Debbie Macomber (10 page)

J
oyce Fischer had found a table at the ultra-busy Nordstrom Café by the time Beth got to the store. As soon as she appeared, her mother waved to catch her attention.

Beth felt wonderful and couldn't have disguised her mood had she tried.

“Hello, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a quick hug.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you, dear. I just got two of what we usually order.”

“That's fine.” Beth only had an hour for lunch and although she would've liked to try something new rather than her standard soup du jour and turkey sandwich, she didn't object.

Taking off her coat, Beth draped it over her chair.

“You're positively glowing. What's going on?” Her mother looked like she was about to rub her hands together in glee. “Is it that young man from the computer game?”

“We're going to meet.” Beth wasn't sure how and why the situation had changed. Just as she was losing hope that they'd ever take a chance, Peter had stepped forward. Without understanding why it had happened, she realized that a transformation had taken place.

They'd logged on to play World of Warcraft last night and after a while had started exchanging messages again. In the beginning it wasn't anything special, just their normal chitchat. Then out of the blue Peter had made a startling admission.

“He's divorced,” Beth informed her mother.

“Well, dear, so are you.”

“I know…That's not the point. Peter and I were talking.”

“On the phone?”

“No, no, online. That's the only way we've communicated so far.”

Her mother frowned, then decided not to make whatever comment hovered on the tip of her tongue. “Go on,” she urged instead. “I want to hear everything.”

“Well,” Beth said, eager now. “He told me that it's taken him some time to get over the divorce, but he thinks he's ready to move on.”

“How long has it been?” her mother asked. “I mean, since his divorce was final.”

Beth frowned. Her mother was right; that was an important question. “I didn't ask him.”

“You should, dear. If it's been less than a year, it might be best to move slowly and carefully in this relationship.” Then, as if she regretted having given advice, she shook her head. “Follow your heart. Don't listen to a thing I say.”

Beth thought cynically that this was all part of the wager her parents had. Her mother didn't care if Peter was the brother of Frankenstein's monster as long as he showed up. “You really want him there for Christmas, don't you?”

Her mother's eyes brightened. “Is there any possibility that might happen?”

Beth shrugged. Despite her mother's bet—and personally she felt Joyce deserved to lose—she'd like it if Peter could spend Christmas with her. She wanted to invite him, but it was a lot to ask of someone she hadn't even met. Everything depended on this weekend.

Her mother waved one hand impatiently. “So you told him you're divorced, too?”

“Yes, of course, and then we both started talking so fast it was hard for my fingers to keep up with my thoughts.” Peter had been deeply hurt by his wife, who'd more or less kicked him out of the house and excluded him from her life. It'd been painful and harsh, and he'd taken the breakup of his marriage hard.

Beth understood. She'd experienced the same grief over the death of her own marriage. In the course of their conversation, they'd talked about regrets and all the things they might've done to save their marriages. Based on the few details Peter had divulged, Beth regarded his ex-wife as cold and calculating.

She talked about John in ways she never had with anyone else, including her parents. It was as though a festering blister had burst inside her and she spewed out the devastating pain of her own divorce.

The game was forgotten as they continued talking. It was after midnight when Peter reminded her that they both needed to be at work in the morning. Reluctantly Beth had signed off.

“What else did he say?” her mother asked. “Did you tell him your real name is Marybeth?”

“Hardly,” she cried, annoyed that her mother would ask such an inane question. “And don't you tell him, either.”

“So you did invite him for Christmas?” Her mother looked pleased beyond measure.

“No…not yet.” The optimism Beth felt was a sign of her excitement about the way their relationship was developing. No man had interested her this much since college, when she'd first met John. Peter gave her hope. Maybe this wouldn't go anywhere, but at least she was finally taking a risk. Finally willing to try again.

The server brought their lunches, giving Beth a respite from her mother's relentless questioning. She tasted her cream of broccoli soup, and it took a few minutes for the conversation to return to Peter.

“You do expect to introduce him to your family, don't you?” Her mother smiled expectantly at Beth, the turkey sandwich poised in front of her mouth.

“If things go well.” She nodded. “We have a lot in common, Peter and me.”

“That's wonderful, dear.”

