A Chance of a Lifetime, page 2
“See anyone interesting at the grocery store?”
“Just people hoping to get home before they froze.”
“You young kids. In my day, we didn’t have all the nice clothes and gloves and central heat and a grocery store just down the street.”
“No, you had a sandy warm beach just down the street.” Mama had grown up on the barrier islands of South Carolina, soaking in lazy breezes and running barefoot in the sand and living—at least, to hear her tell it—an idyllic life. Bennie knew it hadn’t been all sunshine and roses, especially after her marriage ended. Still, it had been sweet.
“It got cold there, too, missy. I remember one time it snowed twice in one month. Almost covered the ground both times.” Mama burst into laughter. “I have to admit, if I’d known more about Oklahoma weather, I might have kept on traveling a little farther west. But when I got here, the sun was shining, the air was crisp and clean, and the leaves were the most wonderful shades of yellow, orange, and red. I knew this was where I wanted to be.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “That was in October, too.”
“And this is its evil twin, Octobrrr.” Bennie emptied the last of the canvas bags, rolled each one, and stuck them inside the largest bag to return to her car in the morning. “But warm weather will be back again soon.”
“Most likely. I’ve worn shorts in January and a sweater in June.” Mama shuffled to the refrigerator, arms filled with milk and yogurt. On her way to the small pantry, Bennie opened the door for her. Grocery shopping was a regular Saturday activity for her, and October was always her overstocking time. She’d been forced to trudge to the grocery store once years ago when snow and ice had kept their neighborhood impassable for days. She had learned her lesson. If the streets froze now, they had enough food to feed themselves and the neighbors. If the pipes froze, there was plenty of bottled water, and if the power went off, they had a huge supply of candles and batteries for flashlights, and firewood stretched the length of the house two ricks deep.
Bennie was prepared for anything.
“—reheat the leftover pot roast,” Mama was saying when Bennie stepped back into the kitchen. “Chop everything up, mix it all up with gravy, and serve it with some thick slices of fresh white bread. Hm-hmm, that sounds good.”
“It certainly does.” Bennie put away the last of the groceries, then gave her grandmother a hug. “You know, your good cooking is the reason you and I are both on the round side.”
Mama snorted. “I’ve been a size twelve my whole grown-up life. I should know, since I’m the one cutting the size tags out of my old clothes and sewing them into my new, bigger ones.” Her hearty laugh emphasized the roundness of her face, filled with lines and haloed by gray hair and as beautiful as a face could be.
Gratitude surged in Bennie, tightening her chest. Her mother might have run off before Bennie saw her fifth birthday, and her father might have died before her tenth. She might have lost her husband, J’Myel, in the war, but she’d always had her grandmother. Mama’s love was boundless and forgiving and warmed a girl’s heart.
“Did you get all your shopping done?” Mama asked as she pulled the leftovers from the refrigerator, then gathered a knife, a cutting board, and a large cast-iron pot. Bennie had once given her a much lighter stainless pot, and Mama had proclaimed it just what she needed before putting it away and continuing to use her cast-iron, even when picking up a full pan required a grunt of effort.
“I bought a few things,” Bennie replied as she wiped down the oilcloth that covered the kitchen table, then began setting it for dinner.
“I finished my Christmas shopping in July.”
“Braggart.”
“If you’d use the Internet, you could’ve finished yours already, too.”
Bennie rolled her eyes, careful not to let Mama see. When the neighbor kid had shown her grandmother how to get online, Bennie had thought it would be a passing curiosity. Then the first purchase had arrived and proven her wrong. Since then, the UPS and FedEx drivers had become Mama’s newest BFFs.
“Aw, you know me. I like to do my shopping in person. I want to touch stuff, see it, smell it.”
Mama made a dismissive gesture with the knife. “I touch it, see it, and smell it when it gets here, and if I don’t like it, I send it right back for something else.”
