Christine watched Will’s jaw drop. “Your mother broke her hip jogging? Where?”
“On the ship’s promenade deck.” She crumpled back onto the stool. “I can’t believe this. This is a bad dream.”
Will rose and rested his hand on her back. His warmth rushed through her. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s in Florida, you said. Don’t worry about—”
“Not that. I’m stuck here, Will. Don’t you understand? I need to get back to my job. I thought I’d be home in a few days. Now what?”
She could see he’d been taken aback. His dark eyes flashed with disbelief, and she tried to recover from his look. “Naturally I’m concerned about my mother, but like you said, she’ll be okay. I just wasn’t planning on something like this happening.”
“We don’t plan for bad things to happen, Christine, but they do.”
She stared at him, wanting to say something, to explain, to have someone understand her stress, but she knew it was useless. Will didn’t know her at all. He had no idea about her work or how hard it was to stay at the top. “I’ll figure out something.”
Will pulled his hand away, leaving a cold spot where warmth had been. Her mood felt the same. Without expecting it, she’d enjoyed the outing and new experience of the snowmobile, but now the fun had faded.
She rose from the stool. “We’d better get moving. I’m sure my grandmother is upset about this, too. Daddy called there first. I know Grandma’s fine, but she’ll be worried about me.”
“That’s just like your grandmother,” Will said, walking ahead of her and snapping off the lights. He tucked the folded paper inside his jacket and waited at the door for her, his hand on the knob.
Outside, the wind seemed colder than it had felt earlier. Christine sank onto the sled, scooted back and waited for Will to climb on and help block the bitter air. Tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away with her gloves. She felt sorry for herself, and she hated the feeling. Lord, I’m trying to make this a go. I want to be thoughtful and compassionate, but this isn’t helping.
God’s voice didn’t fill her head with an answer. The only sound she heard was the rev of the engine as they sped away. She wrapped her arms around Will’s trim waist, his broad shoulders blocking the wind—just as he seemed to want to protect her from her problems.
“Hang on,” he called.
That’s what she needed to do—hang on. But to what?
When Will stopped outside Doud’s Mercantile, Christine saw a smart-looking snowmobile on display. “They sell sleds at the grocery store?”
Will grinned. “No. It’s for the Christmas Bazaar the first weekend in December. They hold a fund-raiser, and the prize is this sweet-looking baby right here.” He gave the sled a pat. “It’s the best of its line.”
“It’s really nice. Tell me what to do, and I’ll donate to the fund-raiser, but I never win prizes. If I do, I’ll give the sled to you.”
Will gave her shoulder a squeeze.
Christine flew through the grocery store, paid for the purchases, donated to the fund-raiser, then headed back to her grandmother’s in silence, her mind having slipped back to her problem.
The fun had vanished from the trip as quickly as the sun had hidden behind the heavy clouds and refused to come out. The cold penetrated her body, as did her dismay, and she felt icy to the bone.
Will put away the sled while Christine hurried into the house. She dropped her packages on the kitchen counter, then rushed toward the living room while she pulled off her coat. When she came through the doorway, her grandmother’s concerned eyes lifted to hers.
Christine dropped her coat on a chair and put her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. “What a predicament, Grandma Summers. Poor Mom.”
Ella’s face reflected her concern, but her demeanor negated the look. “I’ll manage, dear, but tell me what happened. Your father only told me your mother had broken her hip, of all things.”
Christine shared the story that her father had told her. “It was the wind, I guess. He said the prow of the ship has a powerful wind. Mom lost her balance and fell.”
“But he said they were in Florida,” Ella said.
“Yes, they airlifted her there. They have a doctor on board, but they can’t do surgery like that on the ship.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “How long before—”
“Daddy didn’t know.” The back door banged closed, and Christine lifted her head. “Mom’ll need surgery and rehab. It’ll be weeks.”
“Many weeks, I’d guess,” Will said from the doorway. He strutted in and plopped into a chair. “Looks like you’ll need a snowmobile lesson after all.”
Christine didn’t like the faint grin he tried to hide without success.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” she said. “I have to go back to work. Somehow.” She felt the air leave her lungs.
He pinched his thumb and index finger and slid them across his mouth. “Zip.”
“Zip?”
“I’ve zipped my mouth shut.”
Good, she thought, then had second thoughts. He was a nice guy—an appealing man—but she certainly didn’t want to hear his jokes about her predicament.
She turned back to her grandmother. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you have good care. I’m sure you’ll get better and better each day.”
Christine wondered if she was trying to convince herself of that even more than her grandmother. Good care could come from a professional. Christine’s mind began to snap with ideas.
Her grandmother’s expression broke her heart. “I know,” she said, “but this is difficult for you all the way around.”
