Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

I returned my attention to the world beyond us. To the second sign that stood out in the now pitch-black darkness of the night. Two … I heard Julie and me saying from the backseat of the car, our voices the high pitch of children who had nothing but promising futures ahead of them.

Suddenly then I missed my sister. I missed her terribly, wishing that I’d not let so much time go by since we’d talked. Really talked. Even on the Sunday after Westley had asked me to marry him, I’d said hardly two words to her when she and the bum had come over.

“I should probably start thinking of him by his name,” I said out loud.

“Hmm?”

“My sister’s husband. Dean. I’m just thinking that, really, I shouldn’t call him the bum anymore.”

Westley hand squeezed mine again as he nodded toward the windshield. “Three.”

I followed his gaze, then smiled.

“What made you decide that?” he asked, his voice soft and kind and open-ended. As if he cared what I thought and why I thought it.

“I was just thinking about Miss Justine. She asked me why we call him the bum and, you know, around her it seemed out of line. Dean is a nice guy, really.”

“Maybe it would help if he were a little more financially secure. Did more than hunt and peck all day.”

“Maybe.” I looked forward again.

“I can see why your parents don’t like that so much.”

“Can you?”

“Sure. Parents—especially fathers—want only the best for their little girls.”

I smiled, grinning deeper on the inside at the thought of Westley as the father of our daughter or daughters. The ones we’d have one day. The ones he’d nurture and protect with every fiber of his being. I could see him so easily, there in my mind’s eye. Tickling them. Nuzzling them. Reading bedtime stories as their lids grew heavy from a day of play.

I gave another glance to the world and her possibilities. “Four …” I said, then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “We’re almost home.”

Chapter Twelve

My mother cried, of course. Soft and sniffling tears that nearly drove me to stand in the middle of the family room—my mother sitting in one chair, my father sitting in another, my fiancé and I perched on the edge of the sofa—and shout, “Never mind. Do over! Do over!” I nearly had to bite my tongue to keep from pleading with Westley to forget Odenville and Miss Justine and the doll house we’d first settle in. Never mind the throw pillows and the possible afghan and the front bedroom where the sun spilled through the window and onto what would become our marriage bed.

Instead, I looked to my father for his reaction, hoping to glean my next move from him, not yet depending fully on Westley’s. “Now, hon,” he said to Mama. “We raised ’em so they’d grow up and make a life of their own. Seems like this one is doing just that. And it’s not like they’re moving to another country, now is it?”

Mama worked her hands, then laced the fingers and squeezed. “May as well be.”

Westley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mrs. Middleton, I know this comes as a shock. And I probably should have warned you—” He looked my way before continuing his speech to Mama. “All of you. But I didn’t want to cause undue worry and stress. I knew of the possibility, but until we got there and I talked with my brother and sister-in-law and then, of course, Miss Justine herself, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure myself.”

A flash of memory came to me as he spoke. Me standing in the stairwell. Westley and Paul and DiAnn sitting at the kitchen table, talking in hushed tones of what Westley couldn’t keep from me forever. Then, just as easily, my thoughts reverted to Westley holding me near a dying fire. I could feel the pressure of the chair’s wood across the back of my legs. His splayed fingers on the warm flesh of my waist as he nearly took possession of what little mind I had left. I inhaled deeply. Swallowed the heat rising in me again. How many more days … how many more days … my brain clicked furiously until Westley’s words brought me back. “. . . fact is, I can provide better for Ali there. And Miss Justine has already found a nice house for us.” He looked to me again and smiled, which I returned.

“It really is the cutest,” I said to my parents, more than anything wanting to show solidarity between Westley and me. “And there is a spare bedroom for the two of you and …” I sent my attention to my father. “And, Daddy, if business ever takes you to Odenville, you’ll have a place to stay.”

Daddy nodded, his recliner rocking and creaking with the movement. “I go through there quite a bit actually.”

Mama ran her fingertips through the dark curls that crowned her. “I suppose we’ll need to get some things for the house,” she said, her hair now tousled, and her tone resigned to the finality of a decision she wanted no part of.

“No,” Westley and I said together. We laughed easily and he yielded the floor to me. “Mama, Miss Justine went out and got some furniture. It’s all set up for us. Right down to the drapes and throw pillows and I’m thinking that with the stuff we get from the showers, we’ll be all set. But—well, I was also wondering if maybe you could knit an afghan for the living room sofa and maybe even one for the bedroom. I can give you the color scheme and—”

“Why in the world do you already have a place to live?” Mama asked. “Complete with furniture and throw pillows and draperies?”

Westley cleared his throat as I pondered a question I should have asked myself already but hadn’t. Why indeed. Why hadn’t