“Promised who?” A frown rested on Barb’s face.
“Our handyman. . .our neighbor.”
“Temporary neighbor.” Barb said, her scowl shifting to a toothy grin. “Nice guy, isn’t he?”
Trying to contain her chuckle, Lana folded her arms and nodded.
“What’s the grin for?” her sister asked, suspicion edging her voice.
“He’s sooo nice. . .I’ve invited him to dinner.”
“Dinner?” Disappointment spread across her face. “I’m going out with friends tonight.”
“Then, it’s your loss,” Lana shrugged, sending her sister the illusion of confidence, but a tremor of nervous energy rifled through her. Now she’d have to entertain the man alone.
“Apologize for me, will you?” Barb said as she scooted through the doorway.
“I’ve apologized for you numerous times,” Lana said, staring at the empty doorway. Her response fell into the air. Apparently Barb didn’t have time for more chitchat. She had plans.
And so did Lana. A dinner to make in less than an hour. . . by herself.
After she’d offered Mark the invitation, Lana had pondered what to serve. Not knowing his likes or dislikes, she’d settled on chicken. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t like fried chicken.
Scrounging through a folder of recipes, Lana found one a friend had given her. With flour and herbs blended in a shallow bowl, she added ground peanuts and used the mixture on the chicken with a milk and egg wash. Letting it stand for a few minutes was the secret.
She dashed between the kitchen and the small dining room, setting the table and keeping an eye on the food. When the doorbell rang, Lana had been so preoccupied she’d forgotten to be nervous.
Opening the door, she gave a quiet gasp. Mark looked wonderfully attractive in khaki trousers and an electric blue knit shirt, the color enhancing his light blue eyes. To her delight, he held a single yellow rosebud and a carton of ice cream.
“Dessert,” he said.
“Which one?” she asked, hiding her smile.
“The ice cream. The flower is the centerpiece.”
She loved his sense of humor and accepted both the gifts with a thank you. “Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.” She gestured toward the living room.
In the kitchen, she slid the dessert into the freezer—grateful for the contribution because all she had in the house were some store-bought cookies. Then she found a vase on an upper cabinet shelf and placed the flower in water. “Want a soda?” she called, opening the refrigerator door and scanning inside.
“Sounds great,” he said so close to her ear that her heart rose to her throat.
Swallowing a scream, she spun toward him. “You scared me. I thought you were in the living room.” Though the fried chicken sizzled in the skillet and sent out a delectable aroma, Lana inhaled an exotic scent like a rain forest blended with island spices. She looked into his eyes and seemed to sail away to a tranquil Caribbean lagoon. “You smell good,” she said.
“Not as good as whatever’s in that frying pan.”
“It’s chicken,” she said. But the statement triggered a new thought, and she lowered her arms in frustration. “I forgot to bake the biscuits. It’ll only take a minute.” She snapped on the oven, then turned down the chicken and pan of rice. Again her delayed manners struck her. “Please get us some soda out of the refrigerator. You scared the thought right out of me.”
With a good-natured nod, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out two cans. In a moment the biscuits were in the oven, and Mark handed her one of the sodas. She watched him swig from his can, and so she followed, feeling the cold effervescence cool her throat.
“Let’s sit for a minute.” She beckoned him into the living room and motioned him to an easy chair. “I’d like to hear more about you. Tell me why you moved to a small town like Holly.”
He took another sip and rested the can on his knee. “A new job. I start next week.”
“That’s great. What do you do?” she asked, curious what type of business would entice a handsome young man to a rural town.
“I’m a youth director. I’ll—”
“I work with kids too.” She realized her voice lacked enthusiasm.
“Where do you work?” he asked.
“Holly High School. I’m a social studies teacher. Kids hate history. Sometimes I wish I’d never see another teenager.”
His face twisted with concern, and she wished she’d closed her mouth.
