I reached for the baby. “Even more reason for you to get back in there. No sense in dressing everybody up and rushing over here if you don’t even get to hear the sermon.”

She hesitated a brief moment, then let me take the baby.

“I’ll come rescue you if he cries.” She stood and headed for the sanctuary. “Thank you, Tish. Hannah, you be a good girl.”

The door closed behind Missy. I sat in the glider with baby Andrew on my lap. He twisted up his face. For a minute I thought he was going to cry. But soon he found the zipper pull on one side of my jean jacket. Chubby fingers strained to drag the mechanism up and down the track. His forehead furrowed in concentration. Pudgy baby lips jutted out with the effort.

I drank in his clean, fresh baby scent. His warmth and weight there on my lap sent love flooding through my veins like a caffeine fix. I pictured my own kid bouncing on my knee. His head would be topped with Brad’s dark hair, he’d have Brad’s straight, serious lips . . .

Baby Andrew held his breath and grunted. Suddenly, a mini mortar exploded on my thigh. With my self-preservation instinct operating in full gear, I lifted the baby like a hot-air balloon and set him on the floor. I dug through the diaper bag Missy had left behind and found a rattle. Andrew shoved the toy in his mouth and sucked on it. His face turned red, then back to white, like an errant Christmas bulb.

The next few minutes passed in relative peace. Hannah occupied herself with a chunky manger scene puzzle. Andrew continued a project of his own. Then the odor hit.

Hannah spoke without looking up. “Andrew’s got a stinky.”

“I know. I think church is almost over. Your mom will be here soon.”

Hannah paused and swung her blue eyes my way. “You should change him so he doesn’t go ballistic.”

Her matter-of-fact tone as she said the big word made me smile. “Think you can help me with that?”

“’Course.” She went for the shoulder bag and pulled out a disposable diaper and a box of wipes. She spread out a cushy vinyl mat, then seized the baby under his arms, dragging him to the changing pad.

I intervened, laying the baby gently on the soft surface. “You’re going to be a really great mom when you grow up.”

“I know,” the girl said, already unsnapping the baby’s bottoms.

With Hannah in charge, we cleaned Andrew and had him back in action by the time the grown-ups started trickling out of the sanctuary.

The moment Missy reached us, she scooped up Andrew and hugged him. She knelt to Hannah’s level.

“How’d it go, sweetie?”

“Good. I had to show the lady how to change a diaper.”

Missy smiled. “Thank you, pumpkin.” She rose. “And thank you, Tish. I really appreciate it. Sometimes those sermons are the only thing that gets me through the week.”

I patted Hannah’s head and smiled. “I have a hard time believing life could be less than perfect with these two cuties around.”

Missy stepped closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can we get together sometime soon? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

I looked at the congregation around me, milling about with smiles on their faces, as if life was nothing short of heaven. No wonder Missy singled me out to talk to. Spiritual Journey in Progress was stamped all over my forehead. “Do you want to come out to the cottage? I’m pretty much available anytime,” I said.

“No. Not the cottage.” She crouched to pack the diaper bag one-handed. “Let’s meet in Manistique instead. How about Tuesday around noon at the public library? There’s a nice kids section there.”

“Okay. Sure. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Missy rattled off quick directions. Then in a few swift moves, she had herself and the kids bundled up and out the door.

I stood in the corner of the large hall and watched them leave. With the Belmonts went my sense of belonging. Now I was merely a strange face once again. I willed a friendly person my way, but got only polite smiles and quick glances from those who even bothered to look at me. I refused to read anything into the standoffish behavior other than general discomfort regarding strangers.

I zipped up my jacket and raced through the cold out to my car.

7

That afternoon, I treated myself to hot tea and the last pages of a romantic mystery along the lumpy length of my sofa. I had on three layers of clothes and a sleeping bag to guard against the chill. By evening, I knew I’d have to break down and invest in a new heating system and maybe some storm windows. While it didn’t faze me to live like a refugee, I knew the next owners wouldn’t be able to hack it.

Monday morning I opened the skinny Manistique area phone directory and dialed the number of a Silvan Township–based heating professional. I got an answering machine.

“Hi, my name is Patricia Amble and I’m at Number Three Valentine’s Lane,” I said after the beep. “I’d like a quote on a new heating system, please.” I left my cell number and hung up. If he were like the contractors in the rest of the state, a call back was questionable.

