| |
Zoe
Zoe’s mind settled into a comfortable peace as she painted. At first, she’d been annoyed that she would have to stand for the hours it would take to fix this thing, but her legs weren’t bothering her. She would never admit it to anyone, ever, but she was having fun. The painting was incredibly soothing, and she was sad that she was already half-done.
Rachel, for the most part, was ignoring her. Telling her that she was “the artistic one” so therefore should do most of the work, Rachel had dragged a folding chair out of the church and now sat with her eyes closed. It almost looked as though she were sunning herself, but the sun was rapidly sinking toward the horizon.
Zoe was just over half done when it became too dark to do more. If she’d hurried, she probably could’ve gotten the thing done, but she’d begun to take a strange pride in the task and wanted to get it right. She bent to tap the cover of the paint can back into place.
The noise prompted Rachel to open her eyes. “Aho!” she cried.
What did that mean?
Rachel sat up straight. “Wow, Zoe, that looks great!”
Zoe stepped back and looked at it. Yes, it did look great, didn’t it? She felt something odd in her chest, something puffy and pleasant. Was that pride? Had she actually done something worth being proud of? Figures, she’d find her true gift in painting the vandalized sign of an old lady church.
“So, am I done?”
Rachel frowned. “The sign’s only half-fixed!” she cried indignantly.
“I know, but I mean, am I done for today? Gramma said I have to do ten hours. Do I have to do them all today?”
Rachel shrugged. “That’s between you and Gramma, but I suspect the scheduling is flexible. What do you say I order us some takeout? We can run a little more time off the clock.” Without waiting for an answer, she stood and folded up her chair.
The truth was Zoe was starving. But knowing Gramma, she had already cooked her some big meal that consisted mostly of beef and potatoes. “I should call Gramma, make sure it’s all right.”
“I’ve already cleared it with her,” Rachel cried while walking away. “Come on in. Bring the paint.”
Zoe picked up some of the paint and brushes. She was going to have to make two trips. She set the first load down just inside the front door. “I’ll be right back.” She went for her second trip. When she returned, Rachel had four paper menus spread out in front of her. “What kind of food would you like? I’d offer to cook for you, but I don’t cook.”
This surprised Zoe. She thought all old ladies cooked. “I don’t cook either.” She sank into a comfy chair, and only then did she realize her legs were tired. “Though I suppose I don’t need to know yet, since I’m only sixteen.”
“You might not need to know ever.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow in surprise. She thought any old lady would tell her she had to learn to cook so she could win a man, especially because she wasn’t going to win one with her looks.
Rachel shrugged. “I’ve lived a good life without ever cooking a good thing.” She held up a hand. “Now, if the good Lord tells you to learn to cook, don’t quote me as your argument. Who am I to know what he has planned?”
Zoe concentrated on not rolling her eyes. Here we go. The God talk.
“All I know is, there is more to life than cooking.” She slapped her thighs. “Now, what kind of food do you want? This is all that Carver Harbor has to offer: a pizza place; a cold sandwich shop that makes gourmet sandwiches on homemade bread—that would be my vote, but it’s up to you; a diner; and a fancy-schmancy seafood place.”
Zoe was overwhelmed. “The sandwich shop is fine.”
“Great.” Rachel handed her a menu, and Zoe examined it. Her stomach rumbled. She scanned the offerings, became even more overwhelmed, and handed it back. “Turkey and cheese, I guess.”
“Good choice. All the veggies?” Rachel took out her phone.
Zoe scrunched up her nose. “Do they have black olives?”
“I highly doubt it.”
“Then sure. Veggies are okay.”
