False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [123]
Ethan nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“When you get a baby,” Carter said, “you won’t need me to give you little-boy hugs anymore.”
Zoe cupped Carter’s face in her hands and looked into his clear blue eyes. “That’s absolutely not true. There will never be another little boy just like you, and I will always need hugs from you—even when you’re a big boy.”
Carter raised his arms high. “Even when I’m this big.”
Zoe smiled. “Even then. You will always be special to me. And I’m going to need your help taking care of the baby.”
“I’m the goodest helper.”
“Yes, you are.” Zoe pulled Carter closer and gave him a gentle squeeze.
“So have you told Adele yet?” Ethan said.
Pierce shook his head. “We’re driving up there this weekend. We didn’t want to tell her over the phone.”
“Your friendship with her is a miracle,” Vanessa said. “It’s so exciting what God has done in your lives through her.”
“It really is.”
Zoe looked up at the cloud puffs that dotted the crisp blue autumn sky, quietly fingering the gold cross around her neck, at peace with the King of Kings who had given Adele grace and who now lived in her own heart—and Pierce’s.
Would she ever cease to marvel at how grace had transformed her life on every level? Could she ever have imagined that the broken and abused young woman from Devon Springs who covered her shame with lies would discover that Jesus had sacrificed Himself so that she could be born again, adopted into His royal family—cleansed, forgiven, restored? A new creation. A child of the King.
“Miss Zoe?”
Carter’s voice brought her back to the present.
“How come you’re cwying?”
Zoe smiled and tapped his nose with her finger. “These aren’t sad tears, sweetie. I’m just so full of joy it doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
CHAPTER 42
On a clear cool morning in mid-February, Zoe stood at the table by the window at Zoe B’s, talking with Hebert, Father Sam, and Tex.
“Mardi Gras is next Tuesday already,” Hebert said. “Les Barbes will start filling up wid tourists for da parade dis weekend.”
Father Sam nodded. “I’m glad our parade is family oriented. That’s good for businesses.”
“We’re ready,” Zoe said. “We’ve got two crates of beads to give out to customers. And we’re going to put up our decorations this afternoon. We’ve got some beautiful masks we bought at the gift mart.”
Hebert took a sip of coffee, his mousey gray hair sticking up where he’d slept on it. “Can you believe dat in ninety-four years, I’ve never missed da Mardi Gras parade in Les Barbes?”
“That’s really amazing,” Father Sam said. “I think you’re the only one in town who can say that.”
Hebert gave a nod. “Probably so. Emile’s coming wid me dis year, now dat Remy’s gone. It’s good he’s finally getting out some.”
“That is good,” Zoe said. “Though I doubt it’s much consolation that Jag Jones isn’t getting out of prison until he’s an old man.”
Hebert looked at her bulging middle. “How you feeling, young lady?”
“Great. I’ve been walking every day like my doctor told me to. I’m getting more and more energy.”
“Dat’s real good, Zoe.”
“Tex, you’re awfully quiet,” Father Sam said.
“Yep. I guess I am.”
Hebert flashed an impish grin. “Why do you make a bahbin?”
“I’m not poutin’,” Tex said. “I’m mentally gearin’ up for a rematch.”
“Ha! Bring it on.”
Father Sam looked up at Zoe, the amusement in his eyes magnified by his thick lenses. “Hebert has won the last twelve checker matches.”
“Ah, so that’s it.”
“Tex don’ like being beat by a man old enough to be his pop. Isn’t dat right?”
Tex sat back in his chair, his thumbs hooked on his suspenders. “I don’t like bein’ beat—period.” A smile spread across his face,