© Copyright 2008
by Elizabeth Delayne

Part III

If there was anything Genivieve had learned about her mother since selling her house and moving back in with the family, it was that some things never, ever changed. Doctor’s visits were always scheduled on Mondays. Wednesdays were the shopping days. Fridays were for family—or football, depending on the season of the year.

Saturday mornings were reserved for cleaning. You got up—no matter what—and you did your chores. There were always people over for lunch on Saturdays, so the house had to be cleaned.

And every Sunday her mother got up early. She would get dressed for church, put on her apron and start breakfast preparations. They always had a big breakfast, more like a celebration, before church. It was their time with their father. She could everything. Sausage, ham, eggs, pancakes, waffles, whatever anyone wanted the night before. It was laid out across the table in the solarium, on her best dishes, served with her best silver.

And every Sunday they got up early and talked about what they loved, about what they had to celebrate, about what they’d learned during the week. It didn’t matter what it was—her father expected them to learn something. From life, from school.

Then they went to church as a family—and everyone, under their roof, went.

It was a mandate. Nothing got in her mother’s way.

Until ... her father’s death.

Suddenly, there were no more big, classy Sunday morning breakfasts. They didn’t celebrate each other, and their weeks anymore. They didn’t get up, sit together, and talk. The fancy dishes were stacked neatly in the hutch. The silver had not been taken out or polished since people left, after the funeral.

So, Genevieve was a little surprised to step out of the bathroom dressed and ready for breakfast out and church with Peyton, and encountered the old smells of her mama’s Sunday morning routine. It took her back.

She followed the smells, suddenly starving, like the lone traveler who had been lost in the wilderness, without food. Her mouth was watering when she stepped into the kitchen.

There were pots on the stove, some covered just to keep warming, others with steam rising out. There was coffee, and fresh bottles of syrup.

And for a moment, with the smells all around her, she nearly expected to see her father there at the table, with his Sunday morning newspaper and coffee.

At the counter her mother polished her silver.

“It’s just breakfast, mama.”

Anne Lucas looked up and frowned at her daughter. “We’ve never had just breakfast in this house.”

“He was just going to take me out.”

“There’s no reason to,” she set down the serving spoon and her cloth and stepped around to her daughter. She lifted her hands and placed one on either of her shoulders. “I realized I wanted to cook. That its been a long time since we’ve had a good Sunday morning breakfast. Let me do this.”

Genevieve smiled a little. “Don’t get your hopes up here, Mama. He’s not my type.”

“You don’t know what your type is.” Anne rolled her eyes as she turned back to the stove. “You should go put on that cute green sun dress you wore to your cousin’s birthday party.”

Genevieve looked down at her outfit–the wide legged grey slacks and lace layered white blouse. She wore a string of seed pearls her father had given her at sixteen.

“First of all, it’s Fall, and that cute sun dress is perfect for an outdoor summer party.”

“It’s August, not Fall, and the hottest month of the summer, at that. And Mark seemed to think you looked quite nice.”

“Mama,” she resisted the urge to remind her mother that Mark had never really been more than her friend. “Stay focused for a minute.Not something I’m wearing today.”

Breakfast on a Sunday morning was about as much as she was going to let herself offer. Besides, it was safe ground. How much like a date could it seem when her family was hovering around?

“But—“

”Mom,” she warned, raising her eyebrows.

Anne Lucas raised up her hands in defeat. “All right. I suppose I should be happy you let me fix breakfast. If left to your own devices, you would have offered him cereal.”

“Cereal is what I eat.”

“Only since I stopped cooking. It’s long past time I fixed a good Sunday breakfast again like we used to. I haven’t done it since ...”

Genevieve reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand.

She’d missed it when she was in college, so when she moved back to town, she renewed the tradition. Sometimes, she came over, spent Saturday night. Sometimes, she just came over on Sunday morning. Even up until his death, the one time they could be together as a family was that one moment every week.

It was why she wasn’t going to put up a fight.

“Maybe we should start it all back up again. Your father would want us to be doing them. Sitting around the table at the same time.”

”Laughing.”

Anne smiled. “Lots of laughing. Such good times.”

Genevieve wrapped her arms around her mother and rested her head on her shoulder. “They were.”

