I toss my napkin on the table. "I think I'll give them a hand."
Once in the kitchen, I shut the door behind me. Ben and Lindsay stand in the middle of the room. He presses her against his chest and she clutches the back of his shirt in her fists. They look as if they're holding each other up, and if you removed one of them, the other would fall.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
Lindsay sniffs and nods. "Yeah. I just . . . frosting. She remembers frosting."
"I know." There's no tissue anywhere in sight, so I rip a paper towel off the roll and hand it to her.
"Thanks." As she dabs her eyes and blows her nose, she steps back from Ben. "That was some pretty quick thinking back there."
"Did you mean it?" I ask him.
"What if I did?" He asks back, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed.
"I asked you first."
"Yes. I meant it." He looks down at Lindsay and reaches for her hand. "It's not the way I wanted to ask you, but I meant what I said. I want to marry you, more than anything."
I shouldn't be here for this moment, but I'm not leaving unless someone asks me to. So far, they only have eyes for each other. Lindsay stares at him, her mouth open, jaw slack.
Ben looks worried. "You're not saying anything."
"Wow."
"Is that a good wow, or a bad wow?"
"A good wow. A very good wow."
"Does that mean yes?"
"What do you think?" When he doesn't answer, she throws herself at him. "Yes! Of course. Yes."
That's enough for me. I turn to the counter and busy myself with setting out plates and cutting the cake. When Tony asked me to marry him, it was very romantic. He took me to a restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Afterward, we walked along the shore, carrying our shoes. He rolled up the cuffs of his dress pants to keep them out of the briny water, but he ruined them anyway when he went down on one knee and proposed. The surf, the moonlight, the ring he removed from his jacket pocket, every bit of it was perfect.
Ben's proposal has been anything but perfect: in a kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes and old Formica, illuminated by the harsh glow of overhead lights, and witnessed by the brideto-be's often cranky sister. There isn't even an engagement ring to slip on her finger. But none of it matters to them. Set apart in their own bubble of love, this kitchen has just become the most romantic, special place on earth.
As I put slices of cake on the small plates, I say a little prayer for my sister. She and Ben are starting out all wrong. Neither of them has a good job, their spiritual life is shaky, and they have a baby on the way. Marriage is hard enough without so many strikes against you. It's hard to imagine how they can possibly make this work.
Then again, Tony and I did everything right and look how we ended up. Maybe Lindsay and Ben have a shot after all.
44
I can't sleep. On the other side of the room, Lindsay lies motionless, her breath even and rhythmic. No matter how hard I try, I can't shut off my brain. There are too many thoughts vying for my attention, tangential threads that are crowded and tangled up with one another. But the more I try, the more knotted it all becomes.
In three days, I have to face whatever waits for me back in California. After a month of ignoring my career, it's time to figure out what to do with it. Is there anything left to salvage? What about Tony? What about my house? What about Lindsay? She and Ben are going to have a baby together, so getting married seems like a good idea, the next logical step. But is it really? Can I trust Ben to keep his word?
Flopping onto my side, I squint at the alarm clock on the dresser. Two a.m. This is ridiculous.
As quietly as I can, I get out of bed and head downstairs. Maybe a cup of tea will help. Or a piece of that cake.
When I reach the foot of the stairs, I notice the light in the family room. I could have sworn I turned it off before we all headed to bed. As I get closer to the room, I hear something. A faint slapping and the muffled tones of someone talking under his or her breath. The sight that greets me when I step into the doorway breaks my heart.
My mother sits at the card table. Empty puzzle boxes litter the floor and a mound of pieces cover the table. She picks up two pieces, tries to fit them together, but when it doesn't work, she throws them aside. She does it again. And again. And now that I'm closer, I make out what she's saying. "I can't find it. I can't find it."
"Mom?"
She doesn't look up. Just shakes her head violently and continues her useless task. "I can't find it. It's here somewhere. I know it is. I just can't find it."
Picking my way around the cardboard mine field, I sit in the chair beside her and reach for her hands. "This is a really hard puzzle."
She stills, looks at our hands, hers holding two pieces and mine enfolding them. Then she lifts her head, and I know she's with me. My mother, the woman who's been lost for so long, is right there with me. But this moment of clarity costs her, the emotions so raw and painful in her eyes they cut like jagged shards of glass. "I used to be able to do this."
"I know."
"I used to be able to remember."
"I know."
"What's happening to me?"
My chest feels empty and full at the same time, as if someone sucked out all the air and replaced it with concrete. "It's not your fault. You're sick."
The light in her eyes flickers, and I know she's starting to slip back into that lost place. But she fights back. She pulls her hands from me and cups my face. "I love you."
The block in my chest breaks. Tears fall, rolling across her fingertips. "I love you too, Mom."
In the distance, I hear the sound of feet clomping down the stairs. Dad appears in the doorway a moment later, his eyes as wild as his hair. "Meredith. What are you doing down here?"
Her hands fall from my face and her gaze looks through me. The spell is broken. She looks up at her husband. "I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I." Drying my eyes with the cuff of my pajama top, I smile at Dad. "Sorry we woke you."
