In His Dreams (8 page)

“Good morning,” Jeff said, remembering the neighbor had said Bonnie was pretty. She was pretty. He’d never noticed. Her hair had become darker than her mother’s but lighter than his and her eyes were the same as Marilou’s, a light brown that reminded him of sorrel. She had two small dimples that flickered when she grinned and her nose was shaped like his with a little peak at the tip.

Bonnie settled onto the chair and rested her cheek on the table.

“Please don’t put your head on the table, Bonnie.”

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t repeat it. Today, he wasn’t in the mood for a fight. He poured her cereal and milk, then wandered back to the window, watching the sun dance across the ripples.

As soon as she finished eating, he knew Bonnie would be bored—the same old pattern he’d come to accept. She needed a friend, someone to relate to, and he had no idea what to do except go back home where she did have a couple of younger children who played with her.

But he didn’t want to go home. Not now.

He heard Bonnie’s dish clang in the sink. “What are we going to do, Daddy?”

“I don’t know. How about playing with those markers Marsha bought you?”

She didn’t respond but wandered out of the kitchen in search, he hoped, of the colored pens. In moments, she returned and, while he ran the vacuum and dusted, Bonnie sat at the table engrossed in her drawings.

Peace settled over Jeff with Bonnie’s preoccupation. Marsha knew what she was doing when she’d bought the markers, and he’d been surprised to see Bonnie had some artistic talent. Perhaps, she had other talents he hadn’t noticed but, for now, he’d be grateful for this quiet time.

Bonnie came through the doorway, carrying a drawing. “Look.” She held up the picture in front of her with the tips of her fingers. “Aunt Marsha can put this in a frame, too.”

Jeff eyed the beach sketch with three people sitting on the sand, making sand castles. In the background, he recognized Marsha’s A-frame cottage. Three people again. She never drew one or two, always three and always Marsha.

Here it was three again, but at home? What would that bring? The summer fun would vanish. His life would slip into the usual rut, and then what? Bonnie would be heartbroken.

So would he.

M
arsha slid from the car and lifted the bag of groceries from the backseat, disappointed that Jeff hadn’t arrived yet. He’d promised to hang the new kitchen light fixture and replace some light-switch covers. She could have done that herself, but he’d told her not to bother. Instead, she’d added some new border along the ceiling in the bathroom. It brightened the room with the new caulking and made it look fresh and different—just the way she’d felt lately.

A breeze blew across the water and up the hill, carrying the unique scent of the lake and warm grass. Nothing smelled quite like that wonderful aroma that helped her relax and feel free. She wished it could be bottled. She’d definitely stock up so she could take it home to the city with her.

As she neared the door, another fragrance wafted her way. Cinnamon rolls. Barb’s favorite. Marsha pulled open the screen door and drew in a lengthy breath of the warm spicy rolls. “Yummy,” she said, eyeing the batch cooling on racks.

“I felt in the mood,” Barb said, snipping the end off the tube of frosting and zigzagging it over the pastries. “I made coffee.”

“Thanks.” Marsha dragged her finger across the icing that dripped from the rack and stuck it in her mouth, then unloaded the groceries while Barb poured two cups of coffee.

Barb took her cup and a warm roll. “I’m going outside. No bugs today for some reason, and I’m enjoying the sun.”

“Probably the breeze,” Marsha said, slipping the cereal box into the cabinet. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The scent of coffee mingled with the cinnamon smell and whetted Marsha’s appetite. She headed into the bedroom to slip off her slacks and slide into her shorts and sandals. No sense in wasting an opportunity to get a tan.

Before heading back into the kitchen, Marsha glanced out the back window, hoping to see Jeff. She shook her head at the empty driveway but mainly at her silly ogling.

Foolishness. She’d begun to feel like a teenager, running to the telephone when it rang hoping it was the boy who starred on the basketball team, but, in this case, Marsha’s hero was her brother-in-law. Or was it
former
brother-in-law now that Don was gone?

She pushed herself down the hallway and grasped the coffee-cup handle, then a gooey cinnamon bun. She took a chomp, letting the sweetness pull her from her thoughts. As she passed the table, she noticed a legal pad with Barb’s writing. Curious, she stepped forward, took another bite of the bun and let her gaze drift over the words.

