The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.
Dolly Parton
I spent the next couple weeks with my stomach in knots. Barely a day went by when I didn’t wish I could un-press the Send button. Ugh. Every day I prayed Casey would propose. Every day he didn’t. In fact, he seemed to be acting a little odd—evasive, even—whenever I dropped hints about our relationship, which really bugged me. But I couldn’t beg the guy to marry me, now could I?
Instead, I went about my business, working at the hardware store, hanging out with Casey and my friends at Dairy Queen, and listening to my brothers ramble on about the goings-on in our little town.
Until Thursday evening, May 14, when I received a call from Queenie.
“Katie, I want you to come by my place in the morning for breakfast.” Her words sounded more like an order than an invitation.
“But we’re going to dinner tomorrow night at Sam’s, Queenie.”
“I know, but I need some time with you . . . privately.”
Hmm. Seemed suspicious. Still, I knew better than to turn her down. “What time?”
“Seven thirty should be good for me. That way we can visit before you have to go to work. Sound agreeable?”
Sounded more like a business meeting, but I didn’t argue.
I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Worries consumed me. Had Lori-Lou told Queenie about the contest? Maybe that was why I’d been summoned into her royal chambers—for a lecture about how I’d overstepped my bounds. What if she told my parents? Then what? I’d look like an idiot.
I already felt like one.
When I did sleep, crazy dreams consumed me. In one of them, I wore a zebra-striped wedding gown, a wacky avant-garde number with huge, puffy sleeves. I walked the aisle toward Casey, who turned and ran in the opposite direction. I’d run too if someone walked toward me looking like a caged animal.
I woke up earlier than usual on Friday morning, determined to put the weird dreams behind me, though I couldn’t get Queenie’s breakfast invitation off my mind. No doubt she had ulterior motives.
I pulled up to her house at 7:30 on the dot and got out of my car. The front walkway was surrounded by the loveliest flowers, all pinks and yellows. Queenie had quite an eye for color. She had quite an eye for everything.
I didn’t have to knock. She stood in the open doorway, arms extended. “Glad you could come, Katie-girl.”
That made me feel a little better. I relaxed and did my best to give a genuine smile. “G’morning, Queenie.” I slipped into her warm embrace and received several kisses on my cheeks. As her soft skin brushed against mine, I thought it felt a bit like velvet.
She took me by the hand and led me inside her spacious, comfortable home—the same one I’d grown up loving. We passed by the photographs of our various family members—including the second cousins twice removed—to the breakfast table, where a spread of foods awaited. Pancakes. Bacon. Orange juice. Yum. I settled into a chair and she blessed the food, then we dove right in.
I had a feeling this visit wasn’t really about the food, at least not completely. We made small talk and nibbled for a while, but I could sense something coming around the bend.
After she finished up her first cup of coffee, Queenie rose—slowly, using her cane—and walked to the coffeepot for a refill. “You want more, honey?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nah. Better not. I’ll take one to go when I get ready to leave for the store.”
With a shaky hand she refilled her cup, then turned to face me. “I do hope you can give me a few more minutes before you leave. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Ah. I knew it.
I rose and helped her with her coffee cup. She hobbled back to the table and took her seat, then lifted the hot coffee, her hand still trembling. “Let’s talk about that boyfriend of yours, Katie.”
“Casey?”
She gave me a knowing look. “Well, yes, Casey. Unless there’s some other boyfriend out there I need to know about.”
“Nope. No one.” I smiled and tried to look confident.
“Honey, I get the sense that you’re itching for a proposal. Am I right?”
“Well, I’m not sure itching is the right word, Queenie, but yes. Isn’t that the idea?”
The long gap in conversation made me a little nervous. Queenie stirred her coffee, which was weird, since it didn’t have any sugar or cream in it.
Maybe I’d better build her confidence with another speech. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to propose any day now. I think he went to Dallas to order my ring a couple weeks ago, then went back yesterday to pick it up. Maybe it had to be sized or something like that.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself. And of him. Has he given you any clues, other than his disappearing act?” She put the spoon down and stared at me intently. Too intently, really. Made me nervous. I could never keep my emotions hidden from Queenie. She could read me like a book. No doubt she was scanning a few pages now.
“Just a few suspicious comments about plans. And the future. He’s always talking about his future. Career stuff. The kind of house he’d like to one day live in. Pretty sure those comments are meant to tease me.”
“Could be.” She sipped her coffee. “Some men are just a little slow to bat, honey.” Her nose wrinkled, and I wondered if maybe her coffee was too hot. “Not sure why he’s taking his time, but I suppose that’s a good thing. Kind of reminds me of that Loretta Lynn song ‘You Wouldn’t Know an Angel if You Saw One.’ I sometimes wonder if he sees what’s right in front of him.”
