by Chase, Diane
Under the circumstances, she should have rolled over in a heap of tears, but none came. In fact, their family home seemed strangely alien, as if the experiences that swilled within its walls evaporated.
Her heart fluttered at the idea. Like a trapeze artist flung in midair, she hadn’t arrived safely to the other side and the in-between made her jittery.
The family disappeared through the front door, and the kids must be running through the house. The last few years, they rented it several weeks in July and probably felt like they’d come home to some extent. She smiled at the idea, closed the blind, and stretched out on the bed
Still.
She’d take a few, quiet minutes before going downstairs to fix the manicotti and salad for Asher and Peggy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Since the Golightlys rose early, Juliette found herself gradually adjusting to their schedule. First thing in the morning, she drove Skipper to the beach for a walk, returned for a shower, and got in a little work. She decided to join Peggy for an early lunch. Asher had taken off to help a friend, a plumbing contractor.
Peggy made delicious tortilla soup the day before and was toasting some wheat rolls. Juliette sliced up an avocado to top the soup. When everything was prepared, she clasped Juliette’s hand and prayed at the kitchen table.
She looked up and smiled. “I need to get to the store in a bit. Can I pick up anything for dinner tonight?”
“I’ve got everything,” Juliette said. “I was going to make chicken parmesan, green beans, and mashed potatoes. I’ve been thinking about tomorrow’s dinner, too.”
“Oh, honey, a lot of nights Asher and I just have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or fry some eggs and turkey sausage. Don’t go to a lot of trouble.”
Juliette shrugged and smiled broadly. “I made a decision while Skipper and I were at the beach. Would it be okay to invite Paul to dinner tomorrow night?”
“You know it.” Peggy smiled as she stirred her soup.
“I also decided to go back to Houston early next week, maybe Monday or Tuesday. You know, with Mother having problems and all. Anyway, I can’t keep hiding out like a refugee.”
Peggy tilted her head. “Now, when are you going to believe we love having you here? But I understand worrying about your mama.”
They talked about ideas for dinner tomorrow, provided Paul could even come. She got the impression he worked on Saturdays. After they cleaned up the lunch dishes, Peggy left for the grocery store.
Juliette mopped the linoleum floor in the kitchen, swept up the living room, dusted, and scoured the powder room. The already-tidy home didn’t need much, but the contribution made her feel useful.
It also distracted her worry about calling Paul.
****
The shrimp Creole was simmering on the stove and the salad already assembled. Juliette wrapped foil around a baguette and slid it in the oven.
Peggy refilled Paul’s iced tea glass while he and Asher visited in the den. “He’s really charming,” she whispered.
“Oh, I know. It’s just…” Juliette opened the refrigerator but forgot why. “Butter, that’s it.”
“Honey, it’s already on the table.” She nudged Juliette’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll have our eye on him. This was a good idea.”
Peggy set a lovely table with white china and navy-blue linens. Several seahorse candlesticks made of pewter glowed in the table’s center while plenty of early-evening daylight poured into the room. They took their places, and Asher prayed over the meal. While everyone spooned the fragrant shrimp over rice, Juliette soaked up their compliments. She always enjoyed cooking and expected to have time for it this summer, just not here.
She looked up at Paul and caught his eye. He smiled. “Asher and I were talking about your dissertation.”
“Really,” she said, surprised. Eavesdropping earlier, she only caught snippets of Asher bragging about their grandson who served in Iraq.
Asher passed the salad bowl to her and grinned. “Paul here’s got the prophecy bug himself, and I was saying you’re joining the club.”
“Club? Juliette, honey, you’ve got your own club.” Peggy carefully buttered a slice of the warm bread and looked up smiling.
“What club’s that? These are dangerous times. Important ones.” Asher tapped his fork on the plate and practically shouted, “The living will be caught up with the dead.”
“Asher, stop. You’re scaring our guests.” Peggy shook her head and curled her brow at Juliette.
“Not me,” Paul said quickly.
“Or me,” Juliette added. “But I don’t mean just the second coming of Christ.”
“And neither do I,” Asher said. “Prophecy starts in Genesis, you know, and goes on and on from there. Paul, here, has studied a lot of it himself. A scholar much like myself.”
Paul chuckled and dabbed his mouth with a napkin seeming self-conscious. “Well, if interest makes me a scholar then I am, but certainly not an expert. So how does all this relate to your dissertation? Asher mentioned some connection to Michelangelo.”
“I have no idea,” Juliette said. Could this group of non-academies help more than her own dissertation committee? “I want my work to be significant, make up for all the years it wasn’t.” She put her fork down and decided to spare the specifics lest it inspire any more “ideas” for her work.
Peggy folded her arms on the table and looked at the men who were still eating. “Juliette, maybe Paul would like to see what you’ve started with the Sistine Chapel.”
If this had been a table of her peers, they would have laughed heartily, but Paul placed his napkin on the table and smiled.
“Oh, I…” She stammered for words that wouldn’t hurt Asher’s feelings since he’d gone to a fair amount of trouble to add the scriptures. Paul seemed to wait for a reply.
