Page 72 of In a Word, Yes

I have my shallow moments. I can own this.

When I open my mouth to respond, hoping something witty somehow emerges, instead I hear my son’s voice.

“You definitely saidfunnily,” Chase says plainly. With Chase, facts are facts. He motions to the shelves still waiting to be stocked. “Are you sure you’re up to this, Lieutenant?”

I shimmy my eyebrows at Wyatt in a told-ya-so way, and now, I must say, he looks adorably contrite.

Possibly the last thing in the world I expected to witness here today was my almost-nine-year-old son dealing out a proper chastening to a sheriff’s lieutenant four times his size.

And now it’s high time I collect the items on my list and return to my own assignment. “Excuse me,” I say to Wyatt, plucking three boxes of pancake mix from the shelf next to him. Our arms brush lightly. There’s warmth coming off him and the faint smell of woodsmoke.

“Slacker,” I whisper.

For a few fanciful moments as I make my way back down the hall, I allow myself to wonder, What exactlyisthe lieutenant’s game? And if it has anything to do with Chase and me, what makes Wyatt think he’s up to it?

Twenty-Five

serendipity(n.): the phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for

Carly

An hour after I finish my speaking gig here in this fine brick church in Alabama with its arched windows painted white, the line for signed copies of my latest Bible study still extends beyond my view. Not that I’m monitoring the line. I purposely never do. Maintaining eye contact with each person, listening to whatever they’ve been waiting to share with me—this is what keeps me centered.

I love this part of the ministry. Hearing their stories of how God has used our ministry to impact their lives inspires me.

Today I’m hoping it’s the grist I need to find my way deeper into the new project. Wouldn’t that be something?You better believe my people at BeLoved Books are about to get a pitch from this here gal they won’t soon forget.

I’m grateful for Yvonne’s presence today. She’s standing close, opening each copy of the book to the title page, ready for mysignature. Leaving me free to focus on the conversation with the person in front of me. Each a beautiful soul.

“Let me switch that for you,” Yvonne says, replacing my Sharpie with a fresh one. “Need me to refresh your drink?”

I lay a hand over my glass of mint tea. “This is plenty, thank you, Yvonne.” Always best to avoid the need for a potty break in the middle of a signing event.

When I return my gaze to the table in front of me, a book has appeared there. It’s not the Bible study. It’s not any of my published books. The sudden appearance of a familiar worn pink journal defies explanation. I reach for it, dazed. Lift it tenderly.How?

The woman standing before me is substantial. Tall and broad-shouldered and buxom. Her leathered face is the rich color of my morning coffee, and there’s humor in her eyes. We’ve met before, I’m sure of it.

“Hello, Ms. Montgomery,” she twangs, sweet and low. Pieces click into place.

“You won’t remember me,” she says, “but you see—”

“Opal,” I say, breathlessly. I’m looking into eyes that could tell a lifetime of stories. The eyes of my seatmate on the plane home from Oregon.

She shakes her head and chuckles. “Well, isn’t that a fine thing, now, remembering someone’s name like that. Isn’t that something.” The woman lays warm fingers over mine. “Thank you for that,” she says. “Thank you, dear.”

Gripping the journal, I rise to face her squarely. “You ... you had my book. How did you ... I’ve been—”

“You left it in the seat pocket, ma’am.”

“But how did you know where to find me?”

She cackles. “Oh, Ms. Montgomery, now there’s a story. Nowthere’sa story.”

“Please. Call me Carly,” I say, knowing full and well her Southern manners won’t allow it.

“I ’pologize,” she says. “See, when we got off the plane in Dallas, you was ahead of me. Thought I could catch you and return your book—butlordy, woman, you shot right out of sight. And me slow as molasses.”

I vaguely recall a delay in my first flight. Then having to scramble to make my connection.