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  “The pastors do a really good job of making the sermons applicable to our lives and they are so challenging. Plus, the music is super. It’s a real combo of modern and meaningful, you know?” She chatted lightly even as her lead foot pushed the little car over the speed limit.

  Rosemarie turned around in her seat as much as she could and asked, “What was your church like back in Kansas?”

  “Nebraska,” I corrected with what I hoped was an understanding smile. “It was pretty traditional. We tried a mega church in the next town over, but it was really overwhelming and impersonal.”

  I threw a glance at Gus, trying to gauge his reaction to this conversation. He’d hated the big church. It was probably because it was out of his routine, but I feared that the enormous crowd had made him anxious. The music had been really loud, too, and that didn’t help much. Besides, back at our little traditional church, everyone knew Gus. And there were always donut holes, which ensured his favor.

  Now that we were in the car and on the way, I began to grow a little nervous myself. It would be terribly awkward to have to tell Mae and Rosemarie that we didn’t like their church. So often, churches with live bands had drummers who made a very loud “joyful noise.” In order to compensate, the people in the sound booth would have to crank up the rest of the singers and instrumentalists in order to balance the sound. This meant that many churches had very loud music on Sunday mornings. While that was fine for a lot of people, it was hard for anyone with a hearing aid, a newborn baby, or noise sensitivity like Gus.

  And what if we were just shunted along, part of a young, skinny crowd? It was important to find a place to serve, and that was often how you got to know other people at church, but it was a long process sometimes. Sure, we knew Mae and Rosemarie, but would that make a difference? They had their own friends, after all.

  Mae skidded to a stop in a parking spot, and I’m sure it wasn’t just my imagination that all of her passengers were quick to get our feet on solid ground. As we began to walk into the large, rectangular building, I covertly analyzed everyone else who was also arriving at the same time.

  There were more young families and older couples than I’d expected. I was also impressed to see the number of people who were carrying a Bible and notebook. Apparently, they took the teaching seriously. There were greeters along the way who helped gently steer us toward seats near the front. Mae and Rosemarie waved to friends but didn’t go and sit with them. Instead, they stuck with us.

  “What do you think so far?” I whispered in Gus’s ear after we sat down.

  He looked around before replying, “It’s okay.”

  Well, that was better than terrible. When the music began, I watched my brother carefully. The volume was a bit high, but he wasn’t covering his ears, so it must have been acceptable. I admit, though, I spent more time examining the women singing on the stage than I did on actually worshiping God. One of them was thin, but the other was overweight. It might sound awful, but that helped me relax a little. When the thicker woman sang a solo, I was struck by her beautiful, husky voice. In fact, I noticed that not everyone on the stage was young and hip and pretty. The bass player wore very uncool khakis and a button-up shirt, his round glasses twinkling at us as he sang along heartily. Apparently, this church cared more about the quality of the people than their looks. I liked that.

  We took our seats, and the pastor bounded up on stage. I noticed that he, too, was overweight, his shirt straining to cover a big gut. But he quickly drew us in to his well-reasoned, well-argued sermon, and I found myself laughing and nodding along with the rest of the congregation.

  After the final song, I once again leaned over and asked Gus what he’d thought.

  “He was funny,” Gus said with a smile. “I like it here.”

  Another load lifted from my shoulders. But then it was time to make small talk with strangers until Mae and Rosemarie were ready to leave. As a rule, I didn’t mind that sort of thing. However, when I was with Gus, I wasn’t able to sit back and enjoy the chit-chat. I had to watch over him and make sure that he was included and being spoken to kindly.

  Mae bounded off to talk with some friends, but Rosemarie stayed by my side as we edged down the row of chairs.

  “Did you enjoy the service?” she asked in her gentle way.

  I nodded. “I did. The pastor gave me a lot to think about. I’m going to go back over the Bible verses he mentioned again.”

  “Pastor Kenny is like that,” Rosemarie agreed. “I always enjoy when he preaches.”

