“She’s hungry and she feels warm.”
“So, feed her, mother of the year.”
“I’m not her mother, Corry.”
Corry drank the milk from her bowl and took it to the sink. At least she did that much. Lacey took a deep breath and exhaled the brewing impatience. The baby curled against her shoulder, fist working in her tiny mouth.
“I’ll feed her, you get ready for church.” Lacey held the baby with one arm and reached in the drainer at the edge of the sink for a clean bottle.
“I’m not going to church.”
“If you’re staying with me, you’re going to church.”
“Make me go and you’ll regret it.”
“I probably will, but you’re going.” Lacey shook the bottle to mix the formula with the water. “I’ve already taken a shower. You can have yours now.”
She turned away from Corry, but shuddered when the bathroom door slammed. “Well, little baby, this is probably something I’ll pay for.”
Rachel sucked at the bottle, draining it in no time and then burping loudly against Lacey’s shoulder. She put the sleeping baby into the infant car seat and was strapping her in as Corry walked out of the bathroom. She wore a black miniskirt and a white tank top.
“You can’t wear that.”
“It’s all I have.” Gum smacked and Corry busied herself, far too happily, shoving diapers and wipes along with an extra bottle into the bag.
Rachel cried, a little restless and fussy.
“I think she’s sick.” Corry looked at the baby and then at Lacey. “What do you think?”
“She feels warm and her cheeks are a little pink. I don’t know.”
Corry unbuckled the straps and pulled Rachel out of the seat. “I think she has a fever.”
“Do you have medicine for her?”
Corry nodded. “I have those drops. I’ll give her some of those.”
“And stay home with her. She shouldn’t be out. You can stay here and let her sleep.”
Corry’s eyes widened. “Really? You’re not going to make me go to church.”
“I’m not going to make you.” Lacey sighed. “Corry, no one can make you go to church. I only want you to try to get your life together and stay clean.”
“And church is going to make it all better?”
“Church doesn’t, but God does. He really does make things better when you trust Him.” The act of going to church hadn’t changed anything for Lacey. She had tried that routine as a teenager, because she’d known, really known that God could help, but each time she went into a church, thinking it would be a magic cure, it hadn’t changed anything. Because she had thought it was about going to church.
In Gibson she had learned that it was about faith, about trusting God, not about going to church wishing people would love her. She had learned, too, about loving herself.
She needed to remember that, she realized. Since Lance, she’d had a tough time remembering her own clean slate and that she was worth loving.
Corry pushed through the diapers and wipes in the diaper bag and pulled out infant drops. She held them out to Lacey. “How much do I give her?”
Lacey took the bottle and looked at the back, reading the directions. “One dropper. And don’t give her more until I get home. I’ll be late, though. You’ll have to fix your own lunch.”
“Where are you going?”
“After church there are a few of us that go to the nursing home to sing and have church with the people there.”
“Ah, isn’t that sweet.”
Lacey let it go. “I’ll see you later.”
Today Jay would be joining them at the nursing home. She wondered how the return of one man to his home-town could change everything. For years Gibson had been her safe place. Jay’s presence undid that feeling.
Chapter Six
Jay looked across the room and caught the gaze of Lacey Gould. She sat next to an older woman with snow-white hair and hands that shook. They were flipping through the pages of a hymnal and talking in low tones that didn’t carry.
But from time to time Lacey looked up at him. This time he caught her staring, and he hadn’t expected the look in her eyes to be wariness. She didn’t trust him.
Distracted, he dropped his guitar pick. He leaned to pick it up and Bailey kicked his shin. He nearly said something, but the way she was smiling, he couldn’t. She’d been teasing him for twenty-some years. She probably wasn’t going to stop now.
For years she’d been the little girl on the bus that he looked out for, and sometimes wanted to escape. She’d sent him a love note once. She’d been thirteen, he was sixteen. When he told her it wouldn’t work, she cried and told her dad on him.
“She’s a good person, Jay,” Bailey whispered.
“I’m sure she is.” He remembered that Bailey also had a good left hook and he didn’t want to make her mad.
He didn’t doubt that Lacey was a good person. He had watched her at church, making the rounds and speaking to everyone before the service began. As soon as church ended, she said her good-byes and drove to the nursing home.
He had questions about her community service, but it wasn’t any of his business. It should be up to Pastor Dan, or even Bailey, to explain to Lacey Gould that God wasn’t expecting her to earn forgiveness through good works.
“What song do we sing first?” Lacey asked from across the room. The sweet-faced older lady had her arm through Lacey’s.
Jay lifted his guitar and shrugged. He grimaced at the jab of pain in his lower back and Lacey grinned, because she knew that a bull had dumped him hard the night before.
“‘In the Garden’?” He didn’t need music for that one.
Lacey knew it; she was nodding and turning the pages of the hymnal. Her elderly friend clapped and smiled, saying it was one of her favorites, and then her eyes grew misty.
“My husband is there waiting for me in that garden.” She said it in such a soft and wavering voice that Jay barely heard. He did see tears shimmering in Lacey’s eyes, from compassion, always compassion. He wondered if she felt the emotions of everyone she met.
Lacey held the woman’s hand and as Jay started to play, Lacey led the song, her voice alto and clear, the meaning of the words clearly written on her face. The wavering voice of her friend joined in, sweet and soprano.
Jay stumbled over the chords and caught up. Next to him, Bailey giggled, the way she’d done on the bus years ago. He was glad she was still getting enjoyment out of his life. He’d been gone nearly eight years, working on the Springfield PD, and it felt as if he’d never left.
Over the next thirty minutes, he found firm footing again. He forgot Lacey and concentrated on the music as the people gathered in the circle around them. He had missed Gibson. He had missed these people, some of whom he had known all of his life. The gentleman to his left had been his high school principal. One of the ladies had lived down the road from his family.
Most of the kids from Gibson had moved to the city or left the state. So many of the people in the nursing home were without close family these days, and this touch from their church made the difference.