Authors: Rosemarie Naramore
“Why,
sweetie? Tell me why you should have known something bad was going to
happen?”
He took
a shuddering breath. “Because, it always does. My baby brother didn’t get to
live, and Mom and Dad got so sad, and then…”
“Oh,
Kenny, I know.” She wrapped her arms around him and gathered him against her.
She stroked the hair off his brow. “But do you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re
just about the best kid I know.”
“No,
I’m not.”
“Oh,
yes, you are. You care so much about other people, and you want to help
them…” She shook her head. “Not everybody cares so deeply for the people
around them, you know?”
He
pulled back slightly and pinned her with earnest eyes. “Do you care about us?”
Her
eyes widened. “Of course, I do!” she assured him.
“But,
you never came to visit until now. I mean, I know we talk a lot on the
computer, but that’s not the same as in person.”
What
could she say? He was right. She hadn’t visited. She hadn’t made a real,
honest-to-goodness effort to know her nephew and niece. She hadn’t just moved
away from her hometown—she’d run away from it, and all that it represented.
“I’m
sorry, Kenny. I really am. You’re right. I should have visited more.”
He sighed.
“Mom says it’s her fault you never came home.”
Laura
couldn’t very well respond to that, since in truth, it was accurate on many
levels. She’d been so wounded by her sister, and her apparent lack of regard
for her, that she had managed to rationalize steering entirely clear of her
family and hometown.
She
chose not to answer her nephew’s assertion, but to instead, try to reassure
him. “Kenny, we can’t undo the past. None of us can. But we can move on and
try to do better in the future.”
“I’ll try
to do better.”
“Sweetie,”
she laughed, “you don’t have to do anything but be the good boy that you are.
I’m talking about myself. But you, young man, cannot fix adult-sized problems,
because it’s up to the adults to fix them. And you are
not
responsible
in any way, shape, or form for what happened to me today. None of us could
have anticipated any of it.”
“I
know, I guess.”
She
squeezed him tighter. “Will you try not to worry so much? I worried a lot
too, when I was your age.”
“You
did?”
“Yes, I
did. But then I learned something really important—something that helped me to
deal with whatever came my way.”
“What?”
“I
learned to trust God—to turn to Him with all my problems. I prayed to Him to
assure that His will be done in my life.”
Kenny
sat quietly, pondering. “You mean, I should give my worries over to God,
instead of trying to fix everything myself? Uncle Dalton told me that too,” he
noted.
“Exactly.
Because sometimes, our plan is not God’s plan. He knows what’s best for us,
and how things are going to turn out. As difficult as it can be to let go
sometimes, we have to do it.”
“I’ll
try,” he told her, and attempted a smile. “Cuz my way sure isn’t working too
well. I think I’m getting an ulcer.”
“Oh,
honey,” she said, chuckling softly. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite
nephew?”
“Yeah,
you did.” He gave a sheepish smile. “And you’re my favorite aunt.”
***
Later,
that evening, after the kids had gone home with their mother, Laura found
Thomas rinsing dishes for loading into the dishwasher.
“Let me
help,” she said.
He
shook his head. “I’ve got it.”
He
sounded so forlorn, Laura took his arm and turned him to face her. His face
was rife with worry and he looked as if he’d aged ten years over the past few
hours.
“Laura,
I…”
“Hey,
I’m fine!” she asserted. “God was with me. Please try not to think about it
anymore.”
“Dan
mentioned you’re going to have to testify. It’s likely you’ll have to fly
home, er, here sometime—probably several months down the road.”
She
nodded. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
He
sighed. “I was surprised that Candace took the kids home tonight,” he
observed. “I half-expected her to announce she had places to be, but…” He
gave a shrug.
“What?”
she prompted.
“She
really was terrified for you. Did you see her face?”
“I
did.”
He
stood silently for a moment, a plate in hand. “Poor Kenny,” he mused. “What
did you say to him? He seemed much better when he came downstairs with you.”
“That
little boy has such a heart,” she mused with an affectionate smile, and then
shook her head. “Anyway, I told him essentially to ‘let go and let God.’”
“Good
advice,” he said, as he dropped the plate into the lower level of the
dishwasher.
He
turned and caught her gaze. “And poor Dalton. When we got the call from
Dan... Wow, he sure seemed…” He narrowed his gaze and eyed her
speculatively. “You and Dalton have been spending quite a bit of time
together…”
Laura
furrowed her brow. What was her brother suggesting? “Hey, don’t even go
there. He asked me to help babysit the kids and of course, I agreed to help
out. And speaking of babysitting…” She glanced around. “Look, no children.
It’s Saturday night, early still, and you’re here doing dishes.”
“Your
point?”
“Get
while the getting is good! Go pick up your fiancée and make good use of this
time. You have a wedding to plan. Or, hey, go to a movie and sit back and
relax.”
“I’d
probably yawn my way through a movie.”
“So!
At least you’ll be able to sit back and relax, with the love of your life at
your side.”
“I
can’t leave you. Not after…”
Laura
shook her head resolutely. “Uh, uh. I will not be the reason you forgo an
opportunity to spend time with Macy. I happen to love that girl too and I
definitely want to assure she joins this family. She has the patience of a
saint, but speaking as a woman, I wouldn’t push her.”
“But
Laura…”
“I’ll
be here,” Dalton said from the doorway. “I won’t let Laura out of my sight.”
Laura
laughed. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,”
he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone earlier.”
She
threw her hands in the air. “For Pete’s sake, what is it with you Battle
Ground men and your excessive senses of guilt? I’m a grown woman, currently
living in Atlanta. I can pretty much guarantee our crime rates exceed that of
Battle Ground.”
