How Sweet It Is Page 7

  Andrew sighed as he sank onto the pew. Normally he liked to sit on the center aisle. This time he let his grandson have that position. It might prevent more questions about his health. Besides, this way he had a beautiful girl on each side of him, Charlotte on his left and Helen on his right.

  He stayed seated for the opening hymn, but only because Helen told him he must. He knew it was for the best. Getting up and down was the trickiest part of his ailment. Still, sitting while singing praises to God felt wrong. He preferred to feel fully engaged in the hymns, and that required standing.

  Peter Atwater, an elder in the church, rose and went to stand in the pulpit. “The reading today is from Psalm 71.”

  Andrew looked down at the Bible on his lap. It was getting old, like he was. The cover was worn and comfortable after forty years of use. Forty years. How was that possible? He opened it, quickly finding the Psalms.

  “In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust: let me never be put to confusion. Deliver me in thy righteousness, and cause me to escape: incline thine ear unto me, and save me. Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort.”

  With a finger under the text, Andrew followed along, letting the words speak to his heart as only the Word of God could. He felt himself putting his trust in the Lord once again. He sensed God inclining His ear. How wonderful to understand that he dwelled in the strong habitation of Christ forever and ever. His body might weaken. It might fail him. But the Lord wouldn’t.

  “My praise shall be continually of thee. I am as a wonder unto many; but thou art my strong refuge. Let my mouth be filled with thy praise and with thy honour all the day. Cast me not off in the time of old age; Forsake me not when my strength faileth.”

  While Peter read on, Andrew stopped and stared at the ninth verse. He had learned long ago that God’s Word was living and active. It was able to speak into a man’s heart in a supernatural way. It wasn’t an audible voice that told Andrew God wasn’t finished with him. He didn’t hear actual words assuring him that he wasn’t being cast off or forsaken in his old age and failing strength. And yet he knew the truth of it all the same. Knew it in that secret place deep in his soul. Even if Andrew was never strong again, even if he had to admit to being old, God wasn’t finished with him. Not yet. As long as Andrew drew breath, God had a plan and a purpose for him.

  Father, help me see what that plan and purpose is.

  With that silent prayer, he pulled his attention back to the service.

  An hour later, the final strains of the last hymn repeating in his heart, Andrew left the church with his family. They received two invitations to dine with other families, but he declined them both. He was fully aware that Grant and Charlotte wanted time together, just the two of them, which they wouldn’t have if they were guests in someone else’s house.

  In the Jeep, Charlotte leaned forward, placing a hand on Andrew’s left shoulder. “Thanks for letting us go straight home.”

  Andrew reached across his chest with his right arm and placed his hand over Charlotte’s. He didn’t say anything. No response was required.

  Helen started the Jeep. “Besides, we have a fine roast waiting for us. It should be perfect by the time we get there.”

  * * *

  Much later, after Sunday dinner had been eaten and the dishes washed and put away, Andrew and Helen sat on the front porch while Grant and Charlotte strolled over to the pasture fence where they watched the horses. Every so often, one of them leaned close to the other for a kiss.

  “Did you hear her call the farm home?” Andrew asked, his gaze on his grandson and his fiancée.

  “Mmm.”

  “Grant loves the place.”

  “Mmm.”

  “He would buy it if he had the money.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. What did you say?”

  He turned his head to look at his wife. There was an idea stirring inside of him, one that hadn’t taken complete form. He would have to wait until it did before he said more. “Nothing important. I’ve been thinking about the future. That’s all.”

  Helen’s eyebrows rose in question.

  He decided to change the subject. “Grant’s got himself a fine girl in Charlotte.”

  Her face softened. “He certainly does.” She looked toward the young couple. “I hope they’ll be as happy as we’ve been.”

  “They’ll have their ups and downs.”

  She took hold of his hand. “But I pray they’ll have more ups. Charlotte will do better than I did. She won’t make foolish choices.”

  Andrew saw the flicker of sorrow cross Helen’s face. He knew she was remembering the darkest time of their marriage. The premature birth and loss of their first child. The depression that overwhelmed her in the weeks that followed. Her eventual involvement with another man. Her plans to leave Andrew, and the despair that followed when the affair ended. By God’s grace Andrew and Helen had come through that time. Their marriage had survived and eventually flourished. They’d both received God’s forgiveness. And yet Andrew was aware there were moments, like now, when shame pierced Helen’s heart.

  He squeezed her hand, hoping to let her know, without words, that he saw her feelings, that he understood them, and that he loved her.

  His gaze returned to the couple standing by the fence. They were young and in love, and the world seemed a wonderful place. The future seemed bright. But life was often difficult. It was true for every person, every couple, every generation. Andrew’s generation had been challenged by the Great Depression and World War II. Grant’s generation now faced the war in Vietnam and the temptations of LSD, marijuana, and other drugs, not to mention what had been labeled the “sexual revolution” or even “free love.”

