Your Dream and Mine (10 page)

“Out of here,” he said.

Winny’s face clouded. “That’s what Fred says. Outta here. Beat it.”

“Who’s Fred?”

“Mama’s boyfriend.”

“O-o-h-h-h.” Thomasina wrapped her arms around Winny and drew her in.

Looking on, Trace reasoned that it was not she, rather than Winny, who was breakable. That she had not gone pale, that it was only shadows winking through the carpenter’s lace. But he caught his breath, waiting for her to let Winny go. Her eyes met his over the top of Winny’s head, then shied away again. But not before he saw dampness on her lashes.

Uncertain what to make of a woman that soft, Trace went inside, ate a microwave dinner, showered and donned his work uniform. He picked up his keys and went out again.

Thomasina was alone in the porch swing. She had a Bible in her lap and a soft-drink can in her hand. Her lips were pursed on a plastic straw. She swung one bare foot. The other was tucked beneath her. She didn’t look like she was going anywhere.

“Don’t you work tonight?” Trace asked.

“No. Mary called a while ago. Her daughter, Deanna, is going to be here all week. Her other daughter is coming, too. She thinks it’s a good time to see if Milt can get along without a night nurse.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

“I’ll miss them, of course. But I’m delighted Milt’s doing better.” Thomasina smiled. “I thought I’d run out to the farm in a while, just to say goodbye.”

“Be sure and give Milt a hard time for firing you. He’ll be disappointed if you don’t,” said Trace.

“I thought as much.” Thomasina smiled. “I called my supervisor and got a new patient, starting tomorrow. Tentatively, anyway. Days, no less. The timing is great. Vacation Bible School starts this evening at my home church and here I am, free to help.”

Trace’s eye tracked a bead of sweat as it trickled down her neck. “Help how?”

“Storytelling, I hope.” She unfolded her tucked leg. A paperback book slid out her open Bible and landed on her pink-tipped toes.

Trace stooped, reaching for it.

“I’ll get it,” said Thomasina ducking at the same moment.

Trace beat her to it. He flipped the book over and looked at the cover. It pictured a man and woman embracing. “What’s this?”

“Mine,” she said, and reached for it.

He grinned, holding the book aloft. “My, my. Vacation Bible School curriculum has changed since my day. What happened to Noah and the lions?”

“That was Daniel,” she said, and rose on tiptoe, trying to reach her paperback.

“Doesn’t look like Daniel. David and Jezebel, maybe, but…”

“You’re thinking of Bathsheba. Give me my book.”

“I’m not sure you should be reading it, let alone teaching it to kids.”

“It’s a good story and I’m not teaching it to anyone. Now give it back before I have to call the book police.”

“The book police? They’ll book you for sure.” He laughed and fended off her reaching hand. “Hiding it inside a Bible, no less. Ever hear of brown paper bags?”

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was…Oh, what am I defending myself to you for, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Why are you?” He laughed and gave her her book. “I’ll be expecting a report on it.”

“That’s not likely,” she said.

“Then you’ll be picking up the dinner ticket. Seven Gardens. Saturday night. That’s the deal.”

“You and your deals.” She rolled her brown eyes, a delightful mix of laughter, shine and girlish intrigue.

“Seven good with you?”

“Fine.”

As Trace pulled out of his drive a few minutes later, he turned up the radio on the way to town. A country song was playing, something about thirty-something, single and all the good ones being gone.

A week ago he would have agreed. Now he wasn’t so sure.

T
homasina phoned the director of Vacation Bible School and offered her help. Then she rang Antoinette and invited the children to go with her that evening. Late in the afternoon, Antoinette showed up at her door with the children.

Thomasina smiled into the children’s eager faces as they talked over one another, eager to tell her they were going to VBS. “How is your father, Antoinette?”

“The doctor plans to run some tests. He’ll be in the hospital a few more days,” said Antoinette. “About tonight—my boyfriend, Fred, says he’ll keep the kids if you don’t mind dropping them off at his place after VBS.”

