“It’s okay.” Hope’s heart ached at the pain in Verna’s voice. “Sleep now.”
“But the Lord didn’t forsake me. I’d always wanted children. After Tommy . . . I never thought I’d have a child. No husband. No child. Then God sent me you and John . . . such a great gift.” Verna was rambling now, her words slurred from the narcotic. “That’s why . . . I only want you to have . . . forgive me for meddling.”
Hope shot John a questioning glance. When he lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, she looked back at her aunt. Verna’s eyes had fully closed and her breathing was slow and steady.
“You better go,” she told John, glancing once again at the clock. “The ceremony will begin in twenty minutes.”
“Call if you need anything.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “As soon as the awards are presented, I’ll cut out and head back.”
“Don’t rush.” Hope lifted a hand in a dismissive wave. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Actually she wished he wouldn’t hurry back. She needed to sort through her tumbled thoughts, bring some order to them, then plan where they went from here.
“Hope.”
She looked up and found him staring. His blue eyes were clear and very blue. A sudden look of tenderness crossed his face. “Verna will be okay.”
Hope stole a quick, worried glance at her aunt.
“I’ll be a phone call away.”
She started to nod when, in one deft move, John shifted and gathered her close against him.
“I love you so much,” he whispered against her hair.
Her head fit perfectly against his chest, just under his chin. For several heartbeats, Hope let the warmth of his body embrace her, imparting strength, giving comfort. Words of love rose from deep inside her and threatened to spill out.
At the last second, she clamped her lips together. She would not say the words until she was absolutely sure the marriage would work. Slowly and deliberately, she stepped back. “Drive carefully.”
He stared at her for a long moment, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
Not until Hope heard the door close behind him did she allow the tears to fall.
Hope kept the lights in Verna’s bedroom on low. While snow continued to fall, she reviewed her calendar and pondered the earlier conversation with John.
In the glow of the bedside lamp, Hope admitted to herself what she’d been unwilling to admit to him. She didn’t need the money from her tax work, especially when she factored in the aggravation and impact to her personal life.
She abhorred the added pressure during a time of the year when Harmony Creek was at its busiest. Last tax season she and Verna had joked they’d seen so little of each other they’d forgotten what the other looked like.
Was that the kind of life she wanted? The kind of life God wanted her to live? If she and John combined their incomes, they could still put a healthy amount of money away and have a richer personal life.
Last week, John had shown her his tax statements. She hadn’t asked. He’d just pulled them out, saying he didn’t want any secrets between them. She’d been shocked at his income, which was significant and appeared to be steadily rising.
Of course, everyone knew a substantial income didn’t matter when expenditures surpassed revenues. Her father had been a successful businessman and her mother had enjoyed a flourishing career as an interior designer. Money had flowed in. The problem was it flowed out even faster. Their home had been filled with constant bickering and tension, all over money.
From the time Hope was old enough to understand what was going on, she swore once she was grown she’d never put herself—or her children—in that situation.
She’d work hard and save her money. If she married, she would choose a man with similar views on money. She wouldn’t take his word on his spending habits; she would watch and observe. That way she would know for sure.
When John had encouraged her to play hooky from her duties to grab some pizza, her antennae had started to quiver. Yet Hope admitted that his point about not working a regular eight-to-five job, as well as the need to be flexible, had validity.
Tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the table for an eight-dollar tab had red flags popping up all over. She’d be a fool to ignore such a blatant warning. Hope leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and slipped down her cheeks.
“Hope.”
Verna’s soft voice had her blinking rapidly and straightening in the antique rocker.
“You’re awake.” Hope cleared her throat and swiped at her eyes, hoping the light in the room was dim enough that Verna couldn’t see she’d been crying. “How are you feeling?”
“My shoulder is a little sore,” Verna admitted. “But I’m hanging in there.”
“That’s the spirit.” Hope pasted a bright smile on her lips. “Can I get you anything?”
Verna glanced around. “Where’s John?”