Thomas
rolled his eyes heavenward. “Oh, thanks. I feel much better,” he said drolly.
Dalton
crossed the room and gestured Thomas away from the sink. “Go. Laura’s right.
It’s a Saturday night and you’re doing dishes. We’ll take over. Go spend some
quality time with your fiancée.”
Thomas
grinned. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,”
they said in unison.
Thomas
left the kitchen, whistling a happy tune.
Laura
turned to Dalton. “Thanks. He really needs some time away.” She fixed her
gaze on his face. “Hey, what are you doing home on a Saturday night? I bet
there’s somewhere you’d rather be than here, with me, doing dishes.”
He gave
a shrug. “Well, then, you’d be wrong.”
A
fter
finishing the dishes, Laura and Dalton entered the living room. Laura set
about tidying it up, and Dalton pitched in to help.
“There,”
she said. “Looks better.”
He
nodded. “Would you care to watch a movie with me?”
“Sure.
That sounds fine.”
Laura
dropped onto the couch, expecting Dalton to take the recliner, as he usually
did. Instead, after retrieving the television remote, he joined her on the
couch. Though there was a foot or two separating them, his close proximity set
her heart in overdrive once again.
She
nearly gasped. Why did he have such an effect on her heart, literally? On her
emotions? Why did he, and seemingly only him, make her think about love, and
romance, and children, and home and hearth…?
And she
wasn’t imagining this home, but a home with him. Her cheeks flushed at her
romantic musings. She really was embarrassed. She was an adult! Why was she
still fixating on Dalton, when both were now grown and vastly different people
from whom they had been.
Or,
were they? In truth, Dalton was still the sweet, kind-hearted guy she
remembered. He still retained a deep faith in God, and he was still devoted to
her family.
Was she
very much the same as she had been as a young girl growing up in Battle
Ground? Had she changed living in the big city?
She
heard Dalton’s deep chuckle, intruding on her thoughts. “Laura, those wheels
are definitely turning again,” he mused, but abruptly sobered. “You’re not
thinking about what happened at the store…?”
She
shook her head. She sensed he felt awful finding humor in anything, after her
near-abduction. She quickly put his mind at ease. “No, no, I wasn’t thinking
about that.”
“Well,
I am now,” he admitted, and to her surprise, reached for her and pulled her
close. “If something had happened to you…” His words trailed off but he
continued to hold her. She felt the rhythmic beating of his heart, the
strength of his arms, and inhaled his masculine scent. She nearly gave a
contented sigh, but stopped herself in the nick of time. She forced herself to
pull away from him.
“I
really appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Really.”
Was she
mistaken, or did she see a flash of pain in his eyes. It was evident he was
glad she was okay. So why did he still look miserable?
“What
sounds good? On the TV, I mean,” he said, clearing his throat and attempting
to sound upbeat.
“Are
any heartwarming Thanksgiving programs playing?” she inquired with a smile.
“I’ll
check.”
“By the
way, do you know what this family has in mind for Thanksgiving? Who’s
cooking?” she asked.
Dalton
paused in his study of the television, and turned to her. “Wow, good
question. Thomas invited me…” He chuckled. “Being as I live here, and have
nowhere else to go,” he admitted. “But, I really don’t know what the plan is.
With Candace and Dan… And Dan’s folks… I know they want to see the kids. And
then there’s Macy. I imagine her family has plans for the holiday, and would
like to include Thomas…” He fell back against the sofa. “I just don’t know.”
“I can
cook,” Laura said brightly, and then giggled. “I mean, I’m available to cook.
I don’t necessarily do it all that well, but…”
Dalton
met her gaze, his eyes sparkling with humor. “I can help. And the same is
true for me. I’m available and willing, but not necessarily much of a chef.”
“How
hard can it be?” Laura mused. “I mean, really. How hard can it be?”
***
“We
should have ordered one of those pre-cooked holiday meals from the
supermarket,” Dalton said with a frustrated sigh.
He
stood back, with his arms folded across his chest, and was staring in horror at
the still undercooked turkey in front of him. “Is it ever going to get done?”
“I
don’t know,” Laura answered. “But … Dalton, are the marshmallows on the yams
supposed to be … black?” she asked with a wince.
He
glanced over at the sweet potatoes still in the oven. “Oh, shoot! No.” He
grabbed a pot holder and yanked the yams out of the oven. “Ouch, ouch,” he
muttered as he dropped them onto the tabletop. They landed with a splat.
He
promptly grabbed a spoon and began peeling the molten marshmallows off the
potatoes. Gobs of the melted goo dripped off the spoon and landed on his
shoes. “Laura, help!”
She
hurriedly grabbed a napkin and wiped his shoes, and then began helping him ply
the stubborn marshmallows off the yams. “Why are we doing this?” she asked.
“Well,
we’re going to hope the yams aren’t too overcooked, so that later, we can put
new marshmallows on top and reheat the whole messy side dish in the microwave.”
“Oh,
okay. Sounds like a plan.”
Dalton
cocked his head. “We probably should have waited awhile on cooking the yams.”
“Probably.
Did you assemble the green bean casserole?”
“We’re
having green bean casserole?”
She
nodded. “It’s a tradition.”
“I
think we should consider a new tradition,” he suggested.
“What?”
“No
green bean casserole for Thanksgiving.” He turned and rummaged through a
nearby cabinet. He pulled out three cans of green beans. “Ta dah! We’ll add
some butter and heat them up. A new tradition!”