thought of Florence Napier, remembered comments Logan made about his upbringing and what he wanted for his nieces. She remembered Florence’s laissez-faire attitude.
He wouldn’t understand, she thought.
“Teaching wasn’t what I really wanted to do,” she said, settling on a mundane answer as she leaned back in her chair.
“You’re good at it.”
“Thanks. But two girls as opposed to a whole classroom of kids…” She shrugged. “Not my style, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?”
Sandra felt herself stiffen at the tone of his question. “Not everyone is cut out for that kind of thing.”
“Meaning?”
“Routine. Schedule. The same thing every day.”
Logan held her gaze, his expression unreadable.
“That’s not your style,” he replied quietly.
“No, it isn’t,” she answered with a little more force than the comment required.
“What would be your ideal job, then?”
Sandra looked away, pulling the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. She wasn’t sure. She had spent so much time figuring out what she didn’t want to do that she hadn’t formulated a clear plan of what she did want. The past few years had been a whirl of trying and discarding.
“I’m sure your girlfriend Karen is the kind of person who has her life all figured out. I’m not like that.”
Logan tipped his eyebrows. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Why did that simple statement ease a small measure of the loneliness that had gripped her on Sunday?
“I…I’m not sure what my ideal job would be,” Sandra said quickly, looking away. “I haven’t found it yet.”
“That’s too bad, Sandra. I think you have a lot of potential.”
Then, taking a final sip of his lemonade, he got up. He set his cup down, hooked his thumbs in the tops of his pants pockets, one corner of his mouth caught between his teeth. He looked as if he wanted to say something else. “Thanks for the lemonade.” He tilted her a halfhearted grin and went to the back room to get the girls.
Sandra hugged herself, watching him go, wondering why she had said what she did. It was as if she was determined to keep him at arm’s length.
And she should. He’s an architect, she reminded herself. A secure, solid, hardworking architect who lives for schedules and routine.
A man who took good care of the women in his life—his nieces, his mother.
A man who probably would never do to Karen what Henri had done to her, she thought with a faint feeling of remorse.
And in spite of his comment about Karen, a man who would be out of her life once they all went back to Calgary, she reminded herself. She and Logan moved in different circles. Only for this moment had their lives intersected.
The girls gave her noisy goodbyes as they left. Logan ushered them out the door. In the doorway he turned to face her. “Thanks for working with them tonight.” Still holding on to the door, his eyes met hers.
Once again, Sandra had that peculiar feeling of an intangible allurement that tightened between them, drawing her toward him.
She looked away and nodded. Her only reply.
The door closed, and Sandra was alone again. As she heard the girls’ excited chatter and Logan’s deep voice fading away, it was as if the house had grown smaller, emptier.
Restless, Sandra got up, went to the stereo and turned it up. Unfamiliar music spilled out of the speakers. Bethany’s CD, Sandra remembered. She was about to turn it down but was stopped by the music. Upbeat and catchy. She found herself tapping her fingers against her leg in time to the beat.
The singer sang the words with an absoluteness that Sandra would once have dismissed as narrow-minded, but the sincerity in her voice kept Sandra from turning the song off.
In the lyrics of the song Sandra heard a call back to the faith of her youth, a call to come and worship Jesus as Lord, a challenge that one day every tongue would confess God, every knee would bow.
Sandra felt a shiver of apprehension followed by a pressing of guilt and sorrow as the music swelled, built in intensity, the singer drawing Sandra in.
She felt a touch of God’s hand. Just like she did when she was outside, when she looked into the heavens and knew for certainty that the vastness and the order she saw there didn’t come through happenstance.
She hit the power button and turned the music off. Standing alone in the empty room, Sandra closed her eyes as the now familiar loneliness washed over her.
Home, she thought. She wished she could go home.
But that was out of the question.
“He hasn’t kissed her yet,” Brittany whispered to her sister, setting the plates on the table.
Bethany spun around, still holding the utensils she had pulled out of the drawer. “How do you know?”
Brittany glanced over her shoulder and tiptoed to the door. But Uncle Logan was still in the shower.
“I watched them last night. They were just sitting and talking.” She shook her head in disgust. “This is taking forever.”
Bethany carefully set the knives beside the plates Brittany had laid out. “We just have to wait, I guess.”
“I wish I knew if that Karen was going to come back.”
Bethany shuddered. “She really likes Uncle Logan. I wish she’d leave him alone.”
“Well, I don’t think he likes her much. He never even held her hand when they were walking.”
“So we have to keep getting Sandra and Uncle Logan together,” said Bethany with a sigh. “We don’t have much longer.”
“Good morning, girls,” Logan said from the doorway, toweling his wet hair. “You’re up bright and early.”
Brittany threw Bethany a guilty look, wondering if Uncle Logan had heard what they said. She looked at him, smiling, hoping he didn’t. “Just thought we’d get up early so we can do some schoolwork.”
Logan paused, holding the towel, looking at Brittany as if he didn’t quite believe her. “You’re doing homework in the morning?”
Brittany nodded. “Sandra gave us a contest. She said if we get our work done by tonight, she was going to take us out to look at the meteor shower.” She stopped. “Oops. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“You weren’t?” Logan hung on to his towel,
