To prove I’m a changed woman, I make a point to dress down, even though I now know Cameron’s schedule down to the hour. He works a half day Monday, long enough to go over any issues from the weekend, Tuesday and Thursday all day, and of course Sundays.
I don leggings, a long, comfy sweater dress, and pull my hair into a loose braid. It’s getting way too long, practically past my shoulder blades, and I put finding a new hair stylist on my growing list of to-do’s.
The drive to Grace Community is a 9.6-mile stretch of back roads and periodic stoplights. It takes me sixteen minutes to get there, even with the church located on the south side of Midlothian. Aunt Doreen’s wedding venue isn’t technically in the same zip code. My mail says Maypearl, but that tiny downtown is seven minutes away. Basically, I’m living in the middle of nowhere. And oddly, I like it.
“It’s a new day,” I practically sing to myself as I park my car. I’m even early by ten whole minutes. Yay me.
I use my security badge to access the building and take the flight of stairs to Ralph’s office, hoping I can get all three Bible study resource boxes downstairs before he walks in. Another sorting task, only this one involves data entry and Excel tracking, which I’m good at but seriously hate. Too many numbers exhaust me and slow down my productivity. Like a computer on ultra-download because my mind won’t forget one lousy decimal place.
My hope of a stealth entry is quickly dashed when I see the light peeking from under Ralph’s door. I knock quietly, dreading our interaction and wishing I’d never seen him pleading with his wife to come home. It’s an image that won’t leave me anytime soon, and one that plays all-too-familiar havoc with my heart.
The door swings open like a ghost is in the room since Ralph remains seated at his desk. The benefit of long arms.
“Good morning,” I say in my brightest, cheeriest, you’re-not-going-to-spoil-my-mood-today voice. “I’m going to grab these boxes and head downstairs and out of your way.”
He grunts. That’s it. A grunt. My giant metaphor is taking all kinds of warped shapes as I look at the man’s back. Wasn’t there some kind of golden harp in “Jack and the Beanstalk” that sang and gave the giant peace? Maybe I should send Cameron up later and have him sing “Amazing Grace” to Ralph like he did for me.
Somehow I know it won’t have the same effect. An over-email breakup after a shaky seven-month relationship is nothing compared to the demise of a twenty-six-year marriage.
I pull the first box away from the wall and pause when I find a photo frame trapped behind it. It’s the desktop kind, five-by-seven, and looks as if a child made it. The frame lies on its side, forgotten, but I can see the young family through the glass. Ralph and Victoria, two small boys, a baby, and a golden retriever.
I don’t know why, but I pick up the frame carefully, as if it were made of gold and not plaster, and bring it over to my grumpy co-worker. “You have a really beautiful family.”
Ralph looks up from his head-cradled position, his eyes turning their attention from the pages on his desk to my proximity next to him. He sees the picture immediately, and I swear his entire body deflates.
With a gentleness unfitting to his stature, the man takes the frame from my hand and stares at the glass.
“How long ago was this taken?” I ask because I fear if I don’t remind him I’m still here, he might start weeping.
“Almost nineteen years ago, at Easter. My oldest was only six.”
That means he and Victoria raised three small boys, who couldn’t be more than a couple of years apart. No wonder they’ve forgotten how to just be a man and woman now that the nest is empty.
“And the youngest? Where is he now?”
“Texas A&M. He’s studying to be a veterinarian.” The sadness in his voice sounds the same as it did in Victoria’s. Loss. Not like with a death, but more the end of an era.
I wonder if that’s what Mom’s feeling with my being gone, as if a part of her has been stripped away.
“Your wife must be an amazing woman. Three kids. I can’t imagine.”
If it’s possible, his face turns more somber. “She is.”
I go back to the box and heave it into my arms. “My mom always liked flowers. Roses, red ones.”
