The Risk of Loving Page 6

  Just then the kitchen phone rang and her mother asked, “Will you get it, dear? My hands are all gooey.” She held them up, wiggling her fingers.

  Coryn picked up the phone, listened for a few minutes then said, “Just a minute, please.” Holding the receiver against her shoulder she mouthed, “It’s Mrs. Prentis, Mom. Something about the Christmas Tea at the club.”

  Mrs. Dodge made a little face, then whispered, “All right, I’ll take it in the other room. Okay, honey?” she turned to the little girl. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said as she left the room.

  Coryn replaced the receiver then moved over to the counter, taking her mother’s place beside Ginny. Ginny’s face had a smudge of flour on both cheeks but she was smiling happily. “You come, too, Daddy!” she motioned to Mark.

  “I don’t know—” Mark shook his head.

  “Yes you can, Daddy, I’ll show you,” Ginny urged.

  “Come on, Mark, like the Little Red Hen, if you don’t help you don’t get to taste!” Coryn teased, winking at Ginny.

  “That’s right. Daddy.” Ginny giggled.

  There were lots of laughs and comments as Mark began to clumsily form the dough, use a cookie cutter to stamp out various shapes then decorate them. Urged on by Ginny he made clown faces and sprinkled colored sugar with abandon. The effects were greeted with enthusiastic praise by Ginny and Coryn.

  “I may have missed my calling.” Mark grinned as their batch of a dozen cookies was placed in the oven.

  By the time Coryn’s mother returned they were done and the baked results were viewed. Mark looked dubious as Ginny renewed her compliments. “I don’t know. Mine get mixed reviews, I’m afraid.”

  “Never mind. They all taste the same.” Coryn’s mother comforted him. “We’ve got enough batter for another batch. So Ginny and I will finish up on these. Maybe you could make us some tea to have with them, Coryn?”

  While Coryn put the kettle on to boil, got out cups and saucers, she asked Mark to choose the kind of tea from an assortment in a glass jar on the counter.

  As Coryn poured some milk into a small ceramic creamer she saw Mark glance in the direction of her mother and Ginny as their cookie decorating and animated chatting continued at the counter.

  “Your mother’s awfully kind,” he said, smiling at her.

  “She loves children,” Coryn said, then asked, “How is it you’re not at the paper this time of day?”

  “Ginny had an appointment with the optometrist so I took off some time to take her.”

  “I hope it’s not anything serious. Does she have to wear glasses?”

  “I don’t think so. The school nurse noticed something while doing routine testing. She suggested a doctor should look at Ginny’s eyes. She has something called a lazy eye.” He lowered his voice, “She’ll probably have to wear a patch over it a couple of days a week until it strengthens itself. The doctor gave me some stuff to read that explains the condition in layman’s terms. Which I haven’t had a chance to do yet.”

  The sound of laughter from the other two broke into their conversation. Coryn’s mother called gaily, “Your daughter has a great sense of humor, Mr. Emery.”

  “I know, and please call me Mark, Mrs. Dodge.”

  “All right, I shall. Are you ready for these delicious and artistically decorated creations?” She slipped down from her stool and brought a plate of cookies over to the table. Ginny jumped down and ran over, too.

  Ginny seemed so proud of her handiwork, Coryn found her sweet expression touching as she pointed out the cookies she’d decorated. “Oh, my—these are too beautiful to eat,” Coryn told her. The little girl flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

  The cookies were sampled and complimented lavishly. Then they were eaten along with the tea and a glass of milk for Ginny.

  When Mark finally said they’d have to leave, Clare insisted Ginny select a dozen cookies to take home. Coryn put them in a plastic bag for her to carry.

  Coryn walked to the door with them. In the front hall, Mark held Ginny’s parka for her, zipped it up, then handed her a knitted cap saying, “Thanks for a great time.”

  “And for the cookies.” Ginny held up the bag, smiling.

  “You did a wonderful job decorating,” Coryn told her.

  “So did you. I liked your Christmas tree the best.” Ginny said.

  “Thank you.” Coryn looked over Ginny’s head and met Mark’s amused expression.

