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The heart-to-heart with her friends soothed Randy’s troubled mind like a balm, but it threatened to make her late for her job at Garfield’s Farmers and Ranchers Bank. She rushed around her room, grateful for both her nine-to-six work schedule and the fact that her naturally curly hair, damp from the shower, actually looked good scooped up into a messy knot. She shoved a couple of bobby pins in place, studied the results, and hurried to the closet.
Randy riffled through hangers, selecting a pair of black pin-striped slacks, a black blazer, and a collared silk shirt in a shade of pale blue. She slipped into black pumps, fastened on earrings, and called it done with ten minutes to spare. The bank was only a five-minute drive.
In the garage, she slid into the seat of her new blue Camaro and smoothed her hands over the leather covered steering wheel. I love this car. Eli had encouraged her to splurge on it when she’d replaced her jeep last month, because he had an SUV and, since it was just the two of them, they didn’t need two family-sized vehicles. She breathed in the new-car scent and shoved thoughts of the car to the bottom of her priority list.
The curb in front of the empty parking spot was labeled Assistant Manager. Randy pulled into her space and smiled at the squatty brown brick building that sat on the southeast corner of Garfield’s single lighted intersection.
Randy’d started work as a part-time teller fresh out of high school almost twenty years ago, moving up to full-time about a year shy of earning her bachelor’s degree in business economics. The extra hours required a switch to evening and online classes. To call that last year grueling was an understatement with a capital U, but she’d been single with no plans to marry, and the hard work had given her something to focus on. The effort paid off when she transitioned to head teller two years after graduating. After a short break when she went back to school to gain her master’s degree, she moved into the loan department. Now, Randy occupied the chair in the Assistant Manager’s office. Mr. Snelling planned to retire in five years, and Randy had her sights set on his desk in the big office.
God had been good to her, every step of her career seemingly ordered and blessed beyond measure. With school behind her and only a single step remaining on her professional ladder, her upcoming marriage to Eli was the perfect fit at the perfect time. A blessing she hadn’t expected, but one she was deeply grateful for. She and Eli fit. Fit so well she’d been more than happy to take on more than the role of wife.
Astor was a cutie, and Randy had no trouble with being the occasional doting grandmother, spoiling the kid rotten and sending her home for Celeste to deal with. I’d have been a good grandmother.
The thought snapped Randy out of her musing, and she rested her head against the steering wheel. Grandmother, God. Not mother. I know You have a plan here, I’d love it if You shared, because if ever there was a woman incapable of mothering a child... Randy opened her door, stepped out of the Camaro, and turned her face heavenward. You’re looking at her.
Randy’s day inched by on little snail feet. Her office at the bank opened into the lobby, and the hands on the large, decorative clock that dominated the far wall seemed locked in slow motion. On a normal day, her job provided more than enough distraction to keep her focus far from her personal life.
This was not a normal day. Her mind wouldn’t leave the problem of Eli and Astor alone. She wondered what he was doing...how he was doing with the baby. Her hand hovered over the phone a number of times, but each time she drew it back. This was Eli’s problem. He had to deal with it as best he could, the same as her.
Her phone rang, shattering her introspection. The blinking light indicated her private line.
“This is Miranda.”
“Ms. Franklin, good morning. This is Cody from Property Solutions in Bartlesville. I have great news. Our contractor called, and the upgrades to your home have been completed three weeks ahead of schedule. It’s ready to list with a Realtor. All we need is for you to do a final walk-through and sign off on the paperwork.”
Randy pinched the bridge of her nose as a second ball of lead settled in her stomach. She hadn’t believed the day could get worse. She’d been wrong.
She drew in a deep breath, alarmed at the way it shuddered in her lungs. “Yes...um...” She flipped through her calendar, looking for a good reason to put the task off. Over the next three days, blocks of time were scheduled for meetings she couldn’t miss if she was breathing. With a little juggling, she could clear this afternoon for the two-hour drive to Bartlesville. Not the way she’d wanted to spend her afternoon, but the sooner the house sold, the better. Her eyes closed on the sting of fruitless tears. Stop that! Crying doesn’t solve anything. Her mother’s words were as true as they were harsh.
A throat cleared on the other end of the connection.
Randy opened her eyes. “Sorry, Cody. Can you meet me over there between three and four today? I can’t give you an exact time. I’ll have to call you back when I’m thirty minutes out or so.”
“Not a problem. I can’t wait to show you what we’ve done to the old place.”
She gave a noncommittal answer, hung up the phone, and rubbed at the headache building behind her forehead. Why today?
A knock on her door drew her attention. She looked up to see her administrative assistant Sydney standing in the opening.
“You got a minute?”
Randy nodded, grateful for the interruption. “What’s up?”
Sydney came around her desk and spread open a folder. “It’s not a major issue, but these papers you signed this morning don’t match up.” She pointed with the tip of a pen. “See, here and here? The account numbers are different.”
Randy lowered her head into her hand. This day just kept getting better.
“It’s just a typo,” Sydney continued. “One that I should have caught, and one that you normally would have. I can correct it and reprint the documents for a new signature, but that’s not going to fix what’s bothering you.”
Randy looked up. “I don’t—”
“Don’t go there,” Sydney chided her. “I’ve walked by this door a dozen times today, and each time I have, you’ve been sitting at that desk, staring into space. So”—she stepped away from the desk and slipped out of the cardigan that was her second skin against the constant chill air of the bank—“talk to me.”
Randy raised her eyebrows.
