A Wedding at the Orange Blossom Inn(8)

“So what is it?”

“Dorrie, we are meeting to plan what to make for our booth for the school fund-raiser. We did not meet to discuss my life.”

“Ah. So you’re troubled by your life. I know the girls are good. And Frankie is gut, too. So that only leaves you. What’s wrong, Emma? Are you finally lonely?”

Finally lonely?

There was no “finally.” She’d been lonely for years now, which was quite an accomplishment considering she was never in a room by herself.

Immediately, tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked at them furiously and told herself that she was simply frustrated by Dorrie’s rudeness. Not that her longtime girlfriend might have hit the nail on the head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dorrie. Stop pestering me.”

“I won’t stop,” she said quietly as their server placed their pie in front of them, each heaped high with freshly whipped cream. “Someone has to be completely honest with you.”

She was wrong, though. The trouble was that her two sisters, their spouses, her parents, and even Sanford’s parents were completely honest with her, too. They didn’t have the slightest bit of trouble letting her know that they expected her to always, always, always miss Sanford. And while she was grateful for their love and concern—and for the fact that they all lived nearby—she wasn’t as grateful about their constant need to give her advice, or their unwillingness to let her move forward. After all, it had been three years since Sanford had died of congestive heart failure.

Three long years.

“I canna speak about this now. And certainly not here, in the middle of Yoder’s.”

Dorrie shrugged. “The Lord picks the right time, dear.”

“He did not pick this time. You did.” And because she was so irritated, Emma shoved a too-big bite of chocolate pie in her mouth. As the decadent mixture of dark chocolate and whipped cream hit her taste buds, she slowly began to feel a little measure of calm.

“So, are you lonely?” Dorrie asked in her blunt way.

And just like that, her little bit of calm vanished. “I’ve been lonely. But that is what happens when a woman loses her husband.”

“You’ve been mourning. I think there’s a difference.”

“I didn’t know you were such an expert.”

“I’m not. But I am an expert on my best friend. What has happened recently that put you in this mood?”

“I’m not sure.” But of course she was. It was that long walk to her house by Jay’s side. That long walk where she’d chatted with a man and laughed. It was only after she’d gotten home that she realized she hadn’t compared him to Sanford. Instead, she’d been thinking that she liked his smile and had been glad he was carrying Frankie.

She’d also been thinking how nice it was to be around someone who understood what it was like to promise to love someone until death parted them . . . and then feel betrayed because death had come far too soon.

Looking at Dorrie, with her wide-eyed expression and her cherubic cheeks, Emma realized that she was probably right. She did need to talk to someone, and it needed to be someone she could trust. She’d known Dorrie since they were children, having grown up next door to each other in Pinecraft.

Perhaps the Lord had put them together today for this very reason.

Her friend was patiently sipping coffee, waiting for Emma to unburden herself.

“When Frankie ran away, the girls and I discovered him in the back of the Orange Blossom Inn. One of the guests had picked up a pizza and he and his boys were eating it on the back patio.” Remembering the pizza paw prints, she grimaced. “I mean, they’d been attempting to eat their pizza. But then Frankie had shown up.”

Dorrie’s lips twitched. “Frankie struck again.” Setting down her mug, she said, “How bad was it?”

“Frankie’s behavior?” Emma shrugged. “About the same as always. Though he didn’t throw up, so it could have been worse.”

“Indeed.”

“Um, anyway, the man at the inn with the pizza? He is a widower.”

“And he has kinner, too?”

“Jah, he does. Three boys.”

“Same ages as yours?”

“Nee. The oldest is almost twenty, I’d say. The youngest is about Lena’s age, give or take a year or two.”

“Where are they visiting from?”

“Charm, Ohio,” Emma replied. “But they did not come to Sarasota simply to visit. They are moving here.”

“Is that right?” Dorrie took another bite of pie.

“Jah. He said they were moving in another couple of days.” Her voice drifted off. So far, she hadn’t said anything of note or anything to warrant chocolate pie, but Emma knew Dorrie was used to her reticent ways. In the give-and-take of a relationship forged over decades, Dorrie merely continued her rapid-fire questions.