by Ginny Aiken
“Then there would be no problem with your accepting a dinner date with me,” he insisted.
“Well, I … perhaps.” Debbie was reluctant to promise. He really wasn’t her type. He seemed very nice, though, and had been petitioning her since her first day on the job. He had no reservations about showing his interest in her.
“We’ll set something up as soon as baseball season is over,” the coach beamed.
Debbie forced a smile. It was time she moved on from fantasies.
Chapter 5
Another Saturday had dawned and promised a gorgeous spring day. Scott stirred a dash of milk into his cup of coffee. He didn’t have any office hours this Saturday, so he had prepared a list of things that needed to be done around the old house—a leaky faucet to replace, a crack to plaster, and hardwood floor to polish. None of the activities excited him, and he dallied by the kitchen window with his cooling cup of coffee.
Movement in the backyard claimed his attention. Debbie stood near the rear of her lot looking like a spring flower. Scott hadn’t talked to her since Wednesday, when he had made his lame call to her office. He still couldn’t believe he had used the excuse of the dogs’ mischief to hear her voice.
Scott noticed that Debbie was watching two men set up a tripod. If the thought hadn’t been a ridiculous one, he would have guessed they were surveyors. Scott watched the men study a large sheet of paper, then move their tripod closer to his house.
He set his cup down in the sink and hurried out his back door. “Howdy, neighbor; what’s up?” he called cheerfully.
Debbie crossed her arms in front of her. “Just a little preparation work.”
Scott waited for her to continue. The yard separating them seemed to stretch like a large plain.
Finally she said, “I’m putting up a fence.”
“A fence?” His words fell like breaking glass.
“Next fall, after the garden is done, of course.”
Scott didn’t like calling to her across the lawn in front of strangers. “Debbie, can I talk to you?”
She nodded but stayed rooted to her spot, making Scott go to her. He thought they had been making good progress in their friendship, but this wasn’t a good sign.
“What is this all about?” Scott asked. He reached out to touch her arm, but she gently pulled away.
Debbie steeled herself from his touch and his soft, probing gaze. “I need to know how big the fence will be so I can budget it into my finances.”
“But why?” Scott looked wounded. “Your house has been here fifty years without a fence.”
She shrugged. “It’s a corner lot that gets a lot of traffic, and a nice fence will raise property values.”
He appeared unconvinced.
“Nothing against any of our neighbors,” she said. “It will be a low fence—probably a white picket.”
The sound of a shovel hitting stone caused both to turn to the workers. They had uncovered a stone marker in Scott’s yard.
“What are they doing?” Scott asked, clearly frustrated.
Debbie shook her head.
“Miss Julian,” the older surveyor spoke up, “this would be the property line.” He stood barely six feet from the side of Scott’s house. “The line should run straight into that pine grove, but we’ll double-check it.”
“That’s impossible,” Scott said under his breath.
Debbie’s eyes widened as she followed the surveyor’s line to the garden. It appeared that the whole garden was actually on her property and, in fact, Scott’s sprinkler line was also in her yard. Scott saw the lay of the line also.
“Didn’t you have this place surveyed when you bought it?” Debbie asked, finding it hard to keep the smug tone from her voice.
Scott glared at her. “I didn’t feel it necessary when my neighbors were so friendly and helpful. I made the mistake of not planning for future neighbors.”
His words had bite and smarted as they made contact. This hadn’t turned out like she had wanted. She had planned the fence to keep her messes from ruining his landscaping perfection. She supposed she could admit to herself that it was also a display of independence. They could be neighbors but she would keep the fence between them to remind herself that it couldn’t be anything more.
Debbie turned her back to him and walked toward the surveyors. Scott seized her arm and spun her back around. He quickly dropped her arm, but his mouth remained open with no sound coming out. She waited.
“I … okay … I thought we had made some progress,” he stammered.
She stared at him. “Progress at what—a garden?”
“No, because that is clearly on your property now.” Scott was obviously fighting the urge to get angry. “I thought we were becoming friends.”
“Nothing has changed,” she insisted. “We are still neighbors.”
“Neighbors?”
“Sure.”
“If that is how you want it, then I won’t bother you about the garden again. You’ll have plenty of goods to share with your relatives.” He backed away as if repulsed by the sight of her.
“Scott …!” She couldn’t believe his cold attitude.
He spun away from her and rounded his garage out of sight. Soon she heard his car start up and leave the drive.
Debbie stayed in the yard until the surveyors had finished. Then she entered the house, glad that Grandma was closeted in her sewing room. She pulled herself upstairs, stewing over each of Scott’s words.
Lord, I don’t want Scott to be the dream forever out of my reach, and I don’t want him to be my enemy. What’s wrong with wanting to be civilized neighbors? Lord, I give this situation into Your hands. Show me my failures and help me mend this new mess I have created.
She waited for a peace to come, but it didn’t. She sat in her window seat and gazed across the backyard. Scott didn’t return home until early afternoon. Then she never saw him in the yard.
Scott drove around town, made an unnecessary stop at a super store just to walk around, then ended up at the house of his associate pastor. The two men were very close in age and had quickly become friends when Scott had started attending the church last fall.
