by Becky Melby
“Who says I like him? I need to cross this thing off my list, and he offered to bring food. Why would I turn down eggs and sausage cooked over an open fire?”
Yvonne laughed. “How many times have you talked to him on the phone this week?” Not waiting for an answer, she shook her head, waved, and stepped back into her apartment. The door closed and then opened just a crack. “I told you so.”
❧
The purple LED lights on the dashboard of Seth’s Camry gave just enough light to allow surreptitious peeks at his square jaw and the tiny bump at the top of his nose. April settled into the leather of the bucket seat. The outside-temperature display read fifty-four, but Seth had turned on the seat warmer before picking her up. Not really necessary but a nice touch.
Seth’s right arm shot across her line of vision. “Moon’s coming up.”
“Just now?” April stared at the sliver of white nearly concealed by treetops. “It’s almost dawn.”
“As the moon orbits the Earth, it moves thirteen degrees eastward every night. Thirteen degrees translates into about forty minutes, so the moon rises forty minutes later each night. Once in a while, the sun beats it out of bed.”
His look hovered thirteen degrees east of patronizing, but his words landed smack dab in the middle. It was the same tone he’d used to answer the little red-haired girl’s question about clouds. April’s fingers coiled around the seat belt shoulder strap. She could do patronizing.
“Wow.” She batted wide-open eyes. “Is that a getting bigger moon or a getting littler moon?”
“That’s a waxing crescent. After the new moon and before the full, it’s called waxing. Like dipping a candle, it gets bigger—” He stopped suddenly, pressing his lips into a line. Slowly he turned, locked onto her eyes for a split second, and then focused back on the road. “I just came off like an arrogant snob, didn’t I?”
April stifled a sneer. “What tipped you off?”
“I heard your teeth grinding.” Smile darts radiated from the outside corners of his eyes. “I am so sorry.” He flipped the right blinker and turned onto a narrow country road lined with tall pines. “It’s my father’s fault.”
“What is?”
“The condescending attitude.”
“Ah. It’s in your DNA.”
Tapping his foot on the brake pedal, Seth nodded. “It may be due to nurture instead of nature, but it’s sure ingrained. You know that phrase ‘Kids learn what they live’?”
Turning in the warm seat, April flipped the shoulder strap over her head and rested her back against the door. Maybe Seth Bachelor had way more in common with her than she imagined.
❧
“Tell me about your dad.”
Seth was only too aware that she’d repositioned her entire body to face him dead-on. “Let’s just say he was never satisfied with less than perfection. Because of him, I’m a TV weatherman instead of. . .some other things I could have chosen.”
“Is your dad still living?”
Seth nodded. “My folks are in New Mexico. We see each other at Christmas and usually once in between. We get along fine that way.”
His headlights bounced off a sign about twenty yards ahead. “We’re here.”
“Tippet House. A bed-and-breakfast?”
The quiver in April’s voice made him smile. Clearly, she was questioning his intentions. “We’re here for the breakfast part.”
Her shoulders lowered. “I thought you were cooking.”
“I am.”
She didn’t reply. He slowed to a stop in front of a Victorian farmhouse smothered in gables, cupolas, and gingerbread trim. Exterior lights illuminated pink siding and pale blue and white molding.
April’s mouth parted slightly. “Are Hansel and Gretel here?”
“Let’s go see.”
They got out of the car, and he took her hand, guiding her along a winding brick path lit by ankle-high copper-shaded lights. The path led to the backyard, past a stone fountain. Water arced over the backs of two bisque-colored swans. Pink light shimmered through the streams.
April hadn’t said a word since getting out of the car. Each time he turned to watch her expression, her eyes seemed to get wider. When they reached a gazebo aglow with miniature white lights, he walked up the first step. April stopped. “Seth. . .”
He suddenly realized that, aside from the radio show, it was the first time she’d called him by name. “What?”
“Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand. “You haven’t even seen the sunrise.”
“I can’t wait,” she whispered.
He motioned for her to go ahead of him up the five steps. When she reached the top step, he heard a sharp inhale and smiled to himself. A round table, covered with a lace cloth, was set for two. Gold flatware flanked rose-covered plates and cups. Light danced from a three-wick ivory candle shielded by a hurricane shade.
Pulling a wrought iron chair away from the table, he gave a slight bow. April sat down, and he handed her a cloth napkin. “Breakfast will be served momentarily, ma’am.” As he pulled out the chair opposite her, he heard steps on the brick walk.
Bessie, who had owned the Sage Stoppe restaurant before opening the bed-and-breakfast, ascended the stairs with a large silver tray. Tall and thin, with wisps of straight gray hair springing loose from a tight bun, she was as stoic as her Cornish grandmothers must have been. After resting the tray on a wooden stand, she set two covered serving dishes on the table, followed by a basket, the contents hidden by a linen napkin. With a nod of her head, she picked up the empty tray.
“I owe you my firstborn child, Bessie.”
“That you do,” she answered and disappeared down the stairs.
Instead of uncovering the dishes like he thought she would, April simply sat, smiling across the table at him. “This is not at all what I expected. You’re a man of surprises.”
“Is that a good thing?” It seemed to be. She was smiling, after all.
“Usually.”
Reaching across the table with both hands, he turned them palms up. “Let’s pray.” When her hands rested in his, he bowed his head, grateful for a reason to hide for just a moment from those deep blue eyes. “Lord God, thank You for this food, and thank You for the witness of Your majesty we are about to see. Amen.”
“Amen.” Once again her lashes glistened, but she didn’t appear in danger of giving in to whatever emotion was getting to her. She touched the edge of the napkin that covered the basket. “Don’t tell me. Twinkies?”
Seth laughed. “Homemade biscuits.”
As April lifted the napkin, a rose pink glow lit the cloth. Orange spears blazed through the eastern sky as the gold orb lifted from the horizon and gilded the valley below them with morning light.
❧
“Told you so, told you so, told you so. . .”
April sipped her Polar Cap as she listened to Yvonne’s silly chant. Slurping on her straw, she stared, refusing to crack even the slightest smile. “That is so first grade.”
The ditty finally came to an end. “But it makes me feel so good.” Yvonne broke a scone in half and slathered it with lemon curd. “Details. Don’t leave out a single second.”
April toyed with the flip menu that displayed Perk Place’s catering choices. She’d made Yvonne wait four days until their schedules would mesh so she could share the “details” face-to-face. A few more minutes would only enhance the anticipation. “Do you think any of the people in your Bible study would be interested in a day hike on the Superior Trail a week from Sunday? We could all go to the Saturday worship service at your church—”
“Ahem.” Yvonne cleared her throat and held out her watch. “We have to be at Bible study in twenty minutes.”
“Who says I’m going?”
“Hah! As if. You’re going, even though it’s for all the wrong reasons.” She snatched April’s cup, pulling the straw out of her mouth. “Details.”
“He was very. . .creative.” April
recaptured her Polar Cap. “I imagined sitting at a picnic table eating scrambled eggs seasoned with ashes. But what I got was a candlelit table and sformatino.”
“Is it contagious?”
“It means ‘pie’ in Italian. Kind of like quiche, full of veggies and cheese.”
“And Seth made it?”
“With his own little hands the night before. The lady who runs the B and B baked it, but—” Her phone, sitting on the table, vibrated.
April stared at the caller ID screen and sighed as she opened her phone. “Hi, Midge.”
Even before her aunt spoke, there was a sense of crackling tension in the silence. “April, why haven’t you answered your mother’s calls?”
A sigh started in the bottom of her lungs. There were four missed calls on her phone since noon. “I couldn’t find the time.” Forgive me, Lord. She could have made the time. “She didn’t leave a message. I was going to call her later. Is something wrong?”
