Son of a Preacher Man

by Karen M Cox

  I obliged him and felt my lungs robbed of breath as the air crackled and buzzed all around me. “Lizzie?”

  Her eyes were round with shock. “Billy Ray?”

  Richard looked from one of us to the other and back again while we stared at each other. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  “How—how are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She laughed and shook her head, as shocked and surprised as I was.

  “You—you look wonderful.” I couldn’t keep from stammering, it seemed.

  “Thanks. So do you.” She blushed.

  Richard cut in. “That’s because he’s smiling for a change.”

  It was rude, ignoring Richard that way, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Lizzie. She was striking, just beautiful. Her lips were still as red as roses, but the color was softer, like velvet. She wore a party dress that hugged her figure without being too tight, and the sparks that sputtered and flared within her two summers ago had steadied into a glowing, soothing flame. She’d grown up. And she was stunning.

  “You cut your hair,” I murmured, itching to reach out and touch it. Her curls just barely struck her shoulder, reminding me of a brunette Marilyn Monroe.

  She put her hand up and touched her shiny, dark locks in a self-conscious manner. “Yes, it’s easier—with work and all.”

  “I like it.”

  She just stared at me, and I realized I was grinning from ear to ear for the first time in months.

  “So, I guess you two know each other,” Richard said.

  Lizzie nodded. “We’re old friends.” She gazed up at me, looking unsure and with a million questions in her eyes. I wanted to whisk her off into a corner and answer them all.

  “Billy Ray’s daddy was the preacher in my hometown.”

  “You don’t say,” Richard answered with a hint of sarcasm. “I guess it’s ‘old home night.’”

  “Is your family well?” I interrupted. “How’s Lily?”

  “Everybody’s fine. Lily’s growin’ like a weed. Don’t get to see her as much as I’d like. Jeannie’s expecting a baby, or did you already know that?”

  “No, I hadn’t heard. It’s been a while since I talked to Charlie.”

  “They just found out a few weeks ago,” she replied. “And your dad—how’s he?”

  “Same as always. Still traveling around the state, spreading the Good News.”

  “That’s good…good for him.” She cast a surreptitious look at Richard, and I remembered what he’d said about asking out one of the nursing students. I could only assume he had chosen Lizzie “Light up the World” Quinlan. After all, she was the most beautiful girl in the room. But Donovan was up a creek without a paddle this time. Seeing her out of the blue like that had sealed my fate. I was the only one who was going to keep company with Miss Quinlan now—that is, if she’d keep company with me.

  He sighed. “Okay, cats and kittens, I get the picture. Why don’t you two catch up? And I’ll go ask one of these other lovely ladies to dance.” He walked away, shaking his head, but I knew he’d regain his good-natured charm soon enough, probably before the evening was out.

  Lizzie smiled up at me, and her voice was soft. “It sure warms my heart to see you, Billy Ray Davenport.”

  “Would you like to dance?” I asked, holding out my hand, even though I almost never danced and wasn’t too good at it.

  “Always the perfect gentleman.” She took the offered hand, and I led her to the dance floor. The song had changed to a slow, sad tune and my body hummed with excitement as I took her in my arms. We danced for a minute or two before I could speak. All over again, I had to get used to the startling effect she had on me.

  “So, you go by Elizabeth now?”

  She looked down, smiling. “Elizabeth was on all the class rosters. I guess it just kind of stuck after a while.”

  “It’s pretty—all grown up sounding.”

  “How’s medical school?”

  “Well, it’s…” I hesitated for a second and then chuckled. “It’s downright difficult, Ee-lizabeth.”

  She laughed.

  “But I’m holding my own. And you’re in midwife school?”

  “I am,” she answered proudly. “How did you know that?”

  “Mrs. Gardener told me the day I left Orchard Hill. She said a spot opened up, so you took it.”

