A Scarlet Cord

by Deborah Raney

  She smiled, remembering how she’d teased him about being a city boy. “Well, we do lock ourselves in at night, but if I just run to the grocery store or go for a walk … nope.”

  “I still can’t get over that.”

  “A little different than where you come from, huh?”

  “A lot different than where I come from. Where do you want to eat?”

  “Oh … well … do you like Mexican food?”

  “Love it,” he said, patting his belly.

  “How about Pedro’s?”

  “Sounds good to me. Just tell me how to get there.”

  She navigated for him, and within minutes they parked in front of the popular restaurant on the south edge of town.

  They were greeted by a perky Britney Spears wannabe. “How many tonight?”

  “Two, please,” Joel told her.

  “Name, please?”

  “Um … LaSalle,” Joel said, spelling the name for her.

  Melanie thought it a bit odd that he’d given her name instead of his own, but her curiosity was squelched when a waiter bearing menus approached the hostess’s stand. He led them to a cozy corner booth, and soon they were snacking on chips and salsa. Raucous music scratched from the speakers overhead, and the flickering candles in the otherwise dark room made her feel bold before him.

  “So, Mr. Ellington, do you always work this fast when you move to a new town?” She laughed lightly, but she was only partly joking. He’d been in Silver Creek less than a month, and he’d certainly wasted no time in asking her for a date.

  He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to stick there. Her face grew warm at the realization that perhaps Joel didn’t see this evening as a date at all.

  But after a minute he looked at her, and she caught a spark of mischief in his green eyes. “Melanie, would you believe me if I told you that I have not had a date in almost two years?”

  She wasn’t sure how to answer, but—relieved that he did indeed count this as a date—she opted to stay with the teasing tone. “I’m not sure I buy that,” she said. “The words ‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’ tripped just a little too easily off your tongue.”

  A slow grin curved the corners of his mouth. “That’s because I rehearsed about fifty times before I asked you.”

  “Really? You rehearsed?”

  “I told you … I’m seriously out of practice.”

  “Then why me?” she risked.

  “Why did I ask you out?” He seemed taken aback by her question.

  She nodded.

  “Hmmm …” He rested a hand on his chin. “Well, let’s see … You were easy to talk to. I liked what you said in Mike’s class that Sunday—about grief.”

  Melanie struggled to think what she’d said.

  “It surprised me to hear you make light of your grief,” he said. “Even though you’re right—everyone will experience grief at some point in their life. But I knew that you … that you’d lost your husband. That’s a pretty big one.”

  “It’s been four years, Joel. I’ve worked through a lot. I don’t see any reason to pout about something I can’t change. And I’m not the only one who’s known pain. I … I guess I’ve tried to move on …” She pushed away the sudden vision of her closet, bulging with her dead husband’s shirts.

  “That’s good. I’m glad,” Joel said.

  “I still have my moments—pity parties, my brother calls them—but they’re fewer and much farther between now. Time really does heal all wounds,” she said.

  “No. I’m not sure I believe that.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

  His abruptness startled her. “You … you know something about those wounds.”

  He shrugged. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head. “Not first date material.” Words that hinted at heartache, but he smiled when he said them.

  The waitress came to refill their drinks, and they fell silent. But the silence didn’t feel so uncomfortable now.

  Absently, he ran a tapered finger over the scar on his cheek.

  When the waitress left, Melanie traced a finger along her own cheek in the same spot where Joel’s finger still rested lightly on his scar. “Mind if I ask what happened?”

  “Also not first date material.”

  “Oh?” She might have been stung by the rebuff, but he brought his hand from his face and put it lightly over hers across the table. He gave her a smile that melted her heart. “So how about a second date?”

  “Bet you didn’t rehearse that one,” she said, smiling.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Okay,” she said simply.

  Joel awoke on the morning of March 15 to the ringing of the telephone. He groped at the phone on the nightstand, clearing his throat. “Yes? Hello.”

  “Hey, little brother! Happy birthday!”

  “Tim. Good morning. You forget I’m an hour behind you these days.” He sat up on the side of the bed and squinted at the clock radio: 6:00 A.M. “Hey, it’s early even for you. What’s up?”

  “Nothing much,” his brother said. “I’ve got a long day of meetings at the central office. I was afraid it might be too late to call when I got in tonight. Just didn’t want you to think I forgot.”

  “Forgot?”

  “Your birthday. Did you forget?”

  Joel gave a humorless laugh. “I’m just not awake yet, I guess. Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”

  “Everything going okay out there?”

  “Yeah, everything’s going good. Really good, I think.”

  “I’m glad. You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks again, Tim … for calling.”

  “Well, I knew you couldn’t exactly celebrate today, but I … I didn’t want you to think nobody remembered.”

  “That means a lot, man.” The lump that lodged in his throat embarrassed him. He ran a hand through his hair. “You have a good day.”

  “Yeah. You, too.”