  He took Ginny’s hand and said, “Well, thanks again.”

  As he started out the door, Coryn said, “By the way, Mark, we always have an open house on New Year’s Day starting around five. Stop by if you’re free.”

  Seeming surprised, Mark halted and then said, “Why, thank you very much.”

  As she closed the door behind them Coryn wondered, would he come? She realized she hoped he would. She would like to see Mark Emery again.

  Chapter Eight

  “Coryn! Wake up, dear.”

  Her mother’s voice and her hand gently shaking her shoulder roused Coryn from a deep slumber. Coryn sat up, blinking sleepily. When she saw her mother standing by the side of her bed, she came immediately wide-awake. Clare was deathly pale, deep shadows circled her eyes, her expression was pained.

  “Mom! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry to waken you, dear, but I have a beastly headache, probably a migraine. The medicine, the only one that touches this kind, is starting to have some effect, but it will keep me in bed for most of the day, I’m afraid. That’s why I had to wake you up. I need to ask a favor.”

  “Sure, Mom, anything. An ice bag for your head? Some tea?”

  “No, thanks, dear. Nothing like that. I’ll just have to sleep this off for a couple of hours. What I need you to do is go to the church in my place. I volunteered to help pack Christmas baskets for the needy.”

  Coryn reached for her robe, threw back the covers and searched for her slippers.

  “Of course, Mom. What time should I be there?”

  “At ten. It’s just a little after nine now.”

  “I can make that. I’ll jump in the shower and be ready in a jiff. Are you sure there isn’t something I can do for you before I leave?”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, dear, that’s all. That relieves me. I dislike not fulfilling a commitment. It’s such a worthy cause and so few show up to do the job. I hate to let them down. Now that you’re going, I can rest easy. Thank you, Coryn,” she said as she left the room.

  “No problem, Mom.”

  Coryn showered quickly, dressed in sweater, slacks. She peeked in her mother’s bedroom before she went downstairs and saw her lying with an eye mask on, already asleep. Good. In the past, Clare occasionally had this sort of debilitating headache, but Coryn didn’t recall ever seeing her look that bad. Could something more serious be the cause? Coupled with some of the other things she’d noticed about her mother, Coryn couldn’t help worrying. A slowgrowing tumor? That could account for some of it. Heavens, but she hoped it was nothing as serious as that! Only a headache, she assured herself.

  In the kitchen she drank some juice and poured herself a cup of coffee. Then took her mother’s car keys off the peg where she kept them and went out to the garage.

  Good Shepherd Church was only a short drive. Her mother was a faithful member of the congregation. Coryn had gone to Sunday school here and had belonged to the youth group in high school. At college Coryn had gone to chapel service but in the last few years she had not regularly attended church. Certainly not in L.A. There, Sundays were usually spent around the pool of their apartment complex or at brunch parties that had become a trendy way to entertain. As she pulled into a space in the parking lot, Coryn felt a little guilty, like the black sheep turning up at the fold.

  There were four ladies already working in the parish hall when Coryn entered. They looked at her curiously as she came in the door. Then one, a stout, gray-haired woman with sparkling brown eyes and a generous smil
e, greeted her, “Why, it’s Coryn Dodge, isn’t it? Hello there, I’m Mildred McCurry.” She came over, both hands extended. “Your mother called earlier to say you’d be coming.” Then she said sympathetically, “I hope she’ll be feeling better. Those headaches are awful.”

  She took Coryn by the arm and led her over to a long table where the other volunteers were working and introduced her. They were busy filling baskets from cardboard cartons filled with canned food, bakery goods, boxes of cereal and dry milk, bags of flour and other groceries.

  “You can work beside me, Coryn,” Mrs. McCurry told her. “I’ll show you the order in which we pack the baskets, staples on the bottom, crushables and perishables on top. Later, we check our lists. Families with children get a few extras, little toys, candy, some special sort of treat.”

  Coryn took off her jacket, hung it up and got to work.