“My girls and my man. It was all so perfect, so—“

The doorbell cut her off. She leaned back and smiled at Genevieve, putting a hand on either side of her face. “It was all I ever wanted, those moments to treasure, to remember. You should want it too. You had the best example on earth with your father. I can’t figure out why you’ve closed yourself off to the possibility.”

Genevieve sighed as she left her mom in the kitchen. She really shouldn’t be giving her mother hope.

She opened the door and inwardly sighed at the man who stood with flowers. He was much too handsome for her own good, and with two bouquets of flowers, way too dangerous for her heart.

She felt a twinge of guilt for lying to him ... or for misleading him. She tried to push back the nagging prod she’d felt for days, that she’d been struggling with in her prayer time. Maybe it hadn’t been right ... but it had felt necessary.

It wasn’t that she’d closed herself off, she just wasn’t interested. She didn’t have time to be interested. There was so much going on in her life. A lot of problems she hadn’t said out loud.

And he was a coach. It was the wrong time of year for him. He didn’t need her distractions. He didn’t need her problems.

“You look nice,” he said and handed her a bouquet of daisies and wild flowers. “For you. And one for your mother.”

She let him in, then shut the door behind him. “Change of plans ... slightly, We’re eating here.”

“Really?”

“Get yourself ready for one of the best breakfasts on Earth.”

“For your mother’s nearly perfect Sunday morning breakfast? I think I can handle that.”

Had she told him that? They had talked a lot Thursday night. Time had passed so quickly. Maybe she had.

She scanned the bouquet of baby pink roses, and felt the guilt rise up even further. She shouldn’t have lied to him. It was going to humiliate her if she had to tell him the truth.

Served her right. She pushed honesty with her students. She believed in honesty, period.

So there was no if. She was going to have to tell him the truth. She looked at the flowers.

“Mom’s going to love them. I love them. Thank you.”

Not only did Anne Lucas love her flowers, she wept over them and got out her best vase. Still, the tears weren’t so much about the bouquet. It was the fact that he’d remembered the children. It turned out there were seven pink roses, one for Alli. And a toy car for Will.

Her defenses cracked. She couldn’t help it. It looked like she was going to have to accept that this was a date after all.

And that it was suddenly a lot more complicated than it had been a few mere minutes before.

Still, it was to her chagrin that her mother led them out through the french doors onto the sun porch. The morning sky was just breaking out with colors as the sun rose over their track of land. She felt the punch of looking out over the green earth, ripe with summer, sprinkled with glistening dew. Her father had loved to run his tractor over the land during his time off, to mow their acres and keep the ground fresh.

The land seemed too much to hold onto now that he was gone.

Until you walked out into the solarium, and looked over it from this spot.

“You all right?” Peyton asked.

“Yeah...” she had to take a moment to shake herself, come back to the present. “I haven’t been out here since my dad died. It’s where we ate every Sunday. No one ever really comes out here,” she motioned toward the table her mother had already set. A table for two. Her mother had not only cleaned the room out, but replaced the family table with the more elegant and formal metal-white wicker style set she’d bought when all of her children had moved out of the house.

As they sat down, her mother came out with a trey of orange juice.

“Mom–“ she started to stand.

“Shhh,” she said and smiled warmly at Peyton as she set the vase of flowers on the table with their drinks. “Let me enjoy myself.”

“This doesn’t happen often,” Genevieve apologized as her mom disappeared back into the kitchen. “With me, anyway.”

“Really? What about the three or four serious relationships you ran by me the other day?”

She hesitated and nearly offered him a flippant reply.

“Actually ...” with an eye roll toward heaven, she came clean. “I kind of was giving you my sister’s life. Her fiancé was the star football player of my dad’s and she was head cheerleader, homecoming king and queen. They were really young to be engaged, and she bounced back. Maybe too quickly. Josh and I really are friends. Just friends. I stayed out of their relationship. The third one was her husband. Joe. Even she was tired of the football players. He hated football, seemed to be a steady man. And the truth is, he was all that I said he was, just not to me. Then he died on a Friday night. DUI.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she thought of her sister, how she’d changed since Joe’s death. She’d never really grown up, but she’d always been somewhat responsible.

