Yes, Jena had to work out. And if there truly was a God in heaven like Meg used to insist, then He would see to it that these arrangements were a success. Mandi and Carly’s well-being depended on it.
And so did his career.
Four
When Travis walked into the back hall at seven fifty-five, the enticing smell of oregano and garlic met him. He made his way into the kitchen and placed his briefcase on the table, along with the bag of greasy tacos he’d purchased on the way home. The glass pan on the stove caught his eye. He crossed the brightly decorated room and peeled back the tin foil.
“Lasagna.” Travis’s mouth began to water, and his stomach rumbled.
Suddenly, he heard a loud boom above him, and he suspected his oldest daughter had just jumped off her bed—something he was forever telling her not to do. She’d crack the plaster ceiling one of these days—either that or crack her skull.
He listened as thundering footfalls raced across the second floor and down the steps.
“Daddy’s home!” the girls cried in succession. “Hi, Daddy!”
He knelt down to receive their welcome. His exuberant daughters nearly knocked him onto his back. “Hey, little princesses. . .” They smelled good, like baby shampoo and pretty pink lotion. He kissed them and gave them each a squeeze. “What are you still doing awake?”
“Miss Jena said we could come down for a goodnight kiss,” Mandi informed him.
“Ah. . .”
“But now we hafta go back up to hear the rest of our story,” Carly chimed in.
“Winnie the Pooh,” Mandi announced, “but it’s not the baby picture book. It’s the real book.”
Travis lifted his brows, hoping he looked impressed.
“But Miss Jena is letting Carly look at the picture book while she reads to us.”
“I see.” Travis stood. “Well don’t let me keep you.”
He grinned as his girls took off running, then Mandi did a one-eighty.
“I forgot to tell you. . .we made lasagna.”
“I see that. Looks great!”
“And there’s salad in the fridge that we made, but it has chunks of stuff in it.” The six year old wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t like it. But Miss Jena says we should try new things.”
“Chunks of stuff?” Travis almost laughed aloud at the description. “What kind of stuff?”
“I don’t remember what it’s called,” she said, padding to the refrigerator, swinging the door open, and pulling out the wooden salad bowl. She picked a ‘chunk’ out of the green leafy contents and handed it to him. “That’s it. Yuck.”
“That’s an artichoke heart,” Travis said, popping it into his mouth. “Yum.”
“Glad you like it, ’cause I sure don’t,” Mandi said, handing him the bowl and trotting out of the kitchen. “Night, night.”
“Good night.” Travis smiled as he picked out another ‘chunk of stuff’ and ate it.
This is great, he thought, lasagna, salad. . . He set the bowl on the table and, on a hunch, peeked into the oven. There it was, wrapped in foil. . .and garlic bread. All right!
Plate in hand, Travis carved a wide slab out of the pan. He put the lasagna in the microwave for a minute, then added the salad, lightly seasoned with oil and vinegar, and the garlic bread. Carrying his dinner into his study, he decided he could get used to this, coming home to find supper all ready for him. But he wouldn’t. He figured Jena had just set out to impress him on her first day, and—after one bite—he was impressed. After all, Glenda never cooked.
His sister’s elopement still angered him. Glenda knew he needed her. She had promised to stick by him, help him out—but, of course, it had cost him plenty. Jena’s salary paled next to his sister’s.
Travis tried to focus on the newspaper as he ate, but he kept thinking of Glenda, which rekindled his aggravation. He loved his sister, but her leaving had put him in an awful bind, and life in general had been so incredibly difficult since Meg died. Many a night Travis had cried himself to sleep, knowing he’d never again hold his beloved wife in his arms. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t have time to prepare for her passing. Just after discovering she was expecting Carly, Meg learned she had ovarian cancer. The doctor urged her to give up her baby, but Meg refused, and the cancer spread quickly. By the time Carly was just about full term, Meg had barely the strength to deliver her. But she sure had the determination, and a healthy baby girl arrived in the world. Travis had never resented Carly, and he was always surprised when friends mustered the courage to ask that question. No, Carly was a special gift from the woman he loved with all his being. In fact, he was hard-pressed at times not to show partiality toward Carly. Mandi was a special little girl too.
