Mom Over Miami Part 6

"Really?" Okay, she had an ego-even if it wasn't a very big one. "You think I have talent?"

"Don't you think you do?"

"I...I try not to think about myself very much."

"And if that statement there doesn't prove you have a natural flair for drama and fiction, then nothing does."

Her mouth fell open. She couldn't blink, much less speak.

Then a primal, overwhelming urge filled her chest, until she thought it would explode. "I don't even know where to start with that remark, Bartlett. Do I tackle your implication that I do do think about myself all the time, or your bald-faced audacity in calling me a liar by saying my opinion is a work of melodramatic fiction?" think about myself all the time, or your bald-faced audacity in calling me a liar by saying my opinion is a work of melodramatic fiction?"

"Bald-faced audacity." He chuckled. "See, you do have a way with words...Bartlett. And for the record, I never said melodramatic melodramatic fiction or called you a liar. I just think your a.s.sertion is a bit..." He tilted his head, his voice trailing off. fiction or called you a liar. I just think your a.s.sertion is a bit..." He tilted his head, his voice trailing off.

"What? Tipsy?"

"No."

"Lopsided?"

"Ehhh, not exactly."

"Askew?"

"That one!"

"You're saying my thinking about your thinking about my thinking is askew? askew? How could you say that?" How could you say that?"

"I didn't say that. I'm not even one hundred percent sure what you said. But, hey, if the askew fits..."

"Do not try to kid your way out of this. I said I don't think about myself much, and you called that a pile of drama and fiction."

"Again, I have to defend myself. I didn't use the word pile pile. Though you are building it up much bigger than necessary."

She started to speak, stopped herself, started again and couldn't get a single intelligible syllable off her tongue.

"Shhh." He put his finger to her lips. "Let me help you out with this. I said you had a flair for the dramatic and for fiction. You've read and studied enough to know that pretty much all fiction boils down to a kind of fact cooked up into something more palatable."

"I don't know what worries me more-that you would compare my writing efforts to my cooking or that you are actually making sense to me." She pressed the heel of her hand to the center of her chest. Deep breath. In. Out. She made herself let go of the worst part of her instant physical reaction to Payt's seeming accusation. "Go on."

"Hannah, do you ever listen to yourself? Really listen?"

I try not to listen to myself too much. She discarded her initial response as quickly as it sprang into her head. Instead she chewed at her lower lip, raised one shoulder then let it drop in a halfhearted shrug.

"If you did, do you know what you'd hear? Aside from all the nice, sweet, smart and wonderful things you say-those aside, do you know what you'd hear?"

"I'm almost afraid to answer."

"Bingo." He touched the tip of his nose to show she'd gotten his point.

Then why did she feel so utterly confused? "Payt, I can't-"

"Bingo again! You are on a roll today!"

She prodded the gentle throb that had started in her temple. "I wish I had had a roll-all this nonsense talk is making me hungry." a roll-all this nonsense talk is making me hungry."

He laughed. "Listen. You said 'I'm afraid.' You said ' afraid.' You said 'I can't.' And if I'd let you go on talking, pretty soon you'd have added, 'What will people think of can't.' And if I'd let you go on talking, pretty soon you'd have added, 'What will people think of me? me?' Sounds like someone who spends a lot of time and energy thinking about herself, doesn't it?"

The dull throbbing intensified. "Do I really come off so self-centered?"

"Not at all." He slid his hands to the taut muscles between her shoulder blades and began to ma.s.sage. "Hannah, honey, it's not that that you think about yourself. It's you think about yourself. It's how how you think about yourself. That's the root of your difficulty. It's what's stopping you from just taking this opportunity and running with it." you think about yourself. That's the root of your difficulty. It's what's stopping you from just taking this opportunity and running with it."

The warmth from his hands penetrated her work-weary muscles even as his message sank into her worry-weary heart. "I wish..."

"Don't waste your time wis.h.i.+ng about it, Hannah. Think about it, sure. Pray about it, always. Then do do something about it." something about it."