“I’d better get dinner,” Christine said, rising and motioning toward the kitchen. “I left the groceries on the counter.” Anxious to think by herself, she didn’t wait for a response but hurried into the kitchen.
She stood inside the doorway, taking in the tall painted cabinets and tiled countertops. She shifted to the groceries and pulled items from the shopping bags, totally oblivious to what she’d planned to make her grandmother for Sunday dinner.
As she clung to the refrigerator, Christine’s mind raced. Tomorrow she had work to do. First she needed to alert her boss of the complication, with a guarantee she would be back on the job soon. Next she needed to let her parents know she couldn’t stay. How could she break that news to her father, who was already under so much stress and worry?
“Can I help?”
Christine spun around to face Will. So much for time to think. His gentle look eased through her senses. “No thanks. I have things under control.”
“You don’t look like it,” he said, closing the distance and taking a box of cereal from her hands. “Cereal goes in the cabinet.” He opened the door and looked at her over his shoulder. “Milk goes in the refrigerator.”
He lifted the milk from the cabinet and carried it back to her, leaned past her, and set the carton on the shelf. Then he moved her aside and closed the door. “Perhaps you’d better sit for a minute and get a grip.”
She studied him, wanting to make some kind of retort but had nothing in her head to say. Milk in the cabinet and cereal in the refrigerator did nothing to convince him of her solid state of mind.
Christine did as he said and sank onto a kitchen chair, putting her face in her hands. She rubbed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She’d figured she could handle the seven or eight days from her work, but now?
Will’s warm hand rested on her shoulder again and gave her taut muscles a squeeze. “It’ll be all right. Things will work out the way God planned them.”
She looked at his face, filled with sincerity. “But what about what I planned? I have a job and I have to answer to someone. I’m not like you. I’m not my own boss. I work with a team. I’m responsible for what I do.” She slapped her hand against the table. “I have clients.”
“Me, too,” he said, his voice as calm as a mother’s reassurance.
She lifted her head and looked at him. “What clients?”
“I do special orders. I set deadlines, and I keep them. I’m proud of my work, and I do well. And I have a boss.”
“You do? I thought you owned the business.”
“I do,” he said, using his thumbs to massage away the tension from her shoulders. “My big boss is the Lord. Whatever I do I answer to Him.”
“It’s not the same,” she said, uneasy with his half-joking comments.
Will pulled his hand away and captured her chin and lifted it. “I’m not kidding with you. I answer to the Lord, and that’s much more powerful than answering to the head of a corporation. One situation deals with a lifetime, the other eternity.”
Christine pulled her chin away. “I know that, but I can’t be lighthearted about my career.” She turned her head.
“Neither can I. I’ve given up a lot for it. More than I should have.”
He’d piqued her curiosity, and she turned back to look at him. “What does that mean?”
Will pursed his lips and shook his head. “That’s my problem. You have enough of your own.”
She didn’t want to deal with her own. Christine wanted the problems to go away, to fade with the evening sun. She drew in a breath and managed to rise. “It’s dinnertime.”
“I know. I’m hungry. Let me help.”
She gave him a quick look. “Don’t you have your own kitchen?”
“A small one. Haven’t you ever seen my apartment?”
She ignored his question. “I’m making dinner for my grandmother.”
“I pay room and board,” he said. “That means your grandmother cooks for me when she’s well.”
Room and board. The phrase sank in. He paid her grandmother for his food. She thought he’d eaten there last night because her grandmother had invited him. She gathered her thoughts, ashamed of her reaction to his attempt to be kind. “Okay, you can help. Do you know how to make a salad?”
“Sure. I make a great salad, but—” He hesitated, a deep frown on his face. “I think I’ll go out for a while. Don’t worry about me for dinner.”
Christine opened her mouth to apologize, but he’d already shot from the room. She heard the back door bang closed, and she stood there staring at an empty room and feeling even more empty inside.
Will pushed the burger around on his plate and stared out the window of the Mustang Lounge. The view was nothing spectacular, no shoreline, just small shops across the street and new flakes drifting down to whiten the graying ground from the day’s traffic.
Will had tried to understand Christine’s attitude. She’d been disappointed by her father’s news, but he didn’t like the way she dealt with letdowns. It really wasn’t his business, but he had to live with the woman or stay holed up in his small apartment, and he wished he could smooth things over for her.
He’d probably shoved too much Bible at her. He knew she’d been raised a Christian from meeting her parents, but she’d lost something along the way. In his opinion, she’d be a happier lady if she settled her disagreement with the Lord. God kept His promises, and Christine could use some reassurance right now.