Over the noisy play of two toddlers, Scott brought up the subject of Debbie to Pastor Jim.
“You’re asking me about women?” Jim laughed, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell my wife or she’ll gloat, but I don’t understand women at all.”
Scott sighed. “You’re no help, man.”
“How long have you known her?”
“We first met about thirteen or fourteen years ago, but I couldn’t even tell you what she looked like back then.” Scott shrugged. “We really only met at the beginning of this month.”
“Well, now, it seems to me that it could be like deer hunting … no, more like fishing.”
Scott laughed at his friend’s quest for an illustration.
“You see,” Jim said, gaining confidence in his words, “your Debbie is like the fish that nibbles on the bait. She is tempted but she is afraid of being caught. She will put distance between herself and the bait, but as long as you keep some play on the line, she will be tempted back.”
Scott tried to picture Debbie as a fish.
“My friend, you have to keep the bait out there,” Jim declared, “until she’s not afraid of the hook. Woo her, man. Woo her until she is clay in your hands.”
Scott gulped.
“But pray. Ask the Lord if she is the one, and if you get the green light, go for it,” Jim stated confidently.
“Jim!” a female voice called from the kitchen.
Jim jumped.
“Wash the kids up for lunch, please.”
“Yes, dear,” Jim promptly answered and smiled at Scott. “Then you can have this kind of wedded bliss to look forward to.” He scooped a child up under each arm and trotted off to the bathroom.
Scott stayed for lunch with Jim’s illustration running through his mind. Could he afford to do some more f
ishing? Was Debbie just scared or bad tempered? She had already ruined his lawn and shrunk his property down in size. What next, his house?
Scott prayed all evening, petitioning God for the direction he should take with Miss Debbie Julian. He needed to know if he should be content to live as her congenial neighbor or if the Lord was sanctioning a relationship for them.
Sunday morning his answer suddenly arrived in the middle of the worship service. Scott had been prepared to wait, as God usually took His time revealing His plan to His child. But a peace about his future with Debbie completely surrounded him. It was as if a family member had given him a hug and pointed out the path he should travel.
Sunday afternoon, Scott visited with Maxie from the front walk. He was careful to stay off the Julian property even though he didn’t see Debbie in sight. He had determined to test the waters slowly and see if he could coax a nibble. If it were meant to be the way he was envisioning, she would eventually let him get close. And when the timing was right, he would hook a ring on her finger and never let her go.
Chapter 6
Wallpapering was the last way Debbie had planned to spend her Memorial Day vacation, but Grandma pleaded that they redecorate the tiny sewing room. Debbie knew that Grandma had given her an extremely fair price on the house, and she felt obligated to work on the projects that her grandmother had been avoiding for the last ten years.
The grueling task of picking out the paper was accomplished on Saturday evening. Debbie compromised with Grandma’s passion for big flowers, and they purchased a tasteful floral vine design instead of Debbie’s preference for a small stripe. Debbie started some of her measurements on Sunday afternoon. Monday morning she allowed herself to sleep an hour longer than usual, just because it was a holiday, then she dug out the water pan, sponges, a knife, scissors, rulers, and all the tools that might make the papering go smoothly.
The tiny room was right beside the master bedroom on the first level of the house. Debbie set up a card table in the bedroom for her cutting work. She shoved the sewing desk, boxes of crafts and material, a bookshelf, lamps, an ironing board, and a chair all to one side of the room. She quickly primed the old paint job, and just before noon she was ready to hang the first piece.
The piece was nine feet long and needed to curve around a corner and match the straight line with the doorframe. Debbie’s two-foot step stool barely allowed her to reach high enough and didn’t fit flush against the wall. She wet the paper and stepped up to the top of her stool. The first reach didn’t get the paper flush to the ceiling and caused a cramp in her side. She had to relax her arms and lower the paper.
Her second try at fitting the paper left a huge bubble in the top corner and the bottom was hanging three quarters of an inch off. Debbie pounded her fist on the offending bubble.
“How’s it coming?” Grandma asked from the doorway, where the furniture allowed a very narrow passage.
“I’m going to have to take this down and readjust it. Hopefully I can still salvage the paper,” Debbie grumbled. “It is not a good start. This stool is too short, and I don’t have the reach.”
“Hold just a minute,” Grandma said. “I may have the solution.”
Grandma disappeared and Debbie pulled the chair into the corner. She placed one foot on the top of the stool and the other on the back of the chair. She started pulling the wet paper away from the wall. The top third crumpled down on her head, but she kept pulling gently so as not to rip the paper.
When the paper felt loose, she reached up to find the top end. Blinded by paper covering her face, she felt along both sides and down toward her back. Her hand came in contact with something large and warm.
“You look like you could use an extra hand.”
Debbie let out a high-pitched scream and teetered on her perch. She had been so absorbed in her project that she hadn’t heard anyone enter the room, but she would recognize Scott’s voice anywhere. Her balance was failing, but suddenly strong hands grasped both of her sides and steadied her.
“Hold still,” he quietly commanded.
