That Certain Summer

by Irene Hannon

  “For the most part, she talks and I listen.”

  Val rolled her eyes. “I can imagine. It must be gossip central in there. As if you care about her whole cast of characters.”

  “I care about one of them.”

  At his quiet—and unexpected—response, Val shot him a startled glance. His perceptive eyes were fixed on her, and she forced up the corners of her stiff lips, determined to keep things light. “If she’s talked about me, I suspect you’ve gotten more than a few soliloquies.”

  “I hear a lot about the meals you prepare.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “And the glamorous life you lead in Chicago.”

  “Trust me, Mom’s exaggerating. I teach high school drama. I do a little modeling on the side. It’s not glamorous.”

  “It is to her. Though not as glamorous as the life she thinks you could have had. On Broadway, no less.”

  She took another sip of her coffee and shook her head. “Mom always did have delusions of grandeur about my talent. I wasn’t Broadway material.”

  “Did you ever think about giving it a shot?”

  “Yes, and I did. For a year. But the realities of making it in New York didn’t quite live up to my teenage fantasies. Being a big fish in a little pond is a lot different than being a minnow in the ocean. You have to have singular focus and a driving commitment to have even a minuscule chance of making it, and the whole thing was kind of overwhelming. Besides, my heart wasn’t in it.” Nor in much of anything else after that fateful summer of her seventeenth year.

  “Do you like what you do now?”

  “Very much.” That was a question she could answer with absolute honesty. “Working with young people is interesting—and satisfying.”

  “Then that’s all that counts.” He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Margaret also told me about her church and invited me to visit. Victoria and I went last weekend. I thought you might be there, but I guess you were still sick.”

  Val ran a polished nail around the rim of her cup, where traces of lipstick clung precariously to the edge. “I was. Besides, I’m not much of a churchgoer anymore.”

  “Meaning you used to be?”

  “Years ago.”

  “What changed?”

  His tone was conversational, not accusatory, but he was getting way too personal. She sent him a pointed look that conveyed that message loud and clear.

  “Sorry.” He held up his free hand, palm forward, in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to pry. My faith is such an important part of my life, I’m always curious why people fall away. I could never survive the dark times without God by my side.” He checked his watch and rose. “Margaret should be finishing up on the equipment. I’d better get back inside.”

  “Smart plan. It’s never wise to keep Mom waiting.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up, and he gestured toward her empty coffee cup. “Can I pitch that for you?”

  “Thanks.” As she handed it over, their fingers brushed. It was a fleeting touch, but even that slight contact sent a tingle down her spine—and made her wish she could share her secret with this man. That she could spill her heart to him, and that he would listen without judgment, pull her into his arms, and hold her until all her guilt melted away.

  As he disappeared through the door, Val shook her head. Now there was a teenage fantasy if ever she’d heard one. Problems weren’t that easily solved. Nor was forgiveness that easy to find.

  Even from a man of faith.

  “Aren’t you going to be late for choir practice, Mom?”

  Karen straightened from loading the dryer. Kristen stood in the doorway of the laundry room, a chocolate chip cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. “I’m not going tonight.”

  “How come? You never skip.”

  “I had a busy day at work and I’m tired.” She continued to transfer wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, hoping Kristen would let it go. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her decision tonight.

  No such luck.

  Her daughter clumped into the room and propped her hip against the counter. “That never stopped you before.”

  Karen shut the dryer and flipped it on. Might as well just spill it. “Actually, I’m thinking of dropping out.”

  “You’re kidding.” Kristen followed her into the kitchen. “I thought you loved singing in the choir.”

  “I used to love it. But the new choir director is . . . difficult.”

  “I think he’s hot—for an older guy.”

  Her eyes widened. Scott Walker, hot?

  No way.

  Then again, his dark good looks might appeal to some people.

  Too bad his personality was equally dark.

  “I won’t debate that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that.” She folded the dish towel she’d tossed on the table earlier and hung it on the door rack under the sink. “But he’s hard to deal with. He talks down to people, and he raises his voice a lot.”

  Kristen stopped chewing. “Kind of like Dad used to?”

  At the quiet question, Karen turned toward her and curled her fingers around the edge of the counter behind her. “Your dad never behaved that way with you.”

  “No, but he treated you like that. A lot.”

  As the comment hung in the air between them, Karen tightened her grip. Great. Despite all her efforts to shelter Kristen from the problems in their marriage, it seemed her perceptive daughter had picked up on them anyway.

  “Your dad and I should never have married, Kristen.” Careful, Karen. Don’t cast all the blame on the father she loves or let this come across as sour grapes. “We weren’t compatible.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “I don’t know. I was young. He was older and attractive and attentive. My self-esteem wasn’t that high. Remember, I grew up in the same house as Val, and it was hard to compete with her. She was always gorgeous and self-confident. The boys didn’t even notice me when she was around—except for your dad. I was flattered by his attention, and I guess that clouded my judgment.”

  “But you must have loved him back then. And he must have loved you.”

