My Lucky Stars (37 page)

“Can’t a guy be happy?” Ben asked, walking beside her.

She stopped, turning to him as she did. “I hope so.” The goofy grin on his face reminded her of the time they’d been in the moving van, right after he’d eaten a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “They didn’t happen to have ice cream on your flight, did they?”

Ben gave her a puzzled look. “No. Why?”

“Just wondering.” She was the one smiling now, remembering what he’d said that day when she’d asked him why he was so happy when they were stranded on a cold mountaintop.

It’s Christmas Eve, I’m in a beautiful canyon, with a pretty woman, and I just had some awesome ice cream.

“It’s going to be a great weekend,” Tara said, her heart feeling lighter than it had all month.
After all, it’s two days before Thanksgiving, we’re headed to beautiful Bainbridge, I’m with a good-looking man wearing a flannel shirt, and the day after tomorrow we’ll eat lots of pie.

Ben took her hand in his.

And the good-looking man, the man of my dreams, is going to baptize me tomorrow.

Forty-Eight

Tara paused at the top of the stairs leading down into the baptismal font. On the opposite side, Ben waited for her. The jumpsuit they’d given him to wear was too big, and the legs were already puffing up as pockets of air formed while he stood in the water.

He’d never looked better, never appeared quite as handsome as he did in that very moment, as he stood there in white, waiting—

For me
. Their eyes lingered on one another for a few seconds, then he waded into the water and held a hand out to her. Tara descended the stairs carefully and made her way over to him. His hand was firm on hers, warm and reassuring.

Ben helped her keep her balance, and she placed one hand on his arm, the other ready to plug her nose when he lowered her into the water. She glanced up at the full room and at her two witnesses—Peter and Brother Bartlett, the Sunday School teacher whose lessons had helped change her life.

Ben began speaking. “Tara Ann Mollagen, having been commissioned . . .”

She closed her eyes, hanging on to every beautiful word he said. The simple prayer was over all too fast, then she felt him lowering her gently into the water. She leaned back to help him and felt the water reach her hair then cover her face, body, legs. Every last particle of her.

Washed clean.

Ben lifted her, and she opened her eyes to look at him. He wore the most amazing smile, and he gave her hand a squeeze. She turned and hugged him, right there in the font.

“Thank you.”

Forty-Nine

Thanksgiving at the home of Jane’s parents the next day was total chaos. Tara had barely stepped through the door of the Warners’ home when she started having serious reservations about coming at all.

She was clean now, perfect for a little while.
Well, probably not anymore, because I was vain enough to think that.
But, at the least, she didn’t want to seriously mess up by losing it with some kid just a day after her baptism.

And there were kids
everywhere
.

Tall ones, short ones, babies, teenagers, and the really weird ones in between. All together, this many people younger than eighteen years old was nothing short of terrifying.

“Feels just like home,” Ben said, settling right in on the sofa. He propped one leg on the other, put his arm across the back of the couch, and beckoned for Tara to join him.

“Go ahead,” Jane said. “Peter and I are going to put the babies down for a nap in one of the bedrooms. Be back in a few minutes.”

As she sat, Tara eyed the group of medium-sized boys who had previously infiltrated and were hiding in various spots, each with some sort of play weapon in his possession. Every now and then, one of them popped out from behind a wingback chair or the overturned piano bench, and a foam arrow went flying.

Two little girls—older than Maddie but not yet to that awkward middle stage—sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing a board game. Tara’s eyes flitted from them to the boys to the various people filtering through the room. She leaned back into the cushions and tried to relax, as a teenager talking a mile a minute on a cell phone came in and perched on the arm of the sofa. A toddler with a bottle hanging from her mouth followed him. The tiny girl teetered on unsteady legs then fell headlong into Tara’s knees. Tara quickly set her upright and tried to hush her crying. The noise must have annoyed the teenager because he took off. To Tara’s relief, the toddler followed.

Grateful for the respite, she leaned forward, head in her hands. “Isn’t having this many people in one house against fire code?”

“Hey, do you mind getting up for a minute?” One of Jane’s brothers stood over them. “I lost my keys and think they might be in the couch.”

“Sure.” Ben stood then pulled Tara up and to the side. A Nerf ball whizzed by her face.

