Authors: Deborah Raney
It was good, she realized, to be able to feel joy over a memory of her late husband. Two months ago, the first day of winter had marked the fourth anniversary of Rick’s death. Strange how the time crawled in one sense, yet some days it seemed as though she would walk into the house after a long day at work to find him waiting for her, wearing that charming, crooked smile and singing her snippets of love songs.
She felt that familiar ache again. She was grateful when her thoughts were interrupted by Jerry’s footsteps on the winding open staircase that led to her office.
“Here she is,” he boomed, peeking over the top landing. “The girl who kicked me out of my office.”
“Hi, Jerry.”
He took the last steps two at a time, and Melanie grinned and leaned to receive the requisite kiss on the cheek.
“Is it as nice out there as it looks?” She nodded toward the west where a bank of windows framed an inviting view of the river.
“Even nicer. It must be at least sixty degrees. Not bad for February, huh? Everything going okay?”
“Just fine. Would you have time to look over a couple of ads for the Milton account?”
He looked at his watch. “I’ll make time. I’m supposed to meet Erika at 5:00 though. Don’t let me get carried away.”
“Everything is on Suzanne’s desk. Why don’t we go down there?”
He nodded. Melanie went to her desk and punched in the senior designer’s extension.
“I think you’re going to like what she and José have done with this,” she told him while she waited for the call to go through. Suzanne’s voice came on the line, and Melanie signaled Jerry to wait. “Hi, Suzanne. Hey, can Jerry and I come down and take a look at the Milton stuff?… Okay. Give us five minutes.” She dropped the receiver into its cradle and turned to Jerry. “Now wait a minute … if you’re meeting Erika at 5:00, when am I supposed to get my baby back?”
“I was getting to that.” His pale blue eyes twinkled. “I don’t suppose we could borrow her for a couple of extra hours? Grandma has a surprise up her sleeve. Something about a new Easter dress, I think.”
“That could probably be arranged,” she laughed.
Jerry opened his mouth, hesitated for half a heartbeat, then cocked one eyebrow. “Maybe you could find yourself a date for the evening?”
She held her palm up and shot him a wry warning glance. “I’ve got plenty to do without complicating things, thank you very much.” She knew Jerry only wanted her to be happy, but she didn’t appreciate his meddling in her love life—or more accurately, the lack thereof. But it was true: She had all she could handle managing the firm and raising a daughter on her own.
“We’ll feed Jerica and bring her home right after dinner,” Jerry said.
“Thanks, Jerry. She’ll love that.” A twinge of guilt pinched her conscience as she thought of her daughter. She’d put in far too many hours at the office the last few weeks, and Jerica had suffered the brunt of it. Melanie’s eyes went to the framed portrait on her desk. Now almost five, the little girl looked remarkably like her father—painfully so, Melanie thought sometimes. But it was her grandpa LaSalle’s spunky personality the little girl had inherited, and taming her spirit was sometimes a challenge. Jerica had been only four months old when cancer robbed her of a father, and with Melanie’s own parents retired and living in California, Melanie was thankful that Jerica had doting grandparents close by—and appreciated the loving support system they offered her.
Melanie put her computer in sleep mode and turned to Jerry. “Ready?”
He nodded and let Melanie lead the way down the steep spiral of stairs, past the accounting offices on the mezzanine level, and to the ground floor where the design team worked.
While Jerry exclaimed over the vibrant illustrations spread out on Suzanne Savage’s desk, Melanie’s pulse quickened. She breathed in the excitement that always seemed to permeate the air when a project came to fruition. Sometimes she missed working in this wing of the building where the flow of creative juices was almost palpable.
She had come to By Design as a graphic designer fresh out of college. Jerry had introduced her to Rick, who, just out of school himself, was training under his father to manage the firm. The mutual attraction had been immediate, and they’d married a year later.
Melanie still treasured the memories of those early days with the company. The excitement of finding success in the career of her choice, the thrill of being newly in love, the introduction of Jerry and Erika—mentors both—into her life.
