Like Dandelion Dust

  “Hula hoop.” Beth caught both kids by the shoulders and stooped down to their level. She looked at Cammie. “And yes, you do have to share. That’s what Jesus wants us to do, and it’s the right thing.” Beth thought she saw Jack shoot a look to Molly. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t change the way she raised her kids just because Molly and Jack would be around more often. She leveled a smile at Cammie again and then at Jonah. “Besides, look who’s here!”

  The kids lifted their eyes and Jonah’s face lit up. “Joey!”

  “Why don’t the three of you go out front and play? George Brett’s out there and I think a few kick balls, too. You can take turns.” She glanced at Molly. “I love the fence out front. Makes it so safe.”

  Before Beth could add that now would be a good time for Jack to join Bill out back at the barbecue, Jack eased Joey to the floor and took his hand. “I’ll go, too.” He gave the women a lopsided grin. “I was hula-hoop champ in fourth grade.” He pointed at Molly. “Bet you didn’t know that.”

  “Wow,” Molly flashed flirty eyes at her husband. “Such a talented man I married.”

  “That’s right.” His look back at her was just short of suggestive. “Don’t forget it.”

  Beth watched, amazed. Molly and Jack had been married almost ten years. Shouldn’t the teasing and flirting have worn off by now? Maybe that’s what she and Bill needed. More of whatever it was that came so easily to Molly and Jack.

  Silence filled the kitchen as the group tromped off, Cammie still clinging to her prized toy. Molly stood, found a plastic tumbler and poured herself some water. “It’s a hot one out there.” She looked out the window at the sky overhead. “Looks like summer’s here.”

  “I know.” Beth pulled the vegetable tray from the refrigerator and peeled back the plastic wrap. “It’s okay for the kids to be outside, right? I mean, it’s not too humid?”

  Molly laughed and the sound lightened Beth’s mood. “This is nothing. Wait ’til August and we’ll talk about whether it’s safe to play outside.”

  “Right.” Beth laughed, too, but it sounded forced. Why was it so hard for her to find that natural sister rhythm with Molly? Come on, she told herself. Molly’s right. Lighten up. She popped a cucumber slice in her mouth and looked out the window. Bill was flipping burgers, not even aware that Molly and Jack and Joey had arrived. She turned back to Molly and crossed her arms. “Bill’s adjusting at work.”

  “I figured.” Molly took a baby carrot and dipped it into the ranch dressing at the center of the tray. “The guy’s a brainiac.” She finished the carrot. “Everything else falling into place?”

  “Yep.” Beth took another cucumber slice. “Took care of updating our driver’s licenses and applied for new voter’s registration cards.”

  Molly shook her head. A thoughtful smile played at the corners of her lips. “You never quit, do you?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning the licenses and the voter cards.” She waved her hand in the air. “The unpacking thing, the organizing thing.” A chuckle filled her throat. “Aren’t there days you just want to go to the clubhouse and sit by the pool?”

  “Well,” Beth poured herself a cup of water and looked at her sister. “I guess I figure there’ll be time for that.” The clubhouse was five doors down, one of the benefits of buying in Ashley Heights. Other than a quick look around, Beth and Bill and the kids hadn’t spent any real time there.

  Molly took her place on the barstool again and let her shoulders slump a little. “Sorry we couldn’t make church.”

  Beth worked to keep her tone even. “Maybe in a few weeks.” She lifted her chin and met her sister’s eyes, unblinking. “Sorry we couldn’t make boating.”

  Molly smiled. “It was nice. This is my favorite time on the water. Maybe you can join us next Saturday.”

  “We’d like that.” Beth felt it. Molly was trying. “Bill’s never spent much time on the ocean.” She giggled. “Might be fun to see him get a little green around the edges.”

  “Beth . . .” Molly snickered. “Be nice.”

  “I am.” She ran her fingers through her bangs. “I guess we both need to lighten up a little.”

  “Right. Maybe.” Molly angled her head. “Hey, what church is it again? Where you went this morning?”

  “Bethel Bible. A mile from here.” She hesitated, not sure how much to say. “We tried the Wednesday night group and—”

  “Loved it.” Molly reached for another carrot. “Right?”

