Hometown Courtship. Diann Hunt
a punctuality problem. “I’ve seen plenty of pretty women in my day. She is just one more.”
End of story.
Callie couldn’t make sense out of Brad’s visit to the salon. Did he really just want a haircut? She’d like to think he came there on purpose, but he was obviously surprised to see her. Was that an act? Was he checking up on her? Working undercover? If so, why? She disregarded a couple of parking tickets, for crying out loud. Was that a crime? Well, maybe it was a crime, but it wasn’t exactly a felony.
She pulled her car into her aunt and uncle’s driveway. She could use some distraction from thinking about Brad Sharp.
“Come on in, honey,” Aunt Bonnie said as she opened the front door.
The spicy scent of herbed pork chops and buttery potatoes filled the air. Callie followed her nose to the kitchen.
“Smells awesome,” she said.
Dressed in jeans, a pink flowing blouse and a full-length apron, Aunt Bonnie was leaning over, peering into the oven. “Looks good.” She closed the oven door, then walked over and gave Callie a hug. “Oh, you’re getting skinnier.”
That’s why she loved her aunt.
“So, how was your day?”
“Why—why do you ask?” Callie stammered.
With a confused expression, Bonnie pulled off her oven mitts. “Well, I didn’t have much chance to talk to you at the salon, and I was just wondering how your community service has been going.”
Callie hated to be suspicious, but sometimes Aunt Bonnie was innocence, sometimes snoop queen. Right now, Callie wasn’t sure which.
“It was fine, really. Building a house is pretty amazing. I had no idea how much went into it.” Callie grabbed some glasses and filled them with ice and water, attempting to forget the humiliation of yesterday morning, the look on Brad’s face, his biting words. At least she’d made it on time this morning.
“Any handsome young men working there?” Aunt Bonnie’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Why, are you in the market?”
Aunt Bonnie giggled. “Oh, you,” she said.
“Uncle George home yet?” Callie placed the glasses on the table.
“No, but he should be home any second.” Bonnie gathered serving spoons. “Are you trying to change the subject?”
Just then they heard the garage door open and Uncle George’s car creeping into his parking spot. Not that it was hard to do. He kept an immaculate garage. Callie wished his organizational skills had rubbed off on her.
“There are my girls.” Uncle George hung his keys on a wooden peg by the door, walked over and kissed Aunt Bonnie soundly on the lips, then gave Callie a peck on the cheek. “How’s your community service going? Any eligible bachelors?”
Callie sighed.
Uncle George laughed and shrugged. “Just wondered.”
They were hopeless romantics, no doubt about it.
Callie slid into her chair and placed her napkin on her lap. “If you must know, it was fine.” They stared at her. “And, um, no reason to get your hopes up.”
Their shoulders slumped in unison.
Uncle George said grace over their meal, scooped out a dollop of mashed potatoes, then passed the bowl to Callie.
“You got your new work crew lined up for the ice-cream shop, Uncle George?”
“I’m working on it. I still have one more position to fill, and I’m not real happy with the applications I have left. It’s hard to find good help these days.”
Callie suddenly imagined Brad saying the same thing.
Once dinner was over, Callie and Aunt Bonnie cleaned the table and washed the dishes while Uncle George went into the living room and relaxed in front of the television. He was as sweet as they came, but when it came to kitchen duties, he was fully convinced they were a woman’s job. Aunt Bonnie said he made up for it by helping with the laundry.
Callie wanted a man who wasn’t afraid to do both. An image of Brad in an apron popped into her head. Yeah, that would be the day.
“What are you thinking about?” Aunt Bonnie asked while maneuvering a long pan into the cupboard.
“Nothing much.” Callie worked her fingers through the soap bubbles for more silverware.
“I don’t know why we just didn’t load the dishwasher,” Aunt Bonnie said.
Callie shrugged. “I thought it might soften my hands after working construction for two days.”
Her aunt laughed.
“Aunt Bonnie, do you think Dad ever thinks of me?”
The older woman closed the cupboard door and walked over to Callie. “I’m sure he does, every single day, honey.” Bonnie reached up and stroked Callie’s cheek, her soft hand protective and maternal. “I’ve no doubt he would love to see you, but he’s waited so long that now he probably wouldn’t know how to do it.”
Callie dried her hands and sat down at the clean table. “I wish I knew how to contact him.”
With her warm brown eyes fixed on Callie, Bonnie sat across from her and patted her hand. “I know, Cal,” she said softly. “Something stirring up thoughts of your dad lately?”
“Oh, working at the house, smelling the lumber, hearing the pounding hammers, all that, I guess.”
A pensive look in her eyes, Aunt Bonnie hesitated a moment and nodded. “I can see how that would make you think of him.” A pause hovered between them.
“No one stays around,” Callie said, slumping further into her chair. “Except you and Uncle George, of course.”
Aunt Bonnie smiled. “There is One who never leaves.”
“I know.” Callie didn’t want to get into another deep talk about God. She knew the scriptures and all that “He’ll never leave you or forsake you” stuff. She wanted to believe it, but doubts plagued her. Her dad had left, her fiancé, Jeremy, had left—what was to stop God?
Bonnie grabbed Callie’s hand. “Look, I know things have been a little dry for you lately. Talk to Him.” With that, Aunt Bonnie released Callie’s hand, gave it a pat and went back over to the oven. “You know, when you were a kid, you used to help your dad around the house.”
Callie perked up. She always loved to hear stories about her family.
“Until one day, you pounded a little too hard when hanging a nail for a picture and there was no stud. Your hammer went clear through the drywall.”
Callie winced. “I haven’t improved in my home-building skills all that much.”
Aunt Bonnie chuckled. “Well, community service will be over soon enough.”
Callie didn’t know what to think about that. Part of her wanted to run from it because it reminded her of her father, and another part of her wanted to run to it, because the memories were all she had left.
If only people she loved wouldn’t leave.
“Hey, Mom.” Brad stepped into his childhood home, the stale odor of a house closed up assaulting him. He thought his staying in town for a while would help her, but she was sinking deeper into despair.
“Hi, Brad.” Annie Sharp pushed herself to a sitting position on the sofa, propped the pillow behind her and worked her fingers through shoulder-length brown tangles.
In her late fifties, his mom still didn’t have a smidgen of gray. With her