Hope Springs (14 page)

He grabbed his cell phone from the desk. Without another thought, he dialed her up.

She answered on the first ring. “You must've had a visitor this morning.”

Did she sound amused? “What's the deal, Shelley? You hadn't twisted the knife enough, so you had to add a sheriff to the mix?”

“Leave it to you to take it personally. It's part of the process, Kory.”

“No, Shelley, it's not part of the process. It's an
option
in the process. But as a litigator, you already know that. You made it personal when you embarrassed me in front of my colleagues.”

“What could you be embarrassed about at a country law firm like that? Seriously.”

“That's nice, Shelley. This firm and these people are beneath you, are they?”

“They're beneath you too, Kory. Have you forgotten? You were top of your class at Chicago, editor-in-chief of the law review, on the fast track at one of the largest law firms in the world. And you threw it all away.”

“Really? That's how you've spun the story in your mind? My version says you sabotaged my career.”

He was convinced by now that that's what she'd done. When she and Martin decided they'd leave their spouses and move in together, life would clearly be more convenient if Kory were gone from the firm. Martin had the power to lobby in favor of other associates making partner, and against him.

“You sabotaged your own career,” Shelley said, “when you stopped giving 110 percent so you could be home evenings and weekends.”

All the frustration he'd felt at that time came bubbling up. “I wanted to be with my daughter and my wife . . . except she was never there.”

Shelley didn't respond at first. Then, “You knew my career was important to me.”

He nodded, his jaw tight. “I did. Just didn't know how important.” Questions he'd had in those first nights after she'd left returned to him. He didn't necessarily want to ask them now, but he was too on edge to stop himself. “Who did you marry, Shelley? Me or the powerful attorney you hoped I'd become? Did you ever really love me?”

A long pause followed. Finally, “You're a good man, Kory. It would've been hard not to love you. It just . . . wasn't enough.”

Kory stared at the court complaint he'd tossed atop his desk.
Shelley Miller v. Kory Miller
. There was nothing left to say. He had to file an answer to the complaint, and he'd do it as soon as possible to move the process forward.

“Kory, so you don't hear this anywhere else,” Shelley said. “I'll be scheduling a hearing date at the soonest possible time, thirty days from now. Martin and I are getting married right after.”

And he thought the sheriff was the twist.

He lowered the phone from his ear to hang up, but felt compelled to bring it back. “What will you do, Shelley, when you find out that Martin isn't enough?”

Soft laughter drifted through the phone. “I don't think that'll be a problem.”

He clicked off, still stewing, when he felt the phone vibrate in his hand. He looked down and answered. “Hey, Janelle.”

“Hey. I was thinking . . . why don't you and Dee join us at the house for dinner this evening? Something tells me you could use a friend.”

So many thoughts swirled in his head. He said simply, “Thank you,” because one more word might've broken him down.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Wednesday, January 6

S
tephanie was so sleepy her eyes were about to drop from their sockets. She'd jokingly called this boot camp, but the joke was on her—she was being put through her paces. She'd been awakened every morning before dawn by Grandma Geri's coughing, and every morning thus far they'd had an early morning appointment at the hospital. So getting back to sleep was useless. Before she knew it, it was time to wake the kids and get them dressed and fed. After Daniel caught the school bus, she and Tiffany had been playing every conceivable game under the sun—Trouble, Old Maid, dolls, jump rope, even a chalked-up game of hopscotch outdoors.

Now she'd taken a moment to rest her bones on the sofa. She took the liberty of closing her eyes. All she needed was a short nap . . . but she felt a fuzzy sensation under her nose and jumped, eyes wide. It was the stringy hair of a Groovy Girl doll.

Tiffany threw her head back with laughter.

“Tiff, what are you doing?” Stephanie whined. “You're supposed to be taking a nap.”

“I grew out of naps.”

“That's not what your momma said.” Stephanie was almost groggy. “I want you to go lie down for a while.”

“I did, but I couldn't fall asleep.”

“You only tried for five minutes. Go try again. I want you to lie down until I call you.”

Stephanie wanted to give a cheer when Tiffany scurried away, but she was already drifting, one of those deep sleeps you can feel yourself falling into, chest rising and falling, steady breathing moving to a soft—

Pop. Pop. Pop
.

Stephanie flew upward, eyes wild. “Tiffany, are you okay? What is that?”

“I'm playing Trouble,” she yelled from her room.

Stephanie collapsed back on the sofa.
Lord, You know I don't do kids. This is why
. The only children she'd ever babysat were her friend Dana's. But she'd known Dana her whole life, which meant she'd known Dana's kids her whole life. Those kids knew from the jump how Stephanie rolled—naptime meant naptime.

“Tiffany,” she called, “I thought I told you to lie down.”

“I
am
lying down. I'm playing in bed.”

“Okay, then let me be clearer. I want you to lie down, close your eyes, keep your hands by your side, and count sheep.”

Tiffany giggled. “Count sheep?”

Lord . . . ?

“Stephanie?”

“Yes, Tiffany.”

“I'm hungry.”

Okey-dokey. No nap
. Stephanie swung her legs over the side of the sofa and walked into the kids' bedroom. Tiffany was on her bed, drawing circles in the air.

