Chapter 2
Dinner was on the table—the table that was actually in the kitchen. There was no dining room, and Sage thought she might actually be sick over the thought. Who ate in the kitchen? It was inhumane. Wait until her mother heard this. She surely would have Sage on a plane by the next day at the very latest.
“So, Sage,” Mrs. Lawrence said, passing a bowl of bread her direction. Sage quietly passed it on to Ryder. Carbs did very bad things to her concept of self-image. “You will be a senior in the fall?”
“Yes. I have one more year left, and then it’s off to college for me.” Sage was proud of her ability to sound light and airy about the topic. Half of a giggle put a stamp on the statement.
“Have you thought about schools? Um, colleges… universities?”
“Well, I’ve thought about Berkley. Of course, Dad… uh, Jason is pushing for Brown. That’s where he went. Mom doesn’t want me to go Ivy since that means being so far away.”
“Those are all really good schools.” Mrs. Lawrence looked to her husband as if to express she needed help carrying the conversation.
“Hm. So are you interested in moving away?” he asked, still sounding like he was being strangled when he spoke to her.
“I’m not sure.” She spooned up some of the yellow squash stuff but didn’t eat it. Her diet was going to go great here. Appetizing this meal was not. “It sounds romantic… uh, adventuresome, but then again, a lot of things sound wonderful until you get there and reality doesn’t quite match up to the dreams.”
Praying she could get the bite down with everyone looking at her, she took it, chewed, smiled, and fought with everything in her not to grimace. “Mmm. Mrs. Lawrence, you must give me the recipe for this delicious dish. I think Margaret would love it.”
“Margaret?” her father asked.
“Our cook. Oh, she makes the most divine gnocchi. It’s simply to die for.” This on the other hand was death in a much different context. She willed her stomach not to revolt as she took a bite of what appeared to be carrots. They were orange, so carrots was a good guess.
“So do you know any stars?” Ryder suddenly asked, piping up from across the table.
“Stars?” Sage put on her best sparkly demeanor. “Like Hollywood stars?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
She noticed but tried not to how he talked with food in his mouth.
“She lives in Beverly Hills, Ry,” Jaycee said, jumping into the middle of the conversation with her usual anti-cheerfulness. “Not Hollywood.”
“Actually,” Sage checked her half-sister with a soft questioning look, “I met Cameron Jenkins at a party last year.”
Ryder’s eyes widened. “From ‘Bad Boys’?”
“The one and only.” Sage didn’t bother to tell him that Cameron was a real jerk or that his hero as a junkie. It was the image he was most interested in anyway. Most people were like that—they had a picture of their stars, and like many things about reality, what was real was far less glamorous than the fantasy.
“So how are your parents?” Mrs. Lawrence asked. “They are going on a cruise?”
“And then on a trek through Europe. Daddy… hm, Jason promised Mom he would take her around the world for her birthday this year.”
“It sounds so romantic. A cruise. Paris in the summer.”
“Sounds like a waste of money to me,” Jaycee said.
“Jaycee Marie,” Mrs. Lawrence hissed.
However, Jaycee just shrugged. “What? It does.”
If her stepsister could be more openly insolent, Sage didn’t really want to know how. She was hardly what anyone would call accommodating or welcoming. After dinner, she practically threw the towels for the bath at Sage, and every conversation was punctuated with either sarcasm or dismissal.
So once again when she was in her room later, Sage took out her cell phone and sent another S.O.S. to her mother. If she didn’t get her out of this situation and fast, Sage was going to be forced to take matters into her own hands.
They had, after all, given her a line of credit in case of an emergency, and it was looking more and more like an emergency situation all the time.
The knock on her door yanked her attention up, and she found herself looking at her father who looked both apologetic and awkward. “I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need. Pillows, towels, blankets?”
Sage was proud of herself for her ability to lie through her teeth and doing it with a smile. “Everything’s just peachy.”
He regarded her a moment and then nodded. “Okay. Well, let us know if you need anything.”
She smiled brightly. “Of course I will.”
Another nod and he ducked out with a soft ‘night, and instantly Sage went back to her frantic get-me-out-of-here texts.