  “It happened so fast.” She looked sheepish, a bit embarrassed, and I remembered that I’d never gotten a chance to respond to her letter. I wasn’t going to talk about that on a dance floor at the Glenwood Community Center though.

  “Is it what you expected? Going to midwife school?”

  “Oh, it’s better!” Excitement warmed her voice. “This is my first hospital rotation. I’ve only been in the clinic before, so I’ve learned a lot in the last couple weeks.”

  The music changed to a more upbeat song—about tequila, of all things—and she had to almost shout the last answer over the loud music. I stopped dancing, pulled her close, and leaned down to speak into her ear. “You want to go get a cup of coffee? I can’t yell over this music, and I want to hear all about you.”

  She nodded. “Let me tell my friends where I’m going.”

  “Tell them I’ll drive you home.”

  “I have to be home by midnight. My landlady doesn’t like her girls coming in late.”

  “I’ll get you home on time,” I said, grinning. “I’m the preacher’s son, remember?”

  “I do remember at that. Be right back.”

  She left the dance floor and I watched as she joined a cluster of young women at the side of the room. She glanced over my way and pointed, a shy smile on her face as she talked. The girls looked me up and down and turned back to her, giggling. They seemed to genuinely like her, and it struck me that, back in Orchard Hill, I’d never seen Lizzie with a girlfriend—with anyone, really, except Jeannie, Lily, or Mrs. Gardener. What a lonely existence that must have been for her! And how much things had changed! With a sudden shock, it occurred to me that those changes might include a new boyfriend. Surely, she wouldn’t have agreed to go for coffee with me if she had a man in her life, but it seemed impossible that such a remarkable woman wouldn’t have a steady guy.

  At any rate, I had to find out. She met me at the door, struggling to get her arm through the sweater sleeve behind her back. I held it up for her, and she smiled and thanked me. Then we walked out into the cool, starlit night.

  Since I’d moved to Glenwood, the Broadway Diner had quickly become my favorite place to grab a quick bite to eat. It was a casual joint—part of the seating was at a counter with red leather and stainless-steel barstools that ran the length of the place. An aisle separated the bar from booths that lined the glass front of the restaurant. I preferred a booth because it allowed me to watch the townsfolk hurrying by.

  It was fully dark when Lizzie and I arrived. I parallel-parked on the street, fed the meter, and opened her door, extending my hand to help her out of the car.

  “Nice chariot,” she commented, looking back and running her hand over the rooftop.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s odd to see you driving a car. I always think of you walking up and down Cavanaugh Street. We walked everywhere together in Orchard Hill.”

  “My aunt Catherine gave me this when I moved here. It’s her old Chrysler—she replaced it with a Chevy rag top a couple of years ago.”

  “I’ve never met your aunt, but I have this funny image of a very proper spinster in a very hip car.”

  “That’s a pretty accurate image.”

  I pushed open the glass door of the diner, and the short order cook, Eugene, turned at the sound of the chime.

  “Hello, Bill.” He turned back to scrubbing the grill with a wire brush. “Here for a late supper, are ya? You put in a long day over to the hospital?”

  “We thought we’d just get some coffee and a piece of pie if that’s all right with you.”

  “It’s been slow around here tonight, a
nd we’ll take any business we can get. Paula!” he bellowed. “Put down that trashy novel and come take Bill’s order.”

  Paula appeared out of the back room, smoothing her uniform and rearranging her hair as she walked. She reached in the pocket of her apron for her pad of paper and stopped short when she saw us sliding into a booth. Her face fell, and then she recovered and approached us.

  “Would you rather we sit at the bar and not mess up your table?” I asked, trying to be polite.

  “You just sit wherever you want, Bill, honey,” she replied, giving Lizzie a curious, assessing stare. “What can I get you, miss?”

  Lizzie made an attempt to win her over with a gracious smile. “I’d like a cup of coffee, please.”

  “You too, Bill?”

  “Yes, that sounds good. Thank you.”

