Restless Hope

Chapter 4

Beth

"Have a seat," David says from behind his desk. I sink into a cushy leather chair directly across from him and observe my friend. He hasn't changed much since our college days. If his trim figure is any indication, he has continued his ritual daily run over the years. He has laugh lines and a few gray hairs in his dark, wavy mane, but they only make him look more distinguished. He's not quite as handsome as Isaac, of course, but I suppose I am partial. As expected, he's wearing a uniform of t-shirt and faded jeans. He likes to buck tradition that way.

"I don't know why you wouldn't just let me email the application," I complain as I scoot the paperwork to his side of his oak desk. He has a matching set of bookshelves lining the walls filled with business books.

David grins.

"All part of my devious plot to get you to visit me. Seems like you're always too busy now." I shrug. We are both busy, and neither of us has maintained our friendship as well as we should.

"Um, Beth?"

"Yes?"

"You have a little something on your cheek. You might want to wipe it off." He hands me a tissue.

I pull out the mirror I use to powder my nose and realize the little something is a large dirt streak up my cheek. Nice, Beth. Real classy.

I had known at some point Isaac and I would probably cross paths. It was inevitable, with his grandmother living in the same town and all. I just never imagined I would be in my ripped up jeans and looking like I'd been playing in the dirt, which is actually a fairly apt description of the joy I feel when I'm working with my plants. I quickly wipe off the streak.

"Just so you know David, I'm turning in the application, but I'm not sure if I will have time for the competition. We are in the middle of moving."

"Hire someone to do it," David says. Right. How would that be to be a billionaire and with a mere snap of the fingers, order the world around you? Never mind that we've blown through our money reserves. To be more accurate, my father and sister have. I'm about as low maintenance as they come.

"Maybe," I say noncommittally, changing the subject. "How are Carrie and the kids?"

He makes a face.

"Don't ask."

"Oh no, what are you in the doghouse for this time?" I laugh.

"Carrie's mad at me again. You wouldn't believe the guilt trip she's putting me through, just because I had a last minute meeting and missed Sydney's dance recital. I dragged my sorry butt to the last one, and do you know, the little stinker laid down on the floor and refused to dance! I told Carrie it's bad enough that I shell out $150 bucks each month for lessons, another $300 for costumes and another $50 per person just to watch.

"It's these meetings that fund those expensive tantrums. You understand, don't you Beth? You know the importance of what we're trying to accomplish here. You wouldn't expect me to miss an important meeting with a man who flew over 5000 miles and has a three hour window to meet just to watch my daughter throw a tantrum."

"Oh no, don't drag me into this," I protest. "Carrie is the best thing that ever happened to you. Parenting is tough. I think she's just hoping for someone who will help carry the weight and enjoys being with the kids as much as she does. Besides, other than my own nephew and niece, you have the most adorable children I know. I would have gladly paid that money to see Syd throw her tantrum, and I would have loved every minute!"

"I know you too well. You would get a kick out of watching me crawl under my chair and die of embarrassment."

"That would be the best part," I say.