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. Luke was thankful for that. Rain was in the forecast for later that evening, a chance of it anyway, and he hoped if it did rain, it would hold off until after the noon meal because if it didn’t, they would have an extra hour of cleaning up the tracked-in mud. He’d done that more than once, and he didn’t want a repeat.
He made it to the church kitchen at just after 9:30. Pastor Steve and Ms. P were already supervising no one.
“Morning,” Luke said to both of them as he entered through the back kitchen door.
“Oh, good morning, Luke,” Pastor Steve, a man in his early forties, said, extending his hand.
“Now I’m sure you’re not forgetting my hug,” Ms. P said, holding her arms out. Luke obliged the proffered embrace though sideways and with some tinting of his ears a shade of pink he could feel.
“So do you want me to chop up the lettuce?” he asked.
“Tomatoes too,” Ms. P said with a hearty laugh. “I’m hoping you won’t be the only one to show.”
He took out the cutting board and one of the extra-large salad bowls. “Nah, Jaycee’s coming. She helped me with the stuff last night.”
“Oh, good. We’ll probably have 200 or more. Things just seem to be tight all over these days. Lots of good folks who need lots of help.” Ms. P went to work washing the lettuce and tomatoes and laying them out for him. “Right Pastor?”
“Absolutely. Too many folks in that category these days. It’s a blessing that the church can help as much as we do.”
They continued to talk about the plight of the community and the folks who lived there. Luke just listened and worked. He couldn’t do much about any of it, but he could do this. So he would.
“You should take Sage today,” her mother said as Jaycee ate cornflakes at warp speed.
“What? Ugh. Come on, Mom. Seriously? Sage and volunteering? I don’t think the two of them exactly go together.” Jaycee pulled her foot up next to her thigh on the chair and continued crunching.
“Now, you don’t know that. She seems very nice. Maybe you are misjudging her.”
“Misjudging her? Hello. Did you see her last night? It’s like she’s in some display case all the time. I’d bet you money she doesn’t come out of that room in anything but full dress and makeup.”
Her mother turned and leaned on the counter and put her hands on her hips which perfectly accompanied the scowl on her face. “I would really appreciate it if you would give her a chance. That’s all I’m asking. I know your dad would appreciate it as well.” The scowl dropped even further. “And taking her with you won’t kill you either.”
“Is that an order?”
“Maybe it is.”
Sage took one more long breath before breezing into the kitchen which was lit with beams from the sun streaming in through the east window. “Good morning to everyone.”
Mrs. Lawrence was the first to react as she straightened from the sink counter. “Oh, good morning, Sage. You look lovely this morning.”
Of course she did. Why was there ever any reason not to? She had dressed in her white chiffon blouse over skin-tight leopard-inspired leggings that hugged her figure perfectly.
Over her bowl of little golden things, Jaycee snorted, and Mrs. Lawrence sent a glare her direction. It was perfectly clear that her stepsister hadn’t acquired taste nor decorum overnight.
Willing a bright smile onto her face, Sage regarded her stepsister. “Good morning, Jaycee.” She was going to make a comment about how lovely she looked, but upon closer inspection, Jaycee was in threadbare lounge pants that were no match at all for the skin-hugging gray T-shirt she wore. Her hair was up in an ungodly twisted thing, and she looked like she’d been sunning on a rock and came inside way too early.
“I hope you had a good night’s sleep, Sage,” Mrs. Lawrence said, and Sage fought to show no signs of the grimace at the thought of the lumpy, uneven daybed that was in her current prison cell.
“Oh, of course. It is so quiet out here. It’s positively provincial.”
“That’s us,” Jaycee said. “We’re nothing if not provincial.”
Sage’s face fell into a frown that she didn’t quite catch fast enough; however, she recovered quickly.
“Oh, would you like some cornflakes for breakfast?” Mrs. Lawrence asked, and Sage sorted through all the ways she could ask just what that was and then politely decline.
“Well. I usually prefer eggs Benedict on Saturday mornings.”