  Was her daughter ready for the truth? Val had suggested she was—and her sister could be right. Maybe it was time to test that theory.

  She gestured to the kitchen table. “Let’s sit for a few minutes, okay?”

  Following her lead, Kristen slid into a chair at the polished oak dinette set where the three of them had shared too few meals as a family.

  “To be honest, I’m not certain love ever played a role in our relationship. I was enamored and I mistook a lot of other emotions for love. As for your dad, I think he liked the fact that I always gave in to him and let him take charge. It fed his ego. But after a while that got old, and he lost respect for me, leading to problems later in our marriage. In the end, both of us regretted the mistake.”

  “But I thought marriage was supposed to be forever. Till death do us part and all that stuff, like Reverend Richards talks about.”

  “It is. But people do make mistakes.”

  Kristen chewed at her lower lip. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

  “I don’t know. Even though we’re divorced, I still feel married in God’s eyes.”

  “I don’t think Dad would have any qualms about remarrying.”

  “He and I didn’t have the same core beliefs about marriage, honey. Mine are based in faith. That’s another thing we didn’t share.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Kristen traced one of the knotholes in the wood with an iridescent fingernail. Turquoise was the color of the week. “I remember that Christmas morning when I was about eight and he made fun of you for going to church. You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you, but I heard you crying later in your room.”

  Another jolt ricocheted through her.

  So that day was as etched in Kristen’s memory as it was in her own.

  “I’m sorry you heard that. I tried to s
hield you from the stuff that was going on, but that day was especially bad.” Bad enough that the memory still left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “I remember he wanted you to make breakfast for him before we went to church and was mad when you didn’t.”

  “That’s right.” She could recall the sequence of events as if they’d happened yesterday. Most of the time, Michael had condescendingly tolerated her convictions despite his attitude of academic elitism that regarded religion as a simplistic panacea to life’s problems. But not that day. He’d risen in a bad mood. Ranted that she was a fool for letting her faith run her life. Accused her of being selfish to put church attendance above family obligations. Sulked for the remainder of the day.

  It had not been her best Christmas.

  Nor Kristen’s, it seemed.

  When her daughter remained silent, she spoke again. “That was one of the few occasions I went against his wishes. In those days, I used to think being passive and giving in would smooth things out and help me get along with people—including your grandmother. But I’m learning that’s not always the best way to be.”

  Kristen swirled the milk in her glass, closer and closer to the top. Playing the spill odds. “Do you think if you’d been different with Dad back then, you guys might have stayed together?”

  “I used to wonder about that, but I don’t think so. In fact, the marriage may not have lasted as long as it did. We’d probably have clashed sooner. Your dad and I are too different.”

  “Maybe he’s changed.”

  Not that she’d noticed.

  But instead of voicing that opinion, she reached over in silence and brushed a long strand of blonde hair back from Kristen’s face.

  “I wish we could have been a family forever.” Kristen whispered the choked words as moisture beaded on her lashes.

  “I do too. I’m so sorry your dad and I made such a mess of things.”

  Kristen gripped her glass. “You know, I used to think the breakup was all your fault.” She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “But inside I always knew it wasn’t. Dad’s a pretty good dad, when he’s around, but I guess . . . I guess he wasn’t the best husband. He wasn’t very nice to you. And I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

  Her little girl was growing up.

  A lump formed in Karen’s throat. For the past two years she’d been praying her relationship with her daughter would stabilize, that they would recapture the closeness they’d once shared. Tonight it felt as if they’d taken a giant leap forward.

  Giving her yet another reason to be glad she’d skipped choir practice.

  Scott stopped outside the church door and took a deep breath. He was a few minutes late for practice—by design. This way, everyone would be seated and he wouldn’t have a chance to let second thoughts deter him from his mission once he stepped inside.

  As he grasped the handle of the door, his heart began to thud the way it always did before an important performance. He’d read once that an adrenaline rush was a survival mechanism, designed to heighten the senses and increase alertness so a person was better equipped to deal with danger . . . or a hostile enemy.

  And considering the expressions on the faces that swiveled toward him as he entered, the latter was an excellent description of the choir members.

  The room fell silent as he approached the piano, and Scott did his best to rein in his pounding pulse. Stress could bring on one of his debilitating headaches, and he didn’t need that complication tonight. At least not until after he got through his apology.

  Once he set his folder of music on the piano, he faced the silent choir. For the first time, he looked—really looked—at the members as individuals. The emotions they were displaying were as varied as their appearance. Some were hostile. He hadn’t misread that as he stepped into the room. But others appeared uncertain. Nervous. Cautious.

  He scanned the group for the woman who had left the last rehearsal. Karen, according to his mother. What emotion would he see on her face? But her seat was empty—surprise, surprise.

  Summoning up his courage, Scott rested one hand on the piano. “Before we work on music tonight, there are a few things I’d like to say. First, as you know, I’m only the interim music director while Reverend Richards searches for a permanent replacement for Marilyn. Frankly, I’ve never thought I was the best choice for the job. I have no experience directing a church choir. I’m used to dealing with professional, trained musicians who spend hours a day practicing and honing their craft. As a result, I have very high standards.