But he suspected she had deeper issues. Christine’s glowing comments about her job left him with questions. She seemed a woman who’d worked hard to get where she was, but she had internal fears. Either she’d failed too often and questioned her own ability, or the job she praised wasn’t as fulfilling as she tried to lead him to believe.
What difference did it make? He tossed the napkin onto the table and signaled Jude for more coffee.
The man gave him a nod, then went on to finish whatever he was doing behind the counter.
The lounge was quiet this time of day. The business would probably pick up in the evening, or maybe the first big snowfall had people scrambling to get their sleds ready for use. Only three or four customers had come in to eat, which was unusual for one of the only restaurants open year-round.
Will rarely came to the lounge on Sunday. Usually he ate at Grandma Ella’s. He enjoyed those quiet evenings when he’d make a fire in her fireplace and loll around, listening to her stories or watching TV, or sometimes even playing a game of dominos with her. Often she beat the socks off of him. She’d had the mind of a steel trap before the stroke.
Will’s thoughts shifted back to his coffee request. When he looked up, he saw Jude wandering over with the pot, so he eased back, not needing to give another call.
“Sorry for the wait,” Jude said, and filled Will’s cup. He stood a moment, looking at him with questioning eyes. “You don’t look too happy.”
Will shrugged. “I’m okay.”
“How’s Ella doing? Troubles? Why no dinner today at the Summers’ house?”
“Grandma Ella’s okay. Her granddaughter’s there to help out. She’s been a handful.”
“Who? Ella?”
Will grinned at his error. “No. Her granddaughter.”
“Teenager?”
His question surprised Will. “No, she’s a woman.”
Jude set down the pot and made an hourglass shape with his hands. “That kind of woman?”
“I haven’t noticed.”
Jude let out a guffaw. “Come on. You noticed.” He slid into the booth across from Will and folded his arms over his chest. “Either she’s old enough to be your mother or ugly as sin. Which is it?”
“Neither.” Will focused on his refreshed coffee then lifted the mug to take a drink. The hot liquid burned his tongue, and he pulled the mug back, sloshing coffee onto the table. He grabbed his wrinkled napkin and swiped at the wet spot.
“She’s got you addled,” Jude said, letting go another loud cackle. “So what’s up? She won’t give you a second look?”
“That’s not it at all. Where’s your mind? She’s as mean as a cornered opossum.” Will heard himself and chuckled at his description. “She’s not real happy here taking care of Ella, so she has an attitude.” Will told Jude the story about her mother’s fall. “So now she’s stuck here. She’s one of those high-powered business women, I guess.”
“I always thought of you as a pretty good businessman yourself.”
“Thanks, but it’s different. She’s in advertising. It’s kind of dog-eat-dog, she says. She’s apparently afraid to be away too long.” His earlier conjecture came to mind.
“Big-city woman in a small town.”
Will gave his head a toss. “Something like that.” But with his quick response, he pictured Christine’s ruddy cheeks and sparkling eyes when she’d climbed off the sled. He saw her surprise and admiration when she’d stepped into his shop, but she’d changed in a moment, sliding right back to her edgy ways when she got the bad news.
“Bring her in. I’ll put a smile on her face.”
“Right,” Will said, making sure Jude heard the sarcasm in his voice.
“Do I see a little jealousy?” Jude asked, slipping from the seat and grabbing the coffeepot from the table.
“Me? You’re kidding.” Will gave him an evil eye and did a playful toss of his head. “Get out of here.”
Jude walked away laughing, while Will sat there trying to make sense out of their conversation. Jealous? Jealous of what? Sure she was a pretty woman, and yes, she could be fun to be with, but he barely knew her and half of what he knew he didn’t understand.
He pushed his hip away from the bench and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. If Miss Powers hadn’t been so nasty, Will would have been at Grandma Ella’s eating a home-cooked meal. Powers. Fitting, he thought. He chuckled at his observation, then rose and headed for the cash register to pay his bill.
The next time he saw Christine, he would tell her that was the last time he’d walk away from dinner. He grinned at an idea that came to mind. Maybe he’d give the mighty Miss P a taste of her own medicine.
Will sat in his room, moping. He’d thought of charging into the house and telling Christine what he thought of her behavior, but then he stopped himself. It would do no good. She would be there for a while, and he didn’t like stress. He’d had that on the mainland with his dad and life in general. The island had mellowed him. Now he put his energy into creating works of art rather than works of get-even.
He stared at his apartment TV, the program not registering in his mind. He’d turned it on for noise. He’d hoped he would become distracted, but that hadn’t happened.
The room had darkened, and light from the television flickered on the walls. As he rose to turn on a light, he heard a rap at his door.
He snapped on the lamp and grabbed the doorknob. When he pulled it open, he drew back. Christine stood at the door with a dish in her hand. He looked at the plate, then at her. “Yes?”