“Eggs… Benedict?” Mrs. Lawrence sounded both confused and concerned.
“But if that’s too much trouble…”
“Oh, no. It’s not too much trouble at all. I’ll just…” Mrs. Lawrence nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Jaycee ducked over her bowl, crunching loudly and clearly trying not to laugh outright.
“Is something humorous?” Sage asked, not fully understanding just how to defend herself from this passive-aggressive attack Jaycee had clearly perfected.
Tucking her lips between her teeth, Jaycee shook her head. “No. Not at all. Why would you think that?”
Sage wanted to ask again because it was clear she was being laughed at if not worse, but she didn’t dare. With Mrs. Lawrence gone, Jaycee might actually have the courage to say what she wasn’t saying out loud, and Sage wasn’t at all sure how to respond to a full-on attack.
Standing in the sunlit kitchen, unsure of what to do, she watched without watching as Jaycee munched her way through the bowl of whatever it was. How anyone could sit and be so unkempt was something Sage would never, ever understand. Presenting oneself to the world, even if that world was just your family on Saturday morning involved taking at least a bit of pride in oneself. Jaycee was about the polar opposite of that.
Mrs. Lawrence came back in, a computer print-out in hand. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait until next Saturday to tackle the Eggs Benedict. How about poached ones for today?”
Poached? That sounded completely unappetizing. “It sounds wonderful.”
“Luke, we had some clothing donations brought in during the week,” Pastor Steve said. “Would you mind going to the church office and bringing them over?”
“Sure thing.” Luke left his task of chopping the basil and parsley for the spaghetti sauce with two swipes of his hands. “I’ll be right back, Mrs. P.”
“Just don’t go getting lost, sugar.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
With that, he headed out into the bright sunlight beyond the solid metal door. The church office was across the parking lot from the community center where the meal would be served. Since congregation members knew about the weekly outreach meals, they often dropped off spare items in case someone else could use them. Luke was just glad it wasn’t the two-ton couch someone had dropped off one time.
The air hung in a muggy blanket over everything. It always did that when there was too much moisture for the air to hold but not enough for it to fall. He hustled across the parking lot and was thankful for the blast of cool air that whooshed over him when he opened the door to the office.
“Morning, Mildred,” he called to the elderly secretary. He had made the mistake of assuming she had heard him one too many times and nearly sent her to the emergency room once.
“Oh, good morning, son. Are you here to get the clothing?”
“That I am.” He leaned on the counter that was split from where she sat by a large solid piece of glass that slid to the side when she was on duty.
“Oh, well, come on back then.”
Ducking back around the opening, he went to the other side of the office.
“We have several today,” Mildred said. “And they are very heavy. I thought I could move them to a better location the other day. Found out the limits of my strength which isn’t much.” She chuckled at her own joke.
“Well, I’ll bet I can manage.” Sure enough he hefted both boxes from the floor. Yes, they were heavy enough to stretch his arms out the full-length, but it was more awkward than heavy.
“Here, let me get the door.” She went for the office door, which was already propped open but not fully.
“Thank you kindly, Ma’am.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what this church would do without you young folks helping out. Just gladdens my heart the way you pitch in.”
Luke smiled, hoping she wouldn’t go into a long speech because the boxes could decide to get heavy if they wanted to. “I’d better get these over to the center.”
“Yes. Pastor Steve has plans for them I’m sure.”
“As usual.” Luke hoisted the boxes up again and headed out into the sunshine beyond the tinted glass door. He was halfway across the parking lot when trouble came barreling at him, turning and stopping not four feet in front of him. Squelching the sigh and mustering up as much patience as he could, he watched Rory Harris pull up in his tricked out red Dodge pickup, and just in case Luke didn’t get the message that Rory was on a power trip, he revved the engine making the pickup bounce. He hit the window until his sickly suave face came into full view.
“Hey, there choirboy, whatcha doing?” Rory’s smirk could have easily provoked Luke into something very unhealthy if he let it, so he had learned not to let it in the 13 years they had been in school together.
“I don’t have time for this, Harris.” Luke resettled the boxes on his knee to keep them up and then jerked them up into his hands once more. “Can you move that thing? You’re in my way.”
