Page 33 of Miss Humbug
Chapter 11
Marlowe
After the bake sale, Ethan took off to the tree farm. For the rest of the weekend, the farm would take his attention, leaving me free to do anything I wanted.
Freely. So free.
Not working left a hefty dose of empty time to fill. I ended up at Ashe and Cara’s for dinner and games with the kids. Sunday, I attended church with Grans and Shawn, followed by a lazy day lounging around the house and watching TV.
Monday, I needed a real kick in the pants. A kick to the life pants. I started my own side project: aka, Girl, Get Your Life Together. I contacted the respite center to ask about volunteering. Surprisingly, they asked me to come in for an interview the same day.
I only waited a few minutes when the volunteer coordinator, a tall Black woman wearing a cable knit gray sweater, summoned me to her office. “Hello, I’m Sheree Bolden. Nice to have you back, Marlowe. Come into my office.”
Bright light shone in on a plant-filled office. Greenery spilled out from crocheted hanging baskets, and succulents in tiny, colorful pots crowded the corner of her desk.
We chatted for a few minutes about what drew me to the respite center and which volunteer roles were available.
“We expect a six-month commitment up front and then re-evaluate.” Sheree slid papers across the desk.
My smile froze in place. Six months. Where would I be in six months? Everything sane inside me informed me I’d be back in California, in a new apartment and working for a business happy to utilize my skills. I had no guarantee I could win Grans’ house, and even then, the logistics of moving—
“Miss Holly?” Sheree looked at me with a kind, but mildly concerned expression. “The time commitment can throw some folks off. Would you like to discuss it?”
“Um…” Swallowing proved difficult. “I’m here on extended leave from my job—” Not true. I couldn’t lie to a woman who planned to perform a background check. Including fingerprints running me through the law enforcement system. “Actually, sorry, I’m between jobs now. It’s hard to get used to that. I don’t have a plan beyond Christmas—well, see I do, but it’s contingent on a few…things.”
The warmth remained in her smile. This woman was a saint. “Understandable. We ask for a minimum of six months as the children often become attached to our volunteers. Having new staff cycle in and out too frequently can be hard on them. Also, the time it takes for training and oversight, it’s not cost efficient for us to invest in volunteers who are more or less transient.”
Transient. I was a transient. A shifty squatter with no real home. Of course they wouldn’t want someone like me with no ability to commit to a volunteer role. They didn’t care about a glossy graduate degree from a top-rated school. They wanted commitment. A promise.
Which I couldn’t keep. I didn’t know enough about my life’s plan beyond these next few weeks. This was supposed to be my starting point in figuring that out.
“Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime? Anything not involving direct work with children or intensive training? Things like I did for the volunteer day?”
Sheree sat back, thoughtful. “There just might be. I’ll have to run it by the staff. We’ve used high school interns here and there over the years. Believe me—I won’t turn down free help.”
Hope. Hope existed. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
I left Sheree my cell phone number and she promised to be in touch.
I’d tried. Tried and failed to fill my life with something more meaningful. Okay, a temporary failure. One setback. I returned to Murdoch and blasted the heat. I had time to kill, so how best to use it?
I left the parking lot and headed toward town with no real destination in mind. Murdoch read my thoughts and turned on the road leading to the tree farm.
The rest of the week, moving through the kitchen beside Ethan became second nature. When he wasn’t needed at the tree farm, he spent his time at Hollybrooke House baking with me or doing various tasks Grans didn’t directly ask of him. Each day, Ethan let himself in through the side door and we picked up the conversation as if no time had passed.
We established little routines. I liked assembling what we needed and combining the dry ingredients. Ethan thrived on the finer details on how we could set our cake apart for the Tasty Bake competition. He liked tweaking recipes whereas I stuck close to the directions aiming to get the basics right.
We’d clean up the kitchen to Grans’ standards, then Ethan would take off to check on the farm. Usually, he’d end up back here for dinner.
Having Ethan around again, resurrecting old in-jokes and creating new ones, sometimes made me forget about the contest. This was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
With our latest test cake in the oven, we hung out in the kitchen talking. I caught myself looking at Ethan a beat longer than expected. Scratch that—hecaught me.
“What?” he asked. “Dumb idea?”
“Uh, no.” I couldn’t remember what he’d even said. “It’s fine. The cake, right?”
“I was talking about this podcast I found on woodworking. That I might do their project challenge in January.” He made a face. “That’s probably super boring to you, sorry.”