Bennie wasn’t an avid shopper, not like her friend Jessy, but she enjoyed the experience, especially when the Christmas decorations were up but the holiday was still far enough off that people weren’t yet frantic. It reminded her of her childhood, of trips to Tulsa for the parade, of driving around the neighborhoods looking at extravagant lighting displays and visiting Santa Claus at Utica Square.
It reminded her of different times—not better, just innocent. She hadn’t known about death and loss then. Yes, her mother had abandoned her, but her father and Mama had filled that void. Back when Christmas was still magical, she hadn’t known her father would die. She’d never dreamed that her two best friends in the entire world would grow so far apart. She’d certainly never guessed that she would marry one of them, then lose him before their second anniversary, or that the other wouldn’t even call her to say he was sorry.
Moisture seeped into her eyes. She could handle thinking about J’Myel or Calvin one at a time, but having them both on her mind saddened her. Them losing their bond still seemed impossible, as unlikely as Bennie deciding she no longer loved Mama. It just couldn’t happen.
But it had.
And she’d been oh, so sorry ever since.
Forcing the thoughts and the loss away, she poured two glasses of iced tea, heavily sweetened the way Mama had taught her to like it, then went to her room to slip out of her boots and into a disreputable pair of loafers. Her toes wiggled in relief, her arches reveling in comfort, after a whole day in the heels. She would put herself through a lot to look good in public, but at home, comfort reigned.
By the time she returned to the kitchen, sleet was spitting against the windows, not much, the sort that said Mother Nature hadn’t decided whether she was just playing with them or intended to give them a storm. Every tropic-loving cell in her body hoped for the former while every realistic one prepared to accept the worst.
Mama had filled two steaming bowls with roasted beef, potatoes, carrots, and celery and placed a loaf of warm bread between them on the table. They joined hands and said grace, a short prayer that had survived at least four generations in the Pickering family, then dug into their food. It tasted even better than it had sounded.
They chatted about nothing: the weather, the gifts she’d bought for her friend Ilena’s baby boy, John, the presents they would ship to family back in South Carolina, the Halloween decorations that were spookifying the house before coming down next week. The room was so cozy, the food so comforting, that Bennie was slowly being lulled into lazy, hazy contentment. Then Mama pushed her empty bowl away, folded her arms on the tabletop, and leaned toward Bennie. “I talked to Emmeline Sweet just before you got back.”
So much for contentment. All it took was one mention of Calvin’s family and, poof, the turmoil returned. She tried to hide it, to act casually as she picked up her own empty bowl and carried it, along with Mama’s, to the sink. “How is Miss Emmeline?”
Mama didn’t answer but went straight to the point. “Her grandson’s back in town.”
* * *
Joe Cadore stood in front of the refrigerator, bent at the waist, searching for something worth eating for dinner, and had no more luck than the last two times he’d looked. There was yogurt, protein drinks, eggs, fruit, milk, and cheese—all perfectly fine in their place, but their place was not on a dreary, freezing Saturday night. This was a time for comfort foods like his mom’s homemade macaroni and cheese, or Dad’s chili and jalapeño corn bread, or Grandma’s pasta Bolognese.
This was a time for his neighbor Lucy’s home cooking.
He looked out the window over the kitchen sink and watched the ice where it glistened on tree branches and fence wires. Lucy could have plans that didn’t include a self-invited guest. She could even be on a date. Everyone had grown so used to her single status that when she’d started dating the doctor jerk from Tulsa last summer, none of them was as shocked as she was, not even Joe. Thank God, the doc had hooked up with Avi Grant and moved out of state with her last month.
Just because the doc was gone, though, didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of other guys out there waiting for their shot at Lucy. She’d be the type to meet cute—someone changing a flat for her, helping her out of a tough spot, or reaching for the same loaf of bread she did—and boom.
Joe’s feet had grown cold on the wood floor, and the reflection looking back at him in the window wore a scowl. Grabbing a protein drink and an orange, he returned to the living room, sliding over the back of the couch, landing on the cushions just as his phone rang. What his nieces called his grouchy face disappeared the instant he checked Caller ID, a grin taking its place. “Hey, Luce.”