  Beth lowered her chin. “Why do I sense sarcasm?”

  “Beth . . .” Molly was on her feet, her tone apologetic. She came close and slipped her arms around Beth’s neck. “I’m sorry.” She wrinkled her nose in the cutesy way she’d done since she was five. “I could never be you; that’s all.” Her mouth curved up into a sweet smile. “Come on, don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not.” Beth removed Molly’s arms from around her neck. “I have to get dinner going.” Even now when things didn’t feel quite right between them, Molly was lighthearted. Like she’d spent the previous four hours at a spa and nothing could possibly ruffle her. It didn’t make sense. Molly was the one who needed God. If anyone should’ve been at ease, it was Beth and Bill and their kids.

  Instead, even George Brett was uptight.

  Molly returned to the barstool. She sipped her water and peered at Beth over the edge of her cup. After a long drink she set the cup down. “Well? Am I right?”

  “About what?”

  “The Wednesday night meeting—the church?” She rested her elbows on the counter. “You loved it, right?”

  “Fine.” Beth tried to hold it in, but she couldn’t. A quick burst of giggles came from her lips and she blew at a wisp of her bangs. She could never stay mad at Molly. Never. “Yes. It was perfect. All of it.” She exhaled and felt the tension between them lift. “Maybe this Wednesday you and Jack and Joey could—”

  Molly held up her hand, though her smile remained. “Stop.”

  Beth hung her head for a moment. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes found Molly’s. “It’s just . . . the Wednesday program is so good for kids and . . .”

  “I have friends there.” Molly took another carrot. “It’s a good church, Beth. I’m just not ready to go.” She popped the carrot into her mouth as if to punctuate her statement. As she chewed, she grinned and when she swallowed she held out both hands, palms up. “I love you. Can’t we agree to disagree on that one area?”

  The dream—the one Beth had always nurtured—had the two sisters living in the same city and the same neighborhood, but also taking their kids to the same church, sharing in the same Sunday afternoon potluck suppers. Sharing the same faith, the same purpose for getting up in the morning. If Molly wasn’t ready for that, well then at least they were neighbors, close enough for days like this.

  Beth grinned. She parted her lips and pretended to bite her tongue—the sign the two sisters had always used to signal that, whatever the discussion, it wasn’t worth fighting over. They both laughed, and Beth looked past the silliness to the deep layers of Molly’s heart. “Yes. We can agree to disagree.”

  They heard the patio door again and Bill came in, both hands covered with oversized oven mitts. He grinned at Molly. “Barely off the moving van and already Beth has me at the barbecue grill.”

  “I see that.” Molly slipped off the stool, walked to Bill and gave him a quick hug. “The oven mitts and everything.” She patted Beth on the shoulder. “When I moved here, it was two months before I found my oven mitts.”

  Beth opened the refrigerator and pulled out the tray of meat patties. “Okay, so I mark the boxes.” She handed the tray to Bill. “How hard is that?”

  “That’s my Beth.” Bill gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t let your sister tease you, honey. I wouldn’t change a thing.” He stopped and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Jack and Joey?”

  Beth jumped in. “Out front.” She kept the concern from her voice. “Jack’s keepi
ng an eye on the kids.”

  “Oh.” Bill raised the tray of meat a few inches and gave the two of them a quick shrug. “Guess I’m on my own, then.”

  The women watched him go, and Beth let her gaze fall to the floor. When she looked up, Molly was watching her. “Bill sees through it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Molly frowned. Her expression held no excuses. “We have to give the guys time.”

  It was a thought that hung over the entire evening. Jack kept himself busy with the kids, even leaving the dinner table early to get refills of strawberry Kool-Aid. When it was just Molly and Beth and Bill at the table, Molly tried to cover up for her husband, gushing about how he was such a hands-on dad, and how he rarely took time to sit and listen to anyone, even her.

  “He loves that boy, I tell you.” She found a bit of laughter. Then she looked at Bill and folded her hands beneath her chin. “Hey, Beth tells me the two of you like your new church.”