  “Doesn’t he always?” I inquired.

  Rosemarie explained that there were three pastors who shared the teaching on a regular rotation. By the time she’d reached the end of her explanation, we were in the foyer. A tall, thin Asian man came and slid an arm around her shoulders. From the way that Rosemarie beamed up at him, I knew that this was someone special to her.

  “Ty, this is Corinne and Gus. They’re Rosa’s niece and nephew,” she clarified. Then she turned to us. “This is my boyfriend, Ty Dondero.”

  Ty’s welcoming smile was broad and very white. I shook his hand when he offered it and noted with satisfaction that his clothes were very nice. Far more fashionable than most of the other men I saw milling about.

  “Hi, Gus,” he said and shook my brother’s hand. “Did you just move into Bumblebee House?”

  My eyebrows lifted slightly. Ty had addressed the question to Gus, not to me. Most people asked me such mundane questions, as though Gus was the child and I was the parent.

  “No, we live in Gate House,” Gus said without hesitation. “We moved in on Thursday.”

  “Oh, Gate House! Is that the one Matt’s been working on?” Ty asked Rosemarie.

  “Yeah,” she said, then asked me, “Have you met my brother yet?”

  “We did. He came by the house to fix the shower.” I felt my ears burning slightly, but I didn’t want to confess that I’d brushed him off until I found out who he was.

  Rosemarie, though, appeared not to notice my discomfort. “Matt really loves that sort of thing. But he lives in a rental house and can’t do much of it for himself. I think his dream is to buy an old fixer-upper and renovate the place. He volunteered to help Rosa with Gate House.”

  I tucked that bit of information away, again marveling that Matt was a complex sort of guy. Then I mentally shook my head. Why on earth should I tuck any information about him away?

  We didn’t stick around much longer. Mae brought over a few friends who were just as welcoming to both me and Gus as Ty had been. They invited me to join their small group, but I didn’t commit myself. I hadn’t thought through what leaving Gus alone would entail, and now wasn’t the time to get into it.

  The drive home was uneventful. Rosemarie had gone with her boyfriend over to her parents’ house for Sunday dinner. Mae invited Gus to sit in the front seat, a move I appreciated, and the two of them talked all the way home. It turned out that Mae had a love of video games, too. Gus invited her over to play, and Mae promised she’d come by later that week. I waved good-bye to her with my heart full as we crunched up the gravel drive to Gate House.

  I changed into my favorite flannel pajama pants and an old gray sweatshirt before heading to the kitchen to get lunch together. Gus was lying on his bed, reading a comic book and was reluctant to leave it in order to give me a hand. But I coerced him into the kitchen, and he filled me in on the X-Men’s most recent capers while we worked.

  I admit, I took my time cleaning up after lunch. Sunday afternoons I did one of the chores I liked least of all. This was probably why I put on my most comfortable clothes and made sure a cup of my favorite tea was steaming beside me before I sat on the couch, pulled out my phone, and called my mother.

  With my eyes closed, I braced myself for what was to come as the phone rang. On the good days, Mom and I could mostly have a pleasant conversation, though I never escaped without lots of instruction on the care of my brother. On the bad days, it felt like I coul
dn’t do or say anything right. I prayed that this would be a good day.

  “Hi, Corinne,” Mom answered. “How’s Gus?”

  “He’s doing really well,” I told her truthfully. “He was a lot of help during the move and seems to be settling in well. Everyone up at the big house has been very nice. We even went to a new church today, and he seemed to like it.”

  “Well, don’t forget that he sometimes says everything’s fine when he’s really upset,” she cautioned me.

  I gave my head a little shake. I knew that better than anyone. I also knew when Gus was doing fine, and when he was out of sorts and just pretending. Why couldn’t Mom remember that?

  “Did you have a good week?” I changed the subject.

