Butterfly Summer

Heather glanced at Brenda and then back to her sister. “You really think so?”

They both exclaimed, “Yes!”

“Except for that dress,” Amy qualified apologetically.

Heather looked down at herself with a grimace. “It’s too big, isn’t it?”

Amy nodded. “Too big. Too out of style. Too frumpy. I love your hair!” She started as if an idea had just come to her. “Let’s go shopping later. Engel’s has their summer stuff on deep discount.”

“And it’s still out of my league,” Brenda complained, dropping back into her chair. “But the new you deserves a shopping spree.” To Heather’s amazement, she actually teared up. “I can’t get over how different you look!”

“Oh, Bren! It’s all right. I haven’t changed inside, you know.”

“I know,” Brenda wailed, sniffing. “But now you’re as lovely on the outside as you are inside!”

Heather laughed and looked to her elegant, sophisticated, beauty queen sister.

“Okay,” she said. “Shopping it is. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.”

Amy did a little victory dance and went on her way. That pretty much summed up how Heather was feeling at the moment.

It was just too bad that the person who had set this in motion wasn’t here to see the results of her handiwork.

Heather straightened the seams of the tiered chiffon skirt before pulling on the white knit top, then slid her feet into thong sandals with tiny heels. As inexplicably nervous as the day before, she slowly turned to face the full-length mirror on her closet door.

Surprisingly, the flowered, coral-hued chiffon that ruffled about her knees looked just as trim and fashionable as it had in the dressing room of Engel’s department store. Moreover, the simple scoop-necked top set off the skirt perfectly, and she didn’t even mind that it exposed her birthmark.

Tentatively skimming her fingers over the irregularly shaped spot, she remembered how intently Ethan had focused on it yesterday. He’d murmured something about it being shaped like a rose as he’d positioned her to get the best shot of it. Funny, she’d never thought of it like that, but now that he’d mentioned it, she was seeing the mark in a whole new way. She was seeing everything about her appearance in a whole new way, from the top of her newly styled head to the tips of her toes in their flirty coral sandals.

She stepped closer to the mirror. As her image filled up more of the space, the spring green walls, ivory lace and French Provincial furnishings of her roomy bedchamber receded. Heather focused on her face, trying to find fault with the subtle cosmetics that she had applied earlier.

She hadn’t forgotten how it was done, after all, and she couldn’t deny that she was pleased with the result. Touching her fingertips to the mirror, she half expected to feel them against her cheekbone. It was as if she were really seeing herself for the first time in a long, long while.

Suddenly ashamed, she bowed her head, telling God how sorry she was for thinking that He’d shortchanged her in the looks department when all along the problem had been her own laziness and perhaps a misplaced sense of modesty, as well. Not to mention an unwillingness to compete with her sisters. She shook her head at that, marveling that she could have been so silly.

Maybe she wasn’t a raving beauty, but the resemblance between herself and her sisters was stronger than she’d realized. Even more surprising was how much she looked like her beautiful mother, especially around the eyes. Their coloring was different, of course. Heather’s hair and eyes were a medium brown, or rather a rich chestnut with fiery highlights now, while Nora was blond and hazel-eyed. Nora’s mouth was a little wider, her face more classically oval and her frame even more petite, but Heather was suddenly liking her more angular, slightly sharper features now that the subtle cosmetics and the new hairstyle had softened them a bit.

“I’ll make the most of what You’ve given me from now on, Lord, I promise,” she whispered. “And please be with Dad and Mom today. I know You can heal him, Father, and I know You will. Amen.”

Nodding confidently at her smiling image, she went out to meet the day. Her feet fairly skipped along the landing and down both flights of the sweeping central staircase to the large foyer below, her heels clicking daintily on the polished hardwood floor. She gathered her handbag and briefcase from the antique wardrobe that stood against the parlor wall.

Actually, there were two parlors, the front parlor, which contained her grandmother’s grand piano and a very good collection of antiques, and the family room, where the marble fireplace furnished the focal point for comfortable, overstuffed couches and chairs. The interior wall shared by the two rooms contained a pair of wide pocket doors that could be opened to make one enormous room for entertaining, making the library at the back of the house the most private of the public rooms.

The dining areas on the opposite side of the foyer from the living area had once enjoyed a similar arrangement, but with the kitchen—complete with butler’s pantry and laundry room—rather than the library, beyond. Now, however, the formal and informal dining spaces had been combined into one large room with an enormous table handmade to accommodate six children and company.

All of the bedrooms, six in total, were on the second and third floors. Two others had been sacrificed to private baths and larger closets, changes her great-grandfather probably could not have even envisioned when he’d bought and renovated the elegant old redbrick Greek Revival–style house on the very outer edge of north Davis Landing.