Debbie barely breathed as she felt Scott’s weight on the stool and the heat from his body against her back. He took the paper from her, and reaching over her, he smoothed the top edge up against the ceiling. Debbie couldn’t move. She was trapped between the wall and his blanketing presence.
His arm gently brushed hers as he stepped down from the stool. His hand came to her lower back as she searched for a solid footing. She almost forgot her next task, then hurriedly smoothed the paper the rest of the way down the wall with a large sponge. It was a perfect fit and the bubbles smoothed out with ease.
Debbie turned to thank Scott, but the room was empty. She squeezed out the narrow passageway, and her feet rushed along the short hallway to the kitchen, where Scott and Grandma were chatting. Scott grinned as Debbie braked to an abrupt stop.
She flung a hand pointing back toward the sewing room. “Uh … thanks. The first piece is always the hardest.” Her movements were awkward and she felt tongue-tied.
“But what she is trying to say is that it would go a lot easier with two sets of hands,” Grandma interpreted smoothly.
“Gran …!” Debbie screeched, turning beet red. Her old anguish had returned.
“You’re right,” Scott answered Grandma, “and I’ll stay if I’m needed, but I’ll go if Debbie tells me everything is under control.”
Debbie opened her mouth to reply, but the words didn’t come out as she had planned. “I guess I could use some help … only if you have time.”
Scott’s face lit up with a smile. “Certainly.”
“Well …” Debbie shrugged, speechless. She spun on her heel and darted back to the close walls of the tiny sewing room. He sure smells great today. His scent still lingered along with the pungent smell of wallpaper paste.
Soon he was standing in the doorway. “Just tell me what you need done.”
Debbie stared at the rolls of cut paper, the pan of water, and everything that littered the small area. She had no response. She couldn’t possibly tell him how she wished he would put his arms around her again and let her enjoy being so close to him.
“Is the next piece cut? Perhaps I can get it started along the ceiling.”
Debbie nodded mutely and riffled through her pile for the precise piece. Finally finding the right one, she rolled it and submerged it in the water for a short time. Slowly pulling it out, she quickly reached the limit of her arms’ extension while still having a good two feet of paper still submerged.
Scott reached around her and took the top of the paper while she pulled the rest out of the water. They worked in companionable silence, hanging three sheets of paper with barely five words between them. The paper was going on with little problem because the area they worked on was smooth and had no obstacles.
Soon they reached the window. There was a sharp turn to make around a corner, then a short distance to where they would need to trim around an outlet and the window frame. Scott started the long piece at the ceiling, smoothing the paper until Debbie could reach it with her sponge. Halfway down Debbie was confronted by a crease that refused to budge. She tried smoothing it into the corner, then out toward the seam. It refused to disappear.
“We are going to need to pull the paper loose and work out this crease,” Debbie resigned.
“Okay.” Scott started loosening the top half.
The loose paper allowed Debbie to maneuver the crease, but when the paper was tight again, she still had a long oval-shaped bubble to wrestle with. She smoothed it with the straight edge of her ruler and was left with several small bubbles. Taking her sponge over the area brought her back to the original predicament of one big bubble.
Scott had stood patiently in the background as she worked, but now he stepped forward. “May I try?”
Debbie was getting tired and the frustration was wearing at her patience. She tossed him the sponge and moved away.
Scott tried a couple of pass
es with the sponge, then he moved to her pile of tools. “Do you have a straight pin?”
“Sure. It’s a sewing room,” was her offhanded answer. She pulled out a narrow drawer in the sewing desk and gently placed a tiny pin in the palm of Scott’s large hand.
He worked the bubble into one area, then stuck the pin into the center. Cupping his hands around the perimeter of the bubble, he forced the air toward the pinhole. Instead of air, though, a stream of pasty water shot from the hole and spit directly into Scott’s face. He jumped back in surprise, pressing Debbie against the desk in the tight space.
Debbie’s breath was briefly knocked from her, but as Scott flailed for his footing, the comedy of the situation hit her. She shook with giggles. It felt good to laugh after the silence and frustrating work of the past hour. Soon she was laughing out loud.
Scott placed a light hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay. I didn’t mean to plow you over.”
She tried to contain the fit of laughter, but when she looked at his face, a drop of paste dripped from his regal nose and she lost control again. She sank to a sitting position on the floor and held her sides as waves of laughter shook her.
“Are you laughing at me?” Scott knelt beside her.
She took a gulp of air and nodded.
He wiped his face with the tail of his shirt. “I should sue you for poor working conditions.” He sighed dramatically.
Laughter gushed from her again, punctuated by hiccups, and soon Scott’s deep chuckle joined her as he rested himself on the floor beside Debbie.
“What’s so funny?” Grandma asked from the door.
Scott shrugged and smiled. Debbie shook her head, unable to speak through the hiccups.
“Whatever it is,” Grandma declared, “I hope it isn’t catching.” She retreated to a new chorus of laughter, and it was a long time before another piece of wallpaper was hung.
That afternoon when Debbie and Scott finally fitted the last piece of paper near the door of the room, they stepped back in great satisfaction.
“This little room is quite pretty,” Debbie said in awe of their work.