“Of course.” She started off a little hesitant and unsure of the kitchen just because so much time had passed since she cooked there. While Rosaline pulled marinating steak out of the refrigerator and carried it outside to place on the grill, Valerie searched for a bowl, then a wooden spoon, and then the masa corn flour. By the time she started mixing the dough, the layout of the kitchen came back to her. When Rosaline returned with an empty platter, she felt completely in her groove, mixing dough, rolling and cooking tortillas.
Rosaline stirred a pot of beans on the stove and measured water and rice. Once she had that cooking, she took a block of cheese out of the refrigerator.
The two women chatted very casually. Valerie told Rosaline about her house and how she thought about keeping it longer than originally intended and her plans for decorating it, about her office and the clean lines and simple colors there. “Brad’s office is pretty impressive,” she remarked.
“His years of missions work on display,” Rosaline said with a smile, washing the meat platter. She left momentarily and came back in with the steak. The tang of the spices on it filled the air. Valerie lifted the lid on the press and felt the tortilla. Maybe ten more seconds on the heat. “He basically handed the interior designer everything and told her to put it together.”
The timer on the stove dinged for the rice. She lifted the lid and steam billowed out. Using a wooden spoon, she fluffed the rice and put the lid back on it. “That’ll do it. Time to eat.” She gestured toward the cupboard with the plates. “We only need three. Jon and Brad are helping Ken finish a house tonight.”
Valerie tried not to let her disappointment show as she set the table for the three of them. All her careful, hopeful plotting went out the window.
Phillip joined them, and Valerie bowed her head while he prayed, asking God’s blessing on the meal. When the prayer ended and they started filling their plates, she asked, “Is Ken building a house? I thought they were refurbishing an apartment building.”
Phillip piled grilled steak on the open tortilla he held in his palm. “Ken is always building a house. It’s what he does. He’ll build as much as code allows him to build by hand, then sell it for a huge profit. I think the apartment building is next on the list, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already closing on a land deal to build another house.” He looked at Rosaline. “This looks delicious, my love. Thank you.”
Valerie felt a little glow in her chest. For as long as she could remember, Phillip said that to Rosaline at mealtime. She wondered what it would be like to have someone adore her that much.
While they ate, they chatted about little things, work things, and flowers. The sky outside darkened until the evening looked like late night. Wind picked up and tree limbs batted against the windows.
“I hope they got that sod laid before this hit,” Phillip muttered, frowning at the window.
“If they didn’t, they’ll have to finish it tomorrow.” Rosaline stood and looked at Valerie. “I have something for you. Then I want you to get home before the storm gets worse. Either that or you should plan on spending the night. I don’t like the look of the sky.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Valerie followed her out of the room, knowing Phillip would clear the table.
Rosaline led her into her sitting room and went to the desk in the corner of the room. She picked up a stack of leather-bound books, tied together with a ribbon. She held them out and Valerie automatically accepted them. “Those were your mama’s.”
The breath immediately caught in the back of Valerie’s throat. “What are they?”
“Her prayer journals.” Rosaline reached over and put a hand on Valerie’s shoulder. “I want to ask you to read them. For me.”
She started to speak but had to clear her throat. She didn’t have anything personal from her mother. She had jewelry and pictures, but nothing like this. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I will read them.”
Rosaline hugged her, a hard, tight squeeze that conveyed support and love. “Good. I saw a flier at church the other day about a group that I think would do you some good. So, I made a copy for you and put it in one of the journals. Now, get yourself home before the sky opens up.”
They walked through the foyer to the front door. When Rosaline opened the door, the wind took it out of her hands and it slammed into the frame. “You want to stay?” She asked, raising her voice above the wind.
“No. Best get home before it gets worse.” She dashed out of the house and to her car, remotely unlocking it five feet away. She paused to check the back seat as she got in, wiping the water from her eyes and checking one more time as she shut the door.
She battled the wind all the way home. The storm made the usually bad Atlanta traffic even worse. As she turned onto her street, the sky let loose and water poured down, blinding her even with her slow speed and windshield wipers on high.
She turned into her driveway and turned the car off, feeling the wind rocking it. It took a few seconds for her to get up the gumption to actually get out of the car and face the weather. She had a perfectly good umbrella sitting next to her front door. Why did she never remember to leave one in her car?
It took pressing her shoulder against the door to open it against the force of the wind. She’d pulled a little too close to the edge of the driveway, and as she stepped out of the car, her left foot landed in the wet grass. Between the wind and the car door and her own unsteady feet, she suddenly found herself lying on the ground, her left hip having taken most of the brunt of the fall.
Rain poured down on her. She blinked the water out of her eyes and gingerly made her way to her feet. It didn’t seem like she’d damaged anything, but she walked very carefully just in case. The bionic hip still worked. Good news. Her leg still responded to mental commands. More good news.
Deciding she must not have done too much damage to it, she locked the front door behind her. Despite the fact water pooled in puddles at her feet, she went through her normal check of the house, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. Only when she knew she was alone and safe did she set her keys and phone down and start stripping out of the wet clothes.
Brad stood inside the mudroomoff the kitchen and stripped off his shirt, then used it like a towel to swipe the sweat from his face. He plunked down on the bench and pulled off his muddy boots. In the dresser, he found a clean T-shirt with a University of Florida gator on it. Clearly, this belonged to Ken.
He’d hose his boots off tomorrow. In bare feet, he left the mudroom and walked into the kitchen, finding his dad finishing the last of the dishes. “Who was at dinner?” he asked, noticing the three plates in the dishwasher.
“Valerie.” Phillip squeezed the water out of the dishcloth and wiped down the counter next to the sink. “We sent her home just as the storm started coming in. Didn’t want her driving home in it. She texted your mom a bit ago and let her know she made it home safe.”
Brad thought about the power outages and standing water on the road. “Glad she left. I think Jon and Ken are going to stay at that house tonight.”
“Good. Do Jon some good to get some downtime with Ken.” He shut the dishwasher and hit the button to turn it on. “He’s seeking but doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Wish I knew what took his eyes off the truth in the first place.” Phillip turned from the sink, drying his hands on a towel. “What about you? How are you, son?”
