When Snowflakes Never Cease (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  Screeches pierced her ears the moment the airport phone connected. A harried Yolanda snapped, “Juniper Springs Municipal Airport, how may I help you?”

  “Get me out of here?” Ronni winced. “Sorry, but I need someone willing to drive me to South Tahoe. Who do you recommend?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Veronica Carlisle. I need to get to my meeting. How are you and the airline going to honor the contract we made when I paid for my ticket?”

  A throat clearing behind her told Ronni that Hank had followed. Ronni ignored him.

  “Um, Ms. Carlisle, the agreement the airline makes is to help you arrive safely to your destination if within their power. It is not within the power of the airline to do so, and therefore are not in breach of contract. Furthermore, this airport makes no contract whatsoever with passengers. Ours are with the owners of planes that land, take off, and are stored here. Go punch on someone else. I don’t have time for this today. Oh, and tell Hank thanks for everything—especially the last request.”

  Ronni stared at her phone as if it would explain just how that had happened… just how that bumbling woman at the airport had managed to grow a backbone in the space of only a few hours. That throat cleared again.

  “Now, Ronni, we need to talk.”

  “Don’t start on me—”

  “No, don’t you start on me.” He beckoned her, and like an errant teenager, she followed him to the living room—even to plopping on the couch with her arms folded over her chest.

  “Did you or did you not just tell me you were a Christian?”

  What that had to do with anything, Ronni couldn’t imagine. She just nodded.

  “And as a Christian—as the daughter of the King of Kings—do you really think it’s okay to treat people the way you have today?” Ronni just blinked at him, unsure what he was talking about. That didn’t stop Hank. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  She shook her head. And that’s all it took. The man snatched a Bible from the table next to her and dropped it in her lap. “Let’s start with Matthew, chapter seven.”

  “Um…”

  He grabbed another Bible from the shelf behind him and flipped through it. In less time than it took her to realize what he was doing, he handed it to her and snatched up the one in her lap. “Look at verse twelve.”

  “‘…everything, therefore, treat people the same way you want them to treat you, for this is the Law and the Prophets.’”

  As she read, he flipped through the other Bible. She’d barely looked up when he thrust that one into her hands and pointed at the large number four. “Read verse thirty-one.” When she didn’t say a word, he added, “Aloud, please.”

  Again, Ronni found herself reading the verse like a wayward kid in Sunday school. “‘Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice.’” That one hit. And hard. “I—”

  Hank had already thrust the other Bible back at her. “Chapter two, verse four.”

  “I don’t think this is—”

  “Read it, Ronni. You claim Christ? Read what He has to say to you.”

  Overbearing much? As much as she wanted to throw the Bible at him and tell him she got his stupid sermon just fine, thank-you-very-much, the fact that she wanted to do that stopped her. He was right. She had gone off the rails. Again. “‘… do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.’”

  The furious flipping of pages didn’t happen this time. He just stared at her, waited. To Ronni’s disgust, the first tear fell. The second. Then Hank flipped a chunk of the Bible to the right, slid a few more pages back, and… did he really swallow hard there? The other Bible settled gently atop the one she held in her hands, and Hank hunkered down on his heels before her. “You don’t need to read it aloud this time, Ronni. Verse six there is for you… from me.”

  Anger welled again as she read the words before her. “‘Better is the poor who walks in his integrity, Than he who is crooked though he be rich.’ Got it. You think I’m—”

  “Wrong chapter. Chapter twenty-seven.” His voice gentled again. “Sorry about that.”

  Still smarting from the sting of the last verse—one Ronni knew she’d be revisiting later, she read the next. “Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy.”

  “I want to be a friend, Ronni. But I wouldn’t be a good one if I didn’t say what you need to hear. The way you spoke to Yolanda was unacceptable for one wearing the name of Jesus. He saved you from that. Don’t throw it in His face.”

