Free Amish White Christmas Pie by Wanda E Brunstetter Page B

Most kids had a soft spot for animals, and Kim was certainly no exception.
     
    He grimaced as a rush of memories flooded his mind—memories of when Will was a little guy, seeking answers to countless questions and often begging for a dog. But Frank couldn’t give Will a dog because they were always on the road. To his way of thinking, it wasn’t practical to have a pet unless he could give it a good home. A boy needed a home, too—a place his father would return to each evening after work.
     
    “Frank, did you hear what I said?”
     
    He jerked his head in Megan’s direction. “What was that?”
     
    “Would you please pass the salad?”
     
    “Yeah, sure.” He handed her the salad, as well as the bottle of dressing.
     
    “How much longer do you think you’ll be on the road driving one of your trucks?” Megan asked.
     
    “That depends on how long Mitch and Ray are out sick.” He grabbed the saltshaker and sprinkled some on his salad.
     
    “Do you have to use so much salt? It’s not good for your blood pressure.”
     
    Frank gripped his fork so tightly that his fingers started to throb. Megan was worried about him eating too much salt, yet she fed the kids hot dogs four times a week. Where was the logic in that?
     
    “My insurance policy’s paid up,” he muttered as he forked some salad into his mouth. “If I die from eating too much salt, your financial needs will be met.”
     
    “Frank!” Megan pursed her lips and gave him her “You shouldn’t talk like that in front of the girls” look.
     
    Frank crammed another forkful of salad into his mouth. Fine, then—he would eat the rest of his meal in silence!
     

     
    As Megan watched Frank, she noticed how red his face had become. He was obviously upset about something, and she figured it wasn’t just her mentioning that he had used too much salt on his salad. More than likely, seeing the results of that Amish buggy accident today had brought back memories of his son. He’d probably been stewing about his past most of the day.
    When Frank finished eating, he put his dishes in the sink and headed for the living room.
     
    Megan turned to the girls and said, “When you’re done eating, I’d like you to go upstairs and get ready for bed.”
     
    “Can’t we play awhile?” Carrie whined.
     
    “After you’re in your pajamas, you can play for half an hour. Oh, and be sure to say good night to your daddy before you go upstairs.”
     
    As Megan did the dishes, she rehearsed what she wanted to say to Frank when she joined him in the living room. She had come up with an idea she wanted to share and hoped he would be open to it.
     
    When she entered the living room a short time later, she found him lying on the couch watching TV. “Mind if I join you?”
     
    “Be my guest.” Frank shifted his feet, making room for her to sit on the other end of the couch. “This new game show is really good. The contestants are expected to—”
     
    “Frank, we need to talk.”
     
    “Yeah, okay. As soon as there’s a commercial.”
     
    “I’d like to talk to you now, if you don’t mind.”
     
    Deep wrinkles formed in his forehead. “What’s so important that it can’t wait until commercial time?”
     
    “Our lives—that’s what’s important.”
     
    He muted the volume on the TV. “What about our lives?”
     
    “I think this whole fixation you have with Amish people and their buggies and horses needs to stop.”
     
    “I don’t have a fixation with the Amish.”
     
    “Yes, you do. Ever since we moved to Pennsylvania, all you’ve done is look at Amish buggies, talk about Amish people, and brood over the loss of your boy.”
     
    Frank pulled himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the couch. “What would you have me do—forget I ever had a son named Will?”
     
    “Of course not, but you don’t know where Will is, and you have a wife and two beautiful daughters who need your love and attention.” Megan sighed.