“I’ve never heard her like this. She’s so upset, and she’s not making sense. Her words are slurred, and I’m afraid she took something. Should I call 911?”
April’s mouth went dry. Part of her was scared. The other part seethed. “Are you sure she’s not just trying to get a rise out of you? What’s she upset about this time?”
“You. . .going out with Seth.”
“Why?” The seething part took over.
“She says she found out something about him, but you won’t answer her calls. She’s furious.”
“Did she say what it was?”
“No. But, April, this isn’t about Seth. . .or you. I’m worried about your mother.”
Rubbing her eyes, April nodded. “I’ll call.”
Why, just for once, couldn’t it be about her? She closed the phone and sighed again, looking to Yvonne for sympathy.
“Trouble?”
“Probably just drama, but I guess I can’t ignore it. I’m sorry.”
“Take your time. I’ll meet you at the study, and we can talk after.” Yvonne gathered her purse and latte and waved good-bye.
April pressed 4 on her phone and waited. Her mother didn’t bother with “Hello.”
“Mom. . .settle down. I can’t understand you.”
“I just found out.” The voice coming through April’s phone rasped, as if she’d been yelling for hours. “I went to the library and searched the newspaper files.”
“For Seth?” Seething might become a permanent state.
“I’m not going to lose another daughter to that man!”
April rolled her eyes. “And what did you find?”
“I’ll tell you what I found. Seth Bachelor is married.”
Eleven
April clutched her Bible to her chest like a shield as she walked up to a stone house with no front yard. Next to the shiny red door with a brass kick plate, a burnished bronze plaque declared it to be on the Historic Registry of Homes. April touched the bottom of the antique door knocker but couldn’t make herself use it.
She didn’t want to be here. But not showing would have raised too many questions. If she could just shut out the picture and her mother’s voice until she got home and had time to sort this through. Her brain felt as though she’d head butted an electric fence. After the jolt had come the fuzzy numbness that wouldn’t allow her to formulate a concise thought, let alone a rational next step.
Confront him. That’s what she needed to do. But when? And how? If she hadn’t taken out a fraction of her agitation on gunning her engine and turning the radio up full blast, she might have done exactly what she wanted to do: march into this house and slap Seth Bachelor’s square hypocritical jaw.
How was she going to sedate these emotions and act normal? How was she going to ignore the conversation that kept replaying in her brain?
The picture is right in front of me, April. I e-mailed you a copy.
Maybe he’s divorced, Mom. Would that have made her feel any better?
Don’t you think I thought of that? There’s no record of a divorce.
What if his wife died? Why would he hide something like that?
April Jean, give me some credit for being a thinking human being. I checked the death records.
Still not convinced, she’d run home to check her e-mail before coming to the study. There was the picture. . .Seth in a long-tailed tuxedo, the new Mrs. Bachelor, née Brenda Cadwell, in a scoop-necked dress.
Seth is married. The words became a refrain to every thought. No wonder he’d seemed vague about why he was in Pine Bluff. He was hiding out. Did Mrs. Brenda Bachelor even know where he was? Or maybe they were still together, and he was living a double life. Were there children involved? In three years, they could have had two children. Was he sending child support?
It was all too easy to imagine two little children with Seth’s dark hair and dimples. Two little girls, maybe, sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for food that didn’t exist, finally rummaging in empty cupboards and a bare refrigerator until they found a half-empty package of stale soda crackers and the remains of a jar of grape jelly.
A car door slammed behind her, zapping her into the present. She tapped the brass knocker against the door.
❧
They’d saved a seat for her, right between him and Yvonne on the extra long couch. Why hadn’t she taken it? During introductions, her smile had made the rounds, landing on each person to Seth’s right, hopping over him, and continuing with everyone to his left. He’d seen her talking to Yvonne before the study began, so she wasn’t avoiding her. She was avoiding him.
