Shoes to Fill

by Lynne Gentry

  It was time to change the subject and fast. Tomorrow, she’d deal with how to shut her feelings down and keep their relationship where it had to remain: two friends focused on the mutual success of rehabbing one very scared, sick kid. “So why is Angus staying here?”

  “I wanted to keep an eye on him.”

  “You couldn’t find anyone else?”

  His gaze seemed to go straight to her heart. “Didn’t ask.”

  She could see his decision was wrapped up in some sort of desire to please her, and yet she had to ask, “Why not?”

  He gave an uncomfortable little shrug and returned to rummaging through the cabinets. “Dad wouldn’t have asked anyone to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself.”

  “I see.” Why was she disappointed? She didn’t want their relationship to be anything more than a joint social project. “So what did your mom say when you sprung this plan on her?”

  “Uh...” David stopped his rummaging around in the cabinets. “I didn’t exactly get a chance to talk to her about it.”

  “Leona doesn’t know?”

  David closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Your mother is going to come home from a very long day on the job and discover she’s got a boarder...a juvenile delinquent boarder?”

  “I told you I’m not good at this pastor thing yet.”

  “This is more of a son thing, don’t you think?”

  He leaned against the counter. “Momma started Dad’s probate stuff today. It was a lot to take in.”

  Sinking realization dawned on Amy. “And so final.”

  David crossed to her and pulled out the chair next to her. He spun it around and straddled the seat and let the back support his crossed arms. He was so close his uneven breaths punctuated the struggle in his mind. “After your parents died, did you discover they had ... secrets?”

  “Secrets?”

  “You know, things that surprised you? Things they might have done? Things that totally changed your perception of them?” His eyes were dark wells begging her to jump. His loaded questions would require personal revelations she should sidestep if she wanted them to remain no more than friends.

  She shifted in her seat. “Actually, I did.” She hadn’t told anyone what she was about to tell him. “When I was cleaning out my mother’s closet, I found a drawer filled with sexy lingerie.”

  His brows peaked. “Yeah?”

  “And a stack of love letters from my father.” For some reason, she wasn’t embarrassed to tell him everything that had gone through her mind as she packed away the silky garments. “I knew my parents loved each other. It was obvious to anyone who met them. But, it had never occurred to me that they’d had a healthy, active, possibly even very sensual sex life.”

  “That bothered you?”

  “At first, and then it explained everything. It explained how they could be in a room full of people and it was like everyone else just disappeared. Even me sometimes. Crazy thing is, their passionate love for each other made me feel very secure.”

  “Crazy, right?”

  She poked his arm. “Does that mean your parents embarrassed you, too?”

  “I can tell you’ve never been a PK.”

  “PK?”

  “Preacher’s kid.” He dragged his hand over the stubble on his face. “Momma lit up like a rock star groupie every time Dad took the pulpit. After church they had this way of finding each other in the crowd, their hands lightly brushing, their eyes only on each other. Maddie and I used to call it their private room.” He made air quotes around the word private. “But their intense commitment to each other...filled this house, filled the church, and made a difference in this town.” David gripped the back of the chair. “I know people move on. They have to. In a few months, most people will hardly remember the Reverend J.D. Harper.” David’s knuckles whitened and his eyes rose to hers. “For Momma’s sake, I can’t let that happen.”

  This peek behind the curtain David kept drawn over the window of his heart brought with it a surprisingly powerful desire to see him succeed. Amy laid her hand over his. “Is that why you agreed to rehab Angus Freestone?”

  “That and”—his gaze was an intoxicating gleam of challenge—“because maybe someday I want someone to look at me the way my mother looked at my father.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Leona closed the oven door and dried her hands. It felt good to be cooking for a small army and to have the house buzzing with activity. The only thing missing was J.D.’s booming voice at the card game David had insisted Angus join in the dining room. If J.D. were here, her life would feel almost normal.

  Leona went to the boom box on the counter and pushed play on her Gaither Christmas Favorites CD. As the music poured over her, she imagined J.D.’s arms sweeping her around the kitchen. They’d never had a formal dance lesson. They’d always been so in sync, they hadn’t needed them, or so she thought.

  J.D. had invested money they didn’t have in some crazy stock, and it had never crossed her mind he had a secret.

  “That new stray you took in is a card shark.” The unexpected voice of her mother caused Leona to jump with a start.

  She turned to find her mother decked out in a lovely sweater set and matching slacks and sitting primly in her wheelchair. “Mother, I didn’t hear you.”

  “You always did love Christmas music.”

  “J.D. gave me that CD.”

  “He was generous to a fault, unlike me.” Roberta wheeled her chair into the kitchen. “I lost nearly two dollars to that new kid.”

  Leona picked up the chopping board and scraped onions into the hot skillet. “Maybe you’ve met your match, Mother.”

  “Or maybe you need to lock up the silver...oh, wait...you don’t have any.”

  “Waiting to inherit yours.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. I’ve no intention of giving up any time soon.”

