Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  When she joined him in the living room, she flashed a broad smile. “She said yes.”

  They climbed into the old van and Gordon cranked it to life. Between first and second gear, he clumsily tried to hold her hand. It felt like velvet in his. A large grin spread through her freckles setting off a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. If he was trapped in a primitive world, who better to spend it with than Bethany Brewster?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Rules of Engagement

  _________________________________________________________

  Thursday, 3:14 p.m.

  Brewster’s Ice Cream Shoppe

  Shirley relaxed in the front seat of the Olds while Gordy drove through McCormick’s downtown. Bethany sat in the back. Dalton and Samantha, with Grace in tow, had gone to Saint Luke’s to deliver chairs. She felt like a chaperone, watching the teenagers. Something had changed between them. She felt it as surely as she felt the desert heat pressing her into the sticky car seat.

  They were headed to the Brewster’s business. Milkshakes were on tonight’s menu, courtesy of the EMP. The hand-mixed treats in all sorts of flavors would certainly be a hit with the church members after dinner. It was either that or tossing tons of thawed ice cream down the drain.

  The sidewalks of Jefferson Street, framed with quaint boutiques, were crowded with walkers hurrying to get somewhere. Cast iron street lamps stood guard like ramrod sentries between the town’s residents and the dangers of the darkness. They’d held torches high with pride on nights past. Now they were lightless and dead. Would they ever brighten the town again?

  “Your dad is meeting us at the store, right?” Gordy asked Bethany as he turned on Main Street.

  “He said he’d be there by three-thirty. He had to ride his bike. Both our cars are dead.”

  “It’s strange how some of the newer cars start yet yours don’t,” Gordy said.

  “Other than fewer cars, the town seems normal,” Shirley said as she scanned the crowded sidewalk.

  “That will most likely change tomorrow,” Gordy said.

  “What do you mean?” Bethany asked.

  “It’s known as a normalcy bias. For the first seventy-two hours, people assume everything will return to the way it was before. They think the government’s got it covered. They don’t have a clue that the government can’t fix everything. Especially something like this.”

  “It’s good we’re having the meeting,” Shirley said. “Members should be warned. This thing could get worse. I’m glad we have you, Gordster, to keep us in the know.” She patted her grandson’s arm. He flushed and glanced in the rearview mirror at Bethany. Shirley smiled and settled back into her seat.

  Main Street bustled with activity. Bicyclists streamed through the intersections between a trickle of traffic. Brewster’s was less than a block away.

  “People might seem okay,” Gordy cautioned, “but if anyone acts weird, let’s get back in the car and go to your house. Agreed?”

  Shirley and Bethany both nodded. It had been two and a half days since the CME. Another night without power would heighten panic, Shirley was sure.

  Gordy turned into an alley that edged the back of the business. He parked near a massive steel door. They piled out just as Alan Brewster appeared in the doorway.

  “It’s good to see you, Shirley. How have you been?” Alan asked as they entered.

  “Better than I thought, considering all that’s happened,” she said.

  Alan led them to the deep freeze. Once inside, the windowless room felt crypt-like and chilly. Shirley shivered, wishing she’d worn a sweater.

  Stacks of five-gallon drums containing ice cream in assorted flavors lined the walls. The Brewster financial loss would be overwhelming.

  “Load up whatever you want,” Alan said. “It’ll end up spoiling anyway.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Brewster,” Gordy said.

  “Our contribution to the meeting. Shakes for everyone.” He gave a rueful grin, ran a hand over his face. “It’s better than letting it go to waste.”

  They loaded the trunk of the car then returned to the front of the store. Alan told them he’d need a few minutes to note his inventory for tax purposes. He pressed the button on his desktop computer and groaned. “I keep forgetting.” He grabbed a notepad and pencil and began writing.

  “Dad … there’s still a lot of cartons in the back,” Bethany said. “How ‘bout we put the rest on the outside bench by the front window. People passing by can take them home.”

