A Gift for All Seasons. Karen Templeton
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people. Feeling useful.”
Her mother dusted her hands, then crossed her arms, censure softening into concern. An unexpected shift that caught April off guard. “I would have thought you’d already done that. More than enough for one lifetime.”
April’s forehead scrunched. “What? Oh. You mean, because of Clay?”
“Exactly. Because …” Mama glanced toward the hall, then lowered her voice. “Because after taking care of your father all those months, I know how hard that must’ve been on you. At the … at the end.”
“But this isn’t even remotely the same thing—”
“And for you to lose your husband so early,” her mother went on, clearly determined to keep this particular train off track, “it was so unfair, honey. Especially since … well.”
Especially since she and Clayton hadn’t had children. But then Mama wasn’t privy to the particulars. Probably never would be, either, it being a nonissue now. Because if she had known … oh, Lord. Woman would’ve had a fit and fallen into it.
And for somebody who considered herself an honest person, April had more secrets than a TV preacher.
Mama cleared her throat. “What Clayton did for us … I still thank him in my prayers every day. Thank God that he was in our lives, even if only for such a short time. He truly was the most generous man on earth.”
“Yes. He was—”
“Then, baby, don’t you think, after what you’ve been through, he’d want you to take things easy? To enjoy life?”
Laughing, April went to the kitchen for a pitcher of tea. “I’m only twenty-six, Mama. Not sure how I’m supposed to enjoy life without living it. To …” She swung the tea pitcher, making her mother suck in a breath. “Embrace unexpected opportunities.”
Her mother hurried over to rescue the hapless pitcher, clutching it to her stomach as she stared at April. “By running an inn?”
“By realizing my dream, of having my own business, doing what I love to do. That’s what Clayton would have wanted for me. And that’s the best way I know how to honor him,” she added before her mother could shoehorn in another protest. Which she did, anyway.
“But it doesn’t make sense—”
Mama clamped shut her mouth as Daddy finally shuffled in from their bedroom where he’d been watching TV, grunting appreciatively at the array of sandwiches before lowering himself into his chair with a contented sigh. Although thinner than he used to be, Edward Ross was otherwise remarkably fit for someone who’d all but rubbed shoulders with death not three years before, even if his entrepreneurial days were in all likelihood behind him. And praise Jesus for that. But what brought tears to April’s eyes was knowing that, thanks to Clayton, her parents’ needs would be met for the rest of their lives. That in exchange for putting her dreams on hold for a few years, he’d now given her the freedom to follow them.
Wherever they led her.
And however scary they were.
A thrill of anticipation shunted through her as she turned to her mother and said softly, “And you of all people should understand that what makes us happy isn’t necessarily what makes sense.”
Another moment or two passed before her mother muttered, “Then you’re as much of a blamed fool as the rest of us,” before carting the pitcher over to the table to pour her husband his tea. Only as April opened her mouth to refute her mother’s statement, she couldn’t seem to shove the words past a certain somebody’s lethal blue gaze.
Lethal … and, unless she was sadly mistaken, needy.
Yeah. What Mama said.
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