  “However, in the past few days I’ve come to realize that while those expectations might be appropriate for my colleagues, they’re far too strict for people who gather once a week on a volunteer basis because they love to sing. I apologize for being too hard on you last week.

  “My patience is also being taxed by some health issues, including severe headaches that are a by-product of the concussion I suffered in the accident. I had one of those at the last rehearsal. I’m sorry to say, I took it out on all of you. I apologize for that as well.

  “Finally, I realize that in spite of your busy lives, you give up several hours a week to enhance the worship service for the congregation. You don’t need to add a difficult choir director to the stresses in your lives.”

  Scott cleared his throat. “For all those reasons, I spoke with Reverend Richards a couple of days ago, planning to resign. I didn’t feel it was a good fit—but your minister can be quite persuasive, in a very gentle way.” Scott saw a few tentative, knowing smiles. Empathy. That was a positive sign. “Anyway, he encouraged me to stay on for a while. I agreed to think about it, but I felt the decision should be up to you.”

  He jammed his left hand into his pocket. He’d have liked to ball it into a fist, but all he could manage was a slight flex of his stiff fingers.

  “I want to tell you I’m sorry for causing too much anxiety at rehearsals, and to promise you that in the future I’ll do my best to make the experience a pleasant one for you. I ask for your forgiveness for my behavior, and for your patience as I try to learn how to be a church music director. I know I’ve been difficult to work with, but I’d like a second chance. If things don’t improve, I promise to step aside. Do you think we can give this another try?”

  During his speech, the mood in the room had undergone a subtle shift. Scott wouldn’t call it friendly. That would be too generous. But willing, perhaps. And more relaxed, as if a collective deep breath had been exhaled. He even saw a number of nods.

  It appeared Reverend Richards had been right. The choir was a forgiving group. The members seemed willing to give him another chance.

  Except maybe the woman who had walked out. Karen.

  “Can I take the silence as a yes?” Scott searched their faces.

  A murmur of assent supplied his answer.

  As Scott thanked the group, then took his place at the piano, a burden seemed to lift from his shoulders. But his task wasn’t finished yet. Nor would it be until that one empty seat was filled again.

  And that meant he had one more apology to make.

  As Karen deposited two frappuccinos on the table and took her seat, Val appraised her. “I’d say the weight-loss program is continuing to reap benefits.”

  “Yep.” Karen lifted her drink in a mock toast. “Thirteen pounds down, twelve to go.”

  “That’s terrific! And I love your new hairstyle.”

  “I do too. Even Michael noticed.”

  “Is he still hanging around?” Val wrinkled her nose.

  “He comes to see Kristen. On his last visit he even said I was looking good.” She rested her elbow on the table and twirled her straw in her drink. “He also looked at me the way he used to. Like I was attractive. I have to admit, that felt kind of good.”

  Val’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-oh.”

  She stopped twirling. “What does that mean?”

  “Are you still susceptible to that—excuse me for being blunt—jerk’s compliments? After
the way he treated you?”

  Karen’s face warmed. “It surprised me too. I mean, I don’t have any feelings for him anymore.”

  “Hmm.” Val tapped a polished nail on the surface of the small round table. “I think I know what the problem is. You need some romance in your life.”

  Karen coughed as her mouthful of frappuccino went down the wrong way. “You can’t be serious!”

  “One hundred percent. You need a new guy in your life.”

  “Sorry. Not in the market.” With a resolute shake of her head, Karen took a cautious sip through her straw.

  “Why not?”

  “Believe it or not, Kristen and I just had a similar conversation. As I told her, we might be divorced but I did take vows before God. I can’t discount those.”

  “Michael has.”

  “That’s his issue, not mine. Besides, there aren’t exactly a lot of guys tripping over themselves trying to date me. And I don’t need male attention to make my life complete.”

  “If that’s true, why did Michael’s compliment turn your head?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. Male attention is nice. Having a man in your life can be a positive thing.”

  “I’ve had a man in my life, thank you very much. I’ll pass.”

  “I’m talking about a man who treats you right. Respects you. Cherishes you. You deserve that, Karen.” Val studied her. “Look, I understand and respect your feelings about the sanctity of marriage. But even the Catholic church, which frowns on divorce and remarriage, grants annulments in cases where one of the partners never intended to abide by their vows. Do you really think Michael ever took his vow of fidelity seriously?”

  Karen frowned. Val might have a point. Maybe he’d never intended to remain faithful. And if he hadn’t, did that kind of deceit undermine their vows?

  Possibly.

  “I can see from your expression that I got you thinking.”

  As Karen poked at the whipped cream with her straw, it began to deflate. “I’ll admit you’ve offered a perspective worth considering.” Then she turned the tables. “But you’re single too. What about romance in your life? And marriage?”