  From across the table, Lizzie gazed at me, amused. “I can’t get used to people calling you ‘Bill’. It sounds so strange.”

  “It would sound strange to me if you called me anything but Billy Ray, drawing out the ‘ay’ the way you do.”

  Paula brought our coffee and some cream. Fixing it up helped fill the awkward first moments of Lizzie and me being alone together, face-to-face.

  “So, tell me about medical school.” It appeared she wanted to put the focus on school, rather than on us. I supposed I could start with that.

  “I’ve never been so busy. As you can imagine, there’s a lot to learn, and now that I’m doing some clinical work, there’s even more. It’s been a pretty intense couple of years.”

  “Are you going to specialize?”

  “I haven’t decided for sure, but I’m leaning against it. I think I’d enjoy general practice. Like Doc Miller. What about you? How has life been treating you?”

  She paused, looking down at her hands holding the cup. “I’m happy, I guess. This is what I always wanted, and when I moved away from home, I promised myself I’d do things right this time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At school, I started off on the right foot with people—tried to blend in a bit at first, asked a lot of questions, worked hard. I had a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Catching up?”

  “Mm-hmm. A lot of the girls at Hyden went to better high schools than me. I was glad I’d done the outside reading in biology, but I still had to work almost twice as hard that first year just to keep up. Some of my classmates helped me out a whole bunch. That’s another thing I did right. I tried to make friends up front. I was too shy to do that back when we moved from Norfolk to Orchard Hill, and it cost me…later on.” She looked down at the table for a second and then back up at me. “It was easier to make friends in Hyden than in Orchard Hill though.”

  “How so?”

  “The girls in Hyden and me—we have something in common, something we all want but don’t have to compete for—an education. It’s there for all of us to take if we want it bad enough. We only compete against ourselves, and it’s easier to succeed if we work together rather than against each other. In Orchard Hill, there were only things to divide us girls, like who had nicer clothes or a better house.” She grinned at me. “Or the best-looking guy.”

  My fingers picked up a sugar packet and worried it around. “And how about now? You have a guy these days?”

  She put her hand over mine to still my fingers. I felt a zing of pleasure race up my arm at her touch. “That’s another thing I did right.”

  “What?” I asked, jealous uncertainty surging through my stomach.

  “I stayed away from handsome guys like you, Billy Ray.” She drawled out the last ‘ay’, and the air seemed to lighten up and fill my lungs again.

  “Although, there aren’t too many men around a midwife program anyway. That was a big switch for us when we started doing rotations. Now, we’re working with men all the time.”

  “Like Richard Donovan?”

  “He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he? Real ladies’ man. Sue Ann thinks he’s a dreamboat.”

  It sounded like Lizzie had Donovan pegged just right.

  “You left Orchard Hill all of a sudden, Lizzie, without even saying goodbye.”

  “I know. Out of all the things I did that summer, that’s the one thing I regret. It was all so overwhelming. I just…” She waved her hand in a helpless, little gesture. “I don’t know.” Trembling fingers played with her napkin and betrayed her apparent composure. “Did you get the letter I left you?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Did it make you think better of me?” She looked away. “Or worse?”

  I reached out to cover her hand with mine this time. “It made me understand you better, I think. I read it over and over. It gave me a lot to think about.”

  “I was feeling a bit sorry for myself when I wrote it. Do you still have it?”

  I nodded.

  “I wish you’d tear it up. I was in a bitter place then—angry and full of self-pity. I’d like to think I’ve grown up a bit by now.”

  “It wasn’t a bitter letter. You were trying to think what would be best for both of us. It was unselfish of you.”

  For just a second, a glimpse of raw, exposed feeling flashed in her eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

  I squeezed her hand briefly and let it go. “I thought about writing to you—later on. Mrs. Gardener gave me your address.”

  “Really? She never told me she did that.”

