In the dining room, an aging air conditioning unit rattled nosily in the window surrounded by cracked plastered walls. The worn, pea-green carpet covering the dining and living room floors needed replacement badly. That was the next thing Hal wanted to do—rip up the carpeting—except he’d succumbed to a heart attack last month.
Now Tom felt more depressed than ever. The only consolation he found was thinking about Hal in heaven, walking the streets of gold with the Savior. His friend was in a much better place than here in this dumpy apartment, in this nothing little town.
Collapsing into the green, floral sofa and ignoring the ancient springs’ groans of protest, Tom thought about the stocks and bonds that Hal had left to him. He supposed he could cash them in, take the money, and run for his life. Leave Tigerton behind along with the nightmarish memories of his life here.
But where would he go? What would he do?
His mind parked in the same hopelessness as his physical self. But his past and this town couldn’t wreck his spiritual life. The Lord made sure of it and stuck closer to him than…than even Hal did.
Lifting his Bible off the coffee table, he opened it and flipped through the Psalms. He halted at Psalm 23. He’d read the passage at Hal’s memorial service.
The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures:
he leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul...
2
Amie had postponed this trip for as long as possible. She’d been dreading this day ever since she’d found out about her inheritance. Dottie said she was “in denial” and perhaps that wasn’t too far from the truth. Even so, she had tried to argue the point anyway.
“I’m a creative consultant. I am not a financial wizard, nor am I well informed about gas stations!”
“Then just sell it,” Dottie had said. “What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal?
Amie drove up I-94 thinking hard. Shortly after entering the State of Wisconsin, she drove on the outskirts of Kenosha, Racine, and Milwaukee Counties. The Interstate merged into I-41, and she whizzed by one city after another, watching that her speedometer didn’t go much beyond the 70 miles per hour speed limit. She passed farms, wheat fields, cornfields, and gently rolling hillsides dotted with Holstein cows. She relaxed.
An hour later, she was just north of Oshkosh when she crossed a long bridge spanning Lake Butte des Morts. Amie appreciated how the sunshine sparkled off the clear blue water as it cavorted around the several motorboats and fishermen. About fifteen miles later, she exited the Interstate in the town of Appleton and found her way to Highway 45.
What’s the big deal?
How could she possibly explain to Dottie and the rest of her family that after spending time in prayer and consulting with her pastor, she didn’t have peace about selling her uncle’s gas station? Her family members were not believers and Amie had tried discussing other important matters with them in the past...such as her college education. They’d never understood why she’d selected a Bible college over a state university. And, while her parents thought it was “nice” that she had her “religion,” her siblings made it clear that they didn’t want any part of Christianity.
Driving on, Amie passed more farms, more cornfields, and then drove through a host of small towns. Finally, she traveled the last stretch of Highway 45 into Tigerton, crossing the Embarrass River. Amie took note of the convenience store and gas station and wondered how her uncle’s rundown place would ever compete with a more modern establishment.
Another aspect to consider.
At last she arrived at her destination. She killed the engine and stared at her inheritance. Hot August sunshine bounced off the dingy concrete garage of Uncle Hal’s filling station. At one time, the building had been whitewashed, but it now stood in drab gray, chipping and peeling. But the wide garage door was open and several cars were parked on the lot. It would seem that something of a car repair business still existed.
Amie climbed out of her car and stretched the muscles in her legs while scrutinizing the exterior of the other building. It had always reminded her of something out of an old western movie, with its false, squared-off front that loomed higher than the roof of the second story.
“Can I help you?”
Amie startled at the male voice that came up from behind her car. She pivoted, and found herself staring into a pair of the most mournful, hazel-green eyes she’d ever seen.
“Yes, I, um, I’m Hal’s niece,” she stammered. “Amie Potter.” She smiled politely before adding, “That’s Amie...as in Amish. My mother grew up in Marion, the neighboring town, and I was named after her favorite art teacher.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.” The guy’s tanned, muscled shoulders moved as he folded his arms over a chest covered by what her brother called “a wife beater.” Shaggy, dark brown hair hung in waves past his ears. Parted down the side, it had long ago outgrown any particular style. “What do you want?”
