The Single Dad Finds A Wife Part 17

"I really think you'll like what I've come up with."

She held the phone away from her ear as if he were talking in an ancient tongue. And then she did what she'd thought about doing from time to time with various people through the years. She hung up on him.

"So," Autumn Darling said as she worked out on the elliptical next to Spring's the next day. "I miss one cheesecake confab at Summer's only to discover that Winter's been dating a criminal and you've hooked up with the man trying to turn the farmhouse into a condo and fast-food development."

Spring groaned. This morning workout with her baby sister at F.I.T., the gym Autumn co-owned with two other fitness freaks, was supposed to be cathartic, not a source of more stress. She wiped her brow with the small towel draped over her shoulder, then moved from the elliptical next to Autumn and onto a rowing machine.

"First, Winter is not seeing a criminal. It was two dates and she dumped him as soon as she figured it out. And for the record, I have not 'hooked up' with anyone."

"Well, whatever you old people call dating," Autumn said.

A dozen years separated the oldest Darling sibling from the youngest. And the dig about "old people" was a good-humored one that had been oft repeated through the years. Today, however, the barb hit home with uncharacteristic alacrity.

Spring stopped rowing and burst into tears.

Autumn was so startled she nearly fell off the elliptical.

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry," she said, rushing to her sister's side. "I didn't mean anything by that."

F.I.T. had not yet opened to the public for the day, so they were alone. Spring buried her head in the towel and wept as if her world had come undone at the first stroke of her oars.

Spring realized Autumn had never seen her big sister lose her cool. Autumn murmured comforting words and rubbed Spring's back until the sobs subsided into hiccups and then sniffles.

"Feel better?"

Spring nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize for being human," Autumn said, squeezing her sister's shoulders.

"Help me out of this torture machine of yours."

Autumn did. Instead of heading to the showers, they walked to the marked lanes along the gym's interior perimeter that were used for walkers and indoor runners to do laps.

"I take it that jag wasn't about being old."

Spring sniffled and smiled. "What a perceptive child you are." After a minute or so of them walking in silence, Spring said, "Do you want kids, Autumn?"

"Crumb s.n.a.t.c.hers? Sure. But not now."

Spring gave a decidedly unladylike snort. "Take some advice from your big sister. Don't let 'not now' turn into 'it's too late.'"

"What's going on, Spring?"

The doctor squared her shoulders and increased her pace, which Autumn easily and quickly matched. "Just a little overdue introspection," she said. Then, "Let's turn this little stroll into some real exercise."

With that, she took off at a run, leaving a bemused Autumn to catch up or give up.

Spring didn't have a shift at Cedar Springs General Hospital that day. She was, however, scheduled at Common Ground. That's where the flowers were delivered.

The bouquet of mixed exotics was beautiful.

"Wow," Shelby, the clinic's front desk receptionist, said. "Aren't you the lucky one?"

Spring plucked the card from the floral pick in the blooms, read it and grimaced. "When the Common Ground messenger comes around today, please have him take these to Manna. Summer can use them for the dining room," she said to Shelby.

"Doc?" Shelby asked, concern lacing in her voice.

Spring shook her head and walked away from David's apology.

The next delivery hit her hard.

A large same-day FedEx envelope arrived. It had no return address, and she wondered how the sender had managed that. When she opened it, with Shelby looking on, she discovered a sheaf of papers. The one on top was a piece of cream-colored construction paper with multicolor crayon drawings completed in the style of a four-year-old child. The picture included three stick figures, two tall ones and a little one, all holding hands along with what looked like a brown snowman with a bow tie next to the little stick figure. A crookedly drawn red heart was in the corner of the page, presumably as a signature.

"Oh, Jeremy, sweetie. You're not playing fair, David," she whispered.

"What is it?" Shelby asked.

Spring glanced at the other papers in the envelope. She saw an embossed logo with "Carolina Land a.s.sociates" at the bottom of the page and jammed them back inside without further consultation. She held on to the construction paper drawing, though.

She pa.s.sed Shelby the envelope. "Would you please see that these are shredded?"

"Shredded? But-"

Spring took the envelope back. "That's all right," she said. "I'll do it. When is my next appointment?"

Shelby glanced at the schedule and then gave Spring a quizzical look before answering.

"Not until two."

"Send any walk-ins my way," Spring requested as she headed to the volunteers' lounge with her drawing and FedEx envelope of unread doc.u.ments.

"You're scaring your sister, and you're starting to scare me," Cecelia Jeffries told her best friend that night. She and Spring were at the Corner Cafe downtown, where Spring was pretending to eat half of a Cobb salad and Cecelia was acting in the role of older, wiser best friend and sister-confidant. Her multicolored reading gla.s.ses had polka dots on them and made Spring smile.

"I'm fine, CeCe."

"Uh-huh. You've dropped five pounds in a week and you're working like the end of the world is tomorrow."

"Maybe it is."

"Spring."

She pushed the salad aside. "He's showing the designs to the city council, and with that burglary warehouse being out at the farm, Bernadette has even more ammunition to take the property via eminent domain. We've put a lot of work into the grant application for the history center, but it was all a waste of time."

"How can you say that?"