Setting down his fork, Travis stared at his half-eaten meal. He’d been so hungry when he delved in, but he’d suddenly lost his appetite.
“Excuse me. . .”
Travis jumped at the feminine voice—one he was very unaccustomed to hearing. He looked toward the doorway and found Jena standing there, dressed in the same outfit she’d worn this morning, a loose-fitting, navy blue shirt and a gypsy-looking skirt. On her feet were strappy brown sandals.
“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“No, problem,” he fibbed. “What’s up?”
“Well, the girls are just about asleep, and since it’s after eight, I thought I’d go next door and start unpacking.”
“Sure. Go ahead. . .and you did a great job today. Thanks.” He nodded at his plate. “Food’s delicious.”
“Good.”
She smiled, and Travis noticed the two bright pink spots that suddenly appeared on her cheeks. It amazed him a little. He didn’t know many women who blushed these days.
“Um. . .if you don’t mind me saying so, you look really tired. Can I get you anything before I leave?”
“Naw,” he sat back in his desk chair and crossed his foot to his knee. “I’m fine.”
She looked disappointed, and her expression piqued his curiosity. He furrowed his brows.
“Okay, I’ll confess,” she said, obviously noting his frown. “I had an ulterior motive for asking that last question. You see, I have a ton of things to get done, and I’m a coffee freak, so I was hoping you’d say you wanted some coffee, then I’d have a great excuse to make a pot and help myself to a very large mug of it before I left.”
Travis chuckled. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
She shrugged. “I was trying to be polite.”
“I see. . .well, sure. . .I’ll have a cup. I’m planning to burn the midnight oil myself. But do we have coffee?”
“Ohhhh, yeah,” she drawled. “We have coffee. That went into the shopping cart before the milk and eggs.”
He laughed again. “Go for it. Brew to your heart’s content.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She spun around, her skirt flaring, and headed for the kitchen. Travis pushed his plate aside and tossed the newspaper onto the floor. Then he opened his attaché case and withdrew the Hamland file. After some time of reading through the case, the rich aromatic smell of some sort of flavored coffee teased his nostrils and distracted him enough that he decided to take his plate into the kitchen and pour a cup. When he entered the kitchen, he found it empty, save for the gurgling coffee maker. Through the space between the lacy valance and yellow and white café curtains, he saw through the window that Glenda’s light was on.
But it’s not Glenda’s place anymore. It’s Jena’s. . .at least for the summer. Travis tried not to think about what he would do come fall. One day at a time.
Exhaling a long, weary sigh, he figured he might as well throw in a load of wash before he buckled down to work. He made his way to the basement, noticing the girls’ toys were picked up in the playroom. For the first time in a very long time, he could actually see the red, yellow, and green geometrically designed carpet and—he took a sniff—it smelled oddly of oranges.
Sure hope the kids
didn’t spill something down here.
He walked into the laundry area and stopped dead in his tracks. There on top of the shining white washer was a basket of folded clothes.
She did the laundry too?
Travis couldn’t believe it. Dinner, clean playroom, clean children. . .and clean clothes.
But, of course, it was too good to be true.
Okay, she earned her money today. Travis walked up the stairwell. But let’s just see how long this lasts.
He thought of his sister, Miss Lazybones herself. She barely dragged herself out of bed before he left for work. Most times, Travis had to send the girls over to wake their aunty up. Her idea of “making supper” was ordering Chinese food, pizza, or buying frozen dinners that she could just heat up. Just as he’d informed Jena, macaroni and cheese out of the box was Glenda’s specialty. Rarely were the girls ready for bed when he got home, and often they were dirty from playing outside or at a neighbor’s house. Glenda watched every daytime drama on TV, and those shows were often the topic of heated debates, since Travis didn’t want his young daughters exposed to the adult themes and steamy love scenes. Her nighttime television habits weren’t much better.
