuel to his fire.
He looked miserable. But then, why wouldn’t he? Max had convinced himself he was on his own, that there was no one he could turn to at times like these. Stubborn as he was, determined as he seemed to be to hold tight to his “If God exists, He doesn’t care” mind-set, she loved him. Lily stood behind him, gave him a little hug and kissed the back of his neck. Lips beside his ear, she whispered, “Count your blessings, Max. You might be surprised how much God has given you.”
Lily didn’t give him a chance to argue the point. She was turning out of the parking lot when she wondered if he’d take her advice.
And if he did, would she be one of his blessings?
“I’ve got good news.”
Lily sat on a hay bale and patted the space beside her. “It must be great news, sister dear, the way you’re huffing and puffing.”
Cammi sat beside her, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve just been to see Dr. Anderson,” she said, and covered her mouth with both hands, trembling with excitement as she waited for Lily to say…
“Dr. Anderson…isn’t he an obstetrician?”
Cammi hid behind her hands, peeked between two fingers.
“A baby?” Lily hugged her. “You and Reid are going to have a baby?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?”
After Max’s news a few hours earlier, it was more than wonderful. “I’ll say.” Lily held Cammi at arm’s length. “When’s the big day?”
“Fourth of July.”
“Wow. Talk about a patriotic couple.”
“Reid doesn’t even know yet. You’re so good with ideas, I thought I’d see what you’d come up with—some way I could surprise him.”
“I’m flattered to be the first to know,” Lily said. She furrowed her brow. “Hmmm…well, you could always wait for the annual pyrotechnics display out at Lake Meredith, tell him during the finale that there’s a little firecracker on the way.”
“Oh, Lily. Now you’re just being silly. Really. Help me come up with something spectacular, something he’ll never forget.”
She pretended to be insulted. “If he doesn’t think a fireworks display is spectacular, maybe I’m wrong,” she teased. “Maybe Reid isn’t so patriotic, after all.”
“I was thinking dinner by candlelight, in the living room, in front of the fireplace. Soft music. A special meal. His favorite dessert.” She clapped her hands. “What do you think?”
Cammi positively glowed with happy radiance, so much so that it warmed Lily’s heart, too. For the moment, she forgot about the possibility that Max might move back to Chicago, that she might never see him again.
“What do I think? I think you wasted your time coming over here to get my ideas. Sounds like you cooked up the perfect evening all by yourself.”
Cammi nodded. “Then, it’s settled. I’ll go to the grocery store on my way back to the Rockin’ C.”
“Guess the C can stand for ‘cradle’ now, eh?”
Cammi giggled.
“What does that C stand for, anyway?”
“Reid inherited the ranch from his adoptive parents, Billy and Martina. He told me once that Billy named the place after an old army buddy, Calvin. He was a rock and roll musician before he joined up. See, Cal loaned him the money for the down payment.”
“Rockin’ C. Now I see,” Lily said, laughing.
Cammi frowned suddenly.
“What? A pain? You okay?”
“’Course I am. Are you okay? You look like you just lost your best friend.”
“Man. Talk about hitting the old nail on the head.”
“Uh-oh. This is Max-related, isn’t it.”
Lily nodded.
Cammi got to her feet and held out her hand. “Let’s go up to the house and talk about it over a cup of tea.”
Over teacups and chocolate chip cookies, Lily filled Cammi in on the state of her relationship with Max. “…and now he isn’t sure if he should go or stay.”
“I remember how awful it was for me when Reid left town to re-up with the rodeo. I feel for ya, kid, honest I do.”
“I’ve always wondered—if you hadn’t followed him, do you think you’d be together today?”
“Nope. He’s more stubborn than those bulls he used to ride. He probably would have sentenced us both to life apart rather than admit how he felt.”
Lily sighed. “What is it about men? What’s so hard about those three little words?”
Cammi grinned. “Have you said ‘I love you’?”
She flicked a cookie crumb onto the floor. “Well, no. I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he says—” Lily assumed the deepest voice she could muster “—‘Sorry, Lil ol’ girl, I think you’re a great kid and all that, b
ut…’” She rolled her eyes. “I’d just about die!”
“Have you ever considered that maybe he feels the same way?”
