A Mother to Love. Gail Martin Gaymer

poured coffee into a mug and nibbled on a buttered English muffin. Nothing else appealed to her. Egg? French toast? Pancakes? Although they sounded good, pancake recipes seemed to be for more than one person. She shook her head at her thoughtlessness. She should have invited Rick and Carly to breakfast.

      To help pass time she busied herself by lining pictures along the walls where she wanted them hung, and she laid a couple of items on the bed that she thought might look nice in the bathroom—a cute wall clock set in a floral motif and a small shelf to hold a miniature vase and a pin box that had belonged to her grandmother. For her home office, she’d laid out a tapestry from her grandmother’s home as well as a dry board to jot notes to herself.

      She eyed the kitchen clock. Nine. She suspected they’d be there soon, but with a little one, maybe not. Before she could question his arrival any longer, a sound from the driveway alerted her. She ran to the living room window and peeked out.

      Her heart skipped a beat upon seeing his car. She spotted Rick leaning into the backseat, releasing Carly’s booster-seat straps. The girl jumped out, cute and spunky, her eyes the same shape and hazel color as Rick’s and bowed lips that must have been like her mother’s. Rick’s were full and more rugged than his daughter’s bowed ones.

      Without waiting for their ring, she hurried to the door and swung it open. At work, Rick wore a sport coat or a shirt and sweater, but today he had dressed in jeans and a deep gold polo shirt that highlighted the gold in his hair.

      Rick looked up and gave a wave. “I hope we’re not too early.”

      “Not at all. I’ve been up for a while.” She hated to tell him she hadn’t been able to sleep and had thought about his visit throughout the night. She pulled her gaze from Rick’s and focused on the child. The girl had her daddy’s hair, the same golden brown with cute bangs and the sides curved beneath her chin. “Hi, Carly. I’m so glad you came to visit.”

      The child gave her a shy look and glanced at Rick before her hazel eyes darted back to Angie. “Thank you.”

      Polite and sweet. Angie’s heart gave a squeeze. She could see why Rick’s life revolved around the little girl. “Come in. I was just having breakfast.”

      Rick’s smile faded. “Oh, I’d hoped I would catch you before that.” He lifted a paper bag she hadn’t noticed. “I brought you a breakfast sandwich.”

      Her chest constricted. “Really? I couldn’t decide what to eat, so I’m nibbling on an English muffin.”

      “Well, stop nibbling. I have a sandwich for each of us. Even Carly wanted to give it a try.”

      She stood back, holding open the door as they entered.

      Rick headed straight for the kitchen with Carly on his heels. When she came through the doorway, he’d pulled three packages from the sack and eyed the coffee carafe. “Do you have enough?”

      She nodded and pulled a mug from the cabinet. “Here you go, and, Carly, would you like milk or some orange juice?”

      The child glanced at her dad, who gave a nod. “Milk, please.”

      Angie grinned and poured a glass of milk from the carton.

      They gathered around the table, and when Rick bowed his head, Carly followed. As if a belated thought, he looked up. “Do you mind?”

      “Mind? No, please.” Angie folded her hands and waited.

      Rick gave Carly a nod. The child eyed her before beginning the prayer. “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest...”

      The prayer leaped from the recesses of Angie’s mind. How often had she heard those words spoken around the table? Her father’s voice rang through her head and, fighting tears, she had to force herself to look up when Carly finished. “Thank you, Carly. I used to say that prayer when I was your age.”

      “You did?” The five-year-old looked at Rick with question. “Is the prayer really old?”

      Angie pressed her lips together to control her chuckle. Rick struggled with the same reaction as he explained it was very, very old. “Even your great-grandmother knew that prayer, Carly.”

      The child seemed to ponder what he’d said as she delved into her breakfast sandwich. After two bites her expression made it clear she enjoyed it.

      Angie enjoyed hers, too, but then she remembered Rema’s delicious muffins and wished she’d saved a couple. Maybe she’d have to learn to bake. Kids loved cookies, cake and muffins. Out of the corner of her eye, Angie watched the girl, hoping the child felt welcomed. “Carly, your daddy tells me you’re in kindergarten.”

      Carly’s face lit with a grin, the sandwich forgotten. “Uh-huh and do you know what?”

      “No. Tell me.” Angie leaned closer, enjoying the child’s animation with her hands raised as if ready to applaud.

      “Our teacher gives us fun homework.”

      “Fun homework?” She drew back, never remembering a time when she’d thought homework fun.

      Rick’s eyes twinkled. “I reacted the same way until she explained. The teacher has them go outside for activities. They had to find samples of leaves, wildflowers and acorns, and then she gave the children a list of things to find in their yards.” He grinned. “See. That’s fun homework.”

      “I imagine it is.” She got a kick out of the child’s exuberance.

      Carly’s eyes widened. “And guess what I found.”

      Angie shrugged. “A pinecone?”

      “No. I found a dandelion.”

      “I remember dandelions.” Angie pictured the yellow flowerlike weed, the bane of all the adults when, later, its puffy seeds landed in their yards. Yet her mind shot back to a day when her mom had put a dandelion beneath her chin and told her if it left a yellow stain she would find her true love. So much for dandelions.

      Rick stood. “I noticed the house on the corner has a sold sign already.”

      “I saw it yesterday. A new neighbor will move in soon, I suppose.”

      His sandwich gone, Rick wiped his mouth and motioned toward the archway. “Which reminds me, where do we start?”

      His eagerness tickled her. “How are you at hanging pictures and things?”

      “A pro.” He gave a playful grimace. “Okay, I’m not exactly a pro, but I’m not bad. I have a good eye, but I’m even better if you have a level.”

      A level? “Is that one of those wood things with the little bubbles?”

      An odd expression came over his face, and then, as if a light had turned on, he chuckled. “I suppose a person could describe it that way. Apparently you don’t have one.”

      “Apparently.”

      “I can eyeball it. It’ll be fine.”

      She loved his eyes, a deep tan sprinkled with gold dust. They twinkled as if they were mischief looking for a place to happen. “I’m sure you can eyeball it. You have very nice eyes.” She snapped her fingers. “How about a measuring tape? I have that along with a hammer and the right kind of nails for frames and things. I asked at the hardware store.”

      “Sure, a yard stick or tape measure works.” He drew back his head with a tilt. “And you even asked at the hardware store.”

      “I did.” She flashed a silly smile as he appeared to study her.

      His look gave her goose bumps. Not the scary kind but the kind that confused her. His eyes drew her in as if he read her mind. And when his dimples flexed, then vanished, she sensed he’d told himself a joke, probably about her. His subtle sense of humor was one of his attributes she loved. But today only tension grasped her. She waited to see what he’d say or tell her what he wanted, but he didn’t say a word.