Beth felt the giddy sensation of everything coming together at last. “I never dreamed that after all these months we'd connect the way we have.”

“Well?” Her mother paused. “When are you going to meet?” Before Beth could answer, she added, “Soon, I hope.”

“Is tomorrow soon enough for you?”

“Saturday? But I thought you were going to Leavenworth with Heidi.”

“I am.”

“You're meeting Peter there?”

Beth nodded. Peter seemed to be a closet romantic, although she suspected he'd never admit it. He was the one who'd wanted to have this initial meeting right away. He'd mentioned getting together on Saturday for lunch, and Beth had said she'd be in Leavenworth. Undeterred, Peter had suggested meeting there. “But how will that work when you don't know what he looks like? Good grief, Beth, do you have any idea how crowded that town can get, especially this time of year?”

“We've got it all figured out. Heidi and Sam and I are taking the train with the kids and—”

“Peter will meet you on the train?” her mother broke in.

“Not exactly. The train sold out weeks ago, so Peter's taking the bus. We arrive at eleven and, depending on the weather, he should get in around noon.”

“The train's always late.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

“I have a lot of faith,” her mother said. “But I happen to be practical, too.”

“We took that into consideration, Mother. The bus could be late, too, you know.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We're meeting by the gazebo in the center of town at four o'clock.”

“Why not earlier?” her mother demanded.

Beth sighed. “I'm there to spend the day with Heidi, remember? Besides, if this doesn't work out…”

“Fine,” Joyce said dismissively. “But how will you recognize each other?”

Beth described their plan. Peter would be carrying a single long-stemmed red rose and wearing a baseball cap with a Seahawks emblem. She, meanwhile, would be wearing a full-length navy wool coat and a red knit hat and muffler.

They should be able to find each other without difficulty. Then they'd watch the tree-lighting ceremony together. The train was scheduled to depart at six-thirty; his bus would leave shortly after that. They'd spend just a couple of hours in each other's company—a safe length of time whether the meeting went well or not. He hadn't said so, but Beth had the distinct feeling that if this meeting
did
go well, Peter would ask to see her again on Sunday.

“You sound so hopeful,” her mother said.

“I am.” Beth had a positive feeling about this.

“What if…what if Peter isn't as good-looking as you expect?” She seemed genuinely concerned that this might be a possibility.

“It doesn't matter.” John had been drop-dead gorgeous. She'd been the envy of all her friends, and what she'd discovered was that good looks made very little difference. Most important was character. Moral fiber, sense of honor and kindness were far more compelling qualities in Beth's eyes.

“You say that now,” her mother warned, “but you might change your mind once you meet him.”

“Perhaps.” But even as she said it, Beth was convinced that her feelings wouldn't change. If there was anything she'd learned from her divorce, it was that looks could be deceiving. John had been completely self-absorbed, selfish, irresponsible…. It was pointless to rehash his shortcomings, of which there'd been plenty.

They finished their lunch and because she had a few minutes to spare, Beth and her mother did some window-shopping. Seattle was a magical city at Christmastime. Beth loved the festive air—the decorations everywhere, the cheerful crowds, the music. Entertainers sang and played instruments. She and Joyce stopped to listen to a violinist whose rendition of “Silent Night” was exquisite as people bustled to and from stores with their bags and packages. The cold wind stung her face and she glanced up at the sky for any sign of snow. Her step was lighter and for the first time in years she felt a rush of joyful anticipation about Christmas.

Her mother wasn't the only one to notice her improved mood. Lloyd, the attorney who'd introduced her to the World of Warcraft, commented on it when she returned from lunch.

“You seem to be mighty happy about something,” he said, smiling at her.

“I am,” she responded cryptically.

At closing time, she hurried home. As soon as she was back in her condo, Beth logged online, hoping Peter would be there.

He was.

Did you have a good day?
he typed.

Great. What about you?

He didn't reply immediately.
It couldn't have been better,
he eventually wrote.
Thank you for listening while I poured out my woes about my marriage last night. I don't often talk about it. I wouldn't have with you, but in all fairness I felt you needed to know.

Peter, thank you,
she hurriedly typed back.
I can't tell you how freeing it was for me to tell you about my divorce. It's not a subject I bring up lightly. I felt like such a failure when we split up and that feeling never went away.