“I don’t mean that exactly,” she corrected. “I suppose most of the time it’s their foolish excuses for not doing their homework and their obvious disinterest in learning. Even the brightest ones want to take the easy way out of learning.”
“I know,” he said. “They can be a handful. . .but not all of them. And even the bad ones are redeemable with a little love and compassion.”
His words hit her like a rock. She needed to talk to God about her attitude. “You’re so much like my sister.”
He leaned forward. “You mean bringing strangers home?”
“Maybe that too,” she said, thinking of Barb and her stray animals. “You and my sister seem to be Good Samaritans.”
He leaned back against the cushion and chuckled. “I suppose it’s part of the job.”
A vague notion rattled through her, and humiliation began to creep up her back. “Don’t tell me you’re a minister?”
“No. Not a minister.” The same mischievous grin she saw that afternoon slipped onto his face.
“What then?” She closed her eyes and tethered her hands from covering her ears.
“I’m a church youth director. Almost as bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes. . .I mean no. . .I mean. . .” As his words sank into her brain, Lana had another mortifying realization. “Don’t tell me.” Why hadn’t it dawned on her before? “You’re the new youth director at First Church of Holly.”
“How did you guess?”
A frown stirred his face a heartbeat before the smoke detector let loose its shrill scream.
“The biscuits,” Lana yelled, bounding toward the kitchen with Mark following on her heels.
Smoke rolled from the oven while she turned the knob to off and yanked open the door. Before she could ask Mark to dismantle the alarm, he’d anticipated the need and darted into the hallway.
The noise stopped, and Mark came back holding the battery. “Saved by a long arm. I also opened the side door.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling defeated. She grabbed the potholders and pulled out the blackened biscuits. “Remember, I’m a teacher, not a chef.”
“I can see that,” he said with a chuckle, then looked into the frying pan. “No real harm. The chicken still looks and smells great.
She slid the baking tin into the sink, realizing she hadn’t answered his earlier question before the alarm went off. She let the subject drop. If he didn’t pursue it again, the answer would be her surprise.
In moments, they were seated at the table. Her golden brown chicken looked like a picture postcard, and to her relief, the rice pilaf had remained moist. Before dishing the salad, they bowed their heads, and Mark offered the blessing.
For once her organization and quick planning paid off. Mark took a second helping of everything, and despite the loss of the biscuits, her meal had turned out a success.
But as they talked, Mark’s expression began to concern Lana. A look of discomfort had settled over him. He’d begun to rub his throat and seemed to have difficulty swallowing. His cough worried her more, and concern stabbed through her. Mark grasped the water glass and gulped.
Lana leaned forward, watching panic grow in his eye. “Is something wrong?”
“No. . .yes, it’s my throat. I can’t breathe.”
“You look terrible,” she said, being not only honest but concerned. She’d put nothing spicy on the food. Her mind ran over the list of ingredients, her own panic growing.
“There’s only one thing I’m allergic
to that bothers me like this. . .but—”
“What are you allergic to, Mark?” She held her breath, afraid to hear his answer.
“Peanuts, but I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.”
“I did?” As his eyes widened the size of baseballs, his jaw dropped open.
If she could have commanded the floor to open, she would have. “I put ground peanuts in the chicken batter.”
He rose like a bullet, sending the chair on a spiraling journey. “I have to get my medicine,” he gasped, reaching the doorway before Lana could think.
“I’ll come with you,” Lana cried, following him outside. She cringed as she spouted her next thought. “You might need me to call an ambulance.”
By the time she reached his front door, Mark had vanished. Her heart pounded with fear. “Where are you?” she yelled. The house had the same floor plan as hers, and she followed a noise to the kitchen.
Mark sat on a kitchen chair, an EpiPen stuck through his pant leg. He held the device in place for a few seconds, and afraid to speak, she waited until he withdrew the needle.
“What can I do?” she asked. “I’ll drive you to the hospital or call an ambulance.”
