Tucker's Bride

by Lois M. Richer

  “That’s not true. Of course you care. You’d have to be an idiot not to. And you’re not an idiot, Tom. Not the way your mind works.” Adrian laid his head back against his chair and closed his eyes.

  “You mean it?” Tom glanced from Adrian to Tucker.

  “I mean it.” Adrian smiled. “You’re welcome here, Tom. Anytime. Good night.”

  Thus dismissed, Tom could do nothing but mutter good-night and leave. Once he was gone, Tucker turned toward Adrian, prepared to ask him not to see the kid again. But Ginny’s hand on his arm stopped him. She shook her head, eyes asking him to remain silent. A minute later Tucker knew why.

  “Bedtime, Dad. You’re almost sleeping in that chair.” Her voice emerged soft and light.

  “I am rather tired. Must be the fresh air and the excitement of those kids.” Adrian got to his feet. “Full of energy, that bunch. Need a little direction, though.” He stretched and sighed.

  “Spring’s a wonderful time. New beginnings, fresh starts. Nothing like it for building faith in the future.” He leaned over to kiss Ginny’s forehead. “Good night, honey.”

  “Good night, Dad. Sleep well.” She hugged him tightly.

  Only Tucker saw the pain flicker across her face as her father shuffled slowly into the house.

  “Was it too much? I could have sent them home sooner.”

  “He’s fine, Tucker.” She smiled and shook her head. “But he’s right. Those boys do need something to do. With the whole summer looming before them, it’s just asking for trouble to let them run loose.” She yawned, then turned to peer through the gloom at him. “You’ve been quiet. What are you thinking?”

  “About how much things have changed.”

  “And maybe how much they’ve stayed the same?” She sat in her father’s lounger, eyes cast upward. “It’s the same moon, the same stars. The same God who never changes, no matter what we think.”

  “Actually I was thinking of what your dad said—beginnings.” Tucker retreated to his own chair. “We never realize how precious beginnings are and yet we only get them once.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Tuck.” She wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position. “God’s mercies are new every morning. When we admit our sin, He wipes it out, and we get to start all over again. He gives us new days, new months, new years over and over. Every moment, every hour is fresh and new, never used before.”

  He smiled. That was Ginny, optimistic to the end.

  “I wish I had a whole new life,” he thought, unaware he’d said the words aloud.

  “What do you mean?”

  Tucker mocked himself for even pretending he could start over. The real truth was he envied those kids their future.

  “I’d like to shed this horrible existence and start all over again, fresh and clean. Without the scars.”

  She glanced at his eye. “Is it bothering you?”

  “No. But I meant without the mental scars.”

  “No way!” Ginny sat up straight. “That’s how I figure out the future, by looking at the past.”

  “Huh?”

  “Remember when I decided to become a ballerina?”

  Tucker almost choked trying to stifle the laughter.

  “Vaguely,” he finally managed to say.

  “Oh, give it up, Tucker. Laugh if you want to. I know it was crazy.” She ignored his boisterous chuckles. “I got fixated on those tutus, and that was it.”

  “At least you tried.” She’d been so determined, he remembered. She’d insisted it was simply mind over matter.

  “Boy, did I try! I spent hours trying.”

  Tucker was glad for the darkness. He could no longer hide his grin. She’d tripped over her point shoes, torn her tutu and scraped her elbows. Not to mention breaking just about every piece of glass her parents owned.

  “No offense, Gin, but you’re not exactly coordinated.” He could still see her lunging and huffing as she tried to pirouette.

  “Thanks a lot!” Her green eyes flashed a warning. “I think you can stop laughing at me now.”

  He picked up his glass and hid his smile behind it.

  “Anyway—what I was trying to say was that I knew a dance career was out for me.”

  “I could have told you that.” He snickered, enjoying her discomfiture. “On the first day.”

