The Prodigal Comes Home

The timer went off and Zoey jumped up. “I’ll take it out.”

She opened a drawer next to the oven and found it filled with measuring cups and baking utensils.

“The drawer on the left.”

“Gran was right. You do know your way around the kitchen.” To cover up her mistake—and the guilt that came from knowing how long she’d been away—Zoey tried to inject a teasing note in her voice. And failed miserably.

Matt looked down at her, a frown settling between his brows. Zoey braced herself, waiting for the attack. The “if-you’d-come-around-more-often-you’d-know-where-the-potholders-weretoo” reminder.

“The pizza looks great. I’ll get Liz” was all Matt said.

He left the kitchen and Zoey finished getting the table ready. She put out a bowl of fresh spinach with chopped tomatoes and a gelatin salad, one of several lined up like colorful jewels on the shelf in the refrigerator. Her grandmother’s friends had dropped off enough food to feed a small army.

On impulse, Zoey lit the pillar candle in the center of the table. It cast a warm glow in the room.

“Everything looks lovely.” Gran swept in on Matt’s arm, not looking nearly as tired as she’d claimed to be when she left them alone on kitchen duty.

Zoey’s heart started beating in double-time as a thought suddenly occurred to her.

No, Gran wouldn’t dare…not a woman who believed it was God who brought a couple together, without any help from earthly matchmakers. Or well-meaning grandmothers.

“What would you like to drink, Liz?” Matt pulled a chair away from the table.

“Water, please.”

“I’ll get it.” Zoey was pretty sure she remembered where Gran kept that.

As she opened the refrigerator door and reached for the pitcher, she heard the front door open.

“Hellooo! Is anyone home?”

Matt’s head jerked up. Something in the look that he and her grandmother exchanged sent off warning bells inside of Zoey’s head. She heard a staccato tap tap tapping noise against the hardwood floor. Ten seconds later a woman appeared in the doorway.

Zoey hadn’t recognized the voice but she remembered the face.

Delia Peake.

“Liz, I thought you’d be finished eating supper by now.” Somehow Delia made the statement sound like an accusation. She leaned on her cane, her sharp gaze sweeping over the three place settings grouped around the steaming pizza. “This is certainly a cozy scene. Hello, Pastor Wilde.”

“Mrs. Peake.” Matt rose to his feet with a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

The circles of rouge on Delia’s cheeks deepened in color and expanded. “I brought over the new pattern that Esther picked out for our next knitting project.”

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble, Delia,” Liz protested.

“It was no trouble at all.” Delia might have been speaking to Gran, but she was looking straight at Zoey. As if she couldn’t believe she was really there.

“You remember my granddaughter, Zoey,” Gran said.

“Hello.” The frosty look on Delia’s face said that yes, she remembered her.

“Mrs. Peake.”

They both remembered.

Delia had been opposed to Zoey moving in with her grandparents right from the start, arguing that a teenage granddaughter, and a rebellious one at that, would only turn their lives upside down. It hadn’t helped that all her fears had come to pass, and then some.

She knew that people like Delia Peake would regard her with suspicion. People believed what they wanted to believe. Zoey had discovered that following the accident. It had been easier to lay blame on the Decker’s troubled granddaughter, an “outsider,” rather than on Tyler Curtis, the charming, popular teenage quarterback who’d grown up in Mirror Lake.

Even now, the memory continued to cast a shadow over Zoey’s life. Her physical injuries from the accident had healed within weeks. The bruises on her soul were taking longer.

Zoey had resented Delia’s interference at the time, but now she understood the woman’s concern stemmed from her longstanding friendship with Gran.

It was natural to want to protect the people you cared about.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy seeing her grandmother’s friends again, but facing Delia was even more difficult than Zoey had imagined.

One step forward, right, Lord?

She took a deep breath, set the water pitcher down on the table and summoned a smile. “Would you like to join us for dinner, Mrs. Peake? We have plenty.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Zoey saw that Matt looked as taken aback by the invitation as her grandmother.

“Join you? Well.” Delia leaned on the word. “I’m afraid I can’t. My son will be stopping over tonight to fix a leaky faucet in the bathroom. But…thank you.” She cleared her throat. “And Liz, let me know if you need any help with the new pattern. You should have plenty of time to work on it because Esther is going to postpone our next meeting until you’re feeling better.”

“That’s very sweet, but I don’t expect everyone to tailor their schedule to mine,” Liz said.

“We don’t mind waiting. It wouldn’t be the same without you anyway.” Delia’s expression softened.

“You could meet here.”

Three pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

Oh, no. She’d actually said it out loud.

Nice going, Zoey. So much for your plan to avoid people. But that didn’t mean she wanted Gran to be cut off from her friends and some of the activities she enjoyed.

She could always…hide.

“Here?” A thoughtful look came into her grandmother’s eyes.

“Why not?” Zoey said faintly, although she could come up with a hundred reasons. None of which had come to mind, of course, when she’d made the impulsive suggestion.

“Delia?” Liz’s gaze shifted to her friend.

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.