“I actually tried to track down the owner of the cards today.”
Travis lifts the cob of corn and takes a bite. He points the ear of corn at her. “Wow! Delicious. What do you mean you tried to track down the owner?”
“Whoever wrote the cards has mentioned a farmer named Bud a few times. I stopped at a couple of farms today to see if there was a Bud. I got the corn and some milk from one of the farms.”
“Any luck?” Lauren shakes her head. “You really think someone is missing the cards?”
Lauren nods. “I do. They’re not just recipes. They are family stories and memories. This family was close. I think these recipes are part of their legacy.” She looks at him. “These cards were passed down to someone who was loved very much.”
He stops eating, smiling. “Then let’s find Bud!”
“Together?”
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a detective. I was going to change my name to Burt Grimes.”
She laughs out loud. “Burt Grimes! Why?”
“Because Detective Burt Grimes sounds like a detective,” he says, as if she should know that. “It rhymes with crimes. Mabrey is soft. Weak. Come on!” He is genuinely perplexed that she can’t figure this out on her own. He shakes it off. “You know how many old guys work or have worked at the parks department? Some of them have lived in Grandon their whole lives. If there’s ever been a farmer named Bud, one of those guys knows him or his family.”
“And yet another reason why I married you, Detective Grimes!”
SEVENTEEN
September 1972
Joan stands alongside John in his workshop, looking at the second table leg. He shakes his head. “Measure twice. Cut once.” He sighs, aggravated. “I know that. I tell myself that all the time. But what did I do?”
“You measured once and cut twice?” Joan asks, confused.
“I measured once and cut. Period.” He lifts up the other leg that he finished weeks ago. “Look at them! Not even close to looking alike.”
Joan cocks her head, looking at each leg. “They look exactly the same, John.”
He snaps his head to look at her. “Are you kidding?”
She laughs, looking at the legs. “John! These legs are identical.”
“Really? Then why is this one an eighth of an inch wider than this one?”
She looks at him, dumbfounded. “An eighth of an inch? Who’s going to notice that? It’s going to be under the table. I can’t even notice it and I’m standing right here in front of them.”
He holds each of the two table legs directly in front of himself, shaking his head. “You can’t see what I’m seeing.” A thought dawns on him and he looks at Joan, setting the legs down on the worktable, thinking. “That’s how it is, isn’t it?” She’s not sure if he’s talking to her or himself. “Right?”
“What do you mean? How what is?” she says.
He puts his hands on top of his head, realizing. “You can’t see the difference.”
“I know. We’ve covered this.”
He looks at her, wide-eyed. “We can’t see the difference inside of you.” She stares at him. “We don’t know what’s happening inside of—”
“We do know, John. The doctor—”
He cuts her off. “But we don’t know what God is doing. We can’t see the difference that He’s making.”
She sighs, her mouth turning down into a small, sad smile.
“Just listen to me, Joan. I made those table legs. I can see the difference between them, but you can’t. If God made your body, and I believe He did, do you?” She nods. “Then He can see what’s happening inside your lungs and your breasts and your body. He can see the difference from day one of your cancer diagnosis to today.”
Joan is struggling to understand him. “What kind of difference?”
“He’s doing something that we can’t see.”
He needs to stop this way of thinking. “John, you’re talking a miracle and…”
He puts one of his hands on each side of her face. “Joan, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it, would I?” She pauses and then shakes her head. “God’s doing something and even if we don’t see it, even if you don’t feel it yet, He sees the difference inside of you.”
Her eyes get misty looking at him. “I want to believe, John, but…”
“I believe,” he says, pulling her to him.
She pulls back to look at him. “How?”
He reaches for a piece of wood, smiling. “This.” He smiles and kisses her. “Today’s the day. God’s doing something. Today’s the day.”
September 2012
Lauren and Stacy each take a bite of chess pie inside Gloria’s office and smile at her. “Scrumptious, right?” Gloria says.
Stacy nods, chewing. “Delicious. I wonder if the person leaving these goodies is trying to bribe you?”
“Bribe me?” Gloria says, clutching her chest. “Why would anyone bribe me?”
“Maybe you have a gentleman suitor,” Lauren says, grinning. “Maybe a handsome stranger is trying to bribe your love away from Marshall.”
Gloria laughs. “Oh, that’s absurd!” She pauses a moment. “Or is it? You know, when I was younger, I really was quite fetching.”
“Isn’t ‘fetching’ a word that’s generally associated with canines, Gloria?” Miriam says, entering the office. Gloria shakes her head in annoyance. “Why do you continue to try to figure out who’s doing this?” she says, putting a slice of pie onto a small paper plate. “Isn’t it obvious?” Stacy, Lauren, and Gloria shake their heads and shrug. “It’s Larry.”
“Larry the furniture maker?” Lauren says. “Why him, of all people?”
Miriam smiles, taking a bite of pie. “He’s always been a bit smitten.”
“With me?” Gloria says, shocked and nearly choking on her bite of pie.
“Of course not!” Miriam says coyly. “With me.”
“He’s married,” Lauren says. “For like, forty-some years, right?”
“There’s always been a hint of flirtation,” Miriam says, taking another bite of her pie and sighing with delight.
Lauren looks at Gloria, who is using her index finger to circle her ear, and Lauren chuckles. “Miriam, I didn’t notice anything when we were at Larry’s together. As a matter of fact, he paid more attention