"That's okay. I'm glad I found the two of you together." He walks to Mom and helps her up. Then he turns to me. "Are you all right, Sugar Plum?"
I take in a shaky breath, my lungs expanding, my heart thumping. No matter how difficult this episode was, it was also amazing. Now I know that my mom is still in there, and she loves me.
"I'm great, Dad. Good night."
He nods. Silently, they walk out of the room.
I doubt this is the first time he's found her missing in the middle of the night. But they sleep in separate rooms now, which means he must get up to check on her. When was the last time he had a good night's sleep? When was the last time he did something for the sheer pleasure of it?
Dad told me to read about love in the Bible, and I have. I've read it so many times I can practically quote the entire chapter. But I've never really lived it, not the way my father lives it every single day.
I pick up a puzzle box. With the side of my arm, I swipe the pieces into it until it's full. Then I grab another and do the same. As I clear up the mess, mixing together puzzles that none of us will ever work on again, the tangles of my mind start to sort themselves out.
The next day, I'm back in the garden, tackling a new section. And again, Adam stops by. But this time, he's brought along more than just a drink carrier with two iced coffees in it. There's also a plastic bag dangling from his elbow, and a can of paint in his other hand.
I stand up and push back the brim of my hat. "You look like you've come ready to work."
"I have. If that's okay with you."
"More than okay." As much as I hoped to make the garden perfect before I leave, it wasn't looking like I'd have time to paint the fence. Adam doesn't know it, but he's almost an answer to prayer.
"Great. But first, it's break time."
We sit on the step and sip our coffees. "Has anyone bought the store yet?" I ask.
He laughs. "It's a little soon for that. In this economy, it'll be
a miracle if it sells at all."
"No, it's not the best time to sell." Which makes me think about my house. Even if I agreed with Tony and wanted to sell it, we probably wouldn't be able to.
"How about you?" Adam asks. "Are you all set to head back West?"
"Almost. Thanks to you, the garden will be finished today."
He smacks his forehead with his palm. "You mean I'm helping you leave with a clear conscience? Me and my great ideas."
"Actually, there is something I could use your help with."
"Putting up a scarecrow? Finding the yellow brick road?"
I bump his shoulder with mine. "I'm serious."
"Sorry. Ask away."
"It's about Ben and Lindsay. They got engaged last night."
"Really?" He looks surprised. "That's good, right?"
"I hope so. I think it is. Anyway, that's what I'm concerned about. While I'm gone, would you keep an eye on Ben?"
"I'll do what I can. But other than rehearsals and Sunday mornings, I don't see him much."
"But you do see him. And he respects you. Maybe if you talked to him, it would help."
"What am I supposed to talk to him about?"
"I don't know," I say with a shrug. "Man stuff."
He laughs. "That's a pretty broad topic."
"Very funny. I'd feel better if Ben knows that even though I'm gone, there are still people watching out for Lindsay."
"I see. But you are coming back."
"I am?" Does he want me to come back? Or does he expect me to—out of a sense of duty to my family?
"Of course. There's no way you'd miss your sister's wedding."
Family duty it is. Disguising my disappointment, I take a final sip through my straw.
He puts his empty cup in the cardboard carrier and holds it out for me to do the same. "You know what I think is going to happen?" he asks.
"What?"
"I think you're going to go back to California, and you're going to miss it here. You're going to realize all the great things Beaumont has to offer."
The air around me feels thicker, and I need to take a long, deep breath in order to fill my lungs. "Like?"
"Like family. Friends." His face inches closer to mine. "Maybe even your future."
How do I respond to that? I've borrowed library books longer than I've known this man, but he affects me in a way that throws me completely off balance. And—here's the kicker— I'm still married. It doesn't matter how amazing I feel when he looks at me, how my insides feel all warm and tingly, how I'd like nothing better than to sit on this porch with him for hours just talking. I can't act on any of it. I can't even think it. Because I'm still married, even if it is in name only.
I lean away from Adam. Yet even as I put physical distance between us, there's something I need to know. "Why me?"
He shakes his head, his lips quirking up into a wry grin. "I've been asking God the same thing. Why her?"
"Gee, thanks."
He pushes himself off the step and starts pacing in front of me. "You know what I mean. You're the most unattainable woman I know, but I can't stop thinking about you."
"But you barely know me."
"That's the thing. I can't wait to know more about you. What's your favorite color? Do you like dogs or cats? What kind of movies do you like?" He stops in front of me, one hand on his hip, the other squeezing the back of his neck. "All I know is that God brought you into my life for a reason. Right now, it's to be your friend. Maybe later, it will be more. I don't have the answer, but I want to find out."
"Me too."
The friend part I understand. But something more . . . it makes no sense. If that's the case, then why would God bring him into my life now, when neither of us can act on these feelings? Are we being tested? And there's one more thing nagging at me.
"How old are you?"
He laughs. "Seriously? You're worried about my age?"
"Not worried," I say with a shrug. "Curious."
When he doesn't answer right away, I do start to worry. "Come on, you can't be that much younger than me. Can you?"