He twists in his chair, and I ignore the small narrowing of his eyes and keep with my nonchalant demeanor. “Did you know that January is the most neglected month for flowers?” I have no idea if this is true, but that’s not really the point. “No one ever thinks to send them. Which is a shame because it’s a pretty dreary month, and sometimes flowers just make everything better.” I make my final trek to the door, feeling rather smug at my crafty suggestion. Now, hopefully, Ralph is smarter than Jack’s giant and gets his wife a bouquet big enough to bring her home. “I’ll be back for the other two boxes once these are organized.” My smile is bright and innocent. “Need anything else?”
He shakes his head like I bashed him with a bat. Not really my intent, but if the man doesn’t stop moping and fight for his marriage, I may need to consider it.
My earlier decision to forgo the nursing home at lunch is tossed out the minute the elevator doors close. Not only will I read to Mrs. Cox today, but maybe I’ll also poke Victoria’s memory a little. I’m not going to let them throw away twenty-six years and a Partridge family like the one I saw in that picture.
Not when I know exactly what it feels like to have none of the above.
Cameron strolls in around nine-thirty, and I nearly jump from the desk chair and hug him. Not just because he’s become a beacon of light somehow, but also because this current task of tracking which classes want which Bible study material—small print, big print, Old Testament, New Testament, young adult, senior adult—is literally the most detestable job I’ve ever had. I mean, seriously, how many different ways can a person study the same book?
Doreen’s been a Christian for over forty years now. My guess is she can smack her hands together and say, “Yep. Done with this now.” Instead, she teaches, which . . . okay, yeah, is pretty admirable.
Cameron must notice my especially grateful expression because his brow shoots up. “You look ready to bolt. Like a trapped koala whose keeper just left her cage open.”
That makes me smile even bigger. “Why a koala?”
“I don’t know.” His neck turns a little pink, and my heart goes pitter-patter. “Your sweater’s fuzzy and it’s the first animal that came to mind.” I love that he blushes. It’s sweet and innocent and such a refreshing change from the men I’m usually exposed to.
“Well, you’re actually not too far off base.” I close the laptop and stretch. “I’m tracking all the Bible study guides the classes are using, and I think I may go permanently cross-eyed. Supposedly, it’s been a free-for-all the last two years, and now Pastor Thomas wants some accountability.”
He grimaces. “Yikes.”
“I know. Feel like distracting me for a while?”
“I’d love to, but unfortunately I have my own horrid task.”
“Do you? Maybe we can trade.” I slide up onto the top of the desk and cross my legs. Everything about the way I’m leaning toward him undermines my I’m-not-pursuing-anything mantra that’s been going through my head the last two days, but I can’t seem to help it. I’m inexplicably drawn to Cameron; it’s as instinctual as a moth to a buzzing electronic shocker and likely just as suicidal.
Yet here I sit, smiling, leaning forward, hoping the joyous high-on-life feeling I get around him never goes away.
“Not sure you’d enjoy this job any more than your current one.” He tosses his keys on the coffee table and slides his hands back into his pockets. “Every week we live-stream our services and then post it into our sermon history. This Sunday’s copy got corrupted somehow, so I have to go back in and recompress it.”
“A musician and a computer genius. Impressive.”
“Genius is taking it a little far, but I have learned some digital tricks, mostly for recording.”
That reminds me of what Margie said the first day. “You have an album out, don’t you? What’s the name? I’d like to download it.”
“No need. I still have about a hundred copies to off-load.” Cameron takes two steps to a filing cabinet and opens the top drawer to expose a pile of CDs. He grabs one and stares at it a little too long. Almost as if it hurts him to see a reminder of his dream.
“You okay?” I slip off the desk in an unsuccessful attempt at gracefulness and end up having to catch my dress before it sneaks up past my hips. Cameron doesn’t even notice, which confirms my concern.
Finally, he closes the drawer, plastic case in hand, and turns. His smile is there, but it’s lackluster, as if someone has sprayed film over a window and acts like the view is no different.
