A Family To Cherish. Carole Gift Page

nodded dutifully, steeling herself. She wasn’t in the mood to hear a sermon now, especially from Nancy, whose boundless fervor and exuberance for life had a way of exhausting the most intrepid of souls.

      “You and Doug helped Paul and me discover that truth years ago,” Nancy went on earnestly, brushing her flyaway honey-blond hair back from her face. “You introduced us to Christ’s love, Barb, and, thank God, our lives haven’t been the same since.”

      “I’m glad, Nancy. Doug and I are very happy for you…”

      Nancy grinned, squinting against the sunlight. “I bet you and Doug don’t even realize what you did for us. I just wish we could return the favor.”

      “Don’t be silly, Nan.”

      “Silly? I’m serious as a judge. But any gift or gesture I can think of pales by comparison. I mean, we’re talking about eternity here. They don’t make thank-you cards for that, do they?” Her lips arced in a whimsical smile. “Let’s see. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue…. Since you showed us God’s love, we’re ever indebted to you.’ It’s not Wordsworth or even Snoopy and Charlie Brown, but you get the idea.”

      Barbara moved forward, following the line. “Really, Nancy, Doug and I just did for you what someone else did for us long ago. We shared our faith, that’s all. And now you’re fine and we’re fine. Everybody’s fine!”

      Nancy clasped Barbara’s arm again. “Come on, Barb. Paul and I can both see how the two of you are hurting. We talked about it last night, and if there’s anything we can do to help, let us know. We’d love to do it.”

      Barbara wanted to say, Just let us be. Instead, she forced herself to reply sweetly, “Thanks, Nan, you’re the best. But like I said, we’re okay.”

      And that was the stance Barbara clung to tenaciously over the next three days as she accompanied Nancy, Paul and Janee to Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm and Laguna Beach, not to mention two pizza houses, four fast-food restaurants, and one kiddieland carnival in the local mall.

      No one could say Barbara Logan wasn’t a trooper. She’d show Nancy she could have fun if it killed her. And it nearly did. She had the battle scars to prove it—a broken stacked heel, a torn linen jacket, a lost contact lens, and cotton candy stuck in her freshly coiffed hair. She’d never walked so much in her life, nor endured so many screaming kids, head-spinning amusement-park rides, and ear-splitting rap tunes. She was positively nauseated from too many greasy cheeseburgers, spicy pizzas, and hot dogs on a stick. For some reason, Nancy’s vegetarianism went out the window when it came to eating out at California’s leading tourist attractions.

      When Paul and Nancy and little Janee piled into their van on Thursday morning for their drive home to San Francisco, Barbara stood waving goodbye in the driveway, grinning from ear to ear like the original Cheshire puss. Privately she was relieved that they were going home and that her life could get back to normal. I couldn’t face another roller coaster or eat another kiddie meal or face another surging, suffocating crowd of frenzied tourists!

      That evening, Doug arrived home in time for dinner, no doubt knowing the coast was clear and the company gone. “So they got off okay?” he asked as he sat down at the table and spread his napkin over his lap.

      “Yes, all three of them. Early this morning.” Barbara set a casserole of chicken and noodles on the table and sat down across from Doug.

      “I guess they had a good time,” he mused, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his iced tea.

      “The time of their lives,” said Barbara through clenched teeth. She was suddenly angry, so angry it surprised her. Her hand almost trembled as she handed him the tossed salad. “No thanks to you, Doug.”

      He looked at her, one brow arching. “You know I had to work.”

      “Every day? You couldn’t take one day off to be with your own sister who comes to visit just once every few years?”

      “I was here in the evenings.”

      “When everyone was too tired to visit.”

      “All right, so I’m the bad guy. So what’s new? What do you want me to do about it?”

      “Nothing. It’s too late. Forget it.”

      Doug let his fork clatter on his plate. “Don’t play the sweet little martyr with me, Barb. You know you didn’t want to be out there running all over town with my sister and her kid, either.”

      “No, but I went anyway, didn’t I?”

      “No one twisted your arm.”

      “I went because she’s your sister, and someone in this family has to act like life is normal, no matter how skewed it really is.”

      A tendon tightened along Doug’s jaw. “We play this same record over and over again, don’t we, Barb? We keep going in vicious little circles. When will it ever end?”

      She speared a morsel of chicken, but had no desire to eat. Her stomach was in knots, her throat constricting. “If you think I like things this way—”

      They were both silent for a long miserable moment. Finally he asked coolly, “So how did it go with Janee?”

      “Janee?”

      “Yeah. The kid who makes Dennis the Menace look like an angel. Did she behave herself?”

      Barbara’s anger smoldered. Doug had an infuriating way of changing the subject whenever they got too close to painful truths. “If you must know, Janee drove me up a wall,” she replied. “She had me pulling my hair. I don’t think I could have tolerated that child in this house for one more hour.”

      “Come on, Barb. She couldn’t have been that bad.”

      “How would you know? You weren’t here. And she was asleep by the time you got home.”

      “From what I saw of her, she’s a spunky little tyke. Cute as a bug’s ear. Okay, maybe a bit too mischievous for my tastes.”

      “Are you kidding? Paul and your sister never discipline that child. She’s spoiled and impudent. Worst of all, they think everything she says and does is perfectly charming.”

      Doug’s expression softened. “Weren’t we that way, too, Barbie?”

      “No. Never. All right, almost never.”

      “So what did Janee do that was so bad?”

      Barbara inhaled sharply. “She spilled grape juice on our plush carpet. She trampled my flower beds picking roses for her mother. She ran up and down the stairs and slammed doors and did a Tarzan yell that rattled my eardrums and put her muddy shoes on my velvet sofa.” Barbara’s voice quavered with an onrush of emotion. “And she kept begging me to let her sleep in the ‘pretty room,’ as she called it.”

      “Maybe you should have let her,” said Doug under his breath.

      Barbara stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t mean that.”

      “Don’t I? Maybe it’s time we let it go, Barb. Stop making it a monument or a memorial or a shrine, or whatever you want to call it.”

      Barbara pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, her ankles wobbly. “I’m not hungry, Doug. Will you put the food away? I’m going to bed.”

      He stared at her, his brows knitting in a frown. “What about the dishes?”

      “Leave them. I’ll do them in the morning.”

      He bent over his plate, scowling, and muttered, “A lot of good it does, me coming home for dinner. You just walk off. Next time I’ll pick something up at the hospital.”

      “Fine. You’ll probably find better company there, too.”

      “Now that you mention it, I probably will.”

      She