  “Go for it,” he agreed.

  “I’ll make a sign,” Shirley said as Gordy and Bethany headed back to the freezer. Alan found a marker and piece of paper. Shirley wrote,

  FREE MILKSHAKES AND ICE

  CREAM SOUP - HELP YOURSELF

  Alan and Gordy stacked the cartons on the wooden seat next to the front entrance. Bethany found a prominent place for Shirley’s sign.

  Shirley stared at the display. A milk shake night for the entire town might be kind of fun during normal times. The iconic treat represented old-fashioned American comfort food. The kind you offer folks during hard times like a funeral or a crisis. Maybe it would help to cool inflamed tempers and the dread that boiled beneath the surface.

  Alan made sure all the doors and windows were secure before they returned to the alley.

  “May I ride with you guys?” Alan asked. “I can strap my bike on top if it’s okay with you, Shirley.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  He anchored the Schwinn with bungees, then everyone climbed inside.

  As they pulled out of the alley, Shirley glanced over her shoulder, to the store front. Two men had a grip on the last container and each seemed determined to keep it. They glared at each other. One of them squared up, like he was about to throw a punch.

  Gordy hit the gas and they sped away.

  ***

  Thursday, 3:40 p.m.

  Saint Luke’s Community Church annex

  The Way Up Is Down

  Mr. Brewster gestured to the church annex. Gordon eased the car over the gravel, pulling next to a chain-link fence. He shut off the engine and climbed out. The sun had begun its descent, still high above the western hills. Though darkness was several hours away, Gordon knew everyone would be hurrying, setting up for the meeting. Daylight was a commodity that couldn’t be wasted.

  Lugging stacks of ice cream containers, the group followed Mr. Brewster to a side door.

  When they entered the building, Mrs. Brewster was setting out paper goods on several folding tables in the back of the annex. She looked up and smiled. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “It took longer than we thought,” Mr. Brewster said.

  “Hello, Shirley. It’s been a long time.” Mrs. Brewster attempted a hug but multiple ice cream cartons got in the way.

  “Too long, Barb,” Grams agreed.

  “Where do you want this ice cream, dear?” Mr. Brewster asked.

  She gestured toward the kitchen. “Put as many as you can in the freezer. With the ice in there, it might not melt as quickly.”

  Gordon and Grams followed Bee and her dad to the kitchen where they unloaded before heading to the Olds for a second haul. After emptying the car they clustered around Mrs. Brewster who arranged rows of sandwiches on trays.

  “Your family just left,” she told Gordon. “They went to get another load of chairs.”

  Bee tugged at his elbow. Gordon smiled at her, a question in his eyes.

  “Gordster and I will be back in a few, Mom,” Bethany said. She led him outside.

  ***

  “What can I do to help?” Shirley asked. Those two couldn’t get into any trouble at the church. She hoped.

  “Amanda dropped off some cooked meat. It’s in the freezer. You can help me make more sandwiches.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  When Shirley entered the expansive kitchen, waning sun streamed through win
dows above the stainless-steel double sinks. A large freezer and two refrigerators, their electric life blood now gone, stood like vertical corpses. Notably absent were the hum of motors and the buzz from florescent bulbs. A couple of large coffee urns, surrounded by boxes containing sugar and creamer powder, wouldn’t perk for a long time. Maybe ever.

  To think this commercial kitchen had been the hub of church fellowship, bought and paid for by the generous givers of bygone eras. Now it contained a lot of useless equipment.

  Shirley twisted a faucet to wash her hands but nothing came out. She sighed and echoed Alan’s comment from the shop: I keep forgetting. A small plastic bowl in the sink was filled with water. She dipped in a paper towel and cleaned her hands before setting to work on tonight’s dinner.

  ***

  Bee tugged on Gordon’s hand, pulling him toward the back side of the annex which juxtaposed a wooden fence. “Where are we going?” Gordon asked.

