Page 29 of Fake It Till You Make It

“Some men are slow to learn the value of a good woman by their side. Some are too selfish with their grand plans to make room in their lives for real love. And some are just stupid. You ran into one of the stupids.”

“Oh, gosh, that’s funny.” The crying continued, but with intermittent fits of hearty laughter. Her mother would’ve been horrified at Amarie’s breakdown. She would’ve given Amarie a firm shake, dried her eyes, and lifted her chin. “You must think I’m a crazy person. Crying. Laughing. I’m a mess. I’m-I’m so sorry, Leah. Look at me, carrying on.”

Leah stopped. “I am looking at you. And you’re entitled to be angry, disappointed, impulsive, and unsure, Amarie. I’m angry with my husband.”

Amarie’s breath hitched in surprise. No, that couldn’t be right. “For dying?”

“No.” She inhaled, and then let her eyes drift closed. “Because nothing in life prepares you for death. The way we moved around each other—laughing, loving, worrying, raising three hard heads for thirty-five years—it just stops. No more memories. No more moments. We think heartbreak prepares us, but… there’s a second chance at love if we allow it.” She released a choppy exhale, looking over at Amarie. “I’m mad that he loved me completely for who I am. Spoiled me.” She smiled, a sadness weighing it down. “I miss sharing the insignificant details of my day with him. When I first lost him, it hurt to breathe. The air in my lungs mocked me because if I could, I would have given it to him. What was I without him?” she trailed off.

“And now?” Amarie asked, wanting the answer to the question she asked herself.

Leah shifted in her direction, their shoulders bumping. “Like you, I’ve decided to do more than survive. I want to thrive in this next chapter of my life. My Levi is a stringfrom a kite that never soars far from me, though. But, somedays, I give myself permission to fall apart.”

When did going to pieces become an option? Women had to be strong, bold, and put together. Amarie had to be every woman, but not a real person with feelings and emotions. How could she admit she wanted to punch, kick, and scream at the world? Why did she have to pretend she didn’t need help, when she did… a lot? Confusing, it all was.

“You think so? Really? That it’s okay to feel lost and fall apart?”

“With all these gray hairs under this color, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, I would hate for you to think badly of me.”

Leah chuckled. “So what if I did? How others feel about you ain’t worth a pillar of wet salt. My grandmother used to say that. And you know what?”

“Is this a challenge question? Because I’m terrible with coming up with the right answer when under pressure,” Amarie said, in all seriousness. At her age, she felt as if her understanding of the world amounted to Swiss cheese with a touch of mold.

“She was always right. Now, come on, let’s get home before one of these menfolk think we need a ride.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, you have a lot to learn about small-town dating. Riding in a man’s truck, that’s as good as going steady in Service.”

“Really?” She gasped in awe.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“No,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t.” Too many people she trusted in the past had. Leah also didn’t judge, whereas others had been verbose in their assessment of her shortcomings. And wasn’t that the best feeling, freedom to be imperfect?

So Amarie walked back up the mountain, with tears in her eyes and Leah by her side. This was the conversation she wanted to have with her own mother. Slim chance of that happening, but she guessed it was okay to cry with a member of the pack. Leah’s advice didn’t bruise or punish. It soothed with the healing strength of an age-old salve passed down through generations.

“Um… I’ll have to think about my strategy if I talk about the auction with Eli.”

“It’s your decision,” Leah patted her hand, “and we have time.”

“Oh, what should I do with the mail?” Amarie asked, reaching for her purse.

“You’re the office manager now. Open the clinic mail and sort it. Eli detests paperwork.” Leah’s giggle seemed more related to the past than the present. “So like his father.”

Amarie sighed in relief. “No problem.”

A day piled high with worry over cars, jobs, food, and a place to lay her head had ended with her surviving in the wilderness. For now, she had a home with the Calvarys. Mentally, she added it to her to-do list. First, get settled. Second, call Vali to spill the tea on today’s wins. Third, call her mom, who with their past history had to be popping Xanax skittles with worry. And finally, crack the spine on the licensure exam study guide. But she wouldn’t unpack because come morning, if she mentioned the auction to Eli, she’d have to find a new place to live… and work. What she needed to figure out was how to be indispensable to her new boss.

Chapter Eight

WEDNESDAY USHERED INa torrential storm, but it wasn’t a weather pattern. Eli dragged his heavy limbs through the darkened clinic, squeezing his temples, hopeful the pressure added would ease the pounding downpour between his ears. No such luck. Three rounds of drinks. Not Eli’s best decision. “Hey, office manager. Where are you?”

The news about the Pendletons and the mortgage had dampened the Calvary brothers’ usual revelry. Like a car barreling downhill without brakes, Eli’s confession, late as it was, had wrecked the flow of fellowship. Things continued to skid southward as his mind wandered to the friendly, resourceful, and generally delightful employee he never should’ve hired. A newcomer with no job, no vehicle, and no money. His family needed his full attention. Amarie’s situation added more weight to an already-unstable load. Best to part ways before more of her problems required a solution on his part.

Eli had made arrangements for a car tow. A parting gift that meant no hard feelings. Or tears. The darn woman should’ve asked for help. Kanaan had agreed to meet him at Hailey’s field, hitch Amarie’s Prince on the back of hisflatbed, and get it over to the repair shop for a diagnostic. Eli muttered under his breath. Naming a car, an absolutely unnecessary practice, yet very much an Amarie-ism. She had a lot of those, he realized. Purple dazzler. Random-idea generator. Biscuit temptress. Where was she, anyway?