Stephanie sat next to her. “Remember I told you that you needed to eat your sandwich?”

“But I wasn't hungry then.”

“Okay. Good thing I left your sandwich on the table. You can go eat it.”

“The bread is hard now.”

Stephanie took a breath. “Tiffany . . .”

The little girl's eyes lit up. “Can we go to the diner? We haven't been anywhere all week, and Uncle Wood said I'd have adventures. And Claire said they have good milkshakes.” She waggled her eyebrows on the last part, as if it were the biggest selling point.

And it was. Stephanie had been good and ready to say no, but the milkshake was enticing. A change of scenery sounded good too. “Only if you eat that sandwich first.”

“Okay.” Tiffany tore out of bed and ran into the kitchen.

Stephanie stared after her.
No, that little girl didn't just play me
.

Stephanie and Tiffany walked into the Main Street Diner hand in hand for their big adventure.

“Hello there, and welcome!” A woman smiled at them from the hostess podium, grabbing a big plastic menu and a kid's paper one. “Follow me, please.”

The diner definitely had a small-town vibe. Servers lingered at tables, talking to patrons as if they knew them. Patrons talked to one another across tables. Décor hadn't been updated in decades, it seemed—red vinyl, really?—but it added to the charm of the place. It was fairly busy for one fifteen. Almost all the tables were full, and many patrons were still ordering breakfast.

The hostess led them to a booth for two. Tiffany slid in and grinned as her legs dangled. Stephanie slid in across from her and accepted the menus with a thank-you.

“What's your favorite milkshake?” Tiffany asked. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Strawberry.”

She wrinkled up her face. “Strawberry? I never heard of anyone liking strawberry milkshakes. I like vanilla, like Mommy. Daniel likes chocolate.” She paused. “Mommy said Daddy used to like chocolate too.”

Stephanie's heart took a dive. At four years old, there was probably a lot about her father that Tiffany didn't remember. To have lost a dad at such a young age . . .

Stephanie smiled at her. “I think you should get a vanilla-chocolate mix, and we can call it a Mommy-Daddy milkshake.”

“Ewww.” Her eyes brightened. “I know! You can get a vanilla-strawberry milkshake and call it a Tiffy-Stephy mix!”

“Um . . . I'm thinking . . . no. But how about a Tiffy-Stephy sandwich—PB&J on one side and turkey on the other.”

“Yuck.”

“You'll never refuse this . . . a Tiffy-Stephy drink! With chocolate milk and cranberry juice.”

“Yuck. Yuck.” Tiffany shook her head twice for effect.

“This is my last offer . . . a Tiffy-Stephy hug, with love on one side and sweetness on the other.”

Tiffany flung her arms wide as Stephanie rose up and reached across the booth, a slight tear in her eye.

Please don't start this, Lord. I refuse to become mushy
.

“Which one of us is the sweetness one?” Tiffany asked.

Stephanie laughed. “Honey, I've never been accused of being sweetness.”

“Hey, look at the love. So cool.” Sara Ann had walked up. “Can I have one of those, Tiffany?”

Tiffany beamed. “You sure can.” She scooted over and hugged Sara Ann.

“Sorry it took so long for me to get to you. This place stays busy lately.”

Sara Ann definitely had that natural sweetness. She'd stopped by twice to visit with Grandma Geri, and she just seemed
nice
. Maybe if Stephanie had a Southern accent like Sara Ann's, she'd seem nicer too.

“No problem,” Stephanie said. “Our order is easy, one vanilla milkshake and one strawberry.”

“Large or small?” Sara Ann asked.

“Small for Miss Tiffany, and . . .” Stephanie glanced down. “My hips are saying ditto.”

“Miss.” A guy two tables over was flagging Sara Ann, holding up a mug. “Do you plan to refill my coffee today or next week?”

Stephanie's eyebrows rose. She looked at Sara Ann.

“I'm so sorry, sir,” she said. “We're short on help. I'm just finishing this order, and I'll grab your coffee.”

“Grab it now or I'm out of here.”

Stephanie touched her arm. “We're done, Sara Ann. Go ahead and help him.”
Though I might have another idea what to do with that coffee
.

“So sorry again, sir,” Sara Ann said. “Be right back with the coffeepot.” She scurried away.

Tiffany's brow wrinkled. “Miss Sara Ann is so nice. Why was that man mean to her?”

Stephanie looked over at him. “Well . . . I guess he really, really needed some caffeine that very second. And Miss Sara Ann's taking care of so many people that she couldn't get it when he wanted it. She said they need more help.”

“Couldn't you help?”

“Well, no, sweetheart. I don't work here.”

“That's what I meant. Couldn't you get a job here?” She sounded so matter-of-fact, like it made sense.

“No, actually I can't get a job here,” Stephanie said. “My job right now is taking care of you.” She smiled, glad for the out.

Tiffany got that wrinkled brow again. “But Mommy said
she'll
be taking care of me a lot of times 'cause Grandma doesn't have to go to the hospital every day. So you
can
do it.”

Stephanie leaned over. “Little sweetness one, the other reason I can't work here is because Cousin Stephanie is a little low on patience. I would've—well, I couldn't have handled the situation like Sara Ann.”

Sara Ann returned just then and set the milkshakes on the table. “Can I get anything else for you gals?”