I spent the remainder of the day washing down the great room. The stone surround of the fireplace presented my biggest challenge at the cabin so far. Dust had collected on the uneven ledges between every rock. I stretched as tall as I could and began wiping the chimney and hearth. I was exhausted by the time dark rolled around, but at least the stones sparkled with new life in the glow of my work lamp. Another day I’d borrow a ladder and clean all the way to the ceiling that soared above. While I was up there, I’d change the bulbs in the light fixture. For now, I called it quits and went to bed early, looking forward to meeting with Missy and the Belmont kids the next day in Manistique.


The sun hadn’t even considered rising yet when I heard my cell phone ringing somewhere down in the kitchen. I jumped up and careened groggily down the staircase. Maybe it was Brad. He hadn’t forgotten about me.

“Hello?” My lips were thick from sleep.

“This is Ted from General Heating calling you back.”

My heart shriveled. Brad had forgotten me after all. I cradled my forehead in my hand and leaned against the counter. “Thanks for calling, Ted.” I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I’ve got a big old cottage on Valentine’s Lane that needs a whole new approach to heating. I’m hoping you’ll have some good ideas.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Normally I would.” His voice became curt and gruff. “But I don’t do business with drug dealers.”

I looked around the kitchen to see if there was someone else in the room that he could possibly be talking to. “Excuse me? My name is Patricia Amble and I just moved up here.”

“I know who you are. Tell your granddad to get one of his buddies to help you out. I don’t get involved in that stuff.” The line clicked and went silent.

Okay. I’ll tell my granddad as soon as I meet him for the first time, I thought to myself as I flung my phone on the counter. Of all the family skeletons I’d imagined, drug dealers hadn’t been among them. I yawned and rubbed at my eyes. As long as I was awake, I might as well make coffee and get the day started.

The last Sinclair donut became breakfast as the sun lit the icy landscape outside the kitchen window. Six donuts. Six days. The sugary bear claw wasn’t the only thing getting stale. I couldn’t wait to meet Missy at noon. I had to get out of this house. I’d grown accustomed to a social life my last months in Rawlings. Being trapped behind four walls just wasn’t working for me anymore.

I showered, dressed, and put on my regimen of light makeup, then frittered around to pass the time. About 11:00 a.m., I’d had enough. I started up the SUV and came back inside while it warmed.

A corner closet held a broom. I swept the kitchen floor. I gathered dirt into a central pile, deciding to spend the rest of the day exploring Manistique. Maybe I’d come across some of the places Brad told me about. I remembered how pleasantly surprised I’d been to find out he’d visited the Upper Peninsula—and loved it. I simply couldn’t wait to try the pizza at Buddy’s Pub, drop in at the Olive Branch gift shop, and browse the books at Merchant’s Pointe Deli. Some of the other things Brad mentioned, like tackling the rocky jetty in Manistique Harbor to get to the lighthouse and strolling the boardwalk in the moonlight, would have to wait until summer.

I found the dustpan under the cupboard and swept the pile in. Somehow not having Brad around to share my new experiences dampened my enthusiasm. But I’d thought that through before I moved. Back in Rawlings, Brad taught me a lot about taking time to enjoy God’s creation. And now I went for walks, went to town, and even went to church. He’d helped me start a whole new batch of great habits. I could keep up the routine even without him. I’d gone for one walk already this week, hadn’t I? I rubbed the bruise on my backside. That walk might have ended on a less brutal note if Brad had been with me.

I stowed my cleaning tools, locked the back door in opposition to Ethyl Merton’s shaky advice, and started the drive to Manistique. The trees along US-2 looked like they’d sprouted crystals. Soon the forest gave way to Lake Michigan. Turbulent black waters beat against mounds of ice along the shoreline. Towers of spray shot up at random and settled atop the wall of white. A few minutes later, houses cropped up on the narrow strip of snow-covered dunes between the highway and the lake. I crossed the bridge over the Manistique River and took the first left. After three blocks of quaint shop fronts, I came to the high school. I navigated into the parking lot and took a space reserved for public library patrons. I snatched my purse and headed in, excited for a lunch date, minus the food, with my new friend.