“Have you had dinner yet?”
He set the fruit and drink on the coffee table. “Nope. I looked in the refrigerator three times, and there was nothing to eat in there.”
“You know, there are times when protein drinks and fruit just don’t make the grade.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She laughed, and he thought it was one of the best sounds in the world. She hadn’t laughed a lot in the beginning, still mourning her husband, trying to figure out how her perfect life had come to such a screeching halt. But eventually the laughs had returned, and the smiles and the grins, and they’d grown a topflight friendship. She was the easiest woman to be with that he’d ever known—the sweetest, funniest, most giving. The time spent with her was the highlight of his life. Well, along with the time spent on the football field. And with his family. But, yeah, Luce definitely ranked in the top three.
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “…beef and cabbage stew and a loaf of peasant bread still warm from the oven, if you want to join me.”
He definitely wanted. But he kept his tone casual. “And all I have to do is…What? Persuade Norton to go out in the sleet and do his business?”
“You think I would bribe you with food to take care of our dog?” she asked sweetly. “Besides, you’re from Alaska. This weather is supposed to be like a mild fall evening to you.”
He snorted as he pulled on the socks and shoes he’d left on the floor earlier. “Ice is cold no matter where you’re from, Luce. Do you need anything?”
“I’m from San Diego, land of warm sandy beaches. I always stock up for times like these, so all I need is you and your appetite. See you in five.”
He hung up, put the drink and orange back in the fridge, then headed for the back door, where his heavy coats hung on a rack. After a minute, he pivoted and went to his room, throwing his T-shirt toward the hamper in one corner, pulling a clean shirt from a hanger, and tugging it on. He sprayed on cologne, then combed his hair.
Back in the kitchen, he slid into a down jacket, a black knit cap bearing the OSU Cowboys logo, gloves, and a scarf before ducking out the back door. The ice on his patio crunched beneath his feet, taking on a different pitch when he reached the grass separating his house from Lucy’s, then another crunch across her patio. Welcoming light shone through the fixture over her door, scattered and prismed by layers of glass.
Norton’s bark was just as welcoming, a loud woof accompanied by frantic scratching. An instant later, Lucy opened the door and Joe gratefully stepped inside.
Her house was laid out just like his, but his never felt like hers. Incredible smells filled the air, there were homey touches everywhere, and he swore the house had a personality all its own. But maybe that was because Lucy had so much personality that it spilled over, filling the space around her.
“Hey, Luce.” He crouched to rub behind the dog’s ears, earning a grunt and a few thumps of tail against cabinet. “You need to go out, buddy?”
Usually, anytime was the right time for Norton to sniff the backyard and renew his own scents, but tonight the dog backed away from him and the doorway, not stopping until his butt hit the opposite wall. There he slid down, chin on his paws, and kept a cautious watch on both Joe and Lucy.
“You know his last encounter with ice wasn’t much fun,” Lucy said as she dished up two bowls of stew.
“Not for him, though as I recall, you got a good laugh from it.” It had been last winter, and Norton had gone bounding out the door, unaware of the two inches of sleet covering everything. When he’d hit it, his feet had slid out from under him and he’d sailed halfway across the yard before an oak tree stopped him. He’d struggled to his feet, peed, and inched his way back to the house, body intact, dignity totally disintegrated.
Joe stripped off his outdoor clothes, tossing them on the kitchen table, then filled two glasses from a pitcher of water with lemon slices floating in it. He carried them to the coffee table, went back for napkins and silverware and a basket filled with thick slices of sweet, yeasty bread. The crust was golden and buttery, dotted with flakes of sea salt and rubbed with roasted garlic. It was in the running for one of his favorite foods ever.
They sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, shoulders bumping as they settled. In all the hundreds of meals he’d eaten here, not once had they ever used the kitchen or dining table. On the couch, on the floor, outside on a pretty day…they always chose best-buds comfort over propriety. It was just one of the things he liked about Lucy.
One of about seventeen million and counting.