  She spun around and stopped, then pressed him against a concrete wall. She planted a long kiss on his mouth.

  The moments there, his lips against hers, were like heaven. It took everything in him to pull away. Gordon looked toward the parking lot. “Bee … your dad could be anywhere.”

  “That’s why we're being sneaky!” Her lips found his again. Her mouth was like honey.

  “Let me talk with him first.” Gordon wriggled free. Though he was larger and stronger, suddenly his body felt like Jell-O.

  She looked at him curiously. “You’re not handsy like those Falcon guys, Gordster.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No.” She snuggled close and gazed up at him. “It’s exactly why I like you.”

  He’d seen those football jocks leering at her while she did her cheers. He’d wanted to punch them out. He almost did one time when one of them made an off-color joke about her cheerleading skirt. But Bee had laughed them off and walked away. He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets and given them a hard stare, before following her into the gym.

  “What about your dad’s no-dating-till-sixteen rule?” he asked.

  “Are we dating?”

  “I … uh … I don’t know. Are we?”

  He hoped so.

  He’d never gone on a date. With anyone, much less one of the most popular cheerleaders in the whole school.

  Although one time his mother made him take his cousin Jeanine to a 6th grade dance at school. That had been the “date” from hell. Jeanine, a self-proclaimed trend setter from Los Angles bragged too much and loved attention. About thirty minutes into the dance she’d abandoned him to a wallflower existence while she wiggled and synced with other kids doing the Macarena across the gymnasium floor. He didn’t count that as a date. It was a favor for his mom that still haunted him.

  When Bee raised her lips to his, he turned his face. “I need to talk to your dad.”

  “My dad’s stuck in the last century. He won’t understand.”

  “I still need to talk to him.”

  “My birthday’s only three months away.”

  It would require enormous strength to avoid those lips for three months. But silencing his mother’s voice would be harder. She’d taught him something that wasn’t found in any science book. To always be a gentleman and to respect the girl’s father.

  “You’re worth the wait, Bee. I’ll talk to him right now. Before my parents get here.”

  She drew back and pouted. “Do you think that’s a good idea?"

  “I hope so,” he said. “I better go before I chicken out.”

  She pecked his cheek, then opened the door to the kitchen. “See you soon. Let me know what he says.” Bee disappeared inside.

  ***

  In the back of the annex, Gordon shifted nervously in a folding chair next to Bee’s father. He could see Grams and Mrs. Brewster working in the kitchen, putting together sandwiches, drinking iceless iced tea.

  Mr. Brewster’s eyes bored into his. “How long have you had these feelings?” he asked.

  “To be honest, I’ve liked her for months now. I didn’t know until today that she felt the same.”

  “Hmmm …” Mr. Brewster’s eyes narrowed.

  “I know you have rules so I want to ask you …” He cleared his throat. He could do this. If he was man enough to date and kiss a girl, he was man enough to talk to her father. “So … do you think I could spend some time with her as … well … as more than a friend?”

  Mr. Brewster stared at him without blinking. Torturous moments ticked by. Gordy finally had to look away. Grams had a knife and seemed to be slicing sandwiches.

  “I hope I can trust you, son,” Mr. Brewster finally said. “You practically grew up at my house. As long as there’s no kissing.”

  “Kissing?” Gordon’s voice cracked, climbing part of an octave on the second syllable. Heat flooded his cheeks. Maybe Bee’s father wouldn’t notice.

  The older man folded his arms. “You’ve already kissed her, haven’t you?”

  Gordy rubbed the back of his neck. “Only today, I swear. I know we broke your rules. That’s why I’m here.”

  “That was the first good decision you made today,” Mr. Brewster said. A frown formed under his glare. “Mrs. Brewster and I will talk about this. In the meantime, you need to use some self-control. No more kissing. You may hold her hand in public. That’s it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll talk some more after I discuss this with her mother. ”

  Gordon took a deep breath as he headed toward an exit. He could almost sense Mr. Brewster’s eyes watching his every move as he walked across the long, empty room.

