by Ginny Aiken
“Honey, you’d better get ready. Your date’s due soon.”
“Can’t I go like this?”
Her mother sighed.
“Fine. I’ll change.”
“And, Lissa?”
“I know. No storm commando boots,” she said as she stood up from the table and placed her dirty dishes in the sink.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Sorry, Mom. But you know how I hate this matchmaking stuff.”
“We want to see you happy. Like you were with—” She stopped. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” Melissa gave her mother a hug and headed off to her room to get ready for her date. Or, as Greg had called it, her disaster.
If she ever did find the man God had planned for her, she’d have lots of silly stories to share. At this point, though, it was difficult for Melissa to laugh about any of them.
She’d realized that what she’d had with Greg had not been about being dependent or having someone to fix everything. It had been about sharing. About carrying one another’s burdens. It had been about loving someone and being loved in return.
Stop it. Don’t think about that now.
She showered and put on a nice pair of white slacks with an emerald green shell. Pulling out the set of pearls her Gram had given her, she slipped them around her neck. Gram had told her they were for her wedding. Maybe she should take them off.
Her mother knocked. “I’m going next door to check on Mrs. Wilson. Listen for the doorbell, will you?”
It felt a little like déjà vu for Melissa as she opened the door and stepped out of her bedroom. Hadn’t her mother conveniently left the house on her last blind date? “Okay, Mom.”
“You look lovely, darling.”
“Thanks. Should I take the pearls off?”
“Gram gave them to you to wear, not keep in a box. You know how she feels about that.”
Melissa knew. Gram didn’t save things for special occasions; every day was a special occasion for her. “Okay.”
Melissa paced the kitchen waiting for her date. She felt nervous.
The door chime brought her out of her thoughts. Her heart quickened, and she tried to calm herself. As she approached the front door, she resisted peering through the peephole and simply opened it wide.
Her mouth dropped in surprise.
“Hi,” he said with a smile that threatened to stop her heart.
Melissa seemed paralyzed.
“I hope I’m not late. I wouldn’t want someone else to whisk you away.”
“You’re my date?”
“Your real date.” He held up jazzy rollerblades. “And you’re not dressed right.”
She snatched a lock of hair and clamped it between her lips.
“I’ve been practicing. I’ll beat you this time for sure.”
Finally she found her tongue. “Greg, I can’t go out with you. We’ve been through this.
I’m sorry.”
“Mel, please. I need to explain about Amy.”
She winced. He called her Mel, and it still felt so right. But it was all wrong. She needed to close the door and leave Greg behind. She couldn’t bear to be hurt again. “Please.”
She let him in the house and prayed she wouldn’t regret it. Once they were seated in the kitchen, she poured two glasses of iced tea and sat as far away from him as she could.
“I don’t know what you heard that day at the church, but I can assure you, it’s not what you think.”
He was reopening her wounds. Would she be able to stand it?
“I don’t know where to start.”
Melissa gave him a hint. “Amy.” She watched as his eyes clouded and pain etched his features.
“Amy. One of my greatest failures in life,” he said with a sigh. “I should have been there for her. Protected her. Kept her safe.”
“Greg, only God could do all those things. Sometimes we only see what we should have done later, after the catastrophe.”
“I knew. I just didn’t do anything.” He raked a hand through his wavy hair.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning? Were you married already?”
“Married?” He looked up, his eyes wide open. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Is that what you think? She’s my little sister.”
Melissa struggled with her feelings. She felt relieved that Greg wasn’t married, but it pained her to think of all Amy had gone through.
“She was engaged to a guy I couldn’t stand. I did everything to try to break them up. When it finally happened—after I’d stopped trying—Amy was devastated. Though I had not been responsible for the parting, I still felt like a heel. So I kept to myself. We didn’t talk about what had happened, and Amy slipped away from us, becoming despondent.”
Melissa moved to Greg’s side and took his hand. It was simply an act of friendship, she told herself.
“She began going out drinking and trying drugs, but I never noticed. I didn’t want to notice. One night she nearly died in a terrible accident.”
She’d seen the pictures, and it wrenched her heart.
“Her date had been drinking, and they crashed into a guard rail. The car caught fire. Burns covered most of her body, and she’s been in and out of a coma ever since.”
“I’m so sorry, Greg.”
“It’s all my fault. I didn’t want her to marry a jerk. Who was I to determine what was best for her?”
“You did it because you loved her.”
“Obviously not enough. I never saw her problems. I’m the reason she spends her days in a hospital. She took a turn for the worse and nearly died. That’s why I went back. She’s stable again. But what type of life does she have in a bed connected to tubes?” Melissa recognized the bitterness in his voice.
“Greg, you could no more save your sister than I could my father. And, in the words of a dear friend of mine, we have to trust God and lean not on our own understanding. Forgive yourself.”
“I drive her car as a constant reminder of what I did to her.”
