Hope Springs (18 page)

“We weren't dating. She just . . . came over.”

“Travis, seriously? You think I want to hear this?”

“I just wanted you to know there was a difference in my mind. You were the one I went places with, held hands with in public.”

Libby told herself that it didn't matter now, but her heart latched onto it anyway.

“But I never lied to you, Libby. I told you I wasn't ready to commit to one person. Still,” he said, “I apologize anyway for not honoring God and not honoring you.”

She stared into her lap. All these years she'd held a grudge, and the only real reason was that he hadn't felt for her what she'd felt for him. She sighed. “I appreciate the apology, Travis, and I understand where it's coming from. Even if it's not really necessary.”

The rusty swing was the only sound for the next few minutes as both retreated into their own thoughts.

“So how's life for you now?” he said. “Sounds like event planning is going well.”

“It is. I enjoy what I do.”

“So, the guy who was with you at the funeral . . . that your boyfriend?”

“Al? No, he's just a friend.”

“He looked pretty into you.”

Libby didn't say anything.

“You're not seeing anyone seriously?”

She looked at him. “Why?”

“Just asking.”

“No. I guess I'm like you were. Not ready to commit to one person.”

“Oh, okay.” He smirked a little. “Can I ask a question about something else, though?”

“Go on.”

He hunkered down with his elbows on his knees. “Seems like Janelle didn't know about us.” He looked at her. “As close as you two are, why didn't you tell her?”

Libby took her time to answer, thinking it through for herself. “You and I dated sophomore year and she didn't come down that Christmas or Easter, or I'm sure I would've. But as it was, I avoided it because if I told her, she would've started probing. And she can always read me.” Libby paused. “I would've had to admit I was falling for you, and I didn't want to admit that even to myself.”

A rabbit appeared from inside a patch of underbrush. Libby and Travis both watched as it scurried out in the open until it found another spot to hide. Travis got up, sending the swing into motion, and walked to the edge of the porch.

Todd suddenly appeared from around the corner. “Hey, there you are,” he said. “We're ready to haul some of the mattresses into the U-Haul to take to the homeless shelter. As strong and manly as Kory and I are, we could use a little more muscle.”

“You got it, bro.” Travis's tone was mellow. “Be right there.”

He looked back at Libby. “Just for the record,” he said, “I didn't want to admit it either.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sunday, January 10

T
he after-church crowd was thick in the diner. Stephanie had begun to think she'd lost her mind to jump in on the weekend. She'd shadowed Sara Ann for a while first thing yesterday, which helped. Still, she should've wet her feet in a sedate, midmorning, weekday atmosphere, where people read their newspapers, sipped coffee, and let you disappear.
This
atmosphere—long wait, tables filled end-to-end, babies throwing food from high chairs—was
really
testing her nerves.

“Yes, I understand, sir . . .” Stephanie had her pencil to her notepad. “I don't actually know if they'll cook the blueberries inside the pancakes. I know they'll put them on top, though.”

“Can you go find out?”

“How about I take the order of everyone at the table, and if they can't put the blueberries on the inside, I'll let you know?”

“I'd actually prefer you find out now.” The guy talked deliberately, as if making a management decision. “Because if they can't, I want to order something totally different.”

You could actually give me the Plan B order right now, so I don't have to make two trips over here just for you
. “Yes, sir.”

Stephanie headed to the kitchen.
Be nice. Be polite. Defer to the customer
.

“Ma'am?”

Stephanie paused at one of her tables.
Smile
. She smiled.

“My son's eggs are cold. Could we get another order made fresh?”

“They were cold, really? I'm sorry about that.” Seemed like every order she picked up from the kitchen was steaming hot, but she certainly could've missed it.

“Well, they were hot when you brought them, but he wouldn't eat them.” The woman smiled. “You know how kids are. He says he'll eat them now if they're made fresh.”

Ah, good try
. Stephanie leaned over and whispered to her. “If I'm not mistaken, you'll have to pay for a second order. But I can pop this one in the microwave for free.”

“Second option works for me,” the woman whispered back.

Stephanie took the boy's plate and continued toward the kitchen.

“Excuse me, ma'am, can we get more syrup?” from another table.

“Absolutely, be right there.”

She walked extra fast and made it back without another interruption. She put the plate in the microwave and punched the time, then approached Hank, one of the cooks. “Can you put blueberries
inside
pancakes, instead of on top?”

He shrugged. “Sure, we can do that.”

“Cool.”

She poured syrup into a container, grabbed the plate from the microwave, and headed back, dropping off the syrup, the plate, and returning to the table with Mr. Blueberry.

“Yes, sir,” Stephanie said. “We can make it with the blueberries inside.”

“Actually, I changed my mind,” he said. “I'd like biscuits with gravy and eggs scrambled easy instead of blueberry pancakes.”

Stephanie nodded slowly, crossing out the original order and replacing it with the new one.

“But I'm wondering if they'll cook the eggs
with
the gravy instead of pouring it on top of the biscuit afterward.”

“Okay, am I being punked?” Stephanie looked around for the camera.

“I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you asked,” the man said.

“Uh, nothing,” Stephanie said. “I'm assuming you'll want the biscuits and gravy regardless of how it's cooked?”

He thought about it and gave a firm nod. “I'd say so, yes.”

“Great. Let me get the rest of your table's order, and I'll put yours in with your preferred method of preparation.”

