fifteen
As far as girl dates go, this one is pretty phenomenal. Doreen and I have already hit five of my favorite stores, and despite my protests, she bought me three really cute outfits and two pairs of shoes. I even feel pretty in the new purchases, despite my eight-pound expansion.
Now my feet are warm and bubbly, and the massage chair I’m sitting in is doing its magic on the tension in my lower back. I mean, seriously, who needs church when you can get a pedicure at noon on a Sunday? Heaven on earth. Right here.
“Stop moaning,” Doreen says through closed eyes.
I poke her arm. “That was you, not me.”
“I can’t help it. How have I never done this before?”
Doreen is one of those women who visits the beauty shop every week for a wash and style. She goes to the same lady who’s done her hair for the past thirty years and gets her version of a mani-pedi at the same time, which is basically just a recoat of color and a little filing. I say you can’t call it a pedicure if there isn’t a massage chair, minty exfoliation scrub, and a hot towel.
“Because you live under a rock in a town of a thousand people.” Or at least that was what the internet said when I looked up the population of Maypearl.
“Got news, missy. You live under that rock now, too.”
That I do, and like her, the small-town mind-set is growing on me. Slow and creepy, like algae in a pond.
“So how was your date last night?” Her eyes are still closed, but a smug little smile is now on her lips.
I twist in my chair. “How did you know about my date?”
“Small-town privilege.”
I roll my eyes because she’s never going to tell me who spilled the beans, though I have a guess. Margie Singleton may be a rocket moving in a thousand directions, but she knows every little thing that goes on at Grace Community. Especially the social comings and goings of her favorite guitarist.
“Well?”
I roll my eyes. “It went fine. Cameron’s a nice guy.”
“And you’ve shared with him your feelings on religion?”
“No.” My chair suddenly feels uncomfortable. “But I don’t see why that’s relevant.”
“If you two are dating, it’s absolutely relevant.”
“We’re not dating. We drove in the same car and had dinner with some of his friends. It was no big deal.”
She turns her head and raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Did he kiss you?”
“Doreen!”
“What? It’s a fair question.”
“Yeah, if I was sixteen, not twenty-nine.” I mash my lips together and cross my arms. She’s ruining my happy hangover and my massage. “But no, he did not kiss me. Satisfied?”
She settles back in her chair and closes her eyes. “Don’t let that boy fall for you without him knowing the truth. It may not be a big deal to you, but for a Christian, it’s important to be equally yoked.”
Equally yoked? “What on earth are you talking about?” I can usually follow Doreen’s analogies, but this one is beyond me.
Her eyes pop back open. “A yoke. You know, the thing they put on oxen when they drive a plow?”
“You’re comparing us to farm animals now?” I start laughing. I can’t help it.
“Ugh. Never mind.”
Her exasperation makes me laugh harder until soon she joins me. The two of us make such a spectacle that our pedicurists start talking in another language to each other with their glances flicking in our direction. I imagine what they’re saying about us and it makes me double over. Tears sneak from my eyes, and pain shoots through my stomach muscles before I get myself back under control. “Thanks, Doreen, I needed that.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she grumbles.
“I know.” And because I love my aunt Doreen so much, I concede. “And don’t worry. If Cameron shows any signs that he’s getting attached, I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.”
We both go quiet, and I watch as the lady scrapes and lotions up my poor feet. The abuse I’ve put them through this week shows, and I vow to wear comfy shoes until all my blisters heal.
“Hey, Doreen?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Do you know Sandra Cox?” I don’t know why my thoughts drift to her. Maybe because the blisters make me think of Band-Aids, Victoria, and the nursing home. I know, my brain is weird.
“Of course I know her. She’s been a member of Grace Community as long as I’ve been there.”
“Did you know she’s in a nursing home now?”
“Yes, I did. We bring an audio recording of the sermons to our shut-in members. She’s one of the members on our list.” Why does that not surprise me? Just when I think Aunt Doreen couldn’t do more, she adds something else to her expansive repertoire. “But how do you know her?”
“I found a prayer card from her daughter.” I readjust, careful not to move my feet as the lady is now applying color. “It’s probably totally against the rules, but I’ve been reading to her since . . . you know, she’s going blind.” Oddly enough, I’ve come to look forward to the hour visit. Even yesterday, before my date, I went by for a quick pop-in, just because I didn’t want her to wonder where I was.
Doreen reaches over and squeezes my hand. “That’s incredibly sweet of you, Jan. Her story is a very tragic one.”
“There seems to be a lot of those.” I pick at my fingers, allowing my mind to drift to the hundreds of prayer cards I’ve memorized. “I never realized how many people are hurting around us all the time. But every day, Ralph is flooded with emails asking for prayer.” I shrug. “I guess it must be therapeutic in some ways to think a higher being exists when life feels out of control.”
“Therapeutic?” Doreen shakes her head much like I did when she was talking about the farm animals. “No, Jan. Prayer is not a feeling. It’s a power source, and those who tap into it get far more than a warm fuzzy. They get the strength to move mountains.”