“Maybe she gave it to you as a constant reminder of the love she has for her big brother.”
For the first time since they’d started talking, he smiled at her. “I told Pastor Jamison he was wrong about you.”
She inhaled deeply, remembering the painful words he’d spoken. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Did you hear everything?”
“Just the part about your agreeing with him that I’m not suitable for you.”
“Oh.” He looked into her eyes with longing. “I should tell you that Ursula had a hand in her father’s distrust of you. Us. Guess she wanted to pay us back for the night we went to the fair.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She felt a pang of sorrow for the girl and prayed God would bless Ursula.
“And, yes, I said you were not pastor’s wife material—on the outside. But that on the inside there was no one better for the job.”
Had he said what she hoped he’d said?
“I know God is still doing a great work in us. We have lots of things to sort out. But that’s the best part of growing old together. Sharing the joys as well as the pains. If we were perfect, what type of life would that be?”
Melissa’s eyes pooled with unshed tears. “No, we’re not perfect—”
“But I think we’re perfect for each other,” he interrupted her and looked into her eyes.
“A tomboy like me? With Mr. Immaculately Dressed and Pressed?”
“A beautiful woman, inside and out, with a heart bigger than the state of Arizona. A heart I love. In fact, I love everything about you, Mel. Can you forgive me? Can you love me?”
She flung her arms around his neck. “Yes. Yes.”
“Want to be married at the park on rollerblades?”
“No. I think I actually want to wear the white dress.” She giggled and pulled back to seek out his eyes. Their gazes locked, and she forced herself to breathe.
“Okay, but ther
e’s one thing.”
She stiffened. As she felt the panic rise in her, she closed her eyes and forced herself to listen.
Trust Me.
She relaxed. “I know—you get to pick the radio station.”
“That too,” he said with a grin then dropped his hands from her shoulders to her waist, encircling her. He raised an eyebrow as if he were about to lecture her. “Don’t ever change. I love you just the way you are.”
Joy burst forth along with a multitude of tears. “And I love you.”
A sweet sensation of belonging enveloped her as they kissed. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “So will you be wearing boots under the dress?”
BEV HUSTON
Bev Huston lives in British Columbia (where residents don’t tan, they rust) with her husband, two children, sister, and two cats who give new meaning to the word aloof. Bev began her writing career in 1994 when, out of frustration, she wrote a humorous column about call waiting service, which sold right away. She is a contributing editor for The Christian Communicator and spent four years as the inspirational reviewer for Romantic Times Bookclub.
NAME THAT TUNE
by Yvonne Lehman
Dedication
To Elizabeth and Adam for their invaluable music information
Sing joyfully to the LORD, you righteous; it is fitting for the upright to praise him.
Praise the LORD with the harp; make music to him on the ten-stringed lyre.
PSALM 33:1–2
Chapter 1
On Friday morning, Eva Alono acknowledged Tristan with a “Hi,” mingled with the other quartet members greeting him as he walked through the doorway of the practice room with the morning mail. Even when he said, “This one’s from Vizcaya,” Eva felt a sense of regret rather than hope. She remained seated and kept rubbing her horsehair bow across the rosin, preparing it for the practice session. Next, she’d make sure her violin strings were in tune.
Tristan walked closer. “Addressed to you, Eva.”
“Me?” She quickly laid her bow aside and took the letter. Normally, since she’d contacted Vizcaya, they’d sent seasonal programs addressed to the Classical Strings Quartet, not her personally. One of her major goals was for the quartet to become recognized in their hometown of Miami. If their résumé could include having played at Vizcaya, they’d have made their mark locally.
She’d sent their press kit to the museum over two years ago and was left wondering if they’d trashed it. Excitement mounted as she held the envelope up to the light from the window, trying to see inside. “Is it an invitation? Or just more of their promotional material? Oh, I can’t look.”
Tristan laughed. “You’ll never find out that way.”
Rissa reached out her hand. “Here, let me.”
“No.” Eva lowered her arm and held the letter close to her chest.
Amid the sighs and head shakes, Tyrone drew out a low, plaintive moan from his cello.
Rissa turned away. “She’s not going to open it. Let’s get on with our practice. I have a date with my mate.”
“Okay,” Eva retorted. “I’ll do it. Where’s a letter opener?”
“On the end of your hand,” Tristan said.
Eva shook her head. She couldn’t open it with her finger and chance leaving a ragged edge. If this was an invitation or even a belated personal response, it belonged in the quartet’s scrapbook and a copy in her personal one.
Rissa produced a fingernail file.
Eva read the letter, occasionally glancing up at the expectant faces. She tried to keep her own face straight. Finally she could stand it no longer. “Yippee! We’ve hit the jackpot. Who says a prophet’s not respected in his own hometown?”
The group’s excitement matched Eva’s until Rissa asked the question, “What’s the date we’re to play?”
