Joyful (10 page)

She'd felt guilty about getting divorced, especially because her mother didn't believe in divorce and had told her so with increasing fervor.

She'd also been working as many shifts as her manager at the superstore would give her so she could afford both the first and last months of her apartment's rent. All those things combined had made her emotionally and physically exhausted.

On that last evening, she'd tripped and fallen on the pavement. Of course she'd had her purse and two grocery sacks in her arms. Everything in her purse had fallen out—and the plastic sacks had ripped open.

And just like a spark had been lit, she'd burst into tears.

She'd ended up sitting on the bottom step leading up to her second-story apartment and crying like a baby.

Her only solace had been that it was late, it was dark, and no one was around. Then Bud's door opened and he'd met her gaze.

Bud had been Miguel's best friend. Seeing him had practically been an invitation for her ex-husband to find out just how not well she was doing.

“Did you ever tell Miguel about that day?”

“You mean that night?” he corrected gently, just as Christina came over with two plates of coffee cake and a fresh pot of coffee. “Thanks,” he said.

“Need anything else, Miss Pippa?”

“I think we're good. I'll just be a few more minutes.”

Christina's eyes widened, but she said nothing more, just went to the front of the dining room to greet some customers.

“I should go,” Pippa said, knowing she sounded like a fool. After all, she was the one who'd asked for the coffee cake.

“I never said a word to anyone, Pippa,” he said quietly.

Remembering how he'd stared at her long and hard before going back into his apartment for a canvas tote, which he used to pick up her groceries—and feminine products!—Pippa felt that helpless embarrassment wash over her yet again. “I still get embarrassed when I think about that night.”

“Why? You were getting a divorce, working too much, and all of your groceries had just scattered all over the sidewalk.”

She speared a forkful of cake and took a bite, remembering how he'd walked everything up the stairs to her apartment and held out his hand for her keys.

Like a fool, she'd given them to him.

He'd unlocked her door, turned on her light, and set that tote inside. And then, to her astonishment, he'd pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his jeans. Who in the world still carried handkerchiefs, anyway?

Then he'd walked back down the stairs. Only later, after she'd dried her tears, put her things away, and settled down with a mug of hot chocolate did she realize that she'd never even thanked him.

“I never thanked you,” she blurted. “I never thanked you for helping me pick everything up and carrying it up those stairs. For helping me get inside safely.” She shook her head, feeling dismayed again about her rudeness. “For never spouting your opinion about the divorce or peppering me with questions. All you did was hand me that handkerchief.”

“I didn't need to be thanked, Pippa. I just wanted to help you.”

Staring into his eyes, she finally realized that, too. “That's really all it was, wasn't it? You were simply being kind.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

She averted her eyes. Meeting his gaze was too hard. If she did, she felt like she would have to admit out loud all the mistakes she'd made. “I used to think anyone who was friends with Miguel couldn't be friends with me.”

“I hope you change your mind about that.” Carefully, he wiped his mouth, then set his paper napkin over his clean plate. “Just because I still talk to Miguel, it doesn't mean I'm just like him.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“More than sure.” His voice hardened, but not with animosity. Instead, it filled with confidence. “For better or worse, I'm my own man, Pippa. And . . . I hope, in time, you'll see that.”

It felt like he was telling her a lot. Like he was trying to let her know something without being obvious. But she wasn't good at that anymore. “I'm not sure what you want.”

“I want to get to know you better. I've always wanted to get to know you better.”

“You have?”

He nodded, looking a little sad. “I know you need time, and I'm good with that. I just want the chance to talk to you some. Maybe see you again, when that is something you're comfortable with.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” His eyes lit up, like he was amused. “In that case, could I have your phone number?”

“No.” She closed her eyes, hating how she had the manners of a wild dog or something. “I'm sorry. I mean that I'm just not ready for that. Yet.”

“All right, then.” Pulling out his wallet, he handed her a twenty-dollar bill and a business card. “Here's my number. I'd love to hear from you.” Looking a little sheepish, he added, “I'd even be happy with a text. And here's what I owe you for breakfast.”

“This is too much.” At that moment, she wasn't sure if she was talking about his phone number or the money.

Getting to his feet, he shook his head slightly. “It's not too much, Pippa.” He turned and walked out the door before she could argue with him.

Shaking her head in dismay, she grabbed the twenty and, after a moment's pause, that card.

And as she went to the cash register to put in the bill, she realized that she'd never given him back that canvas tote—or his handkerchief.

Maybe someday soon she'd use that as a reason to give him a call back. Or at least text him.

Maybe someday she'd be brave enough to do that. Maybe.

Mucking out stalls should be a solitary chore. Really. It was a dirty, smelly job, and one that Randall had never especially enjoyed. But the older he got, the more he appreciated it. He could see the results right away, and their horses always seemed a lot happier when they were standing on fresh straw.

But those reasons didn't mean that he wanted to drag the task out longer than necessary.

“I told you I got this, Levi,” Randall said under his breath.

“And I told you that taking care of these stalls is my job.” With a scowl, he snatched the rake out of his hands. “I promised Junior I would still do it after he left.”

It made no sense, but his youngest brother's reminder that Junior's word was still heeded—even though he was living on his own now—grated something awful.

Enough to pick a fight.

“And I told you that I have time, and I don't mind doing it. Let me be and go on to work.”

“I don't start my shift until eleven today,” Levi said as he neatly ran the rake along the side of the stall, easily picking up more soiled straw in one pass than Randall did in three. “Plus, you aren't doing it right.”

“And we both know that there's only one way to clean out a stall.”