He concentrated on his leg, massaging the spot where he’d inserted the needle. Finally he lifted his head. “No. . .I’ll be fine now.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.” Trouble. She’d caused him the trouble. “Where’s Jim? Will he be home soon?”
A faint grin settled on his mouth. “Really. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“But I feel so responsible.”
“You didn’t know. I should have told you about the peanut allergy.” He pinched his lips together and shook his head. “And I should have had the EpiPen with me. I’m supposed to carry it when I go out. . .but you only live next door and. . .”
Though he still looked flushed, she couldn’t hold back a smile. “So, you’re not perfect after all.”
He chuckled at her comment. “I plead the Fifth.”
She stood nearby, wondering what she should do. “We have ice cream for dessert. Do you want to come back and—”
“Thanks. No. We’d better call it a night. I’m fine, but I need to stay put and let the medication do its job.”
“I’ll wait with you.” She pulled a chair out and sat down at the table.
He didn’t argue, and they talked for a few moments, but she could see he was uncomfortable. “I suppose I should get going.”
He nodded. “This takes awhile, but I’m okay. Really.”
She rose and backed toward the doorway. “I’ll let myself out. You take care, and I’ll call you in the morning. Okay?”
“Sure. . .and thanks for the great. . .dinner.”
Guilt crawled up her spine. She gave a wave and spun around, heading for the front door. Reality hit her like buck shot. She’d nearly killed the first man who’d appealed to her in a long, long time.
Two
The next morning, Lana sat at the kitchen table, thinking about the horrible evening. She’d told Mark she would call him, but it was early and she thought, since she’d tried to kill him, he might still be in bed.
Being her neighbor made the matter worse. If Mark lived across town, she might see him only on Sundays at church, but now the incident would live in her memory every time she saw his face.
While Lana tucked her cotton robe around her and sipped her second coffee, Barb bounded into the room, fully dressed, and plopped onto a chair. “Hey, Sis, very attractive wrap you’re wearing.” Barb gave a chuckle and leaned back, eyeing her with a curious gaze.
Lana looked down at the bright yellow-and-orange robe with Flub-a-Dub on the front and smiled along with her. “I found this the other day. Remember when Mom was on one of her memorabilia kicks? The old Howdy Doody television show was celebrating some anniversary, I guess.” She poked at the familiar puppet faces grinning from the cloth. “I look stupid, but I tossed my summer robe in the laundry. I ran across this in the things-we-should-throw-away closet.”
“Well, between your ‘Clarabell the Clown’ hair and ‘Howdy Doody’ robe, you look just great.”
“Thanks,” Lana said, knowing she hadn’t done anything to improve her looks since she’d crawled out of bed.
Barb glanced at her watch and bolted up. “Whoa! I have a dentist appointment in ten minutes. Where did the time go?” She darted away and returned with her shoulder bag.
“Could you toss in the newspaper before you leave?” Lana asked, rising and putting her cup into the sink.
Barb glanced at her wristwatch. “Sorry. I’m really running late.” She hurried past Lana and out the side door to the garage. “No one will see you, and if they did,” her voice rang with humor, “they wouldn’t believe their eyes. They’d think it was an apparition.”
Lana followed Barb into the garage and peeked outside toward the mailbox and newspaper holder at the curb. The street appeared empty. She gave one cautious look toward the Spalinni house. Nothing but silence. She ducked behind Barb’s car as it backed out of the garage and followed it down the driveway, figuring that it would camouflage her from the view of one particular neighbor. Once she had the newspaper in her clutches, she’d dart back inside, undetected.
As Barb backed onto the road, Lana snatched the paper from the box and turned toward the garage. Her sister tooted a good-bye and headed down the street.
Not taking the time to wave, Lana bounded toward the safety of the house but panicked as she watched the garage door lower into place. “You hit the remote,” she yelled, turning toward the road and trying to flag her sister. Why? Why? Why? She gaped at the empty street, realizing Barb had pushed the closure button out of habit.
