The Perfect Gift

She didn’t answer. She was too busy digging around in the deep recesses of her big leather purse, pulling out various labeled little sacks of all sorts. She had a bag for everything inside that larger bag. “I sure hope I can find it.”

“We’ll keep looking,” the nurse said, waving to them.

When they got outside, Goldie had that lost expression on her face again.

“They won’t find it,” she said. “Somebody probably stole it. It’s pretty valuable, considering how old it is. But I don’t care about how much money it can bring. I just want it back.”

Rory could understand her frustrations. And her disappointment. He hoped he could find that locket for Goldie, but he had his doubts, too. Even though it hadn’t snowed more than a couple of inches last night, a piece of jewelry could easily become lost in all the mush. He’d have to go over the yard and house with an eagle eye.

After getting Goldie into his car, Rory started out of the parking lot and onto the main highway. “So where did you live when you’re not in Viola?”

“Baton Rouge,” she answered, her gaze on the road. “Wow, I see patches of snow in the trees. And the ground is still covered. It’s so beautiful even if it does hurt my eyes.”

“It was pretty cold last night. Some of that could freeze up again later.” Trying to get to know her better, he continued, “And what did you do in Baton Rouge? I mean, how long have you been writing the column?”

“Since college,” she replied. Then she turned to look at him. “I went to school at LSU and got a degree in communication. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I had written a column for a school newspaper and that experience gave me a chance to write a column for a paper in Baton Rouge. Because my most popular columns were on organization and how to get your life on track, I got promoted to the lifestyles section and after three years, the column became regionally syndicated. But I do feature articles, advertorials and fillers, too. I don’t make a lot of money, but I enjoy my work. I’ve always been highly organized so it’s nice to use those skills in my job.”

“Kind of like that woman on television my mother likes so much. I can’t remember her name but she does a cooking show.”

Goldie knew of the woman in question. “No, more like a Southern version of the modern woman—you know, busy, stressed, working all the time both in the home and out of the home and needing to fold the laundry and cook a decent meal then finish studying a business report. I interview a lot of women to get the best tips.”

“My wife was like that,” he said, then wished he hadn’t mentioned Rachel. He didn’t like to talk about her.

Goldie gave him a nod. “Your home reflects that. I’m impressed that it was so neat.”

He shrugged. “My mom was over last night, cleaning for me. You should have seen it when I left yesterday morning.”

“Oh, your mother. Well, I’m sure she loves helping out.”

“She’s been a blessing…since…since Rachel died. She’s a big help with the house and the boys. I guess that works two ways since we lost my dad a year ago. She likes the company.”

“I’m sorry about your wife and your dad.” Goldie didn’t say anything else. She just stared out at the road ahead.

Thinking his past tragedies were sure a downer and not the best approach to impressing a woman, Rory was glad when they pulled up to her grandmother’s tiny brick house. He didn’t need to worry about impressing a woman, anyway. “I’ll help you get in and say hi to your grandmother.”

Goldie waited for him to come around the car then slowly lifted herself out to face him. “I might as well warn you, Rory. She’s gonna want you to stay and eat. But you don’t have to. That is, unless you want to, I mean.”

Rory smiled down at her, thinking soup and corn bread was mighty tempting right now. Especially if he’d get to sit across the table from Goldie.

Then he remembered his boys waiting at his mother’s house and he thought about Rachel, how much he still missed her, and he wondered why he was even thinking about another woman.

“I’d better get on home,” he told Goldie as he helped her up the two stone steps to the porch.

“Nonsense, Rory Branagan,” came the sweet but firm voice from inside the open door. Ruth stood there holding on to a walker. “After all you’ve done for Goldie, the least we can do is give you a good meal. Now come on in here and have some dinner. I insist.”

Rory looked from Goldie’s “I told you so” grin to Ruth Rios’s twinkling eyes and realized he was trapped between longing and duty. And that was not a good place for a man.

Or at least he didn’t think it was.

But he went into the house and shut the door anyway.

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