  He hung up the phone, turned off the alarm clock, and staggered into the bathroom. This was always a tough day. His birthday. Not the one that was on his driver’s license or his résumé or his social security card. But the anniversary of the day he was born, nevertheless. He’d learned to blow out the candles and eat the cakes that came his way every tenth of May, but both dates were ones he’d just as soon see stricken from the calendar. He couldn’t celebrate either without some guilt.

  It seemed that a part of his true self died a little bit every time he perpetuated the deception. And though he had little choice in the matter, he hated the lies his circumstances compelled him to sustain. He hated them with everything that was in him.

  A second date turned into a third and then a fourth and fifth, and by the end of April it seemed to Melanie as though Joel had always been a part of her life.

  One evening as they drove home from a concert in St. Louis, Joel asked, “What was your marriage like, Mel?”

  She looked over at him, surprised that he’d brought up the subject. “Well … we were only married two and a half years before Rick got sick. And then he died a year later. But we had a happy marriage. Very happy, I’d say. It was sometimes hard living so close to his parents—working with Jerry and all … That was what we argued about when we argued. But we always worked things out. And I think Jerry and Erika kind of backed off after the first year. I don’t know if Rick talked to them or if they just figured it out themselves, but things were much better toward the end. And then, when he got sick—and especially after he died—I was grateful to have his parents nearby.”

  Joel reached across the seat and captured her hand. She felt sympathy and understanding in his touch, and she went on, “Sometimes—after he was gone, when Jerica was still tiny—I felt so utterly alone. I just didn’t see how I could raise her on my own. It seemed impossible.”

  “You’ve done a beautiful job.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “The trut
h is, I haven’t had to do it alone. The Lord has been with me every step of the way, and he’s filled our lives with wonderful people. It’s been amazing really—” She stopped abruptly, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

  She’d never shared her feelings about Rick so openly with Joel before. It felt a little strange … talking to him about the man she’d loved, the man whose child she’d borne. Now, watching his profile in the intermittent light from passing cars, her heart overflowed with an emotion that felt achingly familiar. She’d almost forgotten. This was how she’d felt when she looked at Rick. Could she already be in love with this man she’d known for such a short time? Or was it just that he somehow seemed to understand the grief she’d faced in her life? She didn’t want to make the same mistake she’d made with Jeff Franzen. But she was certain she’d never felt this way about Jeff.

  Joel turned to her, concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and squeezed his hand, her throat full. “You talk for a while. I’ve been doing all the talking.”

  “No, please. I want to hear it—all of it.”

  “Are you always such a great listener, Mr. Ellington? I feel like you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He didn’t answer right way. Then, with a sigh, as though he’d suddenly made a decision, he said, “I do understand a little, Melanie, because of … because of what I’ve been through myself.”

  She waited, and when he remained silent, she said, “Tell me about your family, Joel. Please. You hardly ever talk about yourself.”

  He waved her off. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Tell me about your parents. It must have been hard to lose them.”

  He hesitated, as though deciding how much to say. Finally, he looked away, and his voice grew quiet. “I was eighteen when Mom and Dad were killed. Tim, my brother, was away at college, but I was still living at home. It was my senior year in high school.” He recited the facts as though he were detached from them.

  She put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Joel! I had no idea they died while you were still at home … still so young. I’m so sorry.” Why hadn’t he mentioned before how young he’d been when he lost his parents? Surely this had been one of the defining events of his life.

  Letting go of her hand, he gripped the steering wheel. He gave her a sidelong glance, then turned his eyes back to the road and began to talk. It was as though an ice floe had melted in the spring thaw and now the icy river waters underneath—the stories of his past—gushed forth unrestrained.

  “They were flying home from Africa … coming back from a short-term missions trip,” he told her. “It was something they did every year for as long as I can remember. Sometimes they went to the Philippines, but usually it was somewhere in Africa. But they … they always came back. I just took it for granted that they’d always be back. Even after all this time, I still sometimes can’t believe it happened,” he said, his voice low. “It never crossed my mind to worry that they wouldn’t return. Tim told me once that he did worry … that every time they left, he was terrified they’d never come home again.”

  Joel shook his head and gave a small laugh that was incongruous with the anger that had crept into his voice. “I don’t know which was worse: Tim’s worst fears coming true or my incredible shock because I never once gave it a thought.”

  “That must have been terrible, Joel. Were you just … on your own after that? I mean, did you stay in your home or …?”

  “Tim quit school and came back home. The term was almost up, and I was headed off to college the next year, but it … it was never the same. Home, I mean.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t. It must have been awful.”

  “It wasn’t easy. We sold the house a couple years later. Neither one of us could stand to be in it without Mom and Dad there.”

  “Oh, Joel … I’m so sorry. Tell me about your parents,” Melanie said gently, attempting to coax happier memories. “What were they like?”

  “Dad was more serious—our solid rock—the glue that held us all together. My mom was … comic relief.” His laugh was warm with remembrance. “She was always teasing and playing jokes on us. She never failed to get us on April Fools’ Day. Tim and I would try to outwit her, and every year she beat us to it. She’d freeze plastic bugs in our ice cubes, put salt in the sugar bowl—once she put our underwear in the freezer overnight—anything to get a laugh out of us.”

