Made Of Honor Part 23

I couldn't help but smile as the scripture zinged through my mind. G.o.d gave open book tests. Simple questions. He even provided the answers. I pulled a hand over my eyes, to give my throbbing arm another position and shield my tears from my imminent "family." Pineapple and cilantro skipped along the bed rail like music. A chair screeched at my bedside. Though he didn't say a word, Adrian was there. Grateful, I closed my eyes.

Chapter Fifteen.

"So what are you going to do?"

My father moved like a dancer between the pots and pans-jambalaya with chicken breast and shrimp for me and fried calamari and garlic bread for the rest. Not that it was really helpful to smell all that, but I appreciated the thought, as well as his question. After over a month of speech and occupational therapy, plenty of praying and talking to family and friends, I still didn't have an answer.

"I don't know, Dad. I just don't know."

"Hmph. Just let it go. If you need money, we'll figure something out. I'm thinking about opening a restaurant-"

I choked on my water. "What?"

"It won't be for a while. I've been working at Smokey's and he really thinks I've got what it takes."

"Working? At the racetrack restaurant? I thought you were just-"

"Betting? Drinking? I know. I can't say I blame you for thinking that, but with my family back together I thought it was time I try to get myself together. Your mother would have wanted it this way." He paused as if wanted to say more, then tunneled his words down his arm and into his spoon, whizzing around a bowl of cake batter faster than any electric mixer ever could.

"It's angel food. The strawberries are in the fridge. I hope you like it. I made it for her-the first time." With halted words, Daddy turned to walk away, but I caught his arm. He pulled back, probably surprised at the strength of my touch-hey, weeks of biceps curls had to be good for something.

"Why didn't you all tell me about Mama's first stroke? I remember her going to the emergency room those times."

He shook his head. "It seemed so harmless. Like this thing with you. I know now that it wasn't." He wiped his eye. "Don't take a chance, moppet. Just don't take a chance."

Water trickled down my throat as I pulled my gla.s.s back to my mouth. I appreciated Daddy's concern, and truthfully, it matched my own, but what was I supposed to do, give up everything in my life and wait for death to come and claim me? Surely that wasn't the life G.o.d had for me. I needed change, the people at the hospital had made that clear.

In the four weeks I'd spent there, I'd lost twenty pounds and my blood pressure had plummeted. But what about now with work, church and all the drama of my family? Not to mention the shop, which Adrian and Dahlia were miraculously holding together.

I was ashamed to admit that Dahlia's appearance might have had some impact on the new sales figures, which she proudly called in each evening. And Adrian had even pulled in Jordan and Trevor to help in Dahlia's absence, which had to be a crazy mix. I could hardly imagine Trevor stacking jars with my name tattooed on his arm. Crazy. But somehow it was working.

And they'd make it work as long as I needed-or at least until Trevor needed to get to work on his next alb.u.m. They loved me enough to pick up the slack. Even my evil cousins and Aunt Cheryl were said to be seen pitching in on the weekends. Austin, too, when she wasn't on the set.

But as for what I really wanted to do, I wasn't sure. I still lost my balance from time to time and had to slow down when speaking, but in many ways things seemed much like they'd been before. Yet, I couldn't forget that doctor's last phrase-disabled or dead.

Adrian sauntered into the kitchen with a slice of watermelon for himself and one for me. I took it, thanking him graciously. "Where'd you get this?"

"Bob brought it. The Visa man? The one who saved you by calling the ambulance?"

Saved my life. At the sound of those words, the backs of my ears p.r.i.c.kled. Though I tried not to think about it most days, the fact that I'd almost died was unavoidable. But for some reason, G.o.d had chosen to let me live. And He'd used the Visa guy to do it. "He's here?"

Adrian pointed at a muscular fellow with raven hair and a cross earring. Sort of a Latin Fabio with a Bible. Adrian waved in Bob's direction and took my hand. "C'mon."

He didn't have to tell me. I was already half-across the room, watermelon in hand. I stopped just short of him. "Bob?"

He squinted at me. "Dana?"

Adrian grabbed the watermelon just in time, and we hugged like old friends. "Thanks so much for saving my life."

He smiled. "Thank G.o.d, not me. I wasn't trying to do anything that day but nail you. You were on my top ten most wanted list to actually talk to."

I shook my head thinking of how hard I'd been driving myself. "Well thanks for doing your job. And sorry about the bills and everything. I'm going to work that out."

Bob-who names a guy who looks like a movie star and smells like the ocean, Bob? I guess his mother couldn't have predicted it-winked at Adrian. "Don't sweat it. It's all been taken care of."

My eyes, now squinty, went from the Visa guy to Adrian. I knew that code. It was the shut-up-I-didn't-tell-her-yet look. I glared at my old friend. "What did you do?" Sure, I'd been sick, but he wasn't my husband. This was too much.

He grabbed my hand and tugged, then frowned at Bob. "Thanks, buddy! We'll see you later."