Marsha caught her breath and drew away from the yellow lined paper. Though the sentences were well written, poetic almost, the images frightened her. She had expected Barb to write some pitiful rambling of a woman in love or a woman scorned, but not this. This was different.

What would Barb say if she told her she’d read a page of her work?

A noise came from behind her, and Marsha jumped and spun around. Bonnie came darting into the room, holding one of her drawings in front of her like a prize.

“Look what I made,” she said, as if she’d won a blue ribbon.

Marsha eyed the sketch, and, though simple, Bonnie’s talent could be witnessed in her ability to create perspective and to draw recognizable details. “That’s the cottage,” she said, studying the contours of her chalet.

Bonnie bobbed her head. “And that’s you.” She pointed to a woman and man standing beside her.

Marsha recognized Jeff easily by his physique and the playful tilt of his head. “Good job. You need some real paints.”

“I have real paints.” She held up her markers.

“I mean, watercolors or oils.” She gave second thought to oils and the damage they might cause. “Watercolors.” Marsha lifted her gaze and eyed the back door. “Where’s your dad?”

“He’s coming.” She wobbled her head and grinned. “His cell phone rang.” She took a couple of steps away before she noticed the cinnamon buns and shot toward them. “Can I have one?”

“Sure can.”

She grabbed a pastry and sped outside to Barb.

Marsha took a sip of her coffee, her pulse giving a skip as she watched the door, waiting for Jeff.
Lord, tell me what’s going on. I’m confused and uneasy with what’s going on.

A moment later, Jeff strode inside, slipping the cell phone into his shirt pocket. His focus settled on the buns, then lifted to Marsha.

“Have one,” she said, taking another bite to steady her thoughts.

He looked so handsome today. His hair, usually neat, had been ruffled by the breeze and his tanned skin gave him a rugged look. His knit shirt clung to his chest, reminding her of his strength and masculinity. He no longer seemed the old Jeff she knew so well, but a new Jeff that had more vitality and charm, a Jeff that stirred her heart.

Marsha turned away. She felt confused and she hated the feeling.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jeff said, as if he noticed something was wrong.

Jeff was right, but Marsha didn’t understand what it was she struggled with. She knew it wasn’t a sin to find her former brother-in-law attractive. She suspected the Lord would be pleased that they were still good friends. Friends were precious. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not punching a time clock.” She managed a grin.

He stepped closer and ran his finger just below her lip. “Icing,” he said, showing her the white smear he’d wiped from her mouth.

The pressure of his finger lingered against her lip, and she wondered what his lips might feel like pressed against hers. Then she stopped herself. Jeff was her former brother-in-law—and his faith was shaky. No matter how much she thought of him, she could never align herself with a man who didn’t have the Lord in his heart.

The thought saddened her. No one walked a Christian life by force. It had to be Jeff’s will. He had to open his heart to the Holy Spirit, and all she could do was pray that it happened for him and for Bonnie. Her niece needed to have a relationship with Jesus just as her mother had.

“Coffee, too,” Jeff said, returning to the kitchenette to pour himself a cup. He ambled back and sat on a stool against the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. “You’re quiet.”

“Enjoying the cinnamon bun,” she said, not wanting to mention her curiosity about Barb’s writing and definitely not wanting to tell him about her emotional roller coaster.

“My friend called and is coming up for the Fourth.”

Marsha twitched. A friend? Male or female? “Someone’s coming up for the holiday?”

“For a week. He’ll be up on Sunday before the Fourth. He’s bringing his daughter. I thought she’d be company for Bonnie and give you and Barb a break.”

He’s bringing his daughter. A man. Her shoulders relaxed, replaced by shame that she’d felt a twinge of jealousy. She couldn’t believe she’d become so attached to Jeff. “That’s nice, but you know Bonnie is no problem for us.”

“You’ve both been good sports, but she really needs kids her own age. Lindsey is twelve. That’s a good fit.”

Marsha recalled reading in the library that disabled kids didn’t always relate well to kids without disabilities. She hoped that wasn’t true. “Your friend’s wife can’t make it?”

Jeff’s head drooped. “He’s divorced. Nasty situation. His wife had an affair. What could be worse?”

Was death worse? Marsha only shook her head, not sure how to determine the answer to his question. “We’ll have to plan something special when he’s here.” We’ll. She cringed at being so blatant.

“Al’s never been here so it should be fun. He’s bringing his clubs so we’ll probably golf.”

