“Surely all of this insanity wasn’t caused by that ridiculous ad in the classifieds. Who reads that section, anyway?”
His vet tech shook her head. “Don’t know about that but I’m pretty sure everyone reads the headlines.” She shrugged. “See for yourself. If you don’t need me for anything else, though, I probably should get out there and help.”
“No, go ahead.” He waited until Nancy left then carefully opened the paper to read the headline. “Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”
Before he could read past the first paragraph, the intercom buzzed. “Yes?”
“Phone’s for you, hon,” the receptionist said. “And you’ll probably want to take this one.”
“What?” He shook his head. “Not right now.”
“No, seriously,” she repeated. “You want to take this.”
Eric leaned back, exasperated. “And why would that be?” he managed.
“Well, it’s some reporter from the Houston Chronicle. Said she read the most interesting story about you on the newswire this morning. Wants to know if you have any comments she can put in the story she’s writing.”
“Great,” he said weakly.
“Line three.” Nancy’s voice dissolved into a giggle as she skittered out of the room and left him alone with the red light blinking on line three and a Houston Chronicle reporter asking for details of his search for a bride.
Chapter Four
Friday afternoon ended with Amy bolting out of the empty house on Vine Street and heading toward the beach. Knee-deep in the warm Gulf, she lost herself in the swirling waters she loved so much.
A steady line of traffic moved down Vine Street, passing silently between her and Nana’s white cottage. From her vantage point she could see the swing swaying gently beneath the arbor of sunny yellow Lady Banks roses. And while the white picket fence hid them, Amy knew the blossoms in Nana’s perennial garden were swaying, as well, though the weeds around them were likely moving in unison.
She turned her face to the salt-tinged wind. Something about the topography of the land and the angle of the waves kept a breeze blowing year-round at Vine Beach. At least that’s how Grandpa had tried to explain the phenomenon, though she’d never known whether a bit of his theory was true. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she’d only snacked on cheese and crackers for lunch.
Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, Amy was swishing through the water toward the sandy shore when her cell phone began to ring. A quick glance at the display told her that the temp agency was on the other end of the line.
Her heart sank. Just yesterday upon completion of her assignment at the Gazette, the agency’s administrator had told her that there was no more work for her in Vine Beach. All taken by summer workers willing to take minimum wage, she’d been told. While the news had been delivered in an apologetic tone, Amy had felt as if a weight had been lifted.
If a job had been found, she might have to rethink her theory that lack of work meant it was time to leave Vine Beach. Amy said a quick prayer that this would not be the case.
“Hello,” she said on the third ring.
“Amy, I’m so glad I caught you before the end of the day,” the agency administrator said. “There’s been an opening for an assistant at Dr. Wilson’s clinic. He’s specifically asked for you. Monday morning. Seven a.m. sharp. No idea of how long he’ll need you, so this one’s open-ended. Might become permanent.”
Her breath caught and for a moment, Amy considered the proposition of working for the vet. Then clarity and good sense told her what to say. With no idea of what she was supposed to do next, it was not the time to take on another temp job. At least not one that might become permanent. No need to leave him one employee short should she decide to leave town.
“No, I’m not interested, but please tell Dr. Wilson thank you.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am,” Amy quickly replied. “I’m really not sure how much longer I’ll be in Vine Beach, so I can’t really commit to another job right now.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Amy hung up with a promise to update her contact information should she decide to leave town. Replacing the phone in her pocket, Amy shook her head. Why in the world would Eric Wilson specifically ask for her? Very odd indeed.
Perhaps she should call Dr. Wilson and explain her reason for declining his offer. Then she might also have to answer for why she contributed to the story that landed in today’s headlines.
She went to bed still debating the issue and awoke to decide that weeding the gardens was a much better idea than taking on such a task. Thus, Amy spent Saturday morning tending to the long-overdue chore of caring for her grandmother’s garden. While she worked, her mind once again wandered back to what Eric Wilson might think about the article in the Gazette. Surely he would understand that she’d only performed the duties of her job. That anyone who happened to answer the phone would have done the same.
And there could have been something seriously wrong with his mother.
“Who am I kidding? If it were me, I’d be horrified,” Amy muttered as she swiped at the perspiration on her brow. “I should have minded my own business. And I certainly shouldn’t have said anything to Bev.”
The article hadn’t been all that awful. A little embarrassing if you were of a mind to prefer your privacy, but not awful.
Shrugging off the thought, Amy leaned back on her heels and sighed. More pressing was the fact that as of yesterday, nothing held her in Vine Beach other than the silly notion that her grandmother might eventually come to need her again.
She wouldn’t, of course, at least not anytime soon. Rather, since moving into the assisted-living facility, her grandmother’s social life had blossomed, and with it any question of her return to the cottage on Vine Beach disappeared. The issue now was what to do with the house. And what to do with herself. For much as she loved to sit on the swing and stare across Vine Street at the gray-green water of the Gulf of Mexico, Amy knew the situation was only temporary.
When she took the three-month assignment at the Gazette, Amy promised herself when the work there was done she would make plans to move on. Three months had seemed like a very long time when she took on the commitment. Now that she’d seen the assignment to its completion, she felt no closer to knowing what came next.
Perhaps she’d go back home to Houston and return to the flower shop. Unfortunately, every time she thought to broach the subject with Mom or Dad, she found it impossible to do so. The words just wouldn’t come out. Finally Amy realized that much as she loved her parents, the Lord seemed to be leading her elsewhere. But where? So far He’d been silent on that.
So, she’d filled out a few applications last night online and printed out her résumé to mail three more. If the Lord wanted her here, He wouldn’t allow any of those inquiries to become offers.
At least she knew she’d done something. Anything. Now she could only wait.
She straightened and gathered up the basket, the summer sun warm on her shoulders. Across Vine Street, the sound of waves breaking on Vine Beach beckoned. Amy cast a glance around the vegetable garden with a satisfied smile. The morning’s work had been productive, and she’d picked enough to make a nice salad for lunch.
Porch salad. Amy smiled as she thought of the name she and her grandmother had given to the salads made from the garden. Whatever they picked they washed and chopped into a mishmash of vegetables that were served up on Nana’s porch in bowls taken from the cabinet in the dining room. Something about the combination of the