The guy laughed and went back to the cl.u.s.ter of people he'd been standing with before. People I'd seen at church, but didn't really know. Since when did the family gathering become the free-for-all hangout? While I was in the hospital, I suppose. I followed Adrian's tug into the dining room where we sat down at the table. He tucked my soggy slice of watermelon in to one of the linen napkins as though it were a rose.

He pulled out my chair, then quickly took a seat, raising one hand before I could go on my tirade.

"Look, before you say anything, hear me out, okay?"

"Okay."

His face went solemn. "I know you don't want my help. I know that you don't need it-"

"You're already helping at the store. Taking my appointments-"

He c.o.c.ked his head sideways. I reached for another slice of watermelon from a bowl on the table. I bit into it and the juice squirted onto his face. He smiled. "Let me finish. I need to help you right now. There is no resource that I have that I won't use to keep you well." He dragged a clenched fist across his nose. "Even you can't deny me that."

"Deny you? I'm not trying to deny you anything, it's just that..." My voice trailed as I tried to slow down and get my lips to cooperate with my words.

Adrian took the opportunity to get a word in himself. "It is about denying me and everybody else. Why do you have to almost kill yourself before we can help you? Have you thought about that? I've been begging you since I came back to town for us to work together, so you wouldn't have to work so hard." He buried his head in his hands. "I can't believe I let this happen."

My stomach knotted. "You?" I talked slow this time so the words would come out clear. "You've been nothing but kind. My hereditary put me on a path to this, but I charged up the road."

He kissed my cheek. "Yeah, but I let you go on, knowing it was too much. When we were just friends, it was so much easier. I could tell you what I thought and know that it was honest and for your best interest. Now..."

Dahlia slipped into view in a pink and red paisley off-one-shoulder sundress. She started toward us. Adrian held on to my hand and never looked her way. The rest of the room, though, took to her like a cactus to water, drinking her in and holding on.

"How are you feeling, sis?" she whispered into my mane of twists. Having a hairdresser who did house calls turned out to be a great idea.

"Better," I said. "Much better."

She nodded. "You look it. I guess having this guy around doesn't hurt, does it?"

When you're here it does.

Adrian looked up with a plastic smile. I eased out of his grip and stared at the placemats. Apples. Roch.e.l.le's motif. She'd wanted to ditch my pansies for years. Much the same way that I needed to ditch the pain of what had pa.s.sed between Adrian and Dahlia. It rose again now, like a bronco, breaking through the barrier where I'd corralled it. Why didn't I just talk to him about it and get it over with? With her right here, too? "Speaking of Adrian, maybe we should..."

Dahlia turned. "What?"

I stared across at the empty seat where he'd been. "Nothing. Have a seat. Tell me all about the shop."

I tried not to be jealous, but I wasn't so sure if I pulled it off. While Dahlia rattled off the sales figures, slipped the digital camera out of her purse and showed me the new store arrangements, her sketches for new labels and logos for each line-how many lines did I have again?-I really had to stay calm. When she pulled out a spreadsheet of the top sellers over the last six weeks plus a graph for the trends for the month to come, my breath left me. Sure, I had the creative thing going on, but my sister was good at this business thing.

Really good.

"Don't look so surprised. I know you expect me to be stupid." She snapped her purse shut.

"It's not that, it's just that-"

She smiled. "I know. You weren't expecting it. Me, either. I mean sure, I'm good with shopping, and I got A's in business school, but this is really my thing."

You mean my thing. As usual.

I scratched my cheek.

"I mean your thing, of course. It's your business, but I'm-forget it. I can't make everything up to you, but I'm trying to do what I can." She stared at the ceiling. "Trying to make you proud of me."

I could almost hear that anonymous radio voice, saying, "This is a test. This is a test of the Christian response broadcast system." For a moment, I thought it was a test I would fail. This was what Dahlia had been seeking all those times that she hurt me. Recognition. Approval. Love. Now, when she was seeking it in constructive ways, did I have the strength, the faith, to build her up? I didn't. But Jesus did and He loaned me a little just before my little sister's eyes clouded over.

I gathered my sister into my arms. "I'm very proud of you." I stared across the room at Sierra, bouncing on Jordan's lap. "You are trying to pull your family together, you're working hard to help me and regardless of what's happened between us, you came back to try and make it right."

Her tears moistened my shoulder. "It was Trev who insisted we come back. But I'm glad we did. I need you." She looked around the room and whispered, "All of you." Just as quickly, Dahlia collected herself, wiped her tears, and nodded toward a handsome newcomer standing in the living room. "Who's the hunk?"

I giggled, then stopped, swallowing my laughter. She was crying one minute and scoping the next. I had to remember who I was dealing with. "That's Bob."

Her mouth opened just a bit. "Bob?"

"The Visa guy who called the hospital when I had the stroke. Turns out he goes to the Spanish church down the street from ours." I spoke the last words slowly, watching her watch him. Didn't we have enough trouble? "Don't get any ideas."