"Really?" Could it all be that simple? "You believe I can do it?"

"I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. You are a woman of extraordinary abilities, Hannah." He swept his hand up to push her hair aside and dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. "And you're a mighty fine writer, too."

She tipped her head back and exhaled slowly. "You are a wise but sometimes wicked man, Payt Bartlett."

"That's why you love me."

"That's not the only reason why I love you." She unwound herself from his embrace and scrambled to her feet. Standing over him, she offered her hand to help him up. "But, my oh my, does it sweeten the pot."

"So, you're going to forgive Sadie for submitting your letters to the paper." He didn't ask. He summed up. Done deal.

"Not in a million years."

He stood and brushed dog hair from his dark pants. "But she's your sister."

"And she, of all people, should know better than to hold me up to the whole town's scrutiny. All our lives, Daddy embarra.s.sed us at every turn."

"He just acted like himself. You were the ones that let let yourselves be embarra.s.sed by it." yourselves be embarra.s.sed by it."

"Oh? How about when we were in grade school and he took on the whole Bouquet Belles system so that he could be a Garden Mother?"

"I think that's very sweet."

"And after our marriage ceremony, when he whipped a tin cup out of his jacket and asked everyone going through the receiving line for their spare change because the wedding had left him broke?"

"All in good fun."

"Fun? Maybe, but fun for who? who? Certainly not for me." Oops, she'd made it about her again. She cleared her throat and amended, "Certainly not for my Certainly not for me." Oops, she'd made it about her again. She cleared her throat and amended, "Certainly not for my sisters sisters. Oh, and speaking of sisters, how about a couple years ago, when he purposely defied and disgraced Sadie by marching with the twirling tots in the Memorial Day Parade dressed as a cross between Colonel Sanders and a patriotic clown?"

"Okay, your dad is a loon. We all know that." He threw up his hands, but his grin never faltered. "You'd think that fact would make it all the easier for you to go with this, Hannah."

"Well, it doesn't." She twisted her hands together and walked to the sliding-gla.s.s door to look out over her meticulously trimmed lawn. "My oldest sister is over forty and runs around town dressed like a safari guide. She spends Sundays digging in her 'garden,' which is nothing but the median strip of the parking lot behind her plant shop."

"Leave April alone. She's doing all right."

"And...my other sister..." It was petty and childish not to say Sadie's name aloud. And Hannah didn't care. "The other one other one runs the cemetery-and likes it!" runs the cemetery-and likes it!"

"My nana Bartlett used to say, 'G.o.d loves a cheerful worker.'"

"Of course she did, because she was saying it to the dozens of servants who would rather have had a living wage than a pittance and some words to live by." Hannah hated dragging his family into this. Wasn't hers hers bad enough? She sighed hard, and clenched her teeth. "Anyway, my point is that it's all well and good for my sisters to have the town chuckling over bad enough? She sighed hard, and clenched her teeth. "Anyway, my point is that it's all well and good for my sisters to have the town chuckling over their their antics, but it's not for me." antics, but it's not for me."

"Why not?"

She lifted her hand and lamented, "Because I'm supposed to be the normal normal one." one."

"Yeah, so? Where's the fun in that?"

"Fun? I don't want to have fun."

Wait. Had she really said that? Had she really said that? Everybody wanted to have fun. Everybody wanted to have fun.

And if, when they had their fun, they spread that fun around a little, what was so wrong with that? That was her daddy talking, of course. Easy for him to say. Despite his shortcomings, Moonie Shelnutt never had reason to doubt that he was loved and wanted.

Hannah shook her head. "No. No, I can't allow it. When Sadie calls, I will tell her just how I feel and warn her that I won't write so much as an instant message to her until I have her guarantee that she will never share another of my personal anecdotes with anyone."

"Anecdotes?"

"It's a word," she snapped.

"I know." He came up behind her and nuzzled the back of her ear. "A writer's writer's word." word."

Writer. Her? The thought sent a warm s.h.i.+mmer through her entire body. Hannah Bartlett, wife, mother, writer writer.