“Um…” Amie couldn’t pull her gaze away from his rather attractive stubbly chin. What was wrong with her? She was practically ogling the guy. “You must be Tom.” How weak.
“Uh-huh.”
Obviously not the talkative type.
Several uncomfortable moments passed.
Amie cleared her throat nervously and tried again. “Any chance there’s a ladies restroom nearby?” Surely the gas station had one for customers. “I just finished a four-hour drive up from Chicago.”
Tom looked over at the decaying garage. “There’s one in there, but the plumbing hasn’t worked in years.” He shifted his sad, hazel eyes back to Amie. “You’re welcome to use the one upstairs in my apartment, though.”
“Oh, well...that’s awfully nice of you, but, um...” A shiver passed through her. The thought of going into a strange man’s apartment—especially if he intended to show her the way—brought on the familiar pangs of panic. She’d have to backtrack to the convenience store.
He slowly lowered his arms. His expression softened. “Well, listen, I’m refinishing a piece of furniture around back, but the door to my place isn’t locked. Go on up and help yourself. Bathroom’s right off of the kitchen.”
Amie’s next breath came easier. “OK.” Her body indicated she might not make it back to the convenience store. “Thanks.” Walking briskly toward the western-styled building with its green-speckled asbestos tiles, Amie entered the tiny, dank hallway and made her way up the narrow staircase. She found the lavatory easily and marveled at its interior. She imagined the place would be dumpy and dirty—as it was outside. Contrary to her assumptions, it was remarkably clean. She did her business and washed up. But, leaving the bathroom, she couldn’t resist the temptation to snoop around a little. Not touch anything, just…peek.
She owned the place, after all.
Her gaze wandered. So, this was the apartment Uncle Hall shared with Tom. Again, she was impressed by its tidiness. Nothing in sight seemed in need of dusting and the potted plants in the living room appeared adequately watered and healthy.
A far cry from her messy condo in Chicago. She’d left dirty dishes in the sink, the place hadn’t been vacuumed in at least two weeks, and any plants she’d ever owned died within a month of her care—or lack thereof.
If anyone dropped in on her unannounced, the way she’d done to Tom today, Amie would die of embarrassment.
A refinished cedar trunk caught her gaze and Amie recalled her sister’s pleading for the refinished antiques that added charm to this dilapidated dwelling. Little wonder Dottie wanted them. This, among other things, were objects of beauty. Amie reverently ran her fingertips across the smooth top of the chest that sat beneath the dining room windows.
“Did you get lost?”
For the second time in fifteen minutes, Amie jumped. This guy seemed to have a knack for sneaking up on people.
“Sorry.” Guilt heated her face. �
��I should have asked for a look around, although you did tell me to ‘help myself’, if I recall.” She gave him friendly smile, hoping to dispel any irritation he might have with her.
Tom tipped his head and narrowed his gaze. “I told your sister that I wasn’t sure who owned the furniture. Hal bought a lot of it and found the rest, but I fixed it up.” He looked around the living room. “After giving it some thought and a lot of prayer, I’ve decided that I don’t care what you take. Take it all, for that matter.” His eyes met hers and despite the discouragement in his voice, a slight smile curved his nicely shaped lips. “Except I don’t think you’ll get much of anything packed into that little, red hotrod of yours.”
Amie grinned. “I’ve got a newsflash for you. I wasn’t planning on packing anything into my...hotrod.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Who even used that word anymore?
Tom lifted well-toned shoulders in a careless shrug. There was something very disarming about the guy. Perhaps it was his sorrowful eyes. They were shaped like teardrops that had fallen sideways and gazing into their depths caused Amie to feel a great measure of pity for the man. He had the perpetual expression of one on the brink of a good cry.
