Hope's Corner

by Chris Keniston

  “Damn.” Wrapping his arms around her, Jeff pulled her into a tight embrace. Her face snuggled into his shoulder. His chin rested on her head. The swirling motions of his hands meant to soothe not to arouse. “I don’t want you spooked. What are Abigail and Euphemia wrong about?”

  “Me?” The glint in Euphemia’s eyes faded away.

  Pam had forgotten the two women were still standing in the doorway. From the way Jeff held her close, he seemed to have forgotten about the two house invaders as well.

  “I haven’t said a word,” Euphemia sputtered, “And who is Abigail?”

  “I think he means Abigail Clarke.” Arms still crossed, Etta kept her gaze on her son.

  “At the old Keller place? That woman has a good twenty years on me.” She turned rather ruffled to Jeff. “I barely know of Abigail Clarke.”

  “It was nothing.” Pam pulled away from the safe circle of Jeff’s arms and turned the fire on under the kettle. “Would anyone like some tea?”

  “Tea?” Euphemia flipped her attention from Pam to Jeff to Etta and back.

  Etta finally spoke. “I think I’d better get back and check on Harlon. I don’t like leaving him alone for long in his condition. He’s liable to raid the pantry and eat all the doughnuts.” Without waiting for anyone to agree or join her, she turned and made her way down the hall and out the door, leaving Euphemia gaping openmouthed in the kitchen doorway.

  “Well.” Euphemia glanced at the kitchen table, seemed to consider her options, nodded her head, and took a seat.

  “Jefferson, dear. Why don’t you go check on your mother? I think she’s rather upset.”

  “I’m sure Dad—”

  “I’ll keep an eye on Pam. You run on now.” Euphemia pushed back her chair and stepped up beside Pam. “We’ll be just fine, won’t we, dear?”

  This wasn’t what Pam wanted. She didn’t want to talk to Euphemia, or Abigail, or Etta Mae, or anyone. All she wanted was to be left alone to sort out this mess. Oh, Jeff.

  She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t want to see the hurt and worry in his eyes. “We’ll be fine. Miss Euphemia’s right. You’d better go check on your mom. She looked to be pretty upset.”

  Clutching a teacup in each hand, tight enough to shatter them, Pam waited for him to agree, to move away, and hoped he wouldn’t come close. A single touch and she’d fall into his arms again like a broken doll. But she wasn’t broken. Just confused. Confused by the ramblings of a couple of old ladies and the physical yearning for the touch of a man.

  That’s all it was. Of course. It was bound to happen. She’d been alone for a long time. Her sister had told her over and over that she was young, too young to be alone. That’s all this was. Natural sexual drive. That’s all.

  Setting the teacups on the counter, she found the strength to turn and face Jeff. She’d be okay now. A visit with Euphemia McCarthy would be nice. Pleasant. With Jeff out of the room, her nerves would settle. She’d be fine.

  He hadn’t said a word to her. Hadn’t agreed or argued. His gaze had remained steady on her back. She’d felt it, known it without a doubt, but turned to face him nonetheless.

  All the air in her lungs lodged in her throat. Sea-green eyes filled with worry, hurt, and, dear God, love burned through her like lasers.

  Her mind begged, please don’t come close, please don’t touch me, just go.

  With a short nod, as though he'd actually read her thoughts, understood her pleas, he took a short step toward the hall. “I’ll be back as soon as I make sure Mom understands.”

  Words weren’t coming. She nodded, sure if she opened her mouth, she’d beg him to stay, not to leave her. Rooted to the floor she watched his back go down the hall and out the door.

  The latch clicked shut, the teakettle whistled, piercing the thick silence. Euphemia reached for the shrilling kettle, and Pam shoved the urge to run after him down deep as far as she could. Just sexual tension. Nothing more.

  And if she could convince anyone else of that, she might as well sell lakeside property in Vegas.