R-r-r-r-ring. The phone yanked her back to reality.

Payt gave her an innocent nudge. "You better get that."

"Me?" She bristled. "Why not you?"

"Because I need to go check on the kids, and mostly because it's your your future calling." He dropped a kiss on her temple, then turned to go. "Don't be afraid to answer it." future calling." He dropped a kiss on her temple, then turned to go. "Don't be afraid to answer it."

Her future? Her future didn't frighten her one bit. It was her past that always seemed to trip her up. How could Payt have lived with her so many years and still not know that?

"Hey! You play nice with your sister!" Payt's voice carried from the hallway through the empty living room.

R-r-r-r-ring.

Hannah took a step toward the children's rooms, away from the phone. "Is Sam playing too rough with Tessa?"

"Nope. I was talking to you, Hannah!"

"Very funny." She spun around, and before she had the chance to chicken out, grabbed the phone.

"Don't bite my head off." Sadie spoke first. "Just take a moment and remember your verse."

"'Peace. Be strong,'" she and Sadie repeated it together.

When Hannah, Sadie and April were little, their father had chosen a Bible verse for each of them. He probably had intended them as inspirations, but when a kid grows up having the sound-bite version of that verse thrown at them in every circ.u.mstance, the inspiration aspect starts to fade.

Hannah's verse was from Daniel, which she supposed fit-a lot of days her life did resemble time in the lion's den.

"'Peace. Be strong,'" Hannah repeated. "Too bad I'm not strong enough to reach through these wires and s.n.a.t.c.h you by the scruff of the neck so I could shake some sense into you."

"Me? What did I do?" Sadie's tone left no doubt-she knew exactly what she had done.

"What did you do? Only took my private thoughts and personal anecdotes..." A writer's word A writer's word. Payt's gentle prodding came back to her. "You took my letters and held them up for public ridicule."

"Ridicule? Hannah, do you know what people around here have to say about your work?"

Her pulse fluttered. For a moment she considered begging her sister not to tell her. She'd spent her entire life cultivating an image of quiet sophistication, of good taste, of grace, of- She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the side of the toaster. Her pale blue jeans bagged where the pudding-muddied water had soaked into the knees. Her hair stuck out every which way from Payt's running his hands through it. And the oversize bright green s.h.i.+rt meant to show off the skin tone she worked daily to keep perfect had baby spit-up on the shoulder. Grace. Sophistication.

Hannah laughed, more like a whimper really than a laugh, but still she served up a mincing smile as she asked her sister, "What do people around there say when they read about my life, Sadie? Do they say, 'Poor Hannah, tell her we're all praying for her swift return to sanity'?"

"Hardly."

"You mean they aren't praying for me?" Obviously they had never seen her after a day working in the nursery. She squared her shoulders. "That isn't very nice. You'd think someone would at least-"

"Hannah, stop talking about yourself and listen to me. I I want to talk about you." want to talk about you."

"Okay." It wasn't the kind of thing she could argue with, could she?

"Here's what people tell me when they read your work-Hannah is so bright, so talented. We always knew she'd end up doing something creative."

"Really?"

"Really. The day after they print one of your pieces, I have to put up with it all day long-Hannah, Hannah, Hannah."

"Wow! Wait a minute, after they print one one of my pieces? How many of my e-mails have you sent in to the paper already?" of my pieces? How many of my e-mails have you sent in to the paper already?"

Sadie didn't miss a beat in her rant, much less bother to respond to Hannah's question. "And my favorite compliment-'Of you three girls, that Hannah has the best sense of humor.'"

"No way. No one says that about me."

"Yes. Absolutely yes. April and I are totally insulted, by the way. So much so, we talked about starting up one of those clown ministries to show everyone we we can make people laugh, too." can make people laugh, too."

"But, Sadie, I don't want people to laugh at me."

"Hannah, they aren't laughing at at you, they're laughing..." you, they're laughing..."

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

"Peace, Hannah. I called to make peace, remember?"