Olivia returned the smile. “I know. I was thrilled when Tony made the offer. How often do we get to do this?”
“Not often enough.”
“Ena slept through the night last night,” she said. “First time.”
“Oh?”
Small talk
, I thought.
She’s as good at it as her father
. “What time did you put her down?”
“About eleven. She didn’t utter a sound until six this morning.”
The waitress returned with our drinks, and I took a hurried sip of my water. It barely made it down my dry throat. “Seven hours. You were never so good for me.”
Olivia smiled again, then leaned over, pressing her forearms against the table. “Mom.”
“What, Olivia? Go ahead and say or ask whatever it is you’re going to say or ask. Because I know you didn’t ask me to lunch to tell me about Ena sleeping all night. You could have done that on the phone.”
My daughter looked down, then raised her green eyes to me. I was caught, as always, by the adorable swirl of red curls that begins in a cowlick at the crown of her head and ends in a sweep near the top of her forehead, kissing the tips of her ears. “You know me so well.”
“I do indeed.”
She squared her shoulders. My, my, my, but wasn’t this going to be a good one. “Mom, can you explain to me exactly what is going to happen if you win tonight? I mean, will you actually go to New York City? And then what? Will you be running around the city with cameras following you everywhere? I’m just trying to get a grip on this.”
I scooted my chair up a notch and discreetly cleared my throat. “Here’s what I know,” I began, then paused when the waitress returned with our order and placed it before us. We said a quick blessing, and I nodded for Olivia to start eating while I explained. “There are eight teams left in the competition,” I said. I picked up my spoon and pushed the thick stew around the bowl. “Four of us will be seen tonight—you’re coming to the church, aren’t you?”
Olivia nodded; her mouth was full of food.
“The three teams who get voted through tonight will have next week off as four other teams compete. The winners from that show and the winners from our show will then compete in New York City.” I shoved meat and vegetables into my mouth.
Olivia took a sip of her “un-diet cola,” as she called it. Tall and slender, Olivia has never had to worry about her weight, even when pregnant, so no diet anything for her. I was grateful she’d not had to watch every calorie like her mother. “And what do you think your chances are tonight? Of placing in the top three?”
I put another bite of the stew in my mouth, shaking my head as I swallowed. “Slim and none. Donna was just telling me outside that the other teams have been gearing up for this for some time, and of course we haven’t.” I sipped at my drink, then added, “And I hear the other teams are strong too, and since the celebrity judge hated us, I’m sure we’ll slip into last place and be eliminated.”
Olivia visibly relaxed. “Good.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry, Mom, but I have to tell you, I’ve been worried.”
“About what? About your old lady actually winning something?” I frowned at her. “That’s not very nice, Olivia.”
“Oh no, no, no. Not about your winning. About you winning and leaving Dad here. Alone.”
I felt the hair on my head bristle on my scalp. Did Olivia know something about her father I didn’t? Since we’d ended our separation and returned to our marriage and to counseling, I’d not had any reason to be suspicious of Jack having another affair. Another in a long line of affairs, to be more precise. “Are you trying to tell me something, Olivia? Because if you are, just come out and say it. Do you know something I should know?”
It took a moment for understanding to register on my daughter’s face. When it did, she reddened. “Mom, no. No, nothing like that, I promise. I just … I’m worried about Dad.”
“In what way?”
She shrugged, dipping her head to the right and setting her spoon on the table next to the bowl of stew. “He hasn’t looked well lately. He’s out of breath when we talk on the phone, and when I see him I think he looks pale. Tony says I have too much Southern in me and I should quit worrying, that Dad is fine. But …”
I had to giggle at her “Southern” comment. Yes, we Southerners had pretty much cornered the market on worry. It’s a way of life with us. “Tony is right,” I told her. “Not to worry. Dad is fine. He had a physical last month after the school year ended, and the doctor proclaimed him a fine specimen for his age.”
Olivia’s eyes misted with tears. I reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Honey, what is it?” I asked her.
“I don’t know, Mom. It’s just that … with you losing
your
father a few months ago, I haven’t been able to help but think what it would be like to lose Dad. In spite of the things he’s done, I love him so much.” Her voice cracked.
