4

Strong arms raised my head off the floor. Someone brought me an ice pack. My vision cleared, and I saw Scott sitting on the floor next to me holding an ice pack to his head. He caught my eye, and we burst into laughter.

“I don’t see what’s so all-fired funny.” Toppy lent his hand to help me stand. “You knocked her silly, Scott. I don’t think I’d be laughing at all.”

“Second time it’s happened, Tops.” Scott tried to stifle his laughter.

“Yes, see?” I lifted my bangs so he could see the knot on my head from the day before.

“Oh no, Bailey, I’m sorry.” Scott leaned close and peered at the lumps on my forehead and shook his head. Any other time I would have enjoyed his spicy cologne, but my head throbbed.

Toppy took my arm, walked me over to a table, and then brought me a glass of water.

Scott sat beside me. “We’ve got to get coordinated. From now on if you drop something, let me bend over and pick it up for you. Maybe we can avoid another catastrophe.”

“I’ll try, but it just comes naturally.” I reached up to my head. A sharp pain met my touch. Scott had an egg-shaped nugget raised on his forehead as well.

Liz bent to look into my eyes. “No dilation, but since this is the second time you’ve knocked your head, someone should keep an eye on you, in case you get ill during the night. I’m volunteering Tracy to spend the night with you.”

“I’d love to, yes.” Tracy’s eyes shone with excitement. “We’ll have a good old-fashioned sleepover. Is that OK, Bailey?”

“I’m all right. You don’t have to go to all that trouble.”

My protest fell on deaf ears. Thank goodness. I did like the idea of having someone there with me.

“It’s the least we could do after you helped us out today,” Liz said. “You might wake up in the night with a horrible headache or nausea.”

Her concern touched me. I nodded. “Thank you, Tracy. I appreciate it.”

“Good.” Scott took a deep breath and released it. “I’ll feel better. I can check on the both of you after I settle Peeps in for the night.”

“Well, if I’m having a guest, I think I need a nap. It’s been quite a morning.”

“Oh, no, don’t go take a nap.” Toppy snapped his dishtowel to punctuate his statement. “If there is a chance you have a concussion, the last thing you need to do is go to sleep.”

“I don’t think either one of us has a concussion, Tops.” Scott grinned at his uncle. “But thanks for sharing your medical knowledge with us. Besides, Bailey’s a grown woman. She can decide for herself.”

“She should decide to stay awake.” Toppy shrugged and went back to the kitchen.

What a change. A man who believed a woman could think for herself. The complete opposite of Darryl Graham.

I gathered my purse, feeling a sense of pride I hadn’t felt since—well, since before I’d met Darryl. Suddenly, I was no longer a doormat. I was a welcomed visitor in a small town—not even a town, just an exit off the highway. A place I’d come to realize I didn’t want to leave. These people liked me. They respected me. And they intrigued me. The care these people lavished on me warmed my heart. Why had they wrapped their arms around me and pulled me in?

“I will be over after the dinner shift tonight.” Tracy bounced off to wait on her customers.

My gaze locked with Scott’s. He tilted his head, not blinking. We stood for a long moment before a smile tipped the corner of his lips. I returned his smile and pushed out the door. I’d have given any amount of money to know what he’d been thinking.

~*~

A loud rapping on the front door jolted me from the nap I decided couldn’t hurt—despite Toppy’s warning.

“Bailey, are you in there?” Tracy called.

Tracy arrived around 7:30 PM. She carried no clothes, but she brought two hamburgers from the diner. I had to admit, Toppy’s burgers rated with the best I’d ever eaten. We ate and then moved into the living room.

“I hope you have a t-shirt I can sleep in. I came straight here from the diner on foot.”

“Sure, there’s probably something in my bag.” I gave her a hug. “So glad you’re here.”

Tracy peered into my face. “You look awful. Sure you’re feeling OK?”

“Just woke up from a deep nap.”

“You look as if you cried yourself to sleep.”

“I’m fine. I thought we might watch movies tonight, but I’ve discovered that this place has no television.”

“Oh, no. There wouldn’t be.” Tracy perched herself on the end of the couch. “Shelley hated TV. She encouraged her guests to rest.” Tracy picked up one of the magazines on the coffee table and flipped through it a moment. She ran her hand over a crocheted afghan laid over the end of the couch. She smiled. “Shelley’s craft room. Let’s see what we can get into.”