"Because, CeCe, even if we get the grant, which we won't find out for another six weeks, by then it will be too late. This is yet another of the mayor's fast-track projects."

"Maybe we should go public with our plans for the land."

"You can if you'd like. I'm just tired of fighting."

Cecelia leaned back in her chair and regarded her friend. "You fell in love with him and you think he's betrayed you by continuing with his plans."

"Good deductive reasoning, Dr. Many Degrees. I see you've added psychology to your repertoire."

"That's Professor Many Degrees."

The little joke earned a small smile from Spring.

Cecelia c.o.c.ked her head and raised her brow. "Wow, girl, you've got it bad."

Spring shook her head. "Not possible, CeCe. I just met the man. I know nothing about him. Well, nothing besides his job, his son and his mother."

Cecelia grinned. "People have married each other knowing far less. Face it, Spring, you've been struck by Cupid's arrow. Fallen in love at first sight. Found your soul mate and all that."

"Please. I'm not eighteen and starry-eyed."

"Nope," Cecelia said. "You're thirty-five and jaded."

"Speaking of being young and starry-eyed. I completely fell apart on Autumn today."

"I know," Cecelia said. "She called me. She's never, ever seen you cry. Did you know that? You were always the one wiping away tears, not shedding them. She said she thought about calling Lovie, but decided that would be like calling in the National Guard for something a meter maid could handle."

Spring closed her eyes. "Well, thank the Lord for small blessings. That's all I need is more questioning from my mother. I got an earful and then some out at the farmhouse after David and I found that storage facility and he mentioned dating. You'd think I was the youngest the way they've all been acting."

"That's because you've been acting like a woman in love and they've never seen that before."

"Can we please talk about something else?"

"No," Cecelia said. "You have to face this thing."

"There is no thing."

"Then why did you give away a perfectly lovely arrangement of flowers from him and say you were going to shred everything he's sent you?"

Spring threw up her hands. "Spies are everywhere! Who are you, MI6?"

Cecelia reached across the table, grabbed one of Spring's hands and clutched it in her larger brown ones. "I'm your friend, Spring. Your best friend. I know the secrets your sisters and mother don't. I know why you're afraid, and, let me a.s.sure you, sister, it's time to let it go."

Spring felt water well up in her eyes and she swallowed back the tears. She would not cry. Not again.

"It's not supposed to be like this," she said. "It's not supposed to hurt or be so complicated."

"Says who? Girlfriend, if men weren't worth the heartache, the human species would cease to exist. Marriages would crumble. Life as we know it-"

Spring s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away. "I get your point."

"That honey boy and his little man are worth fighting for."

"But he's fighting to take away something I love."

"He's forcing you to shift your paradigms, to consider new and alternative scripts for the same tired screenplay you've been reading since Keith."

Spring stared at her friend. She realized with a start and with sudden clarity that that was the first time she'd heard his name spoken aloud in a long time. While the ache of how he'd used, abused and lied to her remained, it was a vague sort of ache, like the distant memory of a fall or a bad tuna sandwich from a month ago. She didn't have to believe or accept that David might-or might not-be The One. But she could allow herself to be free of the past.

She may have been keeping her emotional self cloistered away and shielded from potential hurt, and Cecelia was right. It was time to let the ghost of Keith Henson float away.

"And the light shines through," Cecelia said.

"What?"

Cecelia smiled. "Your expression. Something just happened to you. I watched it cross your face."

Spring reached for her salad and picked up her fork.

"You, Professor Many Degrees, are way too perceptive. And I love you for it, my friend."

Chapter Thirteen.

The conversation with Cecelia clarified Spring's thinking. Rather than resigning or conceding the battle, she discovered within her a new enthusiasm and will to make the history-center project a go.

She was a doctor, a pediatrician, but she could string coherent sentences together. She wasn't an editorial writer or journalist. Yet the idea of putting her thoughts and concerns on paper carried a certain appeal. It was easy to let her emotions get in the way when talking to David or to fail to find the words to express what she wanted to say when talking to her sisters. She knew she and David were not going to see eye to eye on this in a conversation. They were both too pa.s.sionately invested in what each thought was the right course of action.

Writing an op-ed for the newspaper would give her the opportunity to lay out her rationale and concerns in a cohesive way-without the distraction of his presence throwing her off-kilter. So she called the local paper and inquired about writing an op-ed column about the benefits and reasons for historic preservation.

At a maximum of 250 words, the letters to the editor were basically a few paragraphs of opinion. But the columns that ran opposite of the editorial page, hence op-ed, were much longer and gave the opportunity for a more thorough a.n.a.lysis of an issue. She also liked that there was no arguing back with the writer. If people disagreed, they had to write a letter to the editor, which had to be mailed, emailed or hand-delivered to the offices of the Cedar Springs Gazette.

Although she had nothing to lose and didn't know what to expect of her request, she was surprised when the editor not only liked the idea but offered her own twist: she would get someone to write a pro piece to Spring's con.

"You do understand that I envision these pieces running on the same day," Mac Scott, the editor of the Cedar Springs Gazette said.

Spring nodded. "Who is writing the pro piece?"

"I liked your idea. So after you called, I put out a couple of feelers, but I have no solid commitment yet," Mac said.

"I'm sure Mayor Howell would jump at the opportunity."