Must Love Flowers(23)

She stared at the photo of the two of them. The resemblance wasn’t hard to miss. Seeing his daughter must have been a constant reminder to Roy Herbert of the wife he had loved and lost. She’d never expected to feel sympathy for the man, and yet she did. He was weak, no doubt, and she suspected the loss of his wife had crippled him the same way losing Jared had done to her. Deep down, she believed that once he started pulling himself together, he would want Maggie to follow through on her dreams.

By the time Maggie had finished unpacking, Joan had dinner on the table. She removed the jigsaw puzzle she’d been assembling for the last two weeks. She needed that space for their serving dishes. Spending mindless hours on the project no longer held appeal.

When they sat down to eat, Maggie said, “I hope you know I don’t expect you to provide dinners for me.”

Joan was convinced Maggie often skipped meals or ate on the run. “I don’t mind. It will give me an excuse to cook again.”

“I would like that.” Her eyes lit up with appreciation. “But to be fair, I’ll need to pay you more in rent.”

“No, please, the price is more than fair.”

It looked for a moment as though Maggie wanted to argue. “Okay,” she conceded, “but only if you let me help around the house.”

“We can discuss all that later.” Joan handed her the platter with the roast for Maggie to help herself.

They were halfway through the meal and the conversation flowed smoothly. Although they didn’t know each other well, they appeared to be at ease, comfortable, as if they’d known each other beyond this single day.

“What will your son say when he learns you’ve gone ahead and rented me the room? His room?”

Joan grinned, thinking what Nick’s reaction would likely be. “He’ll probably be upset at first.”

“I’m sorry. I wish now I’d taken your other son’s room.”

“Nonsense. Nick hasn’t lived at home in years. At one point I considered turning that room into a craft area.” And perhaps one day she would if she ever decided to take painting classes or learned to knit. She’d look forward to the time she was comfortable enough to do those very things. Baby steps, she reminded herself. One thing at a time.

Thinking about the future was something else Joan hadn’t done in a long while. It seemed pointless, but now it was an idea she’d entertain.

They finished their meal, and Maggie insisted on washing the dishes. Joan let her. It was a small concession, and it made Maggie feel like she’d contributed, which she did.

“My alarm goes off early,” Maggie explained, as she finished with the dishes. “I work the morning shift. I hope I don’t wake you.”

“Don’t worry about it. If you wake me, I’ll go right back to sleep.” Joan didn’t sleep well most nights and wasn’t overly concerned.

“I also tutor three days a week until the school breaks for the summer.”

Joan remembered hearing about that. “I believe Charlene mentioned you helped young readers.”

“It doesn’t pay much. The school district only offers a small stipend, but I enjoy helping the second-graders. It makes me feel good when I see them making progress.”

“How many students do you tutor?”

“Just two. Caleb has a minor case of dyslexia. All Victoria needs is someone patient and loving. She comes from a low-income family and didn’t attend preschool, so she came into the classroom already behind, according to her teacher.”

“Caleb and Victoria are fortunate to have you.”

“I feel like the fortunate one. On the last day of school, I’m going to surprise them with a special treat.”

When she finished the dishes, Maggie headed up the stairs, explaining that she needed to study for finals, which were scheduled for the following week.

“Night, Joan, and thank you again for everything.”

“You’re most welcome. I hope you sleep well.”

“I know I will.”

Joan watched Maggie disappear up the stairs before returning to the kitchen. She found the slip of paper Gennie Davis had given her and looked at the name and the phone number. If she’d learned anything from the confrontation with Maggie’s father, it was that she couldn’t delay making this appointment.

“Well, Dr. O’Brien, I hope you’re everything Gennie claims.”

Joan stared at the paper for so long she had the phone number memorized. First thing tomorrow morning, she would make an appointment.





Chapter 11





Joan sat in the large reception area, waiting for her name to be called. She’d buried her face in a magazine, afraid, foolish as it was, that someone might recognize her. Dr. O’Brien’s office housed three other counselors who shared a common receptionist. Joan had made the appointment first thing Thursday morning, thinking—hoping, actually—that the first available time slot wouldn’t be for a week or longer. That would give her time to mentally prepare for this meeting. Oh no, that would have been too easy. Instead, she got a late-morning appointment on Monday.

Thursday to Monday had given Joan four full days to fret and worry. Far too many times to count, she’d toyed with the notion of canceling. When she spoke with the receptionist, she was informed she would be charged for the session if less than twenty-four-hours notice was given. By Friday afternoon it was too late. The weekend spread before her like a yawning beast.