Rory’s smirk deepened as he bounced the pickup again much to the delight of his passenger, Trey Fenton. “Make me.”
Patience threatened to slide away from him, but Luke knew where the lines were in this reality, and he was on the wrong side of them. “Quit being a jerk, Harris. Why is that so hard for you?”
“Quit being a jerk, Harris,” Rory mocked back. “Good news is I can change anytime. Too bad you’re stuck being a loser.” His laugh was derisive and cruel. “You know what they say once a pantywaist always a pantywaist, right?”
Trey laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
It took everything in Luke to hold onto his temper, but here, in the middle of the church parking lot was not exactly the best place in the world to lay waste to Rory Harris and his big mouth. “Whatever. Would you move, so I can get on with life?”
“Life? Is that what you call that, choirboy? I think you should try getting you one ‘stead of making nicey-nice with the preacher all the time. What’re you trying out to be a saint? Saint Luke, saint of loser choirboys.”
At that moment across the parking lot, Jaycee’s little blue car pulled in. Luke’s gaze went over to it and then back to Rory. “Why don’t you stay and make yourself useful for a change?” He knew very well that would get Rory off the lot.
“Yeah. No. I don’t think so. See ya later, Saint Luke. Buh-bye.” And with a mocking wave, he headed out.
Luke watched him go, bracing himself for Jaycee’s hurt face when she asked why Rory hadn’t stayed. What she saw in that jerk was beyond him. He resettled the boxes and started over to her, but it was then that he realized she wasn’t alone. Slim and curved in all the right places, platinum blonde hair that waved down a perfectly porcelain face, Jaycee’s stepsister was runway perfect and then some as she stepped from the confines of the car.
“Hey, you made it.” He was smart enough to go to Jaycee’s side and direct his attention only at her. The last thing he needed was for fireworks to start from a fuse he’d inadvertently lit.
“We did.” Jaycee glanced across the hood of the car but replaced her gaze on him with nearly no pause. “Is Rory not staying?”
There it was, that look just before she took the top box from him.
“Uh, no. He had some things to go do.”
“Oh.” Why did she always have to sound so hurt? Why couldn’t she see Rory Harris for the jerk he was?
With the stepsister trailing behind them and no way to make a proper introduction, Luke walked with Jaycee to the doors of the hall. There he managed to catch the door and hold it open with his body for the young woman who had all the grace of a goddess. How high were those heels anyway?
“Oh, Luke, good.” Pastor Steve came over to them, leaving the serving line without a backward glance. “I thought we would put them over here.”
At a table to the side, Luke set his box down and then reached for Jaycee’s, but she yanked it away. “I’ve got it.”
He put his hands in the air. “Forgive me for trying to help.” Okay. It wasn’t her fault, but frustration with life was a hard thing to pull back when the train got to moving down that track.
Pastor Steve checked him with one, short look, and Luke knew he’d better dial it back.
Together they went about stacking the donated clothing on the table. They had most of it out before Luke sensed the shadow in the body-hugging leggings standing just behind them, not moving. His gaze jerked back to her, but it never really got that far because his brain kicked in at just that second and saved him from a fate worse than death—Jaycee’s undying wrath.
“Much better,” Pastor Steve said as he took one box and went to turn. It was then that he noticed her, and he yanked up short. “Oh, my. Hello.”
“Hello,” she said like smooth silk, honeysuckle, and moonlight all mixed together.
It even took a full second for Pastor Steve to regain his bearings. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Pastor Steve.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Sir,” she said, her face brightening like she was meeting her dream idol.
“And you are…?” he prompted.
“Oh.” Her smile became a short laugh like the soft tinkling of bells. “Where are my manners? I’m Sage Wentworth, Jaycee’s stepsister.”
“Jaycee’s…” Pastor Steve turned back as if to question how the two of them could have come from the same gene pool. Then he turned back to Sage with a smile. “Well, it’s nice to have you here, Ms. Wentworth. Thank you so much for coming to help.”
“You’re welcome, Sir. I do what I can.”
