Chapter 24
You don’t know how much a person has influenced you until you take a step away from them. As I sat there absorbing the generosity of my newfound friends of Robin Creek, I heard negative whisperings in the back of my mind.They’re going to fail you. You can’t depend on them. They only want you for Gabriella’s cooking.
Yet despite my second-guessing, my soul had witnessed and felt a genuine care coming from those women that couldn’t be denied. Their laughter, the way they hugged me like I belonged, the softness in their voices as they asked about my well-being—it was real. So as I strapped myself back into the seat belt to leave Eileen’s house, I deliberately shushed those negative voices.
“Be quiet,” I ordered them as I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. And all of a sudden, the voices didn’t sound like me anymore. They sounded like Eric. Like Terri. Like my mother. All this time, these thoughts about how no one would be there for me hadn’t been coming from me; they’d been coming from the people who’d surrounded me in the past.
But Gabriella wouldn’t have said those things. Eileen or the group, either. Their laughter, the way they hugged me—it was real.It was up to me to pick and choose whose voices I would allow to guide me.
What doesmyvoice say?
My thoughts drifted to the day of my wedding shower. It had been thirty-one years ago, and my mother’s house was packed with some family and mostly her friends, all gathered to celebrate my upcoming marriage to Eric. The living room was filled with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, gifts wrapped in pastel colors, and the unmistakable aroma of rose-scented candles my mother had insisted on burning. I’d been sitting in the middle of it all, surrounded by a mountain of gifts and smiling faces.
I remember opening each present with care, revealing toasters, dish sets, and towels with the initials of our soon-to-be-shared last name embroidered on them. I had laughed and giggled with my bridesmaids, feeling like I was stepping into a new chapter of life—one filled with hope and promise.
One of the church mothers—Sister Emma, in fact—had given me a book titledPraying Up a Good Husband. I thanked her the same as I had thanked everyone else for their gift, then handed it to my mother, who was recording the gift and giver in a notebook for thank-you cards later.
“You’re going to need it,” Sister Emma admonished as she chomped down on a chicken salad sandwich.
I remember thinking,Eric is already good; that’s why I’m marrying him.
Nonetheless, I nodded and thanked her again.
But it was my mother’s words that would stick with me, like a splinter buried deep beneath the skin. She said under her breath, “She’s right. People will disappoint you in ways you can’t even imagine once you really get to know them.”
Her words landed like a stone in my chest, heavy and cold. I’d tried to brush them off, telling myself she didn’t mean it—that she was just being cynical. But her tone, the certainty in her voice, had lingered. And though I didn’t realize it then, it was the seed of doubt that took root in my mind, shaping my expectations for marriage. It was supposed to be tough and rough, full of disappointment. And I was supposed to carry the weight—even spiritually—so we could succeed, per the gift from Sister Emma.
In some strange way, my mother knew. Sister Emma knew. They both knew the bitterness of their own marriages, and the patterns handed down from generation to generation, where men work and women work plus do everything else needed to make a marriage work. Thanklessly. Love-lessly. It was the unspoken rule of survival. My mother’s words weren’t prophetic so much as they were typical. And I didn’t resent her words; I’d received them.
Herwords, not mine.
I blinked, snapping back to the present as the warm evening air filled the car. The memory faded, but its effects lingered. The divorce had been the first real step I’d taken in shedding that mindset, the belief that love and marriage had to come with disappointment. But the truth was, the divorce was only the beginning of the transformation. I had allowed myself to settle for so much less than I deserved, not just because of Eric, but because of the voices—my mother’s, Terri’s, even Eric’s—that had shaped the way I saw myself. It was like I’d been wrapped in layers of expectations that weren’t my own, and now, piece by piece, I was pulling it off.
Now, as I left Eileen’s house, something shifted. A shedding of old skin. The way those women had shown up for me, the way theycared—there was no disappointment in sight. And it was up to me to decide whether I’d allow myself to accept that kind of goodness. And I knew just where I wanted to make my next move.
* * *
I spotted Richard just as he was locking up the door to his shop. My heart pounded a little harder than I expected as I hurried across the street, trying to catch him before he left.
“Richard!” I called out, waving.
He looked up, surprised, and gave me a slow smile. “Well, if it isn’t Ms. Joyce Hicks. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was hoping to catch you before you left,” I said, feeling a flutter of awkwardness rise in my chest. This wasn’t easy. I hadn’t asked for help from anyone in years, and especially not a man other than my husband. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. “I was wondering if you had time for some ice cream…and maybe…something else.”
Richard’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity as he turned the key in the lock. “Ice cream, huh? Haven’t heard that one in a while. What’s the catch?”
I fidgeted with my hands. “I need some help,” I admitted, my voice softer than I intended. “With the house. The renovations are just…more than I thought they’d be. I don’t have anyone else to ask, and I know you’re a problem-solver.”
He stared at me for a moment, clearly taken aback. “You want me to help you with your house?” His confusion was evident. “As a practice friend, still? Or is this more like…we’re…in each other’s lives now?”
“I—” I stumbled over my words, not sure how to navigate this conversation. “Friends are in each other’s lives, aren’t they?”
He turned away from the door and motioned toward the shop. “How about we close up here and go grab that ice cream? You can tell me what needs to be done with the house, and we’ll figure it out.”
I smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. The fear of rejection had been louder in my head than the reality ever was. “That sounds good,” I said, falling into step beside him.
As we walked, I noticed how easy it felt to be next to him. There was a quiet comfort in the steady rhythm of our footsteps, side by side. I hadn’t felt this kind of ease with anyone in a long time, and it surprised me how natural this seemed with Richard.