“Golf?” Disappointment poked her. “You can leave the girls here.”

“We’ll probably take them in the cart. They should enjoy that.”

“They might. I’ve never golfed. I suppose it’s fun.”

“You should take lessons. I know there are lots of women’s leagues. Nice company for you.”

Nice company in a women’s league. What about nice company with Jeff? Loneliness made its unpleasant way into her thoughts. If Jeff had a friend on the island, she needed to keep herself busy doing something. Barb had seemed to loosen up. Maybe she and Barb could pass the time together. It would be good for them.

Jeff climbed on the step stool and began taking down the old ceiling light fixture. His mind wandered, wondering why Marsha had seemed so quiet during lunch. Something was bothering her, and he had no clue as to what. He’d apologized for being late, but he had believed her when she’d said that wasn’t a problem. They hadn’t set a specific time so he really had no need to apologize. But something was in the air.

Bonnie had behaved well at the table. He wondered if it had been because Marsha had suggested buying her some watercolors to replace the markers. Bonnie did seem to have talent and, when she was drawing, she seemed like any other child—no tantrums and no whining. She spent long periods of time concentrating on her pictures, and Jeff felt a tremendous relief and much gratefulness to Marsha, who’d had the idea to purchase the markers to begin with.

Bonnie’s absorption with the markers had caused him to think. When Bonnie had a purpose, when she did something that had a positive result, she seemed to concentrate and focus, something she didn’t do much of the time. He needed to teach her things, jobs that would make her feel as if she had a purpose—making her own bed, helping with the dishes, things she could use in life to be independent.

Independent? Would that ever be a reality?

He removed the last screw in the fixture and eased it down from the wall. The wiring looked good, and he’d already released the circuit breaker so he detached the wires, then stepped to the floor.

Jeff heard the screen move along the track, and he glanced toward the sound.

“How are you doing?” Marsha strode to his side, eyeing the old fixture. “Dirty. I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You’ll have a new one up there in a few minutes.”

“And one with more light.” She grinned, then drew her fingers through her cascade of red hair. “I think I’ll take Bonnie into town to look for watercolors. I suspect they have some at the Toy Museum. They sell all kinds of things there.”

He pulled the new lighting fixture from the box. “Why don’t you wait a few minutes?” He gazed at the connections, an easy five-minute job. “I’ll be done in a flash.”

“You want to go to the Toy Museum?”

“Not particularly, but the lighthouse is right there.”

She smiled, and Jeff saw the warmth in her eyes he’d come to know. He climbed the ladder while Marsha stood nearby, in case he fell, she said. He wondered what might have happened if he’d fallen earlier when she hadn’t been hearty. Jeff grinned at the question as he attached the wiring with the connectors, pulled the screwdriver from his pocket and attached the new fixture.

“How does that look?” he asked, stepping down from the step stool. He ambled to the hallway circuit box and flicked the switch. The light flashed on, and Marsha’s hair glowed in the brightness. Red hair and freckles. She seemed a vision of summer.

“Great,” she said. “Now I can read a recipe. Before it was only a good guess.”

He laughed at her remark. “Let me wash my hands, and we can be on our way.”

Marsha headed outside, and, when he’d finished, she and Bonnie were standing near the back door.

The ride to town thrilled Bonnie when a fox darted from the roadside as they approached Font Lake. She craned her neck and knelt on the backseat, staring out the window, but the fox had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. Jeff wished his problems would fade that quickly.

They followed Main Street through town and around Paradise Bay to the far side past the sheriff’s department to the Toy Museum, an old house nestled behind a wall of trees and tall grass.

Along the path into the museum, they walked through the wildflowers and grasses where unusual displays caught Bonnie’s interest. An old stump held a piece of concrete with a clock embedded into its face and a stone robin sitting on top, silly things that fit a toy store.

Inside the building, Jeff kept an eye on Bonnie as they wandered through the rooms filled with antique toys. She gawked at the unusual coin banks and wanted to hold the dolls with porcelain heads.

When Bonnie began to whine, Marsha suggested they return to the store area. Her suggestion stopped Bonnie’s tantrum before it began.

“Here we go,” Marsha said, showing Bonnie the watercolor tins. Marsha selected a large pad of paper and some extra brushes before making their way to the cashier.

Bonnie said thank you on her own, and Jeff felt his chest expand. He hadn’t gone totally wrong with raising Bonnie.