by Bonnie Dee
“I bought this for Bryan.” Mason handed her the bag.
“You can give it to him yourself. He should be home from school soon.” Ava kicked a pebble along the road with her toe and smiled from the sheer pleasure of the sun beating down on her shoulders, a cool fall breeze fanning her face, and Mason walking beside her.
“I might not stick around that long. I have a few more errands to run.”
She was an errand? Her smile dimmed as she realized he hadn’t kissed her or taken her hand and he looked more nervous than thrilled to see her.
“What’s up?” Ava asked. “You had something to discuss with me?”
“I’m… I have to…” He started twice. “Doug Croyden’s show is in the area. I saw a flyer.”
“That evangelist?” Her steps slowed. “So what? You don’t have to see him. Just stay away.”
Mason nodded. “I could. I could do that. But I feel like…” He took an audible breath. “I called my sister yesterday, and she pointed out that I have a habit of walking away, leaving things unfinished. The last conversation I had with Croyden was in the hospital when he told me not to worry about my bill. I didn’t want to go back to the show, ever, and so I just left. Now it seems almost like fate brought him back into my life. I have to at least thank the guy for covering my hospital stay and explain why I took off.”
“Put a period on the end of the sentence,” Ava said.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“That’s understandable.” She began to relax. Mason had to face a man he didn’t much like and who he felt he owed something to. His edginess had nothing to do with her. “Maybe you could come over later this evening, since we’re both off for once.”
She glanced at him. His gaze was on the asphalt.
“The thing is… You were right about me needing to check in with my sister. I think it’s time for me to go see her face-to-face, especially since things are getting weird here. Remember my shouting neighbor? He came over yesterday and asked me to fix some leg pain he has. And when I stopped into the diner to use the office phone, two other people stopped me in the parking lot and asked for favors.” He jerked a thumb behind them. “Just now in Clayton’s, some lady with warts, for God’s sake.”
Disappointment sheered through Ava, popping the happy bubble she’d created. How could she ask Mason to stay when it was so clear he was ready to go?
“Of course you should go see your sister. Which one did you talk to?”
“Gina. She’s just down in Atlanta. Not so far away.” He continued to study the patterns of cracks in the asphalt as if they were a road map to the future. “I could come back here after, but… I’m going to be honest, Ava. I don’t think I’ll end up doing that, and I don’t want to leave you hanging and wondering if I’ll be back. I think it’s better to put a period on the sentence like you said.”
“Mm-hm.” She couldn’t manage any words. Her throat had closed tight.
“We both knew I wasn’t going to be here for long.” He shook his head. “Now that people around here know, they’ll keep asking me for things I can’t give. I can say no about dumb stuff like warts but when someone is really suffering and comes begging, I’ll find it hard to refuse.”
And if I came begging? If I asked you for what I need, would you stay with me?
But they’d never really talked of love, had they? Mason hadn’t led her on with false declarations. As hard as it was going to be, she needed to let him go and carry on with her life. Maybe there would eventually be someone else she could care for, somebody who could be there for her.
“When?” she asked.
He stopped walking. “I left a note on Deb’s desk, giving notice. After I get my things together, I’ll go find Croyden and square things with him, then catch a bus to Atlanta.”
“How will you get to Brag’s Hollow?” What was wrong with her? She was about to offer the man she most wanted to stay a ride out of town. Any normal woman would cry or yell or ask him not to go, but she was as passive as a doormat.
“Nash said he’d drive me there later today after his shift.”
“You’re not waiting until morning, then.” It wasn’t a question since his answer was already clear. “So you’ve come to say good-bye. This is it.”
Again his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His jacket pockets bulged with his fists jammed into them, and he looked just past her shoulder. “I guess I am.” He nodded toward the bag he’d given her. “Can you tell Bryan good-bye for me? He’s a great kid.”
“Sure,” Ava said faintly, politely, quiet and calm even as a storm raged inside her.