“You miss my uncle a lot, don’t you?” she asked softly.
Tom’s nod was so subtle that Amie almost missed it, and for an immeasurable second, they both stared dumbly at each other.
Finally, Amie’s nerves got the best of her. “I never knew my uncle. Not really. I mean, he came to visit during the holidays and I remember sitting on his knee as a little girl. Once every summer, my family and I made a brief stop here in Tigerton to see Uncle Hal on the way to our lakeside cabin in Minocqua, but that’s about as much as I saw of him. And then, after I became a teenager and had my driver’s license, I was usually more interested in hanging around with my friends than visiting with an older relative. I don’t mean that in any form of disrespect. On the contrary. My uncle played an important part in my spiritual well-being.” She paused to inhale. “And now I sort of wish I had known Uncle Hal better. Maybe I’d understand why he left me his property and what he intended for me to do with it.”
A slow grin spread across Tom’s face. Then, much to Amie’s surprise, he actually chuckled. He had a nice, infectious laugh, and she noticed that his teardrop eyes were transformed into little smiles. A little thrill passed through Amie to think that she’d had something to do with the metamorphosis.
“Hal said you could talk circles around most women.”
Amie’s surge of joy turned into a huff. “Oh, he did, did he? Well, it’s too bad my uncle isn’t here so I could properly thank him for the compliment.”
“He didn’t mean it as an insult,” Tom assured her. “Hal thought it was funny.”
“I think it’s horrible. Not that Uncle Hal was amused by my chattering, but that I have to chatter at all.” She stuffed her hands into her jeans’ pockets. “It’s a nervous thing with me—especially if I’m around people who don’t do much talking. I guess I kind of make up for it. I talk for the both of us. Although, I’ve got to admit, my rambling does come in handy when I give presentations. Once I had to impress the president of an oatmeal manufacturer with my ideas on building oatmeal’s popularity with the general public—kids especially. That was really tough. I mean, what normal kid likes oatmeal? I hated it when I was a child. Still do—” Amie caught herself in mid-sentence. “See, I’m doing it again.”
Tom inclined his head and snorted a laugh. “Yep, you sure are.”
“You could shut me up, you know, by participating in the conversation.”
“Participate?” Tom raised dark brown eyebrows. “I haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise.”
Amie sucked in her lower lip, wishing she hadn’t made such a fool of herself. She sent up an arrow of a prayer that God would help her have a quiet spirit.
Tom’s expression turned somber once more. “You want to see Hal’s bedroom?”
“Bedroom?” Amie swallowed down a wave of panic—her other “bad habit.” Ever since that night three years ago, she was afraid of being alone with a man, except for family members, of course. Never again would she allow herself to get into a vulnerable position. The last one cost Amie her virtue and years of emotional trauma. Yet, it seemed she’d done exactly that: She’d let down her guard and here she’d been alone with Tom, a guy her sister called a “geek,” and a man her brother dubbed a “grease-monkey.” Worse yet, she knew practically nothing about him or his character.
“No, thanks, anyway. I don’t need to see any more of the apartment.” She gauged the distance between the doorway and herself. “I need to get going.” She marched toward the kitchen, heading for the door. “I have to go to the bank and check out some things. I’m sure you understand.”
Amie heard him silently trailing her which only increased the alarm pumping through her veins. Breathing quickly, she practically ran down the precarious stairwell and out to her car.
But as she reached it, Tom caught her elbow. “Whoa! Wait. Are you OK?”
By now, Amie was trembling, and she’d worked herself up so tears clouded her vision. “Yeah, I’m f-fine.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you upstairs or anything.” Tom’s lips moved upward. Earnestness glimmered in his eyes. “I thought all your talking was rather...refreshing.” His words faltered as Amie swatted the moisture leaking from the corners of her eyes. Maybe Tom hadn’t noticed them.
Except judging by his stupefied expression, he had.