  Leona chuckled at the comfort level growing between her and her mother. Before her mother’s accidental fall down the stairs, they could scarcely speak a civil word to each other. Now, here they were teasing. Who would have thought a deeper relationship with her prickly mother would’ve been a byproduct of the fight that had ended in Roberta’s broken hip? Proof God could take something awful and shape it into something good, J.D. would have said. Maybe the same would come from his deception.

  “On second thought,”—Roberta’s tone was thoughtful—“you can have it now.”

  “What would I do with real silver?” Leona waved her paring knife over her mother’s outfit. “Real silver belongs with the woman who still dresses for dinner.”

  Roberta brushed imaginary lint from her cashmere pants. “I didn’t send Melvin all the way back to the city to fetch this outfit from my closet so I could eat sloppy joes with your growing menagerie.” Mother pushed at the back of her freshly coiffed hair, a habit she’d used to intimidate others for years. “I have dinner plans.”

  “Plans?” Leona rinsed a couple of tomatoes. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to plans?”

  “It’s just dinner out.”

  “Dinner out?” Leona turned off the faucet. “In this godforsaken town, as you so lovingly call Mt. Hope?”

  “There’s a new Mexican restaurant on Main.”

  “Ivan asked me to cover their grand opening next week.” Leona set the tomatoes on the counter and wiped her hands on a towel. “How did you know about it?”

  “I was invited to their soft opening, a quiet, little dinner to thank their investors.”

  “You must have hit your head harder than the doctors thought if you invested in a Mexican restaurant in a dying town.”

  Roberta tugged at one of her diamond earrings. “I’m a guest of an investor.”

  “Look at you making friends. Next thing you know, you might even start coming to church.”

  “Don’t press your luck, Leona.”

  “Is Melvin taking you?”

  “Not that it is any of your business, b
ut no.”

  Leona decided not to play her mother’s little game of cat and mouse. Even without a hip injury, the woman hadn’t driven herself anywhere in years. She probably didn’t even possess a valid driver’s license anymore. The mystery dinner date would have to show his, or her, face soon enough. All Leona had to do was wait. She returned to her browning meat.

  “So how long is that boy staying?” Roberta asked.

  “I don’t know, but thanks for being such a good sport about having an extra mouth to feed in the house.”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I had a broken hip, not a defective heart. Anyone in their right mind can see the boy needs help...and I’m not talking about Angus.”

  Leona took up her spoon, ready to defend her son. “David will find himself.”

  “David doesn’t know it, but he has found himself.” Roberta wheeled to the table and started folding napkins. “But that’s not what’s worrying him.”

  “David’s worrying?”

  “Yes.” Roberta ran her finger along the crease of fabric. “I’m not judging you, dear, you’ve had quite a bit on your plate.”

  “Mother, I don’t know what you’re trying to say so just spit it out.”

  “Ever since you and David met with that small town lawyer...what’s his name?”

  “Saul. Saul Levy.”

  “Sounds Jewish to me. Which is good.”

  “What does his ethnicity have to do with anything?”

  “If anybody can squeeze a dollar out of a nickel, I should think he’d be your man.”

  “For your information, Saul has been a Christian for years.”

  Roberta’s shoulders sagged. “So much for that ray of hope.”

  “Mother, what is going on?”

  “David seems determined to save you.”

  Leona sighed. “I’ve told him I’m not his problem.”

  “Well, he’s right. Someone has to save you from yourself.” Roberta dropped the napkins and wheeled over to the stove. “I don’t think you can trust God to sweep the problems with your future under the rug.”

  “Mother, trusting God doesn’t mean I expect my problems to magically disappear.”

  “David told me you could possibly owe the IRS a great deal of money.”

  “I wish he hadn’t aired our dirty laundry.”

  “The boy didn’t broadcast your financial straits from the pulpit, Leona. He told his grandmother.”

  “Who just happens to be very rich.”

  “Which is why you can’t turn down my offer.”

  “What offer?”

  “Let me pay whatever taxes are owed the IRS so that you can use whatever is left of J.D.’s life insurance as a down payment on your future.”

  Leona was floored. Her first thought was that maybe the doctors had accidentally replaced her mother’s heart instead of her hip after her Thanksgiving tumble down the parsonage staircase. Tater’s sudden barking drowned out the protests that surfaced next. The dog rushed the man coming through the kitchen door.

  “Cotton?” Leona’s surprise changed to fear. “Is something wrong at the church?”

  The white-haired church janitor’s tanned cheeks were red from the cold. “That church building can get along without us for an evening, Leona.” When he brushed at the flakes of snow on his sports coat, Leona realized he was dressed in slacks, button-down shirt, and a spiffy new tie. “I’m here to pick up my date.”

  Leona’s mouth dropped open. “Date?”

  “He means me,” Roberta smiled proudly. “Cotton is the mystery investor you wouldn’t dare ask me to divulge.”

  “I don’t know that I would have believed you, Mother.”

  “If there’s one thing I’m tired of being, it’s predictable.” Roberta’s push at the back of her perfectly-teased hair.

  “In that case, you’re nailing it,” Leona said, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.

  Not quite sure what was going on, Cotton turned to Roberta. “Bertie, you’re pretty as a picture.”

