Love in Unlikely Places

by Linda Byler

  But what exactly had she done wrong? She fought back the urge to yell at Kathy, tell her she was an adult and capable of making her own decisions, and if she wanted to walk on the beach with Ben, she would.

  She did not sleep well, her thoughts unraveling the evening until nothing made much sense. For the first thing, Ben was talking about a relationship far too soon. Yes, she wanted to quit teaching school, and yes, she certainly wanted to get married someday, but she was not quite ready for this.

  She needed time. Time for what? Time to push Ben away, the way she had pushed so many of them? No, she wanted him. He was different.

  And there was the whole problem.

  She was always the first one up, so she quietly made her first cup of coffee and let herself out on the deck to breathe in the smell of the sea, the vast open space that made her feel her insignificance, the power and majesty of God so much bigger. He calmed the wind and the waves, so He would control her destiny as well. The fear and foreboding of the night before had dwindled away as her faith rose and swelled. She whistled softly under her breath, the song she had been taught at school.

  “God is bigger than any mountain that I can or cannot see.”

  She returned to the kitchen to begin mixing waffles, as a treat for the children, hoping to win back Kathy’s good graces. When she finished, she set the bowl on the back of the countertop and turned to find Brent coming down the open stairway, his pillow sliding along behind him, a corner of the pillowcase clutched in his hand.

  “Good morning, Brent,” she whispered, holding a finger to her lips. He mumbled something unintelligible, gave her a small grin, his eyes drooping with sleep.

  “Do you want to lie on the couch awhile?” she asked.

  He nodded. She helped him to settle comfortably, covered him with a soft white shawl that was draped across a chair, fluffed his hair and smiled into his eyes.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded again, rolled on his side and closed his eyes.

  Roger was next, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Emma couldn’t help but compare the two, so very much alike. Friendly, unassuming, always thinking of those around them.

  “Hey, good morning!” he said. “I smell coffee.”

  Emma smiled. “Good morning. The only coffee is mine.”

  He grinned. “I figured.”

  She was getting sausages from the refrigerator when he tilted the bowl to inspect the waffle batter, then let out a long low whistle.

  “You didn’t,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Mix waffles from scratch?”

  “I did. It’s almost like pancake batter. It’s easy. I found the electric waffle iron and figured it had to be easier than a waffle iron you heat on a gas burner.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Never tried it. We’re just renting here, so I have no idea what you’ll find in the cabinets.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.”

  He got his cup of coffee, sniffed appreciatively, and took a sip. His blue eyes squinted.

  “So how’d it go last night?”

  “What?”

  “You know. The walk with Ben.”

  Suddenly flustered, she busied herself at the counter.

  “Oh, it was alright. I just felt bad, having to go around to the front to ring the doorbell. I guess I forgot to mention that I might be late.”

  There was no answer, only a clipped voice instructing her to keep the batter for another hour, he was going for a run. She watched in bewilderment as he left his steaming cup of coffee, pushed his feet into running shoes, and let himself out the front door.

  Now what had she done?

  Shrugging, she turned away, decided there was no way she could understand these people and their mood swings. Perhaps it was the way of highly intelligent people. They simply didn’t communicate the way ordinary people did, or manners weren’t a necessity, or their brain waves moved along in sequences too quick for her to grasp.

  A wail came from upstairs.

  Emma hurried up the stairs to the source. Annalise, her hair like a dust mop, her small mouth stretched to capacity, was howling.

  Oh boy.

  “It’s okay, Annalise. I’m here,” Emma crooned, rushing to lift her from the bed.

  “I can’t find Charlie Brown!” she yelled.

  He was not in the bed, or underneath it, but stuffed between the mattress and headboard. Once he was safely in the little girl’s arms, everything changed, much to Emma’s relief.

  Together, they went to the bathroom to brush Annalise’s hair and teeth, and get her dressed in a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt with small white socks on her feet.

  Such a pretty little thing, Emma thought, but what a firecracker.

  “Alright, Anna. We’re done here. Can you walk down the steps by yourself while I grab the hamper with clothes to wash?”

  “Yes, I can,” she said, agreeably nodding her head until her ponytail bounced. So they were off to a good start, finally.

  Once in the kitchen, she gave Annalise a cup of milk, saying they’d have waffles when Daddy returned from his run. She was completely alright with that, smiling and nodding, holding up Charlie Brown to remind Emma that he loved waffles.

  She sliced fresh strawberries, allowed Annalise a few, and one for Charlie Brown. When Kathy came to the kitchen in her bathrobe, there was no sign of the previous evening’s animosity, or whatever had caused the refusal to allow another evening with Ben. She hugged and kissed her children, cuddled with them on the couch, drank coffee, and told them how much she loved them.

  Emma had a smile on her face when Roger returned, dripping sweat and breathing hard. She heated the waffle iron as he entered the bathroom for a shower.

  The waffles turned out to be perfect, a deep golden brown, and with butter and maple syrup, fresh strawberries and sliced bananas, they were a rare treat, one both parents raved about.

