It took screaming at him to make him stop. When she got out of the car, he rudely said something to her and tore away, leaving her standing in the middle of nowhere, alone. Only after he was gone did she realize she’d left her phone in the car. She’d taken off her ridiculously high heeled shoes, walked barefoot in the forty-degree night for four miles to a convenience store, and called her parents from the clerk’s cell phone.
Her father spoke once before hanging up. “Calling me was the right thing to do. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After the silent ride home where she wallowed in embarrassment and shame, she’d cried herself to sleep. The next day, she found out that Patrick had driven through an intersection in Boston, T-boning another car. The driver of the other car died, Patrick died, and two of his passengers ended up in the hospital, very seriously injured.
Her parents never punished her. They knew, she knew, everyone knew that she would never, ever, forget what happened, never let go of what could have happened to her. She apologized to her brother and determined to trust his judgment when it came to any future prospective dates. Not that anyone else ever asked her out again.
That didn’t affect her too much, though. She had her eyes on the National Beach Volleyball team. It didn’t take a lot of mental energy to shift her thoughts and feelings from those of a teenaged girl with hearts in her eyes to a world-class athlete determined to be the best in the country. Instead of feeling sorry for herself as the homecoming dance or prom came and no boys asked her out, she stuck with a group of friends and had a great time at both dances. Sometimes, occasionally, she wondered what life would be like with someone to share it, but decided a long time ago that wouldn’t likely be for her, and she was okay with that.
Back to the present, she turned on the treadmill and set a good workout routine. An hour later, sweaty and feeling limber muscles burning from the workout, she slowly walked back up the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to pour a glass of water. While she drank it, she turned on the kettle and put tea bags in her teapot. She ran her fingertip over the handle and smiled. She had a collection of teapots in her townhome in Virginia, but this one was her favorite. When she was fourteen, she’d saved her allowance for weeks to buy it from a local craft store. It was handmade by a local pottery artisan and painted a jade green and covered in cream-colored butterflies. A butterfly adorned the handle of the lid.
She treasured that teapot and intentionally kept it here at the cottage so she would have it whenever she stayed. Last summer, the first morning in Rio at the home her family had rented for the games, her mother surprised her by serving her morning tea in it.
As the tea brewed, she toasted an English muffin and peeled two boiled eggs. She added half of a grapefruit, a banana, and her little plastic container of vitamins and supplements to her plate. She put that on a tray with the tea and carried it out onto the back porch.
The bright blue sky and low sixties temp gave the promise of a beautiful day. She was so glad the VelTech people decided to let them begin this romance here at the Cape. It would provide so many iconic summer images to their “dates”. Thinking about the date last night, she grabbed her phone and checked Davis’ social media. His followers had grown exponentially. She smiled, thinking the ruse had started off on a good foot.
While she ate the first half of her toasted English muffin, she skimmed the comments on her own social media, liking some comments but not replying to any. With an overall positive response, she wondered what else they could do during this week together that would help increase the traffic.
She took a picture of her tray and added the caption: power breakfast after a light workout. Church then a lunch date with a special new someone. What’s on your agenda this Lord’s day?
She hesitated over posting it, second-guessing herself again. This post was real, nothing fake about it. While she knew that she took a Sabbath rest from working out on Saturdays, some of her followers could jump to criticize her working out on a Sunday without cause.
As she contemplated that, she realized that was what she had done to Davis. An uncomfortable feeling of self-judgment flooded her chest. Her mother, as always, had spoken with wisdom and grace. Hopefully, Davis would forgive her.
She hit publish on the photo. She was going to be real, and she would deal with any fallout. She focused her attention on breakfast, knowing she had just under an hour before Davis would arrive to pick her up.
As Davis gradually came awake, he felt disoriented by the unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar sounds. As he opened one eye, the room sort of came into focus. He remembered flying into Boston yesterday and driving to the Cape, then checking into the one-bedroom cottage in the row of identical cottages facing the beach rented for him by VelTech. Last night began the social media campaign about a fake romance with a silver medalist.
The paycheck at the end of the campaign would pay for next year’s tuition and his family’s travel to Korea for the games, assuming he made the team. The popularity he would enjoy as a result of the campaign should bring sponsors and endorsement opportunities that would financially secure the remainder of his education. He had to go through the mental list of why he’d chosen to do this to help inspire him to continue to do it. The reminders helped. He could smile for the camera all day if necessary.
Today, though, he actually looked forward to going to church. He loved visiting different churches, finding ways to receive a blessing or to be a blessing at each one.
He pushed out of bed and walked down the narrow stairs and into the kitchen. While the coffee brewed in the little one-cup coffee maker, he sliced a green onion and part of a green pepper and tossed them into a skillet with some butter. He opened the fridge and rummaged through until he found the mushrooms, cheese, and eggs. Giving the skillet a quick stir, he tossed in the mushrooms. While they cooked, he beat three eggs with some milk, added a little salt and pepper, and poured that into the pan. The sound of sizzling filled the room as the eggs made contact with the hot pan.
