Soaring (Magdalene #2)(28)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I gave big eyes to my lap, doing this to stop laughing.

“I need to trust you.”

I lifted my eyes when I heard Dela say this.

It was quiet, but it was full of meaning.

“You’ll note you didn’t have to beat off old folk with a stick in order to get in here,” she carried on. “They don’t wanna be here. You’re here for a day, you’ll know why. We do our best with this place but this is not home. This is where you go before you die if you can’t take care of yourself any longer and you have no one who can take care of you. This is a sad place. We do all we can every day to make it less sad. But that’s a losin’ battle, Amelia. You gotta be on board with that, know it and keep a smile on your face and your commitment to me, to them, so we can all count on you. Because they need me makin’ their stay here a wee bit better, not sittin’ down with person after person like you who’s got good intentions, and we all appreciate it, but who’s gonna turn tail and go the minute it gets too much.”

I squared my shoulders and kept looking right in her eyes. “Then I’ll ask if you’ll give me the evening to think about it. I’ll consider what you said. And I won’t phone you to set up an orientation if I’m not certain I can make that commitment.”

She bobbed her head. “I’d appreciate that.”

“And I appreciate you giving me your valuable time and considering me,” I returned.

She shook her head at that, her lips curving up. “You know, if every volunteer considered what they were doin’ a job they gotta apply for, interview for and earn their right to stay, world’d be a better place.”

I didn’t disagree so I didn’t say anything.

She stood, rounding her desk and reaching out a hand to me. “I hope I get a call, Amelia.”

I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope I have that call in me, Dela.”

We let go and Ruth stayed behind to talk to Dela because she actually was starting to work, though she didn’t need orientation since I’d learned she filled in a great deal.

I got in my car and drove home.

I got home and didn’t fall into deep contemplation about whether or not I had it in me to go the distance as a volunteer in a nursing home.

I went right to my laptop, firing it up and trolling the Internet to get interior design ideas or possibly find pieces online, something I enjoyed doing throughout the evening. Though I didn’t buy anything. I liked to touch and see the real thing and if I actually bought something online, it would have to be fabulous.

But I did find a few more shops I could add to the “Visit” subsection of my six page to-do list.

So I did.

* * * * *

The next morning, promptly at nine o’clock, I called Dela Coleman.

I took the job.

* * * * *

I was in my kitchen making cupcakes for the residents of Dove House.

I’d gone through orientation that day. Then I’d gone out to a specialty kitchen shop and bought four cupcake carriers that moms who had little kids in grade school would own so they could cart cakes to school for their kids’ birthdays.

And while I was there, I bought all new dishtowels that matched my new kitchen rugs perfectly.

And a KitchenAid standing mixer in an exquisite shade of blackberry.

The next day I’d start my tenure as a volunteer at Dove House.

And I was bringing the old folks cupcakes.

I was on batch two when my cell on the counter rang.

I looked from the chocolate frosting I was using to ice the vanilla cakes, saw the display on my phone and stopped moving.

My doorbell rang.

My eyes went there and I saw another body I’d know from anywhere through the stained glass.

On the phone, Dad.

At the door, Mickey.

Why me?

Mom had stopped calling a few days before and I shouldn’t be surprised Dad was now up to the plate. Actually, I should be surprised it took a few days for him to make his attempt.

Mickey, however, I had no idea.

I made the difficult decision as to which might cause me the least pain, unsure if it was the correct one, ignored my phone and walked to the door.

I opened it and looked up.

It had not been long since I’d last seen him, just a week, but in that short time he’d somehow become a great deal more beautiful.

“Hey,” I greeted, my voice sounding husky.

“Hey, Amy,” he greeted back, his voice sounding simply like Mickey.

I looked beyond him to his house then back to him. “Everything okay?”

“Get the kids back soon and was talkin’ with Ash,” he told me. “She wanted me to ask you for the recipes for the shit you made for the league sale. She wants to try ’em out.” He gave me his grin. “Since I don’t have your number and all that shit tasted good and I don’t mind my daughter tryin’ her hand at givin’ it to her brother and me, I’m here askin’.”

“Of course,” I replied, stepping out of the way. “Come in.”

He came in. I shut the door. He moved out of my way so I could walk to the kitchen. When I did that, he followed me.

And through this, I found having Mickey, more beautiful than ever and being a better person than me, clearly capable of moving past my idiocy, was the wrong choice in causing the least pain stakes.

In other words, I should have ignored the door and taken the call from my dad.

“I could email them to you or print them out or both,” I offered, making it to the kitchen counter where my laptop was, reaching to it, turning it to me and lifting the screen.

“Email,” he muttered. “Add your number,” he went on. “I’ll email mine back.”

Having Mickey’s number.

Why did the thought of having that, knowing I could never use it for the reasons I’d want to use it, make me wish someone would kill me?

“Gotcha,” I replied, sliding the on switch just as my phone, which had quit ringing, started ringing again.

“Need to get that?” Mickey asked.

I glanced at the display.

Mom was not ill-bred enough to call more than once.

Dad was arrogant enough to call repeatedly until you gave him the attention he felt he deserved.

So that was what he was doing.

“No,” I answered, eyes to the laptop, waiting for the login screen to come up.

Mickey was silent.

The login screen came up and I typed my password in.

The phone stopped ringing.

“House smells like heaven again, darlin’,” he noted.