Mom Over Miami Part 7

"And just how do you propose to do that, after what you've done?"

"How about if I tell you the paper wants you as a regular contributor?"

"Doing what?"

"Your column, dope. 'Nacho Mama's House.'"

Hannah leaned against the wall and stared into her stark, disused kitchen. "Did you have to call it that?"

"It's cute."

Hannah groaned.

"Anyway, the paper can't pay much, but they will will pay. Plus the editor says he will personally try to make sure your work gets seen by other sources, so you might pick up some freelance jobs." pay. Plus the editor says he will personally try to make sure your work gets seen by other sources, so you might pick up some freelance jobs."

"Freelance?"

"Jobs, Hannah. Writing. It's what you always wanted."

"Isn't that some kind of kooky curse? For people to actually get the things they think they want?"

"The only thing kooky is you, if you don't try this. Come on, Hannah, you have to try. If you don't, you may regret it the rest of your life."

"Sadie, do you sell plots in that cemetery of yours?"

"Um, no, why?"

"Because you're just very good at it, that's all."

"At selling?"

"Yeah, and at helping people dig their own graves."

"What does that mean, Hannah?"

"It means..." She squeezed her eyes shut and silently echoed the admonition from Daniel again. "Peace. Be strong." "It means tell them where to send the check. I'm going to write the column."

CHAPTER 6

Subject: Opinion, please To: ItsmeSadie, WeednReap

Keep in mind this is a rough draft. Sadie be kind. April, be honest.

Things really are cooking at Nacho Mama's house!

Really! My son's soccer team won their first game this week! Not that they won the first game they ever played, but after weeks of playing they finally won one! Ha-ha!

To celebrate, I wanted to do something special, and since I don't own a platter big enough to allow me to spell out Congratulations in nachos, I decided to bake a cake. A fellow soccer mom is on her way over to pick it up this morning to take to practice today. Guess I'd better get stirring!

Ha-ha. Sorry to couch my column in a bad pun, but speaking of couches, our furniture should arrive this afternoon-thus my inability to take aforementioned cake to practice. Also my aunt Phiz-that's my father's sister, Phyllis Amaryllis Shelnutt Shaffer Wentz-sent word a few days ago to expect a surprise today. Something from China, I suspect. I only hope it's not food, because it might get crushed in s.h.i.+pping. That's the way the cookie crumbles. You know, China? Cookies? Chinese fortune cookies?

Well, if you haven't guessed it by now, I might as well come right out and tell you. I have no business writing a column on the misadventures of modern motherhood. I am a phony. I'm not funny and I can't write and most of all I can't write funny.

Please, be wise. Do yourself a favor-do us both a favor-and toss this paper into the recycle bin with this column unread.

What do you think of your great idea to send my work to the paper now?

Sam dragged a beanbag chair across the living room, plunked it down by Hannah, then dropped onto it like so much deadweight.

The purple faux-leather, two-for-the-price-of-one accessory sighed, then crunched softly as he settled in. They'd let him pick out the pair of so-called chairs as a last resort to give them something to sit on and add a touch of hominess to their barren living room.

"Did you say hominess or homeliness?" Payt had asked when they lugged the things in the house.

Sam wiggle-walked his chair closer to hers, stirring up enough static electricity to make a few of his hairs stand straight up.

She started to caution him about taking better care of the furniture, but one look at the green-according to Sam: "The exact color of lime Jell-O when you stick a flashlight in it!"-blob beneath her and she gave up.

Sam kicked his feet against the chair.

Hannah turned another page in the Bible that lay open in her lap. She knew he was bored. He'd told her so eleven times already, and it wasn't even 9:00 a.m. yet. The kid just wanted some attention, but between her writer's block and her I-can't-get-anything-right blues, she just didn't have the energy to entertain the boy right now.

Finally Sam leaned in to peer over her shoulder. When his chin touched the skin on her bare arm...

Pop!

"Ow." She rubbed the spot where the tiny electric charge had gotten her, then bent to give the boy's face a quick going-over. "You okay?"

"I'm bored."

"I know. But are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She went back her Bible.

"And bored."

She held her breath and tried to concentrate.

He leaned in more until his brown head obscured more than half of the book. "What'cha doing?"

"Looking up a new Bible verse that I think might work as my new encouragement."

He looked up at her, his nose crinkled. "Encouragement?"

"Motto?" That didn't really sum it up properly, either.