Once the egg started setting, he opened the package of shredded cheese and threw in a handful, stirring to keep the cheese from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Minutes later, he had a plate full of his loaded scrambled eggs and a mug of coffee and sat on the rocking chair on the little porch of his vacation house. As goosebumps rose on his skin, he rubbed his arms and went back inside for a sweatshirt. For some reason, the bright sunlight looked much warmer to him.
Once settled back in the chair, he looked out over the sand dune to the blue, blue water of the Cape and thought about Cora “Jade” Anderson and their date the night before.
He admitted to a crush. He admitted to momentary lapses of judgment that had him thinking about kissing her. However, he didn’t like her perception of his character, her rudeness the day they met, and the way she wouldn’t even offer to pray with him. How to get past that, though?
His phone rang, and he set his half-eaten breakfast on the little square table next to him. “Ann-yeong, Eomma,” he said, greeting his mother in Korean. He continued, “How are you?”
She spoke in Korean. “I’m well! We are looking at your Friendface account and are shocked. This looks like a successful beginning.”
“Yes, ma’am. It was a lot of fun. But it’s a little stressful, too. I hope I made the right decision.” He had worried, partially, that his parents wouldn’t approve of his consent to this ruse. They’d really surprised him with their support.
“If the decision was made after prayer and supplication, then we need to believe it was the right one. I’m very proud of you. I video chatted with your grandmother last night. She’s so excited to see us in January.”
He had only met his grandmother four times in his life. The idea that he would spend weeks with his family thrilled him. He planned to stay for a full month after the games. “I think we should hold off the assumption of making the team until November.”
“If they didn’t think you’d be on the team, then they wouldn’t have given VelTech permissi
on to do what they’re doing. They’re a big sponsor. We are praying for you and watching your social media like a hawk,” she said, laughing. “I love you, son. Good-bye.”
“Bye, mom.”
He had avoided looking at social media but thought maybe he ought to take a cursory glance. Picking his plate back up, he started eating again and began scrolling through his accounts. He couldn’t believe how many thousands of people had started following him! No one knew him.
For the most part, people replied with hearts and excitement and good wishes. Occasionally, someone made a crude comment or a racial slur. That kind of gave him pause. It should have occurred to him that some people out there would object to a Korean man dating an American Indian, but somehow, he hadn’t expected it.
His parents had faced a lot of opposition to their marriage. So much of that, though, had come more out of the cultural differences and less about race. It had taken them facing their families with a steadfast love for everyone to finally relax and see that they could make the marriage work.
Throughout his childhood, he hadn't faced too much racism simply because of his environment. In the military living in military housing on military bases, a mixed family with a Korean mother never caught a second glance. Only when he got older did he really encounter it and it took him by surprise every time. Even so, he regularly felt out of place everywhere, simply because he was a blend of two cultures, two ethnicities. It’s like he balanced between two different worlds, with a foot in each one.
Making a conscious decision not to react, he simply set his phone and plate down and bowed his head. “Father, thank you for the opportunity to pray for such hateful people. I pray that you send someone their way today who will love them with your kind of love, and teach them that we are all made from one man, and are brothers. Amen.”
Feeling less insulted and ready to read more comments, he picked up his phone and his coffee cup and settled back in the chair while he worked his way through the three social media accounts.
Cora opened the door and smiled softly when she saw Davis. He wore khaki pants and a dark blue golf shirt, which went perfectly with her loose fitting sleeveless blue dress with embroidered white flowers all over the skirt. This morning, she’d left the heels alone and had chosen tan flat sandals. “Good morning,” she said, “I’m glad you’re a few minutes early. Please come in.”
He stepped inside, and she gently closed the door behind him then gestured to the sitting area. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”
As he sat on a couch near the front window, he shook his head. “I’ve had coffee this morning, but thank you.”
Nervously, Cora perched on the arm of a chair near him and laced her fingers together. She could feel her palms sweating. “I want to apologize.”
He raised a black eyebrow and said, “Oh?”
She cleared her throat. “I made a rash judgment of you that was unfair. I don’t know you, and I don’t know what happened that night, but I placed a whole lot of baggage on your shoulders with a simple picture, and I sincerely apologize.” She took a deep, cleansing breath and slowly released it. “I had a very, very bad experience with a drunk guy in high school and I tend to have knee-jerk reactions. I would like to go forward as friends.”
He stared at her for a long time, his brown eyes nearly black, before he smiled and nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you.” He stood and held out his hand as if to shake hers. She stood as well and placed her hand in his, hoping he didn’t notice her damp palm. “Davis Elliott. Nice to meet you.”
She let him bring her hand up and down as she replied, “Cora Anderson. Likewise.”