But at least she’d been a responsible person, for the most part. She practically raised Carly. She sang to them and played games with them. For all her faults, the girls loved her.
So did Travis. Glenda was his baby sister, after all—except he still felt a strong urge to take her over his knee for abandoning him without notice. However, he quickly reminded himself that his worries were over. He had hired a summer girl now. He had hired Jena.
❧
The sun crept up the eastern sky amid splashes of pink, maroon, and gray, and the wind felt warm against her skin as Jena traipsed across the teeny courtyard to the main house. She stuck the key into the lock and let herself in. Day Two on the job was about to begin, and the weather promised to be beautiful.
As she made a pot of strong coffee in the charming kitchen, papered in blue and white checks with tiny pink flowers at each corner, Jena began thinking over the things she wanted to accomplish. Of course, she would have to confer with Mr. Larson before she set her plans in motion. He mentioned the girls had scheduled activities. . .did he say swimming lessons?
Extracting a slip of paper from the back pocket of her denim skirt, Jena scanned the recipe for her favorite scrambled egg casserole. She had hurried to copy it by hand out of a fat recipe book before leaving her apartment. Within minutes, she had all the necessary ingredients on the counter. Eggs, milk, green pepper, a package of precooked sausage, which she’d put in the fridge overnight to thaw, and cheddar cheese. She sliced and mixed, then turned it all over into a casserole dish and slid it into the oven.
Jena stood back, feeling elated. A family to cook for and dote upon. . .what a dream come true. Best of all, she’d get paid for it.
As a girl growing up in a bustling suburb of Los Angeles, she usually did all the cooking and cleaning at home. Her mother worked a full-time job, and her father was a fireman who wasn’t home much. Consequently, Jena mothered her mother, took care of her father, and practically raised her brother. . .and those were the good days. The bad days began while Jena was in high school. Her mother had her career, her father had his, and Geoffrey, her “baby brother,” was enrolled in every sports program and co-curricular activity the school offered. They had their own lives, apart from each other, and worse, apart from God. There were no in-depth conversations taking place in the home. No one cared how the other fared, as long as somebody didn’t interfere with schedules and appointments.
Watching her family grow further and further apart broke Jena’s heart. She tried to round them up for dinner, but it didn’t work. She tried to corner them individually so she could tell them about her faith in Christ, but they were too busy to listen. When she chose to attend Lakeview Bible College in Wisconsin, her father said he wouldn’t pay for it—he wouldn’t even help her out. He thought she should join the military and get her education paid for through the government. But Jena prayed about it and felt the Army wasn’t God’s will for her life. Her mother thought she should go into interior design and attend the junior college in L.A. But, again, Jena knew God wanted her in Wisconsin. So she saved her money and stepped out in faith. She hadn’t seen her family in nearly four years. She phoned them every once in a while, but there wasn’t much to say. She wrote letters and sent E-mails, but replies were few and far between. Her mother, father, and brother were her blood relatives; she had lived with them for most of her life, but Jena didn’t know them at all.
The drumming of little feet running upstairs brought her out of her reverie. Next, a Scripture verse flittered across her mind. No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.
Jena shook herself. Dear Lord, forgive me for dwelling in the past. You brought me halfway across the country to grow me up in Your word, and You’ve got a job for me to do.
At that precise moment, Mandi and Carly skipped into the kitchen.
Five
“What’s all this?” Travis asked, entering the kitchen. Dressed in a starched and pressed light blue dress shirt and dark pants, he held his attaché case in one hand, while he juggled his matching suit jacket and a coordinating tie in the other.
Jena gave him a polite smile and set Carly’s plate of eggs in front of her. “This is breakfast.” She caught a whiff of the sweet-woodsy scent of Travis’s cologne and thought it smelled quite appealing.
