skipped a beat. How would she keep up with everything on her own? A wave of panic struck, a silent prayer forming without effort. God, how am I going to meet these demands?
Mom struggled from the chair, arching her back to lift herself. With one hand pressed to her lower back, she crossed the kitchen to cup Beth’s cheek with her free hand. “Honey, don’t sell everyone short because Mitch made a mistake. Being alone is...” She heaved a sigh, her eyes drifting shut for a moment as if reliving something. “Lonely. Don’t cut yourself away from everyone out of fear.”
Beth felt tears sting behind her nose again. She sniffed. “I don’t want to, Mom, but—”
The back door banged open, and Henry Braun entered the kitchen. His nose and ears were red from the cold, his hair stood on end, and he carried in the odors of cold air and gasoline. He bestowed a huge smile on both women. “Well, good evening! My two favorite girls.” He crossed the kitchen and kissed Beth’s cheek and then his wife’s lips.
Beth, watching their kiss of greeting, felt a pang of envy. It must be wonderful to fully belong with someone the way her mother now belonged with Henry. She shoved that thought aside. Belonging to someone meant depending on them. And it meant being let down.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Henry asked Beth as he lifted the lid from the skillet and peeked at the contents.
“If that’s okay.” Beth watched Henry waggle his eyebrows in her mother’s direction, his face creased in a grin. The serious Henry who had shown up unexpectedly at their apartment in Cheyenne fifteen months ago had transformed into a lighthearted, teasing man nearly impossible to resist.
“Perfectly okay.” He slipped the lid in place and rubbed his stomach. “I’ll try to control myself, even though your lovely mother has prepared stir-fry, one of my favorites.”
Mom’s tinkling laughter rang as she shook her head at her husband. Beth wondered if she should creep away now and leave the two of them alone. But Mom turned to her and pointed to the cupboard.
“Would you set the table, Beth? I’ll make sure the rice is done, and then after Mr. Braun here has washed up”—she looked pointedly at Henry’s hands, which he examined with mock dismay—“we can eat.”
Half an hour later, the last of the rice had been scraped onto Henry’s plate, and Beth’s stomach ached from the second portion she hadn’t needed but had eaten anyway. Leaning back in her chair, she took a sip of water and sighed.
“That was really good, Mom. Now I know why it’s one of Henry’s favorites.”
Mom sent a fond smile across the table to her husband. “You know, he puts the title ‘one of my favorites’ on everything I fix, even if it’s just a bologna sandwich.”
Henry grinned. “That’s because no one spreads mayonnaise on a slice of bread like you do—just the right amount to bring out the flavor of the bologna without overpowering it.”
“Oh, Henry.” Mom released an amused snort, shaking her head.
Even Beth had to laugh. Honeymooners. That’s what her parents were. And at their ages! Still, she had to admit it was wonderful to see them so contented. She only wished they didn’t seem so ... complete. Where did that leave her?
Henry swallowed the final bite of rice, wiped his mouth, and fixed Beth with an intent look. “Now, your mother said you have something to discuss with us.”
Beth appreciated the way her stepfather removed all teasing from his tone before addressing her. Never had Henry treated her with anything except respect and kindness, the way she had always wanted a father to treat her. Sometimes she wished she could set aside her inhibitions and accept him as readily as he had accepted her. Yet the remembrance of another father—one she’d never had the opportunity to meet—always reared up, tangling her emotions and distancing her from Henry.
But he was right: She did have something to discuss, and she did
Mom struggled from the chair, arching her back to lift herself. With one hand pressed to her lower back, she crossed the kitchen to cup Beth’s cheek with her free hand. “Honey, don’t sell everyone short because Mitch made a mistake. Being alone is...” She heaved a sigh, her eyes drifting shut for a moment as if reliving something. “Lonely. Don’t cut yourself away from everyone out of fear.”
Beth felt tears sting behind her nose again. She sniffed. “I don’t want to, Mom, but—”
The back door banged open, and Henry Braun entered the kitchen. His nose and ears were red from the cold, his hair stood on end, and he carried in the odors of cold air and gasoline. He bestowed a huge smile on both women. “Well, good evening! My two favorite girls.” He crossed the kitchen and kissed Beth’s cheek and then his wife’s lips.
Beth, watching their kiss of greeting, felt a pang of envy. It must be wonderful to fully belong with someone the way her mother now belonged with Henry. She shoved that thought aside. Belonging to someone meant depending on them. And it meant being let down.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Henry asked Beth as he lifted the lid from the skillet and peeked at the contents.
“If that’s okay.” Beth watched Henry waggle his eyebrows in her mother’s direction, his face creased in a grin. The serious Henry who had shown up unexpectedly at their apartment in Cheyenne fifteen months ago had transformed into a lighthearted, teasing man nearly impossible to resist.
“Perfectly okay.” He slipped the lid in place and rubbed his stomach. “I’ll try to control myself, even though your lovely mother has prepared stir-fry, one of my favorites.”
Mom’s tinkling laughter rang as she shook her head at her husband. Beth wondered if she should creep away now and leave the two of them alone. But Mom turned to her and pointed to the cupboard.
“Would you set the table, Beth? I’ll make sure the rice is done, and then after Mr. Braun here has washed up”—she looked pointedly at Henry’s hands, which he examined with mock dismay—“we can eat.”
Half an hour later, the last of the rice had been scraped onto Henry’s plate, and Beth’s stomach ached from the second portion she hadn’t needed but had eaten anyway. Leaning back in her chair, she took a sip of water and sighed.
“That was really good, Mom. Now I know why it’s one of Henry’s favorites.”
Mom sent a fond smile across the table to her husband. “You know, he puts the title ‘one of my favorites’ on everything I fix, even if it’s just a bologna sandwich.”
Henry grinned. “That’s because no one spreads mayonnaise on a slice of bread like you do—just the right amount to bring out the flavor of the bologna without overpowering it.”
“Oh, Henry.” Mom released an amused snort, shaking her head.
Even Beth had to laugh. Honeymooners. That’s what her parents were. And at their ages! Still, she had to admit it was wonderful to see them so contented. She only wished they didn’t seem so ... complete. Where did that leave her?
Henry swallowed the final bite of rice, wiped his mouth, and fixed Beth with an intent look. “Now, your mother said you have something to discuss with us.”
Beth appreciated the way her stepfather removed all teasing from his tone before addressing her. Never had Henry treated her with anything except respect and kindness, the way she had always wanted a father to treat her. Sometimes she wished she could set aside her inhibitions and accept him as readily as he had accepted her. Yet the remembrance of another father—one she’d never had the opportunity to meet—always reared up, tangling her emotions and distancing her from Henry.
But he was right: She did have something to discuss, and she did
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