  Especially Roger, who said after the house was finished, how could they bear to part ways with Emma? This brought a tinkling laugh from Kathy, a nod in agreement, saying she already had them terribly spoiled.

  Brent waved his fork and announced the need for waffles every morning.

  The sun shone into the white kitchen, creating a golden yellow light that suffused everything with warmth and cheer. The windows sparkled, the filmy curtains billowed at their sides, allowing the sea air to permeate the whole interior of the house. Annalise smiled with all her small white teeth showing, her hair a halo of pale yellow around her face, and Emma felt as if there would always be good times, and new beginnings. Nothing was without flaws, nothing could be expected to be pleasing all the time, but this was good.

  CHAPTER 9

  IN MID-JUNE, ROGER AND KATHY BOTH RETURNED TO THE STATE OF PENNsylvania, taking care of business for days at a time, leaving the children in her care. The renovations on the house were all limited to interior work now, which meant she only caught glimpses of Ben on some days.

  The weather turned increasingly hot and humid, so Emma spent most days on the sand in the water with the children. It was a delightful way of being employed, she thought from time to time, although not without its responsibilities. Annalise continued to buck her rules and throw fits when things were not to her liking, but Emma’s days were better without Kathy, who had continued to be especially moody after the night of the beach walk. Emma learned to hold her at arm’s length, very carefully.

  Kathy had spent all of May with the guys in the house, poring over blueprints, making changes, constantly overseeing, ordering, and choosing. And it was the same on the days she was home in June. She’d arrive home, give the kids quick kisses, and then head straight for next door. There were deliveries daily, sometimes two or three in a day. Trucks containing flooring, insulation. An electrician. A plumber. There were appliances and light fixtures.

  The activity was mind boggling.

  And never once did Ben make an overture. Emma and the children were forbidden to enter the
renovation zone.

  Safety measures.

  Emma couldn’t help but feel a sense of remorse. If only she had not been so cold, so unwilling to welcome his bid for friendship. And now she had to endure Kathy and Ben poring over prints, the laptop, discussing every aspect of the changes, talking, talking, talking.

  It was all foolish, she knew, but it could happen. He was single. English people got divorced. Amish men left the faith. Of course it could happen. And no one was ever going to tell Emma that Kathy was not attracted to Ben, because she was. Emma was faced with searing anger, followed by a suffocating remorse. She took to spending time on the back deck, reading a book, or writing letters on the patio table, a glass of tea beside her.

  She developed a headache from using her peripheral vision. To sit at a patio table trying to keep up the façade of intense writing or reading while desperately searching for one person was extremely tiring.

  Now that she had admitted to her ballooning sense of insecurity, everything was written in black and white. This was her own doing, so she could not blame anyone else.

  The day was hot. Brassy hot. The kind of heat that shimmered above driveways and made men and beasts seek shade, and the relief of many cold drinks.

  The sky appeared overheated, a white film of humidity effectively putting the blue of the sky in hiding. Air conditioners whirred and clanked on and off along the strip of houses that lined the sandy roadway. The beach was blooming with brilliant umbrellas and squares of blankets and towels, colorful kites dotting the atmosphere like free-flying petals. The water’s edge contained a line of shrieking children with various floats, boogie boards, or buckets filled with water and carried away. Farther out, where the waves were large and constant, heads floated and bobbed, shoulders appearing above the water, to disappear into an oncoming wave.

  Emma sat immobilized, fried into the low beach chair by the unforgiving rays of the sun. She could not take the swim she longed for, having to stay with the children. The breeze that normally came from the water was blowing from behind, from the overheated sand that brought the green-headed flies out of the low-lying areas, voracious in their quest for blood.

  Emma lifted a foot, slapped viciously at a determined fly that flew expertly away from her hand.

  “Alright,” she muttered. “That does it. Kids!” she yelled. “Come on. We’re going.”

  They both looked up from their play, their skin darkened to a butterscotch hue by the sun’s rays, despite the sunscreen, their hair bleached almost white.

  Obedient as always, Brent picked up his playthings and walked down to the water’s edge. Annalise sat back on her haunches, squinting her blue eyes. Emma had no intention of putting up with another temper tantrum. She reached down to scratch the bite inflicted by the green-headed fly, swatted viciously at another, and told Annalise to hurry up.

  “I want to stay,” she chirped, standing with her feet planted apart, her toes pointed outward, her red plastic bucket clutched in both hands at her waist.

  “Not this time, sweetie. The flies are biting really bad today.”

  That seemed to do the trick. She rolled her eyes and sighed like her mother, which made Emma smile. She could be so lovable, so old for an almost three-year-old, and at times like this Emma genuinely loved her.

  “Okay, Brent, did you wash the sand out?”

  He nodded, “So what are we doing the rest of the day?” he asked.

  “We’ll see.”

  They straggled through the burning sand, the hot wind at their faces. The tall grass bent and swayed, rustling in the gale, whispering the secrets of the sea. The sound of their slapping flip-flops on the weathered boards, the weight of the blanket and cooler, the folded chair, all of it was so familiar now.