Seth stared across the room at April, sitting cross-legged on the braided rug by the Franklin stove. Her rust-colored blouse brought out the reddish tones in her hair and reflected in spots of color on her cheeks. Not once in the fifteen minutes since she’d walked in had she made eye contact with him. What had he done now?
He sifted through what he remembered of the couple of times they’d talked since their breakfast at Sunrise and couldn’t come up with anything she might have misconstrued. Had he inadvertently said something to make her mad? Was she simply losing interest? Had she really ever been interested? Why did women have to be so multifaceted? Just when you think you’re getting to know one of them, a whole other side pops up that you didn’t know existed. He forced his focus back on Pastor Owen, who was asking them to turn to the thirteenth chapter of Second Corinthians while he read aloud.
“ ‘Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves. Do you not realize that Christ Jesus is in you—unless, of course, you fail the test?’ ”
A test. That’s what he needed. An MMPI for every woman he met. Hi, I’m Seth Bachelor. Glad to meet you. I’d like you to take the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory before a single word comes out of your mouth.
That’s the only way he’d be sure of finding someone who really was what she appeared to be. He’d let himself believe that April Douglas wasn’t like so many of the women he’d met. She was a straight shooter, not a game player. If she didn’t like something, she said so. So what statement was she making by sitting across the room and avoiding eye contact? He’d never been good at reading signals. He needed words. And he’d drag them out of her as soon as the study was over.
Things between them had been precarious right from the start. So what was it about her that made him keep coming back? She was good at letting him talk about himself, asking just the right questions at the right times. But that could be nothing more than her reporter training. She was funny, in the subtle kind of way he loved. Her compassion for others was genuine. He’d seen nothing in her that he’d label egotistical or vain. That alone was worth a ton of points.
He’d felt a bit off balance since the moment they’d met. . .and it wasn’t all that bad a feeling. The sudden realization surprised him. In the past, he’d hated unpredictable relationships. The last few weeks had felt a lot like tracking an F5 tornado.
And he was loving it.
; Looking down at his open Bible, he willed his mind to stay on task. Pastor Owen was reading verse eleven.
“ ‘Finally, brothers, good-by. Aim for perfection, listen to my appeal, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss.’ ”
A holy kiss. . .it had crossed his mind more than once in the past few days. Apparently he wouldn’t be obeying that command any time soon.
He studied her, the way she toyed with the tassel on her bookmark, the uncomfortable-looking straightness of her posture. She’d glued her attention on Pastor Owen and his wife Audrey, appearing to be soaking in every word they uttered. Looking closer, he could tell that her glazed eyes weren’t focused. Clearly, her mind wasn’t on Second Corinthians.
At least they had that in common.
❧
There was a reason why April had participated in forensics rather than drama in high school. She could give an extemporaneous speech that would make a vegetarian order prime rib, but she was lousy at pretending to be someone else. Her broadcast classes had taught her to tuck her emotions into the cubbyholes of her psyche, but apparently that only worked in front of a camera or a microphone. Her training wasn’t coming through for her now.
She realized too late that sitting across the room from Seth was a huge mistake. The thought of sitting close enough to smell his aftershave and feel his body heat had made her woozy. She’d opted for a spot on the floor, but now she was in his line of vision. Though she managed not to look directly at him, her peripheral scanning kept tabs on him. She was pretty sure his eyes hadn’t left her face for an entire hour.
So she’d been right to distrust him in the beginning. No wonder the man had anger issues. Sure, there had been teases of the kind of man she’d always dreamed of—attentive, understanding, patient, creative—but none of that mattered now. Unless. . .what if he hadn’t really deceived her? What if his wife had died in a different state? Her death certificate wouldn’t be filed in Minnesota then, would it? Would the same be true of divorce records? Or what if, even now, Brenda Bachelor lay in a permanent coma, brain-dead from an accident? Maybe an accident that was Seth’s fault?