by Liz Talley
The job occupied a good part of her brain but didn’t require too much concentration, and left plenty of room for wandering thoughts. The call to Murray State had proven futile this morning. The offices were closed until Wednesday due to the July Fourth holiday weekend. And the call to Sawyer had been just as futile.
He’d expressed no interest in helping sort through things when she’d let him know what she was up to. His voice sounded dull and listless, and she suspected he’d had another sleepless night. He’d told her to do whatever she saw fit with his mom’s stuff. He trusted her to make the right decision. There had been no emotion in his tone.
What else could she expect? He’d been through the wringer yesterday, by all accounts—all seventeen accounts if she included both visitors and phone calls. She’d suggested that he take the boat out for a day of fishing and relaxation today, but he hadn’t taken the bait.
Her heart fell at the sound of a knock on the front door. She stood motionless. Maybe if she didn’t move, whoever it was would think she was out and would go away. She was tired of visitors and tired of talking.
Another knock, more persistent this time.
Snatching a washcloth from a box of linens, she wiped her sweaty face and headed to greet the unwelcome guest.
Ollie Perkins stood on the front porch, clutching his violin case in one hand and his red bandanna in the other.
“Hi, Ollie.” Faith edged the screen door open slowly, giving him time to move out of its arching path.
“Morning, Faith.” He raised the case in explanation of his visit. “Thought maybe your soul might be hankering for a little music to soothe it.”
Faith choked at his words. When Lacy had lain too sick to get out of the bed, she would ask for Ollie to come soothe her soul with his music. He always obliged.
“Come in. My soul needs soothing for sure.” She held the door wide. Once inside, Ollie stopped and glanced around the living room slowly, as if he were taking inventory of the furnishings.
“Wanted to make sure you hadn’t moved anything.” He grinned. “I’d hate to bang into one of Lacy’s beloved lamps.”
Faith reached to take his arm, but he moved toward a chair with a meaningful shuffle, so she let him do it on his own.
“How’s your mom this morning, Ollie?”
“Fair to middlin’.” He made short work of settling his case on the floor at his feet, and getting it open. “Tara doing okay over yonder in Paris?”
Faith nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her. “She’s enjoying herself. I talked to her last night.” Heat crept into her face as she remembered the impulsive call she’d made and the conversation that had precipitated it. At least Ollie couldn’t see her embarrassment.
“What d’ya need this morning? Hymns? Jigs? Reels? Any particular requests?”
Faith sat on the arm of the recliner. “I’m not sure what I need, Ollie. Just something pretty.”
“How ’bout this?” The haunting melody of “Theme from A Summer Place” glided from his strings, and Faith slid from the arm of the chair onto the seat. The tune had been one of her mom’s favorites.
She closed her eyes, letting the beautiful strains carry away some of the tension. As the last note died, she took a deep breath, and felt it plunge to a space long neglected at the bottom of her lungs.
“That was beautiful.” She sighed. “I didn’t realize you played that kind of music.”
“I don’t play it nearly often enough. Here’s another.”
Faith smiled as “Moon River” filled her ears. She could almost feel herself being pulled along by the current, peaceful and calm, not caring what lay “waiting ’round the bend.”
On and on, Ollie played. One song after another with barely a pause in-between. Mostly romantic songs from movies, his choices revealed a side of him she’d never known.
An amiable silence fell between them, as if words were unnecessary and inadequate. Once, her phone rang and he’d stopped to let her answer. But the caller ID identified that it was Nell Bradley from the Ladies’ Prayer Group. She let it go to voice mail.
“This one’s my favorite. It’s called ‘Today.’ A folk group called The New Christy Minstrels made it popular back in the ’60s. The words are really pretty.”
“Can you sing it?” Faith had never heard the old man sing, even at church, but there was such openness about him at the moment, he might be persuaded.
Her question drug a laugh from his belly. “My screeching would not be soothing to your soul. Look the words up sometime, though. You’ll appreciate them.”
The song, like all the others, was beautiful, and Faith was sorry when it ended...and intrigued. “What makes that one your favorite?”
Her visitor leaned over and put his violin back to rest in its case before he answered her. He also mopped his face, and wiped his eyes, which had grown misty.
“I was in love once. That was our song.”
Faith had never thought about Ollie in that way...as someone who would fall in love. He’d been devoted to his mom, had lived with her his entire life in the house he grew up in until she went to the nursing home. That another woman had ever been in his life seemed impossible. Who could it have been?
“I never knew that, Ollie.”
“No one did.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and somehow pinned her with his dead-on gaze. “He was married.”
His words sent a shockwave through Faith’s system. Her fingers reflexively tightened on the chair arms.
“Yes, sweet Faith, you heard me right. Have I shocked you?” His voice was quiet and smooth, holding no hint that he was asking for sympathy...or anything from her, for that matter.
“Yes,” she answered. “I had no idea...”