Chapter 2
Lucy lay on her side on the sofa, her stomach full, the heavenly tastes of butter, salt, and garlic lingering on her tongue. If she put one more bite in her mouth, she would get that achy, shame-inducing discomfort that she’d become so familiar with in the last seven years, but her brain still followed the rules it had learned when she was a child: After dinner, you offered a guest dessert. “You want dessert?”
Joe lay on the love seat, head resting on his bent arm, legs hanging off the other end. He’d kicked off his size fourteen shoes at some point, and his left big toe poked through a hole in its white cotton sock. She’d suggested to him once that he throw away all his athletic socks that had worn toes or heels, and he’d looked genuinely puzzled because the sock still works fine. “What’ve you got?”
Mike’s reasoning had gone along those lines, which was why she’d tossed out so many ragged jeans and shirts when she’d finally found the courage to clean out his closet.
Feeling the squeeze of her heart that always accompanied thought of Mike, she smiled. “Cupcakes in every flavor you can imagine, coffee cake, or sweet little tarts. Apple, cherry, lemon, or chocolate.” She was already getting to her feet because Joe always liked dessert and had the muscle-to-fat ratio that allowed him to eat it without worrying where the calories went.
She didn’t worry, either. She knew every excess calorie in her body went to her butt and boobage.
Instead of heading toward the kitchen, she went down the hall to the guest bedroom, opening the door carefully so Norton couldn’t push his way inside. The furniture that had filled the room, hand-me-downs from both her and Mike’s grandparents, had been moved into storage in her friend Marti’s garage. Now five-foot-long tables ran the length of the room, with narrow aisles for squeezing through, and every table was filled with luscious, beautiful pastries, secured in clear plastic containers to keep them fresh.
Sugar and butter and flavoring—vanilla, almond, hazelnut—perfumed the air with a sweet, heavy aroma. Six months ago, if she had baked this many desserts, she would have eaten enough of them to make herself sick. Now all it took was a whiff of the scents to give her stomach a queasy tumble.
“Jeez, Luce, you should take pictures,” Joe said over her shoulder.
“For what?”
“Your website. If you’re going to start a business, you’re going to need a website.”
“They are pretty, aren’t they?” she said with satisfaction even as his words—a business—sent flutters through her, both the anticipatory kind and the scared-out-of-her-wits kind. What did she know about starting or running a business? More than she had four weeks ago, she admitted. In the past month, she’d read endlessly, talked to small business owners and small business advisors. At the last three Tuesday night dinners with her best-friend margarita girls, they’d discussed nothing else. Therese’s stepdaughter Abby had even come up with a name that Lucy loved: Prairie Harts. Abby had sketched a logo, too, a spring prairie scene with wildflowers, each of their blossoms heart-shaped.
“What are these for?”
“The singles and seniors Sunday school classes, plus a reception the colonel’s having Monday.”
“Paid or donation?”
“Free to the church. The colonel insisted on paying.” Her boss wouldn’t even accept the discount she’d offered. The reception was official Army business, and if they paid full price to anyone else for catering the sweets, he said, they would pay full price to her. “It’s my first real event.”
Grinning, Joe bumped her shoulder. “It’s official then. Prairie Harts is in business.”
She grinned, too, even as a tiny shiver rippled through her. She pretended she didn’t know where it came from, but of course she did. It was from margarita girl Jessy, who’d innocently suggested last month that Joe deliver a hug and a kiss to Lucy, and from the morning of Mike’s birthday when she hadn’t been able to drag herself out of bed, so Joe had joined her there, offering sweet words of encouragement and a sweeter touch. Holding hands. So simple. So innocent. And exactly what she’d needed.
And since then…She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. Tall, lean, solid, his hair blond, his skin golden, and his eyes the prettiest blue. He was twenty-eight going on sixteen, irreverent, immature, and totally lacking in seriousness except when it came to his beloved football. The high school kids he coached revered him, the students he taught respected him, and women lusted after him. Every one of the margarita girls admired him, even the ones who hated sports.