  It was slow going at first, moving down the table following instructions as to what and how much went into each basket. She soon caught on and got into the rhythm. She had been working steadily for some time when one of the ladies called, “Break time.” The smell of fresh coffee permeated the room and someone had set up a delicious buffet lunch for the workers.

  “One thing about working for the church, you always get fed!” joked Mrs. McCurry.

  “It’s scriptural even,” declared a lady Coryn had been introduced to as Emily Austin. “Cast your bread on the water and it returns to you buttered.”

  “Emily!” remonstrated another volunteer. “That’s not out of the Bible!”

  “I’m paraphrasing,” retorted Emily, and they all laughed.

  Whatever the theological truth, there was indeed not only buttered bread, but a platter of cold cuts, three different kinds of salad, two pies and a maplewalnut layer cake.

  “Virtue rewarded,” commented Mrs. McCurry as she refilled everyone’s coffee mug.

  Although all the volunteers were her mother’s age or older, Coryn felt welcome and comfortable in this group. She knew they were all committed Christians and that a great deal of their life was centered in their church activities. She wondered how big a part this played in her mother’s life. It was something they had never really discussed. Clare just quietly lived her faith in everything. It was so much a part of her.

  Coryn felt a kind of emptiness inside, realizing that she had not developed more of those values her mother had tried to instill in her. She had neglected that part of her life during the last few years. No wonder she had made such poor choices, such wrong decisions, hadn’t been able to tell the difference between the counterfeit and the real.

  “All right, ladies, back to work. We’ve only got a few more baskets to go,” Mrs. McCurry announced.

  Shortly after they all returned to their posts, they heard dozens of feet scuffling along the corridor outside and children’s voices. Soon, from an adjoining room, came the slightly off-key singing of Christmas carols.

  “Hark, the herald angels sing!” quipped the irrepressible Emily.

  “The junior choir rehearsing for the Christmas program,” Dorothy, one of the other volunteers, explained to Coryn.

  It did seem to add a special touch to their work hearing them. Finally all the baskets were filled, tagged, ready to go to another set of volunteers who would deliver them on Christmas Eve.

  As Coryn got ready to leave, Mrs. McCurry said, “Thank you so much for coming to help us. It would have taken us much longer if you hadn’t pitched in with your young energy and willing hands.”

  “I really enjoyed it, Mrs. McCurry,” Coryn told her, realizing she really had.

  Outside, the wind was cold and Coryn hurried to her car. She was just unlocking her door, when she heard a horn tapped lightly. Turning, she saw Mark Emery sitting behind the wheel of his station wagon. He rolled down the window and called, “Hi!”

  She turned and waved. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for Ginny. She’s practicing for her big moment as an angel in the Christmas program.”

  “She won’t have to practice very hard, she is one.” Coryn smiled.

  “Thanks. I could ask you the same question, I mean, what you’re doing here?”

  “Actually, filling in for my mother,” she said. “Of course, we used to come here as a family.” She paused. “I always wanted to be an angel in the Christmas program but they always picked the girls with long blond curls.”

  “They’re more liberal about angels nowadays.” Mark grinned.

  “I certainly hope so.” Coryn stood there for a minute. But there really wasn’t anything more to say. “Well, I’m off. Merry Christmas,” she said, and got in her car.

  Mark watched her thinking he wished he’d said something more. Asked her for a date. Date! He hated that word. It seemed so juvenile somehow. But what else could he call it? He liked Coryn Dodge, he’d thought from the beginning she was someone he’d like to know. She was—well, a lot of things, and how else could he find out more unless he called her and asked her out?

  Coryn waved to him again after she’d backed out and passed his car. Funny, running into him again. Here, of all places. And to find out Ginny attended Sunday school at the same church Coryn had as a child. And that she was in the Christmas pageant.

  What a special guy Mark Emery must be. Obviously a great father. She remembered the reasons he’d told her for moving to Rockport. His values were certainly in the right place. Tragic about his wife. As she drove home, Coryn wondered what his wife had been like, Ginny’s mother. It must be hard for Mark doing the things alone that ought to be shared.

  From deep inside of Coryn came a longing for something, for someone to love, some fulfilling purpose to her life.