I know. That's how I felt when my marriage ended, too.

It seems we have even more in common than we realized,
she told him.

I was thinking the same thing.

They chatted for most of an hour until Beth's stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten dinner. Peter couldn't stay online long because he was seeing a friend, so they ended their conversation.

It was just as well, because Beth had to call Heidi and let her friend know there'd been a small change in plans.

After she reached her, Beth explained that she'd be seeing Peter in Leavenworth and said she hoped Heidi didn't mind.

“Mind? Of course I don't mind,” Heidi told her. “I think it's so romantic that you two will meet up there. All we need now is some snow for the day to be absolutely perfect.”

Snow in Santa's Village—that would indeed be marvelous.

“I wonder if I'm expecting too much,” she said, suddenly anxious.

“How can you help it?” Heidi asked. “He does seem too good to be true.”

No dating service could have set her up with a more suitable candidate. They agreed on practically everything they'd discussed. In the past week, Beth had learned that they both read the same books, liked the same kinds of food—Mexican and Chinese—and adored anchovies on Caesar salad but not pizza. Granted, those might be superficial similarities, but unlike John, Peter was responsible and dedicated, both qualities she admired. She knew this from his loyalty to his friends, his seriousness about his career—as a coffee buyer at Starbucks—his affection toward his parents and many other examples she'd gleaned.

Maybe he was too good to be true, as Heidi had said. But Beth's instincts told her that Peter was a man she wanted to know better, a man
worth
knowing better. Not that her instincts had been what you'd call reliable in the past. So, before things went any further, she had to learn if this could become a viable relationship—and there was only one way to find out.

In other words, Beth was counting on their face-to-face meeting to tell her whether these feelings for Peter were real—or just a fantasy concocted during their online adventures.

C
arter could hardly wait to get to school. As soon as the bus dropped him off he headed for the playground, instead of running into the classroom with Timmy and his other friends. Behind the building, he looked carefully around.

Rusty was nowhere to be seen. His heart sank.

“What are you doing out here?” Timmy asked, chasing after him.

“Nothing,” Carter murmured, his shoulders slumping. All night he could barely sleep thinking about the stray. The more he thought about it, the more he realized this wasn't just any dog. This was
his
dog. His Rusty. God had sent him this dog. Rusty was the answer to Carter's prayer.

“Wanna play soccer?” Timmy asked. “I can get Cameron and Isaiah and—”

“No, thanks.”

Timmy looked as dejected as Carter felt. “It's cold out here. Let's go inside.”

“All right.” Timmy followed him off the playground and into the building.

When classes started, he had trouble paying attention to Ms. Jensen. Carter kept wondering what had happened to Rusty. He worried that Animal Control had picked him up, and then worried that they hadn't.

Deep down, Carter knew that if Rusty was at a shelter, he'd at least be out of the cold. And there'd be plenty of food for him. But Carter had brought an extra-big lunch today, just in case.

After the recess bell rang, his friends dashed out the door, eager to put on their winter clothes and get onto the playground.

“Carter.” Ms. Jensen stopped him.

Carter trudged over to his teacher. “Yes, Ms. Jensen?” He thought about asking if she'd seen the stray dog recently, but then he remembered Mr. Nicholson's warning.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Ms. Jensen.”

“At home, I mean.”

He nodded. He wanted to tell her that his family wasn't getting Christmas presents this year and that he'd lied to his friends. He still felt bad about misleading Timmy. But he didn't want the other kids to know that the only gift under the tree would be underwear from his grandmother.

“You don't seem yourself. Are you feeling well?”

“I'm fine, Ms. Jensen. Can I go outside now?”

“All right. Oh, and thank your mother for the cookies she sent me.”

“I will,” Carter promised.

As he hurried onto the playground, Carter noticed that his teacher was still watching him. No sooner was he outside with his friends than he saw Rusty. Carter could hardly breathe, he was so excited.

Rusty saw Carter, too, and even though one of the third-grade girls was offering him a cracker, the dog shot across the schoolyard. Carter knelt down to greet his friend. Rusty licked his face and seemed as happy to see Carter as Carter was to see him. Carter dug inside his pocket for a meatball he'd managed to smuggle out of the refrigerator early that morning. Rusty gobbled it up and looked to Carter for more.