And she’d loved her kids. Before Joe’s death and Beth’s addiction, Genevieve had not figured anything would come in between her and her kids.

She shook her head, and focused on Peyton.

“Where was I?”

“You never said number four.”

“Number four,” Genevieve nodded. “That would be Mark. And that one was true. He was my rock when my dad died. Maybe I let myself believe we would move from friendship to more, but we didn’t. He moved. End of story.”

“Why?”

“We both loved my dad ... and when he died–“

”You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Hedging around the idea of a relationship.”

Genevieve studied him. “Is that what you want? With me?”

”You make it sound like you’ve got some serious bad traits, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what they are. Aside from your penchant to shrug me off,” he laughed. “All I know is that I want to spend some time together with you. I want to get to know you. Is that so bad?”

“You’ve seen my family,” she reminded him.

Peyton simply looked at her.

And waited.

The look in his eyes was so patient and somehow so willing. Had she shut herself off to something with someone who seemed ... like such a good man?

Was her mother right?

She sighed. “All right. I’ve never been good with relationships. Beth was the girl the guys went for. The homecoming queen, head cheerleader ... the pretty one. I was the best friend. One of the guys. Even now, the stigma remains. With Mark, with Josh.”

“The only common factor there is you.”

“What?”

“You get plenty of attention at church. You just deflect it,” he told her. “You got used to deflecting it. I can see it. They cozied up, wanted you to do their homework for them. You didn’t fall for it. Were smart enough to be insulted by it.”

It was true, but she shrugged it off. Besides, it wasn’t just the boys who expected that from her, it was her sister, her sister’s friends.

And there was the shell her mother had seen. She could feel it, feel herself closing up in it even as she wanted to argue.

Maybe her mother knew her better than she thought.

“Maybe you got to the point you stopped trusting in any man’s intention.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m just satisfied with my life. Not everyone has to be in a relationship.”

“So you were just ... deflecting me. No serious issues against me.”

”Besides the abnormal tic? I guess not.”

He smiled, “And now?”

She heard her niece’s squeal just before she crashed into Peyton’s side and immediately clamored into his lap. She wore pajamas with the all too familiar and popular colorful furball characters on them, some with crowns, some with jewels.

Peyton settled her and grinned as she looked up at him. ”How you doin’ munchkin?”

”I’m not a ‘unchkin.”

Genevieve spotted Will at the door. He wasn’t wearing his sling, but he had his arm pressed carefully against him. She motioned him in and watched as he walked over, his eye on Peyton, somewhat wearily, somewhat with respect. There was a shyness there she hadn’t seen much of in him.

As he reached her side, he climbed into her lap, albeight with more caution than his sister. Her arms went around him carefully, and she hugged him from behind.

”How’s my Will, this morning?”

Instead of answering, he simply pressed himself against her. She had a feeling his arm was hurting. She wasn’t sure if his silence came from Peyton’s presence, or if he just didn’t have the words to tell her.

“We’re not allowed to play in here,” Alli told her matter of factly.

No, Genevieve thought casting a glance at Peyton, not in the time since her father died.

But there had been summers where this room had been a castle, a classroom, even a space station when the night was dark outside the windows. Long, beautiful summers when she could be who she wanted to be and win any battle. Beth was the fairy princess and she was the warrior.

Back when she and her sister still lived in their imaginations. Back when they were each other’s best friend and worst enemy.

Now, it seemed, they were quiet strangers and rivals at best.

“Why do you get to play in here?” Alli asked.

“Because she has a date,” Will turned his head, looked up at her and grinned.

“It’s not a—“ again, she caught Peyton’s look. “Peyton just came by to go to church with me.”

“Do you get to ride with you?” Alli looked up at Peyton.

“Alli! Then we have to go to church.”

”Will,” Genevieve kiss the top of his head. “I think you’re mama’s going to take you to church anyway.”

”Nuh-uh. Mama’s not here. She can’t take us if she’s not here.” Genevieve stilled, looked up without thought and met Peyton’s gaze. She couldn’t hide the concern.

“But we could go with you. And ride in your car. That would be cool!”

Peyton hesitated, cast her a furtive glance. “Well, I—“

”Well have to talk to Grandma,” she answered for him, and ran a hand through Will’s hair. “Why don’t you tell Peyton about the video game Josh brought over and played with you the other day?”