  All hope of fighting back the tears disappeared at that. “You’re right,” she gulped out. “I know it. I just—”

  When she couldn’t continue—when she didn’t know what to say, Hank did. He fumbled for one of her hands, sank back against the couch, and began talking—praying, really, but it sounded more like talking to her. “Well, Lord… we’re in a pickle here. Ronni’s old self doesn’t like that she’s not in control anymore. Can’t really blame her. I’ve been a Christian for more years than not, and I still find myself doing that. Please comfort her—remind her that You’ve forgiven it already. Please also give her the strength to do what she needs to do to make it right with Yola. It’s not going to be easy.”

  Ronni couldn’t help but squeeze his hand and mutter, “Got that right.”

  His chuckle startled her. Who chuckled during prayer? Apparently, Hank Wright did, that’s who. “Lord, I think I’m going to like this daughter of yours after all.” He cleared his throat and added, “Lord, please show me where I was wrong in what I said or how I said it—or both.”

  What else he said, if anything, Ronni didn’t hear. That humble acknowledgment from a man she could see had just as much stubbornness and pride as she did proved her undoing. This time, tears fell in torrents until she had little hope that her mascara wouldn’t turn her into a creepy harlequin doll.

  Hank just held her hand and let her cry.

  “Her” apartment had been mostly de-Hummeled. A scan about the room showed the little girls playing ring-around-the-rosy to the right of a stack of “complete works” of Shakespeare, Poe, and Dickens. In her hand, the last figurine—a little girl under a large umbrella. Ronni couldn’t bring herself to box it up, either. Instead, she sat it beside a lamp and stood back to eye it. A little to the right and… “Perfect.”

  Hank had gone to fix something for a late lunch—stew and biscuits, he said. The coat closet, small as it was, could hold most of the boxes if they stacked them well, so she did. That left only a couple dozen to go back into the cupboards. With a quick swipe of a disposable duster over everything and a damp mop across the floor, the room looked rather nice.

  It’s too bad I don’t have time for a vacation. It’d be nice to rent this place for a week or two just to catch my breath.

  That, of course, wasn’t possible—not yet. But if she saved the account, maybe…

  Ronni passed the mirror and saw that her face really did resemble a harlequin in a horror film, so she decided it was time to turn her attention to her appearance. Only once she’d swiped off the mascara did it hit her. He never seemed to notice.

  That thought didn’t work with the man she’d met. After about thirty-five years of interacting with men, she’d learned when they noticed her and when they didn’t. Hank had noticed. In fact, she’d bet a slice of key lime cheesecake that not only had he noticed, but he wasn’t aware of it—not really. Regardless, he watched her.

  To her disgust, she liked it, too. It wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t fit anything on her list except the Christian thing, and after thirty years as one and being able to pull half a dozen verses off the top of his head and find where they were in that book of thousands of verses, he most definitely was a Bible scholar—in comparison to her, anyway.

  Her eyes scolded her when she considered mild flirtation. After all, she’d be leaving tomorrow. The memory of his assertion that it would be after Chr
istmas amended that thought. It also made the idea a really bad one. A few hours might be one thing, but days? That went against everything she’d decided on men. Rule #1. Don’t show interest if it can’t go anywhere.

  Just as she opened her makeup bag, an idea began swirling. Instead, she reached for her brush. Only a few passes with that and a clean, fresh face. If that didn’t douse any interest, nothing would.

  Ronni changed into yoga pants and reached for the oversized T-shirt she’d brought to wear with them. Her hand landed on the tunic sweater she’d planned to pair with her jeans. The dilemma reminded her of high school! Look cute today or do it tomorrow? You’re trying to put him off, not keep him interested.

  The T-shirt won.

  As she returned everything to her suitcase, her journal beckoned. A thought that had been simmering began to boil over, so she snatched up it and dug through her purse for her favorite gel pen. Time to remind herself of a few things.

  She titled the next page in block letters. Non-Negotiables in a Man.