“Expectations can be very defeating,” he says as he hands me the CD. “We released this six months ago. All seven songs on here are original, and two of them even got some play time on our local radio station. My songs are tracks two, five, and six.”
“Are you singing them?”
“Only track five. The rest are Brent’s vocals.”
The plastic is cool against my fingertips, and I feel the significance of what he’s passing to me. His dream. His victory. And possibly his failure. A treasure even greater than the guitar pick tucked away in my leggings, though this one will not be so easy to hide. I press the CD to my chest. “I can’t wait to listen.”
We stand there, me staring up at him in absolute admiration. Him staring down in sad acceptance. Maybe we’re not such a bad match after all. He needs to be uplifted right now, and I need something to believe in.
“Are you still interested in giving me lessons?” The words flow before I can change my mind. Not that I want to.
“Very much.” He takes a step closer, if that’s possible. “Why don’t we start a warm-up session this Saturday?”
“Yeah?” I’m practically giddy, which is silly and exhilarating at the same time.
“Yeah.” He seems to like the idea more now than when he suggested it. “A friend of mine’s band is playing at College Street Pub. He wanted me to come by and see if maybe, I don’t know . . .” His voice fades as if he’s about to expose a secret he shouldn’t. “We can get some dinner and listen if you’re up for it?”
Dinner and live music. That’s a date in my world. I’m going to assume it’s one in his world, as well. “Sounds perfect.”
I back up a step, because now I have something to look forward to and I don’t want to spoil the moment. I jumped in fast and furious with my ex and lost my head before I ever hit the ground. This time I’m going to be wiser and maybe even play a little hard to get.
I keep the CD pressed close when I sit back down. There’s a happy swirl of anticipation and attraction in the room, and I think both of us are still blushing when he clears his throat.
“I better, uh, get to work.” He cocks his head toward the door, since all the video equipment is in the worship building and that’s where he’s supposed to be right now—not in the band room, flirting with me and making plans for the weekend.
I set the CD next to my laptop, having every intention to play it the minute he walks from the room, and scoot into the office chair. “Yeah, me too.”
“Okay then. See you later?” he asks with an adorable awkwardness. It’s so incredibly refreshing that I want to start giggling.
“Definitely.”
He leaves, and I watch the doorway for a good two minutes after it’s empty. Anywhere else, a man like Cameron would be haughty and arrogant. Would have women lining up in front of him just to kiss one of his dimples. But not here. In this bubble of a building, in this world that makes me feel encapsulated in a warm blanket, Cameron looks at me as if I’m just as worthy as he is.
I remove the CD from its case, slide it into my laptop, and hit track five. Beautiful acoustic strings begin a ballad, and the rasp of Cameron’s voice makes me close my eyes.
Hard to get? What a joke. He had me the moment I heard him sing that first note.
There are two dozen red roses sitting on the nurses’ station desk when I enter Serenity Hills on Friday. The rose heads are big and full, and I’m especially proud of Ralph for not going with the cheap grocery store ones like Stepdad #2 always did after he and Mom had a fight.
I lean my forearms on the counter and look for Victoria. She’s not behind the desk. No one is, in fact. Carefully, I move toward the bouquet and smell the rich scent, the soft petals tickling my nose as I lean forward.
No one has ever given me flowers, and for a moment I wonder if Cameron will on our date. I can already picture the buds popping from the vase, announcing to the world that January Sanders snagged the cutest, sweetest guy in the world.
A rustling of papers has me straightening as I watch Victoria return to her desk.
“Maybe he heard you after all,” I say, then realize a Hello, remember me from the bathroom? may have been a better opener.
“Maybe. It’s certainly in miracle territory.” Her lips move slightly into a smile she looks like she’s fighting. “What about you? No Band-Aids today?”
