Limited Light

by Carla Rossi

  If he’d been smart, he would have appreciated the time he had with her and played the stupid game to its miserable conclusion, even if it took all night. That would have made her happy. That would have kept the smile on her face. Instead, he pushed too hard and had to make a point. Now four days later, they hadn’t talked, and he had only himself to blame. A dirty shame, that was. He had really come to enjoy their daily conversations .

  His foot slipped off the corner of his desk and shook the can of soda in his hand. A large splash of liquid landed on the front of his light gray dress shirt and soaked through to his skin. He searched through his side drawer for something to wipe it with. That’s what I get for goofin’ off instead of working...

  Then stop goofin’ off.

  Jim snapped his head up and met Danny’s gaze. That’s it. I’m getting a lock for that door.

  Lunch today?

  No, I have to get ready for a meeting tonight and take care of some other things. No time to eat.

  Is your meeting with Marti?

  Yes.

  Then it’s a date.

  No, it’s a meeting about the new building. She put together some information for me and we need to go over it.

  So you’ve talked to her since the dreaded Monopoly disaster?

  Not really. I left a message on her cell phone asking her to meet me tonight. She left a message on mine saying she would. Made it sound like we had to get it over with because she’s leaving this week.

  Danny pulled up his usual chair. Didn’t you talk to her at church on Sunday?

  No. She came in late, sat in the back, and vanished during the final hymn. She hates me.

  She doesn’t hate you. You just ruffled her feathers with that stunt you pulled. Danny slapped his hands on his thighs. Why did you do that anyway? You know the woman has the mind of a competitive athlete. She needs to play to win.

  Jim got up and stomped to his walk-in storage closet to find his spare shirt. Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m an idiot.

  Danny pulled a magazine off the desk and started leafing through it. Forget all that. What’s your next move?

  Jim poked his head out of the doorway. My next move?

  Yeah. How are you gonna smooth that over and move on?

  I’m not. We’re just friends. She’s leaving town.

  I thought you liked her.

  I do. But I told you, I don’t think she could be the one. There are just so many ways we don’t add up.

  Danny tossed the magazine back. How? How don’t you add up?

  Jim exited the closet as he buttoned his clean shirt. Look, Danny. You know what my childhood was like. Foster home to foster home, school to school, people to people. I don’t even know if my real parents are still alive. I had no stable home life, no warm family, no milk and cookies after school, no bedtime stories, no Little League. I know you think I’m crazy, but I want a wife and mother who’ll make dinner, go to PTA, and iron my shirts if they need it. I want lots of kids and bunk beds and I most definitely want cold milk and warm chocolate chip cookies. He looked down at his crooked buttons. Dang it. How did I mess this up so bad?

  He started on the buttons again. When he looked up, Danny was completely stupefied. Say something.

  I don’t know where to start, Jim. He got up and slammed the door closed before sitting back down. But I know one thing.

  What’s that?

  We’re having your cable turned off this afternoon, because you’re watching way too many Brady Bunch and Leave It To Beaver reruns.

  Jim gave up on the last four buttons and collapsed into his chair. I don’t know what to do. I like her.

  Then let’s talk it through. I know you’re not really a caveman, but I was afraid your next words were gonna be ‘barefoot and pregnant.’ That’s why I closed the door. You don’t want all the ladies up here accusing you of being a Neanderthal.

  Jim started on the buttons for the third time. You know I’m not like that. In fact, I’m always in trouble with Preston Woodruff because he thinks I have too many women chairing committees and working around here. But I always tell him ‘Look Preston, if you want something done, don’t ask a man. Ask a woman who has three kids and a job.’

  Danny laughed. That’s true. But if you understand that, what’s the problem?

  The bottom line is I value the idea of a traditional family. Martha Randolph is not traditional family material. She can’t cook, probably pays people to do her cleaning, has no clue what to do with a baby, and works a sixty-hour week. She would never be happy as a wife and mother in Madison .

