Butterfly Dreams (A Christian Contemporary Romance) by Bonnie Engstrom

Author:Bonnie Engstrom
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications
Published: 2015-05-20T05:00:00+00:00

I blew it, Lord. I blew it. How was I to know what Betsy would ask me? I can change my plans. It will be a hassle, and a big expense, but I can afford it. Not to mention the others I’ll offend. Please give me guidance. I love to be needed, to be helpful, but this is the most awkward time to rearrange my plans.

Where is that Scripture she loves so much? Jeremiah? Something about the plans you have for me, not my plans, but yours.

TWENTY SEVEN

I guess you could say I was floored. What is that old adage about “never assume because—?” Never mind. As my Auntie May used to say, “Great minds run in the same gutter.”

I’m doing the thumb-twiddling thing again and, at the same time, slamming kitchen implements on the counter. (I’ve gotten really good at multi-tasking.) The metal spatulas don’t make the same pinging sound on the new marble countertops as they did on the old Formica ones, but at least there’s no chance of chipping. The sound is kind of neat, too. I’m drumming out my version of Dave Brubeck’s Take Five and fuming over my egotistical assumption Bett would welcome Noel for caregiving. “How could you be so dumb?” I say with teeth bared glaring into the reflection on the back of the copper bowl? I learned as a teenager forty plus years ago to never assume. Just as I’m slapping myself on my forehead, the phone rings.

“I am such a ditz.”

“Bett?” This time I do have to question since I’m not sure about the voice. It sounds like Bett, even showed her name on Caller I.D., but the tiny, soft voice isn’t like hers.

I can almost see the tears trickling down her face and rolling over the crevices of her caked makeup. That vision almost undoes me. But, before I, too, start to weep she bursts into joyful laughter. She must have the phone receiver tucked between her shoulder and ear because I hear her hands clapping gleefully, like after we sing a praise song at my church.

“What an opportunity! God is SO good. Noel’s room will be ready tomorrow.”

“Bett,” I try to keep my voice even and modulated. “I don’t understand. I thought you had plans to vacation in the Caribbean. I hope you didn’t change them for Noel—or me.” Truth be known, I hope she did. I feel this sort of leaden weight in my chest. Guilt maybe? Now I start to rationalize to myself. Bett goes to fabulous resorts every year. Surely, this was no big deal, just a diversion for her. No big deal. Yeh, Betsy, when did you ever go to the Caribbean?

Never.

~

I am such a wimp. Bett insists on having “her man” pick Noel up from the hospital and bring him to her opulent house. Turns out “her man” (originally stated as “my man”) is her faithful gardener, Roberto. I knew Bett didn’t have a chauffeur, but in my stress mode about getting Brie from the airport, and gleeful at not having to nurse Noel, I hadn’t given it a thought.

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