“No one ever has, that I know of.” He paused, but his rheumy gaze didn’t waver. “You see, Faith, everybody’s got something. There’s not a person in Taylor’s Grove hadn’t been through an ordeal. That’s what life is. How you come through it’s the key.” He leaned back, seeming more comfortable now with the conversation he’d dropped her into. “Loving is never wrong.”
“But I didn’t love him, Ollie. He was a one-night stand, and I haven’t seen him since.” Her mouth was moving, telling this old man her story, and she wasn’t sure why. But it felt cathartic, and she didn’t want to stop. “Tara was the result. That’s why she’s gone to Paris. To find him.”
“You never told...anyone.”
“Not until Memorial Day. The whole family found out at the same time. Sawyer included. Now he’s questioning our relationship.” She leaned forward, pressing the matter. “But that one incident doesn’t define us, does it?”
“Only if you let it.”
It was hard to believe that, with all the women in town Faith could’ve turned to, it was a seventy-seven-year-old man she was confiding in. But it felt right somehow. Ollie understood. And now she understood the passion always present in his music.
“What do I do now? I’ve apologized so many times, I can’t say those words anymore with any feeling. But Sawyer can’t get past my betrayal. I knew I was pregnant when we got married. I made him believe Tara was his.”
“You accept the situation for what it is. And what it is is over and done with. We can’t go back and change the past. Do you want me to talk to Sawyer?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He has to decide on his own who to turn to.”
Ollie closed the lid of the violin case and latched it. “Your secret’s safe with me, Faith.”
“And yours with me.”
“I knew that before you told me. But as for Tara’s lineage, I think that’s Tara’s choice to tell or not. People are making all kinds of speculations as to what this separation stems from. Nobody’s focusing on the past. Everybody thinks y’all have been t
hrough a recent trauma. An affair or maybe a near-affair. I’ll tell you though, some in our midst are out for blood and they don’t care what the cause is or who’s to blame.”
“I...we anticipated that.”
“I’m sure you’ve thought through everything. In the middle of the night when you shoulda been sleeping would be my guess.” He picked up his case to leave.
Faith stood up to show him out. “Ollie? Whatever happened to the man you loved?”
“Died too young.”
She hugged him like she would have one of her children. “I’m sorry things couldn’t have been different for you two.”
The old man sniffed and wiped his eyes on his bandanna. “‘The universe is unfolding as it should.’”
How desperately she wanted to believe that...wanted to believe that somehow all of this was going to turn out okay. “Thank you for coming by.” She gave his back a pat in parting. “You gave me an hour of sheer joy.”
“No better compliment than that. Keep your chin up. This’ll pass.”
She watched him stroll down the steps and all the way to the sidewalk that ran along Main Street.
“Bless your heart, Ollie,” she whispered as she closed the door. “If you can endure this town, so can I.”
* * *
“I’M GLAD MONIQUE’S FATHER is doing well enough for her to come back, but I’m going to miss my time with Dylan. I talked to him about my leaving, by the way.”
The subject dampened Tara’s spirits even more than the rain that was keeping them from the terrace this evening. She’d fought tears all afternoon—weepiness wasn’t usually in her nature.
“How did he take that news?” Garrett closed the terrace door against what was now a downpour as a streak of lightning lit the sky.
Tara secured her hair into a ponytail. The humidity was making it feel like a bush had sprouted on her head. “He didn’t like it much.” She reached for the bottle and divided the remainder of the wine between their two glasses.
Garrett flipped the air conditioner on. “I don’t like it much, either.”
An accompanying rumble of thunder added drama to his words, and jarred a renegade tear from Tara’s eye. She brushed it away while Garrett’s back was to her, determined not to spoil one of the precious few nights they had left.
“I guess it’s back to the search for dear old Dad tomorrow.” She cringed at the subject she’d changed to. Her futile search for Jacques Martin was the second most depressing thing on her mind.
Garrett sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Maybe tomorrow will be the day.”
“Maybe.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel as she handed him his glass and sat down.
Garrett stretched his legs out and put his arm across her shoulders, its weight a comfort, an anchor in this stormy emotional sea she was currently tossed about on. His fingertips brushed her temple, and she leaned against him. “What’s the matter, love? You seem down tonight.” His concern was edged with caution. He’d practiced those same words on Angie time after time, no doubt. Tara wanted no resemblance between her actions and those of his deceased wife.
“I’m just more emotional about this Jacques Martin stuff than I want to admit.” She settled on the half truth, leaving out the part about him and Dylan, gnawing her bottom lip when it quivered.
“Don’t give up hope.” His fingertips brushed her forehead and her hair. “There’s still time.”
She nodded, but her mind was shaking its head. Time with him and Dylan was growing much too short. Another tear eased from her eye, catching on Garrett’s finger as it brushed her cheek.
He leaned forward and looked directly into her face. “Oh, baby, don’t cry,” he said, and, of course, the gentleness in his manner opened her water works to full force. He took her glass from her, and set both of them on the coffee table.