  Emma loved this place, with an emotion that tugged at her sense, the way she loved her classroom those first years of teaching. Only ten more weeks till the end of August, and she would return to her home in the hills and valleys of Crawford County.

  She missed Dena most. They’d talked on the phone, with Dena wailing and complaining about all the work, and how “un-fun” it was without her. She spoke to both of her parents, who said they would be glad to have the summer over with. They were concerned about her becoming used to luxuries, to a vacation spot that would hold her in its grip.

  No sign of the builders today. The truck had not been there all day.

  She hoped there would be some sign of life. With Roger and Kathy both gone for the week, it was beginning to feel creepy at night.

  The wonderful cool interior was a blessing, for sure. Those squares of metal and whatever else was used to construct a central air unit was surely the best invention ever. She herded the children through the door, got them both in the shower, rinsing sand down the drain at an alarming rate.

  She supposed the drainage system was made to take care of all that, but still. There was an outside shower to rinse the sand off, but the children despised the shock of cold water, so she no longer bothered with it.

  Showered and in fresh clothes, the children both fell asleep in front of the TV, leaving Emma to wander around the house after putting in a load of laundry.

  She was restless, unsettled. She wondered what she would do the remainder of the day. She wandered to the sliding glass door, just in time to see the large white pickup truck pull up to the neighboring house. She drew back, but watched as the men got out, climbed the steps to the house. In a few minutes, they retuned. Daniel got into the truck but Ben stopped, looked at the house where the Forsythes stayed, then spoke to Daniel.

  Oh no.

  He was headed straight in her direction. Whatever.

  She moved away from the door in time to see his large form appear on the deck, his hand lifted to knock on the frame.

  She slid the door back.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello, Emma. How are you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Hey. I hate to be nosy, but I know Roger and Kathy aren’t here. I guess you know they’re predicting quite a storm later tonight. I was worried about you, being here by yourself.”

  “It’s not hurricane season,” she said stiffly.

  “No. But I didn’t know how you felt about being alone in a storm.”

  “I’m fine. There are neighbors.”

  “I’d feel better if you weren’t by yourself, though.”

  “How serious are the predictions?”

  She’d seen the forecast, but wasn’t about to tell him.

  “Bad enough. High winds.”

  “We don’t exactly have a basement to go to if it gets bad.”

  “You’re right.”

  “We’ll be fine,” she told him.

  “Look. This is ridiculous. You know you’d feel better if I stayed here, right?”

  And cause a storm of epic proportions in her heart?

  “No. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m staying.”

  With that, he made his way down the stairs, went to talk to the driver of the pickup, then made his way back up the stairs. Emma stood by the dining room table, gripping the back of a chair for support. This couldn’t really be happening. He let himself in, filling the light from the door with his presence, at ease, unselfconscious, as if this was something he did every day.

  He moved toward the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

  “So, here we are,” he said, with the infectious grin that made her knees go soft and wobbly.

  “I guess so,” she answered with a weak smile of her own. She knew she should tell him to leave, call the police if she had to. But the fact remained that she was really glad to have his company. And who knew what the storm might be like? She had to admit that if things got bad, she’d have no idea what to do to keep them safe.

  He looked around, taking in the kitchen, the sleeping children in the living room.

  “So how have you been?”

  “Alright. I’m enjoying my summer.”

  “As long
as I stay where I’m supposed to, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. Sit down. You can relax. I’m just here to be your protector, nothing else.”

  “I don’t really need a protector.”

  “Probably not. But you’ll feel better once the storm hits with me here.”

  His confidence level was unbelievable. Didn’t the man ever have self-doubt?

  She thought of Allen Kauffman, the one youth who had asked her for a date, the humility with which he presented himself, the kindness and grace with which he accepted her refusal. Surely he would have been a kind and caring husband, just the opposite of what she supposed this Ben could be.

  “Well, you’re here now, so I guess I should offer you a drink. We have tea, lemonade.”

  “Coffee?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Coffee? In the afternoon?”

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Why not, indeed? He had know idea what a hard time she had falling into a deep sleep in this house when the parents were absent, even without caffeine lingering in her system. She wouldn’t be telling him how the nights grew long and wearisome, listening to the dull roar of the ocean, the ticking and clanking, the pinging and creaking, keeping her wide-eyed, wondering if the sturdy piles were firmly situated on the ground beneath the unstable sand.

  Brent awoke, stretched and yawned, then made his way to the kitchen to lay his head in Emma’s lap. Her arms went around him immediately, drawing him up on her lap, where he snuggled contentedly.

  “Annalise still sleeping?”

  He nodded, watching Ben with a slanted gaze.

  “This is Ben, Brent.” She said.

  “I know.”

  Ben was watching them with a soft expression on his face.

  “I would paint a picture of you two, if I was a painter.”

  Emma laid her chin on top of Brent’s head and drew him close. He was the easiest child to love, like one of those that had stolen her heart in first grade, and kept it till they moved from eighth grade to vocational class. Brent was so sweet, so advanced for his age, always the peacemaker between her and his sister.