CHAPTER 9
ABI
Cookies
On Tuesday afternoon, Anna called to let me know what time to arrive at the health fair. One person who had said she’d help hadn’t responded, so Anna asked if I could be in childcare from nine to noon. I told her I would do whatever was needed. That’s when she asked if I could work the snack station from noon to four, as they’d decided to do a blood drive at the same time. Of course, I said yes. She said they’d have some pretzels to give out, but that the person who was supposed to bring cookies called out sick, so I told her I’d make some cookies to bring as well. She was thrilled with my easy compliance.
Several dozen cookies necessitate a trip to the store, of course. Once there, I’ve got my phone open to my list and I’m hurriedly tossing ingredients into my basket when I round the corner at the dairy section and run into Sam Forrester.
Again.
I laugh. It’s a breathy sound and I hate how…relieved it sounds, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to come back around to Sam Forrester.
“Don’t you work?”
He smiles, a more natural smile than the last few I’ve seen on him. “Not nearly enough, that’s for sure. I, uh, I’m here to get supplies for the health fair tomorrow. One of the coordinators has a list of needful items, and one of them is cookies, so I guess I’ll be doing some baking tonight.”
“You bake?”
He shrugs, but his expression boasts a manly sense of pride, which, of course, seems incongruous with baking. But, then again, Sam Forrester always could make just about anything look manly. “When the occasion calls for it.”
“That’s why I’m here, too. For stuff to make cookies.”
“For…?”
“The health fair. I guess we’ll have lots and lots of cookies.”
He frowns. “Hmmm. That seems odd, doesn’t it? At a health fair?”
“But we’re talking cookies here. Is there any such thing as too many cookies?” Maybe they’re having cookies at more than one spot. Or maybe Anna Sturgill just got confused. Who knows?
A high, excited voice cries from somewhere behind Sam. “Cookies!”
He turns just in time to swing his daughter up into his arms. When he pivots back around toward me, his face is alight with a deep, abiding love, the kind that is specific between a parent and a child.
I gulp at the thickness in the back of my throat. “Hi, Noelle.”
“Miss Abigail, we’re making cookies! Cookies!”
I can’t help laughing. “Has she been sampling sugar somewhere already?”
Sam’s lips twist up into a wry grin. “Show me your hands, young lady.”
Noelle grins and shakes her head, blonde curls bobbing.
“Noelle,” Sam says in a warning tone, but even his daughter isn’t falling for that. It’s nowhere near as intimidating as he intends for it to be. It’s clear this man adores his child. And it’s clear she knows it. “Hands.”
She brings the one draped over his shoulder to the front and unwinds her tiny fingers, fingers that are clutching the remains of a bite-sized candy bar. Her palm is smeared with chocolate and I can see a smudge of it on her cheek. At least she was smart enough to wipe up before returning to her father. Clever little girl.
“You already had one of these. Where did you get this?”
“From my pocket.”
“How did it get into your pocket?”
“I put it there when Mr. Hadley gave it to me.”
“He gave you two?”
She nods, grinning in glee.
Sam turns a look of consternation toward me, but Noelle grabs his face with both hands and turns it back to her. I smile at the chocolate streaks I can already see on his cheek. “Daddy, I had to take them.”
“You had to? And why is that?”
“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“You not taking his chocolate would hurt Mr. Hadley’s feelings?”
“Yes, it would. He told me so.”
“He did, did he?”
“He did. And I believed him.”
For the first time, I hear a slight speech impediment. She pronounces the word believed like be-wee-ved, making her even cuter, if that’s possible.
“Be-lieved,” Sam corrects, annunciating.
“Be-lieved,” she repeats, smiling when she says it correctly. “Do you forgive me?”
I can see on Sam’s face that his heart is as much putty right now as mine. Do you forgive me? What couldn’t be forgiven a child, especially one this precious?
His tone is soft and quiet with love when he replies, “There’s nothing to forgive, little bee.”
Noelle leans in and rubs her nose across his cheek, making a buzzing sound as she does. I wonder at the story behind the exchange. There is something meaningful about it, something just between them and, clearly, it has something to do with a bee.
“No more before supper. Promise?”
“Promise,” she agrees, handing over the remains of the sweet in her hand.
Sam takes it, trying not to get chocolate everywhere as he sets his daughter down. “I guess we’ll be making a stop at the wipes next.”
I dig into my purse and produce an individually wrapped wet wipe. I hand it to him, which he takes without question. As he opens it, he nods to my purse. “Mother thing?”
There’s more than just that simple question in his eyes, but I only address the one.
“Woman thing.”
“Right. A purse is a mystical place of wonder.”
He cleans off his hand first. Before he can start on his daughter, I touch my cheek and tell him, “Don’t forget your face.”
He smiles. I smile back.
He swipes at his cheek and then bends to clean his daughter’s hand. The scene plays out like every woman over thirty’s biggest fantasy (or at least one of them)—big, beautiful man taking care of his gorgeous little girl, diligently tending to what’s his. One hundred percent man, but also one hundred percent father.
I can’t help thinking that Sam Forrester’s wife is a very lucky woman. And so is his daughter.
“Well, I guess we’d better get this shopping done or else we won’t have a mountain of cookies tomorrow at the health fair. And what would a health fair be without a kick to the blood sugar?”
I grin. “One that no one would come to, probably. This is the south after all. Home of all things sweet and deep fried.”
“Why do you think I have a successful medical practice?”
Sam winks at me, grabs his daughter and hoists her up into the front of the cart. “Tell Miss Abigail you’ll see her tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Miss Abigail.”
“Call me ‘Abi’,” I tell her. “See you tomorrow, Noelle.”
She waves and I watch her father push her around to the next aisle. Just before she disappears, Noelle puts her palm to her mouth and blows me a kiss. I catch it and tuck it against my chest. The last thing I see is her grin and then she’s gone.
Out of sight is not out of mind, though. I don’t stop thinking about either of them. Not for a long time.