Page 142 of Every Good Thing
I understand why she’d want a full, noisy house tonight. It reminds me of how empty the house felt after Mom died. Lights and noise helped.
The group looks up in unison when we enter the living room.
“Mom, Dad, Aunt Barb left me all her science stuff.” Ruthie holds up a magnifying glass almost as big as her face and peers through it. “I’m going to be a scientist when I grow up.”
I chuckle, mentally adding it to the long list in Ruthie’s Future Game.
“Why wait until you grow up?” Ben says. “Be a scientist now.”
Ruthie nods, a determined smirk rising on her cheek. She jumps from her seat and sweeps across the room with the magnifying glass at the ready, like a detective searching for clues.
When attention returns to us, Ben addresses my friends almost like he’s standing at the podium again. “I apologize for causing distress. It won’t happen again.” He holds up the Publix bag. “Hungry? I’m making Reubens.”
I laugh-blush, gaping up at him. He made Reubens on our first night together at his place—his only specialty, he said. His eyes catch mine, and I love the subtle smile on his lips.
Another truth about marriage is how it changes. Long gone are the days of spontaneous fireworks (and barn escapades, I would’ve thought). Now, romance is soft, subtle, and sweet in the little things. Even so, when it happens, it’s just as big as fireworks for the love and warm feelings it reenergizes. Somehow, the sweet, small things matter more these days.
Showing up.
Holding the umbrella.
Holding hands.
Making Reubens like our first date.
Ben Wright promised to always romance me. Tears spring to my eyes that he’s returned to keeping it. He’s back. He’s really and truly back.
“Aw, he’s making you sparkle again,” Jaye coos, her hand going to her heart.
Dot eyes me critically before saying, “Fine… extra sauerkraut on mine.”
“Oh, can I help?” Ruthie asks.
“Yes.” He heads to the kitchen with his daughter bouncing beside him.
Forty-Five
LENA
Monday morning, I host a full kitchen at home. Ruthie chomps down on blueberry pancakes next to Dot, who’s doing the same. Jaye enjoys coffee beside her, laptop open. Cherry picks at oatmeal and fruit, sipping chai tea and skimming her phone. I fan a tray of cinnamon rolls, hot from the oven, to ready them for icing.
Ben peeks out from the hallway with a quick “Lena” and waves me over.
He nods toward his outfit. Gray pants and a blue button-down. “This okay?”
I fiddle with his collar only because I want to touch him. “Handsome as ever. Very business casual. The cinnamon rolls are almost ready.”
“Good.” He checks his watch. “Leaving in fifteen.” He disappears to the bedroom after a short kiss.
He almost looks nervous, though meeting with human resources at the police department to discuss job opportunities that fit his unique situation shouldn’t cause distress. Nor should the lunch meeting he has with a friend in private security to see what else might be out there for him. He shouldn’t be nervous but excited.
Unless it’s not what he wants.
We spent Sunday doing relaxing family things—church, lunch, walking the property, and enjoying our horses, dogs, bunnies, chickens, and each other. Though the studio would return Monday morning with its usual noise and drama, Saddletree felt like home again.
We talked about the future. Indecisive Ben has retreated—he’s returned to his former always-have-a-plan self. That means sorting out his career before undergoing his cochlear implant surgeries next year. It’s a comfort seeing him forging ahead to find his new purpose.
“You’re my purpose,” he told me yesterday when I said that to him. “You and Ruthie… but I want a job, too.”