  It wasn’t often anyone caught Ginny at a disadvantage. Tucker allowed himself a few seconds to relish her embarrassment. She was always so competent, so in control, but she wasn’t perfect. It was a comfort knowing that.

  “As I was saying,” she continued, ignoring his interruption, “the experience did teach me that I enjoyed mixing and matching textures and colors. I’m pretty sure that’s when I got hooked on fabrics.”

  “And now you design people’s homes.” He’d seen her work here and at Coach’s house. She was very good at creating just the right atmosphere.

  “Yes, but I didn’t just float into it, you know. I had to experience something, fail at it and then move on. Even Jesus grew in wisdom. That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Using our failures to grow?”

  The question bothered Tucker. He forced himself to think it over analytically, refused to let himself get trapped by emotion.

  “What would you suggest I’m supposed to learn from my experience?” Frustration chewed at him as the past welled up in his brain. “Don’t get into the middle of someone else’s conflict?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She sounded serious.

  “Ginny, that’s ridiculous! That’s what reporters do.”

  “Is it?” She looped her long legs under her, elbows on her knees, face thoughtful.

  “Of course it is. I want answers.”

  “I know. Believe me, I still hear echoes of you asking, ‘Why, Mr. Brown?”’ She winked at his embarrassed look.

  “Haven’t changed much, have you? Except these days you want your answers now, because you’re used to thirty-second sound bites and quick decisions. Sometimes it just doesn’t work that way, Tuck.” She cupped her chin in her palm.

  He waited for her to continue, knowing she would reach a point soon.

  “I mean, just look at my dad. He’s been suffering for quite a while, hoping, waiting, trying to understand. And while he waits, the doctors rule out first one thing, then another.”

  “And he’s no better off for it.” Tucker hated saying that, but it was the truth, and it knocked the stuffing out of her argument.

  “Of course he’s better off for it!” Ginny scrunched her forehead in thought. “What if some hotshot doctor made a snap decision based on preliminary tests and assumed Dad needed a quadruple bypass. So they go ahead and do the surgery, he heals, but he’s still no better. What good is that?”

  “What you’re telling me is that I need to have patience?” He snorted. “I can’t afford that.”

  “You can’t afford not to.”

  She leaned over, her fingers on his sleeve. The warmth penetrated the fabric to his skin, soothing his fractured nerves. He shouldn’t allow it, but Tucker couldn’t help enjoying that touch. Sometimes he even thought he craved it.

  “I know it isn’t easy, Tucker, but maybe God is using this experience to teach you something new. The Bible says we have to search for God before He can be found. Maybe that’s what you have to do.”

  He twined his fingers in hers, linking their hands. It felt comfortable, familiar.

  “But I have searched and I haven’t found anything. I don’t get a response. God doesn’t hear me.” Across the road the crickets started their chant. Tucker closed his eyes for a moment and let the old emotions roll off him.

  “Did God hear you in the past?”

  “Yes. Or at least, I thought so.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Everything’s so confused. Maybe I just thought I had a relationship with God.”

  “Tucker.” Ginny was out of her chair in a flash and kneeling in front of him. Her hands slid around his face, forcing him to look at
her. “Close your eyes.”

  She waited until he obeyed.

  “Good. Now, think back. Think about high school. Think about the Good Friday rallies, the Bible studies we held at the lake, the camping trips. Did you believe God heard you then?”

  He nodded. The certainty of those memorable times was solid, secure.

  “God doesn’t change, Tuck. He’s the same as He was yesterday. He’ll be the same tomorrow.”

  Tucker opened his eyes and stared into the conviction of her shining green gaze. “But it’s not the same. I don’t feel anything.”

  “The feelings aren’t what counts, Tucker. The truth is that He’s there, and He’s the same as He always was.” She studied him seriously. “Maybe it’s you who’s changed.”

  “Maybe.” He wasn’t sure anymore.

  Ginny was silent for several moments. When she spoke her voice was hesitant.