“During the Renaissance Festival.”
“That lasts four days,” Tyrone said.
“No.” Eva shook her head. “They want us for only one day. They must have had a cancellation and chose us. You know they plan their programs long in advance.”
“You’re right,” Tristan said. “The festival is only a few weeks from now. Cynthia and I are planning to set a wedding date, and we both have agreed it should be as soon as possible. We’ve wasted too many years apart already.”
Rissa said what was on Eva’s mind. “We’ve waited for two years just to get a response from Vizcaya. The date’s not going to be negotiable.”
Tyrone sighed. “You know, I have to check with my better half now before making any decisions.”
Rissa cast a longing look at Eva. “We’ll try our best, Eva.” She glanced around at the others. “Won’t we, guys?”
“Sure,” both men replied and set to tuning their instruments.
The practice seemed like a waste of time to Eva. However, she inwardly praised herself for playing the required notes even if her heart wasn’t in it. The entire group sounded dull and lifeless. Not long ago they would be literally jumping up and down at this opportunity. One day at Vizcaya could have lifelong career implications.
Now, it didn’t seem to matter to her friends. She felt they were so caught up in their personal lives that they no longer cared about the quartet and its future.
By the time the practice ended, she felt like the letter had given her the emotion of a sugar high that had now plunged her into a deep low. The others said they’d get back to her about their schedules as soon as possible.
It began to look like one of her major goals might bite the dust. This was no longer a goal of the quartet, just hers alone.
“Let’s go to lunch,” Rissa suggested.
Both Tristan and Tyrone had other plans.
“How about you, Eva?” Rissa asked.
Eva shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m playing at the restaurant tonight. Mine and Grandpa’s dirty laundry is piled up and so is my bedroom. Some other time, okay?”
“Sure.” A light sparked in Rissa’s eyes. “I can always run by SilkWood and see if Jason’s free.”
Eva was happy that Rissa and Jason had found each other, but she missed that closeness and time she used to spend with Rissa.
Rissa must have sensed her melancholy. “Oh, Eva. I know things aren’t turning out the way we’ve planned for years. The quartet still means the world to each of us. It’s just that right now we’re caught up in having found our life’s mate. You understand?”
“Sure,” Eva said. “I’m okay.” She forced a small laugh. “I just miss my friends.”
Rissa hugged her. “We’ll always be friends.”
Eva nodded. “I know.”
After the others left, Eva walked around in the workshop part of the basement, hardly aware of the familiar odor of wood, glue, and varnish. Her gaze swept across the repair section where some violins needed major repair while others needed only a new string.
In another section violins lay in varied stages of being made. Most of her work consisted of making the beginner violins. Some fit the hands of a small child, while others were for adults. Grandpa made most of the violins that would be played by the experts. But she was learning.
That idea didn’t excite her today. She thought about how everything in her life was being turned upside down. Often, she thought about her three major goals in life that she’d planned out four years ago. One was to serve the Lord with her life and music, another was for the quartet to become known as professional in her hometown, and the last was to someday make a violin comparable to the Stradivarius.
“At least I still have the goal of serving the Lord,” Eva said aloud to herself, feeling rather guilty that her tone of voice sounded resentful instead of joyful.
She walked over to the CD player where Mozart was ready and waiting since this morning, when Grandpa had listened to it. She agreed with her grandpa and former music instructors, who had said people who love Mozart’s music regard it as the closest thing to heaven on earth. She pushed the PLAY button and
welcomed the melodic tones of the great master.
As she listened, a nagging thought found its way to the forefront. Was she destined to be an old maid? She’d heard older people say they wanted to grow old gracefully. She was only twenty-six, but many people that age were married and had children. She hoped, if she must face life without a mate, she might do it gracefully.
A deep sigh escaped her throat. For a moment longer, she listened to the heavenly music while a sense of earthly loneliness wafted over her.
Later that evening, the front door of the restaurant closed behind the silhouette of a man, blocking out the bright sun that had caused Eva to blink against the evening’s slanting rays.
“Welcome to Alono’s, sir. Do you have a reservation?”
“No, but I would like a table for one, please.”
“I’m sorry, but tonight is reservations only. The house is filled.”
He looked around. “Unless they’re invisible, I would say the house is not filled and there are many available tables, miss.”
Eva took in a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever reaction might come from informing him that the dinner hour was almost upon them and all tables were reserved. However, his head turned toward her again with a rather indignant lift of his chin. Her eyes had readjusted to the dimness of the restaurant, and her breath came out in a rush. The most telling sign was the realization that he held in his hand—a violin case.
“You’re …?”
Her gaze played over the dark hair that curled about his ears and down the back of his neck. Something about the curved shape of his nose and heavy eyebrows over piercing dark eyes was exactly like the newspaper picture she’d pored over not two hours ago—even to the dark suit and bow tie.