⎯ all quivery, like Jell-O
on a plate ⎯ turned the fireworks in Roxy’s tummy to lead.
“Of course . . . No . . . If you think that’s best . . . Oh, Jonathan. I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll call Pastor Roy at once . . . Yes. I will. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine until you get home.” At last, Grandma Ruth lowered the receiver to its cradle.
“Grandma?” Elena tugged on the hem of her grandmother’s blouse. “What’s wrong?”
Grandma Ruth turned around. She looked kind of sick, all white, like when she had the flu awhile back.
Elena must have seen it too. “Don’t you feel well, Grandma?” Grandma Ruth put a hand on Elena’s shoulder. “Honey, Grandma needs to make another telephone call. I’ll go into the other room so you can do your schoolwork. Then I’ll come back, and we can talk. Okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She walked down the hallway, real stifflike, and disappeared into the den, clos-
ing the door behind her.
Roxy didn’t remember sliding off the piano bench, but she must have, for the next thing she knew, she stood beside her older sister, the two of them holding hands.
“Elena? What’s wrong? Grandma looked funny.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. She said she’ll be back in a minute.
She’ll tell us then.”
“Was that Daddy on the phone?” “I think so.”
“Is Mama okay? Did she have the baby?”
“I don’t know.”
Roxy started to cry. “I’m scared.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Elena put her arm around Roxy’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. “I’ll take care of you until Mama comes home. I promise.”
Seven
Stretching her arms over her head, Roxy released a sigh. Her eyes were closed, but she sensed daylight filtering into the bedroom around the edges of the miniblinds. She didn’t want to look. Once she did, she would be compelled to rise from this comfortable mattress.
Oh, man. It was ages since she had a good night’s sleep.
Heavenly.
She drew the covers over her face. Mmm. There was nothing like five-hundred-thread-count sheets to tell a gal she was in the lap of luxury. Well, maybe that soak in the Jacuzzi tub last night came close.
With another sigh, she rolled onto her side, pushed the covers away, and opened her eyes.
Her girlhood bedroom hadn’t changed much since she moved out of it and into her first apartment over a decade ago. The post- ers of Randy Travis, George Strait, and Garth Brooks were gone, removed when the room was repainted, but other signs of her child- hood remained. Her first guitar, child-size for a little girl’s fingers,
leaned against the wall in a corner. Awards from various competi- tions lined a shelf. Ancient knickknacks ⎯ made of blown glass, painted ceramic, brass, and copper ⎯ that once belonged to her grandmother covered the top of the tall chest of drawers. Framed photographs were plentiful. Pictures of Mom and Dad, Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Arlen, Elena and Roxy as little girls, even a few of Wyatt from his college days. Everything was familiar, comfort-
able, the memories warm and inviting.
Don’t get too comfortable. You can’t keep living with your dad.
Not for long.
She sat up and lowered her legs over the side of the bed. The plush carpet felt good against her feet. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was after 9:00 A . M . Her father must have left for the office long ago.
Roxy went into the bathroom, where she took a quick shower. Her clothes ⎯ washed and folded ⎯ were on a stool in front of the dressing table. She slipped on a pair of jeans and the brown top she purchased before leaving Nashville with the money borrowed from Pete. A little mascara was the only makeup she bothered to apply. With her hair still damp, she padded on bare feet out of the
bedroom and down the stairs.
Delicious odors wafted from the kitchen, drawing Roxy there. Fortuna stood near the stove, pouring batter onto the electric waf- fle iron. A platter of bacon strips sat in the
on a plate ⎯ turned the fireworks in Roxy’s tummy to lead.
“Of course . . . No . . . If you think that’s best . . . Oh, Jonathan. I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll call Pastor Roy at once . . . Yes. I will. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine until you get home.” At last, Grandma Ruth lowered the receiver to its cradle.
“Grandma?” Elena tugged on the hem of her grandmother’s blouse. “What’s wrong?”
Grandma Ruth turned around. She looked kind of sick, all white, like when she had the flu awhile back.
Elena must have seen it too. “Don’t you feel well, Grandma?” Grandma Ruth put a hand on Elena’s shoulder. “Honey, Grandma needs to make another telephone call. I’ll go into the other room so you can do your schoolwork. Then I’ll come back, and we can talk. Okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She walked down the hallway, real stifflike, and disappeared into the den, clos-
ing the door behind her.
Roxy didn’t remember sliding off the piano bench, but she must have, for the next thing she knew, she stood beside her older sister, the two of them holding hands.
“Elena? What’s wrong? Grandma looked funny.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. She said she’ll be back in a minute.
She’ll tell us then.”
“Was that Daddy on the phone?” “I think so.”
“Is Mama okay? Did she have the baby?”
“I don’t know.”
Roxy started to cry. “I’m scared.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Elena put her arm around Roxy’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. “I’ll take care of you until Mama comes home. I promise.”
Seven
Stretching her arms over her head, Roxy released a sigh. Her eyes were closed, but she sensed daylight filtering into the bedroom around the edges of the miniblinds. She didn’t want to look. Once she did, she would be compelled to rise from this comfortable mattress.
Oh, man. It was ages since she had a good night’s sleep.
Heavenly.
She drew the covers over her face. Mmm. There was nothing like five-hundred-thread-count sheets to tell a gal she was in the lap of luxury. Well, maybe that soak in the Jacuzzi tub last night came close.
With another sigh, she rolled onto her side, pushed the covers away, and opened her eyes.
Her girlhood bedroom hadn’t changed much since she moved out of it and into her first apartment over a decade ago. The post- ers of Randy Travis, George Strait, and Garth Brooks were gone, removed when the room was repainted, but other signs of her child- hood remained. Her first guitar, child-size for a little girl’s fingers,
leaned against the wall in a corner. Awards from various competi- tions lined a shelf. Ancient knickknacks ⎯ made of blown glass, painted ceramic, brass, and copper ⎯ that once belonged to her grandmother covered the top of the tall chest of drawers. Framed photographs were plentiful. Pictures of Mom and Dad, Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Arlen, Elena and Roxy as little girls, even a few of Wyatt from his college days. Everything was familiar, comfort-
able, the memories warm and inviting.
Don’t get too comfortable. You can’t keep living with your dad.
Not for long.
She sat up and lowered her legs over the side of the bed. The plush carpet felt good against her feet. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was after 9:00 A . M . Her father must have left for the office long ago.
Roxy went into the bathroom, where she took a quick shower. Her clothes ⎯ washed and folded ⎯ were on a stool in front of the dressing table. She slipped on a pair of jeans and the brown top she purchased before leaving Nashville with the money borrowed from Pete. A little mascara was the only makeup she bothered to apply. With her hair still damp, she padded on bare feet out of the
bedroom and down the stairs.
Delicious odors wafted from the kitchen, drawing Roxy there. Fortuna stood near the stove, pouring batter onto the electric waf- fle iron. A platter of bacon strips sat in the
Similar Books
