A Blessed Life

Several smaller tables had been pushed together forming a table so long that Hannah and Laura, sitting on opposite ends, couldn’t converse without yelling.

“Not outside the home, but I do have a job in addition to parenting.” Serena set her fork aside. “I’m a freelance writer.”

“What do you write?” Reverend Bob asked.

“Oh, everything from advertising copy to magazine articles to text for Web pages—about anything, as long as it pays and it’s legal.”

“What does Mr. Jacobs think about you spending so much time at home away from housework and your child?” Charity smiled sweetly as if she had not just asked an incredibly tacky question.

Serena swallowed hard, her mind searching wildly for any reply that would somehow keep her dignity, while putting this unprovoked attacker in her place. As much as she wanted to say that Mr. Jacobs was too busy bothering the new Mrs. Jacobs to have any time to annoy her, she doubted it would have the desired effect.

“I’m a single-parent. Working at home is a financial necessity. It helps me make ends meet.”

Charity nodded and took a drink of her water, making it clear that she’d gotten the message. The way Andrew, sandwiched between Charity and her mother, seemed to be fighting back a grin, told Serena he approved of her approach. Why that mattered, she wasn’t sure. Serena counted the seconds until the can of worms exploded, and her wait was short.

“Are you a widow, then, dear? Or are you divorced?” Laura’s distaste was clear in the acidic way she said the word.

“Divorced,” Serena answered.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Unfortunate for whom—for my family because of the difficult challenge we’re facing or for your family because you think I might be competition? Now, why had she thought that? It wasn’t like her to be mean-spirited, but lately nothing about her resembled her former self.

Reverend Bob planted his hands on the side of the table, just as he planted them every Sunday on the edges of the lectern, and like magic, all attention turned to him. Instead of making some momentous announcement, he changed the subject. “Serena, I suspect you and Charity are about the same age. She is a nurse at West Oakland Regional Hospital, in Labor and Delivery.”

Serena smiled at Charity, pitying any mother who had to deliver a baby under her watch. No, she had to give the woman the benefit of a doubt. Charity was probably just having a bad day. “That must be a great job, watching all of those babies come into the world.”

Charity didn’t smile. “Except when it’s not…when there are problems in delivery. Or worse. On those days, I’d just as soon be somewhere else, working checkout at a discount store or something.”

Her eyes were suddenly shiny, and she stared out the window at something only she could see. Serena’s eyes burned at the thought of the devastating losses Charity would have witnessed. How had she handled it? Serena couldn’t imagine the pain those parents must have faced. She didn’t even want to.

Automatically, she turned to the end of the table where Tessa and Hannah were playing ticktacktoe on the back of a place mat, oblivious to everyone else at lunch. Reaching into her satchel, she withdrew a plastic bag containing Tessa’s medication and a liquid measuring syringe. “Here, Tessa, take your medicine.”

“No, I want Hannah to give it to me.”

It wasn’t worth the battle right now. “Hannah, will you do it?”

Hannah administered the medicine easily. Serena put the supplies away and went back to her chicken sandwich.

Reverend Bob finally broke the silence that had settled around them. “Why does Tessa take medication?”

Serena filled them in on the major details of Tessa’s illness, surprised that her words produced no more than a small ache. Maybe it would only get easier.

Laura watched Hannah and Tessa, who were shoving coins in the candy machines near the exit. “Oh, the poor dear. She’s such a sweet little thing.”

Serena warmed just watching her giggling child. “She’s a real trooper.”

She tried to stop her thoughts from traveling down their typical dark path of pain. Studying her hands for a few seconds, she looked up to see Andrew watching her, his expression compassionate. Without his moving, he seemed to reach over to touch her hand. She was surprised at how she was comforted by that thought. Who could blame her? It seemed like a lifetime since anyone had offered her support.

Andrew pushed back from the table and tucked his hands in his suit pockets. “Have I told everyone that Serena is the newest Sunday School teacher in the youth group? She starts next Sunday.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.