  It felt a bit juvenile, but that fit the rest of her day. She’d felt about fourteen ever since landing in Juniper Springs—much of it her fault if she were honest with herself. That, of course, wasn’t in her daily plan. Ronni gave herself a little shake and began writing down the things that had kept her single but divorce-free for the past thirty-five years.

  1. Intellectual equality—any man I date must not be significantly more or less intelligent than I am.

  2. Professional equality—any man I date must be in a professional field. I do not date men in service industries or manual labor jobs.

  3. Financial equality—any man I date must not earn more than fifteen percent more than or less than I do.

  4. Priority compatibility—any man I date must take his career, health, personal growth, and spiritual life seriously.

  5. Family compatibility—any man I date must not have children.

  Her words to Hank about that still nagged at her. She’d meant them. Children weren’t in her forecast, so to have a family, she’d have to be welcome in someone else’s. Ronni struck that out and tried again.

  5. Family compatibility—any man I date must not have children or must have children who like and accept me.

  6. Time compatibility—any man I date must enjoy spending time in similar ways to me—being active, travel, cultural events, etc.

  7. Spiritual equality—any man I date must be a Christian who doesn’t make me feel like a spiritual idiot.

  Despite her initial feelings of inadequacy, Ronni reread the list with renewed confidence and determination. Now that she had God on her side, it was simple. If the right man were out there, he’d fit that list. If he wasn’t, well… God was enough. Wasn’t He?

  Bowls of steaming stew sat on the table, and he’d just pulled biscuits from the oven when the back door opened, and Ronni emerged. A glance at her showed vulnerability in her expression that tugged at Hank’s heart. Doubt she knows she looks so vulnerable and uncertain. That’s probably not familiar to her. I bet she’s not been uncertain since the eighties.

  In an attempt to put Ronni at ease, he smiled at her as she set the basket of biscuits on the table. “You look refreshed.”

  Surprise flickered in her eyes, but she shuttered it almost before he could notice. “Thank you for this. I realize I probably didn’t tell you how much I appreciate you getting me out of that airport. It means a lot.”

  “Milk or water?”

  “Water, please.” Ronni stepped forward as if to do it herself, but he waved her back. Her hand rested on the back of Peg’s chair. “Is this where I should sit?”

  “Sure is. Be right there to say grace.” Hank turned to fill glasses and hide his filling eyes just in time. The first tear splashed on his cheek before he knew what hit him. His plan for two glasses of water turned into one for a glass of milk so he could hide wiping away those tears with the refrigerator door.

  By the time he returned, she’d moved her entire place setting to the other side of the table and was sitting there as if it’s where he’d put that bowl all along. The way she ignored the change told him he didn’t have to remark on it, so Hank offered his hand, took her slim fingers in his, and prayed. “Lord, thank You for a warm house, good food, if-I-do-say-so-myself, and good company. Help me show her how much I appreciate her understanding. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  He’d barely picked up his spoon when she said, “I got all but one more of those figurines put away. I also checked online really fast. You have several that are worth quite a lot, actually—including that ring-around-the-rosy one. Maybe it shouldn’t be left out after all.”

  “Ma Meers was about things being used. She used to say, ‘A thing’s worthless if it just sits in a box for fear of what could happen to it.’”

  “Well, if you or your kids don’t want them, they’d bring good money from collectors. You’ve probably got fifteen thousand dollars in that closet now. Easily.”

  Fifteen thousand dollars? The idea nearly gave him the willies. “I think Ma Meers is wrong. Cheap things can bring just as much pleasure as expensive ones and none of the stress. I think I’ll see if the girls want any. If not, I’ll sell ‘em and let them split the money. Maybe it’ll be enough to get Haley the countertops she’s been saving for.”

  Ronni just nodded and took a bite of the stew. “Oh… you were right. This is good. Amazing, actually.”