Sydney motioned to the sweater she’d tossed over a chair. “It’s symbolic. I’m no longer here as your assistant, but as your friend.” She crossed her arms and waited.
Randy tapped her pen on her desk blotter. “There are drawbacks to working with a friend who knows you so well.”
“And there are perks,” Sydney responded, unmoving, obviously prepared to wait Randy out.
Randy tilted her head. Maybe Sydney could help with one part of her problem. “How are Sara and Logan?”
“I’m not here to discuss my daughter and grandson.”
Randy motioned to the chair in front of her desk. “Humor me. I’m working my way around to it.”
Sydney sat. “They’re fine. Why?”
“Sara’s what...twenty now?” Same age as Celeste. “But, she was only fifteen when she got pregnant, right?”
“You know this story.”
“I know the bare bones of it.”
Sydney folded her hands in her lap, her expression puzzled. “What do you want to know?”
“How she handled it...how she copes...how—”
“You’re pregnant!” Sydney lunged to her feet.
Randy blinked, forced back into her chair by her friend’s enthusiastic exclamation. “What? No!” She held up a hand and took a deep breath. “Not now, not ever, and please promise to take me behind the building and shoot me should that ever change.”
Sydney sat back down. “Aww...you’d be a great mom.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees.
“Sara...?” Randy prodded.
Sydney pursed her lips and stared at a spot on the wall behind Randy’s head. “Sara was always a good kid, smart and independent, but willful, too. It seemed we were always clashing over something. School work, dating, the way she dressed. The...problems...we had with my second husband didn’t help any of that, of course, but her attitude did a three-sixty when she found out she was pregnant. Before she came to me with the news, she’d already arranged her prenatal care and enrolled in the WIC program for her and the baby.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a federally-funded supplemental nutrition program for women, infants, and children.”
“Got’cha.”
“Anyway,” Sydney continued, “as scared as she was, as shocked and disappointed as I was, not keeping the baby was never a consideration.” She leaned forward. “I remember taking a walk with her early on. We were talking about the baby, and I told her that every choice she made from this point forward had to be viewed through mommy glasses.”
“Mommy glasses?”
Sydney nodded. “She needed to always be asking herself, ‘Is this good for the baby, how will this affect my baby, do I need this worse than my baby needs...’” Sydney waved a hand. “Fill in the blank. Everything, from something as simple as choosing to buy formula over a new sweater, to who you date and what you study in school. Once you become a parent, life stops being about you.”
Sydney smiled. “And Sara’s made it work. She finished high school, and she’s working on her degree. It’s not what I would have chosen for her, but Logan is four, and he’s the light of her life and mine.” She finished with a frown. “And I still don’t get what this has to do with what’s eating you.”
Randy bowed her head and picked at a hangnail. Sounded like Logan won the mommy lottery. Her and Astor, not so much. Which was worse, she wondered. Being abandoned or being brutalized? She shut down that line of thought.
“Celeste took off and abandoned Astor.”
“Oh, no.”
“I’m trying to get a handle on it. Trying to understand what she was thinking. Would Sara ever be tempted to—”
“Never,” Sydney answered. “Every breath she takes is for her child.”
“Lucky Logan.”
Sydney opened her mouth, and Randy stopped her with a look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. This whole thing has me more shaken up than I want to admit. Thanks for sharing Sara’s story. I know you’re proud of her.”
Randy shifted back to work mode. “Redo those papers and put them on my desk for me to look at first thing in the morning.” She motioned to her phone. “Something unexpected came up just before you stepped in. I need you to clear my schedule for this afternoon. I’ve got an errand to run.”
* * *
EARLY SPRING SUNLIGHT spilled through the windows as Eli tucked a light blanket around Astor. She was finally sleeping. The breath of relief he inhaled carried the scent of new furniture and baby lotion, a combination he’d relegated to the past. He looked around the bright yellow room, satisfied with the crib and matching chest of drawers. Both pieces of furniture were stained in a satin oak finish and as smooth as the bottom he’d just fastened a diaper around.
He turned back to the sleeping baby and grinned when her mouth moved in an unconscious sucking motion. A quick search turned up the pacifier he despised but she loved. He touched her lips with the rubber nipple and gave a quiet chuckle when she sucked it in.
“I’m going to find your mommy,” he promised in a low whisper. “And I’ll drag her back if I have to. I don’t know what got into her, but I know she loves you.” The contradiction in his words made him pause, and the truth twisted at his heart. The truth was he didn’t know where to begin to look. The truth was he’d forced her to keep a child she’d wanted to give up for adoption. The truth was, if Celeste had loved her child, she wouldn’t have left in the first place.
Reality forced Eli to revise his promises. “I will find your mommy,” he repeated. “And if I can’t talk some sense into her, then I’ll do whatever I have to do to make you mine. You’ll never have to wonder if you were loved. Randy and I...” He closed his eyes. Randy...
Knowledge of the woman he loved force-fed Eli a second helping of truth. It soured his stomach. Randy would never agree to go ahead with their wedding if raising Astor was part of the package.
She’d been more than open about the fact that she’d always avoided motherhood—and, as a result, marriage. It hadn’t bothered him, since they were both past the age for such considerations. Eli stared at the dust motes floating in a ray of sunlight and wondered why she’d shunned what most women longed for.
Randy hadn’t spoken of her childhood beyond a single statement. “It was difficult.” Three words that hadn’t much concerned him at the time. Now he wished he’d probed a bit.
Eli crossed the room and pulled the door closed. What are you hiding, Miranda? What happened in that difficult childhood to convince you that you could never nurture a child?