With a dramatic sigh and roll of her eyes, Jaycee turned next to Luke with one box and reached for the box the pastor held. “Here, Pastor, let me get that for you.”
He relinquished the box into her care with nearly no glance at her at all. “Thank you, Jaycee. So, Sage…” With a duck of his head, he turned both of them for the kitchen and continued the conversation that went out of earshot in three steps.
Luke’s gaze went after them, and knowing he was in for the tongue-lashing of his life, he dragged it over to Jaycee who had stowed the boxes in the corner and was trekking over to him with a look of wanting to kill the next thing she saw move. He fought the grimace, but it didn’t work. “I take it this wasn’t your idea.”
Her eyes narrowed even further at him as her mouth dropped into a scowl. “Mom thought it would be such a good idea.” The scowl dropped further. “Not.”
Biting his lip, Luke tried to think of some encouraging something, but he was coming up emptier than the gas tank of his beat-up, fifteen-year-old sports car.
“I know. I know,” Jaycee said with a hard bite to the words. “I need to be nice to her, include her. You don’t have to say it. Mom already gave me the whole lecture.”
However, that wasn’t what he was going to say at all, but before he got the chance to sort through what he should say and how to say it, Jaycee heaved a sigh.
“We’d better go get to cooking. No use standing around here whining about my sucky life.” She took off before he got more words out, and fighting the urge to give her a hug which she wouldn’t appreciate, he followed her to the kitchen.
Across the threshold, they found Mrs. P ooing and ahing over Sage.
“Now ain’t you just the prettiest little thing I ever did lay eyes on.”
Luke’s gaze shot to Jaycee who was about to spit nails or eat them.
“I’m going into the back to get the bread ready,” she said, and every word sliced through the air like a sword. She didn’t give him the chance to ask if she needed help. Instead, she stomped to the back, and if he didn’t miss his guess, there were tears behind those dark glasses.
“Luke, honey,” Mrs. P said, breaking into the war going on in him over what to do, “can you come help me with these bags of noodles? My old fingers just don’t wanna cooperate today.”
Seeing no other option, he put his hand on the back of his neck and nodded with only one more glance at the door to the back. “Sure.”
Volunteering. Of course Sage had heard of it, but she’d never quite pictured this. If Patelyn and McKenzie saw her now, she would never live it down. The kitchen, if it could be called that, was an expansive room with burners to one side, a huge island in the middle, and a serving line to the other side. The décor itself left a lot to be desired, and Sage dared not touch anything or the grease from the surroundings would surely ruin her expensive SPR blouse for good.
“Yes, just set them right here, hon,” the rotund black lady with the hideous floral print not-chiffon top said. Sage suppressed a shiver at the memory of her skin being next to that material. It probably came from a dime store if not right off the giveaway rack.
Oh, how very, very far she had fallen.
“Ms. Sage,” the pastor said, bringing in two bags of plates from the storeroom, “would you mind helping me with the extra paper goods?”
Her mouth formed the word me, but it didn’t make it to the air. He couldn’t be serious, could he?
“We’ll need more cups and plastic ware.” And he disappeared through the door to the hall beyond.
Apparently he was. Sage dragged in a hard breath and wondered how she had gotten talked into this. Cups and plastic ware. That didn’t sound too hard. She started across the kitchen only to find another hallway on the other side. One way led to a lighted room, the other into near pitch black darkness. “Um?” Unsure, she glanced back into the kitchen for help but found neither the cook nor the guy in the awful brown plaid shirt looking at her. Nope. She was on her own with this one. “Okay.”
She turned back and just before she headed toward the light, she caught sight of Jaycee that direction, knife in hand, ripping into bread sacks.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Pastor Steve returned. “I forgot you don’t know where we keep things.”
“No. I’m sorry. I don’t,” Sage said, sounding both light and apologetic.
“They’re right here.” He went down the opposite way of Jaycee, and for that, Sage was imminently grateful. In the small closet at the end of the hall, he produced two large bags of plastic cups which he handed to her. “Just take those out and put them at the end of the line.”