  “It’s the second day. It’s always better the day after.” As she broke apart a biscuit, Hank remembered the butter. A woman like Ronni Carlisle probably wouldn’t sop her biscuit, but she might want a bit of butter on it. He hopped up and grabbed it from the breakfast bar. “Forgot.”

  To his relief, she slathered a giant pat across the fluffy goodness. Not afraid to risk her figure for fear of the “carbs” in that thing. Good.

  “How long have you lived in Juniper Springs?”

  “Most of my life. Was gone for four years in the Army before I came back and took over my father’s business.”

  She did it—dipped a bit of that buttered biscuit in her stew and ate it like she did it that way every day. The way his pulse raced, Hank wondered if he hadn’t lost his mind. I met the woman just a few hours ago. You’d think I’ve been sweet on her for months and she finally noticed me or something.

  Peg would have found that idea funny. It had taken him weeks to notice her back in high school—likely because he’d probably seen her every week of his—well hers, anyway—life. I can just hear her snickering at me, Lord.

  “Where’d you meet your wife?”

  “I expect at the store when Ma Meers took her out for the first time. Back then, mothers stayed home for the first few weeks, and Peg was a January baby, so probably around the time I was nearly three.”

  An indecipherable look took over Ronni’s features. She paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth and cocked her head. “Childhood sweethearts, then?”

  “Not really. Girls were pests until high school, and she was two years behind me. Didn’t notice her until her sweet sixteen party. Mom made me go.” Memories took over the conversation as Hank told about really seeing Peg for the first time. “I’d never heard anyone call her anything but Peg or Peggy, but we were all dancing in the living room—gyrating, really. None of us knew what dancing really looked like. Her grandma walked into the room, plopped her hands on her hips, and said, “Margaret Nancy Meers! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Uh, oh.”

  He grinned. “Yep. We all thought the same thing. Who knew Mrs. Elkins was such a stickler about dancing? It’s not like she went to the Pentecostal church at the edge of town. They didn’t allow for dancing or movies.”

  Proving once again that she was a sharp cookie, Ronni cocked her head and, just before popping another bite of biscuit in her mouth, said, “So… not against dancing, then?”

  “Nope. More like she was against the travesty of our idea of it. She pulled out one of her vinyl albums and put some
old tune on it—can’t remember what it was, but it had a neat rhythm. Then she busted moves like none of us had ever seen outside a movie. Tried to get us boys to do the jitterbug with her, but none of us could hope to satisfy her, and trust me. We tried. Felt like our lives depended on it or something.”

  “I took a swing dance class once—just to see if I’d like it.” Ronni’s wrinkled nose and pursed lips told him before she did that she hadn’t. “It might have been more fun if I’d had a steady partner that I liked, but having a different man…” She winced. “It’s not fair, not really, but I felt like I was being pawed by guy after guy. I made it through three classes before I asked for a refund for my remaining ones and spent it on tennis lessons.”

  “Did you like them any better?”

  She’d nearly finished her stew before Ronni nodded. “I guess I did, actually. I always say I didn’t, but I think that’s because I’m not very good at it. I have terrible hand-eye coordination. I just enjoy being outside and the activity. It still doesn’t solve my indoor exercise needs. I really don’t enjoy the gym—except for swimming.”

  “Well, maybe you need to take up racquetball. Isn’t that played indoors?”

  “It requires even more hand-eye coordination. I tried. I had people stopping me and asking if I had an abusive husband or boyfriend after that game was done with me.”

  Everything he could think of was worse than the last. Just as he was about to suggest yoga, it occurred to him that she hadn’t asked him to fix her activity problem. Ronni caught it and pounced on him. “What? You had an idea and then squelched it. What else shouldn’t I attempt?”

  As he went to scoop up another bite of stew, Hank found the bowl empty. When was the last time that he had been so engrossed in a conversation that he’d inhaled his food without realizing it? She rose and offered to get him more. “I’m having seconds if there’s enough to do it.”