“Yeah, I wonder too.” I couldn’t help but smile as she mentioned one of my favorite songbirds. “I love Loretta Lynn.”
“Me too.” Queenie sighed. “Always have, from the time I was young. We have a lot in common.”
“Oh?”
“Well, sure. We’re both small-town girls. She’s from Butcher Holler, I’m from Fairfield.”
“What else? Is there something you’re not telling me? You own a guitar? Write songs when no one’s around?” I took another nibble of my food and leaned back in my chair.
“Hardly.” Queenie shrugged. “But we do have one key thing in common. Loretta and her husband Doo married impulsively.” As soon as she’d spoken the words, my grandmother clamped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to say that. Not out loud, anyway.”
“Are you insinuating that you and Grandpa married impulsively?” I asked.
She brushed some crumbs off the edge of the table. “I loved your grandpa. He was truly one of the best men I’ve ever known. But yes, I guess you could say I did marry him impulsively. And things weren’t always a bed of roses, if you know what I mean. We had our share of obstacles.”
“Like Loretta and Doo.”
“Yep.” My grandmother took another sip of her coffee, and for a moment I thought I’d lost her to her memories. She put the cup down and smiled. “You remember that story about Loretta? The one where she accidentally put salt in the pie instead of sugar?”
“Of course. The pie was for some sort of contest, right?”
“Yep. She worked so hard to bake the best pie to impress the fellas. Her sweetie bought the pie and took a big bite. Only, it tasted like salt, not sugar.”
“I remember.” What this had to do with Queenie’s comment that she’d married impulsively, I could not say. “What are you getting at, Queenie?”
“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, whether you put salt in the pie or sugar. If he loves you—if he really, really loves you—any obstacle can be overcome. That’s how it was with Grandpa and me. We got past the salt. And if it’s meant to be with you and Casey, you’ll get past the salt too, and the rest’ll be sugar.”
“You think?”
“I really don’t know for sure, but I know someone who does.” She pointed heavenward. “Only he knows who we’re supposed to end up with. But that’s part of the adventure—finding out his will, then getting in the stream.”
“Hmm.” I didn’t feel very adventurous at the moment. And for whatever reason, Queenie’s story about the pie left the weirdest salty taste in my mouth. “So, do I just come out and ask him if he’s going to marry me?”
“No.” She picked up her cup and nearly dropped it. “Don’t even bring yourself into it. Whenever he gets to talking about his career, the home he’d like to live in, just listen. Let him talk. Ask for details about his plans. His future. Ask where he sees himself in five years. Or ten years. Or whatever. Might be hard, but leave yourself out of it for now.” She took another swig of coffee and adjusted her position in her chair. “He needs to know that you care as much about his plans as your own. You see?”
“Yes, I get it. Sort of a nonthreatening way to bring up the subject of our life together.” I grinned in spite of myself. “Makes sense.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.” Queenie’s furrowed brow didn’t bring me much comfort, but I managed to remain positive anyway. “Point is, the conversation might just add a wee bit of sugar to the pie, if you catch my drift. And I have it on good authority that Casey likes pie.”
I rose and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re always loaded with great advice, Queenie. Thanks so much.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded and attempted to stand. I reached to help her. After a few moments of awkward silence, she glanced my way, her eyes glistening with tears.
My heart skipped a beat as I analyzed the pain in her expression. “Queenie? You okay?”
She reached for my hand and squeezed it so tight that it hurt. “Just promise me something, honey.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll make the best possible decision for your future happiness. And pray. Ask God’s opinion. Don’t just jump willy-nilly into something because it feels right in the moment. Really, truly seek the Lord and ask his opinion. If you think that Casey’s approach is too calculated, think again. It’s better to think things through from start to finish before jumping in.”
“Well, of course. Do you think I’d do something without thinking it through? I’m more levelheaded than that.” I think.
“I want you to pray it through. Look for answers, not just in your heart but in your head. If you ask the Lord’s opinion, he’ll be happy to give it. Problem is, most of us just move along with our emotions leading the way and live to regret it later.”
The sadness in her eyes made me curious. “Queenie, is there something you’re not telling me? Do you think Casey and I shouldn’t . . . well, get married?”
“I didn’t say that, honey. I just want God’s best for you. If you ask him, he’ll tell you what to do.”
Her words lingered in my thoughts long after we parted ways. Did my own grandmother really think I shouldn’t marry the man of my dreams? What was up with the hesitations?
I pondered all of these things as I drove to the hardware store. Once I arrived, Pop put me to work, sorting through a new shipment of door hinges. Exciting stuff. I dove right in, my focus still on Queenie’s words. Perhaps she had a point. If I focused on Casey, if I cared more about his plans than my own, then perhaps God would open the door for those plans to include a happily-ever-after for me too.