  Leona couldn’t help but notice the glow on her mother’s face. Never in a million years would she have guessed Cotton was the reason her mother had lost her razor-sharp edge and offered financial help without her usual strings and condescension.

  The meat on the stove began to burn. Leona lowered the flame and grabbed the wooden spoon. While she shoved the darkened pieces of meat around, Cotton wheeled Roberta out the front door.

  Leona shut off the burner and picked up the phone.

  Maddie answered on the first ring. “Momma? Everything okay?”

  Leona didn’t even ask how her interviews where going. She just jumped in with the question that had been burning in her mind since her visit to Saul Levy’s office. “Did you know your father had invested in Alzheimer’s research?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I guess it just goes to show that you can know someone your whole life and never really know them.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Over the clink of cutlery, Ruthie shouted lunch orders at the diner’s fry cook. David waited in the same booth where he’d met his father’s attorney the day before. He didn’t think anyone could make him feel more edgy or foolish than the steely-eyed, ex-JAG lawyer. Unfortunately, he’d made that assumption before he spilled his guts to the blonde nurse who’d agreed to meet him for a burger. Why had he opened himself up? Made himself vulnerable to judgment? Hadn’t he learned anything growing up in the parsonage?

  Telling Amy he’d like to have someone special to love had scared her. She bolted so fast she’d nearly mowed Momma down on her way out the door. But Amy’s reaction hadn’t shaken him as much as the realization he wanted a committed relationship like the one his parents had and, more unsettling still, he wanted to commit to her.

  Which was crazy.

  They barely knew one another. And it wasn’t like they were a match made in heaven. So far, their common interests consisted of the good of Mt. Hope Community Church and a sick, screwed-up kid named Angus. It would serve him right if Amy stood him up and left him to sort out these troubles on his own.

  “My replacement ran late.” Amy slid into the seat across from him, her cheeks red from the cold, her sparkling eyes hopeful. “How’d it go with your mom? She agree to Angus staying?”

  Relieved Amy had given their unusual relationship another chance, David grinned. “Not much throws Momma off her game.”

  “Didn’t know you could be so persuasive.”

  “I’m not. Momma said a project might be just what this church needs right now, and she could see how focusing on someone less fortunate would be good for her.”

  “Does your mother always put others before herself?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I guess that makes you a combination of both parents.”

  “How so?”

  “Giving up your dreams for the good of someone else.”

  The admiration in her voice surprised him. “It’s pretty crowded on the Harper family pedestal. Don’t try to squeeze me in between my parents.”

  “Taking on a homeless kid won’t be easy...for any of us,” Amy removed the scarf around her neck. “I don’t think I made myself clear, but I plan to help. Meals. Taking Angus to job interviews. Getting the boy enrolled in school.”

  “Look, Amy, I need to say something before we tackle the Angus situation.”

  “That sounds ominous. Are you changing your mind, because I can be pretty persuasive?”

  Her eyes sparkled with a determination he found irresistible. Better find something else to focus on or he’d be done in again. He toyed with the paper wrapper holding the silverware bundle together. “This is not about Angus.” Keep it short and sweet, he told himself. Don’t scare her off again. “I shouldn’t have made that crack about us...you...my future.” Why did his tongue become a loose cannon whenever she was within firing range? When her hair cupped her shoulders and her eyes lacked any of the scorn he deserved, trusting himself to say what
needed to be said and then shutting up was harder than it should be.

  “Take a chill pill, David.” She tossed her scarf on the seat and retrieved the laminated menu card stashed behind the smudged metal napkin holder. “You deserve someone who wants what you want in life. I’m praying you find her.” She lowered her eyes and dragged her finger down the limited selection. “Which burger do you get?”

  The dropping sensation in his chest wasn’t congruent with her quick willingness to let him off the hook. “Don’t you want a family someday?”

  “This angst you’re feeling isn’t about me.” She returned the menu to the rack, put her elbows on the table, and crossed her arms. “It’s about you.”

  “Why do women always make everything about someone else?”

  “Why do men always change the subject when a woman asks them to talk about their feelings?” She wasn’t letting him off the hook.

  If he wanted things to move forward, he’d have to once again risk letting her see behind the curtain he’d drawn years ago. “Momma’s in trouble and she’s wasting what little energy she has left worrying about me.”

  “Grief has its stages. People have to walk through each phase at their own pace and in their own way.”

  “It’s more than grief. Dad didn’t...” He smacked his fisted hand against his palm, mentally beating himself up for saying anything. “Never mind.”

  “You’re grieving, too.” Amy’s hand covered his fist. The jolt passed through his clenched fingers and lit up his body. “After my parents died, the hole they left was so big, I...” she paused. “May I pass on the advice my aunt gave me? Don’t do anything drastic—”

  “For a year, I know.”

  “You’ve already made some pretty major changes. Quit school. Moved to a different continent. Put your career aside to take your father’s place. The ground is shifting beneath your shoes. I can vouch for the importance of finding a friend who understands. My aunt’s been that friend for me.” She squeezed his hand, the one she still held. The general sense of uneasiness she could stir within him kicked into high alert. “I’d like to be that friend for you.”