And though she still loved her work at By Design, the new pressures
placed on her since Rick’s death sometimes weighed heavily. Four years ago she never would have dreamed that she could develop the business acumen it took to manage a firm this size with efficiency and authority. Yet she had done just that. And in spite of the aching sadness over the tragic blow life had dealt her, Melanie usually found deep satisfaction in the life she had made for herself and Jerica.
Jerry had been wonderful to come out of retirement to carry the bulk of the burden after Rick’s death. Financially he had been more than generous. Between Rick’s insurance, her salary, and the fact that she would someday inherit a share of the firm, she would never have to worry about money. Still, she sometimes thought she would trade it all in for a chance to return to that earlier carefree time.
“This is topnotch work, Suzanne, José. I’m impressed.” Jerry’s enthusiastic voice prodded Melanie from her reverie. He nodded at the two young designers in turn, then shrugged. “What can I say? You guys are the best.”
Melanie gave her designers an I-told-you-so smile. “I think we’ll be seeing this front and center at the Addys next year,” she said, referring to a coveted advertising award.
By Design had received more than its share of regional and national recognition over the thirteen years the firm had been in business. Melanie’s own office sported an impressive array of design and advertising awards. Several of her pieces had been selected for inclusion in national and international design annuals, so her praise carried more than a little weight with these employees.
José Lorenzo ran a hand through thick, jet-black hair. “I’m just a little worried about how these colors will translate to print,” he ventured.
“I agree,” Suzanne said. “It might be worth sending it to Hadley’s this time.”
Jerry didn’t hesitate. “You guys do whatever it’ll take. This one is worth doing right—even if we have to eat some of the costs. What do you think, Mel?”
“Definitely,” she agreed.
Melanie could read the relief and victory in the two designers’ eyes.
“Good work, guys.” Jerry looked at his watch. “Whoa! I’d better fly. Till tomorrow.” He saluted them and headed for the wide front doors.
“Now, don’t forget to bring a certain little someone home tonight,” Melanie called after her father-in-law, only half joking. She missed her daughter terribly during the day and usually looked forward to their reunion each afternoon. But today a few extra hours of peace and quiet did sound pretty good.
Sighing, she turned to go back up to her office. Rounding the corner of the partition that enclosed Suzanne’s work space, she collided with a man who was headed for the front entrance. His hands flew to her shoulders, steadying her.
“Oh! Excuse me! I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, she backed away from the impromptu embrace.
He smiled broadly and Melanie noticed that a thin scar creased his right cheek just above his jaw line.
“My fault entirely,” he said, arms still outstretched. “I saw you coming but I couldn’t toot my horn quickly enough to warn you.” He spoke in an accent that Melanie thought had roots somewhere in the East.
“Well, I should have been watching where I was going,” she told him, clutching a hand to her chest.
“No harm done,” he assured her, straightening his suit coat.
They both laughed nervously, and then said farewell. He hurried on through the front lobby. Wondering what had brought this handsome stranger to By Design, she stood and watched his broad back disappear through the door.
Two
Jerica LaSalle sat forward on the velvet cushion of the church pew, fidgeting and swinging her white-stockinged legs back and forth in a noisy rhythm. Melanie laid a warning hand on the little girl’s knee, thinking wryly that her almost-five-year-old daughter wasn’t the only restless worshiper. From the kitchen area beyond the sanctuary, mingled savory and sweet aromas wafted over the congregation. Judging by the number of people checking their watches and glancing toward the fellowship hall, the enticing smells threatened to upstage the speaker at the lectern.
But Joel Ellington had the advantage. Not only was the man a newcomer to the congregation—and a good-looking one at that—but he spoke with such a thick East Coast accent that it required their studied attention to translate his English into something their Midwestern ears could understand. Halfway through his speech, Melanie realized why the new Christian education director seemed so familiar: He was the one she’d almost mowed down at the office last week.
As Mr. Ellington addressed the congregation, Melanie smiled down at her daughter, who was decorating the bulletin with purple tulips. She retrieved a stray crayon from the pew cushion, handed it to Jerica, and turned her attention back to the front of the church.