  Wait a minute. Danny screwed his face into a pained expression. I think I’m figuring this out.

  Jim waited patiently. Danny didn’t get many revelations, but when he did, they were usually astonishingly wise and profound .

  Okay, Jim, tell me. When you see yourself in a traditional marriage, what do you see? And I don’t mean what you see on television, or what you perceive as traditional because of your childhood.

  I see two people in a Christ-centered relationship who work together for common goals. Like a nice home, enough money to take care of everything. I see family dinners, big Christmases, things like that.

  What does your wife do all day before you have kids?

  She could be working like Kim, but you know I need help here. It has to be someone who’s a partner in ministry.

  Okay. Who’s cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry and yard work, getting the oil changed in the car, picking up dry cleaning, and all those daily chores? And when the babies come, who’s running out late for diapers, taking them to the sitter or doctor, giving them a bath, putting them to bed, playing peek-a-boo?

  I don’t know. I—

  What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you had this all figured out? She cooks and cleans so you’ll have milk and cookies, right? She stays home all day so your shirts aren’t wrinkled. Isn’t that what you said?

  Yes, but that’s not exactly what I meant.

  Then what did you mean, buddy? ‘Cause surely you have this all figured out.

  Jim’s head was spinning. He didn’t dare open his mouth again while Danny was on a roll like this one .

  I’ve got one more question, Jim. What are you doing in this traditional home that you see? What are you contributing?

  After a long pause, Jim lifted his gaze to Danny’s. Whatever needs to be done to make it work.

  Danny leaned back in his chair and let out a long and hearty well-deserved sigh. Now you’re getting it.

  Jim put his elbows on his desk and placed his head in his hands .

  I’m not trying to beat you up, Jim. But you’ve been so busy finding ways you and Marti don’t add up, you’ve failed to realize how you do. So she can’t cook. You can. And a lot of women don’t know what to do with a baby ‘til they have one of their own. She has a career. So what. You’d be amazed how women can create the best of both worlds for themselves when they want to.

  Danny, you’re wise beyond your years.

  Don’t worry, it’ll pass. Can we get lunch now?

  Jim stood to tuck in his evenly buttoned shirt. Sure. But about Martha, you have to remember something else. She has a broken heart and she’s mad at me. We hardly know each other and she’s leaving town. She’d be mortified to find out the thought even crossed my mind.

  Danny waved his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. Gimme a break. You two have more going on between you than some married couples I know. Sure, she’s hurt and doesn’t know which way to turn, but I know for a fact she likes you.

  Jim nearly lunged across the desk. What do you know?

  Buy me lunch at Bertie’s, and I’ll tell you what I can.

  Jim smiled. He’d buy Danny all the lunches he wanted for the rest of his days if he thought it would help him win Martha .

  Deal.

  ****

  Being careful not to disturb her fresh pedicure, Marti used her foot to push on the cardboard box. Game over . She giggled to hersel
f as she remembered her last words to Pastor James on game night. She’d never made such a spectacular exit. Game over . She giggled again .

  Do you need some help there, Chuckles? Grandma Rose stood in the doorway from the kitchen wearing a blue gingham housedress and matching socks .

  No, and you’re not funny. I was just trying to wrestle these boxes down the stairs without ruining my nails. She splayed her fingers out for the older woman to see. Kimmie did them for me. She looked down. And my toes. See?

  Beautiful. That shade of pink will look great with the gray and navy suits you tried on today.

  Well, she shrugged, pink is the answer to everything.

  Grandma Rose sat down on the stairs. I just wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow. You said you’d be here at least two weeks.

  I know. But considering I’m unemployed, I couldn’t say no to the interviews I was offered in Dallas. She sat down beside her grandmother and took her hand. Don’t worry. I’m not going to stay away so long. Kimmie and I are friends again, and I promised to advise Pastor James on his building project. I have to come home more. Besides, she added, hugging her, I miss the heck outta you.