“Then why can’t she see?” My question comes out harsher than I intend, but the thought invades my mind every time she has me read another chapter in Luke. Jesus healed the leper and the paralyzed man, so why not Mrs. Cox?
“That’s a good question. One I don’t have the answer to. Faith requires trust even when we don’t always understand His purpose.”
I snort. That word faith always seems to be their answer for everything they can’t explain. Including the whole earth being millions of years old, which is Mom’s favorite go-to whenever people start in on the religious talk.
“I just don’t really see the point if it doesn’t change your situation.”
Doreen pats my hand like she would a small, ignorant child. “Prayer is not about changing your situation, although sometimes God grants those requests. It’s about changing your heart. The difference between you and me, dear, is that when the bad times come, and they do for us all, I have comfort and peace. And I’m sure you’ve already noticed that Sandra does, too.”
I don’t have a rebuttal for that one because she’s right. Sandra has an eerie peace about her. Even when she’s complaining or admits her frustration, she always follows it up with some kind of positive statement.
My problems, especially in the last few months, pale in comparison to hers. And yet, after the breakup, it was a week before I could pull myself out of bed long enough to call Doreen and ask for help. Another week before I had the strength to pack up the belongings I’d only just unpacked a few months before. And seven more harrowing days before I finally left my ex’s key with the landlord. The only time I felt even a little comfort in that span was when Doreen picked up the phone, and the feeling dissolved the minute I said goodbye to her.
“You’ve gone awful quiet over there,” she says.
“Just thinking.”
Doreen reaches over and pats my thigh. “Good. You just keep on doing that. The answers will come.”
sixteen
When I walk into Grace Community on Monda
y morning, my stomach is a cageful of butterfly wings. I know one night does not a relationship make, but I still expected some kind of correspondence from Cameron. Even an I had a great time text would have been sufficient. Instead, I spent half the evening watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix and checking my phone every two minutes.
Determined to no longer be “that girl,” I head straight for Ralph’s office, not even allowing myself a peek into the band room. I can do aloof and unaffected.
Maybe. I hope.
At this point, I’d take anything above stalker girl, because that was how I spent the other half of the evening—looking at every picture and comment on his Instagram page. I have Cameron’s face memorized—the genuinely happy moments, the picture poses, even the pensive artistic profile shots that highlight the slope of his nose and straight chin.
My fingers tap my thigh as I wait for the elevator. Every inch of me vibrates with the need to walk backward, turn the corner, and demand to know if Saturday was a real date or not.
The elevator pops open and I rush inside, grateful to have the decision taken out of my hands. I press the second-floor button and settle against the metal wall, only to see the object of my affection turn the corner right as the doors begin to close.
The butterflies panic and so do I. I’ve never done indifferent very well, and since there’s only been one other guy I felt this strongly about, I’m pretty certain I’m going to fail miserably at it again.
“Jan! Wait!” Cameron calls and jogs toward me.
I stick my arm out just as the doors are about to shut, and before they’re fully open again, he’s there, only two feet away and pressing his hand against the seam to keep it open.
“Do you have a second?”
“Um, sure,” I say as if it’s a decision and not the best question I’ve heard all morning. I follow him to a more private spot near the restrooms. “Is everything okay?”
“Better than okay.” His dimples appear, and the torn-up deflated expression he wore most of the night on Saturday is nowhere to be found. Standing in front of me is the same joyous boy who handed me a guitar pick the day we met. I’m so happy to see this version that I feel the elation all the way to my toes.
“I spent all day yesterday praying about what to do with the band,” he continues, “and you were right. It’s too early to settle.”
Relief stretches through every muscle. “That’s great. I really think you’re making the right call.”
He steps closer and takes my hand. I hope he can’t tell that it’s trembling. Yes. This is what I’ve been reduced to in the presence of Cameron Lee—a trembling stalker girl who lives for his smile.
“You’re the only one who understood why I hesitated. The only one to remind me what my true dream is, so thank you.” He lets out a single laugh. “Everyone else is so ready for me to stop moping they’d probably encourage me to jump off a cliff at this point.”
Joining Bryson’s band would have been exactly that, but I don’t say as much.
“They just want you to be happy. Good friends always do.”
“And now I have one more person to add to that friend list.”
I smile through my disappointment. I don’t want to be just another one of his friends. “Yes, you do.”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “Well, I have to run. Brent gets moody if we’re late.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m sure Ralph is wondering where I am.”
“Okay. See you later, then?” He’s already jogging back toward the band room before I have a chance to answer, so I don’t bother. The question was obviously just a formality.
I trudge to the stairs, forgoing the elevator now that it reminds me of him. This is good. It’s better to know up front than to wonder how he feels. It never would have worked between us anyway. He’s the type to pray all day before making a life-changing decision. I’m the type to go visit a tarot card reader and believe her when she told me I’d already met my soulmate. That was twenty dollars and seven months I’ll never get back.
Ralph’s office comes into view quicker than I want it to, and chances are he’s likely as grumpy as I am. What a pair we’ll make today.
Only I become zero for two in my clairvoyant abilities. Not only is Ralph not grumpy but he’s also whistling while he works, lifting books from his overcrowded shelves, reading the spines, and then dropping them into one of two boxes at his feet.