“The line,” she said with a nod that probably indicated she knew what he was talking about, which she didn’t. Back down the hallway and out into the kitchen she went, wondering just how many cups they might need.
“It’s this way,” and with that Pastor Steve led her out into the hall. “You can put them over there on that table. Have you ever made tea before?”
“Uh?” She nearly dropped the cups. “Tea?”
“Yes, you know tea—sweet tea, iced tea. The stuff you drink?”
“Oh. Uh, no. No I don’t think I’ve ever made tea before.”
At the other end of the serving line, he arranged the plastic ware. “Well, I guess it’s a good day to learn.”
As Pastor Steve tutored Sage on the fine art of tea making, Luke tried not to watch. Some of the attraction was how very out-of-place she looked; some was just that, to be honest, she was gorgeous. However, he berated himself for that thought as Jaycee came in pushing the cart with the bread on it. He snapped his gaze from them back to the task at hand and finished up opening the last of the sauce cans for Mrs. P.
“I’m beginning to think it’s just gonna be us today, Pastor,” Mrs. P said. She was chopping things to add to the salad. “That’s what summer does to us every year.”
“We’ve got the tea brewing,” the pastor said, coming over with Sage following if it could be called that. She looked so incredibly out of place, like she wanted to escape out the door if anybody gave her half a chance. “What do you need in here? Just tell us what to do.”
“Well, that sauce needs to go in these here pots. Then someone needs to start breaking up the spaghetti into these pans.”
“Do you just want the spaghetti in half?” he asked as Sage stood behind him, her arms crossed in front of her.
“That will be fine, Pastor.” Mrs. P continued to chop at the speed of light. “Why don’t you girls take care of the sauce? Luke, you can start on the lettuce.”
“Sure thing,” he said and headed for the refrigerator; however, the chill that went through the room had nothing whatsoever to do with the opening of the walk-in.
“I’ll get this,” Jaycee said, pushing in front of Sage who took a hesitant step toward the cans, her eyes wide. “Why don’t you do the spaghetti?”
However, Sage didn’t let herself be angled out of her designated position. “I can do the sauce.” She stepped toward Jaycee’s spot but didn’t get very far.
Jaycee took hold of one can and dumped it over into one of the pots, before using a spatula to clean out the inside as Luke returned with the bags of lettuce. “I’ve got this. Just go help with the spaghetti.”
“She said I could do the sauce.” Sage tried to get around Jaycee who was blocking access to the cans almost with no effort at all.
“Now girls,” Mrs. P said, seeing the oncoming train wreck much too late.
“I’m not five,” Sage said, grabbing for a can. “I can empty a can.”
“Sage, give me that.” Jaycee whirled and grabbed hold of the same can. “I said I’ve got this.”
“I said I would.”
“Girls!”
“Stop it!” Jaycee shrieked. “You’re going to make a mess.”
“Me? I’m not going to make a mess, you are. Let it go!”
And with that the can slung open between them, dousing both them and the surrounding kitchen in tart red-orange goop.
“UGH!” Sage said, her hands going out as she looked down at her now-ruined white blouse and formerly stylish pants.
“What did you do that for?” Jayce demanded as she slammed the can onto the cabinet, make a fountain of what was left of the sauce. She wiped the goo from her glasses and face. “I said I would get it.”
“And I said…”
“I don’t care what anybody said to anybody else.” Mrs. P suddenly stood between them. “I don’t care who done said what to whom. I want both of you out of my kitchen.” She pointed at the door, but neither of them moved. “Now!”
The word jolted even Luke who shrank over his own task at the far end of the counter and fought to become invisible. In a huff and still arguing without even really talking to each other, they exited.
“I don’t know what this world is coming to.” Mrs. P retrieved the spatula from the floor and slung it into the sink near Luke at the end of the cabinet. “Like two four-year-olds in a sandbox those two.” She stopped muttering and looked over the mess clearly about to lose her patience or just start crying.
“Here,” Luke said, all but jumping around the cabinet. “Let me get this, Mrs. P. Really. I can clean this up. I’ll get the sauce in the pots and get it going, and then you can work your magic on it just like always.” And in the next heartbeat, he was doing just that heedless of the absolute disaster the kitchen now was in around him.