“Nope. Just comfortable flats and a date for Saturday.” That makes us both laugh, because it’s amazing what can change in just forty-eight hours. It’s also amazing how incredibly likable Victoria is compared to her broody husband. Maybe opposites really do attract and that’s why they’ve worked for so long.
“So does this mean you’re going home?” I ask, ready to make another check mark on my list of good deeds. Watch out, karma, I am on a roll. “You two can have a candlelight dinner and reconnect.”
She picks up a file and hugs the contents to her torso. “Oh, if only life were that simple.”
My chest caves as if she pounded it with a hammer. She didn’t see the way Ralph looked at that photograph. Didn’t see the heartbreak when he agreed his wife was incredible. These weren’t just flowers on her desk; they were an outstretched hand, a plea for his partner to come home.
“But the flowers?”
Her gaze softens. “They are beautiful.”
“Yes, they are. But more than that, it’s a gesture that he’s listening. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”
She shrugs as if she knows I’m right to point it out but still wants to remain stubborn. “It is.”
“Okay then.” I hit my palm on the counter like a gavel. “Call your man. If for nothing else than to thank him.”
Her gaze narrows, yet there’s affection in her expression. “You’re not the type to refrain from speaking your mind, are you?”
Her question sends a jolt through me. “Actually, I usually don’t say a word.” The realization percolates. “I guess I can’t accept your letting twenty-six years go.”
Victoria walks to her flowers and removes the card from its plastic holder. She hands it to me, and my heart pulses faster.
Ralph’s messy handwriting is quick and to the point, like him. I miss you, the card says.
I feel an inexplicable desire to cry. The kind of runny-snot cry that comes after watching The Notebook.
I clear my throat and hand the card back to her. “I think it is that simple.”
twelve
By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m convinced that Father Time has a master’s degree in torture. Fifty-five hours have never gone by so slowly, and yes, that’s exactly how long it’s been since Cameron asked me out on this date. Fifty-five hours, twenty-two minutes, and . . . I stop there, because knowing the seconds is a little too pathetic, even for me.
He just texted he was on his way over, and now I’m pacing my living room, stopping every third lap to check the mirror for obvious flaws.
None so far.
My dark hair is shiny and curled, a process that took well over an hour and gave me two finger burns. Worth it.
My makeup has recovered from the fiasco that was me trying to do eyelash extensions tonight. I can even see out of my right eye again,
which is a bonus.
My outfit is from one of those send-a-box services that comes complete with high heels, jewelry, and a handbag. It’s trendy and cute, and even though I have to suck in my gut because these jeans hug every curve, I do feel a little like America’s Next Top Model. Now if only I could stop falling off my shoes.
I check my watch, take a deep breath, and shake out my hands as I begin my laps again.
The sound of gravel crunching makes my heart plummet and soar at the same time. I itch to swing open the front door and fall into his arms like we’re cast in some cheesy musical, but I wait until I hear the car door slam and his footsteps on the front porch.
Mom always said to make the guys knock at least three times. If I get to one, I’ll pat my own back for monumental self-control.
The knock finally comes, and I swing the door open immediately after.
“Hey.” I know my voice is breathy and schoolgirl, but I haven’t seen him since the day he asked me out, and all my expectation is rewarded by his knockout smile.
“Hey yourself.” His gaze sweeps over me, and it’s like tiny feathers touching my skin. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He looks pretty amazing, too. Dark jeans replace his normal faded ones. There aren’t even frays on the pockets, which means he either just bought them or doesn’t wear them often.
I grin at the effort, hoping it means he’s anticipated this night as much as I have.
Cameron moves so I can lock the door, though the act does feel unnecessary since there is no wedding scheduled this weekend.
“This place is amazing.” He grips the porch rail and stares at the expanse of trees toward the setting sun. It casts an orange filter on his cheek that makes me want to pull out my camera and capture the image forever. He turns, and I jerk my head back to my task before he catches me staring. “We have time if you want to show me around?”
Love and a Little White Lie Page 7