“I think you’d better drive your cars on the deck for now. I’m going to fix lunch, then you can show me all the things you’ve discovered.”
It took only a second in the kitchen to realize Ty had forgotten to bring back the only loaf of bread. A quick search of the rest of the food revealed little else for a meal. While there were various options, each required an ingredient that was missing. Ty had been wise to suggest a trip to the grocery store. Maybe she should have gone along. At least then she could have picked up things her son would eat. Which mainly consisted of cereal, hot dogs and canned spaghetti. And of course, peanut butter and jelly.
Another thought leaped into her mind, sending her reaching for the notepad on the counter. She had to start a list of the money she owed Ty Durrant. Lodging, food, laundry detergent—she’d tossed in their dirty clothes this morning. Phone. She guessed at the amounts. Once she had some receipts, she could make a more accurate tally.
But in the meantime, no bread. The boathouse. Maybe she could go and get it. Or was that invading his privacy? She walked out to the deck. “Elliot, how does soup sound for lunch?”
“Yuck.”
No surprise there. “Ty forgot to return the loaf of bread. Do you know if he locks the boathouse?” He shrugged, not taking his eyes from the caravan of tiny cars he was creating on the planked deck.
“Okay. Well, I’m going to go see. You want to come?”
“Nope.”
Great. If she was going to break into Ty’s place, she’d be all alone. Her heart pounded as she crossed the yard. What if he came home and found her there? Not good. It was only a loaf of bread. No big deal. Then again, look what stealing a loaf of bread had done to Jean Valjean.
The closer she came to the boathouse, the larger it appeared. She stepped onto the narrow wooden walkway connecting the covered boat slip with the house. Two large windows on either side of the door were coated with grime. The place was old and rickety, but a good size. Standing here now, she decided that maybe Ty wasn’t as cramped as she’d assumed.
Swallowing her doubts, she reached out and turned the knob, startled when the door swung open of its own accord. She peeked in, surprised to find the place nothing as she expected. The boathouse was one large room. A twin bed tucked in an alcove against the back wall was unmade. Beside it an open door revealed a small bathroom. A tiny kitchen, consisting of little more than a sink and a counter with a small fridge tucked beneath, took up one wall. The opposite wall held shelves behind a rickety vinyl recliner that was probably one of the first ones ever invented. A small table with an out-of-date television completed the decor.
She exhaled. Well, she could quit worrying about Ty’s comfort. The place might be small, musty and very old, but he had everything he needed. Her gaze traveled to the duffel bag partially open on the floor. T-shirts and white socks poked out the top. The dark jeans he’d worn last night were in a heap beside it. The sweats he’d worn this morning were tossed across the foot of the bed.
The intimacy of his personal things sent heated embarrassment into her cheeks. She’d come for the bread, not to snoop. Spinning around, she scanned the small kitchen, finding the loaf of bread on the counter near the coffeepot. Grabbing it up, she hurried out, shutting the door firmly behind her.
After lunch, Elliot gave her a tour of the grounds around the cabin, from the large lower deck with a hot tub to the pier and the boat slip and the picnic table nestled beneath a large oak tree draped with moss. The pleasant weather was the perfect invitation to take a walk along the pathway that followed the banks of the lake.
When they returned to the cabin, Elliot opted to stay in the yard and look for turtles while Ginger went inside to wait for the call from the garage. She’d planned on staying close to the phone, but her time with her son was too important to miss. The phone rang as she walked into the living room. Her stomach tightened as she lifted the receiver.
“This is Jeb from Owens Automotive Repair.”
She struggled to find her voice. “What’s the verdict about my car?” As she listened to the man’s report, her knees buckled, sending her sinking onto the sofa. “Thank you. I’ll let you know what I decide to do.”
She hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands. Twenty-five hundred dollars. Where was she going to get that kind of money for a new transmission? It would take months to save it up, provided she had a job. Which she didn’t. Where would they go now? What would happen to them?
Standing, she anxiously paced around the room, her thoughts flying in a dozen directions. Maybe her mother could get a loan. She certainly couldn’t. She’d sold everything she’d had to pay off the last of John’s medical bills, and her credit rating was shameful.
The room grew stuffy. She needed air to breath. Hurrying out onto the deck, her gaze searched out her son playing contentedly under the trees, then to the lake moving gently against the wind. For a few short hours today, she’d found peace. A cozy cabin, a serene view, people who took care of her. But now it was all gone. She was alone and on her own again, struggling to survive.
Her knees buckled, and she sank into the rocker, scraping her fingertips along her scalp. Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she was too overwhelmed to fight them. Drawing her knees against her chest, she lowered her head and cried.
She had only herself to blame. She’d tipped the first domino over ten years ago, and the long row had been falling at a steady pace ever since. One disaster after another. One scary event after the next. Her life was one big ball of fearful anticipation. She was tired and alone. No one to help. No one to count on. She’d pinned all her hopes on getting to her mom’s, and now that was lost, too.
Now another disaster. Debt and its inevitable consequences. The phone calls, the juggling of money, the worry, the stress. She’d sworn she would never go there again. But here she was. Trapped. Not only did she owe for car repairs, but she owed Ty for staying in his cabin. Plus the food they’d eaten, her new phone and whatever else he might want to charge her for.
Closing her eyes, she thought about her mother and how easily she’d forgiven her for the years she’d ignored her parents. Her sweet forgiveness and love had lifted a cloud from her mind. Her mom had told her God had brought them together again. In the four months since they’d reconnected, Ginger had found herself slowly turning back toward her faith.
But she still found it difficult to trust the Lord completely. She had nowhere else to turn. Oh, Lord. Please. I need help. I don’t think I can do this anymore.
* * *
Ty heard the sobbing the moment he set foot on the deck. He set the bag of groceries onto the patio table and hurried toward Ginger, who was huddled in the rocker, shoulders shaking with her weeping. He hunkered down beside her, uncertain whether to touch her or not. Her sobs were so heart-wrenching he had to risk it. He laid his hand on her arm. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you all right? Did something happen to Elliot?” He glanced quickly around and saw the boy playing happily in the yard.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Quickly he stood and pulled up the other rocker as close to Ginger as possible. He was at a loss to know how to proceed. He was trained to handle every kind of situation, but a weeping, incoherent female left him stumped. “Ginger. Please, tell me what happened. Maybe I can help.”
She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “No one can help.”
He stroked her hair, marveling at its softness and the way the waves curled around his fingers. “Okay, then. Tell me why no one can help, so I can cry with you.” That got a response. She lifted her head and met his gaze. Her green eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks puffy and wet, but she looked adorable, and he fought the urge to pull her to him.
“You? Cry? Right.” She lifted the edge of her long shirt, wiped at her eyes, then looked around.