"No. I just don't want to give you another reason to push me away." He pauses, then shakes his head. "I'm thirty-four."
"Really?"
"Yes." He takes his wallet from his back pocket. "Want to see my driver's license?"
He holds it out to me, but I shoo it away. "No, I believe you."
"And what do you think?"
He's five years younger than I am. Not a big deal, especially if we're just friends. "I think if we don't get to work, this yard will never be done."
"Come on." He grins and holds his hand out to help me up. "Let's go paint a fence."
Adam walks across the yard and I follow him. He hands me a paintbrush, and when I take it, our fingers meet. We pause, both of us holding the handle, and I say, "Purple."
"What?"
"My favorite color. It's purple."
A slow smile blooms on his lips. "Good to know."
45
Are you trying to tell us something?" Lindsay points to the box in the middle of the card table.
"Yes. It's time for us to stop concentrating on what Mom can't do and focus on what she can."
"And you think she can do this?"
"With our help, yes." The new puzzle is a picture of Snoopy, Charlie Brown, and friends. It has bold lines, bright colors, and just twenty-five chunky pieces.
She lowers herself gently into one of the folding chairs. "You really must believe in miracles."
"Don't you?"
"Sometimes."
It's the opening I've been waiting for, a time to talk to Lindsay about her faith without her feeling like I'm pouncing. But then our parents walk in, and the moment is gone.
"I got a new puzzle today, Mom. Do you want to join us?"
Her expression is a mixture of confusion and fear. "No, thank you, dear."
Dad frowns as he walks past me and gets her settled on the couch and her Lucy DVD playing. When he joins us at the table, he's still frowning.
"What made you say that?" he asks. "You know she can't do puzzles."
"She might be able to do this one. We won't know until she tries."
"No." Dad jerks his head to the side. "If she tries and fails, she'll fall apart. You can't put her through that."
"She's already going through that." I put my hand on Dad's arm. "When I found her down here the other night, she was trying to put the puzzles together. She knows she's not like she used to be."
"Oh, Lucy!" Mom calls out from the couch a split-second after Ricky does on the TV. She looks so proud of herself.
I open the box and spill the huge pieces on the table. "We're going to put most of the puzzle together. If she wants to come and help us finish it, great. If not, that's okay too."
Lindsay snorts. "This thing will take five minutes to do."
"If we take our time," Dad says.
My heart sinks. They're not even going to try.
"We're going to have to take turns." Lindsay puts a piece in the middle of the table, then turns the rest of them upside down. "There, that should challenge it up a bit."
I reach over and give her a one-armed hug. "Thanks."
For the next twenty minutes, we alternate between playing with the puzzle and making small talk. When Lucy is over, Mom stands up.
"I'm tired."
Dad turns off the TV. He takes her by the arm. "Time for bed, then."
I've seen them do this every night since we've been here, but it's never discouraged me until right now. There's one puzzle piece left on the table. I turn it over and push it toward Lindsay with my finger.
Mom and Dad stop between our chairs. "Good night, girls," he says.
Mom looks down at the table. "There's a piece missing."
Lindsay's eyes bounce from me to Mom. "There is. Do you want to help us?"
Wordlessly, Mom reaches for the stray piece. Her hand is shaking, but she picks it up and moves it to the empty spot i
n the puzzle. It's upside down, so when she tries to place it, it doesn't fit. Holding my breath, I wait for the meltdown. But it doesn't come. Instead, she moves it around, jiggling it until it finally slides into place.
Dad, Lindsay, and I all exhale at once. Mom grins. "I did it."
"You did it." I rise from my chair and kiss her cheek. "Good night, Mom."
She smiles at me. Then she turns to Lindsay and kisses the top of her head. "Good night, sweetheart."
We watch them leave the room, then I slump down in my seat. "Wow, that worked out better than I thought."
"I'll say." Lindsay shakes her head. "Sorry I doubted you, O wise one."
"Wisdom has nothing to do with it. I'm just winging it."
"Well, it was a good call. Maybe this is your new field of expertise. Alzheimer's therapy."
"Not on your life."
I break up the puzzle and put the pieces in the box. One lucky guess doesn't make me an expert. It just means we had a good night. But it looks like that's how we have to take things: one day at a time, one night at a time, one success at a time. Which might not be a bad philosophy in all areas of my life.
While I'm packing the next night, Lindsay offers to stay with Mom so Dad can drive me to the airport.
"Are you sure you're up to that?"
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she waves off my concern. "Absolutely. We'll watch TV, nap on the couch. It'll be a breeze."
I agree, but make a mental note to corner Dad and get his approval too. As I put the video camera and extra memory cards in the suitcase, she stops me.
"Would you mind leaving the camera here?"
"Sure. Why?"
"I thought I could work on editing some of our videos together. If I burn a DVD, I might be able to sneak it into Mom's Lucy rotation."
"Good luck with that." I laugh and hand her the camera case. "We'll want it here when I get back for the wedding, anyway."
Lindsay sighs. "I wish you didn't have to go."
"Seriously? I figured you'd be happy to have the room to yourself."
"Weird, huh? Nothing about this trip turned out like I expected."
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