“So I see. . .but we usually don’t do breakfast. I mean, the girls might have cereal or something. . .”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Jena said, scooping out some of her scrambled egg casserole for him. Next, she placed it on the round table and held her hand out, indicating he should sit down in between the girls.
Travis gnawed the corner of his lip, appearing contemplative.
“It’s really good, Daddy,” Mandi said.
“I’m sure it is.”
“And look how we set the table!” Carly exclaimed.
“I noticed.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Well, okay, I’ve got a few minutes.”
Travis deposited his briefcase, jacket, and tie on the long counter. Taking his seat at the table, he lifted his fork and began to eat.
“Daddy, you forgot to pray,” Mandi chided him.
Jena couldn’t help a grimace as she stood with her back to the table pouring Travis a cup of coffee. She hoped he wouldn’t mind that she taught the girls to ask God’s blessing on their food at every meal.
“Your prayer counted for me too,” Travis replied with a mouthful.
Jena rolled her eyes. Okay, Lord, I guess I have a way to go here. . .
She set the steaming mug in front of him. “Cream or sugar or both, Mr. Larson?”
He peered up at her with a puzzled expression. “Just sugar. . .and I thought we were on a first name basis. . .Jena.”
“It’s Miss Jena, Daddy,” Mandi corrected him.
Carly nodded, her little cheeks bulging with food.
When he glanced back at her, Jena had to laugh at the bested look on his face. “I’ll get the sugar bowl for you. . . Travis.”
“Hey, that’s Mister Travis,” Mandi scolded.
“Stop being so bossy and eat your breakfast,” he told her.
“That’s Miss Bossy,” Carly said.
Travis chuckled, and Jena even had to laugh as she placed the sugar on the table. But then she noticed Mandi’s indignant expression and quickly walked over to the little girl. Standing behind her, Jena gently massaged her upper arms.
“It was just a little joke. Don’t be upset. We know you’re not really Miss Bossy.” She kissed the top of Mandi’s blond head. “You just like things done right—and that’s good.”
She nodded, and peering around her, Jena saw that her scrunched up features had softened.
Travis gave his oldest a charming wink, and Mandi
returned a shy smile.
Jena straightened and rubbed her palms together. “So what’s on the agenda for today, Mr. Travis? Do the girls have any lessons or play groups that I need to get them to at a certain hour?”
He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Today’s Tuesday, so that means Mandi has swimming lessons this morning at ten o’clock. After that, the day’s yours.”
“Okay. We’ll think of something fun to do this afternoon.”
“Great, and I’ll get a schedule together for you. I’ll give it to you tonight.”
“That would be most helpful,” Jena replied, thinking Travis Larson didn’t appear to be half as egotistical as she’d first thought yesterday.
After a few more bites and a swig of coffee, he wiped his mouth and stood. “I’ve got to get going.” He gave each of his daughters a loving smooch before adding the old fatherly warning of “Be good.”
Then, he strode over to Jena who moved aside so he could reclaim his tie and briefcase.
“I wasn’t sure if you needed it or not, but I packed you a lunch.” The fat brown bag sat on the counter near his tie, and she slid it toward him.
He stared at it, wearing a curious look. “I don’t usually take a lunch, but. . .what is it?”
“Oh, nothing really, just a piece of leftover lasagna and a small salad. I didn’t put dressing on it, so the lettuce wouldn’t get soggy.”
Travis scooped up the bag. “Thanks.”
Jena followed him through the kitchen to the back hall in case there were any last minute instructions.
“Um. . .thanks for doing the laundry. You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did. I needed to wash some clothes and your stuff was in both the washer and dryer.”
Travis pivoted, and she saw him wince. “Sorry ’bout that. I wasn’t expecting you, so—”
“It’s okay. Not a problem.”
He replied with a hint of a smile and opened the door.
“Have a good day,” she said.
“Yeah, you too.”
Summer Girl Page 3