  My mother spent the next thirty minutes filling me in on all the events of the past seven days. They included four days of crippling headaches, which she described in detail. I also heard her opinion of Pat Sajak, as well as a description of a beautiful dress Vanna White wore. Dad, the president, the garbage men, and the ladies at church were all criticized.

  I sipped my tea silently as Mom talked. This was a gift I gave her. I knew that she was very lonely, and my phone call was some of the only company she had. Even though it was at times excruciating for me, I was committed to calling and asking Mom about herself as a way of loving her.

  “When do you start your new job?” she finally remembered to ask.

  “Tomorrow. I’m a little nervous, though,” I admitted.

  But Mom didn’t bother to pursue that. “What’s Gus going to do while you’re at work?”

  I sighed inwardly. It would have been nice to have my mom ask me about me for a change. “He’s staying with a retired teacher in town. She seems like a really nice lady. I think she’s got a lot of things planned for the two of them to do, which will be great for Gus.”

  Mom’s silence was ominous. Finally, she sighed heavily into the phone. “Oh, Corinne, I just don’t know if that is going to work out.”

  I dug the fingernails of my free hand into my palm and tried to keep from growing angry. My entire family had decided that I was to be responsible for Gus. I hated it when they had the audacity to then question every decision I made.

  “Well, we’ll give it a chance and see how things go. Listen, Mom, I need to get going. I’ll call you next Sunday.” I hung up soon after and rubbed my forehead, a headache blooming.

  5

  By the time I parked my car at the ranch for my first day of work, I found I wasn’t nervous at all. I was very competent and could handle whatever this job threw at me. Every time I made a mistake, I’d learn from it and go forward a little more prepared to continue my work. In fact, I was far more concerned about how Gus was faring at Mrs. Gunn’s house.

  I carried a tote bag, lunch bag, and my purse as I walked up to the large main lodge of the ranch. I’d done some snooping online and found a helpful map of the property. It was quite an operation. There was an actual, fully functioning cattle ranch, complete with cowboys, a foreman, stables for their horses, and a very nice bunkhouse. In addition, there was an education barn where classes, summer camps, and visiting groups could come and learn about how to ride and care for horses. Near this barn was a riding paddock.

  As if this wasn’t enough, the ranch also had guest cottages, riding and hiking trails, a lake, and a few recreational activities like paddle boats, a water trampoline, and a small movie theater. There were a number of smaller buildings scattered about: storage houses, equipment buildings, and little office spaces. A large cafeteria with a kitchen was centrally located, and I was informed that all full-time staff were allotted one free meal per shift.

  Luke and Heather Donovan, along with their two young children, were the official owners and CEOs of the ranch. They had a large, private house on the edge of the property complete with its own driveway. Luke was Matt’s and Rosemarie’s older brother. Their parents had started the ranch when they were children, but only Luke had an interest in running the place now.

  I, however, was to work in the main lodge. It was a huge log cabin with a beautiful two-story, A-frame front. This building housed the corporate offices, main reception, large meeting rooms, and small kitchenette. I would sit at a desk and help visitors, answer phone calls, and prepare the meeting rooms for the groups that rented the spaces. Apparently, the Triple Star Ranch was the best place around for corporate team-building and planning sessions.

  I climbed the broad wooden steps and marveled at the picturesque main lodge. There were mountains in the background, and the two-story windows reflected the blue sky and fluffy white clouds. It was like something out of a postcard. As someone who always wanted the world to be pretty, I felt at ease as I opened the front door and took my first steps inside.

  A blond woman with a curly, sculpted haircut sat at the front desk wearing an earpiece and an official Triple Star polo shirt. She looked up and smiled at the sight of me. Her eyes were a warm brown, and she had a few freckles across her nose that gave her a “girl next door” look that I imagined she hated at times.

  “Corinne?” she asked as she got to her feet.

  “Yes, hi.” I leaned over the desk and gave her hand a shake. “Are you Heather?”

