Page 56 of Wishes on Wildflowers
Peter draped his arm over his sister’s shoulders.
“I, uh…” Suddenly Connor seemed to realize they had an audience. He glanced over at Nathan and Ray a few feet away, his face flushing. “Yeah, well, that’s all I wanted to say. Sorry. For everything.”
Peter’s hand slid down Dafne’s arm then back to her shoulder.
She leaned into her big brother. “You’re forgiven, Connor,” she said softly. “It’s just that two wrongs don’t make a right. God loves me even though I messed up, and He loves you, too.”
“Uh, yeah. That’s cool. Thanks.” Connor spun and strode toward the back of the chapel.
“I’m proud of my niece,” came Ray’s quiet voice.
Nathan turned back to Jasmine’s father. “She’s amazing. She’ll be a good mom.”
“With a lot of help from Dino and Betta. It won’t be easy for her, but if she keeps leaning on the Lord for direction, she’ll be fine.”
Leaning on the Lord for direction.
Nathan met Ray’s gaze. “Maybe I’ve been praying too much for Jasmine to change her mind. Maybe I haven’t been praying enough for God’s will to be done.”
“Have you thought about downsizing?”Jasmine sat across the large dining room table from her grandmother. Anything to avoid too much thought of Nathan’s dad’s funeral earlier that day. She should have been there for him but, how, with things so horrid between them?
Apologize, a little voice inside her whispered.Forgive Nathan. Forgive Basil.Take the first step.
Nonna straightened, a scowl creasing her face, and set her coffee cup down with a smack. “Don’t speak such nonsense. This is my home.”
Jasmine blinked back into Nonna’s kitchen. “I know. I was just wondering—”
“Well, don’t. I may be old, but I’m not senile. And I can manage this place, so long as I have a little help.”
A lot of help was more like it. There were cobwebs in the entry and grime in the corners where Nonna’s fast-flailing mop didn’t quite reach. Empty canning jars had been slowly taking over one section of the kitchen counter for months.
Shouldn’t she be a better granddaughter and come clean the house in her spare time? Jasmine struggled with guilt, but she didn’t have spare time. Not between Bridgeview Backyards, the massage clinic, and helping Linnea with the final prep for her wedding in two weeks. Then it wouldn’t be long before the garden was in full swing and, no doubt, Nonna would need help with all the canning.
Jasmine was already doing everything she could to help. And, by the stubborn line to Nonna’s jaw, nothing more would be accepted. But watching her grandmother age was painful, too. One day, Nonna wouldn’t be here for her. One day, this house would be silent, the canning jars distributed amongst the family, the cookie jar shaped like the colosseum on someone else’s kitchen counter.
The back door opened, and Peter, Alex, and Basil swept in, covered in sweat. “Man, I couldn’t even get around you today,” Peter complained. “You were everywhere.”
Basil chuckled. “No way were you gonna win.” Then his gaze landed on Jasmine’s, and his grin faded. “Hey.”
Nonna surged to her feet. “It is good to see you playing three-on-three again. I have cookies and iced tea.”
“Thanks, Nonna.” Peter draped an arm over her shoulder, and she shrugged away, waving her hand in front of her nose. He chuckled. “We knew we could count on you.”
Basil still stood watching Jasmine from just inside the door as Alex opened the cookie jar and put a few cookies on a plate.
“Hey,” Jasmine said.Really, Lord? Here in front of everyone?She took a deep breath. “Sorry I haven’t been around for you, bro. I, I’ve been stuck on myself, not thinking about you.”
Her brother shrugged. “I haven’t exactly made it easy.”
No kidding. “I’m not responsible for you.” She’d somehow felt she was, all her life. Why? “Just for myself. My actions, my reactions, my obedience to Jesus. And I haven’t been doing a very good job of that the past few years.” If ever.
Jasmine tried to break from Basil’s gaze, but somehow it was impossible. “Can you forgive me?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Yeah, sure. I’ve gotten way too much pleasure out of goading you.” Basil glanced at Peter and Alex, who watched as though at a table tennis match. “You guys, too. Being a rebel was a whole lot easier than measuring up to being a perfect Santoro.”
Nonna harrumphed.
“Nobody needs to be a perfect anything, cuz,” Peter said. “There’s no such thing, and we’re all individuals.”
