Read Online One Wrong Step by Laura Griffin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laura Griffin
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pink?”
“I think we can manage that.” Celie kissed her soft brown hair, and couldn’t resist inhaling the wonderful scent of baby shampoo. When Kimmy had first arrived at the Bluebonnet House last week, she’d smelled like urine and cigarette smoke.
Celie set Kimmy back on her feet. “You want to help me serve the juice?”
Kimmy nodded gamely.
“All right then. I’ll carry the cooler, and you can get the paper cups, okay?”
She followed Celie into the backyard, where several long picnic tables had been set up with paper napkins and plates. Chantal, the center’s slender, uber-efficient director, was placing a cupcake at each place. Like Celie, she had forgone the typical Bluebonnet House uniform of T-shirt and jeans today. Instead, she wore a sleeveless orange tunic and flowy orange pants that showed off her dark complexion. Her boyishly short haircut was contradicted by a pair of bronze chandelier earrings. Spotting Celie, she cleared a space for the cooler at the end of one table.
“We don’t have enough cupcakes,” she observed.
“I’ve got more in the kitchen,” Celie said. “And more plates, too.”
Thank goodness she’d thought to bring extras. Word of the party had spread, apparently, and a number of families Celie hadn’t seen in months had materialized out of nowhere. Now the playground was overcrowded, and Chantal was short a few Easter baskets. On the upside, many of the kids and their mothers looked healthier than when they’d last visited the center.
Kimmy plopped the stack of cups on the table and ran off to play in the sandbox. Celie watched her go, her heart aching just a little. Celie had taken Easter mornings for granted growing up. The holiday always meant new dresses for Celie and her sisters and festive egg hunts in her grandparents’ backyard after church. Easter was a happy time. Celie’s entire childhood had been happy, really.
It was adulthood that had thrown her for a loop.
Tom Gilligan sidled up next to her. The minister had changed out of the robes he’d worn for the prayer service into khakis and a golf shirt. “Nice turnout,” he said.
“Looks like.” Celie gave him a warm smile. Tom represented one of the many local churches that contributed to the center’s operating budget. “I can’t believe all these children. We’ve got at least three dozen.”
“Thirty-eight,” Tom said. “I bet you all can’t wait for the new rec room. When will it be done?”
“Last I heard, end of summer.” At least the crew didn’t work Sundays. Celie’s throbbing head couldn’t have withstood any hammering today.
“I’d better go help Chantal bring out more food.” Celie turned toward the house and nearly collided with her boss.
Who did not look happy.
John McAllister trailed behind her looking perfectly at ease in gym shorts and basketball shoes.
Shoot. An uninvited, unregistered visitor. An uninvited, unregistered male visitor, whose presence would explain the just-ate-a-lemon expression on Chantal’s face.
Celie’s gaze skimmed over McAllister’s tan, muscular legs, the pecs bulging beneath his T-shirt. She saw his mouth quirk up at the corner and realized he’d noticed her checking him out.
“Hey, there.” He strolled up and kissed her—right on the lips, right in front of Tom and Chantal and thirty-eight kids.
“Uh, Chantal.” Celie forced a smile. “I’d like you to meet John McAllister. A friend of mine.”
“We met inside,” she said coolly. “You didn’t tell me you’d invited a guest today.”
“Sorry. I forgot to mention it.”
Tom cleared his throat.
“Oh, and this is Tom Gilligan. Our minister. Well, not ours, exactly, but sort of—”
“Nice to meet you,” McAllister said, shaking Tom’s hand. Then he turned to Celie. “Looks like you’re on your way in. Need a hand with anything?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She led him inside and pulled him into the hallway leading to the administrative offices. “ What are
“I think we can manage that.” Celie kissed her soft brown hair, and couldn’t resist inhaling the wonderful scent of baby shampoo. When Kimmy had first arrived at the Bluebonnet House last week, she’d smelled like urine and cigarette smoke.
Celie set Kimmy back on her feet. “You want to help me serve the juice?”
Kimmy nodded gamely.
“All right then. I’ll carry the cooler, and you can get the paper cups, okay?”
She followed Celie into the backyard, where several long picnic tables had been set up with paper napkins and plates. Chantal, the center’s slender, uber-efficient director, was placing a cupcake at each place. Like Celie, she had forgone the typical Bluebonnet House uniform of T-shirt and jeans today. Instead, she wore a sleeveless orange tunic and flowy orange pants that showed off her dark complexion. Her boyishly short haircut was contradicted by a pair of bronze chandelier earrings. Spotting Celie, she cleared a space for the cooler at the end of one table.
“We don’t have enough cupcakes,” she observed.
“I’ve got more in the kitchen,” Celie said. “And more plates, too.”
Thank goodness she’d thought to bring extras. Word of the party had spread, apparently, and a number of families Celie hadn’t seen in months had materialized out of nowhere. Now the playground was overcrowded, and Chantal was short a few Easter baskets. On the upside, many of the kids and their mothers looked healthier than when they’d last visited the center.
Kimmy plopped the stack of cups on the table and ran off to play in the sandbox. Celie watched her go, her heart aching just a little. Celie had taken Easter mornings for granted growing up. The holiday always meant new dresses for Celie and her sisters and festive egg hunts in her grandparents’ backyard after church. Easter was a happy time. Celie’s entire childhood had been happy, really.
It was adulthood that had thrown her for a loop.
Tom Gilligan sidled up next to her. The minister had changed out of the robes he’d worn for the prayer service into khakis and a golf shirt. “Nice turnout,” he said.
“Looks like.” Celie gave him a warm smile. Tom represented one of the many local churches that contributed to the center’s operating budget. “I can’t believe all these children. We’ve got at least three dozen.”
“Thirty-eight,” Tom said. “I bet you all can’t wait for the new rec room. When will it be done?”
“Last I heard, end of summer.” At least the crew didn’t work Sundays. Celie’s throbbing head couldn’t have withstood any hammering today.
“I’d better go help Chantal bring out more food.” Celie turned toward the house and nearly collided with her boss.
Who did not look happy.
John McAllister trailed behind her looking perfectly at ease in gym shorts and basketball shoes.
Shoot. An uninvited, unregistered visitor. An uninvited, unregistered male visitor, whose presence would explain the just-ate-a-lemon expression on Chantal’s face.
Celie’s gaze skimmed over McAllister’s tan, muscular legs, the pecs bulging beneath his T-shirt. She saw his mouth quirk up at the corner and realized he’d noticed her checking him out.
“Hey, there.” He strolled up and kissed her—right on the lips, right in front of Tom and Chantal and thirty-eight kids.
“Uh, Chantal.” Celie forced a smile. “I’d like you to meet John McAllister. A friend of mine.”
“We met inside,” she said coolly. “You didn’t tell me you’d invited a guest today.”
“Sorry. I forgot to mention it.”
Tom cleared his throat.
“Oh, and this is Tom Gilligan. Our minister. Well, not ours, exactly, but sort of—”
“Nice to meet you,” McAllister said, shaking Tom’s hand. Then he turned to Celie. “Looks like you’re on your way in. Need a hand with anything?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She led him inside and pulled him into the hallway leading to the administrative offices. “ What are
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