CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Wednesday, January 6

Stephanie was so sleepy her eyes were about to drop from their sockets. She’d jokingly called this boot camp, but the joke was on her—she was being put through her paces. She’d been awakened every morning before dawn by Grandma Geri’s coughing, and every morning thus far they’d had an early morning appointment at the hospital. So getting back to sleep was useless. Before she knew it, it was time to wake the kids and get them dressed and fed. After Daniel caught the school bus, she and Tiffany had been playing every conceivable game under the sun—Trouble, Old Maid, dolls, jump rope, even a chalked-up game of hopscotch outdoors.

Now she’d taken a moment to rest her bones on the sofa. She took the liberty of closing her eyes. All she needed was a short nap . . . but she felt a fuzzy sensation under her nose and jumped, eyes wide. It was the stringy hair of a Groovy Girl doll.

Tiffany threw her head back with laughter.

“Tiff, what are you doing?” Stephanie whined. “You’re supposed to be taking a nap.”

“I grew out of naps.”

“That’s not what your momma said.” Stephanie was almost groggy. “I want you to go lie down for a while.”

“I did, but I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“You only tried for five minutes. Go try again. I want you to lie down until I call you.”

Stephanie wanted to give a cheer when Tiffany scurried away, but she was already drifting, one of those deep sleeps you can feel yourself falling into, chest rising and falling, steady breathing moving to a soft—

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Stephanie flew upward, eyes wild. “Tiffany, are you okay? What is that?”

“I’m playing Trouble,” she yelled from her room.

Stephanie collapsed back on the sofa. Lord, You know I don’t do kids. This is why. The only children she’d ever babysat were her friend Dana’s. But she’d known Dana her whole life, which meant she’d known Dana’s kids her whole life. Those kids knew from the jump how Stephanie rolled—naptime meant naptime.

“Tiffany,” she called, “I thought I told you to lie down.”

“I am lying down. I’m playing in bed.”

“Okay, then let me be clearer. I want you to lie down, close your eyes, keep your hands by your side, and count sheep.”

Tiffany giggled. “Count sheep?”

Lord . . . ?

“Stephanie?”

“Yes, Tiffany.”

“I’m hungry.”

Okey-dokey. No nap. Stephanie swung her legs over the side of the sofa and walked into the kids’ bedroom. Tiffany was on her bed, drawing circles in the air.

Stephanie sat next to her. “Remember I told you that you needed to eat your sandwich?”

“But I wasn’t hungry then.”

“Okay. Good thing I left your sandwich on the table. You can go eat it.”

“The bread is hard now.”

Stephanie took a breath. “Tiffany . . .”

The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Can we go to the diner? We haven’t been anywhere all week, and Uncle Wood said I’d have adventures. And Claire said they have good milkshakes.” She waggled her eyebrows on the last part, as if it were the biggest selling point.

And it was. Stephanie had been good and ready to say no, but the milkshake was enticing. A change of scenery sounded good too. “Only if you eat that sandwich first.”

“Okay.” Tiffany tore out of bed and ran into the kitchen.

Stephanie stared after her. No, that little girl didn’t just play me.

Stephanie and Tiffany walked into the Main Street Diner hand in hand for their big adventure.

“Hello there, and welcome!” A woman smiled at them from the hostess podium, grabbing a big plastic menu and a kid’s paper one. “Follow me, please.”

The diner definitely had a small-town vibe. Servers lingered at tables, talking to patrons as if they knew them. Patrons talked to one another across tables. Décor hadn’t been updated in decades, it seemed—red vinyl, really?—but it added to the charm of the place. It was fairly busy for one fifteen. Almost all the tables were full, and many patrons were still ordering breakfast.

The hostess led them to a booth for two. Tiffany slid in and grinned as her legs dangled. Stephanie slid in across from her and accepted the menus with a thank-you.

“What’s your favorite milkshake?” Tiffany asked. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Strawberry.”

She wrinkled up her face. “Strawberry? I never heard of anyone liking strawberry milkshakes. I like vanilla, like Mommy. Daniel likes chocolate.” She paused. “Mommy said Daddy used to like chocolate too.”

Stephanie’s heart took a dive. At four years old, there was probably a lot about her father that Tiffany didn’t remember. To have lost a dad at such a young age . . .

Stephanie smiled at her. “I think you should get a vanilla-chocolate mix, and we can call it a Mommy-Daddy milkshake.”

“Ewww.” Her eyes brightened. “I know! You can get a vanilla-strawberry milkshake and call it a Tiffy-Stephy mix!”

“Um . . . I’m thinking . . . no. But how about a Tiffy-Stephy sandwich—PB&J on one side and turkey on the other.”

“Yuck.”