  Bill set his burger down and dabbed a blob of ketchup off the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. We do.”

  “It’s active, that’s for sure.” Beth didn’t want to push, but since Molly asked . . .

  Bill lifted his hamburger bun and slipped a few potato chips on top of the cooked meat. “I was on their Web site last night. They have a summer adventure program, family activities almost every day for three weeks straight, mission trips and work trips. . . .” He took another bite of his burger and raised his brow.

  “Really?” Beth glanced at Molly. She was picking the sesame seeds from the top of her bun. “I’m not so sure about those trips. So much can go wrong.”

  “Like what?” Bill was ready to take a bite of his burger, but he froze. “I thought it sounded like fun.”

  “Fun? Parasites and malaria and terrorists and violent street gangs?” There was enough to worry about right here in West Palm Beach. Beth shook her head. “No mission trips.”

  “Well . . . maybe you could think about it.” Bill worked his napkin over his mouth again. “They’re taking a work trip to Haiti at the end of summer. It’s for families—even young kids.” Bill set his burger down. “That sort of thing could be life-changing.”

  “In more ways than one.” Beth stirred her fork through her fruit salad.

  The conversation fell flat for a few seconds. Bill leaned back in his seat and looked at Molly. “Did Jack get enough to eat?”

  “I think so. You know Jack.” She gave another nervous laugh. “Can’t sit still for fifteen minutes. Last time we went somewhere with Joey he was up pitching balls before . . .”

  She ran on about Joey and baseball for another minute, but Beth stopped listening. Molly’s excuses for Jack were limitless. No matter how much she tried to explain the situation, the truth was painfully obvious. Jack was uncomfortable around them, uneasy with their faith. Maybe worried that Beth and Bill would try to convert him. Whatever it was, it left a tension denser than the pound cake she served for dessert.

  That night before they turned in, Beth had to wonder. The last thing she wanted was a strained relationship with her sister. When Molly lived across the country, the two sisters shared weekly phone calls and got along great. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea that they spend every weekend getting their families together.

  The smell of cinnamon floated up to their bedroom, but any ambiance it might’ve created was lost. Bill was already snoring. Beth closed her eyes. God, what about my sister? She needs You, but I don’t know. Maybe I’m not the one to help her. Show me, God . . . please. Even as her quick prayer came to an end, she had the sinking feeling they were headed for trouble. With the tension that had plagued her sister’s visit that afternoon, not only were weekly visits likely to be a bad idea.

  But maybe it would’ve been better if she and her family had never moved to Florida at all.

  Chapter Four

  Wendy Porter was stirring the scrambled eggs when Rip came up behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist. She squirmed and clicked off the heat beneath the frying pan. “Rip . . .” The frozen sausages were already heated in the microwave, the orange juice poured, toast buttered and on the table. She turned and faced him. “Mmmm.” He was fresh from the shower, clean shaven. “You smell nice.”

  “Right back at ya.” He nuzzled her neck. “Last night was amazing.” He left a trail of kisses along her collarbone and then straightened to his full height. He wasn’t a tall man—five-ten on a good day. But she was just over five feet in her slippers, and he towered over her. The look in his eyes made her knees tremble. “Talk about your welcome-home parties.”

  “Rip . . . you’re getting me flustered.” She smiled and sidestepped him. The heat in her face was from more than the stove. No matter how charming he was, no matter how much he wanted the celebration to continue, they needed to talk. If he heard about the boy from Brent or Bubba, Rip would never forgive her. She took the glasses of juice to the table. “Thought you’d like a real breakfast on your first morning out.”

  “That’s my baby. The perfect homemaker.” He grabbed the frying pan and scraped the eggs into an empty serving dish. “Can’t believe I still know my way around the place.”

  Wendy looked back at the frying pan. Images of other men she’d entertained in this very kitchen flashed in her mind. If Rip found out about them, there’d be no reasoning with him. She already planned to deny any talk of cheating. But the boy . . .