“Sorry,” some kid yelled as he ducked behind a chair.

“You doing all right? Need some air or anything?” Ben asked.

She took another deep breath then exhaled slowly, looking around the room. Being shot at aside, so far nothing bad had happened, and these were just kids, right?
Smallish people, like Maddie. Nothing to freak out about.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she said after a minute, “but thanks.” She smiled at Ben as he squeezed her hand. How great it was to have someone looking out for her. It was a feeling she could get used to.

“Game’s on in the other room,” Peter announced as he and Jane returned.

“I’m there.” Ben started to go after him then stopped at a nearby chair so Maddie and her cousin could piggyback.

Where did they come from?
Tara wondered as she waved at Allison, who seemed to have grown exponentially in the months since Tara had seen her.

“How are you doing?” Jane asked. “Kids driving you crazy yet?”

“Not too much,” Tara said, proud that she could say that. “So far the worst has been almost getting hit by a Nerf ball.” She raised her eyebrows at the owner of the gun that had shot that ball, who was angling his way around the love seat.

Jane beckoned with her hand. “Come in the kitchen. No balls or weapons allowed in there.” She turned back the way she’d come, and Tara followed, half-expecting an attack as she retreated.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity, with Jane’s mom issuing orders to the mostly female population. The one exception was Ben, just taking his place at the stove to stir gravy.

Seeing her perplexed look, he shrugged. “I always made the gravy at my house. So I asked Sister Warner if she’d mind.”

Jane handed two baskets of rolls to Tara and took another two off the counter. “Mom never turns down help. You’ll have a standing invitation here the rest of your life.”

“That’s what I was hoping.” Ben sniffed the air appreciatively. “Any kitchen that smells like this is one I want to be welcome in.”

Tara helped Jane and her sisters finish putting the food on the tables—butter and rolls, salad dressings and boats of gravy, trays of olives and nuts. Two platters of turkey, three bowls of mashed potatoes, four different kinds of salads.
And I thought setting up the caterer’s delivery took time.
Tara’s mouth watered, anticipating what was likely going to be the best home-cooked meal she’d ever enjoyed. The kitchen held a counter full of pies. A ham still warming in the oven was almost forgotten. Tara sent a sideways glance at Ben and wondered if he’d be eating any. There were certainly enough other foods to choose from.

Things got crazier after that. Jane’s dad called everyone to dinner. Bodies crammed into the space as everyone found their places at the tables—three of them, end to end. Tara guessed that together they must run close to thirty feet.

“My mom doesn’t believe in a separate children’s table,” Jane explained. “We’ve always eaten together. I just hope they made this room big enough.”

“I don’t know,” Tara said. “If you and Peter have as many kids as your brothers and sisters have . . .”

“Not possible,” Peter said. “Remember?”

Tara covered her mouth, horrified she could have forgotten something as significant as the tragedy that accompanied the twins’ birth last summer.

“I’m sorry.” Tara touched Jane’s arm. “I didn’t mean—”

“That’s all right.” Jane’s smile was reassuring as she looked from Tara down into her baby’s face. “There’s always adoption. Peter and I had talked about it before I got pregnant, and I think it’s something we’ll talk about again at some point.”

“Just not. Right. Now.” Peter placed his hands on Jane’s shoulders.

“Not now,” she agreed, laughing as she tilted her head back to look up at him.

“Adoption’s great,” Ben said, joining the conversation. “The only way to go. You guys could still have fifteen kids, easy.”

“
Easy?
” Jane said. “I don’t think so.”

Her mother had arranged the seating so that everyone sat in families. Tara was relieved to find that she and Ben were beside Jane, Peter, and Maddie. Jane’s father said the blessing, which was immediately followed by at least two dozen hands reaching for the food.

“Remember,” Brother Warner boomed, “no one leaves this table until we’re done with the thanking. If that happens, then next year we’ll have to return to the way things were years ago, before a couple of naughty little girls—” He looked from Jane to her sister, Caroline, then back to Jane again— “convinced us that eating first was prudent.”

“Here’s to naughty girls.” Caroline’s husband raised his glass in a toast. Caroline elbowed him, but Tara didn’t miss the flirtatious look that went along with it.