There were larger, grander houses in the area, frankly, but not a single Hamilton would have traded this grand old place, with its expansive grounds, for any one of them.

Rather than exit via the front door with its heavy leaded glass inset, Heather turned and quickly made her way down the central hall and out the back to the terraced patio, where her mother habitually took her morning tea, weather permitting. Nora sat there now in one of the heavy, wrought-iron chairs, the morning paper spread out over a glass-topped table and fluttering unheeded in the breeze that sang softly in the tops of the trees. Clad in silk pajamas and a matching robe, she stared unseeingly across the property.

Heather dropped a hand upon her mother’s shoulder, feeling the frail bones keenly. Nora turned up a distracted smile, then twisted around in her chair as she got a good look at her middle daughter.

“Just look at you! How I wish your father could see you this morning.”

Heather bent forward to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’ll go by the hospital later, give him a preview of this month’s Makeover Maven feature.”

“It would do his heart good, I’m sure,” Nora told her. “It has mine. Goodness, you look so young all of a sudden.”

“Not so dowdy, you mean,” Heather retorted, wrinkling her nose.

“Funny what a haircut and a new wardrobe can do,” Nora mused, “or maybe I’m just feeling old this morning.” She sighed and made an effort to smile.

Heather put down her bags and wrapped her arms around her mother’s slender shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, Mom. I just know it.”

Nora nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the hundred-and-third Psalm.” It was one of Nora’s favorites, and Heather knew it by heart.

“‘Bless the Lord, O my soul,’” she quoted softly. “‘And all that is within me, bless His holy name.’”

“‘Who pardons all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases,’” Nora whispered, patting Heather’s arm. She looked up suddenly. “I don’t suppose your sister came in during the night, did she?”

Heather shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“You don’t think Melissa’s in some kind of trouble this time, do you?”

“I think she just can’t bear to see Dad in that hospital bed.”

Nora’s gaze drifted away again. “I don’t blame her for that.”

“Neither do I,” Heather agreed gently.

“Get on with you, darling. I’ll see you later at the hospital.”

Sensing that Nora needed solitude at the moment, Heather left her to her contemplation and hurried to her car, parked beneath the sheltered passage that ran between the main house and the old carriage house.

The morning had a golden cast to it that Heather could attribute only to God’s goodness.

Chapter Four

Heather smiled at the Gordons, who gave her a thumbs-up and silent applause as she strode toward the elevator. Dropping a silly curtsy as the elevator door rolled closed, she felt ridiculously pleased and oddly happy.

How strange that it should be so now, when her father was so desperately ill.

Yet wasn’t that the Lord’s way, to bring joy in the midst of woe? Even a small joy was doubly welcome when cares were so heavy.

Suddenly Heather remembered the verse between the ones she and her mother had quoted earlier that morning.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget none of His benefits.

She felt a decided zing pervade her steps as she strolled toward her office. It was early yet, so the receptionist was not at her desk. Heather could hear a few voices in muted conversation but saw no one as she made her way through the warren of cubicles.

To her surprise, Ethan Danes sat perched on one corner of Brenda’s desk. Clad in khakis and a dark brown T-shirt, he was studying a print, the top one of a stack that he held in his hands.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, aware of a shiver of excitement. Or was it trepidation?

Ethan looked up, a smile at the ready. That smile stilled, then gradually grew as he took in this latest version of the “new” Heather.

“Well,” he said, placing the photos on the desk, “I thought I’d picked my final shot.”

“Oh?” She craned her neck, trying to look past him to get a peek at the photo he hoped would close the piece.

He folded his arms. “The butterfly has not only broken out of her cocoon, she’s spread her wings, I see.”

Heather inclined her head, laughing. She couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t be pleased with such a statement from the best-looking man around?

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He winked at her. “And so you should.” Dropping his hands to the edge of the desk, he shifted around, crossing his ankles. “I think I’m finally seeing the real Heather, and that’s the ‘after’ photo I’d most like to see on the printed page.”

Heather tried not to let that please her too much.

“And what does Ellen have to say about it?”

“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen her. Haven’t heard from her. Haven’t been able to reach her. That’s why I brought these straight to you.”

Heather frowned at that. “I wonder what’s going on with her? Oh, well. I get the final say anyway.”

Nodding, Ethan got to his feet and swept up the stack of photos, which he held out to Heather.

“I’ve marked my picks, for what that’s worth. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do. And thanks for going the extra mile with this yesterday. If not for you, we’d have had no feature this month.”