“Are you OK?” he asked once more. Lines of concern creased his forehead.
“Oh, yeah.” Amie waved her arm as if erasing the incident. “I get this way sometimes. Must be stress or something.” After fumbling with her car keys, she managed to unlock the car door. “I’d better get to the bank before it closes.”
“It’s only three o’clock. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“Good.” Amie climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Need directions?”
She hesitated. “No, I’ll find them on my smart phone.”
“Why bother?” His elbow on top of the opened door, Tom explained how to get into town and described the location of the bank. “It’s across the street from the pharmacy.”
“Thanks.”
“When you come back, I imagine that you’ll want to see the books.”
Amie frowned. “Books?”
Tom dipped his chin. “The financial records for this place.
“Oh, right.”
He stepped back and Amie shut her car door. As she pulled out of the ramshackle gas station, she caught Tom’s confused expression in the rear-view mirror. He must think I’m totally nuts.
Amie followed his directions to the bank. It wasn’t far and she had no trouble locating it. She parked and made the decision to be more careful around the guy. He was, after all, a good-looking man. He obviously had male intentions regarding females—
Didn’t all men?
Amie killed the engine. And she needed to quit babbling too. However, she’d accomplish nothing without God.
“Claim a Bible verse,” Pastor Bryant had instructed during a counseling session about her anxiety attacks. She’d never revealed the reason behind them. No one in her circle of friends or church family knew and no one ever would. Only the perpetrator, his pastor, and the Lord knew the secret of her tarnished past.
Amie looked at her dash where she’d taped this week’s Scripture verse. She’d been trying to memorize Bible passages by writing verses on an index cards, then keeping them in her car. Presently, she worked to commit Philippians 4:6-7 to mind. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
Amie closed her eyes. “Lord of the Universe,” she whispered, “I’m coming boldly to Your throne of grace and declaring this passage as Your promise t
o me for that peace that surpasses all understanding.”
After several more minutes in prayer, the tension evaporated from Amie’s shoulders. Her hands stopped shaking. She felt surefooted again. Now to get out of this car without falling on her face or something crazy. She successfully climbed from her vehicle and strode to the bank. She had God’s promise. He was the Gentleman of all gentlemen, and always kept His word.
Be anxious for nothing…
She yanked open the bank’s heavy, double glass doors, her mind now focused on Uncle Hal’s safe deposit box.
~*~
Tom eased himself down onto the shaded concrete stoop outside the station and popped the top off a cold soda. Taking a long drink, he stared beyond the old gas pumps and thought about Amie Potter. She was as pretty as her college graduation picture, the one that sat on Hal’s dresser—maybe prettier.
He took another swig. Definitely prettier.
Her hair was the color of a golden wheat field and her brows were like two upward flaxen slashes above her cornflower-blue eyes. And her figure...well, he wouldn’t describe her as fat, but she wasn’t one of those skinny girls who looked as if they’d blow away with a gust of wind. No, Amie Potter was a substantial and shapely woman, one a man could get a hold of without breaking her in two.
Tom had to admit he liked that idea, holding Amie in his arms. But she sure acted weird up in his apartment. He wasn’t any kind of expert on women, with the exception of two younger sisters who didn’t count in the matter of romantic relationships, and he’d never dated. Women were foreign territory to him. Amie Potter, on the other hand, definitely fueled his curiosity in a way no female ever had before.
But what in the world happened to cause such a reaction in her upstairs? She went from babbling to running for her life. Who was she running from? Him?
Tom thought back on the last thing she’d said. Something about stress…
Could be.
Or maybe it was one of a girl thing. Girls worried about a lot more and got mad easier. His sisters, Lois and Jeanne, use to become barracudas at the drop of a hat. He’d almost been glad when they’d run off, one right after the other. However, such glee didn’t last long before reality set in. Lois and Jeanne had left him with an alcoholic father and two younger brothers to look after.
Her Hometown Heart. Page 2