Page 13 of Love on the Brain
Something like,we need you all the time.
* * *
Ryan wasin over his head. He’d served on the Super Bowl party committee for years. This was a well-attended annual event, and this year, when Coach Crosby’s knee replacement surgery and rehab had rendered him mobility-challenged, Ryan volunteered to head up the committee. What he hadn’t known was that Coach’s wife had done most of the work, and the extensive lists she’d provided him for pre-, during, and post-event duties had him scrambling.
Marjory Engstrom tapped him on the shoulder just after four o’clock. “I’m calling in reinforcements. Your committee”—she gestured to the three retirees and two teenage volunteers—“are out of their depth. And once the food starts to arrive, it’s going to be chaotic if you don’t have someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“Thanks, Mom. I thought I’d do the food?” He glanced uncertainly at the bare banquet tables lining the wall of the sanctuary.
She shook her head. “You’re cute, you know that?” she teased. “Let the old folks run the registration and the teens do the heavy lifting. The Allens are coming in to manage the food.”
Ryan frowned. “I told Dale last night I was good.”
“Well, he and Connie and Jane are on their way. And Noah, too.” She pinched his arm. “He can be your assistant. Probably has more church service hours in at five years old than most of the people here.”
Ryan laughed. “No doubt.”
With a spring in his step in anticipation of Jane and Noah’s arrival, he headed for the lobby to meet them when they arrived.
They were walking up when Ryan stepped outside. His gaze locked on Jane, and her mouth curved into a small smile that made him all warm inside.
“Uncle Ryan!” Noah tugged Connie, who held her grip on his hand as they stepped up from the asphalt onto the brick pavers.
“Hey buddy.” Ryan held his hand out for a high five and was rewarded with a fierce slap to his palm. “Ow, man, careful. When did you get so strong?” he teased.
Noah giggled. “Mommy says I’m strong all the time.”
“She’s right.” In his peripheral vision, Jane was shaking her head, still smiling. She seemed to be in a better place today than last night and this morning at church. He’d spent the duration of the service watching her from behind the drums as he filled in for Hank Tops, who’d been under the weather. The former classic rock drummer rarely missed a Sunday, so Ryan didn’t get to play much. Jane had hardly looked up during the entire sermon, but he could tell she was connecting with it. His father had preached about trusting without understanding, and that was a lesson everyone needed a brush-up on, in Ryan’s opinion.
Ryan held the door open and followed the family into the sanctuary.
“Oh my,” Connie said as she scanned the cavernous space. “And people are arriving in an hour?”
“Yeah,” Ryan muttered.
Connie unzipped her coat and handed it to him. “Jane, you’re with me. Give him your coat. We’ll get the registration set up and make a plan for the food. Dale, you see about getting those teens to finish resetting the chairs from the service to the movie-time layout and then see who you can find to get extension cords for the Crock-Pots and whatnot.” She placed a hand on Ryan’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it done.”
“How can I help?” Noah asked.
Ryan bent down to his level. “I was just about to ask if you’d be my assistant. You’d have to sit up on my shoulders and look around to make sure everyone is doing their job. Think you can handle that?”
Noah jumped in excitement. “I can do anything I put my mind to!”
“That’s what I like to hear. Let’s put these coats in my dad’s office, and then we’ll start, okay?”
“Okay!”
Forty-five minutes later, Ryan and Noah surveyed the room from the lobby entrance. He grinned at Jane as she approached. “We did it. Thanks to y’all.”
“It was our pleasure.” She smiled back at him. “Right, Noah?”
“Right!”
A silence passed between them, and Ryan took the moment to reflect on how right he felt in the moment. Howfull. It wasn’t just any other Sunday or any other event. It felt … like more.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Jane Allen.” The syrupy twang of Landry Sheridan felt like scratching metal to Ryan’s ears. He dreaded turning around to face his former mother-in-law, knowing she’d have at least two—if not all three—of her daughters in tow.
He shot a concerned glance to Jane, who’d widened her eyes and stretched her smile in reaction. “Mrs. Sheridan. How lovely to see you and your family again.”