“I think we’re missing a story here,” Ben said.

“I know we are.” Tara took the potatoes from Jane. “But don’t worry. I’ll get it out of her later.”

Even with the number of people at the tables, dinner was mostly uneventful. The volume rose throughout the meal as people talked over each other, and three different times children spilled their drinks.
But not on me
, Tara thought happily. Laughter was plentiful, teasing between Jane and her siblings even more abundant, and everyone around her, with the exception of a cranky toddler and one of Peter and Jane’s twins, seemed happy.

Thinking about her last Thanksgiving—spent alone in her apartment in Los Angeles—compared to this one—surrounded by people who accepted and cared about her—Tara felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude for the experiences of the past year, along with an all-too-familiar lump forming in her throat.

Attentive as always, Ben noticed. “You okay?” He placed his arm around the back of her chair and leaned in close.

Tara nodded. “Just thinking. Does this being weepy ever get better? I mean, am I going to be this emotional the rest of my life now?”

His expression grew tender. “I hope so. It means you’re feeling the Spirit, and that’s—”

“A good thing,” Jane concurred, reaching over to give Tara’s hand a squeeze. “I love that you’re here with us, Tara.
You
are what I’m thankful for this year.”

“Me?” Tara said. “Oh, please. Peter came home safely. You’ve got two beautiful new babies—”

“Who wouldn’t be here without you. Neither would I,” Jane reminded her.

Tara waved away her praise. “Someone else would have stayed with you.”

“Maybe,” Jane said. “Maybe not. But the point is, the Lord sent
you
to help me. And you listened.”

“I listened,” Tara repeated, thinking back all those months ago to that lonely February night, when she’d curled up on her sofa and had a dream about Seattle—and coming home. Had that been the Lord directing her life? The answer came quietly to her heart.

He was listening, even when I didn’t know He was there, didn’t know any better. Heavenly Father was watching out for me.

Fifty

Dinner was over, and thanks had been expressed. Too much thanks from some members of the family, in Tara’s opinion. Jane had a sister who wouldn’t shut up. The dishes were mostly done and dessert consumed when Jane’s father announced it was time for Great Dalmuti.

“It’s one of the Warners’ traditions,” Peter explained before Tara or Ben could ask. The three sat on the couch in the front room, Peter and Ben each holding one of the twins. “This family is big on traditions. Football at eleven o’clock sharp every Thanksgiving. Boys against girls. Losing team has dishes.” He lifted the baby to his shoulder. “Dalmuti is part of every holiday, and some regular Sunday dinners, depending on everyone’s mood. Just be glad you don’t have to participate in the annual family photo shoot next week.”

“I heard that.” Jane’s mom smacked him on the head with a roll of paper towels as she walked by.

“What
is
Dalmuti?” Tara asked, wondering if the missionaries had forgotten to tell her about some important Mormon custom.

“A card game,” Peter said, “that Jane’s family takes to the extreme.”

As if to prove his point, Brother Warner carried a giant plastic tote into the room. Before he’d had a chance to take off the lid, the teenagers swarmed him.

“I call Dalmuti first,” one yelled.

“Nice try,” another said. “You know we don’t pick that way.”

“And doesn’t asking mean you’re automatically the peon?”

“Each card represents a different hierarchy,” Peter said. “The Great Dalmuti is like the king, then there are merchants, right down to the lowest peon, who has to collect the cards at the end of each round.” He rose from the couch, careful to support Ella’s head. “Jane’s mom and sister made hats to go with the cards. It’s kind of crazy but also a lot of fun.”

Tara thought that was an apt description of the entire evening. Or maybe “really crazy but kinda fun” would have been a better fit. At any rate, she was surprised and pleased at how much she had enjoyed herself. She was grateful for the game, strange though it might be, because it promised the night would last a little longer.

Thinking about tomorrow was depressing. Friday was Ben’s last day here, and then . . . She didn’t know. Could they continue a relationship long distance? Where did they go from here? She had to believe that, since she’d first seen him again seven weeks ago, his feelings about getting serious with anyone had changed. But she wasn’t positive. Ben remained a man of few words as far as feelings were concerned, though by his actions alone, she knew he cared about her.