I clear my throat, because this version of him is super unnerving.
“Jan! Great. I have a big project for us today.” He turns and smiles. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen his teeth. They’re not bad. Straight enough to assume he had braces at some point. “You don’t mind a little housekeeping, do you?”
“In this office? No.” I cringe every time I come in here, so spending the day making it somewhat livable is welcome. Plus, it keeps me out of the band room and away from Cameron’s let’s-be-friends mantra.
Setting down my purse, I move to the bookshelf he’s finally organizing. “What would you like me to do?”
He points to one of the boxes that’s nearly full, then to the empty bookshelf by his desk. “Organize these by type, leaving some spaces so we can add more.”
“By type?”
“You know, Bibles, Christian living, apologetics. That kind of thing.” He drops another book into the box. “Think of a Christian bookstore.”
“Oh yeah. Okay.” I push the box because it’s too heavy to carry and bite my lip all the way across the room. Not only have I never stepped foot into a Christian bookstore, but I don’t even know what the word apologetics means. Abandoning the box, I circle back and grab my phone. Thank goodness for the internet. “You seem cheerful this morning,” I say as I casually set my phone on an empty shelf.
“I do?” He shrugs like he’s not aware he’s been stomping around and pouting for a week. “Hmmm.”
“Anything new happen?”
“Not really. My wife’s been out of town and she got back this weekend, so there’s that.”
My smile is almost giddy, much like Ralph’s. Victoria went home after all. Now I just have to help him keep her there. Flowers. Check. Time together was the next thing she listed.
I set the first book on the top shelf. Lucky for me, it is titled A Christian Lifestyle, so that was a no-brainer. “Your wife is a nurse, right?”
“Yep. Out at Serenity Hills.”
“Don’t they usually work shifts? Like two days on, three off or something?” I set another book on the shelf, trying for nonchalant.
“Three on, two off. Why?”
“Just curious.” I go back to my task, set aside the books I need to look up, and focus on filling the Bible shelf. After enough time has passed to avoid suspicion, I say, “I had a friend who was a nurse, and she loved that schedule. She and her husband would go on these romantic getaways, just the two of them reconnecting.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Do you guys do that, too?”
Ralph’s bushy eyebrows bunch together. “No, not really. It’s hard for me to take time off.”
“Well, I’m here now. When’s her next two-day break?”
“Thursday and Friday, but we both have a lot of vacation time we haven’t used.”
“Perfect. You should plan a trip this week. Go look up a place, call her boss, do the packing and everything.” I clutch my hands to my chest, let my expression go dreamy-eyed. “It’s so romantic.”
“It’s irresponsible,” he says, dousing my mood. “I have to order all the Bible study guides this week. And then there’s my weekly hospital visits. I still haven’t sorted through Sunday’s prayer cards.” His voice drops with each sentence as the reminder of his workload comes crashing down on him. “Not to mention, I haven’t even told you about the breakfast ministry we do on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, or the thrift store, or any of the special projects they’ve laid on me recently.”
I step forward, determined to get this guy to see that sacrificing his family for any
reason, even a noble one like working in the church, is not acceptable. “Ralph. I can order the guides, do the breakfast thing, sort through the prayer cards, and visit anyone you need me to.”
He drops two more books into a box and kicks it out of the way. “You don’t know the order numbers or what class gets what books. That alone would take me a day just to train you.”
“Senior adult four, Bible Studies for Life, order number 005075046.2019-SPR, eighteen copies, plus four in case of visitors.” Score one for my brain and the stupid spreadsheet he had me fill out all last week. “Young adult, ninth and tenth grades, Explore the Bible: Joshua, Judges, and Ruth, order number 005792020, thirty-eight copies plus five for guests.”
He’s looking at me like my head just exploded in front of him.
“I can do this, Ralph,” I say again, more deliberately this time. “Go spend some time with your wife—as much as you need. After all, you said she’s been out of town, so I imagine you miss her.”
He swallows. “You’re sure? Because the order has to go in this week or we won’t get it in time.”
“Absolutely positive. This kind of stuff is easy for me.”
He pauses as if he’s actually considering my offer. “I guess maybe Eric could cover pastoral care for the week, and then you’d really only have the admin and maybe a few critical tasks that wouldn’t take too much knowledge.” Ralph stands straighter and abandons his book-dropping project. “And I could take you with me to breakfast tomorrow morning. Nora and her crew do all the hard work. I really just oversee it and make sure they feel supported.”
“Sounds like a solid plan.”
“We start prepping at six-thirty in the morning.”
I put a hand on my hip. “Are you trying to talk me out of helping you?”
He sighs. “It’s just a lot. And you’ve only been here a week.”
“That’s more one-on-one training than most people get. And like you said, Eric will be doing the ministry stuff, and he or Margie can help me if I get stuck on anything else.”
He still looks unconvinced.
“Ralph, let someone else wear a shiny red cape every once in a while. Please, go be with your wife.” I’m not sure if it’s the reminder of Victoria or the plea in my voice, but I can sense the minute he caves.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 10