Mrs. Miracle 01 - Mrs. Miracle(12)

She didn’t have long to wait. Jayne, with her two daughters in tow, arrived shortly.

“Thank goodness you’re here.”

“Have you met up with Aunt Harriet?”

“Not yet. I managed to escape her just now in the hallway outside the girls’ Sunday school classroom. I pretended not to hear her.”

“Mom, can I sit with Becky?” Seven-year-old Suzie tugged at Jayne’s sleeve.

“Even my daughter’s looking for a way of avoiding my aunt,” Jayne whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“Can I, Mom?”

“All right, but no talking, understand?”

Suzie was off like a shot.

“Let’s take a seat,” Jayne urged, glancing over her shoulder. She accepted a bulletin from one of the deaconesses who acted as a greeter and slithered up the side aisle, seeking, Reba assumed, the one spot in the entire church where her aunt wasn’t likely to see her.

Not that Jayne had much chance of escaping the inevitable, Reba suspected.

“Oh, good,” Jayne muttered after they were seated. Cindy sat between them on the hard wooden pew.

“What?” Reba whispered.

“Aunt Harriett’s playing the organ.”

Reba’s gaze sought out the middle-aged woman sitting at the organ. She didn’t mean to smile, but she would have been able to pick out Jayne’s aunt Harriett from a police lineup. The woman wore a dress that seemed to suggest anything fashionable must surely be a sin. Her glasses rode down on her nose so far, they threatened to glide right off. Her pinched lips made her look as if it required a substantial effort to smile.

“Do you see her?” Jayne asked, leaning her head close to Reba’s.

“Shh…” Six-year-old Cindy pressed her finger to her lips and glared accusingly at the two adults.

Smiling to herself, Reba straightened and focused her attention straight ahead. She’d come for the express purpose of lending her friend moral support, but she was glad she’d come. The music, even if played by Aunt Harriett, was wonderful.

An older woman entered the church, a round portly soul, grandmotherly and kind looking. She paused, her gaze gentle yet focused as she looked squarely in Reba’s direction and smiled as if she’d known Reba her entire life. The directness of the stare caught her unaware. The older woman’s eyes brightened, and she nodded as if acknowledging someone.

Reba supposed her face was new and the woman was making an effort to welcome her. She responded with a smile.

To puzzle her further, the woman glanced pointedly over her shoulder at a man with two small children at his side. Reba’s gaze followed the woman’s.

It was him. Him. The man she’d seen so often at the grocery outside the strip mall. The very one who’d captured her attention weeks earlier. The one she found herself looking for day after day. The one who seemed as needy as she was herself. Another lost soul in a world full of the walking wounded.

“Who’s that?” she asked, gripping Jayne’s sleeve in the same urgent manner in which her young daughter had earlier.

“Who?” Jayne asked, tilting her head closer to Reba’s.

“The man with the children.”

“That’s Judd and Jason Webster,” Cindy supplied, drawing daisies on the church bulletin. “They’re in my Sunday school class. They’re twins.”

“He’s married, then?” Reba’s heart sank with the realization.

Jayne looked to her daughter.

Cindy shook her head. “Their mommy died in a car accident a long time ago. They don’t even remember what she looks like.”

“Do you know his name?”

Cindy nodded. Her grin spread from ear to ear; obviously she was pleased to be the center of attention, the one with all the answers. “That’s Mr. Webster, their dad.”





Chapter 6


Some marriages are made in heaven, but they all have to be maintained on earth.

—Mrs. Miracle





Sharon Palmer’s marriage was dying. A long, slow, painful death. She sat on the edge of her mattress and brushed her fingers through the thick tangles in her dark, rich hair.

She’d slept far later than normal, but she didn’t feel rested. A part of her longed to crawl back into bed, bury her head under a pillow, and weep. She wasn’t sure why she should feel this way. Then again, she did know. Jerry.

Her gaze drifted to the rumpled half of the other side of the bed. She’d slept next to the same man for nearly forty years. That should account for something. It was a sad commentary that she could have lived with Jerry all this time and come to the sudden realization that she no longer loved him. No, that was too harsh. Of course she loved Jerry. She’d loved him from the moment she’d first seen him as a college freshman. So brash and handsome. Her heart had pounded like a ramrod against her youthful breast at the mere sight of him. In the last three decades together they’d borne, raised, and educated three children.

And buried one.

When did this unhappiness, this discontent, start? she wondered. Sharon tried to trace the path of her dissatisfaction, but no clear answer came to her.

After Pamela’s death, she guessed. Sharon’s entire world had been tossed upside-down with the loss of their only daughter. Then the twins had come to live with her and Jerry. Having the babies with them had helped ease the shock and pain. With two toddlers underfoot, Sharon hadn’t had time to grieve or dwell on her loss. Her day had been absorbed with the care and feeding of her grandchildren. The twins had helped Jerry deal with Pamela’s death as well.