She looked hurt. "I was just curious, Dane. It's not like that. The last thing I need is another man. I realize now I've had too many. That's my problem. I just want more of Jesus." She stared over at Trevor, sitting on the couch between Adrian and Jericho. He looked tired. Drained.

Jesus had certainly been busy while I was away.

Sierra rubbed her eyes and started to whine, but Trevor crossed the room and picked her up before anyone else could. He walked her out, eying Dahlia as he went.

She ignored him, but moved to the edge of her seat when he disappeared down the hall. "One more thing. What's the deal with this Tangela chick stiffing you for all that money? Why didn't you tell me about that?"

Tangela? I covered my mouth then let my fingers slip away. "Oh, no. Her wedding. I forgot all about it."

Dahlia narrowed her eyes as if I'd said the stupidest thing ever. "You had a stroke and you're still worried about that woman? That's how you got to the hospital in the first place. I know you love G.o.d, but business is business. When she showed up, I showed her the door. And don't worry about the money she owed you. Lord willing, Trevor and I are still headed for the altar in a few weeks and you can be my maid of honor."

Maid of honor. If I was going to do it, it should be for family, but it'd be easy to say that and just be doing it for the money. Despite the hugs and pie graphs, I knew Dahlia could easily hurt me again.

She pursed her lips. "Since you're taking so long to even say anything, I'm sorry for asking."

I took a deep breath. "I'm just surprised. You and Trevor don't even look like you're getting along, let alone getting married. Not that I wouldn't be happy for you. I just don't want you to feel like you're doing penance or making things up to me. If I'm going to do something like that, I want you to mean it."

And for me to mean it, too.

She nodded. "I do mean it. About Trevor and about you. I want you to stand up for me. As my sister."

"Are you serious?"

"Serious as that stroke you had."

That girl always did have an off sense of humor. She actually thought that was funny.

My throat tightened. Should I do it? Everything seemed all wonderful now, but what about when Dahlia pulled a fast one like she had so many times before? Sure I wanted her to grow into the woman G.o.d wanted her to be and I did love her, really I did. But I couldn't escape what felt like another flashing red light. It was probably just my fear, but it was flashing just the same. Sierra tumbled out of her uncle's lap and ran across the room to me, prying open my arms and snuggling her hair in mine. I smiled. "Let me pray about it and talk to the doctor." At least I could actually fit into a decent dress. Not that I'd recommend the brain trauma diet plan.

Dahlia plucked her baby from my arms. "Okay, whatever. We'll talk more about it later. It'll be a small ceremony anyway. Gotta run."

I'd hurt her, something that I'd tried to avoid, but I couldn't keep just going along. To Dahlia, standing up before G.o.d with Trevor might not mean more than a chance to buy a pretty dress. A glorified version of the prom. For me, the ceremony and its partic.i.p.ants were a statement, parts of a covenant between a man and a woman and G.o.d who made them. To have me being a "maid" of honor and Dahlia just hooking up with her baby's daddy until their next breakup, wouldn't work for me. Maybe I wouldn't have a lasting marriage, but I wouldn't be offering my presence at the altar anymore for whoever happened to ask-not even for my sister.

Life, I'd learned recently, was too short and too sweet to waste on things I didn't mean.

They took good care of me. Dad kept me stocked in fruits and veggies and cooked dinner for me every night while the others came and went, calling and checking, dropping by. While the attention was nice, I craved the solitude and time with G.o.d I'd rediscovered at the hospital.

With no agenda driving my days, I woke each morning to fill myself with G.o.d's promises, prayer, walking the neighborhood I'd forgotten existed, waving to neighbors I'd long ignored. Tracey and I e-mailed often and talked on the phone daily, sharing recipes and tips for the online journaling program she'd suggested I sign up for. It suited me much better. After our food talk, next would come her pregnancy woes. Today was no different.

"Did you know that the average age for weaning is four years old worldwide? Isn't that amazing?"

More like gross. It was La Leche League day, so I could expect at least twenty minutes on the merits of breastmilk. The cost of friendship. "That's wild, Tracey."

"It really is. The body is just so awesome, you know? Like your shop. Fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalm 139, right?"

"Right." I'd read it this morning, in fact. Only the merits of the female design hadn't been on my mind then. When I read the pa.s.sage, I reflected on how well G.o.d knew me. The intimacy He craved with me. I'd been wonderfully made to worship Him...to know Him in a way that only I could.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Talking to Tracey was great, but I suddenly wanted to be alone again-with my Savior. Especially since the stock was running low at the store and I needed to start building inventory. Not with my usual intensity though. Just a batch of something each day.

"Dane, you there?"

I blinked. "Sure. Sorry."

Munching sounded through the receiver. "It's okay. It's time for me to have my snack anyway. Go and have yours."

Snack? "I just ate, Tracey."

"I didn't mean food. I meant spirit food. Treasure your singleness, Dane. Love Jesus with all your heart...while you've got the time." She crunched one more time. "And send us a great devotional when you're done. I say take the whole month. You've been killing it."