  Every ounce of blood in his veins hummed with need, want, and desire. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Or was it? He’d known for some time now how he felt about Pam. His need to protect her, care for her, save her, ran much deeper than the concern of a pastor for his parishioner or neighbor. He’d admitted to himself already that he was in love with her. Wanted her. Needed her. But he couldn’t be anyone’s savior.

  Besides, she was still in love with her husband. Or was she? She certainly hadn’t kissed him like a woman in love with another man. The look, no, the longing in her eyes seemed to be so much more than that of a woman looking for a little sexual diversion.

  Her heart. The feel of the frantic thrum still lingered on his fingertips. I thought it was forever broken. Pam’s words bounced around in his head like a child in a carnival air tent. What did she mean? Was she ready to let him in? To make room for another man? For him? Or had she already?

  “Oh, God, what a mess.” He pushed open the door to his parents’ house.

  “That might fall under the category of understatement.” Etta Mae stood in the hall with her arms crossed. “Did you lie to me?”

  He shook his head. “No. Where’s Pop?”

  “Asleep.”

  His gaze drifted down the hall to where his father slept in his room. His father would never have let this happen.

  “He’s not perfect, you know.”

  His attention snapped back to his mother. She hadn’t moved. Not an inch. But he realized now her stiff stance had little to do with anger or even reproof. All he saw in her steady gaze was the loving concern of a mother.

  Etta Mae pointed to the living room. “I think it’s time you and I sat down, and had a chat.”

  “Ma, not now. I just came by to check on you, I mean on Dad. Well, on both of you.” He sighed. “I should get back. I know this all seems crazy, but something’s wrong with Pam. She’s upset. I need to—”

  “Sit. There are some things you need to learn, and it has nothing to do with teaching Joshua Meechum how to play baseball. Though that might not be such a bad idea.”

  “What?”

  “Your father wants you to teach young Joshua how to play ball. He thinks that will show you once and for all you’ve got a strong calling, and you can’t let the devil scare you off.”

  “Ma—”

  “What you need is to be told the truth.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Euphemia McCarthy stirred sugar into a teacup. “What do you want to discuss first, what I’m wrong about, how nothing is going on between you and young Jeff, or that Etta Mae and I came up with a plan?”

  “A plan?”

  Pam’s older neighbor nodded her head. “Thought you might go there first. We made a list.”

  “A list?”

  “Of folks in town Harlon has spent the night with. Sometimes several nights.”

  “Excuse me?” Maybe soon Pam would be able to come up with more than two-word sentences, but at the moment her nerve endings were still reeling from Jeff’s kiss, and her brain was frantically trying to make sense of her jumbled feelings. Keeping up with Euphemia’s rambling wasn’t going well.

  “A couple of years ago Betty Ferguson’s husband was flown to a military hospital in Germany after an explosion in Iraq. Did you hear about that?”

  Pam shook her head, reaching for the teacup Euphemia slid across the table to her.

  “Harlon spent two days, unchaperoned, with poor Betty. The woman was inconsolable. According to Etta Mae, Betty was convinced her husband was dead, and the army didn’t want to tell her.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Then there was Alice Healey, the time her husband and boy went missing for two days in the woods. Things didn’t look so good when the search party found little J.J.’s backpack washed ashore down river. And remember Heather Goodstein? The way that woman carried on when her calico was run over by Wilma Haskell, you’d think it had been her fir
stborn. And if that wasn’t enough for Harlon to deal with, poor Wilma felt guiltier than if she had run over a child. Harlon wanted to split himself in two.”

  “Did Jeff’s dad have to spend the night with Wilma Haskell also?”

  “Two. His high-and-mightiness John Haskell was at a business conference in Chicago. Etta and I figure Harlon earned extra crowns in heaven for that one.”

  “How many people are on your list?”

  “Actually there are two lists. I’m supposed to call the folks on my list, and Etta Mae is going to phone the names on hers. Between us, we’ve got four of the seven members of the church board of directors. Five if you count Mrs. John Haskell.”

  “I don’t understand how this helps anything.”

  “Ever heard the old story about casting stones and glass houses?”

  “But those people had nothing to do with Jeff.”

