.
“No.” Lyndsey Allen drew out the word as she pulled the frozen casserole from the oven with her bare hands, no potholders needed.
She plopped the ceramic dish on the counter then pushed several buttons on the oven. Not that it mattered if she turned off the appliance or not. The uncooked cheese-laden vegetables were testament enough that the appliance wasn’t working. Suspicions had lurked in her mind for several weeks that the oven wasn’t operating properly, but she’d prayed it would hold out until tax season. Goodness only knew she couldn’t afford a repair bill right now, let alone a whole new range if it came to that.
Desperate for a solution that wouldn’t incur an expense she couldn’t pay, she pulled out the range from the wall and unplugged its cord. After thirty seconds she plugged it back in and pushed the appliance back into its spot. She bit down on her bottom lip while she pressed the preheat button and waited a few minutes to see if the oven warmed. It was a long shot, she knew, but if it worked for the wireless router, why not give it a try for the oven?
Holding her breath, she lowered the door. No heat. No orange glow cast from the heating elements.
A loose strand of strawberry blonde hair tickled her face when she exhaled a defeated sigh. Bending at the waist, she opened the drawer that stored various kitchen sundries. She pulled out the aluminum foil and tore off a sheet long enough to cover the casserole. After she pressed and fitted the foil over the dish, she shoved the uncooked food into the fridge.
She closed the door and shrugged—so the dish she’d thrown together wouldn’t make it to the church potluck. At least she and Josh could eat from it as a side dish for the next week. Money was too sparse to waste that amount of food, even if it would become mushy once it was cooked in the microwave.
The thought of money reminded her about the stack of bills on the table. Time for the monthly game of what bills can be delayed without severe consequence—a game in which she only participated out of necessity.
After checking on Josh, her four-year-old son, she sat at the table and flipped through the bills. She opened the envelope from Calding County Electric Co-op. Final Notice stared at her in bold red letters. Experience taught her the power company’s final notice meant final notice. Without an exemption, her power would be disconnected in four days. Since she’d already gotten an extension last month, she knew one wouldn’t be granted again so soon.
She reached for the checkbook and wrote a draft for the past due amount. Hopefully that would be enough to buy her some time. Until when, she didn’t know. Her full-time job as an administrative assistant at a safety technology firm had been cut to part-time last spring, and she’d lost her benefits in the process. To make up a portion of the difference, she’d picked up a second job at the grocery store, but even those shifts had been trimmed to a total of eight hours per week.
With a heavy heart, she continued sorting, forming two piles as she went—pay now and put off until later. She reached the bottom and opened the final bill. The mortgage. If a miracle didn’t occur in the next month, foreclosure proceedings would begin.
Where would she and Josh be then? She pinched her temples, warding off the headache.
Drawing in a long breath, she debated whether to laugh or cry. More than enough tears had traced her cheeks in the past two years, so she opted to laugh. What else could she do? For Josh’s sake, she had to hold it together. He didn’t need to walk in and see her breaking down. Losing his father a few months before he turned two was a heavy enough burden for him to carry without her adding to the load.
Lyndsey caught sight of the digital clock on the stove. Go figure, that component worked just fine, the one she could do without. The potluck began in ten minutes, and now she’d be late, on top of not having anything to bring.
She marched across the kitchen and peeked into the living room. Josh sat in a circle of brightly colored building blocks. In front of him, a towering construction of something—a spaceship, if she had her guess—teetered on a delicate balance. Lifting an arm, Josh placed a blue block on the top, causing the creation to tip over.
Blocks scattered everywhere.
Josh’s bottom lip protruded, turning down at the edges.
Bracing herself, Lyndsey hurried to him. Maybe she could ward off the imminent—
A loud wail pierced her ears.
—Tantrum. Her chest deflated as she finished the interrupted thought with a sigh and knelt beside Josh.
“My rocket ship’s broken,” Josh stuttered between cries.
“It can be fixed.” Supermom powers kicked in, and she reassembled the blocks in seconds. “See, all good again.”
The fit ended as quickly as it had begun. Josh broke out into a wide grin, gripping the rocket ship with two hands—one at the bottom and one at the top. He lifted it and ran around the room, zooming the rocket ship through the air.
Lyndsey stood to her feet, a smile fighting to turn up the corners of her mouth. What difference would a few more minutes make when they were already going to be late? Moments like these kept her going while everything else crashed around her.
Josh’s smile. His fits of giggles. The imagination he’d inherited from his father. Mark was dead, but he lived on through his carrot-topped son. Nothing could ever fill the hole left by Mark’s premature passing, but Josh kept her heart from hollowing.
“Time to leave,” she told him after a few minutes more of play.
“Where are we going?” Stopping mid-zoom, Josh still held the blocks in the air.
“Remember I told you about the potluck at church tonight?”
He shook his head. “What’s a potluck?”
“Everyone brings something to eat and shares with everyone else.”
“Will there be cookies?” A hopeful smile appeared.
Lyndsey chuckled. “I imagine Mrs. Di will bring hers.”
“Yippee.” Cookies trumped toys, at least for today, and Josh discarded the blocks during his sprint to her. “I’m ready.”
Eyebrows raised, she looked at his white socks. “Put away your toys and then put your shoes on. Mommy will tie them for you.”
While Josh ran to his room, ignoring the toys, Lyndsey went to her bathroom to perform a quick application of makeup. She dabbed concealer on the dark circles of worry under her lackluster green eyes. Was that really her reflection? Where was her sparkle that Mark had loved so much? Would he be horrified to see his youthful bride was now a haggard mom just barely holding on? The stress from the last several years had aged her so that she looked a decade older than her thirty years.
But even the aged woman who stared back at her appeared too young to be a widow.
Some days she thought the first year after Mark’s death was easier to handle than what she felt now. That first year and into the second, shock and grief had left her numb. For Josh’s sake, she continued on, albeit in automatic motions, but in recent months, she was coming out of that coma and having to face the reality of life without her husband.
Part of coming back to life was feeling again, and the truth was—feelings hurt. More than anyone could imagine unless they’d been there. It was sharp pains that sliced through her at random times, and it was a constant ache that constricted her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.