“That’s what you pay me for. Besides, you’re the one who saved the day.”

Setting aside her bags, she took the photos into her hands, then found that she didn’t have quite enough courage to go through them with him standing there.

As if he knew it, he gave his head a little jerk, humming a bit as he moved away. “Mmm-mmm. The guys are going to beat a path to your door now. You know that, don’t you?”

Stunned, Heather just stood there stupidly and watched him walk away, the photos clutched in her hands. After he’d disappeared from sight, she absently looked down, staring at the woman in the photo. Chic and feminine with shining amber eyes and a secretive smile, this was not the image of an old maid.

Old maid. When had she decided that she was an old maid?

Heather blinked, trying to see in this woman’s face the acceptance that she would never marry. It was not there.

How had she come to believe that God didn’t intend for her to marry and know the love of a mate? Was that assumption another product of her own laziness and hesitance?

Shocked at herself, Heather stopped to carefully consider her future. She wasn’t even thirty. She had lots of time left to find the love of her life.

Something warm and bright and sharp unfurled inside her, something she hadn’t let herself feel in years, something very like longing. Or was it hope? Had the longing always been there, but she’d only now started to hope again?

It had been aeons since she’d had a real boyfriend—since college.

Oh, she’d been on dates, but it would be nice to actually be asked out instead of always being “fixed up” by some well-meaning friend or family member.

Maybe, just maybe, some guy would notice her now.

Ethan had.

Of course, it wouldn’t be Ethan who would ask her out. That went without saying.

It wouldn’t even be anyone like Ethan.

If it happened.

If.

But why not? The possibility was there.

She smiled.

And forget none of His benefits.

Small joys.

Heather ran her gaze down the list of articles on bone marrow transplant displayed on the computer screen. Even the titles were confusing, but she was determined to learn as much about the process as she could, if only to make her prayers more specific.

She opened an article on protocols and preparations for transplant, but before she could read the first paragraph, Brenda strode into her office through the open door.

“Have you checked your e-mail recently, like in the last ten minutes?”

Heather shook her head. “No, I’ve got something going right now.”

“Well, you’d better take a look,” Brenda insisted, folding her arms. “I just got copied on a message from Ellen to Amy.”

Heather quickly minimized the window and pulled up another, murmuring, “It’s about time.”

“Actually,” Brenda retorted drily, “it’s about a lack of time.”

“What?”

But Brenda didn’t bother to answer. She didn’t have to. The message was short and—okay, sweet would have been a stretch.

“Ellen’s resigned!” Heather exclaimed.

“Effective immediately. No notice, no explanation, nada,” Brenda confirmed, folding her arms. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see her go, but how on earth are we supposed to replace her in time for this issue’s deadline?”

“Oh, no,” Heather groaned, collapsing back in her chair. “The Makeover Maven feature.”

She realized what had to happen, and she really wasn’t happy about it.

“I don’t suppose you want to try your hand at writing a beauty column?” she asked Brenda hopefully.

“Sure,” Brenda said blithely. “You take care of the layout on the entertainment feature, and I’ll write this month’s makeover story.”

Heather made a face. “Right. My lack of expertise—not to mention patience—with the layout software is why you’re here.”

“So I guess you’ll be writing the makeover story, unless you think maybe Ethan…”

“Ethan’s a photographer,” Heather said, “an excellent photographer, but he’s no writer.”

“Better use a pseudonym,” Brenda counseled wryly, turning to leave, “unless you intend to do this every month.”

“No way,” Heather declared.

Surely they could find a beauty editor before the next column had to be written.

Brenda sauntered back out to her desk, leaving Heather to deal with this latest catastrophe.

Reluctantly Heather reached for the folder containing the photos that Ethan had brought her that morning. She’d thumbed through them before, cringing at the earliest of them, marveling at the latter ones and critically studying the in-betweens for illustrative interest.

As usual, Ethan’s instincts were right on target. His picks were also her picks. Unfortunately, like all photographers did, he’d chosen too many, so it was up to her to narrow the choices down to no more than half a dozen, some of which would be severely cropped or shrunk in order to fit the entire piece on two and a half pages. She’d do that after she’d written the article.

After a couple of false starts, she decided that the smartest way to begin was to simply state that this month’s makeover subject was none other than the features editor. She tried to take the same approach that Ellen had used in the past, describing the candidate and her lifestyle, then detailing the changes that were made.

It was tough going. She didn’t really like writing about herself, even in the third person, and tended to get bogged down in the details.

At one point she realized that she was spending too much time on the hair. The wardrobe was a problem, too, since none of it had really been chosen for her. Then she got sidetracked describing the venue.

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