  January

  Chapter Nine

  Christmas came. Coryn tried to enter into the spirit of it but it seemed to come and go before she could grasp the real meaning under all the glitter, the music, the presents. She had received invitations to parties to which she went, some given by her parents’ friends and some by her contemporaries. She had a detached sense of not really belonging anymore. If she stayed in Rockport she would have to make more of an effort. But she wasn’t sure yet if that’s what she was going to do. She felt as if she was waiting for something. Direction?

  Underneath it all she found herself wondering what kind of Christmas Mark and Ginny were having. Had Ginny received what she wanted from Santa? Were the Three Wise Men in place? Had it been a day of sad memories for Mark?

  Preparations for her parents’ New Year’s Day party filled the week after Christmas. Her father had added several dozen people to the guest list. Names Coryn couldn’t place. When she asked her mother about them, she received a vague answer.

  “They’re mostly people he knows through Rotary and in business. I don’t know some of them. He wanted them invited so—” She smiled. “He’s testing the political waters, you know.”

  Coryn frowned. The idea that her father might run for the state assembly still seemed strange. He had a great personality for it—outgoing, gregarious, positive. But if elected, it would mean spending most of his time in Sacramento. She couldn’t imagine her parents giving up their home, their friends, their pleasant life-style here in Rockport.

  Well, it wasn’t her decision to make. The week passed quickly and suddenly it was the day of the open house.

  Coryn had a new dress—a rich blue velour with an empire waist, a scoop neck, long sleeves and a flowing ankle-length skirt—for which she had paid far too much. She had bought it thinking she would wear it to celebrate the new year with Jason. In the shop’s dressing room she had known it was the most becoming dress she had ever owned. But now Jason would never see her in it. To her surprise, she realized she didn’t care very much.

  She brushed her freshly shampooed hair to a polished sheen, applied mascara and sprayed on perfume. She gave herself a final check in the mirror and went across the hall and tapped on her mother’s bedroom door. To her surprise, Clare was still in her b
athrobe, standing uncertainly in front of her open closet. She turned as Coryn came into the room. Her smile was brief, tentative, her eyes anxious. “It’s the silliest thing, but I can’t remember what I planned to wear.”

  “I thought you said you had a new dress.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. How stupid.” Her mother laughed. “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached I suppose it’s all the excitement of you coming home and all the fuss of getting ready for the holidays and this party that’s rattled me.”

  Clare gave a nervous little laugh. “Did I tell you what happened downtown the other day when I was shopping? I went to write a check and couldn’t find my checkbook. My credit cards and driver’s license and everything. Imagine! I’d changed purses, taken it out and left it…” Her voice trailed off indecisively.

  “Sounds like something I might do!” Coryn said quickly, but her stomach tightened. It was an uncharacteristic thing for her mother to have done. Her mother was organized about everything. Take her clothes closet Everything arranged in perfect order by coordinating colors, shoes neatly stored in shoe trees, matching handbags on the shelves above in zippered plastic bags. It was her modeling training. Clare Dodge had been a model before her marriage. Her career had gotten off to a promising start, but she’d given it all up once she married Coryn’s father simply because he’d asked her to.

  Thrusting back a prickle of anxiety, Coryn said briskly, “Well, you better get ready, Mom. Dad will be pacing if you’re not downstairs to greet guests with him.”

  Coryn stepped inside the walk-in closet and looked around. She spotted a creamy silk dress, its draped bodice and long sleeves scattered with silver starshaped sequins. She took it off the clothes rack and held it up. “Is this what you planned to wear?”

  “Of course! How clever of you, darling.”

  Coryn had the awful feeling that unless she had found it, her mother would not really have known if this was the dress or not.

  Clare put on her dress and Coryn zipped up the back. Then her mother seated herself at her dressing table to put on her makeup. Standing behind her, Coryn watched as graceful hands expertly dusted on blusher, applied mascara to her eyelashes. As her mother picked up her brush to give a final touch to her silver-blond hair, her eyes met Coryn’s in the mirror. Almost as if her mother were waiting for her to say something, Coryn exclaimed, “You look beautiful, Mom.”