Chapter
Twenty-eight
It was bad enough her pottery was ruined. Now
Goldie had something else to cry about.
As
she drove toward Knotty Pine, the tears refused to stop. How could Ryan have
been so sweet to her, and the whole time he was in love with Elisa? It was so
obvious. Ryan had pulled Elisa into his arms—something he had never done to
Goldie.
Now
she knew why he’d kept his distance.
She
hit the steering wheel. Ryan was not a man to be trusted. Why didn’t he tell
her his parents were missionaries? He also failed to mention he wasn’t her
original blind date, or that he worked at the Blue Haven as a chef.
Mike
was right—Ryan was The Imposter!
Goldie
drove down Main Street. On impulse, she parked in front of the Kaffee Klatch. She had to talk to
someone, and Frieda would have the best advice. Grabbing her purse, Goldie
walked inside the restaurant.
Frieda
stood behind the cash register. She lifted an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with ya,
Goldie?”
“Everything.”
Goldie sniffed as she glanced around the crowded dining room. “But I see you’re
busy.”
“Not
too busy for you.” Frieda motioned with her head for Goldie to follow her.
They
walked to the back of the dining room, through a door marked “Employees Only,”
and into Frieda’s cramped office. A desk, three filing cabinets, and a sofa
crowded the small space.
Frieda
took a seat on the sofa and pointed to the other end. “Sit. Tell me what’s
wrong.”
Goldie
perched on the edge. “Oh, Frieda, I’ve had a horrible day!” She launched into a
narrative about her cracked and broken pottery, the missionary Elisa Hartwell
staying at her house, and then the discovery of Ryan and Elisa in each other’s
arms.
She
sniffed back her tears. “What should I do, Frieda? Just give him up?”
Frieda
sat back. “They must have some type of history together, but Ryan didn’t want
to see her at church.”
“He
totally avoided her.”
“So…”
Frieda spread out her hands. “It must be all Elisa’s doing. You told her his
house was just like yours, so she found him, grabbed him around the neck—”
“Why,
that little traitor!” Goldie sniffed away her tears. “She knew I was dating
Ryan, yet she searched him out. And now she’s staying under my roof! How can I
be in the same house with her? What will I say?”
“Show
her the love of Christ, Goldie. When He was reviled, He reviled not again. When
He suffered, He threatened not. Have that humble spirit Jesus displayed.”
“But
it will be so awkward!”
“I
know.” Frieda patted Goldie’s knee. “Face your problems head on, and God will
give you strength.”
That
wasn’t exactly the advice Goldie wanted to hear, but what else could she do?
Tonight was Elisa’s last night to stay in her second bedroom. Goldie couldn’t
ignore her guest.
Fresh tears filled her
eyes. “Guess I’ll go home and face The Traitor.”
“Now,
don’t think of her that way.”
“But
what if Ryan wants to date her?” More tears came, and Goldie grabbed a tissue
from her purse. “I was falling in love with him, Frieda. I thought he might be
the one.”
“And
so he might be!” Frieda stood. “Come. I’ll get ya a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee!”
Goldie moaned. “That’s not going to help.”
“But
it will keep you here at the Kaffee
Klatch. By the time we close, and you go home, perhaps the little
missionary will be in bed sleeping.” Frieda smiled. “Then, tomorrow morning the
pastor comes to pick her up. All you have to say is ‘goodbye.’”
In
spite of her tears, Goldie chuckled. “Frieda, you’re a sly one.”
* * *
Tomorrow
we’ll see Ryan’s side of this problem—the problem named Elisa. Until then, God
bless!
Lol, that's more like it.
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