  “I am. I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been on the hunt for a good replacement for our last receptionist for what feels like forever. I can’t tell you how glad I am to stop filling in here!” She skidded to a stop and gave me a wide-eyed look. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the job. It’s just that I have a million things to do and two small children.”

  I gave her a reassuring smile. “I completely understand. People tend to think receptionists have it easy until they have to fill in. A good receptionist can keep the wheels of any organization rolling.”

  Heather relaxed. “No kidding. Well, come around here and I’ll show you where to put your things. Then we can get started with your training.”

  The next hour flew by. There were a million things to know, and I took careful notes. The more Heather talked, the more I felt myself grow excited. I loved being helpful. Perhaps that was why being a secretary was a good fit for me. It wasn’t my dream job, but it was a place where I could care for the people around me and make a real difference in so many little ways.

  “Do you want me to wear a polo shirt?” I asked at one point.

  Heather glanced down at her shirt and jeans. “That’s a good question. To be frank, I don’t mind if you do, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t.” She gave me an apologetic smile.

  “That’s fine with me,” I hurried to say. “I’m not much one for wearing jeans to work.”

  Her face brightened. “Great! Maybe you can just wear one on Friday with khakis or jeans, if you like.”

  I was relieved. It would be a bit grim not to have the fun of putting together cute outfits for work. Choosing my clothes, shoes, and accessories was a soothing routine I enjoyed in the morning. I loved to head off for my work day knowing I looked put together. Then, no matter what else happened in the day, I could at least know I was dressed professionally. In fact, I kept an entire spare outfit, complete with shoes, in a bag in the back of my car. What if I spilled something on my clothes or got caught in the rain?

  I met the other people in the office. Rosemarie’s boyfriend, Ty, had an office just off the main reception space. I could see him at his desk, in fact, from where I sat. He offered to show me the cafeteria, and I took my lunch along. I wanted to check out the cafeteria fare before committing to a meal there. I was always very careful to eat healthy, not wanting to add more pounds to my frame. Cafeterias didn’t always carry the sort of things I preferred to eat. However, this one did have a salad bar with a good selection of fixings. I knew I’d be safe eating there in the future, which pleased me.

  By the afternoon, I was left on my own, though I knew Heather was working in an office not far off if I needed help. Most of my duties that first day consisted of answering and transferring phone calls. I had a
handy cheat sheet of information that Heather had put together for me. She’d also instructed me on how to use the calendar app and book appointments, and I was relieved to get my first group booked without making any major errors.

  At five o’clock, I turned off the computer and headed out the door, calling good-bye to everyone. I didn’t linger to chat, because I was eager to get to Gus and hear about his first day.

  I drove down the two-lane highway for no more than five minutes before reaching the edge of town. Mrs. Gunn lived on the other side of Main Street from Bumblebee House. The houses here were smaller brick ones that had been built in the late ’70s. In fact, there were half a dozen almost-identical ranches in a row, the third of which was Mrs. Gunn’s. I parked and went to the front door and rang the bell, my nerves jangling. If Gus wasn’t content here, I didn’t have a back-up plan for what I would do with him while I worked.

  Mrs. Gunn opened the door, her gray hair frizzing out from a bun. She was in her late seventies and was small and wrinkled. She blinked at me through thick glasses and was spluttering a defense before I had time to say hello.

  “It just isn’t going to work, Corinne,” she scolded me. “I didn’t realize how many questions your brother would ask! He kept talking during my shows. And then I told him I couldn’t go for a walk because it was too cold, and he didn’t like that. There was just no pleasing him! I’m sorry. Here’s your check back.”

  I took the paper she shoved into my hand, stunned. It wasn’t until Mrs. Gunn began to close the door that I was able to speak.

  “Where is Gus?” I inquired, frustration rapidly filling up all my empty spaces.

  “He’s at the coffee shop. Good-bye.” And the door was closed in my face.

  I returned to my car and drove to Birch Springs Beanery, spluttering my rage. By the time I parked and stomped inside, I was a force to be reckoned with.