  Grandma Rose produced a sly smile. Speaking of Pastor James, have you two made up?

  We didn’t fight.

  Some thing happened.

  Oh please. Nothing happened.

  Is tonight a date?

  No. It’s business. Marti grabbed her purse and brief case and stepped into her shoes. I have to go.

  Okay, sweetie.

  I’m sorry I have to leave you, but I have to get all this paperwork to Pastor James before I leave Madison .

  No worries. I’m going to bed anyway. I’ve been battling a headache all evening. Must be the change in weather or something. Can’t seem to shake it.

  You sure you’ll be okay?

  Go, Martha. It’s just a headache .

  ****

  Jim squinted. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He placed his hand across his brow to cut the glare. Yeah, it was her all right. Sleek and sophisticated Miss Martha Randolph was perched on the ground in some type of squat, crouch, and sprawl combination. The late afternoon sun shone through her golden hair as she hovered over a patch of new spring grass and pressed her nose into a small purple flower .

  He started to open his mouth, but then thought better of it. It seemed every time he approached, he scared the wits out of her. He pulled the ribbon with the bell out of his pocket and gave it a gentle shake .

  She didn’t exactly jump. It was more like a wobble, accompanied by waving arms to keep her balance.

  He lunged forward and grabbed her under the arms to pull her up before she could fall over. If I’d known you wanted flowers, Miss Martha, I would have brought you some.

  Her instant icy glare froze out the setting sun .

  I rang the bell , he insisted .

  I heard it. But I had other issues. The edge of my pants was stuck under my shoe.

  He retrieved her brief case from the ground. At least you’re wearing shoes.

  That didn’t even get him another dirty look. She went straight to the silent treatment as she smoothed her slacks and swiped the sides of her conservative low-heeled pumps .

  You’re still mad at me.

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and flipped a mass of hair back. I was never mad at you.

  The hair flip said it all. She was still mad. It was an angry flip. All right. I’m sorry I closed the game up before we were finished.

  She stared back at him, a curious wrinkle in her forehead. Okay...I’m sorry I wasn’t more cooperative about the situation.

  Now that we’ve settled that, what were you looking at?

  Her expression changed. One second she was an irritated woman, the next she was an angelic child, gazing with awestruck wonder at a simple patch of spring flowers. Violets. The hint of a smile danced on her lips. They’re my favorites. These are wild ones.

  He hadn’t really noticed them before, but there they were, growing all around the stack of bricks at the side of the coffee house, little purple flares straining for the sun .

  Violets. He’d have to remember that .

  Once inside, he escorted her to a small round table in the corner of the large but cozy room. What do you want to drink?

  She wiggled out of her pale blue sweater to reveal a silky matching shirt underneath. I don’t know what they call it here, but it’s basically hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and a lot of whipped cream squirted on top.

  Jim looked around at Madison’s small-scale version of a Starbuck’s. Sixteen-year-old Robbie Perkins was behind the counter, using coffee stirrers to construct a pyramid .

  He flashed a confident grin. I’ll see what I can do.

  By the time he returned, she’d placed two folders neatly on the table in front of them. Two freshly sharpened pencils lay strategically placed on top .

  He set a mug in front of her. Robbie promised this is what you’re looking for. Turns out his God-given talent is discovering and developing new and unforgettable coffee drinks.

  She laughed and ran her finger through the generous pile of whipped cream. His parents own this place, don’t they?

  Yep.

  She pointed to a row of sound equipment along the opposite wall. What’s that for?

  He twisted in his chair. That’s for open mic’ night. People come in with guitars and keyboards. It’s real informal. Mostly high school and college kids looking for a place to try out original compositions.

  She opened her folder. We better get started.

  So much for small talk .

  He tried to focus on the issue at hand, but it was hard when there were blue crystals dangling from silver wires in her ears and grazing her cheek .