“What was that called?” In the ladies’ room, Jaycee yanked her glasses off and held them out from her, looking like she might actually try to clean them with her now-tomato-stained shirt tail. “UGH!”
“That was called trying to help.” Sage took one look at herself in the mirror and wanted to cry. Red streaks now dripped off her hair in uneven, hideous patterns. The stuff was all over her clothes and even on her shoes. “Ugh. Look at this mess.”
“Yeah, a mess you created.” Jaycee went to the sink and turned on the tap full blast. Removing the clip and holder from her hair, she put her whole head under the water and proceeded to wash out her hair in the very public sink.
Sage couldn’t stomach the thought of doing that. Instead, she grabbed ten paper towels from the towel holder and started dabbing at and then rubbing on her blouse. That only succeeded in smearing the stuff everywhere.
Coming up for air, Jaycee leveled a not kind nor impressed look at her. “What did you do that for?”
“What did I do now?” Sage held the orange-stained paper towels away from her body, stopping the rubbing that was becoming increasingly panicked.
“You’re using all the towels. Those things cost money and waste trees, you know?” Going over to the hand dryer, she punched it on and whipped her hair under it.
“Oh, like using electricity is going to save the planet. Puh-lease.” Sage recommenced wiping the sauce from her attire, but it was doing no good at all. Abandoning that pursuit, she went to work on her face instead, which wasn’t any more successful. “Ugh. This stuff is awful.”
“Knock. Knock.” A thin lady about Mrs. Lawrence’s age stepped in, took one look at them, and stifled a laugh. “Oh, my.”
“Don’t start,” Jaycee said, straightening from the dryer.
“Steve sent me. He thought you two could use these,” the lady said. She came all the way in then and handed Jaycee one of the bundles she held before turning to hand Sage the other.
“What’re these?” The second the thing unfurled in her hands, abject horror hit Sage like a knockout punch. “Oh, I couldn’t wear…”
“Stuff the pride,” Jaycee said, disappearing into a stall. “It won’t kill you to put it on.”
“I washed them all last night,” the lady said. “So they are clean.”
Truly, truly, Sage wanted to cry. She really, really did. Her gaze traced up helplessly to the woman who stood looking at her as if she understood completely.
“There.” Jaycee made a triumphant return in a celery green polo shirt that was probably bought for a man twice her size 20 years before. “See. It’s not so bad.” She went back to the sink, wound her hair up into the ponytail holder and then the clip. “Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell.”
“You’re welcome, Jaycee.” The lady smiled at Sage’s stepsister who grabbed her tomato-stained shirt from the sink and headed out.
“I’d better get back to help clean up the mess.” With that, Jaycee yanked the door open and left.
Nothing and no one moved for a full ten seconds as Sage pleaded with the woman to think of another solution. Finally, Mrs. Mitchell gave Sage a tentative smile. “I hear you’re Jaycee’s sister.”
“Yeah—yes, Ma’am. I am. Stepsister.” Not that that was anything to be proud of or excited about at the moment or ever.
However, the lady stuck out her hand. “I’m Jane Mitchell, Pastor Steve’s wife.”
“Oh.” Wow, was it hard to get graciousness and manners over this one. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Sage shook the woman’s hand, noticing how unassuming she was. Just about her own height with dark hair that had no real style to it, dark glasses, though not as harsh as Jaycee’s, and an outfit she probably bought at a flea market, Mrs. Mitchell was hardly the height of fashion.
“I know it’s not great,” she said, nodding to the cloth in Sage’s hand. “But it’s all we had on such short notice.”
Sage lifted her eyebrows and fought the desire to cry that rose in her like a tsunami. “I don’t think even I can pull this one off.” Her smile spoke of desperation and despair.
“Ah, a pretty girl like you? I’m sure you’ll be able to make it work.” This smile inexplicably lifted Sage’s spirits. “Now come on. Let’s get you out of this tomato get up because, girl, this look does nothing for your skin color.”