Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [60]
“Please keep your voice down,” Shirley pleaded a second time, placing her finger against her lips.
“All right. All right, I’ll do my best, but this news is too good to keep to myself.”
Shirley whirled around so unexpectedly that Goodness was caught by surprise. A sleepy Timmy Potter wandered into the room, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing flannel pajamas with silly-looking armed turtles.
Shirley moved behind him.
“Mom,” Timmy called.
A moment later Jody Potter appeared in a long flannel nightgown that had seen better years. Shirley had her work cut out for her if she planned to find this woman a husband any time soon. Her charge looked downright frumpy.
“Timmy, what are you doing up?”
“I thought I heard something.”
Jody turned on the light and searched the room. The minute her back was turned, Shirley and Goodness righted the floral arrangement and set the magazines in order. Both headed straight for the ceiling, hovering there.
Jody searched the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. “There’s no one here.”
“I thought I heard something,” Timmy said with a yawn. “But I guess not.”
“I guess not, too,” Jody said, placing her arm around her young son’s shoulders and steering him back to his bedroom. “Unless, of course, it was God’s own angels looking down and smiling on us.”
“You think it might have been?” Timmy asked excitedly, looking up. He paused and blinked, rubbed his eyes again, then looked back.
“Who knows?” Jody said and turned out the light.
* * *
Monica’s attitude toward Chet altered drastically over the next couple of days. He was still a scoundrel and a no-good rogue, but darned if she didn’t miss him. There was no explaining it, no possible way of reasoning it out in her mind.
She tried to fill the emptiness that surrounded her with a flurry of activity. The night before she’d dragged out the Christmas decorations and gone about setting them around the house and office. Her father, impressed by her initiative, assumed this burst of energy was somehow connected with her long lunch with Michael. Monica didn’t correct him.
Monica knew she wouldn’t see Chet again and wondered if he missed her. She wondered how he looked upon their time together or if he’d given her as much as a fleeting thought in the days since they’d last been together.
She wore her hair down that morning and when she walked into the kitchen her father lowered the morning paper and smiled gently at her.
“Monica,” he said softly, “how nice you look.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you be seeing Michael again this afternoon?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” How keen her father was on the young musician. He’d pegged Michael early on as the perfect husband for her. He was right. Her father generally was. How she wished she felt the same way about the earnest choir director. There was no question of what a fine man Michael was. Several of the eligible women at church would have gladly welcomed his notice. For now those attentions were sadly wasted on her.
“It seems to me I said something to Michael about coming over for dinner one night soon. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not, Michael is welcome anytime.” So this was to be the way of it. Her father would chart her romance for her, making excuses for the two of them to be together again.
“I’m sure he’ll approve of the way you’ve done your hair,” he added, looking pleased.
She smiled weakly. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she said, anxious to escape their conversation.
“You’re leaving for the office so soon?”
“I . . . have several things I need to do first thing this morning.”
“I won’t be in until later. I’m visiting Mrs. McWilliams,” he reminded her, downing the last of his milk and setting the glass in the sink.
The woman was an old and faithful church member who’d recently broken her hip. Lloyd visited her at least twice a week.
“I’ll see you later, then,” Monica said, eager to make her escape. She walked across the yard to the old church building and let herself in by the side door that opened onto the sanctuary area. She’d been raised in this