  When Joel turned to Melanie, there was a faraway look in his eyes, but a soft smile painted his face. “You would have liked her, Melanie. She was a lot like you in some ways. She had a sense of humor like yours. But she could be moody, too.”

  Melanie wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you saying I’m moody?”

  “You are.”

  “What? I’m not moody!”

  “Yes, you are,” he declared.

  “Joel Ellington, I am not moody. When have I ever been moody?”

  “Trust me,” he said. “You are very moody. In fact, I think you might possibly be the moodiest woman I’ve ever known.”

  She stared at him, mouth agape. “Define moody,” she said finally.

  “Subject to being in moods,” he deadpanned.

  “As in bad moods?”

  He gave a little laugh now and leaned forward, looking pointedly out the windshield. “Isn’t that the most beautiful sky? Just look at all those stars.”

  “It’s foggy, Joel. There is not one star in that sky. And quit trying to change the subject.”

  “Whoo,” he whistled under his breath. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were all of a sudden in a mood.”

  She turned defiantly toward him, ready to give him a piece of her mind. One look at his Cheshire-cat grin told her she’d been had.

  She gave a little growl of frustration. “I think Joel Ellington took after his mother,” she said, slugging his arm playfully.

  He made her laugh, and it was wonderful to laugh with Joel. But she realized with dismay that she had effectively dammed the river of communication. The moment passed, and Joel shared no more about his family or his past.

  But when he walked her to the door, he took her face in his hands and stroked her cheekbones gently with his thumbs, studying her face with a light in his eyes that made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. She trembled a little beneath the warmth of his touch. And when he leaned to place his lips softly upon hers, nothing else mattered then but the joy of that moment.

  Nine

  Joel pushed away from the table and rubbed his belly. “I’ve eaten some fine lasagna in my day, Ms. LaSalle, but that was some of the finest.”

  “Hey! I helped too,” Jerica pouted from her place across the table.

  “You, too, Little Miss LaSalle. It was delicious.”

  Jerica beamed, and Melanie said, “Well, thank you, Mr. Ellington, but I hope you saved room.”

  “That depends. For what?”

  Melanie scooted her chair away from the table and arched a brow. “You’ll see. Sit right there. Come help me, Jerica.” She took their empty plates, and Jerica skipped after her into the kitchen. He could hear them whispering and rummaging around in the cupboards, and soon the sulfurous odor of a lit match wafted under his nose. “What are you two up to in there?” he hollered.

  “Okay, close your eyes, Joel,” Jerica shouted from the doorway of the kitchen.

  He complied, wondering what in the world these two had up their sleeves.

  “Now don’t peek,” Melanie warned. He felt her brush against him, then a rush of heat and the smell of burnt sugar assailed him. They must have cooked up a Cherries Jubilee or Bananas Foster or whatever those flaming desserts they always served in restaurants were called.

  “Okay,” Jerica singsonged. “You can look now.”

  He opened his eyes, and his heartbeat faltered. On the table in front of him, a two-layer birthday cake blazed with candles. Melanie and Jerica burst into the “Happy Birthday” chorus.


  A flush of shame washed over him. “How … how did you know?” he stuttered, when the last note died out.

  “It was in the church newsletter, silly,” Melanie said. “I can’t believe you went through the whole meal without saying something. You didn’t think we’d just let your birthday go by, did you?”

  Joel didn’t know what to say.

  “Joel?” She eyed him, her forehead creased with astonishment. “Did you forget your own birthday?”

  “I … guess I did,” he said, forcing a smile. That much at least was true. “You guys are something else. Thank you.”

  “Blow out the candles!” Jerica begged.

  “There’re too many! You help me, okay?” he said, pulling her up to sit on his knee. “Be careful now.” He scooted her close to him and brushed a soft strand of hair away from her face. She felt light as a little bird on his lap.

  “You’d better hurry,” Melanie laughed, “before the whole cake goes up in flames.”

  “Wait!” Jerica turned to him, her face serious. “You have to make a wish first.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. Oh, Lord Jesus, let me be worthy of their love. He opened his eyes and counted. “One, two, three.” Together they blew, and finally the last candle was extinguished.

  Jerica bounced on his lap. “What did you wish? What did you wish?”

  “Huh-uh,” Melanie scolded, shaking her finger. “He can’t tell us, or it won’t come true.”

  Melanie went to the sideboard and brought out a package from behind a vase of fresh flowers. She set it in front of Joel.

  He looked up at her, his heart so full he was afraid he would weep. “For me?”

  “You’re the birthday boy, aren’t you?”

  Again, guilt pierced him.

  “Open it! Open it!” Jerica sang.

  “Okay.” He shook the box gently. “Do you know what’s in here?” he asked Jerica.

  She shook her head, eyes wide.

  Slipping off the shiny ribbon, he carefully peeled the tape from one end of the silver paper.

  “Oh, good grief,” Melanie laughed. “You are worse than any woman. Just open it!”