He jumped into his truck and did a U-turn to head back to work. Darn if he didn’t pass Maeve still walking up the road. “You go, girl.” He waved, unsure if she’d even notice him, but she threw her arm up in the air in an enthusiastic reply.
He hoped she would take him up on the offer of a tour.
Back at Paws Town Square, he swung into his parking spot, then jogged up the stairs.
“You’re back.” His assistant glanced at her computer. “And with fifteen minutes to spare. You are good.”
“What can I say? I love a challenge.” He pulled up the reports he needed for the conference call, then settled behind his desk to devour those hot dogs.
6
That night, Amanda stood in the living room against the front doorjamb. Her hand grazed the screen, sending a resting moth off in flight. The leaves on the trees swished, although she couldn’t feel even the teensiest breeze. A lightning bug twinkled right in front of her, then more of them. They lit sporadically, like lazy Christmas lights in gold.
Even though the dunes rose as high as her house, she could hear the muffled sound of the waves when she stood silent. It soothed her, and for a moment it was as if she were completely alone in this world, in a good way. Safe and at peace. She let her eyes close, enjoying the moment.
These were precious days. At the end of the summer, she’d go to work again. A new schedule would replace all this relaxed fun. Responsibilities would nip away at the time she had to spend with Hailey and Jesse. At least by teaching at her daughter’s school, she might get to see her during the day, but it would be harder knowing Jesse was under someone else’s care. He wouldn’t have the same benefit of being with her full time like Hailey had at his age.
She hated to shortchange Jesse. A second time. First losing Jack, and now losing her time.
Those thoughts made her heart hammer. Don’t have a heart attack. You’re all they’ve got. The words were so clear they could have been said from right behind her, but they weren’t a stranger’s voice. Nope. Not Mom’s, like it used to be when she was younger. No, these days it was Jack who spoke to her. It had scared her at first. Was she going crazy? Or worse, was Jack so worried she couldn’t make it on her own that he couldn’t rest? That wasn’t Jack’s style. He trusted her. No. He was walking those streets of gold, doing good just like he had here. He’d probably signed right up to be her guardian angel. Thank you, Jack. I wouldn’t trade the time we had together for anything.
This life here on earth was for her to figure out now without him, and she’d never thought she’d have to do that. But she would, no matter what it took.
No one—not her mother or father, not even Granny Lee, who she’d loved to pieces—had ever made her feel like Jack did.
That wasn’t true. God did, but He’d taken Jack. That was a whole other struggle.
She shook her head, trying to flick away those hurtful feelings. She refused to ask why. She knew it wasn’t personal, but it was hard to understand how that could have been the plan all along.
It seemed like it had been forever since Jack had held her in his arms, but the pain of him being gone was as fresh as the dew on the grass outside every morning.
Another season had passed. Now with summer racing by, a new job and Hailey in school this fall, it would be winter again. Dread filled her as she considered the next holiday without Jack. Those thoughts made her want to run out the door into the darkness.
Denali pawed at her leg, startling her. She hadn’t even heard him come up. She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch with him at her heels. After lowering herself to the step, she put her elbows on her knees and rested her forehead in her hands.
The AC unit in the kids’ bedroom window whirred. She wondered if it bothered any of the neighbors. It sounded like a freight train out here. But it was doubtful anyone else had their windows open.
From where she was sitting, she could reach the watering can she’d left on the railing this morning. She lifted it and gave her plants a sprinkle. Flower boxes filled with herbs hung from the long porch rails. Some of them she’d transplanted from her garden back home, and some were new. Like the rosemary. She’d never grown it before, but she’d been drawn to the Christmas tree–shaped bush adorned with tiny ornaments while shopping for supplies at the hardware store. The smell was so inviting, almost too perfume-like to believe you could cook with it. She’d been delighted to find that it brightened every dish from beef, chicken, and fish to potatoes. She and the kids had experimented with lemon rosemary cookies and cake, too, with surprisingly good results.
She grabbed a pair of scissors from the stoop and snipped fresh herbs from the plants. Tending to them had been her salvation. Before Jack died, she’d made herb-infused oils and salts for hours. It had become a hobby with purpose. She’d never been one to want to have a junk room full of crafting supplies like many of her friends had. Scrapbooking, quilting, even knitting required more gear than she cared to accumulate. At least with the herbs, she could cook with them, even provide nutritional value, and that appealed to her.
Less is more. That had always been her motto.
She snipped a few more sprigs to hang up and dry. The lemon balm and lavender looked pretty, and they had healing properties. Can’t get enough of that.
How bad would my life be if I didn’t have a porch full of these plants? Calming lemon balm. Lazing lavender. Oregano for respiratory issues. Dill, basil, sage, mint, parsley, and thyme all had their roles too.
She lifted the clippings and let them rest on her arm against her body, not wanting to crush them.
“Come on, Denali.” He followed her inside, where she separated the sprigs on the counter.
Last weekend she’d stopped at a garage sale on her way back home from the grocery store. Among the yard full of household items, there’d been a huge over-the-couch-size painting in an ornate frame, marked thirty dollars. The picture itself was horrible: dark muted colors smudged together with a stormy look that couldn’t be anything but bad mojo. Who would want something so ominous in their house?
That was probably why it was still sitting there so late in the day. The frame was worth more than the painting would ever be. She offered ten dollars, and the woman looked grateful to have a bid at all.
Amanda had walked away with that huge painting, and the first thing she’d done when she got home was rip the canvas from the frame. She rolled it up and smooshed it deep down in the big trash bin outside. With the kids’ help, she went to town scrubbing the years of collected dust and grime away from the frame.
Surprisingly, it cleaned up nicely. A much lighter color, with almost a golden shimmer to the stained wood. All it needed was a coat of gloss over it.