Page 3 of Between the Shady Groves
He wasn’t quite sure why she had left him a paper message. She had his phone number. It wasn’t like she couldn’t have texted him. Even if she decided that she wanted to talk. Or that she wanted to meet somewhere, or that she just wanted to go out on a date. When was the last time they’d gone out on a date?
Before her mother had come to stay. When she moved in, both of them knew that it was most likely going to end with the death of her mom. Even though it had taken years. The doctors hadn’t had much hope from the beginning, and chemo had been harsh and long. Her mom had rallied, beating back the disease to begin with, and Lauren’shopes had lifted. His had too. Her mom was impossible not to love. Kind and effusive, friendly and energetic, she was like a carbon copy of her daughter, Lauren.
He’d fallen in love with Lauren, head over heels, the first time they met, when he had gone to put a security system in her neighbor’s home. She’d been out tending a couple of saplings she’d planted in her backyard. Her postage stamp-sized backyard. He had wondered why she even bothered. With all the houses around, it was unlikely the trees were going to get any sunlight or thrive at all.
Still, she’d been happy and smiling and sweet, and he’d known that he didn’t want to live his life without her from that very first meeting.
But now, now it appeared that he was going to be living life without her anyway. But why? What had he done wrong? What had changed? Sure, they weren’t really talking, but she’d been busy with her mom, he’d been busy with his job, his business, trying to make sure all the bills were paid and…riding the wave of prosperity. He figured that it probably wouldn’t last long, and he wanted to take advantage of it while he could. He was doing it for them. Didn’t she know that?
He took a breath and then walked back to the middle of the kitchen floor. It wasn’t far. The kitchen was small, as was the apartment. Two bedrooms. One for his wife and him, one for her mother. She had taken to sleeping in her mother’s room on a small cot once her mother had gotten bad sometime last year. Maybe it was the year before. He didn’t know.
There was a part of him that had been a little relieved when the third pregnancy had ended in miscarriage. Not that he was happy, just that he knew that they would have had to move, in amongst her mom’s treatments and his job and her caretaking. After all, they didn’t have any family nearby to help.
It made sense to him, but Lauren had been devastated. And he understood. Or at least thought he did. He wasn’t happy that they had lost a child, but he didn’t see it as the end of the world. Sure, it was her third miscarriage, but…eventually things would work out. Surely. And maybe God was just doing this so that they could have better accommodations when they actually did have a child.
Was he being uncaring or unfeeling?
A couple of guys at work had laughed when he had mentioned it, and had said something about their wives not allowing them to think that way or something.
He hadn’t really paid attention. Lauren was the perfect wife. And he loved her with everything he had.
And now she was gone.
He sank slowly into a chair, still holding the paper. What was he going to do?
Three
The familiar hum of the little counter mixer filled the small bakery.
Lauren had spent the last several hours cleaning off the counters, wiping them down. She had tested the large mixer and taken the bowl off to clean it, but she wasn’t using it now. She wasn’t making enough banana bread to feed the entire town. She was just making something for herself. To help heal her heart. It seemed like her mom always had some kind of special baked good for whatever hurt and pain she had.
“Hello,” a voice said as the bell above the door jingled. That was another familiar sound.
Lauren spun around, her hand going to her chest.
If Cannon were there, he would castigate her for not making sure the door was locked. After all, he specialized in security and had heard his share of stories about break-ins and robberies and even rapes and murders because people weren’t properly protected. A lot of times, his company was called after just such a tragedy, and Cannon would shake his head and say, “Too little, too late.”
Those were some of his biggest customers though, since people who had just experienced a tragedy like that were determined that they weren’t going to experience another one.
“Hello. I’m sorry, I should have locked the door. I’m not open.”
“Lauren?” the woman said, and Lauren looked a little closer. Did she know this person? She supposed she did look familiar.
“I’m Grace Honea. Well, Grace Gillett now.”
“Grace. Oh my goodness.” Lauren looked harder at the woman who stood in front of her. Yes, she could see her high school friend Grace in there. The woman was older with a few lines around her face and mouth, her skin still glowing, but not with youth. More with vitality. And honey blonde hair—a dead ringer for her memories of the friend from her high school and childhood.
“Wow. I didn’t think I’d recognize you, but now that you’ve said who you are, you haven’t changed much at all.”
“Neither have you. Older, like all of us, but still just as beautiful and with a smile that lights up the room.” Grace came over, lifting the countertop easily and slipping through like it had been just yesterday the last time she’d done it. Grace, Lauren, Claire, and Yolanda had been inseparable ever since she could remember.
Until Yolanda wasn’t with them anymore.
Lauren blinked just a bit, pushing that thought away. That wasn’t something she thought about, because the guilt and pain of her role in all of that was all-consuming. She couldn’t stand how she felt, the guilt and how she knew that it was all her fault.
She switched the mixer off and then turned around, surprised when Grace had her arms around her and was pulling her into a huge hug.
“It’s been so long,” she said, hugging Grace back and trying to pretend that it wasn’t uncomfortable for her.
