Page 8 of Sean
“Did you sleep well?”she asked.
“Like a brick.I think my bed remembered me.”
Mom poured eggs into the skillet and stirred the fluffy yellow concoction.
Sean’s mouth began to water.It might be the simplest of dishes, but no one scrambled eggs like his mom.
“Good, I was afraid you’d have trouble unwinding after the drive.”When she was finished, she spooned eggs onto a plate and added a couple of slices of buttered toast.“Eat up.We don’t want to be late for church.”
Sean focused on his breakfast.Being late for morning service was the least of his worries.It’d been months since he’d stepped inside a church building, and attending this morning was not at the top of his list.But neither was disappointing his folks.He figured he could fake some enthusiasm for a couple of hours.
His sad spiritual state was a subject for another day.
***
MONICA SPRINTED FROMher front door to the driveway, yanked the car door open, and slid in.How could it have been sunny less than an hour ago?She slammed the door against the sudden shower, tossed her purse into the passenger seat, and backed out of the drive.Church started in thirty minutes, but she liked to get there early to make sure the nursery staff was in place before the first child was dropped off.Today that responsibility was doubly important since she wasn’t only organizing the volunteers, she was one of them.
The unexpected rain didn’t dampen her mood.She loved kids.Her busy schedule might keep her from enjoying much of a social life, but she planned to have a house full of her own someday.Even the possibility of relocating to Arizona hadn’t dulled those hopes.Maybe God had Mr.Right waiting for her in the next phase of her life.
Be patient.
Monica acknowledged the internal voice of reason.She was hardly an old maid at twenty-five, but that didn’t keep her from reminding God every day that she wasn’t getting any younger.Snuggling the little ones in the nursery helped satisfy that longing on the inside.
She was singing along with the song on the radio when her car gave an odd shudder and jerked towards the shoulder of the road.She turned down the music and heard a series of unfamiliar thumps.
“Oh, what now?”
Monica eased off the road and sat for a second, watching the rain stream down the windshield.She was wearing her paisley-print skirt and open-toed shoes.Even with the umbrella she kept in the car, she was about to get soaked.
No way around it.Monica figured it was a flat tire, but she had to get out to make sure.She opened the door a crack and fumbled with the button on the umbrella.Once it opened, she stepped out into the rain.
A car or two swooshed by as she rounded the nose of her vehicle.The front passenger-side tire was flatter than Mom’s Christmas-morning crepes.
She didn’t waste any time getting back to her seat behind the wheel.Of course, she knew how to change a tire.But knowing the steps and completing them in a downpour were two different things.A smart woman knew when to be independent and when to ask for help, and she was no dummy.
She dug out her phone, thankful that her auto insurance came with roadside assistance.
“Greentree Auto Insurance.How may I help you?”
Monica gave the operator her policy info and the details of her predicament.
“Sorry you’ve had trouble this morning.May I put you on a brief hold?”
“Sure.”Five minutes later, she began to wonder whatbriefmeant to the woman on the other side of the connection.The clock on the dash told her that church started in fifteen minutes, and she was dead in the water.
Asking for help when you can do it yourself is lazy.
That would be Dad’s voice.He’d been gone for years but he still had the power to motivate her.
She glanced out the window.Was it wishful thinking, or was the rain slowing?The answer didn’t matter.She’d always been a doer.It was the thing her father had appreciated most about her.No way could she sit here on hold, feeling sorry for herself when she knew how to fix the problem.
With a nod of determination, she disconnected the call.Just as she reached for the door handle a second time, movement in the rearview mirror caught her attention.She was relieved when a police cruiser glided to a stop behind her.Her relief took a nosedive into hot embarrassment when she recognized the man getting out of the car.Not just any cop, but Nicolas Black, Garfield’s Chief of Police...and co-owner of the center she worked for.
She leaned her head against the seat back and bounced it a time or two.Great, just great.She rolled her window down before he reached it.
Nicolas wore his yellow slicker, water dripping from the brim of his cap as he stooped down and leaned an arm on the windowsill.“Monica, I thought this was your car.What’s the problem?”
“Flat tire.I was about to dig out the spare.”
