âWhat about you? You interested in having children someday?â
Ivyâs eyes filled with pain. âI donât think Iâm meant for that,â she mumbled.
âWell, that makes two of us,â he said, needing instinctively to erase that pain.
âReally? You donât want a family of your own?â
âThe way I look at it,â Ryan explained carefully, âI already have one. My students mean a lot to me.â He smiled. âYou might even say my devotion to my work has gotten a bit out of hand. I spend most of my time occupied with coaching, administrating and just spending time with the students. Some of them desperately need an adult who will listen.â
Ivy tilted her head. âIs that enough for you? Listening to someone elseâs kids? I used to think work was enough, too.â
âNot anymore?â
She pondered that before shaking her head. âNo,â she said softly. âNot anymore. Family is everything.â
says, âCamp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!â
The author of more than sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Fort Worth, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as sheâs been at it since the eighth grade! She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached at 1301 E. Debbie Lane, Suite 102, Box 117, Mansfield, Texas 76063, or via her Web site at www.arlenejames.com.
It looked just the same.
Ivy let the hunter green, barn-style door slowly swing closed behind her as she surveyed the homey lobby of the Heavenly Arms Motel. Hapâs old rocking chair still sat before the potbellied stove in the corner, and the game table, its surface worn by the shuffle of countless dominoes, still claimed center stage. On closer inspection, one of the black leather couches appeared to be a replacement for a former version, but it all felt just as she recalled, much more of a living room than a motel lobby, despite the chest-high counter behind her.
In nearly seven years, nothing appeared to have changed, not at the motel and apparently not in her hometown of Eden, Oklahoma. On the one hand, Ivy found that comforting; on the other hand, she prayed that this was not a harbinger of things to come.
The sound of a door opening made Ivy turn just as a petite blonde in slender jeans and a striped T-shirt emerged from the office to smile across the counter at her. Ivy masked her surprise, partly relieved and partly disappointed. Sheâd expected Charlotte or one of the other Jeffords. The presence of this small, pretty stranger demonstrated that some things had changed around here, after all.
âHello. Can I help you?â the blonde asked, swinging a chunky toddler onto her trim hip. Dressed in olive-green corduroy overalls and a bright yellow T-shirt, the boy twinkled blue eyes at Ivy, expecting instant acceptance.
Ivy smiled, despite the pang in her chest, and addressed the blonde. âI have a reservation.â
The woman seemed relieved. âThatâs good. Weâve booked a full house.â As she pulled a registration form from beneath the counter, she asked, âHere for the reunion?â
Ivy accepted an ink pen and began to fill in the required information as best she could. âThatâs right. The reunion.â More than one, hopefully.
âSeems to be a big deal around here,â the blonde went on.
That, Ivy thought, is an understatement.
The annual high school reunion, always scheduled for the Saturday before Easter, counted as one of the highlights of the year in the small town of Eden and had for as long as Ivy could remember. Tonightâs banquet would be the first that thirty-year-old Ivy had attended, however. In the twelve years since she had graduated from Eden Memorial High School, she had returned to her hometown only rarelyâand not at all for more than six years.
Truth be told, sheâd gladly have skipped tonightâs festivities, had they not been her excuse for returning after all this time. She trembled a little, recalling her fatherâs last words to her.
âIf you have any shred of decency left, you wonât ever show your face around here again. Youâve got nothing to say that I want to hear, so donât bother calling or writing, either.â