  “Say something really important came up and I wanted to contact my dad. I’d phone him. If he didn’t answer, I’d try again and again until I reached him.”

  He couldn’t stop the half smile at her logic. “Maybe he’s moved or isn’t answering the phone.”

  “Then I’d find that out. The point is, I want to talk to my dad, and nothing’s going to stop me.”

  “And that’s what I have to do? Keep trying?” It sounded slow and tedious.

  Ginny lifted her hands away from his face, stood, then stepped back and looked at him.

  “Tucker, maybe this will hurt you. If it does, I’m sorry, but I still have to say it.” She took a deep, audible breath. “You want God to come to you on your terms. When He doesn’t, you want me to run interference so you can get your answers and get on with your life.”

  “So?”

  She shook her head. “Nice theory, but it doesn’t work like that. God does things in His time, not yours. When you’re ready to listen, He’ll answer. He always does.”

  Tucker thought about that while she pushed the barbecue grill back into its place by the house.

  “So what you’re really saying is that you can’t help me.” He had to force the words out. Defeat dragged at him.

  “No! I am helping you, Tuck. I’m trying to tell you what I’ve learned personally.” She stood at the railing, her eyes on the starry heavens. “I think there comes a point in our lives when God leads us to a certain place—a decision-making place that seems hard and barren. Like a desert. He gives us a test, harder than we’ve ever had. But the test isn’t so He can figure out what we’re made of. He already knows.”

  “Then why?” He moved to stand beside her, wondering what she saw in the darkness that made her skin glow with that inner radiance.

  “The test is for us, to figure out where our priorities are, how willing we are to be led by Him, to get with His program.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It isn’t easy to give the controls of your life to God, and it sure isn’t fast. It’s more like peeling an onion. You think the problem is one thing, so you peel that away, and underneath you find something else.”

  Her voice died away. All Tucker could hear was the soft croak of a few frogs.

  “And then?” he whispered, half afraid to hear her answer.

  She turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were full of tears, big fat droplets that hung on her lashes for a moment, then plopped onto her cheeks.

  “You keep peeling,” she whispered. “Until you find the truth.” She brushed the tears away, tried to smile.

  Tucker turned to the sky, feeling her pain as if she were connected to him by an electrode. She’d been through it, he knew that. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes. Was it his fault? Had he done that to her?

  When he could stand the silence no longer, Tucker faced her squarely.

  “When does the pain end, Ginny?”

  She turned away, took a step toward the door. He thought she hadn’t heard. But at the last moment, backlit by the kitchen, she turned to face him. Her eyes were in shadow, and he couldn’t read them, but her voice conveyed everything she was feeling.

  “I don’t know when it ends, Tucker. I wish I did.”

  Chapter Five

  Several days later, Ginny pulled into the driveway, wondering exactly what she’d accomplished by attending the trade show in Denver. Nothing interested her. Nothing held her attention. Nothing made her think of new and better ways to run her business.

  Instead she’d spent almost the entire time thinking of Tucker.

  Move on, she ordered her weary body as she climbed out of the car. She dragged her suitcase from the trunk. Kids’ voices penetrated the evening air. It sounded like they were having a ball. Lucky kids. Carefree, happy, unbound by feelings that should have died seven years ago.

  “Dad? I’m home.”

  In the process of removing her key from the open door, Ginny stopped. That laughter was coming from her backyard! She dropped her bag and hurried through the kitchen to the deck, where she jerked to a stop. One hand flew over her mouth to stop the squeal of surprise.

  “Hey, honey. Glad you’re home. Did you have a good time?”

  Her father lay sprawled in his lounger, his face wrinkled in a happy smile.

  “What on earth is going on?” she demanded. The noise grew in volume. A squawk of protest, a shout of laughter. But Ginny couldn’t see a single person.

  “Two of the boys are here,” her father explained. “They wanted to try the hot tub, as they call it.” He picked up his paper and folded it. “They’re having a great time. Tucker’s watching them.”