“Jeez, this is hard.” Mason exhaled a loud breath, took his hands from his pockets, and ran a palm over the scruff on his chin. The scraping of stubble on flesh was audible in the silence between them.
“Ava, I just want to make sure you know I didn’t see our time together as some fling. Maybe we both thought we could keep it light when we started out, but it turned into something more. At least it did for me.”
For me too. Please think about what you’re giving up. Please don’t go.
Ava remained silent.
“I guess emotions are more complicated than we want them to be.” He shook his head. “I would have liked to stay here longer—maybe a lot longer. But I hope you understand why I can’t.”
She nodded once. Good Ava. Always understanding and accommodating everyone around her. She clutched the Clayton’s bag in one fist as if it was a lifeline tethering her to earth, when she wanted to spin off into a rage of tears.
“I’ll miss you.” Mason moved toward her as if to take her into his arms.
One last kiss. One last embrace before he disappeared from her life forever. She could accept them both and cling to the memory later, but damned if she didn’t have some pride left. Ava stepped back and shook her head. “Let’s just say good-bye.” She cleared her throat of the lump that filled it. “Thank you for seeing me before you left. I’m glad you didn’t just take off.”
Mason frowned. “I wouldn’t do that to you. God, I’m so sorry. I feel like—”
“Nothing to apologize for,” she interrupted. “As you said, we didn’t make any promises, and I always knew you’d be moving on.” She awkwardly stuck out her free hand. “We can at least part as friends.”
She had to get out of here before she the dam burst. She’d save her tears for when she was alone, after he’d gone, and then she could drown in self-pity for a while.
He took her hand. A few sparks sizzled, so she shook his hand once, then quickly let go. “Good-bye, Mason, and good luck. Be careful on the road. Try not to hitchhike. It’s too dangerous. I’m glad you’re seeing your sister. Maybe you can make a life for yourself in Atlanta.”
She didn’t look into his face, didn’t dare meet those dark, searching eyes before she walked away.
“Ava,” he called after her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or make things worse for you.” He sounded as if he were the one about to cry. “You deserve to be happy. You’ll find somebody better.”
She didn’t look back. What did he want from her? Not only to let him freely walk away but also to absolve him from any sense of guilt? She’d already been as good about it as he had a right to expect.
Ava squared her shoulders and walked resolutely along the road.
Mason didn’t call after her again.
Chapter Eighteen
Mason watched Ava’s stiff back as she marched down that strip of black asphalt. Her figure grew smaller, and still he couldn’t look away. She didn’t glance back, simply left as if she didn’t care at all. But what had he expected? That she’d fall at his feet sobbing and cling to him to try to stop him leaving? Was that what he’d wanted? It was a fucking selfish, ego-fueled image. Of course, the real Ava wasn’t like that. She was kind and thoughtful and put other people’s needs first. She wouldn’t try to hold him back from what he felt he needed to do. How dare he feel disappointed that she hadn’t mad
e some dramatic scene and begged him to stay?
After she turned a corner by a big maple tree, Mason stared at the tree for a moment before he finally moved. Too late now. It was done. He’d stick to the agenda he’d set for himself—pack his things and meet Nash at the diner to catch a ride to Brag’s Hollow. If he focused on accomplishing each task on his list, he could stop thinking about Ava and what might have been if he’d been able to stay in Waller.
Back at the motel, it didn’t take long to stow his few possessions in his knapsack. Mason hoisted it onto his back. By the time he’d walked the short distance to the diner, he was sweating.
He’d arrived too early, so he plopped his backpack on the picnic table behind the building and sat waiting for Nash to finish. He wished he still smoked. A cigarette to calm his nerves and give his hands something to do would be good right now. But after healing a few people with emphysema or other lung diseases, he’d given up smoking.
Mason sat on the tabletop, feet resting on the bench, and jiggled a leg, tapping out a rhythm with his foot. When the back door of the diner opened, he perked up. But the figure that emerged wasn’t Nash.