  I prepared these worksheets about loan prequalification, budget, and cost control. Do you want to work through one right now with the figures you brought?

  That would be a good idea, considering she was an expert at this and he knew next to nothing. Yes, a very good idea... if he could form one coherent thought. Not right now. Let’s go through the rest of the paperwork.

  She gave him meticulous notes on everything from site analysis and timelines, to an overview about such things as liturgical design and landscaping. I’ve enclosed this list of websites and phone numbers. Any of these people would be happy to talk to you. She ran a long pink fingernail down the list. This one right here is who I recommend if you’re going to turn the whole project over to a church building firm. I like their work.

  Is there anything you haven’t thought of?

  She smiled and tapped the folder on the table to straighten the pages inside. I don’t think so.

  She chased the last of the whipped cream around her mug with a spoon. When she finally trapped it, she brought it to her mouth. A tiny white cloud stuck to her upper lip. His only thought was if he kissed her, she would taste like a sugar cube. A sugar cube that had been dunked in a vat of chocolate .

  She tossed her napkin aside. Do you have any questions?

  Huh ?

  He sat back in his chair and held up his folder. Bottom line, Miss Martha. If I get congregational support and a decent fundraising campaign off the ground, can I build a church with what I have here?

  She drummed the sides of her giant cobalt mug, and then pushed it aside. You can’t build anything, Pastor James. But God can. And if He intends for you to undertake this project, He’ll make it very clear. Then He’ll provide the means to make it happen.

  A tiny chill started at the top of his head and grew in intensity as it raced down the length of his body. A lightning storm of feelings and possibilities exploded inside him. No doubt about it, Martha Randolph was rocking his world. No one had ever nailed him quite like that. Not even Danny. Would you excuse me for a minute?

  Of course.

  In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face. Okay, Lord, he whispered, a little help here, please. If she’s not for me, I
need to know so I can stay away from her. If she is, I need a definite sign. He leaned against the wall. This is ridiculous. I’m standing in a public restroom taking to God and to myself because I’m afraid of a smart, beautiful woman who’s sippin’ hot chocolate.

  When he left the men’s room, his plan was clear. Politely end the meeting. Go home. Spend at least an hour on the home gym. Figure out what the heck to do about Martha .

  But nothing was ever that simple .

  He returned to the table to find the crowd had tripled since he’d left. What’s going on? The place is overrun with teenagers.

  Turns out open mic’ night is tonight.

  On a Tuesday? He shrugged. That’s too bad, ‘cause I know you want to get home to your grandmother, and I have a lot of studying to do so—

  She tugged at his sleeve as he gathered his things. Wait. Don’t you want to stay and listen?

  Uh...don’t I wanna... huh ? Smooth. Real smooth .

  C’mon, she said, and pulled his chair back out. I recognize some of these kids from the church. Don’t you want to stay and support them?

  Of course he did. The only thing he didn’t want to do was spend one more minute in close proximity to her. He needed to clear the fog in his brain. He gazed at her bright open face, full of excitement and anticipation. So this was what it took to slow her down and get her to relax. It was a bit of a surprise. Sure. We can stay a while.

  She pushed their empty mugs to the edge of the table and cleared away the paperwork. I recognize that girl over there. What’s her name?

  He scanned the room full of ponytails and ball caps. Ah...that’s Lily Woodruff.

  She’s gorgeous.

  Yes. A gorgeous handful.

  So she’s taking her parents for a ride on the adolescent rebellion roller coaster?

  He chuckled. Something like that.

  Is that her boyfriend?

  Jim surveyed the crowd of kids who’d packed themselves on the oversized maroon couch in the corner. I don’t know. She was dating Kyle, but her grandfather said they broke up. I don’t know that guy.

  They watched in silence as the guy in question bent to kiss Lily’s cheek, then moved to nuzzle her neck .

  Jim heard Martha’s tiny gasp. Oh..., she said, shaking her head. That’s not good.