“I'm sorry,” Carter told him, and then because he was so ecstatic, he wrapped his arms around the dog. He didn't care that Rusty was filthy or that the sleeves of his winter jacket came away all muddy. His mother would be upset, but even her displeasure was worth the enjoyment Carter received from this special dog.

“We can't let Mr. Nicholson see you,” Carter warned, then ran over to where his friends were playing.

Rusty followed Carter wherever he went. When Mr. Nicholson stepped into the yard, the stray quickly and quietly disappeared, just as if he understood.

Carter turned around and looked for him, but Rusty was nowhere in sight. Then he saw that the dog had gone into the trees that separated the schoolyard from the nearby houses.

“Good boy,” Carter whispered. Rusty was no dummy. He knew who his friends were—and his enemies.

At lunchtime, Carter only ate his apple. The rest he saved for Rusty. Once again the mutt gobbled the food and gazed up at Carter with bright, shining eyes that revealed his gratitude.

Carter petted Rusty's head, although his hand got really dirty. What would happen to the dog over the holidays, when there was no one at the school? Who'd feed Rusty then? Who'd watch out for him? Carter already knew the answer. No one. After today, school was over for the year, and the yard would remain empty until the first week of January. Rusty could starve by then.

Holding the dog's muddy face between his hands, Carter peered into his deep brown eyes. Disregarding what his father had said, Carter whispered, “Rusty, listen, I need you to follow me home.”

The dog blinked and stared back at him intently.

“I take bus number seven. Follow that bus, okay?”

Rusty cocked his head to one side.

Carter didn't know what more he could do. Disconsolate, he tried to accept that the dog wouldn't understand him, no matter how many times he repeated the information. After today, when the bus delivered Carter to his home, it was unlikely he'd ever see Rusty again. Carter couldn't bear to have that happen, but he had to prepare himself for disappointment.

Because it was the last day before winter break, school was dismissed an hour early. While Carter lined up with his friends for bus number seven, he scanned the area for Rusty. Again the dog was nowhere to be seen, and once again Carter's heart fell.

“You wanna come to my house and play video games?” Timmy asked, plopping down on the seat next to Carter.

“No, thanks.”

His friend seemed dejected.

“Can I come on Monday?” Carter asked.

“Sure.” Timmy perked up right away. “I'll show you all my presents under the tree.”

“Okay.” Carter tried to smile but it was hard. He was glad that his friend was getting lots of gifts. He wanted gifts, too—stacks and stacks of them. But Carter would give up every single one for Rusty.

God had answered his prayer, Carter told himself, struggling to believe. Rusty
would
find him. God had sent Rusty to that schoolyard and now God would figure out a way to bring him to Carter's house.

The bus stopped, and Cameron and Isaiah got off and ran to their home at the end of the street. Their house was the biggest and nicest in the neighborhood.

The next stop was for Carter and Bailey's block. Grabbing his backpack, Carter felt his heart beating hard. He hoped with all his might that Rusty would find his way. Bus number seven. He'd told Rusty to follow bus number seven. Carter knew it would be a miracle if the dog had understood him, but God was in charge of miracles, and He'd already worked one. If He could do one miracle and send him a dog, then God should be able to accomplish
two.

When the doors of the bus opened, Carter stepped down and looked in both directions. Rusty wasn't there. His heart felt about as heavy as…as a two-ton truck.

“Move,” Bailey said, coming down the steps and shoving him in the back.

“Hey,” Carter complained.

“You're blocking the exit,” Bailey informed him in that prim tattletale voice she sometimes used.

Carter got completely off the bus then and started slowly down the sidewalk to their house. Bailey walked beside him.

“I saw you with that dog on the playground again,” his sister said, matching her steps to his. She held her backpack with both hands, leaning into the cold wind.

“You're not gonna tell Mom and Dad, are you?”

“No. He's a nice dog.”

Carter nodded. “He's smart, too.” But not smart enough to follow bus seven. Not smart enough to know that winter break had begun and there'd be no one at the school to feed him or play with him or anything else. Sooner or later, he'd be picked up by Animal Control.