  Oh, how foolish people could be at times. Love wasn’t free. It came at a cost. Real love required sacrifice. He and Helen had experienced that. Charlotte and Grant would have to experience it, too, sooner or later. Their problems might be different from Andrew’s and Helen’s, but they would have to face them all the same.

  “Where did you go?” Helen asked softly.

  He looked at her again. “Nowhere.” He squeezed her hand a second time. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

  Chapter 7

  Holly loved the quiet of the restaurant kitchen early in the morning. Sweet Caroline’s didn’t open until eleven, which meant she and the women from Lighthouse who took her cooking classes had until ten each Monday before they had to be out of the way for the kitchen staff to begin preparing for the day.

  After hanging up her jacket, Holly tied on an apron. This morning they were going to bake fish and make tartar sauce from scratch, a healthier option than frozen fish sticks purchased at the grocery store.

  Moving comfortably around the large room, she assembled all of the ingredients, save for what needed to be refrigerated. As she prepared, she prayed for the young women who would walk through the back door. She rarely had the same small group in consecutive weeks. Often they were a mix of familiar faces and newcomers. Most of the young women she’d worked with over the past months were still girls, really, although many also had a child, sometimes two. Too many had escaped abusive relationships. Frequently the stories she heard from them brought tears to her eyes. Their stories also made her grateful for the family she’d been blessed with. They made her realize that her own problems, no matter how large they seemed, were small by comparison. Even being jilted was better than what some had endured. Holding these classes had saved her, in many ways, from her own heartbreak.

  She heard muffled voices coming from outside moments before the rear door opened and three young women entered. For a change, she recognized all of them. “Good morning.” She smiled, truly glad to see them.

  Adele Turner, a nineteen-year-old with dark hair and enormous brown eyes, was the only one who didn’t return Holly’s smile. Adele rarely smiled—and when she did, she hid it behind a cupped hand. Her ex-boyfriend’s fist had broken off several of her front teeth. That had
been the night she’d escaped with the clothes on her back and little else. Now she was waiting for the aid money that would allow her to get dentures.

  Madalyn Hargrove, at twenty-seven, was the oldest of the three. Her husband was in prison for something to do with drugs. She and her two children had lived in their car for a number of months before they landed at the women’s shelter. Madalyn worked as a maid at a local motel, but she hoped to become a good enough cook that she might work in a restaurant and be able to support her son and daughter on her own.

  The last girl was Willow Flynn. Willow was tall and rail thin, looking as if a strong gust of wind would blow her over. Straight blonde hair, worn past her shoulders, framed a delicate face. She was twenty years old and the mother of a two-year-old son. She’d never mentioned the boy’s father during her cooking sessions with Holly. Then again, she rarely offered information without someone prying it out of her.

  “What are we making today?” Adele asked as she washed her hands.

  “Baked fish.”

  “What kind of fish?” Madalyn asked.

  “Tilapia.”

  Adele wrinkled her nose. “That’s a weird name. Is it any good?”

  “It’s good. I promise.”

  The three young women formed a semicircle on the opposite side of the worktable from Holly, who began to talk about ingredients. She’d learned to take nothing for granted in these cooking sessions. What she thought was simple and self-explanatory—especially since Holly had started helping her mom in the kitchen when she was six—wasn’t so simple for many of the women who attended the classes.

  Before long they were cutting the fillets into smaller pieces, crushing cornflakes, dipping the fish in the flour-and-egg mixture followed by the coating of cornflakes. Then onto the baking sheets and into the oven the fish went. While it baked, Holly showed the women how to make the tartar sauce.

  “The best part is,” she said when the fish were out of the oven, “a four-ounce portion of this fish with two tablespoons of the sauce we made is still less than three hundred calories. It’s high in protein too. And even little kids will like it.”

  Madalyn was the first to take a bite. Her expression was dubious as she lifted the fork to her mouth, but after a moment she nodded. “This is good.”

  The other two women tried the food. They quickly agreed with Madalyn, and pleasure washed over Holly as she watched them finish eating the fish on their plates.

  Soon after, the back door opened, and Zachary came inside.

  Holly checked her watch. “Are we running late?”

  “No. I’m early.”

  “We’ll be cleaned up and out of your way in a bit.”

  “No worries.” Zachary reached for an apron. “In fact, let me give you a hand.”

  * * *

  Jed tried to remember another time in his life—other than summers when he was a kid—when he hadn’t been focused on either school studies or work. Being in Boise, outside of an office environment, made him antsy. His most pressing task at present was to work things out with his brother, and that couldn’t begin until the two of them were able to talk. Over the past three days, Jed had placed several more calls to Chris, but so far there’d been no answer, and his messages had been ignored.

  Tired of staring at the four walls of the apartment, he drove into town, then walked around awhile, finally entering a bistro where he ordered a Coke. Now he twirled the straw in the soda glass, wondering if he should try to call Chris one more time. Would trying make the situation better or worse?

  Music played from speakers in the ceiling, the tune vaguely familiar. It was a rap song. Chris liked rap. He’d played it all the time when the brothers still lived at home.