Lana heard the garage door bump against the pavement, then gave another desperate look down the street just in time to see Barb’s car round a corner and vanish from sight. Standing in the driveway, Lana closed her eyes in a silent prayer. Please, Lord, work a miracle for me.
Struck by a thought, Lana rushed into the backyard. Maybe she’d left the garage access door unlocked. The possibility seemed good since Mark had put the tools away for her.
When she turned the doorknob, she grimaced. The access door had been locked tight. Mark had done a top-notch job of safeguarding her lawn equipment.
Lana gaped downward at her garish bathrobe. Who would have thought she’d find herself locked outside in this ridiculous garb? Now what could she do?
She weighed her alternatives. Hiding in the backyard until Barb came home from the dentist didn’t make much sense. Knowing Barb, she’d probably handle twenty other errands before trekking home. If the situation didn’t seem so outlandish, Lana would have cried. But all she could do was gaze at her gaudy reflection in the window glass and laugh.
A small step ladder lay against the back of the garage. She remembered using it to fill the bird feeders, and with trepidation, she carried it to the lower windows to check the locks, but each one she tried was tightly fastened.
Peeking around the front of the house, she eyed the quiet street. One last hope sailed into her mind. The dining-room window. Dragging the ladder, she raced around the house and climbed the two steps to the window. Locked. Her shoulders slumped.
“Howdy, Doody.” A friendly guffaw sounded behind her. She propped her body against the ladder to avoid tumbling to the ground. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Mark standing directly behind her with a five-star grin spread from ear to ear.
“Nice get-up,” he observed.
“Thanks. I see you lived through the night,” she replied, covering her mortification.
“No thanks to you.” His voice lilted with humor. “But I do appreciate your efforts to make up for the damage.” He chuckled once again. “Where’d you buy that charming outfit?”
Though she had a layer of pajamas beneath, Lana grabbed the neck of her robe and tugged it closed, feeling utterly mortified. “Don’t ask. . .and don’t say another word.”
�
�Then I suppose you don’t want my help either.” His voice sang out with amusement. “I have a very tall ladder.”
Struggling for courage, Lana gazed at him. “A real tall one?”
“Sure thing. It’ll reach the second story.” Mark playfully jiggled his eyebrows.
“That would be great. Thanks.” She stepped to the ground, clinging to her colorful cover-up.
“Anything open up there?” he asked.
“The bathroom window maybe. While you check, I’ll hide in the backyard.”
“Right,” he said with a straight face.
She took off on a run, his laughter following her around the corner of the house.
Lana waited in a lawn chair under the tree, and in a few minutes, the garage access door opened, and Mark appeared. “You can get in now, Miss Doody.”
She rose from the chair like a marionette jerked into action and bolted past him into the house. “Thank you,” she called.
Tucked between his distant laughter, she heard his voice. “Don’t mention it. . .but you can be sure I will. You owe me now. No question.”
❧
Lana and Barb strode into church and slid into a center pew. Lana nodded to a couple students she knew from the school. Sometimes she was shocked to see them in church after watching their behavior in class. She wished she knew how to make a difference in their lives.
The opening music ended, and the congregation rose to join in the first hymn. She scanned the worship area, wondering where Mark was. Saturday, after she’d dressed and calmed down, she’d called him, but no one had answered. She guessed he’d been at the church all day. . .which was probably for the best. Her behavior seemed questionable around him. Never having told him she was a member there, she couldn’t wait to see his surprise.
Opening the hymn book, Lana read the familiar words. She loved the music and prayers but often left church with a shard of guilt pressing against her like a minute sliver impossible to extract. She knew the commandments, and she’d read the Bible. Parts, anyway. She just didn’t seem to follow it the way a Christian should. Granted, all of God’s children sinned, but her sins started with a capital S. At least, that’s how she felt. Barb inevitably chattered all the way home about the wonderful message, seeming to feel sinless. Lana knew better.
Over Her Head (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 489) Page 2