I patted her hand and gave her my best Mother-knows-best smile. “Not to worry, Livvy. Dad’s fine, I’m fine, and we’re fine.” I sat back in my chair. “Now, let’s talk about how we’re going to celebrate Team Potluck’s loss tonight. Just you and me. What’s say we hit the outlet malls this weekend for a new outfit? My treat.”
A line of parked cars flowed out of the lot and down both sides of the street outside Grace Church. I pulled behind David’s black Mazda 3 and got out. As I started past his car, his door popped open and he stepped out into the summer evening still dressed in his paramedic uniform. “Long time no see,” he teased, as we’d both just come from working an accident.
“How’s old man Carpenter?” I asked as he fell into step with me.
“He definitely had a heart attack behind the wheel. He was stable when Randall and I wheeled him into the ER.”
“Good. It could have been a lot worse, especially if that railing hadn’t held.”
We hurried through the church parking lot, squinting against the glare of two hundred setting suns reflecting on the windshields surrounding us. “I’ll drop by the hospital later to check in on him,” I said.
David gave me one of his famous smiles. “Mind if I go with you?”
I smiled back. “Why not?”
“How late are we?” David asked as we ducked into the church. I checked my watch and tugged on his arm. “Not a minute to spare, come on.”
We pushed through the double doors of the activity center. Heads turned to stare as light applause broke out. I was glad the lights were too dim for the crowd to see the flame of celebrity burning my cheeks.
Abruptly, the crowd turned to gawk at the huge flat-screen TV, which was surrounded by greenery and speakers. Wade caught my eye as he stood and waved. “Over here!”
David and I hurried over and squeezed down the aisle to where Wade and his twelve-year-old cousin, Pete, were sitting. As I made my way to the saved seats, I could see most of Team Potluck sitting in the front row. It was too late to join them; Pastor Kevin Moore was already climbing the platform steps to stand next to the wide screen. He was dressed in jeans and a pink tee with the words “Go Team Potluck” printed in large letters. (The T-shirt was, no doubt, a gift from Lisa Leann.)
Microphone in hand, he said, “Friends and neighbors, we’re glad you could join our family at Grace in supporting our very own Team Potluck. Most of you know Team Potluck is trying to raise money to help our church. This couldn’t have come at a better time. This may, in fact, be God’s provision for keeping our land and building from bankruptcy and becoming a new condo development.”
So help me if my jaw didn’t drop. I had no idea we were playing to meet a real need. Not that a youth wing wasn’t a real need, but this bankruptcy thing put an entirely different spin on this contest.
More applause broke out as an electric guitar wailed the theme music for
The Great Party Showdown
through the TV’s surround sound speakers. The show was starting! Pastor Kevin said, “I’d wish Team Potluck good luck, if I believed in luck. Instead, I’ll wish them God’s favor. Say a little prayer, everyone, then pull out your cell phones and call in your votes at the end of the show.”
My fellow Potluckers, all in matching pink tees, stood, then turned and waved at the crowd as the room filled with thunderous applause. I kept my seat as Wade leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Nervous?”
I nodded as I tugged off my coat. Pete peered around Wade and waved. “Hi, Donna.”
I was struck by the twinkle in his blue eyes. I was proud of how well he’d done since I’d helped remove him and his siblings from the home of his abusive dad and still-missing mama. I’d been able to observe Pete’s progress whenever I stopped by Wade’s trailer for a bowl of his chili. Much to my delight, Pete had gone from an insecure kid who’d relied on the art of shoplifting to feed his siblings, to a young man with a future that would not likely include prison time. Wade was clearly doing a great job with the boy.
Wade patted my hand. “This torture will be over in an hour, then maybe we can all get back to our ordinary lives. Don’t you hope?”
I grinned. “Well, yeah, at least that’s what I was praying before I heard about the church’s debt.”
Wade hesitated. “Wanna grab a shake at Higher Grounds with me and Pete after the program?”
David leaned into our conversation. “Sorry, but Donna and I have a date to run back to the hospital to check on an accident victim.”
I gave David a sideways glance. “Come to think of it, I might have to put both offers on hold. I’m going to be stuck here, waiting for the producer to call Lisa Leann with the results.”