Frannie spotted Mason and walked toward him with that perpetual sway of her hips that always seemed so affected. She planted herself in front of the picnic table, arms crossed, and nodded at his bag. “You’re leaving.”
“Yeah.”
Her lips tightened. “Did you even bother to say good-bye to her?”
“Of course.”
“And what’d she say?”
“Good-bye,” he answered shortly.
“So that’s it, then? You leave, just like that?”
He hadn’t spoken more than a few monosyllables to Fran since he’d met her, but today he was so full of emotion that his true thoughts tumbled out. “What the hell do you want? You didn’t think I was good enough for her, but now you think I’m a shit for leaving? You should be relieved.”
“No, I think you’re a shit for getting involved when you knew the sort of person Ava is. She doesn’t take things lightly. Of course she couldn’t have sex with you without falling in love. She hasn’t seriously dated anyone since I’ve known her, and she chose you. Do you know how lucky that makes you?” She caught her breath and plowed on. “Also you’re a shit because you didn’t do anything for Bryan. You’ve seen how hard Ava’s life is with her sick brother and her crazy mom, and you just took everything she gave and didn’t do anything for her. Why didn’t you even try to heal him?”
So, Fran knew about him too. Apparently the entire town did.
“I couldn’t help Bryan. What’s wrong with him is too complex. There isn’t anything I could have done.”
“Did you at least try?”
Guilty silence was his answer.
“That’s what I thought.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “I always knew there was something off about you. Sensed it from the moment I saw you, hairs prickling on the back of my neck. It was kind of a relief to learn you had some weird psychic gift to prove I was right.” She shook her head. “Now I think it wasn’t your freakishness that set me on edge. It was because I sensed what a coward you are. Things get a little tough, and you hit the road.”
I’m not like that. You don’t understand. The words clamored to come out, but Mason held them back.
Fran stabbed a finger at him. “You just proved to Ava that every fear she has about men is true. Like her dad, they all leave her.”
“Wait. I thought he died?”
“He did, but that doesn’t make her feel any less abandoned than if he’d walked out on the family. Ava was still left to pick up the pieces. And now she gave her trust to you, and this is how you repay her.” Frannie glared.
Mason reached out, not physically but with the tendrils of his mind that read people and understood the root of their pain. Fran wasn’t just thinking about Ava. There was betrayal in her past that fed her anger. If he could touch her, he might relieve a little of that hard brittleness she wore like a suit of armor. Just a gentle brush, not a surge of power or anything…
Frannie jerked, and her eyes opened wide, as if she’d sensed his mental intrusion. Mason realized she was a sensitive. On some primal level, she’d felt what he was doing because she had slight stirrings of the same psychic ability. Maybe not the healing aspect, but the insight into other peoples’ problems.
She folded her arms again as if protecting herself. “Anyway, you’re a creep. I knew you were a creep, but I wish you’d proved me wrong. Why don’t you just go if that’s what you’re going to do?”
“Can’t. I’m waiting for Nash to give me a ride,” Mason answered coolly, hiding the turmoil inside. She’d jabbed a stick into deep spots in his inner pool and stirred up a lot of muck.
Frannie tsked in disgust and turned to walk back inside. He knew how upset she was by the fact she’d gone her entire break without smoking.
After she’d gone inside, Mason couldn’t sit still any longer. He jumped up and paced as he waited for Nash. The longer he waited and paced, the closer he came to rethinking his decision and running to Ava’s house. Maybe Fran was right and he was being completely selfish. Maybe Ava wasn’t better off without him as he’d tried to convince both himself and her. He went so far as to pick up his duffel, but then Nash came out of the diner.
“Ready to go?” the big man asked.
Mason nodded.
“You sure?” The bushy brows met over Nash’s crooked nose.
He was asking the same question as Frannie in a more polite way. Mason stopped and considered, tried to picture himself and Ava living some happily-ever-after ending. But his fate was too uncertain. He wasn’t the right man for her. She needed to find someone stable, goal-oriented, and, above all, normal. Someone who could take care of her the way she deserved.