“Would you like to see it?”
“Yeah, if you like.” He scooted his chair back on the hardwoods and picked up his plate.
“Just leave that, honey. I’ll get your peach cobbler heated up, Juliette, and put on a pot of coffee. You two go on to the living room,” Peggy said. She was already up and clearing the table.
Juliette hurried upstairs to the bedroom. The ceiling was rolled up and sticking out of box, covered in dust. She caught her reflection in the mirror on the way out and tidied the hair straying from her hair sash.
Paul was already seated in a chair by the window and rose when she entered the room. His warm smile made her stomach flutter. She looked away and untaped the roll, unfurling it on the pastel area rug and on her knees smoothed down the Post-its and wrinkled paper. She shook her head at the ridiculous mess she’d thought might become her own work of art.
Paul walked around the six-foot hodgepodge of copy paper with one hand behind his back. Some of the images made her face flush. He got down in several places to read the scriptures or look at the pictures.
Juliette’s heart thundered at his interest in the work and maybe in her, too. What if this was another date? Well, it was, of course. A man coming to see her like this. Was he just interested because of what they’d been through?
She got out of his way and sat on the sofa. Sometimes she forgot how they met, forgot there’d been anyone but Mrs. May. But he’d been there, too. The strangeness of it all made her glad to be seated since her legs felt weak.
Paul sat on the floor beside the ceiling. “What were you thinking?”
Juliette laughed. “That sounds a little like Dr. Cabot, my advisor. ‘Juliette, when will you get off the tour bus?’”
“Of course, tone makes all the difference,” Paul said. “I’m asking in genuine ignorance.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Paul. Did you see my notes?” Asher asked from the doorway.
“Asher, come help me with these pots,” Peggy yelled from the kitchen.
Paul chuckled. “It’s about Christ as I see it, from the beginning to end, even the prophets who foretold his coming and then it lo
oks like…what is that, a wall?”
“An altar.” Juliette leaned her elbows on her knees.
“But I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than I can see.” Paul sat back in the chair and crossed his leg over his knee.
“Yeah, the rest is in the tour brochure. If the ceiling holds some secret that could put my research on the map, I’m not seeing it either.”
Peggy came in carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, little brown sugar cubes in a china bowl, a creamer and set it on the coffee table. “The cobbler’s just about ready. Who wants ice cream?”
They both did. Juliette busied herself with preparing coffee and sensed Paul watching her. The self-assured way he sat back in the chair made her all the more nervous.
“So, this must have been a long road, an expensive one,” Paul finally said. “What were you studying before you taped up Michelangelo?”
Juliette chuckled. “Textiles. I thought I had that taped up, too, figuratively speaking, until I reviewed my files.”
“But there must be something there. Is it not significant to get on with your life if significance is what you want?” Paul took his coffee black and put it on the little antique table by his chair.
She bristled at the comment. “It’s my old life. I want to do something related to God.”
“He’s asked you to do that?” Paul was staring at her, his expression soft but serious. She’d never noticed how intelligence and life made his eyes bright and luminous.
He wore a red button down shirt, jeans, and boat shoes, and she thought about asking him how he stayed so pale as a beach resident.
She shrank back at the question. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He sighed. “Well, if you’re going to extend your studies, going to research prophecy—”
“That was Asher’s idea,” Juliette whispered.
“Okay, or some other Biblical aspect, and you’ve said you never really looked at that—”
“Yes, I’m more versed in Italian culture. Sorry.” Juliette rolled her hand for him to continue.
“Seems like you’re starting all over again. And I was just suggesting that since you went running from home—”
“That wasn’t my decision,” she said holding his gaze.
He smiled. “I understand. I’m in transition, too. Anyway, in your case, why not finish what you started.”
Juliette stared at the patchwork paper on the floor, and her shoulders relaxed. The weeks of confusion lifted as she thought about the solution he offered, the simplicity of it.
Textiles of the Italian Renaissance: The Influence on Art, Politics, and Commerce.
Like on old friend, her topic came home to her heart. She beamed and a spark of her old enthusiasm flowed back in her bloodstream.
Paul smiled back as if he understood she’d considered his advice.
Peggy returned with two small bowls, a scoop of ice-cream in each one and warm cobbler on the side. She looked out the window and stood there holding the bowls, a horrified expression on her face. She glanced at Juliette and back outside. Paul stood up and cleared his throat.
Juliette felt her muscles tense, and she turned around. No way. Parked behind Paul’s truck on the curb sat Harry’s white BMW.
“Excuse me, Paul.” Juliette hurried to the front door and out to the porch.
Harry was already walking up the sidewalk. He stopped at the porch steps and dug his hands in his shorts pocket. With sunburned cheeks, little red bumps on his forehead, and grayish circles around his eyes, he looked tired and angry despite the grin on his face.
She wondered how it’d be to meet up again. Now she knew. Her heart felt hard as a diamond mine. “What are you doing, Harry?”
“Are you already hooked up with that guy, Juliette? Isn’t that his truck?” Harry smoothed both hands across his scalp.
