Soaring (Magdalene #2)(45)

“Alyssa,” Josie said warningly.

Alyssa sliced her gaze to Josie and sat back, letting my hand go and repeating, “Their loss.”

“If the impossible happened and this happened to you, would you feel the same way about your children?” Josie asked.

“My Junior screwed me over and I spent their whole lives showin’ my kids how much I loved their father, through the good times and the bad, standin’ at his side, and they knew he did that to me?” She shook her head and kept going. “And after I pushed them out and wiped their asses and blew their snotty noses and cleaned up their puke and loved on them at every opportunity and dropped everything the minute they needed me, and I had a time in my life where I needed a little understanding and they bailed on me?” she asked then answered her own question. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Josie touched my knee and I looked her way. “She’s right, of a sort. But I believe you should give them some time.”

“I am,” I told her.

“That’s good,” she said softly.

I couldn’t keep looking at her because I had fingers wrapped around my chin, forcing me to look back at Alyssa.

“You give them time. And you fight for your family. But,” she forced my face to look in the mirror and dropped her hand, “that isn’t a miracle, Amelia. That’s us doin’ what we can to remind you of what was already there. You walk outta of here not believing in what we believe, not seein’ what we see, not thinkin’ your kids should open their eyes and see the same thing, then all is already lost. You deserve to be happy. You deserve the people in your life that love you to want the same thing for you. But it’s you that’s gotta go out and find it. To prove to them you’re worth it. To explain to them that you always knew that in your heart. That you deserve to be treated right, loved right, that you’re worth it. And you may have gone a couple of extra miles too far in sharing that, but you’re back to you and now you expect to get what you give.”

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I didn’t know if I saw what they saw.

I did know that I didn’t look anything but like me.

My hair was great. My makeup was awesome.

But all that was what Alyssa said.

It was me.

Not a new and improved me.

Just me.

With fantastic highlights and expertly shaded makeup.

“I’m buying you both a Porsche,” I declared.

Alyssa burst out laughing and Josie did the same, except not as loud.

“I already have one, sweetheart,” Josie said when her laughter died down.

“I don’t. And I don’t want no Cayenne. Turbo. Black,” Alyssa put in.

I turned and grinned at her, knowing she was joking and still wishing she’d let me buy her a Porsche.

But I’d do something else.

I’d do what she wanted me to do.

I’d return the favor she extended to me.

Not fantastic highlights and a beautiful haircut.

I’d be a good friend.

* * * * *

The next day, arriving back from another shopping spree with Alyssa and Josie with much more than a bowl, I found my front stoop littered with packages.

The results of online shopping with overnight shipping.

Nothing fit me as I found that day in the shops I was a size smaller.

I kept it anyway and I put it all away, with that day’s acquisitions, taking the last of what was left of the wardrobe of my old life and shoving it in the boxes in the garage.

Then I went to my kitchen and opened a bottle of wine.

I sipped it while I made myself a nice dinner.

Chapter Eight

Bested Me

Late that next week, on one of the days I wasn’t at Dove House, I was in town at Wayfarer’s Market, doing some shopping.

I was having a cooking renaissance, starting with my baking, which the old folks at Dove House enjoyed (most specifically Mr. Dennison, who was a total flirt, and Mrs. McMurphy, who still thought I was a Nazi spy but that didn’t stop her from liking my cookies).

But also, I was learning to cook for one, something that had once caused me to fall into the pit of agony I’d dug, but now I’d decided to take as a challenge.

First, there were things that I could freeze, and if I ever gave an extra hour (or two, as I was wont to do) to Dove House and came home fatigued, I could have a readymade meal that was also delicious.

Second, there were casseroles, which often tasted even better as leftovers.

In trolling for things to add to my whimsical beachy bedroom (that was coming around, I’d bought the mattresses and also found some fabulous prints for the walls that were whimsical and beachy without being trite or cutesy), I’d gone off course and started looking up recipes.

And I found one I couldn’t wait to try. A hash brown casserole that, with its ingredients, could be nothing but scrumptious.

However, I was going over to Josie and Jake’s that night to have dinner with them and the kids. Jake was gearing up to let his oldest son go off to college and Josie had told me he was holding up, but mostly so Conner wouldn’t sense his dad was not fired up to watch his first son leave the nest. She was looking for ways to distract him at the same time give him more time with his son, which meant, in Josie’s eyes, dinner party.

I was looking forward to it and not only because I liked Josie (after my meltdown we just kept getting closer) but also because I liked her husband and kids and wanted a chance to get to know them better.