  “I guess she didn’t want to say anything in case I never mailed any letters. I should have. I wanted to.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “Well, you left, and at first I was angry. And I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to me ever again, after...” I paused, considering whether I should tell her of my suspicions about Marlene taking the address from my book, but then I decided against it. I didn’t know for sure what had happened to the paper, and regardless, Lizzie didn’t need any more suffering at the hands of Marlene Miller. I remembered what Mrs. Gardener said to me when I went to her about a room at her boarding house. Marlene can’t do any real harm if you don’t let her. I’d used Marlene’s antics as an excuse, letting them keep me from finding Lizzie again. If I’d wanted to, I could have gotten the address from Mrs. G. So, I had to own some responsibility for the two years of loneliness.

  “I lost the paper with your address. I wish I’d asked Mrs. G again, but I was embarrassed, I guess, and unsure.”

  “I understand.”

  “I didn’t stop thinking about you though or wondering how you were doing.”

  Her voice was soft. “Me neither.”

  We each smiled, and a glimmer of understanding settled between us. No matter what happened two summers ago, we had let go of our anger toward each other, realizing how young we were back then. It was a freeing and exhilarating realization.

  That night, we spent almost two hours in the diner catching up. I think Paula was a little annoyed that we sat there so long without ordering a dinner, but I tipped her extra to make up for it.

  It was almost ten thirty when we left, but I had been without this Lizzie-induced warmth in my veins for over two years, and I was abruptly conscious of how cold I’d been all that time without her. I didn’t want to take her home right away. I didn’t want to ever let her go. My feelings came rushing back as if I’d seen her only yesterday.

  We walked for a bit, and we sat in the car outside her boarding house and talked and talked until we were both hoarse from talking.

  Shortly before midnight, we said goodnight.

  “I should get inside.” She gathered her sweater from her lap and draped it over one forearm.

  “And I should go home.”

  “I’ve got a class early in the morning.”

  “And I’ve got rounds at seven a.m.”

  She turned to lift the door handle, and before she could vanish, I ran my forefinger down her arm and took her hand in mine. She stilled.

  “Lizzie?” I murmured, my voice hoar
se and rough.

  She cleared her throat. “Mm-hmm?” Her lips were pressed tight together, and I could sense an odd sort of tension rolling off her. I didn’t understand it. We’d been so comfortable together after that initial shock of seeing each other again.

  “Can I call on you?”

  Her beautiful grin and a soft chuckle broke the tension into a thousand pieces. “Billy Ray, the way you talk sometimes—it’s so old-fashioned.”

  I frowned. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

  Her laugh faded into a gentle smile that made my heart beat faster. “Old-fashioned and charming. I think I’d like it very much if you called on me.” She leaned in close, and those red velvet lips brushed my cheek like a whisper. She was half-way up the walk before I realized her seat was empty. Casting an enticing look over her shoulder, she sent me an older version of her come-hither smile—more mature, subtle, elegant—and a hundred times more enchanting.

  That night I dreamed wild, sweet dreams about Lizzie Quinlan.

  Chapter 21

  I had to work the next day, but on the day after that, Sunday afternoon, I drove back to Lizzie’s boarding house, marched up bold as brass, and knocked on her door as early as would be considered polite.

  A stern-looking woman answered. “May I help you, young man?”

  “I’m here to see Liz—I mean, Elizabeth. Quinlan,” I added, in case there was more than one Elizabeth. “I’m Bill Davenport.”

  “Does she know you?” She pursed her lips in maternal disapproval and looked me up and down.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re old friends.”

  She still looked unimpressed, so I decided to play the son of a preacher man card. “My daddy was the preacher in her home town,” I said, echoing Lizzie’s words from the other night.

  “The girls are supposed to let me know when they’re expecting visitors.” Still not mollified, she crossed her arms in front her, pointedly not inviting me in. I wondered how many other guys had dropped in to see my Lizzie, and if that was why this woman was so unfriendly.