Page 64 of Love Me Gently

Bridget Paxton had been as muchof a mother to me as my own had been, minus putting me in timeouts and groundings that came with being a real parent.

Now that I knew she was there, I debated whether to even face her.

And now I’d asked Cole to invite her here? To spend time with me?

What was Ithinking?

She’d also be patient. She knew what happened. She was keeping secrets from my own family and my mom had been her friend since they sat next to each other at a women’s Bible study way back when Mom and Dad had just gotten married and moved to town to take over the dying Baptist church. Not the easiest assignment for a new pastor from what I heard, especially with the town so small and people in the church so old, but somehow, from the time my parents moved to Deer Creek and by the time I left, the numbers in the congregation tripled and the ages slowly grew younger. Even the college kids who went to the small, private college nearby would cross the street to listen to my dad speak.

I’d heard the story so many times I could write it in my sleep.

So, I owed her, I guess? At least she deserved my politeness.

Inhaling a deep breath, I headed out of my room and up the stairs. Kitchen cupboards clunked closed and there was rattling of silverware, or someone digging through drawers and like this morning when I entered the kitchen, her back was to me as she dug through a drawer.

Mrs. Paxton had always worn dresses. I couldn’t remember a time seeing her in pants. They weren’t old-school matronly dresses, either, but they were cool. Usually sweater-like in the fall and winter, they always managed to look stylish and warm.

Apparently, nothing had changed, because her camel-colored dress floated around the tops of her feet. The long-sleeved arms were dolman-shaped, and she had a gold belt wrapped around her waist.

I cleared my throat, letting her know I was there and slid into the same stool I’d taken earlier.

Mrs. Paxton stood slowly, her dark brown hair now had slips of white and silver at the temples and her part. The rest of her was as pretty as ever. Her makeup, her skin, the curls in her hair and the way it shined. Time had aged her, but it had done it well. She had to be fifty-five by now, around there anyway, and only showed small signs of aging.

The smile she wore as her kind, shimmering blue eyes met mine was as sweet and joyful as it’d always been. “Hi there. Good to see you up on your feet.”

My fingers tapped on the counter. “Thanks, for um...well…helping.”

She blinked and pushed her glossy red lips to the side like she had a decision to make. It must not have taken long before she smiled again and gestured toward two reusable shopping bags on the counter. “I thought I’d do some baking today. Want to help?”

So we were going to ignore the fact she knew enough of my shame. The fact she must have seen me in the days when I barely woke and Dr. McElroy came frequently.

“I haven’t baked in a long time,” I admitted. Whatever ingredients were in those bags might as well have been foreign substances. Jonathan insisted I cook dinner, but dessert was out of the question, at least for me. He’d sometimes come home with cookies or pie from a bakery, but the first time I reached for them after thinking he was joking they weren’t for me was a memory I never forgot after. “I’m not sure I know how anymore.”

My mom and Mrs. Paxton had frequently baked for the church. Pies, cookies, all sorts of things around the holidays. Sometimes we’d made cupcakes for weddings.

Mrs. Paxton’s look softened. “I’m quite certain there are things we never forget in our lives. Baking is one of them.”

I had a feeling she had a whole bunch more lessons than baking to imply in that, but I wasn’t delving too deep.

Not today.

Getting out of bed was enough.

But still…I could try.

“I’m not sure how much help I can be. But remind me? Please?”

“It’d be my pleasure.” I figured that was for a whole lot more than baking, too.

“Thanks, Mrs. P.” I blinked back tears.

Her eyes shined with her own, and she turned away and sniffed.

When she turned back, her watery eyes were gone, and her joyful expression was firmly in place.

“All right then,” she said. “Let’s get baking.”

Twenty-Four

---