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Hope awoke Sunday with a major league headache. Going to sleep crying was never a good idea. A bell pealed in the distance. She scrambled out of her sleeping bag and tapped Melody’s and Todd’s shoulders. “Rise and shine,” she said. “This is our day to help out at church.”
Melody shrugged out of her sleep sack, her hair hanging on either side of her face like a curtain. Wordlessly, Todd slipped on his jeans and blue sweater.
Each day of the week, the food bank at Hope Valley Unitarian doled out hot meals in the morning to townsfolk struggling to make ends meet. One Sunday a month, Hope and the children made it a point to chip in. Her parents had done so, and Hope liked carrying on the tradition. Until a few years ago, little did she know that she would become one of them. She reminded the children that seeing others striving to make lemonade out of lemons kept things in perspective.
Hope tried to comb Melody’s hair, but she wrenched away from her. Hope couldn’t stand the silent treatment. She stifled a sob. “I love you both,” she whispered. “So much.”
Neither of them replied in kind.
A short while later, Hope pulled up in front of the church, a gray beauty with gothic-style stained glass windows featuring the apostles. A single spire rose into the sky. She paused at the crosswalk, allowing parishioners to cross, and spotted Gabe and Brie among them. They were holding hands and, for some reason, every protective instinct Hope felt as a mother came to the fore. She considered having a heart-to-heart with Gabe but decided against it. He was a grown man. He didn’t need her input about whom he dated.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she veered around back and pulled into the parking lot near the church’s kitchen. Over fifty people, simply dressed and thankful for those who offered to help, stood waiting to get their meals. She recognized a few from the trailer park and others from the low-rent district at the edge of town.
Addie Dixon, the gentle woman who ran the food bank, waved to Hope as she and the children approached. “Look at you two! How you’ve grown in a month!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with love. She chucked Todd’s chin and stroked Melody’s hair. “My little elves, are you ready to assist me?”
Both children nodded.
“Put smiles on those faces, please,” Addie chirped. “Nobody likes to get food from a glum chum.” She tried to tickle them.
They reeled back, resisting yet giggling.
Addie said, “Melody, you take the syrup station with my granddaughter. Todd, you hand out the utensils with your buddy. Hope, if you would man the cocoa and coffee. Adults only with the hot stuff.” She bussed Hope on the cheek and whispered, “Are you okay?”
“Long night. Didn’t sleep.”
“If you need a friendly ear, I’m always open, hon.” Addie rubbed Hope’s shoulder.
It was all Hope could do not to break into tears. “Cocoa.” She pointed. “Think I’ll pour myself a cup.”
Two hours later, Hope gathered the children, bid good-bye to Addie and a few stragglers that she knew, and drove to the café. “We have the sugar cookie contest today, kids. Are you ready?”
“Who cares?” Melody said, her attitude surly again. “We can’t win, and I can’t even eat the cookies.”
“I put aside sugar-free cookies for you. I even made sugar-free icing.”
Melody grunted.
“I think I ate too much bacon at church,” Todd said, rubbing his stomach.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Hope said. “You’ll feel better soon.”
When they arrived at Aroma Café, Hope gave the kids a nudge. “Both of you, please guide the other kids who are competing. They’ll need your expertise.”
In the kitchen, Zerena elbowed Hope as she was donning her apron. “Tonight’s the night. Me. Roman. The Christmas tree-lighting ceremony. You’re coming, right?”
“Yes, as long as my kids don’t wage mutiny.” Hope glanced through the arch at Melody and Todd, who had donned aprons and were ushering children to the rectangular tables that Gabe had set up at the far end of the café.
“What’s going on?” Zerena asked.
“They hate me.” Hope tied the apron’s bow at the back and checked her face in the mirror on the wall. Gray skin, sad eyes. She pinched her cheeks.
“I’m sure it’s a phase.”
Hope wasn’t so certain.
Zerena sighed, her gaze fixed on Roman, who was serving up a plate of ham and eggs. “Is it wrong for me to stare at him?”
Hope patted her friend on the shoulder. “Nope. You’re in love.”
“In lust.”
“Same thing for now.” She bussed Zerena on the cheek and got to work.