  “Tucker is?” Ginny wanted to turn tail and run. Why couldn’t she get away from Tucker Townsend?

  Then something twigged in her brain. She studied her father thoughtfully. Everything seemed all right.

  “Tucker agreed to watch two of those kids play in the water? Willingly?”

  “Uh-huh. He came by the store this morning, and I got him to help me with a couple of things. Before you know it the day was gone. I ordered some pizza and invited him to have supper with me.”

  Ginny opened her mouth, but he hurried on, fully aware that she would have something to say about the pizza.

  “The boys happened to stop by and asked if they could try the hot pool. I figured it would be okay, but Tucker said they had to lend a hand first. They mowed the grass, dug up that section of the flower bed you wanted to plant and took out the garbage for me.”

  “Really?” She sank down in the chair opposite his, totally flummoxed by Tucker’s involvement in all this. “This is the same Tucker who wouldn’t come out of his room at the Bains’ for days on end?” She shook her head. “Sounds like you’ve had a busy time.”

  “I think he’s lonely, honey. And lost. He just can’t seem to get his act together.”

  “I’ll go change.”

  It took Ginny less than five minutes to shrug out of her suit and tug on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She pulled a sweater on over that, slipped into her new flash-red sneakers and hurried downstairs.

  We all know why you’re hurrying, Virginia. She mocked herself for pretending her speed was due to anything other than Tucker’s presence in the backyard. How gullible was that—especially when he’d already told her they wouldn’t resume the relationship they’d shared.

  Ginny shoved the thought away. He just needed time, that’s all.

  And she’d had a lot of practice waiting. Once the tea had steeped, Ginny filled a mug for her father, topped hers with cream and carried them outside. Then she wandered into the yard to see how the bathers were doing.

  She heard Tucker’s voice long before she saw him squatting at the edge of the water, skipping small stones across its surface.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be going back, Tom. Not till I’ve healed, for sure.”

  She shifted to the left, found a grassy spot half-hidden by the trees, where she could see their faces and hear them speak.

  “You look okay to me.” Tom squinted, checking for some injury that would preve
nt Tucker’s return to work.

  “I feel a lot better than I did, but I’ve still got to take it easy. My head aches a lot.” Tucker looked away from the inquisitive eyes. “There’s no point going back if I’m not up to par.”

  Ginny thought he sounded defensive.

  “True.” As if he understood Tucker didn’t want to say any more, Tom gave up that subject. “It must have been interesting to travel so much.”

  “It was. At first. I grew up in Jubilee Junction, you know. I could hardly wait to get out of here.”

  Ginny saw the wry smile lift one side of Tom’s mouth.

  “Me, too. Sometimes I think I can’t wait another day for a chance to get out of here.” Tom flicked a stone so it just missed Paul, who was sitting quietly in the warm water. Paul held up a fist, and Tom laughed. “This place is like all the rest, filled with a bunch of judges.”

  “You sure?” Tucker slanted a sideways look at him. “Maybe it’s just that you haven’t done anything to inspire them yet.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Tom jutted out his chin, hunched his shoulders and scraped a finger through the sand. “What’d you do after college?” he asked Tucker.

  “After college?” Tucker thought for a minute. “Went to Israel. It was my first story from a country that was troubled with war. Somebody had blown up a car, which in turn set fire to an apartment building. Fourteen people were injured.”

  “Badly?” Tom pretended disinterest, but the way he leaned forward to hear the answer gave him away.

  Ginny smiled but stayed where she was. For the first time since he’d come back, Tucker was discussing his past. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “It was horrible. There were these three little girls, small, you know?” Tucker stopped for a minute, sucked in a breath and continued. “They’d been playing on the sidewalk when the car blew. Their mother was burned so badly no one could identify her. In a matter of a second those kids were orphans.”

  “Oh.” Tom shifted uncomfortably, stood, walked away, then returned. His low voice couldn’t conceal his nervousness. “Did they catch him?”