She stood a moment searching his eyes. “I brought dessert. It’s cherry pie. Michigan cherries.” She extended the dish. “I made it myself.”
He didn’t take the plate although he wanted to. His half-eaten burger hadn’t filled a corner of his stomach.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
The request surprised him, and he stepped back without thinking.
She took a cautious step forward, still holding out the plate for him.
Will took it and closed the door after her.
Christine stood a moment, scanning the room. “Now that I’m here, I realize I’ve been in here before, but it’s smaller than I remember.”
“Thanks for the pie,” he said, setting it on the short counter that served as the bulk of his kitchen. He had a compact sink, a microwave over a two-burner stove, and an apartment-size refrigerator in the small kitchenette.
She stood just inside the door, looking as if she wanted to talk but didn’t.
“Would you like to sit?” He gestured at a chair.
She took a hesitant step toward it while he moved to his recliner. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Only if you’re having some.”
“It’ll be good with the pie,” he said, taking the five steps to the kitchen counter. She didn’t speak while he filled the brewer and snapped the switch. By the time he’d slid the canister back in the cabinet and wiped off the spilled grounds, the aroma of coffee filled the air.
He returned to the living room area and slipped into his chair.
She looked at him, her discomfort evident. “I want to apologize—again,” she added.
“You’re getting good at that,” he said, then wished he’d kept his mouth closed when she flinched with his comment.
“I know. I don’t mean to behave like this. I—”
“It’s your grandmother that I care about, Christine. You can dislike me for whatever reason, but I’m not happy when I see you hurting your grandmother.”
Concern spread over her face. “I’m not trying to hurt her. I only—”
“You’re not trying to, but I can read your expression, and I’m sure your grandmother can. She knows you don’t want to be here, and it makes her feel that she’s to blame.”
“But she’s not to blame. My mother—” She rose in mid-sentence and wandered around the room. “It’s no one’s fault but my own. I can’t control everything that happens in my own life let alone anything that happens in the world.”
“None of us can. I used to fight life, but being on the island has helped me to see things in perspective. It’s also helped me grow in my faith.” He faltered, wanting to be honest. “I sense you don’t like me talking about the Bible and God.”
She spun around. “That’s not true.” Her shoulders sagged. “It’s not exactly true. I feel guilty when you talk about the Bible. I’ve drifted so far away from church attendance. My faith has weakened. It all seems so useless to me.”
Will rose. “It’s not useless. It’s the only thing that we can be sure of.” He pointed at the chair again. “Please, sit, and I’ll get the coffee.”
She waited a moment before she ambled back and sank into the cushion. Her lovely face looked stressed, and he wished he could say something. Her concern seemed deep.
When she was seated, he crossed to the cabinet and took out two mugs. “Is there a boyfriend at home that you’re worried about?” He glanced at her over his shoulder.
“A boyfriend? No. Not at all. It’s my job. There are twenty people waiting for my position at the agency. If I can’t be there, I don’t know if I’ll have a job when I’m able to go back. I can’t ask them to give me a month-or-two leave.”
He poured the coffee and turned. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Black,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck.
He felt sorry for her. No one wanted that kind of job stress. “So what will you do?” He crossed the room and set her coffee on the table beside her.
“I don’t know. I have to call tomorrow and see how much they’re willing to bend.”
While she talked, he pulled the covering off the pie and grabbed a fork, then collected his mug and wandered back to the sofa. “If the firm likes your work—”
She shook her head. “No. It’s competitive. We each struggle to present the best promotional package. It’s a catfight sometimes.” She hesitated. “I can’t trust my boss—people steal ideas.”
“That’s why I like stained glass. It’s my idea and no one is there to take credit but me.” He drew up his shoulders and gave a faint laugh. “But I also have to carry the brunt of a failure.”
Christine seemed to be listening. “Is that why you left the business major?”
“The business world wasn’t for me. I knew it in my gut.” He pressed his hand against his stomach. “You know how you feel something right here. Right in the core of your being.”
She nodded. “Eat your pie. I hope you like it.”
He lifted the fork and delved into the dessert, then slipped it into his mouth. The pie was a perfect blend of tart and sweet, just the way he liked it. “It’s great.” He gestured with his fork.
Christine smiled. “Thanks.”
“Let me just add, you make a mean crust.”
She said thank-you and grinned, and Will’s heart felt good to see her so real again.
“By the way, I accept your apology and I really love your peace offering.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, trying to hide her smile.
Will’s mind slid back to the day he’d given Daisy the sugar cube. He hadn’t come up with the sweet treat to get Christine eating out of his hand, but she certainly had. He dug into the rich crust and ate another bite of pie.