“You should wash off your coat before Mom sees it,” his sister warned.

Carter had forgotten about the mud on his sleeves. “I will. You go in the house first, all right?”

“Okay.”

True to her word, Bailey went into the house and while she distracted their mother, Carter removed his coat in their bedroom, then entered the kitchen.

“Ms. Jensen thanked you for the cookies,” Carter told his mother. She was folding towels fresh from the dryer on the kitchen table and nodded absently. “Your father's working late this evening,” she said. “He's getting overtime pay, and that's good.”

“Oh.”

“He said we should have dinner without him.”

“Can we have macaroni and cheese out of a box?” Carter asked. That was one of his favorites, and he knew it must not cost very much because his mother never objected when he asked for it.

“Okay,” she said.

“I wanted hot dogs,” Bailey whined.

His mother smiled. “We'll have both.”

While his sister helped their mother put away the towels, Carter loped into the bathroom for a clean washcloth and soaked it. Then he wrung it out and took it into the bedroom where he'd put his coat. He wiped off the sleeves. The washcloth got muddy, but his coat looked a lot better.

“Mom said we could watch television,” Bailey said, coming into the room.

Since his sister would choose sissy programs, Carter wasn't interested.

“I'm gonna go read.”

That was an activity his parents always approved of. The only reason he decided on it now was that he didn't feel like doing anything else. He didn't want to visit his friends or watch television or even play with his toys. He just wanted to forget Rusty. Apparently God only did one miracle at a time. Carter had been wrong.

Slumping down on the floor, he opened his book, but he could hardly concentrate on the story. About fifteen minutes later, his sister barreled into the bedroom. “Carter, come and look!”

“At what?”

“Just come,” she insisted, annoying him with every word.

“Oh, all right,” he muttered.

She led him to the living room, where the television was situated. She pointed out the front window.

There was Rusty, walking up and down the sidewalk, looking this way and that.

Carter nearly screamed with happiness. “It's Rusty!”

“I know.” His sister's eyes were huge.

Without bothering to get his coat, Carter burst out the door. “Rusty!” he cried. “Rusty.”

As soon as the dog heard Carter, he turned and bolted toward him. Carter dared not hug him now because his mother would see all the mud. But how could she be angry? God had sent them this dog. Carter had proof that Rusty was the answer to his prayer.

“This way, boy,” Carter said and led him to the back of the house. Because their mother had told them their dad would be late, Carter put Rusty in the garage. By the time he'd finished, his teeth were chattering with cold and excitement.

“Are you going to tell Mom?” Bailey asked, meeting him in the hallway.

“Not yet.” A plan was taking shape in Carter's mind. “If Mom asks where I am, tell her I'm taking a bath.”

“Are you?” Bailey wanted to know.

“No.” He shouldn't have to spell
everything
out to his sister. “I'm going to give Rusty one. When he's all cleaned up, Mom will see what a good dog he is and talk Dad into letting me keep him.”

Bailey's eyes widened and she nodded conspiratorially.

Carter filled the bathtub with warm water and then at an opportune moment, went into the garage and scooped up Rusty. He was heavier than Carter had thought but it was important that he not leave dog tracks on the floor. Once inside the house, Carter glanced around to make sure his mother wasn't looking. Then he hurried down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door with his foot. He gently set the dog in the bath, then turned quickly to lock the door.

It didn't take Carter long to make a startling discovery about Rusty. When he did, tears sprang to his eyes. Beneath all the caked mud and dirt, Rusty had auburn-colored fur. This really
was
the dog God had sent. He was perfect in every way.

Rusty loved the water. He stood still while Carter lathered him with the shampoo their mother had bought for him and Bailey. Then he rinsed him off with the cup that was by the sink. Rusty didn't bark even once. Using the towel still warm from the dryer, Carter had just lifted Rusty out of the tub to dry him when Rusty began to shake himself like crazy, spraying water in every direction.

“Rusty!” Carter protested, raising his hands to his face to wipe off the water.

“Carter,” his mother called from the other side of the bathroom door. “Who's in there with you?”

He wanted to lie and answer
no one,
but he remembered what his stomach had felt like when he'd lied. “A friend,” Carter called back. That was true. Rusty was his friend.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Ah…”