Hope turned out to pay their respects to his father. Everyone from the mayor to the Story sisters’ brother, Ray, their trash man, stopped by the head table to speak their praise for the Reverend Harper. If these folks loved the guy so much, why didn’t they say so when he was alive? David’s soul recoiled. Unwilling to absorb any more, the offended spirit slipped back into the hollow place in David’s chest.
David swirled the curling meat in liquid Jell-O, creating a tidal wave that turned the scalloped potatoes green. How many meals had he eaten in this cavernous room? Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. And they all tasted the same, whether the menu was ham, fried chicken, or finger foods.
He watched his grandmother daintily picking through a helping of crusty green bean casserole. Roberta Worthington was a woman who didn’t have to depend upon the leftovers from a church potluck to tide her family over for the next week. David scooted his chair back from the table. Once he was bringing down the big bucks, he’d never eat potluck again. He excused himself and headed for the dessert counter.
Bette Bob McDonald smiled from the other side of the table laden with pies and cakes, wiping her hands on the checked apron covering her from neck to knee. “How about some of my famous bread pudding?”
“Sure.” David didn’t recognize the petite blonde standing beside Mrs. McDonald and dragging a knife through a pan of nutty fudge.
“David, we sure are going to miss Reverend Harper.” Bette Bob scooped a mound of vanilla ice cream and heaped it upon a bowl of the steaming delicacy. “If I recall correctly, you pick out the raisins and only eat the ice cream.” She winked at David.
“Have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on you, Mrs. McDonald.” David realized he had instinctively handled his irritation the way Momma had taught him. Paste on the perfect-preacher’s-kid smile, keep the voice respectful, but the gaze direct. That he had resorted to this trick of the trade chafed him. He was a grown man, for Pete’s sake.
“Aunt Bette, where do you want these?” The curvy candy assistant pointed at the squares of chocolate she’d placed on plates. She smiled at David.
An impish grin spread across Mrs. McDonald’s face. “David, why don’t you show my niece how we serve dessert around here?”
“Your niece?” David ignored the creamy rivulet trickling over the edge of Bette Bob’s bowl of warm pudding.
“Amy’s my youngest sister’s girl. Been living with us since she got a job at Mt. Hope’s little hospital.”
David felt the collar of his white dress shirt tighten as the azure blue eyes examined him. “Are you a doctor?”
“A nurse.” Amy’s perfect smile warmed the fellowship hall to an uncomfortable temperature.
“His sister’s almost a doctor.” Bette Bob’s face looked like she had just solved the mystery of gravity or something equally daunting. “Amy, with your medical background you’d fit right in the Harper family.” Bette Bob smiled, waving a sticky hand in front of her niece as if she were presenting the prize behind door number one on Let’s Make a Deal . “David, why don’t you give this single young lady a little assistance?” She thrust the bowl into David’s hand, along with a plate of fudge.
Juggling chocolate, David’s blood boiled, which seemed to increase the drip rate of the melting ice cream. He led the attractive blonde to the dessert station. If he was a grown man, why had he allowed himself to be pushed around like a kid? “Just put them there.”
Amy slid the plates into place. “Sorry about my aunt. She means well.”
David wasn’t sure what angered him more, the becoming pink blush on Amy’s high cheekbones or being backed into another awkward corner by a meddlesome parishioner. He’d had a bellyful of mystery-meat casseroles, well-intentioned matchmakers, and people making it their business whether or not he ate his
David swirled the curling meat in liquid Jell-O, creating a tidal wave that turned the scalloped potatoes green. How many meals had he eaten in this cavernous room? Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. And they all tasted the same, whether the menu was ham, fried chicken, or finger foods.
He watched his grandmother daintily picking through a helping of crusty green bean casserole. Roberta Worthington was a woman who didn’t have to depend upon the leftovers from a church potluck to tide her family over for the next week. David scooted his chair back from the table. Once he was bringing down the big bucks, he’d never eat potluck again. He excused himself and headed for the dessert counter.
Bette Bob McDonald smiled from the other side of the table laden with pies and cakes, wiping her hands on the checked apron covering her from neck to knee. “How about some of my famous bread pudding?”
“Sure.” David didn’t recognize the petite blonde standing beside Mrs. McDonald and dragging a knife through a pan of nutty fudge.
“David, we sure are going to miss Reverend Harper.” Bette Bob scooped a mound of vanilla ice cream and heaped it upon a bowl of the steaming delicacy. “If I recall correctly, you pick out the raisins and only eat the ice cream.” She winked at David.
“Have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on you, Mrs. McDonald.” David realized he had instinctively handled his irritation the way Momma had taught him. Paste on the perfect-preacher’s-kid smile, keep the voice respectful, but the gaze direct. That he had resorted to this trick of the trade chafed him. He was a grown man, for Pete’s sake.
“Aunt Bette, where do you want these?” The curvy candy assistant pointed at the squares of chocolate she’d placed on plates. She smiled at David.
An impish grin spread across Mrs. McDonald’s face. “David, why don’t you show my niece how we serve dessert around here?”
“Your niece?” David ignored the creamy rivulet trickling over the edge of Bette Bob’s bowl of warm pudding.
“Amy’s my youngest sister’s girl. Been living with us since she got a job at Mt. Hope’s little hospital.”
David felt the collar of his white dress shirt tighten as the azure blue eyes examined him. “Are you a doctor?”
“A nurse.” Amy’s perfect smile warmed the fellowship hall to an uncomfortable temperature.
“His sister’s almost a doctor.” Bette Bob’s face looked like she had just solved the mystery of gravity or something equally daunting. “Amy, with your medical background you’d fit right in the Harper family.” Bette Bob smiled, waving a sticky hand in front of her niece as if she were presenting the prize behind door number one on Let’s Make a Deal . “David, why don’t you give this single young lady a little assistance?” She thrust the bowl into David’s hand, along with a plate of fudge.
Juggling chocolate, David’s blood boiled, which seemed to increase the drip rate of the melting ice cream. He led the attractive blonde to the dessert station. If he was a grown man, why had he allowed himself to be pushed around like a kid? “Just put them there.”
Amy slid the plates into place. “Sorry about my aunt. She means well.”
David wasn’t sure what angered him more, the becoming pink blush on Amy’s high cheekbones or being backed into another awkward corner by a meddlesome parishioner. He’d had a bellyful of mystery-meat casseroles, well-intentioned matchmakers, and people making it their business whether or not he ate his
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