“Would it be easier for you if I brought them back to my house?” asked Thomasina. “They’d be welcome to sleep here.”

Looking from the children’s pleading face to Thomasina, Antoinette squared her slim shoulders. “How much do you charge for baby-sitting?”

“It would be fun for me. I don’t want anything.”

Antoinette’s chin came up. Her dangling earrings caught
in her tangle of Orphan Annie curls as she shook her head. “I can’t let you do it for nothing.”

“All right then,” said Thomasina, anxious not to offend. “Whatever is customary will be fine.”

Antoinette nodded, then stooped down and kissed both children. “You be good for Thomasina. If I go now, I’ve still got time for a quick visit with Dad at the hospital. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The children enjoyed driving out to the farm with Thomasina. Mary took them under her wing with cookies and milk while Thomasina visited with Deanna, and gave her pointers in case a medical emergency should arise with Milt.

Later, as she was telling Milt goodbye, she urged, “Feel free to call me if you need anything.”

“You’re off the payroll,” he teased. “Hadn’t you heard?”

“I know. You finally got your way, didn’t you?” Smiling, Thomasina hugged him and added, “But you’re still my favorite case.”

“Ditto, Rose Lips,” he growled, and sent her on her way.

The following days were busy. Between a new case, evening VBS and keeping the children nights, Thomasina saw nothing at all of Trace. She spoke to Mary midweek by phone, but the farm wasn’t mentioned and she didn’t ask. Trace didn’t know of her competing interest yet, and she didn’t want him to learn of it through the grapevine. Why hadn’t she told him when they walked in the pine trees? Procrastination, that’s why. And look where it got her. Now she felt guilty, as if she’d deliberately set out to keep it from him. No more hedging. Saturday, at dinner, she would tell him.

On Thursday, Thomasina phoned Ricky to say that her grass needed mowing. He promised to drive down Friday and cut it. That meant making arrangements with Trace, as she had no key to the carriage house. Thomasina slid a note under his door Thursday evening.

The next morning, Antoinette had no more than picked up the children than there was a knock at Thomasina’s door.

Supposing they’d left something behind, Thomasina dashed down the stairs, toothbrush in hand, hot rollers in her hair. Pauly’s tattered blanket was tangled up with the throw on the sofa. Thomasina grabbed it on her way past. The lock on the front door had been giving her trouble all week. She draped the blanket over her shoulder and jabbed the toothbrush in her mouth, freeing both hands to work the lock.

“This stubborn door! Just a second. I’m getting it.” She slurred words around the toothbrush, then swung the door wide.

Trace stood in his stocking feet, the newspaper in hand. “What’s wrong with the door?”

“Oops! I thought you were Pauly!” Thomasina popped the toothbrush behind her back.

“He’s the blond guy,” said Trace. “About yea tall.”

“It’s coming back now.” She returned Trace’s grin as he measured the distance with his hand, palm down. “And you would be…?”

“The tooth fairy, making house calls. Brushing, eh? You get a gold star.”

“I’ll hang it right next to my security blanket, here.” Flushed with laughter, Thomasina dangled Pauly’s tattered blanket from her closed fist.

Trace resisted the urge to wipe away the toothpaste bubbling at the corner of her mouth. He tucked the paper under
his arm, and braced one hand against the doorjamb. “I got your note about Ricky.”

“He’s supposed to come this morning,” said Thomasina, nodding. “Come on in. Would you like some coffee?”

“What have you got to go with it?”

“Nothing chocolate,” she said, and wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”

She was the chocoholic, not him. Trace refrained from saying so, and trailed her through the living room to the kitchen. Her refrigerator art bore Winny and Pauly’s skygoggle signatures. There were three cereal bowls and three glasses at the table, all of them empty.

“What, no porridge? Did Goldilocks beat me to breakfast?”

“Pauly and Winny.” She swung the cupboard door open and reached for a cup. “I’ve been keeping them nights while Antoinette’s at work.”

Trace crossed his arms and shook his head. “You’re a pushover, Tommy Rose.”