She disappeared into a side room off the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with a basket of yarn and hooks.

“Shelley taught me how to crochet, and I love it. I can teach you. It’s pretty easy.” Tracy pulled a strand of red yarn from its ball, twirling it around her index finger and making a loose knot. She started making a long chain.

“I did notice all the beautiful chair cover doilies and wall hangings. Shelley West did all these?”

“Yes, she did. If she wasn’t cooking or serving guests, she was crocheting, scrapbooking, or sewing. She had so many crochet patterns memorized that she could sit and make something and hold a decent conversation at the same time.” Tracy broke into a giggle. “Paul and Scott both have closets full of sweaters she made. Whether to please her or because they really like them, I don’t know, but they wear them when it’s cool.”

“Why wouldn’t they like them?”

“Well, Shelley loved the holidays. She always made Christmas-themed sweaters and hats for Paul and Scott. They look funny if you ask me, but they wear them all throughout the holidays.”

Tracy taught me how to make a foundation chain and then a single crochet.

“Great, now keep doing that for a while.” She put in her ear buds and began listening to music on her iPod. She closed her eyes and bobbed her head to the music. I concentrated on my chain.

About ten minutes later, I must have hooked a couple hundred chains. Tracy pronounced them good.

“So we’re sleeping in the Sweetheart Room?” She hopped up and tossed her purse into the room. “Shelley sometimes babysat me when Mom worked. I used to take my naps in here, and I felt like a princess.”

“I guess. Sure.” I must not have sounded very sure because Tracy scrunched up her eyes at me.

“Mom told me not to pry, but I have to ask. Tell me to mind my own business if you want, and then I won’t say anything else. What are you running from? You always look like you’ve been crying. You look like a person with a lot going on, yet you are holing up here on Exit 477.”

Her sympathetic eyes probed me for an answer. She didn’t need to hear my problems. Try as I might, though, tears welled and spilled over onto my long red crochet chain.

“I’m twenty years old, Bailey, you can tell me.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Pastor Weatherby says that when you share your problems with a friend, you cut them in half. Come on, give me half.”

Tracy’s sweetness blew me away. A door of care and concern opened wide. I couldn’t put her off after she’d been so nice to me.

“A breakup. He found someone else.” Enough said, but my mind recited, “royally dumped and for a beautiful and slim pageant winner.” I shook it off.

“He’s obviously a moron. Who would give up a beautiful, nice girl like you? Dumb. Sorry, I know it’s not easy, even if he is a frog.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Right? Of course, I’m right. Come on, princess. Let me help you fix that last row. You single crocheted into the back loops only. That isn’t the look we’re going for here.” Tracy busily unraveled my mistake.

Her reference to the frog and princess spoke of an obvious good-riddance opinion. I wondered if she’d think that if she could see Phoebe. And what would Tracy think if she knew I’d been engaged to Darryl Graham, the man who denied her the dream house? Boy, I could really pick ’em. Ugh.

We whiled away the hours munching popcorn and working on crocheted hot pads. We made several batches of chocolate chip cookies and filled the cookie jar in the kitchen. Tracy talked like a Ferrari with the gas pedal on the floorboard. She told me about her school days, work, and her favorite band.

She put her buds into my ears so I could hear her music. Ouch. I’d heard those screaming metal bands before. To humor her, I did listen for a few minutes. I found that I could understand the words and heard brief interludes of real music.

I’d always thought these bands reflected the frustration and hopelessness of a fatherless generation. I’d read that eighty-one percent of men do not parent their first child. But instead of angst, these lyrics encouraged the hearer to lay everything down for the Savior.

Emotion welled up inside me. I had laid it all down for the Savior, once, long ago.

How easily I compromised. Darryl claimed to be a believer, but didn’t like organized religion. I went to church without him at first, but eventually gave it up because it seemed to upset him. I would change him. Give him time to understand. Yeah, right. Now I needed my faith, but the distance had widened over the past year.

“Isn’t it great?” Tracy asked. “I play that one over and over when I get depressed or worried about anything. That’s what we’re going to do with our halves of your sadness. We are going to give both halves to the Savior. Are you a Christian, Bailey?”

“Yes, since I was six years old.”

This young believer demonstrated more faith and maturity than I did. I felt so foolish, yet so grateful at the same time. Surprise delighted me at every turn down the Washout Express exit.

My cell phone rang. It was Darryl.