  “Those people were counting on the support and reassurance of their pastor.”

  “Their married pastor. It's not the same. Jeff's a single man.”

  “What? Don’t you think married men still have peckers?”

  Pam felt the heat rise up her neck and settle in the tips of her ears. Of all the things she’d expected her sweet old-fashioned neighbor to say, that wasn’t one of them.

  “Oh, put your eyes back in your head. By the time Etta and I get through, most of the town won’t be willing to point a finger at you or young Jeff for fear of seeing three fingers pointing back at them or a dearly loved relative. This town can’t afford to lose Jeff.”

  “No, they can’t. Thank you.”

  “Good, now that we’ve settled that, I want to know if nothing is goin’ on between you and young Jeff, why did his mama and I find the two of you plastered together like a grilled cheese sandwich without the cheese?”

  “Mom!”

  “Kenny?” Etta Mae pushed to her feet and pivoted toward the front hall. Within seconds her youngest son had her scooped into his arms.

  “How is he?”

  “Your father is fine. He’s taking a nap.” Etta released her grip on her baby and patted his chest as she stepped back. “I told you not to leave school.”

  “It’ll be okay, Mom.” Kenny kissed his mother’s cheek then turned to his big brother for a backslapping hug. “How’s everyone else holding up?”

  Now wasn’t that a loaded question? “Just fine, little brother. But Ma’s right. Pop’s not going to be happy you’re missing class on his account.”

  “Not missing anything. I only have one class on Fridays, and the professor canceled to go to some conference. I figure it was a sign from heaven and took off the minute my last class ended. I’ve got two whole days with the family before I have to drive back Sunday.”

  Jeff gave his brother another hug, only this time he squeezed him good and hard. “Glad to have you home.”

  “Yeah,” Kenny added. “Me too.”

  “You must be hungry.” Etta patted her young son’s arm and, without waiting for a reply, headed to the kitchen. “Probably haven’t had a decent meal since you left home.”

  Jeff leaned into his brother and whispered, “That would certainly explain why you look a bit thick in the middle.” A smile filled his face for the first time in hours. His kid brother was about two inches taller than him and had the shoulders of a middle linebacker. They shared the same green eyes and famous Parker smile that for generations could supposedly charm a schoolmarm out of her virtue. But anyone could see Kenny did not look like a starving student. “So how many pounds have you put on?”

  “Seven, but don’t tell, Mom.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” Secret. Jeff needed to get back next door. This was turning into one hell of a day. God knows what would have happened with Pam if his mother hadn’t walked in. He needed to get to the bottom of what he’d done to spook Pam, again. And making things worse, his mother was in überprotector mode. He should have stuck with banking; then all he’d have to worry about was a national economic crisis. “Listen, Kenny, I’d love to stick around, but I’ve got a situation to deal with.”

  “No problem, man. You know where to find me.” Kenny slapped his brother on the back and followed the path his mom had taken to the kitchen.

  Jeff cut across the lawn to Pam’s and took the porch steps two at a time. He both knocked and rang the bell. By the time he considered that might have been overkill, Pam stood beside the open door.

  “Hi.”

  “Yeah, hi.” Great. He’d reverted to the verbal skills of a lovesick fourteen-year-old. “May I come in?”

  “Oh, of course.” Pam moved back and pulled the door open wider. “Mrs. McCarthy and I are in the kitchen.”

  “Actually”—Euphemia McCarthy walked up beside Jeff—“Mrs. McCarthy was just leaving. But if you ask me, which I know you won’t, so I’m gonna tell you anyhow. You two need to stop kidding yourselves, because you’re not fooling anyone else. Just put a ring on her finger and marry the girl. Easiest answer is always the one right in front of you.”

  The woman gave a quick nod and walked out the door. Pam flushed pink, and Jeff was sure he’d almost swallowed his tongue. Marry?