Still holding her hand, he narrowed his eyes and looked at her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
As she laughed and pulled her hand free, she said, “Probably that box of cereal. You know the one.”
“I do. Loopy Fruits, right?”
She stifled a giggle. “I think you might be thinking of my action figure.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Right. I’d forgotten about the action figure.” He looked at his watch. “Ready?”
“Absolutely.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Shall we?”
Thinking about it, she pursed her lips. “Can we wait until we get to the church? I’d rather not have anyone assuming that you spent the night last night.”
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but quickly shut it and nodded. “Fair enough.”
She gathered her purse and her Bible and led him out of the house to his car. She stood outside and had taken several steps toward his car before she realized he hadn’t left the house. She stopped and found him standing inside her threshold with his hands in his pockets.
Puzzled, she said, “We need to go, or we’ll be late. Do you want me to drive?”
“Come here.”
What was he doing? She walked back inside, and he backed further into the foyer. He said, “Close the door.”
She closed the door. If he was going to try to kiss her she was going to have to stop him right here and now. Was he going to try to kiss her? Did she want him to kiss her or would she stop him? Where had these thoughts even come from?
“You should never have to touch a door handle if I’m here. Please allow me to respect you by opening your door for you.”
“Oh. Okay.” He opened the door, and she walked outside toward his car. She stepped to the side knowing he would open her car door, and slid into the passenger’s seat.
After he started the car, and as he backed out of the driveway, he asked, “Do you date a lot? I mean, like, did you date a lot in high school?”
“Never been on a date before,” Cora admitted.
He glanced at her with a look of frank surprise. “What? Never?”
“Never ever. I snuck out one night in high school and went to a party, but that wasn’t a date. The first date I ever went on, I guess, was last night.”
He nodded. “That explains it.”
He didn’t say anything else, as if that remark answered every unanswered question. “Explains what exactly?”
“When you’re on a date with a good man, he will do things like stand when you enter the room, pull out your chair for you, open doors for you, take your coat. That’s his job.”
“His job? How very, very traditional of you. What are we in, the eighteen hundreds? I can open my own door,” she scoffed.
“Of course you can. But when you’re on a date with a good man, you shouldn’t have to. It’s a good tradition.”
“Oh really,” she stated doubtfully.
“Maybe you would understand that if you ever went on a date with a good man before.”
“A good man like Davis Elliot?”
“I do my best. Certainly, there are worse men in the world.”
“Can’t argue with you there.” She stopped talking long enough to let the GPS drone out some directions. “How does disrespecting my ability to open my own doors and pull out my own chairs entirely because of my sex make you a good man? Explain that.”
He shook his head. “You have it exactly backward. A good man shows the woman he is with a great deal of respect by opening her door, standing when she enters a room, taking her coat, or pulling out her chair. In turn, she shows respect for him by letting him serve her in that way, by letting him do those little things for her that everyone knows she could do for herself.”
She considered that. She never thought about how refusing male gestures like that might be seen as disrespectful. She thought about the fact that she had never in her life seen her aunts or her mother open a door if their husbands were nearby. The thought made her grin. “It still seems rather Victorian.”
“It’s the way I was raised. My father is a very traditional man. Tradition is also very important to my mother’s side of the family.” His eyes left the road and he glanced at her long enough to gauge her understanding of what he had just conveyed. “It feels natural to me to respect
you like that whenever we’re together. Honestly, it’s going to be very hard for me to pull this off if you won’t allow me to treat you naturally in public.”
“Okay.” She digested that. “Clue me in if I make a faux pas. Nothing overt. Just do something subtle and I’ll catch on.”
“You got it.” He signaled and turned left then asked, “Did you see all of the comments this morning?”
“I scrolled through the ones on my accounts, but I planned to check yours later today.”
“Mostly good stuff,” he said, maneuvering the car onto the main highway. “I had to block a few people, though.”
She nodded. “Comments about my cleavage or your skin color?”
“Yes.”
Irritation crawled along the back of her neck. “You’ll eventually have too many followers to moderate that. My advice would be to just let it go.”
He cut a quick glance in her direction. “I understand the sentiment; however, I’ve coped with it my entire life. In my experience, letting it go never makes it go away.”
“Soon you’ll be training, then at the games.”
“Hopefully,” Davis interjected.
“You’ll make the team.” She waved her hand, dismissing his comment like shooing a fly. “Anyway, my point is it won’t matter so much after that. I’m sorry, though, that it’s something you’ve had to deal with.”
“Well, bad traditions are also traditions for some people.”
“Traditional racism? Even from Christians? No excuse. God has made from one blood all nations of men.”
“Racism is a very secular evolutionary theory. The theory goes that some races came from dumb monkeys and other races came from smart monkeys. That was actually in the textbooks well into the last century. Caucazoids, Negroids. Mongoloids.”
Jade's Match, the Jewel Series Book 7 Page 4