asked me for advice,” Maggie reminded him. “Funny, but it all goes back to something we talked about the first time in Beth’s classroom. Here’s the truth. When dealing with Caleb, patience isn’t a virtue, it’s your only barrier between sanity and chaos.”
Great, Jared thought, because if he remembered correctly, she had told him, upon that first meeting, that patience was seldom found in a woman and never in a man.
“I was really hoping,” he said, “that you’d give me some concrete advice. You know, an earlier bedtime, maybe he needs to eat more fruit.” Jared was grasping at straws and trying to remember everything he’d looked for on the internet.
She shook her head. He had an idea that whatever concrete advice she gave would be hard, harder than he could do.
“An earlier bedtime is always good. What kind of advice do you really want? I mean, is Caleb having trouble finishing homework? Sleeping? Does he worry a lot?”
Unfortunately, the only thing that didn’t ring true was worry. Caleb didn’t have a care in the world, especially when it came to homework.
“He gets stomachaches more than my other two and spends more time in the bathroom. Other than that, he’s a normal kid.” Thankfully the cell phone he’d never wanted and now couldn’t live without saved him from having to say anything else. He wasn’t prepared for her questions, and he knew her advice would be near impossible to follow.
“This is Jared,” he answered. It only took a moment to hear about the latest catastrophe facing those in charge of the church party.
“Absolutely,” Jared promised. “I’ll head home now and get some more.” Never before had he been glad to hear that he hadn’t brought enough hay for a maze. By now, he should be an expert on mazes.
He couldn’t help it. After he disconnected the call, he checked his watch again.
This meeting was over.
And Maggie Tate was looking at him as if he’d disappointed her.
For some reason, it bothered him.
* * *
“Mom, Mom, Mom.” Cassidy rarely said Mom only once. She usually said it three or more times just because she could.
“I’m getting dressed.”
“But I’m ready. Did you know that this outfit would look much better with red boots?” Cassidy didn’t expect an answer. She just looked at the two presents under the tree: one really small, the other really big. Neither looked the size of cowboy boots.
Maggie was no dummy. She’d wrapped the cowboy boots in a box five times their size.
“For now, your regular shoes will have to do. And, Cassidy, if you keep interrupting me, we’ll be late.”
Cassidy had put on her good clothes the moment she had gotten home and had been chanting “I’m ready” for almost three hours.
Maggie applied a layer of red lipstick that matched the red of her Norma Jean wool-blend winter dress. The weatherman predicted snow, and although it hadn’t arrived yet, cold temperatures had. Maggie wanted to be prepared for the worst and a fully lined frock would do the trick.
At least on the outside.
The inside, her insides, had a completely different need—one that pretty clothes couldn’t mask. She’d not stepped foot in a church for a year, not since Dan died.
It’s not a church service, Beth had insisted. It’s just a party. No Bible study and we’ll be singing Christmas songs.
It wasn’t Beth’s invitation that was getting Maggie to church. It was Cassidy’s, “But, Mom, all my friends will be there.”
It’s not a church service, Maggie told herself. And even if it turns into one, I can just take a bathroom break.
Maggie’s biggest fear was letting God get close.
Because that would stir up a memory Maggie was trying desperately to bury, one that involved Dan and injustice.
“Cool,” Cassidy approved when Maggie finally made it to the living room. “I’m ready.”
“I feel cool,” Maggie agreed. Only, really, she didn’t. Ever since Jared had taken her out for coffee this morning, broached the subject of Caleb needing help—of Jared needing help—and then chauffeured her home, she’d felt a bit off.
As if she’d left something undone.
It was usually mothers who’d come to Maggie to ask quietly if meeting with a developmental specialist had made a difference. They’d often thrown out tidbits of how their own children were behaving as if hoping Maggie would say something like, “Oh, that’s just typical kid behavior. I doubt you need to do all I’m doing.”
But Maggie wasn’t a specialist and wouldn’t offer any advice as to what someone else’s child needed. Early on, she had discovered that sometimes the mothers hoped she’d give them ideas on ways to “fix” their children.
Their children weren’t broken. Cassidy wasn’t broken. There was no fix. All Maggie could do is share what had worked and what hadn’t worked for them.
Patience worked, but it took time. Losing her patience didn’t work and took even more time.
“Mom, Mom, Mom.”
“What?”
“Can I have some hot chocolate?”
“No, they’re serving a meal at the party. I’ve already paid the five dollars, and I want you to eat real food.”
“Hot chocolate is real.”
“Real sugary,” Maggie agreed.
“But—”
“Get your heavy coat, plus mittens. Then grab your backpack. I think there will be prizes and candy. Let’s go.”
She’d diverted Cassidy. Taken the child’s mind off the hot chocolate and on to something else, something Cassidy wanted. End of problem.
It worked, this time.
Something else that worked for Cassidy was walking—well, Maggie walked, Cassidy skipped—to the church, waving at people who passed by.
As they turned onto Calver Street, Maggie could see the Main Street Church ahead. The parking lot was already fairly full. A few stragglers were exiting their cars. In the back, she could see the hay bale maze Jared and his crew had been working on. A campfire was already burning. Plus, she could also see a horse pulling a wagon full of kids.
Good thing the storm was holding off and the weather was cold but not freezing.
Near the wagon ride was Jared’s big black truck, tailgate down, and even though the festival was starting, a group of men were still unloading bales of hay.
All day long she’d been thinking about the man, how