There was no denying that the Lord had put this particular man in an attractive package. Tall and athletic, with an olive complexion
and startlingly green eyes, he wore his sandy brown hair cropped close, except at his neck where it sprang into short, unruly curls. The thin two-inch scar that marred his smooth-shaven cheek only served to give a rugged handsomeness and a touch of mystery to his face. His large hands had long tapered fingers. He gestured expressively as he spoke, reminding Melanie of the man who sometimes signed for the deaf in the eight o’clock service.
She watched those hands with fascination, equally charmed with the rounded
A
s and the slightly nasal intonations of his Eastern brogue.
Jerica looked up at her mother and wrinkled her nose, apparently amused by the peculiar accent. Melanie put a finger to her lips, suddenly afraid that her daughter would laugh or point.
Now Joel Ellington stepped from behind the podium and stretched his arms wide. “I look out across this sanctuary, and though I’ve never met most of you before, I feel somehow that I know you because I see God’s love written on your faces.”
According to a blurb in this morning’s bulletin, Ellington had previously held a teaching position at a small private college in New York. Melanie wondered what had prompted him to this rather drastic change in careers. And why the Midwest? Finding himself so far away from the home and friends he knew must be difficult.
Melanie forced herself to focus on his speech. He was telling the congregation how it had blessed him to travel a thousand miles across the country and find the same devotion to God among the people here as he had known in his church “back home.”
“It’s wonderful to realize that God’s people can feel quite at home even when they are far from home.” He pronounced the words without benefit of the letter
R: even when they ah fah from home
. “Thank you all for making me feel so welcome. I count it a privilege to serve the needs of this congregation,” he concluded.
The “amen” of the closing hymn had scarcely died away when the
double doors leading into the fellowship hall were opened and there was a small stampede toward the source of the delectable aromas.
Melanie fell in line with the other young mothers. She helped Jerica get settled at the children’s table, then made her way to the end of the long serving line to fix her own plate.
Joel Ellington came in from the foyer where he’d been greeting church members and almost timidly took a place behind Melanie.
“Hello,” he said, a question in his voice. “I think we’ve met, but I can’t quite put my finger on your name.”
She smiled. “We, um … bumped into each other at my office the other day.”
His furrowed brow told her he still didn’t remember. “I’m sorry. I’ve met so many new people this week …”
“You were leaving By Design—the graphic arts firm where I work.”
He grimaced comically. “Ooh … you meant that ‘bumped into’ literally. I remember now. I’m so sorry. I practically knocked you off your feet.”
Oh, if you only knew how true that was
. She felt her skin flush at the impulsive thought and quickly pushed it from her mind. She held out her hand. “I’m Melanie LaSalle.”
“Nice to meet you, Melanie.” He let go of her hand and dipped his head sheepishly. “I hope there wasn’t any permanent damage.”
“I think I’ll live,” she said lightly, still smiling.
He turned and craned his neck toward the buffet table, looking genuinely worried. “Do you think there’ll be anything left by the time we get up there?”
“I have never yet gone away from one of these dinners hungry,” she promised. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
As the line crept forward, Melanie struggled to think of something to say. “I enjoyed what you had to say this morning, Mr. Ellington,” she said finally.
“Well, thank you. I am feeling very welcome here. And please. call me Joel. I’m not one for formalities. Have you attended this church for long?”
“Since the very first Sunday we held services.”
“A chahter member, huh?”
She couldn’t hide a grin.
“Did I say something funny?” he asked, clearly puzzled.
“I’m sorry. It’s just … your accent. It’s charming,” she added quickly, “but that East Coast twang is pretty rare in this part of the country.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “And I thought y’all were the ones with the accent,” he said in a bad Southern drawl.
“Us? Y’all have obviously never been down to Texas—or Alabama, for that matter.” She attempted the Southern belle inflection, painfully aware that she was flirting with him. She cleared her throat and reverted to her normal voice. “To answer your question, yes, I am a charter member. My husband’s parents were good friends of Pastor Black. He’s the one who started Cornerstone. My husband and I followed them here as newlyweds. Maybe you’ve already met my in-laws? Jerry and Erika LaSalle? Jerry is one of the deacons.”