Lily stared into Cammi’s bright eyes. “No. Guess I haven’t. But how frustrating is that? I mean, how are two people supposed to get together if they’re both scared stiff of admitting their feelings!”
“They get together,” Cammi said, “because one of them thinks it’s worth risking rejection in the hope he or she will hear those three magic words echoed right back at them.”
Lily took a sip of tea, then grinned. “I can’t wait ’til I’m as old and wise as you.”
“Neither can I,” Cammi teased. She got up and grabbed her purse from where she’d hung it on the chair back. “Well, I’m off to the store.” She checked items off an imaginary list, written on her palm. “One romantic evening, one joyful husband, one spectacular celebration…”
Walking beside her to the back door, Lily added, “Can’t wait ’til I’m as happy as you are, either.”
Cammi hugged her tight. “Aw, Lil…that day will come. I know it will. Where’s your faith?”
Lily waved as her sister headed toward her car. Ironic, she thought, that Cammi would pose that particular question. Especially considering the lecture she’d laid on Max a few hours earlier.
“‘Judge not lest ye be judged,’” she quoted, because Cammi was right. If she believed things would work out between her and Max, they would.
Right?
Common sense prevailed: They’d work out if God saw it as part of His plan.
Let it be part of Your plan! Lily prayed.
“Hardly seems fair,” Georgia said when Max broke the news to her that day. “I mean, you’re not taking more than your share of the profits, right?”
Max shook his head. “No, but the partners have had to divide my clients among them. They want full percentages if things are going to stay this way.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth,” he said.
“Which is?”
“I don’t know.”
His mother sighed. “Seems a shame for you to go back to that rat race. You’ve seemed so calm and rested here.” She glanced over at her grandson, who was filling a paint-by-numbers canvas with primary colors as Robert looked on. “And Nate took to Amarillo like a born Texan!”
“I know, I know.”
She waved Robert over. “Well, here’s something that might make your decision a little easier.” Once her fiancé joined her in the booth, Georgia said, “We’ve decided to retire after we get married.”
That surprised Max, and he said so.
“There’s a big wide wonderful world out there,” his future stepfather said, “and we’ve both worked so hard, we’ve only seen a small slice of it. And we want to see it, together.”
His mother had worked hard all her life. Max couldn’t remember her ever taking more than a day or two away from the diner. “What about this place?” he asked. “Andy’s a great guy, a terrific fry cook, but I’ve seen him make change. You don’t want him keeping the books.”
“You’re right. He means well, but his math skills sure leave a lot to be desired.” Georgia leaned forward, waved Max closer. “But I have it all figured out,” she whispered. “Piece of cake.”
“Easy as pie,” Robert added.
“Simple as—”
Hands up in mock surrender, Max laughed. “Okay, okay. I get it. So out with it, already. What’s this idea of yours?”
Robert slid a fat brown envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “Open it.”
The envelope contained the deed to Georgia’s Diner, a topographical map of the lot, a license to operate an Amarillo business, and an inventory of the restaurant’s equipment. Max was more than happy to provide them with a little free tax advice. He leafed through the documents and then, folding them up again, nodded. “Everything appears to be in order.” He held out the folder. “You planning to hire a live-in manager?”
Georgia and Robert exchanged a glance. “Sort of,” she said without taking the envelope.
Max donned his most professional pose—elbows on the table, hands clasped atop the paperwork. “You aren’t planning to leave on your world tour tomorrow, so it isn’t like there’s any big rush. You have plenty of time to find someone trustworthy to run the place while you’re gone.” Grinning, he shrugged. “Who knows? You might miss the place.”
Georgia wrapped a hand around her beau’s arm. “Not a chance. I’ve given this place my all. Rarely spent a dime of my tip money, put most of the profits back into the business.”
Max said, “Which is why it’s the busiest eatery in town.”
“Which is also why I’m the tiredest diner owner in town. I have some zip in my step…or soon will, thanks to ol’ Robert, here, so—”
“Hey,” the man teased, “who you callin’ old?”
“I want to enjoy what’s left of my life. No more getting up at 3:00 a.m. to drive to the markets for vegetables and meats. No more baking pies ’til all hours of the night. No more smiling when some trucker complains that his burger wasn’t cooked enough…or that it was overcooked. No more soups to stir, or chili pots to scrub.”