She moved around the table, got their orders, and when she turned, Becca, Todd, and a few others were being seated in her section.

She walked over. “What a really pleasant surprise to see you,” she said.

Becca was smiling. “Good to see you too.” She was settling Claire in her seat. “You remember Calvary's elders and their wives from Friday night?” She went down the table by name.

“Yes, good to see you again.”

Stephanie exchanged pleasantries, but knew she only had a moment. “You all must be looking forward to Todd's first sermon next Sunday,” she said.

“Couldn't be more excited,” one of the wives said. They all looked to be from Todd's father's generation.

“We're proud of this young man, that's for sure.” Willard was beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “And praying for him.”

Todd held a sleepy Ethan in his lap. “I think I've prayed more the last three weeks than I've prayed my whole life. Not easy following my dad.”

Willard looked into his eyes. “I hope you know we're not expecting a reincarnation of Jim. You have your own calling, son, and we believe you're the man for Calvary in this season. We're trusting God to do great things through you.”

“Appreciate that, Willard,” Todd said.

The blueberry-gravy guy was eyeing Stephanie. She had to get moving. “I'll be right back for your order,” she said. “Can I bring coffee, juice?”

She took their drink orders and walked them back to the kitchen, stopping to check on three of her tables. She saw Sara Ann coming out of the swinging doors to the kitchen, moving at a rapid clip with a tray of entrées.

Stephanie submitted her new orders. “And is that my spinach omelet, no cheese?”

Hank had just pan-flipped some kind of omelet in the air. She loved how he did that.

“One and the same,” he said. “Sixty seconds.”

Stephanie waited, her mind back at Todd's table. Something about that exchange, Todd's comment about following his dad . . . That's exactly how she'd always felt about Cyd. It wasn't easy following her sister—Ph.D., college professor, gifted teacher in classical languages as well as the Bible, encourager, all-around role model. Stephanie never could've been all that, so she didn't bother to try. If anything, she'd done the opposite.

But just now, it clicked—it was never about following Cyd. It was about knowing her own calling and following
that
. But what was it exactly? Where was all this servant training leading? This stint in Hope Springs would pass quickly. What would she do next? Somehow returning to her routine of waking late morning and whiling the day away didn't quite seem like a “calling.”

“Yoo-hoo? Stephanie?” Hank's hand was outstretched.

“Oh, sorry. Thanks.”

She took the plate and headed back out, certain of one thing. She didn't want her posture to always be resisting. It would be nice to one day have a heart to do whatever God called her to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY
Friday, January 15

J
anelle was learning that Grandma Geri's “planned course of treatment” would hardly ever go as planned. She'd been held at the hospital two additional nights, and because of the chest infection, the oncologist delayed the second dose of chemo until Friday. Janelle was getting to know the nurses and other workers in the infusion center. And the treatments, always ominous as a focus, could fade in the throes of a good time—which was exactly what she and Grandma Geri were having.

Janelle laughed. “Grandma, what are you doing? You know an ace doesn't beat a joker.”

Grandma Geri kept a stone face, the cards she'd taken up still in her hand. “That's the way we always played it.”

“Grandma . . .” Janelle stretched the word, giving her time to recant.

“Well, then let me keep my ace and play another card.”

“Grandma, I never thought I'd see the day. You're cheating.” Janelle held out her hand. “Those belong to me.”

Grandma Geri handed them over, mumbling, “It's the medicine they put in this drip thing.”

Janelle shook her head. “I'm keeping a close eye on you from now on.”

“Good. You can watch how bad I beat you.”

Grandma Geri was in the recliner, hooked to an IV that dispensed the drugs, the machine making a steady rhythmic sound. Janelle had pulled a chair up close to her and set up a tray between them for the card game and snacks.

“Oh!” Janelle said. They'd both played sixes. Janelle held her pile of cards in her hand and waited for her grandmother. “You ready?”

“ 'Course I'm ready.” Grandma Geri lifted the first card.

“I. De. Clare. War!”

Grandma Geri squealed at the last card. “You gonna tell me your jack beats my queen?”

“Ha ha.” Janelle glanced pitifully at her pile. “I've only got two cards left. You wouldn't leave your granddaughter broken and cardless, would you?”

“All day.”

Janelle cracked up, then looked as the door to the treatment room opened.

“Hey, hey!”

Janelle smiled. “Hey, Pastor Trav.”

“Travis.” Grandma Geri crooked her finger for him to come closer. “You're just in time to catch this whuppin'.”

Travis did a double take as he walked over. “Are y'all playing War? Oh my goodness, it's been years.” He folded his arms. “Put it to her, Grandma Geri.”

Janelle rolled her eyes at him.

She and Grandma Geri played their next-to-last card.

“Now maybe I forgot this too,” Grandma Geri said. “Does an eight beat a five?”

Travis grinned.

“All right, Grandma. Play the last one.”

“Bam!” Travis said, capping the loss. “Winner and still champion, Geraldine Sanders!”

Janelle picked up her pencil and made a tally mark. “That's five games to my two. And we're playing until I catch up and pass you.”

“Go on and shuffle then.” Grandma Geri looked at Travis. “And how you doing today? Out visiting the sick and the shut-in?”

“Only you, Grandma Geri. You know I had to come see my girl.” Travis got the only other chair in the room and brought it over. “Question is, how are
you
doing?”