  “Chris!” Jed banged on his brother’s door. “Turn that down. I’m trying to study.”

  He heard no response, and that made him angry. He was a couple of weeks away from his senior-year final exams. He needed to focus. How could he do that with Chris’s stupid music making the entire house throb?

  “Chris! Turn it down, or I’ll do it for you.”

  The door flew open, revealing his kid brother. “Can’t you leave me alone?”

  At another time, Jed might have found the question funny. After all, for most of the past ten years, all Chris had wanted was to tag along with Jed everywhere. He’d been the definition of a pest. And now Chris was the one wanting Jed to leave him alone?

  “I need to study. Turn the music down, will you? It makes my whole room shake.”

  Chris raked his long hair back from his face. “All right. Keep your shirt on.”

  Jed glowered at his brother before turning away. By the time he reached his bedroom door, the volume had been lowered. No doubt Chris was back in front of his computer screen, playing some stupid video game instead of doing his own homework. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up having to repeat a grade.

  But that wasn’t Jed’s problem. In a few short weeks, he would be living in a house with a bunch of friends, all of them headed for the university. He wouldn’t have to worry about what his kid brother was up to. He wouldn’t know when Chris had another fight with their parents. Not that Jed would have to be told about the fights. All those three did was fight lately. It seemed to Jed that Chris was spoiling for trouble all the time. If it was up to Chris, he would stay in his room, wearing a grubby T-shirt and jeans and sneakers, and play games until he passed out on the floor from exhaustion.

  Jed sank onto the chair at the desk in his room and stared down at the textbook. But for just a moment he remembered what Chris used to be like—the chubby-cheeked little guy who idolized his big brother. Sometimes he missed that kid. He really did.

  Half an hour later, Jed pulled the rental car into the garage behind Holly’s house. Leaving through the garage’s side door, he noticed the hinges on it were loose. The entire door wobbled when he opened it. A closer look revealed that a number of the screws needed tightening. An easy enough fix. He looked around the garage for some tools and found a few items in a battered toolbox: a hammer, a wrench, a jar of nails and another jar of screws, and two screwdrivers, one of them a Phillips. The Phillips-head screwdriver was all he needed.

  He was tightening the last screw on the bottom hinge when Holly pulled her car into the garage. He straightened and waited as she got out.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He held up the screwdriver. “Not anymore.”

  Her gaze shifted to the door. “You fixed it?”

  “Sure. Didn’t take much.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been meaning to do that for months.” She shrugged. “But then I forget it as soon as I go inside.”

  He offered a brief smile.

  She opened the hatch of her SUV, then stood there, staring inside. Jed had the feeling she was trying to talk herself into something. Or maybe out of it.

  The feeling increased when she glanced in his direction.

  Finally, she retrieved two canvas bags. “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like tilapia?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “I have leftovers from my class this morning. Would you care to have some?”

  Jed liked fish well enough, but it was Holly’s company that enticed him. Normally he preferred his own company. He was good with solitude. It allowed him to think, to make plans. But right now he’d rather be distracted. “I’d like that. Thanks.” He reached to take the bags from her hands.

  Together they followed the walkway to the side of the house. Holly climbed the few steps ahead of him and opened the door to the house. Jed followed her inside, setting the bags on the kitchen island.

  “Leftovers from a class,” he said. “What class is that?”

  “I instruct women from one of the local shelters on how to cook healthy foods for their families. We cover lots of different things, but that’s the main focus.”

  Jed took a seat on a kitchen stool. “How’d you get involved in that?”

&
nbsp; Holly paused, pressing her palms against the counter as she looked at him. “It’s a long story. I went through a bad patch a year ago. A failed relationship that left me . . . sad.” She was silent a moment before continuing, “I was about to reopen Sweet Caroline’s when things . . . fell apart. Everything about opening the restaurant was harder than I’d expected.”

  “I know what it’s like to get a business up and running.” Something in her expression made him wonder if he understood as much as he thought he did.

  She drew a deep breath. “I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t been asked to give these lessons. Maybe I would’ve drowned in a sea of self-pity. Or maybe I would have gotten lost in anger and bitterness. All I know is it helped me to have others to think about for a few hours each week. Mondays have been a good reminder of how blessed I am.”

  “Or maybe I would have gotten lost in anger and bitterness.” He’d been angry and bitter because of Chris, and if he was honest, he’d felt sorry for himself too. He’d wanted his brother to be punished, and instead Jed stood to lose his business if he couldn’t get Chris to meet with him. Their dad had placed all of the responsibility on Jed’s shoulders. It seemed unfair. Jed had studied hard. He’d worked hard. But his brother was getting off scot-free. Or so it seemed.

  “Mondays have been a good reminder of how blessed I am.” Holly’s words echoing in his mind made him feel ashamed. If his world came crashing down around his ears, even if he lost Laffriot and had to start over, he was still blessed. He had a large and loving family. He had a home and food. Maybe he needed to get over himself.

  “Are you okay?” Holly asked softly.

  “Sorry.” He met her gaze. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just thinking.”