“There's only one way to do it the way Bright likes.”

“She's a horse.”

“She's a
gut
gaul
. Even I remember Daed saying that we needed to care for her well, because she cares for us,” Levi snapped. “Don't you remember that?”

“Of course I do. Daed told me that a whole lot longer ago than you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. The reason Levi hadn't heard his father's words of wisdom for as long was because he was so young when their father passed away. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“
Bruder
, what's wrong with you? You're not acting like yourself at all.”

Randall immediately felt ashamed. His brother was right. There was no reason for him to be taking out his frustration on a horse's stall anyway. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“You know, if you're upset with the way you treated Elizabeth, you should just go over there and apologize. It might take a while, but I bet you'll find the right words to say to her sooner or later.”

“I didn't know you were now in the business of giving advice,
bruder
.”

“I'm not. But if you aren't going to be paying a call on Elizabeth, let me know. I'll go over there and apologize.”

Against his will, a burst of jealousy hit him hard. “Have you developed a crush on her, Levi?”

Taking a deep breath, Levi rested the rake against the slats of the stall before facing him. “You know, I used to really admire you. Out of all my older brothers, I admired you the best. I liked how you were always so easygoing. I liked how you kept to yourself and worked construction and always had a joke or a smile for me. But now I get it.”

“And what do you get?”

“You weren't easygoing; you were selfish. You were happy because you were doing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted. And now that you can't, you don't know how to deal with it.”

“That is not true.” At least, he really hoped it wasn't.

“It sure seems like it is. If you don't want to be in charge, tell Micah or Neil. Or tell Junior. I bet he'd come back and do everything again. And then you could go back to doing what you wanted.”

“Listen to you,” he said sarcastically. “You've got all the answers this morning.”

“Not really. Because Kaylene is still sad, we're going to have hockey-puck chicken again tonight, and you probably hurt Elizabeth's feelings. She's probably wondering how she's going to be able to take care of her grandmother now.” Looking even more irritated, Levi thrust his rake at Randall. “Here, you want to finish up? Go ahead. I'm going to walk Kaylene to school.”

“Wait. I haven't made her lunch yet.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “I already made it.”

“Really?”

“Don't you get it, Randall? As much as you seem to believe you've got the whole family's burdens on your shoulders, you don't. Once more, you never have.”

Only when he was alone again did Randall dare admit that his little brother was right. He had always been happy, because he had been thinking only about himself.

And yet again, here he was, thinking only about himself. He was focusing on how much he still wanted Elizabeth in his life. Secretly admitting to himself that he still loved her. But instead of doing something about it, he was behaving like a teenager, finding fault with her instead of himself.

No, he corrected, thinking of Levi and his words, he was behaving worse than a teenager. He needed to go apologize to her as soon as possible.

And, he realized with a sense of dismay, there was no better time than the present.

After all, it seemed that his little brother was taking care of everything else.

L
ess than an hour later, he was riding his bike to Elizabeth's house. His mind was blank. He truly had no idea how he was going to find the words to apologize to Elizabeth. Or how he was going to be able to convince her to come back to work.

He hoped the Lord would take pity on him by the time he got to her front door and knocked. It was obvious that, left in his hands, things were going to go just as poorly as ever.

“Please, Got, help me out here,” he murmured to himself as he knocked, then waited for Elizabeth to answer.

Then was caught completely off guard by her grandmother instead. “
Gut matin
, Anna Mae.”

She stepped back to let him inside. “And the same to you, Randall. What brings you by here so early this morning?”

“I was hoping to talk to Elizabeth. Is she here?”

“She is, though I doubt she wants to talk to you.”

“I bet she doesn't—which, of course, is the exact reason I need to talk to her.”

“Oh?”

Randall was becoming uncomfortably aware that Anna Mae was in no hurry to get Elizabeth—or to let him off the hook. “I messed up things with her yesterday.”

“She told me that. Matter of fact, she said she weren't real happy with you.” With a look of distaste, she added, “And that your
haus
was a mess.”

“Our
haus
is a mess. But I'm hoping to one day get better. And I'm trying to work out things with her, too.”

When it was obvious that Anna Mae wasn't the least bit impressed, he shrugged. “I don't know what else I can tell you. It's obvious that I need Elizabeth's help. At least, it is to me.”

At last, her eyes sparkled a bit. “Why don't you go take a seat in the kitchen? I'll tell Elizabeth that you've come to grovel.”

While she walked down the hall, Randall struggled to keep a straight face. She was exactly right; he'd come to lay his ineptitude in front of her with the hope that she was going to take pity on him.

He wandered into the kitchen. It looked just as it had when he used to come calling. It wasn't a fancy kitchen, but perfectly suited to Elizabeth. She was a unique combination of traditional Amish values with just a splash of modern sparkle.

They'd spent so many evenings simply sitting on the kitchen stools next to the counter sipping hot chocolate, and talking. Being in the room again fairly took his breath away. The walls were painted a butter yellow. The cabinets were old, but had been painted a soft blue. The counters were made of white tile. The floor was highly polished cherrywood. Pots and pans hung from a large iron holder above the butcher block in the center of the room. All of the pots and pans were stainless steel and sparkled like they'd just come from the store.

He knew, however, that they were years old. Elizabeth merely cared for them just like she did everything else—with a liberal dose of care and love.

And he'd brushed off everything she'd offered with hardly a backward glance.

“Hello, Randall,” Elizabeth said as she entered the room, just as if he'd conjured her.

Turning, he smiled. “Hey. I was just looking at everything. You really do have the prettiest kitchen I've ever seen.”