“Not at all. It’s a business arrangement. Antoinette’s paying me.” Thomasina handed him the mug and waved him toward the coffeepot. “Make yourself at home while I fix my hair.”

Trace poured coffee, and sat down at the table across from her open Bible. Today there was no romance novel tucked inside. He read the front page of the paper and was turning to the sports section when Thomasina returned, all puffed and powdered. A gold locket and matching earrings relieved the starkness of a fitted white uniform.

“How’d your romance turn out?”

She blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“Novel,” he amended.

“Oh,
that!
I’m saving it for dinner conversation, remember?” she said.

“You aren’t going to embarrass me, are you?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

Trace laughed and spooned more sugar into his coffee. “Do you have Ricky’s phone number? If he wants to come early, I could use him over at the house while he’s waiting for the dew to burn off.”

“Doing carpenter stuff? I doubt he knows how.”

“All I really need is an extra pair of hands.”

“Now I feel guilty.” Thomasina glanced up from jotting down Ricky’s number. “You were so nice about helping me move. You need help, and I’m on days. Hardly seems fair.”

“If it’d ease your conscience, I’ve got a sink full of dishes and a pile of laundry needing attention.”

“Not
that
guilty.”

“Ah, the good life!” he teased.

Thomasina laughed. She jotted out Ricky’s phone number and glanced at the wall clock as she passed the number to him. “Seven already! I have to dash.”

“You’re turning me out without a second cup of coffee?”

“Sorry. But duty calls.” She stopped and turned back. “I’ll pour you one to go, if you’d like!”

“Just for that, I’ll work on your door,” he said. “What seems to be the problem?”

“If I knew that, I’d fix it.”

Trace chuckled. “Never mind. I’ll check it out,” he said, and paused on the threshold between kitchen and living room as she came to him with a full cup of coffee. He stretched an arm across the door, blocking her path.

Thomasina gave up his cup and flashed a questioning smile. He didn’t respond accordingly. Or move his arm. Running out of time, she ducked under.

“No fair, Tommy Rose.”

The quiet way he spoke her name brought blood to her face. She turned to see the same exposed expression in his eyes she’d seen in the woods on Saturday when he spoke of his hopes for Milt’s farm.

“What is it?” she said, breath quickening.

“Nothing. Just looking forward to tomorrow night.”

Soft surprise parted her lips. He was surprised, too. He hadn’t meant to say it in words. Just to touch her, and reassure himself that he hadn’t imagined the attraction was mutual. Her eyes melted like fudge, but her voice was firm and practical. “I don’t get off until five-thirty.”

“That’s going to be tight for you, isn’t it?” he said. “Would eight o’clock be better?”

“We’ll starve by then,” she said, and smiled. “I’ll stay in town, and meet you at Seven Gardens.”

“At seven?”

She nodded and went on her way, in a seventh heaven glow.

Thomasina was dressed, her hair pinned in a loose chignon, and waiting when Antoinette came to pick the children up at six on Saturday morning.

“The kids enjoyed VBS.” Antoinette lingered in the entry way as the children ambled out onto the porch. “Thanks for taking them. And for keeping them this week. Dad’s home now. He’ll take over again, starting Monday.”

“What about tonight?”

“I thought you had a date with Trace.”

“I do.”

“Then Fred will manage.”

“You’re leaving them with him?” blurted Thomasina.

“I don’t have a lot of options,” Antoinette replied.

“I was thinking of the children.”

“Like I don’t?”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Thomasina, alarmed to see the other woman’s eyes flash.

“So what gives?” demanded Antoinette, her voice high. “Have you been listening to the old windbags at the store. Is that it? You think I don’t know what they say about me? The merry widow! As if it’s a big joke, my trying to raise two kids on my own!”

“I’m sorry. What I meant to say was—”

“You’re not listening!” interrupted Antoinette. “I appreciate your being nice to the kids. But that doesn’t give you the right to tell me who I should and shouldn’t leave them with.”