“I’m s—sorry.” She swiped at her eyes and tried to control the sobs, but the words came out on snubbed breaths. “I’m...usually...not the...crying...kind.”
“I know.” He kissed each of her eyelids. “I can tell.”
“You...can?” Her breathing stuttered in her chest.
Garrett nodded. “You’re the bravest woman I know. Facing the things you’ve gone through.” He kissed her injured hand. “Coming here alone in search of a man you’ve never met.” His labored sigh filled the space between them. “I’ve acted like such a coward at times. You put me to shame.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. His touch was calm and warm. It stilled her...and excited her. “You should never feel that way because you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “You lived through hell and carried Dylan safely through it all.”
A fleeting grimace touched his mouth and then it was gone, replaced by a small pucker that deepened the scar on his upper lip. “You know, maybe we haven’t been making the most of the manpower available.” He shifted to face her. “Why don’t we split up the remainder of the names on your list? Between the two of us, we could get all of the Jacques Martins covered. You’d have to take the ones farther away, but I could cover the ones closer to the office and on my way home.”
“You’d do that for me?”
He cupped her face in his hands, tilting it so she was looking directly into his. “I would do anything for you, Tara.” His eyes took on a darker hue, and he kissed her with more fervor than before.
Her body stirred with longing, and she pressed closer. “Well, I’d like to do something for you...to repay your kindness.” She gave him a soft smile. “Think Dylan’s asleep?”
“Long ago.”
She stood and held out her hand. “We can talk when he’s awake. Let’s make better use of our time alone.”
She led the way to his bedroom.
Barely inside the door, he kissed her, long and hard, and the stirring intensified. The way this man affected her with just a kiss! Heat surged through her, every fiber sizzling.
They broke contact only briefly while she pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it on the bed. Then her eager palms sought the taut planes of his stomach muscles. His hands lost no time reciprocating, ridding her of her clothes. He grasped her rear and pressed her front against him.
With a little hop, her legs were around his waist, and he backed over to his bed, pausing only long enough to grab a condom from the drawer. He lay down, keeping her on top.
Astride him and in the driver’s seat, she shifted into high gear and stomped on the gas.
Their lovemaking was fast and furious and wild like the storm that battered the window, leaving them sweaty and gasping for air.
But soon, and with what turned out to be fortuitous timing, a burst of lightning struck, followed immediately by a rolling concussion of thunder. It sent a chill through Tara and had her grabbing for Garrett’s cast-off tee. She slipped into it just as the bedroom door flew open, and a terrified Dylan streaked into the room.
“Dad, the thunder’s too loud!”
He drew up short at the side of the bed, the terror in his eyes giving way to confusion. “Tara?” His face broke into the wide grin she adored. “You decided to sleep over!” he crowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well.” She looked to Garrett for help, but he answered her with an I’ve-got-nothing shrug. She glanced at the clock that read 12:43 a.m. “We just remembered that it’s July Fourth, which is a holiday in the States. Why don’t we make a tent and pretend we’re camping out?”
“Cool! I’ll go get my pillow!” The child ran from the room on a mission, and Tara and Garrett lost no time jumping from under the covers to don their shorts.
“Seriously? Sleeping on the floor?” Garrett speared her with a disgruntled look. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“Oh, shut up.” She laughed and pulled the blank
et from the bed. “And go find me some rope.”
Garrett’s frown dissolved into the same enthusiastic smile Dylan displayed. “Now you’re talking.”
He sprinted from the room, as well.
“For the tent!” she called after him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE FIRST RAYS OF SUN caught the prism Lacy had always kept hanging in the side window of her bedroom, coloring the opposite wall with a rainbow that required no rain.
Faith was awake and had been for some time. As she watched the hues deepen, she was reminded of the story of Noah and his ark. If only her rainbow could be a sign like his had been—a promise that the storm was over...or maybe would be soon.
It was going to be a beautiful Fourth of July. Maybe she would call the kids and Emma and have a picnic at the cabin after all. Then they could stop lying to Tara.
An unexpected noise drew her from the bed to the front window. She cracked the blinds to find Sawyer hooking the bass boat onto his truck. Another good sign! If he felt like going fishing, it surely meant he was getting back to normal.
She held her breath, hoping he would knock on the door and invite her to go along. But when he got back in the truck and slammed the door, she let the breath out slowly, waving goodbye to him with an unseen hand.
They’d only spoken briefly since the conversation in the garage Saturday. Three days ago—though it seemed like three years.
She picked up the novel she’d been reading and wandered to the kitchen. Bacon and eggs sounded good for breakfast. Or an omelet perhaps. Her stomach had been so upset, food seemed like the enemy. But since Ollie’s visit yesterday, she’d managed to eat lunch and supper, and breakfast was on her agenda for this morning.
She arranged some slices of bacon on the tray, and put them in the microwave to cook.
If the dear old man could go through what he had and never complain to anyone about the unfairness of things, she could certainly bear this. He had nothing except memories, but she’d actually been blessed.