Questions started, and she answered, and Farrah slipped to the back of the crowd, glad the spotlight was off her for a few minutes.
Meagan sidled over to her, her gaze still fixed on Audra. “You will go back to him, won’t you?”
“I don’t know, Meagan. I honestly don’t think he’ll take me back.” She hadn’t told anyone that she’d told Darren it wasn’t his turn to star in her life. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. No wonder he’d worn his agony in his eyes, his jaw, his tone.
“Oh, honey. He’s just waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me to what?”
“Waiting for you to admit that you’d rather be unhappy with him than happy with anything and anyone else.” She moved away, leaving her riddles in Farrah’s ears.
Unhappy with him…
Than happy with anyone else.
She was glad to be in the company of her friends tonight. Her question about hosting hadn’t been answered, but no one had thrown her out yet. She could rent the library or a room at the senior citizen center if she needed to. Or she could use someone else’s house and set everything up, order food, all of it. She didn’t have to live here to be friends with these women.
“Let’s get started!” Meredith called, and everyone headed over to the high table to get scorecards and pencils. Farrah joined them, her spirits lifting with the easy banter, the quick laughter, and the delicious Christmas cookies and dipped chocolates.
But phrases from that conversation wouldn’t leave her mind.
They love each other.
Of course they’ll get back together.
Farrah wanted to believe that Darren loved her. She was so close to liking herself that the idea was almost believable.
Almost.
chapter
twenty-one
Darren spentmornings in the house. Painting a bedroom that held no furniture. Making breakfast and then lunch for himself. Cleaning a bathroom. Installing a ceiling fan. He took his lunch out to the barn and stable with him, and he did a little work there each day too.
He had two cowhands to exercise and feed the handful of horses that he’d bought with the property. Sometimes he’d saddle Paintbrush and take the horse for a walk down the snowpacked road.
Afternoons usually found him out in the orchards. He didn’t have a lot to do with the trees in the winter, but he liked their skeletal branches and he wanted to keep his eye on his new maple saplings.
Once Farrah left, he checked on the boutique, making good mental notes about how the fish were doing, and the progress of the plants. He’d been surprised at how easily this place maintained itself, but he also knew Farrah and Audra and Meagan—who hadn’t quit yet—did an enormous amount of work he didn’t even know about.
But the boutique didn’t require much in terms of money, besides the occasional repair, which he could do himself.
In the evenings, after everyone had left the farm but him, he went out into one of the sheds in the backyard. Jim had once been a woodworker, and he’d left all his tools and machinery. Darren was slowly building himself a kitchen table, but he suspected the chairs would be too complex for his budding habit.
He watched videos online and he subscribed to a website that sent how-to tutorials to his email inbox. His hands found an easy rhythm with wood, and he felt certain that he’d be able to make beds and rocking chairs, couches and end tables, given enough time.
The scent of wood and shavings soothed him almost as much as riding Paintbrush or going to church. He hadn’t been into town on the Sabbath since he’d purchased the farm. It was a fifteen minute drive, and he craved his solitude.
Still, as Christmas approached, he felt called to go hear what Pastor Gray had to say about the Savior. Maybe then he could close this year up right. Find a measure of peace to hold onto. Discover a way to be happier in the coming year.
He stepped through the doors of the church the Sunday before Christmas to a mob of people. He’d forgotten how busy the building could get during the holidays. Ben had saved him a sliver of space on the end of the row, and Darren folded himself into it.
“Merry Christmas,” Ben said, beaming at him. “Rae wants you to come for dinner this afternoon since you’ll be gone on Christmas Day.”
“I suppose I can be persuaded,” Darren said, grinning back. “Is she feeling better?” He looked past Ben to Rae, who sat with her hand on her very pregnant belly.
She seemed a bit flushed, but she said, “I’m fine, Darren. Bring yourself and maybe some of those oatmeal cookies Ben has been telling me about.”