She stepped down the stairs to keep him from coming to the porch. “Why didn’t you call?”
“Would you have answered?” He reached out and clasped her hand. “I saw Jason this afternoon. I hoped we could go to church tomorrow.”
The front door opened. Paul scurried down the steps and across the grass. “Thanks for dinner, Juliette,” he said without stopping.
“Hey, good to see you, buddy,” Harry called out. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?”
“Harry!” Juliette watched Paul’s truck turn in the street. When it disappeared, she shook her head and started back inside.
“Juliette, wait. Look, I’m sorry. This has me crazy. Can’t we take this one small step?”
She straightened her shoulders and offered no smile. “Are you staying in town?”
“Yes, at a hotel on Seawall Boulevard. I could pick you up at 10:30.” He looked up in the live oak limbs and exhaled.
Nothing he said persuaded her, but issues of fairness swirled in her mind. If he came to faith, did she owe him a second chance? “I guess 10:30 is okay.”
He brushed her hair off her shoulder and pocketed his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
After standing idle a few minutes, he took off for his car.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, Jason preached on fiscal responsibility. Rather than think about Harry, Juliette wondered how she should apply the principles. Afterward, Pepper and Kathy introduced themselves briefly, not hiding their surprise, and left for a lunch engagement.
Harry suggested a restaurant close to home. After a ten minute wait, they got a table overlooking a patio. Saying yes to church and lunch when her heart cried no made her feel like a captive to cowardice. As the minutes dragged by while he enumerated the good deeds of his new boss, Brad Barrington, she knew she had to muster the courage to extinguish any embers still burning in their relationship.
“What can I get you folks today?” the perky waitress asked.
“I’ll have the salad and tomato soup,” Juliette said, passing off the menu.
“A burger and fries for me.” Harry tended to be polite to waitpersons. “Oh, and a Coke,” he added in an unnaturally jovial tone.
Okay, we all get it. Not a beer.
When the waitress left, he asked, “What did you think of the sermon?”
“It was thought provoking,” Juliette said. “I like Jason.”
He cocked his head and grimaced. “Yeah, I guess.”
He suddenly seemed like someone in need of help rather than her former fiancé. “There was the altar call at the end. That’s how Lexi and I made professions of faith. Did you consider doing that?”
“Not really. I got the impression it was hooked into the financial message.”
Talking to him hadn’t worked before, and nothing came to mind to convince him now. When the waitress brought her salad, he swiped a cherry tomato. “You’re kind of quiet. I can’t help feeling under judgment here, Juliette. Between you and Jason, and he’s a nice enough guy, but these lines are being drawn where I’m just not seeing any. Don’t get me wrong. I’m open.”
It didn’t sound like it. And without God, he’d continue to gloat about people like the porno king, Brad Barrington. She wanted a better life for her children, a wholesome, loving, and faith-filled home. She thought about Paul’s concern yesterday. She shared her dreams with Harry many times over the years, and he was always interested, but he’d never helped in the same way Paul did. And he never could living the kind of life he did.
“Can we get lunch to go?”
“Are you saying you want to leave?” He glanced at the open kitchen. “Sure. We could eat back at the Golightlys if they’ll let me in.” He laughed a little and reached his hand to hers.
She snatched it under the table and caressed the finger where she once wore the engagement ring, the hand God restored. More than ever, she wanted to serve him in whatever way she could.
“It’s not going to work, Harry. I’m not the person you knew.”
The waitress arrived with his hamburger and her soup. “Will there be anything else?”
&n
bsp; “You know what.” He chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “Could you box up the burger? Did you want your lunch, Juliette?”
When she shook her head, the busy waitress left the check on the table and disappeared. Harry fished bills from his pocket, and they waited a few more minutes for his boxed meal. On the walk to the car, the sun beat down hotter than usual and no Gulf breeze stirred the air. They drove half a mile to the Golightlys in tense silence.
Harry pulled to the curb and stared straight ahead.
As Juliette slid from the car, all kinds of deep, final comments stirred in her head. But before she knew it, she was closing the door. He peeled away and a thump sounded in the street. She sighed at the burger and Styrofoam box splayed on the asphalt and walked over to pick it up.
Yeah, it was over.
****
After a short nap, Juliette fixed a sandwich and took it upstairs. Peggy and Asher were visiting friends until late afternoon. She stretched out on the slim bed with her laptop and Skipper curled at her feet.
An email from Lexi had arrived. Loads of pictures were attached of the apartment, the American university where her father taught, and some landmarks they saw on a tour. Her friend Helen belonged to a church, and they offered a summer program for teens. It was the tail end of it, but she’d attend a few days.
Juliette typed out a short reply and attached a picture of Skipper in midair, a trick Asher taught her for getting a treat. She didn’t mention Paul.
She stretched out on the bed and tried to decide whether to call him. She owed him an apology or an explanation after yesterday. But it was also a chance to move on, never see him again. He’d never know that she didn’t end up with Harry, except through Mrs. May, and by then he might have forgotten her.
She decided to wait until Monday. What would her parents think of him? Her friends? Then again, without Harry who were her friends these days?