“You’ll never refuse this . . . a Tiffy-Stephy drink! With chocolate milk and cranberry juice.”

“Yuck. Yuck.” Tiffany shook her head twice for effect.

“This is my last offer . . . a Tiffy-Stephy hug, with love on one side and sweetness on the other.”

Tiffany flung her arms wide as Stephanie rose up and reached across the booth, a slight tear in her eye.

Please don’t start this, Lord. I refuse to become mushy.

“Which one of us is the sweetness one?” Tiffany asked.

Stephanie laughed. “Honey, I’ve never been accused of being sweetness.”

“Hey, look at the love. So cool.” Sara Ann had walked up. “Can I have one of those, Tiffany?”

Tiffany beamed. “You sure can.” She scooted over and hugged Sara Ann.

“Sorry it took so long for me to get to you. This place stays busy lately.”

Sara Ann definitely had that natural sweetness. She’d stopped by twice to visit with Grandma Geri, and she just seemed nice. Maybe if Stephanie had a Southern accent like Sara Ann’s, she’d seem nicer too.

“No problem,” Stephanie said. “Our order is easy, one vanilla milkshake and one strawberry.”

“Large or small?” Sara Ann asked.

“Small for Miss Tiffany, and . . .” Stephanie glanced down. “My hips are saying ditto.”

“Miss.” A guy two tables over was flagging Sara Ann, holding up a mug. “Do you plan to refill my coffee today or next week?”

Stephanie’s eyebrows rose. She looked at Sara Ann.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “We’re short on help. I’m just finishing this order, and I’ll grab your coffee.”

“Grab it now or I’m out of here.”

Stephanie touched her arm. “We’re done, Sara Ann. Go ahead and help him.” Though I might have another idea what to do with that coffee.

“So sorry again, sir,” Sara Ann said. “Be right back with the coffeepot.” She scurried away.

Tiffany’s brow wrinkled. “Miss Sara Ann is so nice. Why was that man mean to her?”

Stephanie looked over at him. “Well . . . I guess he really, really needed some caffeine that very second. And Miss Sara Ann’s taking care of so many people that she couldn’t get it when he wanted it. She said they need more help.”

“Couldn’t you help?”

“Well, no, sweetheart. I don’t work here.”

“That’s what I meant. Couldn’t you get a job here?” She sounded so matter-of-fact, like it made sense.

“No, actually I can’t get a job here,” Stephanie said. “My job right now is taking care of you.” She smiled, glad for the out.

Tiffany got that wrinkled brow again. “But Mommy said she’ll be taking care of me a lot of times ’cause Grandma doesn’t have to go to the hospital every day. So you can do it.”

Stephanie leaned over. “Little sweetness one, the other reason I can’t work here is because Cousin Stephanie is a little low on patience. I would’ve—well, I couldn’t have handled the situation like Sara Ann.”

Sara Ann returned just then and set the milkshakes on the table. “Can I get anything else for you gals?”

Ask what kind of help they need.

No.

Stephanie smiled at Sara Ann. “We’re good. These look delicious.”

“Can I have a straw?” Tiffany asked.

“Now, how’d I forget that?” Sara Ann fished inside her apron pocket.

Ask.

Ugh.

“Uh, Sara Ann . . . I was just wondering. What kind of help do y’all need here? I’m assuming a full-time commitment, several hours every day?”

She handed out their straws. “Oh no. I mean, that’d be nice, I guess. But we’d take whatever we could get.” She looked hopeful. “Why, you know somebody?”

Stephanie peeled the paper from her straw. “Nope. Just wondering.”

Sara Ann started toward another table. “All right. Well, point ’em here if they come to mind.”

Stephanie bent her head and sucked her shake, marshaling her defenses.

Not doing it, Lord. This wasn’t part of the deal. Helping Janelle and Grandma Geri . . . that was the deal. It would actually take away from my ability to help them if I got a job. And I don’t even work. I’ve never wanted to work. That’s why I wanted to marry a doctor. She looked up and surveyed the diner. And if I got some strange unction to work, it wouldn’t be here. I mean, seriously . . . maybe the Chanel shop . . .

“Stephanie, why are you so quiet?”

“Oh.” She sighed. “Talking to God. You ever talk to God?”

“Sometimes I tell Him I miss my daddy.”

“Aw, sweetheart. I’m glad you talk to God about that.”

Tiffany drank some of her shake. “What do you talk to God about?”

“Lately, if I feel like He wants me to do something, I’m usually telling Him why I don’t want to do it.”

Tiffany gasped. “You tell God you don’t want to do something?”

“Yep.”

“Does He listen?”

“Good question, Tiff. He does listen actually.”

“Do you get your way?”

“So far . . . never.”