Genevieve stood with Will in her arms, then set him back in her chair. She pushed back the concern, and knelt down by her nephew. “And if Mr. Moore asks you about anything Josh has said about football, you tell him that you would never bretray a Pelmore Pirate secret.”

Across from them, Peyton laughed and for a moment, when their eyes met, everything else–her hesitation and her concern—fell away. He just seemed to understand.

She pressed a kiss to Will’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”



Genevieve stood in the doorway to her sister’s bedroom. The covers on the bed were a little disheveled and folded back, but it was obvious her sister hadn’t slept in it.

“Beth ...” she murmured as she walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. She ran a hand over her face, suddenly very tired. She didn’t feel like heading back out, facing Peyton, or pulling him into the Lucas family struggles again.

Why, dad...?

Praying to her father. Wishing for her father. Neither was going to help her right now.

God, I don’t know what to do.

She wanted to go back in time, to a point before her father’s death and warn him. Tell him to deal with the mess. She wanted to blame him for letting it spin out of control. She thought of all the times in high school that Beth had broken the rules, all the times her mother had covered for her.

The picture on the night stand caught her eye. She reached over, picked up the frame and ran her fingers over the familiar faces. It had been taken before her father’s death, before everyone had learned about Joe’s indiscretions ... when everything had seemed so perfect. Alli had just been a baby; Will wearing toddler sized overalls.

He didn’t have to worry about his mama wrecking the car, hurting his sister. He was just a proud older brother.

None of them really had to worry about anything. Everything had seemed so perfect.

I don’t know what to do, she prayed. God, I just don’t know what to do. I miss my father. I miss ... my life.

I miss my life.

She closed her eyes, fought against the guilt. She wasn’t sure what she was more upset about. The changes or the losses, for her or her family.

Maybe she’d been withdrawn into her own world, unwilling to get involved. Maybe it had always been like this. She’d ignored it, avoided it, and lived her own life.

Maybe she had just deflected the bad ... as Peyton said.

She was afraid. She felt so very alone. She repeated the verse from Psalms she had taken into her heart.

When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way.

Now she had a niece and a nephew who depended on her. She couldn’t ignore their needs.

“Breakfast is ready, Genny.”

Genevieve looked up to find her mother standing in the doorway. She was no firm matriarch. Genevieve loved her mother, but she could even see the avoidance in her mother’s eyes.

She wasn’t even looking in the room.

Avoidance Genevieve so wanted to cling to herself.

“Beth left again,” she said.

Her mother held up her hand for peace. “We don’t know that. She could of headed out for milk–“

”We’ve both been up awhile, mama. We know the truth,” she replaced the frame on the night stand and stood. “We’ve got to do something.”

“She’s a grown woman–“

”With an addiction, mama. You promised last time. For the kids,” she stepped forward and touched her mother’s arm. “For me and you. For Beth. We need to do something.”

Her mother’s eyes, so similar to her own, simply stared at her, almost a quiet dare.

But Genevieve didn’t back down.

“All right,” she said even though Genevieve knew it was only a deflection, “but its not something we talk about now. You have a guest and we need to get the kids ready for church.”

“Peyton and I will take them.”

“I thank not,” her mother said as she headed back into the kitchen with Genevieve close behind. “You enjoy you’re time with your man.”

“He’s not—“ Genevieve sighed as she saw Peyton through the French doors. He’d given Alli her flower and Will his car and sat at the table entertaining the two of them as if ... they were his own.

Her heart tugged a little bit more.

It was looking more and more like that he was her man.

I cry aloud to the LORD;
I lift up my voice to the LORD for mercy.
I pour out my complaint before him;
before him I tell my trouble.
When my spirit grows faint within me,
it is you who know my way.
In the path where I walk
men have hidden a snare for me.
Look to my right and see;
no one is concerned for me.
I have no refuge;
no one cares for my life.
I cry to you, O LORD;
I say, "You are my refuge,
my portion in the land of the living."
Listen to my cry,
for I am in desperate need;
rescue me from those who pursue me,
for they are too strong for me.
Set me free from my prison,
that I may praise your name.
Then the righteous will gather about me
because of your goodness to me.
Psalm 142



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