It would be so easy to back down and smooth her ruffled feathers. But at what cost? Gently Thomasina said, “It’s not a question of telling. It’s a question of asking. Ask the kids. That’s all I’m saying. Ask them how they feel about Fred. Please? I’m only trying to help.”

“Yeah? Well, who died and made you queen?” Antoinette flounced out the door and snapped at the children to get in the car.

Startled into swift obedience, Winny and Pauly spilled out of the swing and raced across the yard. Pauly stopped at the car and looked back at Thomasina. His eyes made her think of a war orphan. But Winny tossed her head just like her mother.

Heart twisting, Thomasina retreated inside only to find her door had closed behind her. Locked out. She sagged against the door just as Trace’s door opened.

Thomasina’s watery eyes met his blue gaze, then fell away. “I’ve locked myself out. Do you have an extra key?”

“Someplace.”

“Would you look, please?” she said, and turned her
back. “I need to grab my things. I’m going to be late for work.”

“What’s the matter, Tommy?”

“Feeling stupid is all.”

“What’s that feel like exactly?” he cajoled, and tried to turn her around.

She shrugged his hand off her arm. “Just get the key, okay?”

It was quiet. Thinking he’d gone, Thomasina lifted her hand to wipe away gathering tears.

“You and Antoinette have a fight?” he said from behind her.

Thomasina jumped. Face burning, she kept her back to him.

Into her silence, he added, “Let me guess—something to do with the kids?” He sighed and said, “I wouldn’t take it too much to heart. I told you—Antoinette’s a hothead.”

“It isn’t her anger so much as…they’re just kids,” said Thomasina, fresh tears rising.

“They’re her responsibility.”

“That’s pretty much what she said.”

“Then let it go,” he reasoned.

Thomasina rested her hot forehead against the locked door, haunted by demons from the past. She blinked back tears and turned to ask, “Would you want to stay with someone who says ‘Get out of here’?”

“Oh,
that,
” he said, remembering.

“Does it seem right to you?”

“It’s got nothing to do with me, or you, either.”

“Of course it does!”

“No it doesn’t,” he reasoned. “They’re
her
kids.”

“They’re God’s, too.”

“Then let Him look after them.”

“He uses human hands.”

“Yours, I suppose,” Trace sighed. “Tommy, when you take that line, you hang your heart out there and give the world license to whack it.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” Trace slipped closer, so close his breath stirred her hair. “You’re too soft for your own good.”

“It isn’t softness.”

“Then what is it?”

Humiliated by her frailties, not the least of which was a growing weakness for him, she muttered, “Forget it.”

“Now wait a second. We’re into it, we may as well think it through,” he reasoned. “Do you know the boyfriend?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Then what makes you think he’s a loser?”

“I didn’t say he was a loser. But the kids…they trust me and…” Her words trailed off. “I was just t-trying to help.”

“Some things are beyond help. You’ve just got to let go, and trust…well, you know.”

She turned and tipped her damp face. “God?”

Trace’s nod was abrupt. Grudging, even, as if he’d shot holes in his own argument. He turned and walked out on the front porch. The pain of disappointment in her reckless tongue found relief in the discovery he was more than he seemed.

They trust me.

Trust
God.

Thomasina warmed herself at that unexpected spark of faith. Let it reprove and teach and remind her that trusting God was the first line of defense. Had she taken it? Or had she been trying to help Pauly and Winny in her own strength?

Thomasina shifted out of the door as Trace came back
with the morning paper, and caught her hand in his. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

He let her go, leaving it up to her. Thomasina followed him into his apartment. He gathered a stadium blanket off the sofa, tossed it toward the nearest chair and fumbled in the cushions for the remote. The TV went dead.

“Antoinette’s had a rough time, I won’t deny it. But she’s stiff-necked, Tommy. She always has been and that makes her hard to help because she won’t listen to anyone. She’ll take your help as long as it comes
her
way,” he said, and motioned for her to have a seat. “I can tell you where it’s going to lead if you play by her rules. You’ll be spending more time with those kids than she does, and she’ll think she’s doing you the favor.”

“I don’t mind. I like children. I want to have a camp someday for…”