Wade nodded. “Then Pete and I will bring the shakes and wait with you.”
“Pick up one for me too,” David whispered just as Gianne Gillian appeared on the screen. She was glowing in a ruby red sequined cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. With pure enthusiasm, she said, “After last week, gone but not forgotten are the two teams that placed last in America’s vote. Good-bye to Moon Beam Team from Sedona, Arizona.” The studio audience clapped as a clip of a group of ladies wearing dangling crystal earrings and serving strange tofu dishes appeared on the screen. “Also gone is the all-American Team Gators from Gainesville, Florida.” The clapping resumed during a clip of a team of tipsy college boys making a big vat of French fries and shoveling them into a large paper-towellined aluminum pan.
Gianne flashed back onto the screen. “Tonight, while four of the eight remaining teams take the week off, we’ve flown our film crew and a celebrity judge to party on location with our four featured teams, starting with Team Batter Up from New York City.” Appearing on the screen were five men dressed in NY Yankee baseball uniforms, serving gourmet hot dogs to a black-tie crowd that included
The Great Party Showdown
judge Isabelle Salazar as well as their special guest, “the Donald.” Trump took a bite of his hot dog and pointed at one of the members of Team Batter Up before announcing, “You’re hired!”
Gianne continued with her voiceover. “Team Tex Mex of San Antonio, Texas.” The set pulsated with salsa music as six beauties twirled their long yellow skirts. They smiled while they served plates of enchiladas and black beans to happy, toe-tapping Texans while celebrity judge Teresa Juliette sipped from what looked like a Texas-sized glass of iced tea.
“Team Café Mocha from Seattle, Washington.” Six women dressed in mocha brown uniforms topped with creamy white aprons grinned as they held up steaming hot coffees topped with a scoop of chocolate ice cream. The camera zoomed in to reveal young business professionals at a sit-down dinner of soups and grilled chicken salad. Observing the party was our judge, Brant Richards, with another one of his sour looks plastered across his face. Man, he got around last week.
Gianne said, “Last but not least is Team Potluck of Summit View, Colorado.” The gathered crowd cheered and the TV scene changed to show Nelson wiggling his press-on brows as he sampled our twice-baked potatoes. He said in his best Groucho, “I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.”
As Nelson hammed for the camera, our elegant guests dined in the background while our team scurried to serve them.
The camera recaptured Gianne’s sparkling beauty. “America, which of these four teams will you ban from our Great Party Showdown’s food fight? Stay tuned to vote at the end of this show.”
In the minutes that followed, the show zipped by. I have to say I was impressed with the other teams and their “packages” featuring various team members. I was especially awed by Calista Cruz, a raven-haired beauty from Team Tex Mex. She was a single mom bent on bettering life for herself and her young sons. She and her team were planning to use some of the prize money to help a local women’s shelter. Then there was Team Café Mocha. Those women hoped to use the million dollar grand prize to give their children “the educations they deserve.” Team Batter Up wanted to study cooking in Paris and around the world. I had to laugh as I whispered to David, “Do chefs in Paris teach the fine art of cooking gourmet hot dogs?”
His shoulder leaned into mine. “Well, if that’s all Team Batter Up can cook—they’re probably ready to learn something new.”
After each team’s clip played, the celebrity judges talked about their experience with the team then gave that experience a one to five star rating. Team Batter Up and Team Tex Mex did pretty well, getting four stars each. Though Brant gave Team Café Mocha only two stars. But each time the judges rated the contestants, Gianne reminded the viewers, “Our judges don’t get the final say—you do, America; but only if you vote.”
My nerves were splitting by the time Team Potluck appeared on the last segment of the show. I sat back, trying not to hold my breath as I watched our team share a prayer together, followed by Vonnie coaxing her mother into her car, then seeing our dinner guests stand on their feet to welcome Mrs. Swenson, our birthday girl.
The church activities center reverberated with laughter as the crowd watched Mrs. Swenson’s shocked face when we yelled, “Surprise!”
More laughter followed Nelson’s Groucho shenanigans, especially when it came to his interaction with the celebrity judge, Brant Richards.