He shook his head.

"Okay, you know how Grandpa Moonie sometimes says, 'Peace. Be strong' to me?"

He nodded.

"Well, that's from the Bible. And my dad used it to..."

To make me feel like I could never measure up because no matter how hard I tried I never felt at peace and I sure never felt strong?

Unless anxiety-leading-to-inaction counted as a kind of peace, and hardheaded was the same as strong. Hannah lifted her gaze heavenward. "I just want to pick out a verse that fits me better."

"How will you know when you find it?"

"I don't know, hon." She sighed and closed the Bible slowly so that she could savor the smell of the leather and the rustle of the thin paper. Just holding the book gave her some measure of comfort, and she drew on it. "Truth be told, I'm probably just looking for a procrastination."

"Is that like a proverb? Where is it?" He slipped the book from her lap and opened the pages.

"What?"

"The Book of Procrastinations." The crisp pages fluttered as he flipped through, his eyes intent on the headers. "Is that in the Old Testament or the New Testament?"

"The Book of Procrastinations?" Hannah smiled. "Neither Old nor New Testament, sweetheart. Procrastination means putting things off. I suppose you might find those in the Book of Hannah."

"Show me."

"Oh, um, Sam, honey, I was making a joke."

"You mean Hannah isn't in the Bible?"

She blinked. "Actually, she is, but not as a book. Hannah was..."

"Show me."

Since Sam's arrival, Payt and Hannah had wondered how best to address what Sam's case worker had called "the nagging faith issue."

Being pa.s.sed from home to home had exposed Sam to smatterings of beliefs and nonbeliefs. More often than not, the other members of Payt's family had tiptoed around the subject altogether, trying to placate the ever-changing moods of Sam's heartbroken father.

Now Hannah was awed to have Sam climb up beside her, hold open the Bible and say so simply, "Show me."

A lump rose in her throat. This was it. The awesome responsibility of helping a child find the way. It humbled her-and challenged her. On a gut level she wanted to push him toward the Gospels, to make sure he heard and understood the gift of salvation through G.o.d's only Son. But that was not what he'd asked. He wanted to see the book that told of Hannah and her great love for G.o.d and for her own son.

"Where is Hannah in the Bible?" He prodded again. "I can't find the name in the table of contents."

"You won't find it there. Hannah is mentioned in the Book of Samuel."

"Samuel? That's like my name, Sam."

"Yes, it is. Hannah was the mother of Samuel."

"She was?" His eyes got big. He held the book to her. "Show me."

"Okay, give me a minute. I have to admit I'm a bit rusty with where to find a lot of things in the Old Testament."

Sam jiggled his shoes while he waited.

Hannah hurried, conscious of the possibility of more static buildup and another shock. "Here. Here in First Samuel, the very first story is about Hannah and how she thought she couldn't have children."

"Is that like you?"

"Well, yes, actually, there were times I thought I'd never be a mom." Then she looked down at him. "But I had faith, and now I have two wonderful children."

He didn't say a word to that, but concern colored his expression.

She read the story of Hannah's prayer for a child and of Eli the priest hearing Hannah's grief and telling her to "go in peace."

"Like you again," Sam pointed out.

"Uh-huh." Hannah s.h.i.+fted in the beanbag and read on about Hannah having a son, concluding with 1 Samuel 1:20. "'...and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel, saying, "Because I asked the Lord for him."'"

"That's not like you." This time the child spoke so softly she hardly heard him.

But his words imprinted on her heart.

Not so hard to do on a heart already tender from years of holding on to the very same pain-the fear of being unwanted. But Sam was not not unwanted. And certainly not unloved. unwanted. And certainly not unloved.

"I love you, Sam," she murmured, pulling him into a hug. "It's true I didn't ask G.o.d to send you to me. But I did ask Him to give me a family-and here you are."

"Me and Tessa," he said.

Ooooh, how she knew that tone. The double-edged emotions of sharing a parent's love. Did she have to tackle the issue of sibling rivalry right now?

Sam provided her answer. He squirmed out of her arms, grumbling something about not getting all girly on him.

The moment had pa.s.sed.

Sam leapt up and pointed to the Bible. "Did this help you with your procrastination yet?"

"Yes, it helped me procrastinate quite a bit." She shut the Bible and set it on the cardboard box they were using for an end table. "But in a good way, at least."

"Do you know what you're going to write about now?"