  ***

  Thursday, 4:45 p.m.

  Saint Luke’s Community Church

  Gordon watched as Bee and her parents approached, carrying folding chairs across the parking lot. He and Grams waited in a little patio near the sanctuary. They decided to have a quick meeting out of the earshot of church members who arrived early to help.

  Bee smiled. Her father wore a poker face. Gordon shifted, unable to keep still, sitting between Grams and Mrs. Brewster.

  After they unfolded their chairs, Bee sat down. Mr. Brewster remained standing. His arms were folded across his chest like a drill sergeant.

  “I gave your grandmother and Mrs. Brewster a short version of what’s going on with you two.”

  “I must say …” Mrs. Brewster chuckled. “I expected this much sooner.” She smiled at Gordon, ignoring her husband’s scowl.

  Bee’s father plunged into what seemed like a prepared speech about the dangers of young people with too much time alone.

  “Bedroom visits at either house are no longer acceptable,” he said “Public displays of affection should be on the conservative side,” he told them. “Hand holding okay. Long hugs out. No kissing. Not now. Maybe not until the wedding day.”

  “Daddy!” Bethany flushed pink.

  “I’m sure your father’s kidding,” Mrs. Brewster said.

  “He better be,” Bee said. “When do we?”

  “What?” Mr. Brewster asked.

  “When do we get to kiss?”

  “I’ll let you know. Gordon needs to re-earn my trust.”

  Gordon kept quiet about who kissed who first. No sense in jeopardizing the trust issue between father and daughter. He’d take the blame.

  “I will not kiss your daughter sir, I promise. At least not unless I have your permission.”

  Now … if only Bee kept her lips to herself.

  ***

  Close to five-thirty, church members trickled in. They carried dishes and drinks to share. Dad and the rest of the family had arrived. Dad enlisted him and Bee to unload more chairs from the VW.

  After walking across the parking lot, Bee dumped her chairs and grabbed his face, drawing him close.

  “Didn’t you hear your father?” He pulled away and stared into her sparking blue eyes. Gordon pressed a finger t
o her lips. “We’ve got to keep your dad’s rules. If we want to keep seeing each other.”

  “Gordy. How will he know?”

  “I’ll know. And I gave my word.”

  She pouted again and he had to fight the urge to press his lips to hers. With a flounce, she turned away, picked up the chairs again, and led the way to the annex. A Sunday school lesson popped in his brain as he followed her. He might have to be like Joseph and make a run for it. She was one temptation he didn’t think he could resist.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  The Church Meeting

  _________________________________________________________

  Thursday, 5:25 p.m.

  Saint Luke’s Community Church Annex

  Dalton leaned against the church bulletin board. Pain pierced his arm. “Ouch,” he yelled, jumping away. He twisted around. The offending push pin had lost its plastic tip. He perused the barrage of announcements attached to a cork wall.

  Some were so faded, they were hard to read. Seeing the hodgepodge of hand written and printed notices, the pot of guilt stewed inside.

  “Job needed … please call ... ”

  It was one of many. Others said things like, “Desperate for work … I have skills in ... ”

  “Yard Sale … this Saturday … Everything Must Go!”

  “Home for sale … lost my job …”

  His people were hurting. He’d never paid attention to the bulletin board before. He’d supposed it held only notices of teenagers offering babysitting and lawn mowing services. Maybe not reading the announcements helped him stay in denial that anyone had a need more urgent than upgrading their cars from last year’s model. Maybe it helped him think it was okay to badger congregants for money. Maybe it helped him keep his distance from hurting people.

  He sighed, leaned his forehead against the wall.

  He deserved whatever they had to dish out today.

  His family would experience real poverty soon. Gordy’s prediction of a life without electricity would equalize everyone.