  “Apparently we fit like a grilled cheese sandwich without the cheese.” Pam pushed the door shut and turned into the living room. She flopped onto the nearest sofa as though she carried a thousand-pound weight.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I just spent the last few minutes explaining, without much success I might add, why what she and your mom saw wasn’t really what they thought they saw, since it wasn’t really anything, because I’m a married woman, and you’re my pastor, and I don’t need a Percival Clarke or a Judith Abernathy in my life.”

  “I see.” Slowly he moved through the room and took a seat across from her. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together almost as if in prayer. He decided, sometimes, the best thing to say was nothing at all. So he waited.

  The silence was excruciating. All fifteen seconds of it. “I loved Travis with all my heart.” Pam spoke in a near whisper. “All I ever wanted from the time I was six years old was to be his wife.”

  Jeff nodded.

  “I didn’t even care about the dress, the party, the church. All the trappings most girls dream of for years. I just wanted to be Mrs. Travis Dawson.”

  Again Jeff gave a slow steady nod.

  “Mom used to say things like, ‘Being married is hard work, missy,’ or ‘The real world isn’t a fairy tale.’ Sure Travis and I had our disagreements, like anyone I suppose, but it wasn’t hard work. I was happy.”

  “Are you happy now?”

  “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

  “Why?”

  You. The reply popped into her head so fast she barely had enough time to stop herself from saying it out loud. She studied his face. To a casual acquaintance his expression appeared calm, relaxed. The steady pastor any parishioner would be comfortable trusting. But those closest to him would know better. She could see the concern in his eyes. The way his fingers linked together, and his thumbs tapped out his silent battle. Her heart nearly stopped. When had she gone from casual acquaintance to the ranks of those who knew better?

  His thumbs stilled. Everything in the room was so quiet. Oh, Jeff. What do you want from me?

  Jeff? Not Travis. Her head tilted up, she focused on the ceiling. When had she stopped? “I…I don’t talk to him anymore.”

  “Him?”

  “Travis.” She waited for the pained look of restrained impatience that always came over her family’s face when she mentioned talking to Travis. It never came. No reproach. No pity. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.” She dropped her head in her hands. “Abigail is right. Only I don’t have a Judith Abernathy. I have a Euphemia McCarthy.”

  Finally she’d circled back to her ramblings about Abigail and Euphemia. But who was Judith Abernathy? Jeff barely had enough time to formulate his first question when the
phone rang, drawing Pam into the kitchen.

  “Greg! Hi.”

  He watched a thin smile slowly grow wider.

  “Your voice sounds really good right now.”

  From where he sat he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she was blinking back tears.

  “I’m good… Really I am… Just one bad dream…” Her smile slipped. “Would I lie to you? … Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. The day you called to tell me about winning that big landfill case. It was a crazy night. The pastor next door had to be rushed to the hospital… Hmm, well, let me think. Four days ago? … Probably triggered by the hospital and all that.”

  An odd sensation in his gut told Jeff to move closer to the kitchen. Pay more attention to the conversation. He couldn’t place what was bothering him, but he’d had this feeling enough to know he was missing something. Something important.

  The phone trapped between Pam’s ear and shoulder, her left hand holding a sponge, her right hand scrubbing away at what to him looked like already clean kitchen counters, Pam reminded him of a woman franticly preparing for an onslaught of houseguests. If only the nervous energy could be blamed on something so innocent.

  Turning a fraction to work on another section of counter space, Pam spotted him propped against the kitchen doorway, watching, listening. One corner of her mouth lifted in a halfhearted attempt to smile. Eyes quickly lowered, she hurriedly tossed the sponge into the little rubber holder at the side of the sink. The phone now gripped firmly in one hand, she straightened to her full height. “Listen, now’s not a good time. I have company. I’ll call you in a few days and see how Southern Fancy does.” Pam nodded agreement to words he couldn’t hear, mumbled a quiet bye and disconnected the call.

  “Southern Fancy?” Jeff slid his hands into his pockets. They were safer there.

  “A racehorse.” Pam set the receiver into the base unit and leaned back against the sink. “Greg was Travis’ partner. You remember me telling you the firm was running low on funds during a particularly long and expensive case?”