As Mason followed Nash to his truck, he hated the shadowy figure he’d created in his mind. He’d like to punch Mr. Happy-ever-after in the face for having a life with Ava when he couldn’t.
*
Doug Croyden’s revival tent was set up on the grounds of the Evangelical Brotherhood of Christ Church, their host in Brag’s Hollow. Having a local church as a sponsor went some way toward assuring people Rev. Croyden was a reputable evangelist and not some money-grubbing, faithful-fleecing asshole. But they’d be wrong.
Croyden gave a cut to whatever church partnered with him, but raked in ridiculous amounts of cash during his three-day preaching sessions. Enough to pay his staff of singers, tech operators, roadies, and drivers, yet leave a good chunk for his own pocket. Mason had seen the little luxuries Doug indulged in on the road and had heard about his house, cars, boat, wine, and women from the gossip among members of the traveling show.
When Mason had still been trying to come to terms with the idea of working for an employer whose ethics seemed shady, Croyden had pointed out to him that a traveling revival was a business like any other. The show supplied something people were willing to pay for, but in this case it was an intangible—faith in an afterlife. People walked away from the preaching, praying, and singing feeling renewed and good about themselves, their place in the world, and their efforts to be better human beings. Where was the harm in that? Throw in a healing or two and their faith grew even greater, bringing them more happiness. Put it all together and Doug Croyden’s Revival equaled happiness.
“Even when the healing is a fake?” Mason had pointed out.
Doug had clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ah, but that’s where you come in. With you on board, there will be no fakery involved. That’s why you’ve got to do it.”
So Mason had been promoted from moving equipment and stage pieces to moving people’s hearts. He’d often wished Doug hadn’t discovered his secret, but couldn’t regret fixing roadie Wolverine Jim’s crushed foot after a heavily laden cart rolled over it.
Now, seeing again the huge tent and banner and several familiar figures moving equipment, Mason felt a crawling sense of spiders creeping up his spi
ne. He didn’t want to be here again. But he had a debt to pay and an apology to make to Croyden. Gina was right. He couldn’t move on until he’d wrapped up loose ends from the past.
He breathed deep and entered the shade of the big top. The show was like a circus, complete with a fast-talking ringmaster, magicians who made coins fall from a person’s wallet, icon-selling hucksters, and a dancing bear who did the magic trick of laying on hands. The tent was wired and well lit. The sound-and-lighting engineer tested spotlights, while the choir director ran through a piece with the singers and band at one end of the portable stage. Their glorious harmonies and uplifting music alone were worth the price of admission. Roadies busily set up the components of the sound system, amps and speakers to broadcast the good word to even the deafest elderly person in the crowd.
And standing center stage talking to the stage manager stood Doug Croyden. The bantam-weight was no more than five feet six, but when he preached, he became a giant. His deep resonant voice boomed throughout the tent and wove a mesmerizing spell around the audience. Spotlights made his silver hair gleam like a halo around a face so angelic it seemed impossible he could ever tell a lie. When his blue gaze focused on whoever he was talking to, it made that person feel vital and important and understood. And when Doug Croyden addressed an audience, he had the amazing ability of making every person in the place feel he’d addressed them personally. No wonder everyone believed in him.
Mason walked down the aisle between long rows of chairs. As he approached the stage, he took another breath and willed his pulse to slow. Croyden wasn’t someone to fear. He couldn’t force Mason to do anything he didn’t want to. Yet facing the man, especially after the ungrateful way he’d left, was nearly as hard as calling Gina yesterday had been. If he was being honest, Croyden had been something of a father figure to a guy who didn’t remember his own father. That cast Mason as the prodigal son returning home.
Before he reached the stage, his movement caught Doug’s eye and the preacher looked up. When he saw who it was, he said a few words to the stage manager and she hurried off to perform whatever task he’d assigned her.