“Mom,” Max said, blanketing her hands with his, “no one is saying you don’t deserve some freedom from this place. You’ve been a slave to it most of your life!”
He’d seen expressions of anger, weariness, joy and disgust on her face, but Max had never seen that look before. She continued to sit there, blinking and silent, refusing to take back the diner’s paperwork.
When Georgia looked down, turned her engagement ring around and around, Max thought he’d figured it out.
“Mom, it’s been in your family since Great-Grandma Georgia first moved to Amarillo. You can’t be seriously considering selling the place….”
Her head snapped up. “’Course not,” she said. “I want you to have it. Lock, stock and griddle brick.”
Max laughed nervously. “Me? You’re kidding, right?”
He glanced from Georgia’s serious face to Robert’s and back again. “You’re not kidding.” The documents suddenly seemed too hot to touch, so he sat back and crossed both arms over his chest.
“Even if I was interested, I can’t afford it right now. Everything I have is tied up in the house in Chicago, in the firm. It’d take weeks to liquidate.”
“Maxwell Sheridan, don’t you insult your mama that way! I wouldn’t dream of taking a dime from you. Why, you wouldn’t let me pay a penny of your college tuition. And when you went into that business out there in Chicago, you wouldn’t let me help you.”
She turned to Robert. “Do you realize that every time things got tough around here, money-wise, this boy bailed me out? Why, there were times I’d have gone belly-up for sure if he hadn’t come to the rescue.”
She faced Max again. “And you refused to let me pay those loans back. You’ve bought and paid for this place twice over, way I see it!”
“Mom…”
“Son, you love this place every bit as much as I do. You’d hate seeing it go to strangers.”
She was right on both counts. “But, Mom, I’m a lousy cook, and—”
“Andy has agreed to stay on.”
Max frowned. “—and I’m clumsy as they come. I don’t think I’ve ever delivered a meal without spilling something.”
“Vera will stay, and so will Betty. They’re two of the finest waitresses in all of Texas.” Georgia winked. “I oughta know, I trained ’em myself!”
True again. But he didn’t say so.
“Think of yourself as the overseer,” Robert suggested. “Someone who balances the books, orders the food, counts the cash.”
Georgia nodded. “Right! And you wouldn’t even have to set foot in the kitchen if you didn’t want to.” She hesitated. “’Til the health department did its annual inspection, that is.” Another pause. “And of course you’d pass, ’cause, like I said, I trained Betty and Vera my very own
self.”
It was definitely something to think about. Because he didn’t relish the idea of going back to Chicago, picking up where he’d left off, even if the money he earned out there did guarantee Nate could attend the Ivy League college of his choice.
His mother had been right about something else, too: he had felt good, real good, since coming home. And Nate had taken to the place like a fish to water.
Then there was the matter of Lily….
“Like you said,” Robert said, “we’re not going anywhere tomorrow, or even the next day. Take some time, bounce the idea around a bit.”
Max didn’t have time; he had promised Donald Wilkes he’d have an answer by tomorrow. But he nodded anyway. “I’ll give it some thought.” Then he added, “When do you need to know?”
Georgia looked suddenly guilty, like a little girl caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. “Just take your time, son.”
But she hadn’t meant a word of it; the tension in her voice told Max she had something up her sleeve. If experience hadn’t long ago taught him it would be a waste of time and energy to ask what, he’d nag it out of her.
Still, she hadn’t had to write it on the menu board: they needed to know ASAP.
So now he faced two deadlines. Three, if he counted the self-imposed restriction he’d put on himself where his future with Lily was concerned.
“Pray on it, son,” Georgia said, patting his hand. “The Good Lord will let you know what’s best for you and Nate.”
Not a chance, he thought, echoing his mom’s earlier quote. “Mind if I take these with me?” he asked, pointing to the papers.
“If you make the right choice, they’re yours.” Georgia slid them to the edge of the table. “So be my guest.”
“I’m going up to bed now,” he said, bussing her cheek. And reaching across her, he shook Robert’s hand. “Drive safe goin’ home.”
He was halfway up the back stairs when he heard his mother holler, “Pray on it, son!”
Max took a deep breath. “Okay, Mom.” Maybe prayer was his only way out.
It never had worked before, no reason to believe it would work now.
But he was pretty much out of options…so what could it hurt?