  Rip was saying something, and she tried to focus. “. . . when I woke up, and sure enough—I checked the classifieds first thing, and there it was! Manager Wanted, Cleveland Regal Cinemas!” He slid his chair up to the table and raised his hands. “Everything’s falling into place.”

  Manager of a movie house? Rip had never held any manager jobs before, and him just out of prison? Wendy tried not to let her doubt show. It was possible, right? With Rip’s charm and all? She smiled. “That’s wonderful, Rip.” She took a sip of orange juice. “You can call about it after breakfast.”

  “That wasn’t the only one.” He took a large scoop of eggs and slapped it on his plate. “They got a whole list of jobs in auto work. Right up my alley, and . . .”

  Wendy stopped paying attention. She took some eggs, but after one bite she lost her appetite. In half a day she’d learned much about her husband’s transformation. He’d found religion, or so he said, gotten himself into some sort of counseling, and taken classes for something the prison people called “rage management.”

  The training was about to be tested.

  “Rip . . .” She looked up and met his eyes. His mouth hung open and he looked surprised. He was probably still talking. “Oh . . . sorry.” She set her fork down. Her hand was shaking. “Go ahead.”

  Rip hesitated. “That’s okay, baby.” He flashed a quick grin. “Must be important.” He set down his piece of toast. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Well,” she remembered to smile, but she could feel it stop far short of her eyes. She breathed out. Her stomach hurt. It felt like someone was turning a wrench on her insides, making them tighter with every tick of the clock. “There’s something you need to know.” Her voice grew soft, timid. “Something I wanted to tell you first thing when you got out.”

  Rip grew stone-still. His smile was still stuck on his face, but his eyes changed. Fear and curiosity, the hint of anger, and then a deliberate patience. Each emotion took turns with him. Even so, the only obvious sign that something wasn’t right was the way he held his glass of juice. He was squeezing it so tight his knuckles were white. Same way they were whenever Rip was about to hurl something across the room. “You, uh,” he gave a short laugh and set his juice glass down. “You cheatin’ on me, Wendy?”

  “No! Rip it’s nothing like that, nothing at all.” She stumbled over her words. “There’s no one else, I promise.” Not for six months, anyway. She swallowed. He hadn’t asked her to go on, but she had no choice. “That’s not it.” She picked up her fork and poked her sausage. Her eyes stayed on his. “Remember back when
you first got sent away?”

  “Yeah. Worst day of my life.” Rip looked more relaxed. She wasn’t seeing someone else, so what was there to worry about, right? He took another swig of juice. “What about it?”

  “Okay, well—” She set her fork down again. Why was the room so stuffy? She stood, crossed the kitchen and slid open the window over the sink. “There. That’s better.” A few steps and she was back at the table.

  Rip was taking another piece of toast from the serving plate. He took a bite and started to chew. “So what about it?” He chuckled. “Used to be I couldn’t shut ya up. Now what—cat got your tongue?”

  Wendy pressed her fists against her middle. Anything to ease the tightness there. “A few weeks after you left, I was late.” She looked at him, waiting for him to understand.

  “Late?” Rip slapped a forkful of eggs onto his toast, folded it over, and shoved half of it into his mouth. “Late for what?”

  “Rip . . .” Her tone sounded painful now. He wasn’t making this any easier. “My period was late.”

  Rip kept chewing, but his motions grew slower. “Meaning what?”

  “Well . . .” She exhaled hard and covered her face with her hands. When she looked up, she shook her head. How could she have waited this long to tell him? “I took a test. . . . I was pregnant.”

  For a moment, time seemed to stop. Rip stared at her, unblinking. “What?”

  “I was pregnant, Rip.” She lifted her hands and let them fall to the table. “You got me pregnant right before you left. I had a baby boy.” Her voice fell off. “Eight months later.”

  “A boy?” Again Rip released a sound that was part laugh, part confusion. “You’re keeping a kid from me?” He glanced around the kitchen and peered beneath the table. “So where is he?”

  Wendy moaned. Her head fell back a few inches. You can do this. . . . Finish, already. She looked at Rip. “I gave him up. To a family in Florida.”

  Rip dropped his piece of toast. The eggs that had balanced there splattered to the floor. “You what?”