Yuletide Twins. Renee Andrews
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and his attention moved to her cheek, where that wayward lock of hair curled against her skin. Laura knew what he was about to do, so she could have quickly tucked the strands out of the way herself, but for some strange reason, she didn’t. Instead she held her breath as David tenderly slid his finger against her skin and eased the lock in place. “You’re going to be an excellent teacher.”
A tingle of something echoed from the point where his finger touched her skin, ricocheting through her senses and then settling in her chest. Laura didn’t know if the effect was from his compassionate touch or his earnest words. Or both.
Ready to get control of her emotions, she walked back to the children’s area and said, “Zeb came by while you were gone. Come see what he did for us.” She picked up the sketch pad from the table and turned it so David could see the drawing. “I’m going to make a boxcar to decorate the children’s reading nook. If we use this design, they could climb inside and pretend they’re on the actual boxcar while we talk about the story. We can use some of the beanbags and pillows already in the reading nook.”
Even before she looked to verify the fact, she knew that David had moved closer to look at the drawing. She could sense the warmth of his body next to hers, and she turned to see that his face—as she suspected—was mere inches from her own. A hint of cologne teased the air, and she fought the urge to inhale...or move closer.
“It sounds like a great idea,” he said. “Um, did Zeb mention how much he thought the materials would run?”
He couldn’t disguise the worry in his tone, and it reinforced Laura’s quest to make, rather than lose, money for his store. It also pulled her out of the uncomfortable moment of attraction that she was pretty sure only occurred on her side of this fence.
“He said since Diane Marsh’s grandson is one of the kids participating in the book club, she’d probably donate the craft board and other materials we might need. And he said he thought you could make the wooden stands to hold the boxcar from crates that are usually kept behind the store.”
The worry lines that’d shown on David’s forehead as he’d looked at the drawing disappeared as his face slid into a grin. “Leave it to Zeb to get it all worked out. Zeb and you, I mean. This is a great idea, and if Diane will donate the materials, that’d make it even better.”
“I’ll go see her right now,” Laura said. “I’d like to have it ready for First Friday.”
David looked at the circular clock above the entrance showing straight-up noon. “You realize that’s only six hours from now, right?”
“Then I’d better get busy.” Laughing, she grabbed her purse and turned to leave, but then stopped when her cell started ringing the song “Daddy’s Hands.” “Hang on, that’s my dad.” Her father taught middle school history, and even though he was probably on his lunch break, she knew he never made personal calls from the school. She answered. “Daddy? Anything wrong?”
He exhaled thickly over the line. “Laura, I hate to bother you, and I sure don’t want to worry you, but I need to ask...have you heard from your mother today?”
Laura had called her parents each night this week to let them know how things were going at the bookstore, how she was settling in, and then yesterday how the appointment with the new doctor had gone. But she hadn’t heard from her mother since she hung up the phone with them last night. “I haven’t. Did she leave again?”
“I don’t know what’s going on, hon, but it’s been so much worse this year, since this summer. She isn’t happy, and I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. She wanted to go on that cruise in August, before I had to start back at the school, and I took her, but that still didn’t help. And she wanted to go on regular dates, and we’ve been doing that, or trying to—she’s been working more hours at the mall, you know.” He sounded miserable, the way he always sounded whenever her mother did another round of leaving to “find herself.”
“She isn’t answering her cell?”
“Goes straight to voice mail. She must have it turned off.”
“Was she supposed to work today?” Laura asked.
“She was, but Nan, the store manager, called me to see where she was this morning when she didn’t show up at the store. I was afraid she’d had an accident or something, since she’s never late for work, and I started trying to call her cell. And like I said, it went straight to voice mail. But I just called Nan back to see if she ever heard from her, and she said that your mother called in and said she was taking a personal day.” He paused. “She’d assumed your mother would’ve called and told me.”
“Of course she did,” Laura said. Because that’s what a normal wife would do. But something was different this time, because regardless of how many times Marjorie Holland had left without warning, she always planned her disappearances on her days off. She could leave Laura’s father and Laura without any explanation whatsoever, but she would never miss a day of work and risk someone else taking her sales.
“I’ll try calling her, but I’m sure you’re right,” Laura said. “If she doesn’t want to talk to us, she won’t.”
“I know, dear. But, well, if you hear from her, will you call me, text me, whatever is more convenient? I just want to know that she’s okay.”
“I will, Daddy.” She disconnected then immediately dialed her mother. Sure enough, it went straight to voice mail.
“She left again?” David asked.
Laura dropped the cell in her purse. “I don’t know how he does it, goes through this over and over without any rhyme or reason to why she acts the way she does.” For years, especially when she was younger, Laura would cry whenever her mother mysteriously disappeared. But those tears were done. Crying never helped, and Laura wasn’t going to let her mother upset her now. It wasn’t good for the babies if Laura was stressed, so she would not get stressed.
“You want to talk about it?” David asked, the concern in his voice evident.
She’d talked to David about her mother’s peculiar behavior a few times when they were at UT, but she didn’t want to spend their time today analyzing the mystery that was Marjorie Holland. “Nope. I want to go buy what we need to build a boxcar. Or rather, have it all donated to the cause.”
He spotted a book out of order on a shelf, withdrew it and then began running his finger along the spines to find the correct spot. “Okay,” he said, “but get some lunch while you’re out. I don’t want you forgetting to eat because you’re trying to finish that boxcar.”
“Don’t worry.” She pointed to her stomach. “They don’t let me forget.”
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