She let go of his hand and set the bag in her lap. Reaching inside, she discovered a heavy jar. She held it above the bag and turned it in the light. “Sand?”
“I couldn’t bring you to the beach, so, I brought a little of the beach to you.”
“So sweet.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“There’s something else in there, too.” His knee slowed and stopped as he leaned toward her to peer into the bag, too.
Rebecca lifted white tissue paper out of the bag and held it in her lap. She unfolded the paper and pulled out—well, she wasn’t sure what. It was beaded and silver and beautiful, but she didn’t know how to wear it. Judging by the size and placement of the loops and the lack of a clasp, it wasn’t a necklace, and as one slipped onto the floor, she realized there were two of them.
“Chris, it’s very pretty, but I have to be honest. I have no idea what these are.” She feared she’d hurt his feelings by not recognizing his gift, but he must not have expected her to know.
His eyes teased her, and he grinned. “Give me your foot.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your foot, please.”
Rebecca lifted her bare left foot and rested it on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. She never paid her feet much attention. She knew Abby and everyone else got pedicures all the time, but she had never had one, didn’t care to have one, and couldn’t justify the expense anyway. Her nails were clean, short, and unadorned.
“Give me one of those,” he said and gestured to her mystery jewelry. She handed one to him and he slid the large loop over her foot and around her ankle. Then he stretched the small loop at the other end and fitted it around her second toe. “Other foot.”
She lifted her right foot, handed him the other piece of jewelry, and he slid it into place as well. She loved the sensuous feel of his hands moving over her feet. When he was finished, she placed her feet side-by-side on the edge of the coffee table.
“There,” he said. “What do you think?”
“They’re beautiful. The make my feet look pretty and exotic.”
“Sexy.”
She cast a sideways glance at him. He meant it. Her cheeks warmed, and she wondered how two little syllables from his mouth did that to her.
“What do you call them?”
“Barefoot sandals. They’re handmade. I hope you like them.”
“I do. You didn’t have to get me anything, but these are so feminine. I love them.”
“A woman should have some frivolous, pretty things, and I get the sense you don’t buy those kinds of things for yourself.”
She shook her head and continued to look at the way the sandals made the curves of her feet look so delicate and alluring.
“Let me see.” He sat back on the couch. “Lie down and put your feet in my lap.”
Rebecca scooted back onto the couch and propped a pillow against the arm so she could lean against it. Chris took her feet and laid them on his legs. His fingers traced the line of beads and caressed the arch on each foot. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and in a matter of minutes found herself drifting off to sleep.
His voice roused her. “I should go home and let you get to bed, but I can’t figure out how I’m going to be able to sleep.”
“The caffeine will wear off eventually. Abby and I used to sneak downstairs and drink milk and eat graham crackers when we couldn’t sleep. It always seemed to help.”
“Worth a try, I guess. I know—why don’t you sing me a lullaby?”
Suddenly his hands on her feet felt more irritating than relaxing.
“You know I don’t sing.”
“Aw, come on, Rebecca. I bet you have a beautiful singing voice. Please.”
“No.”
“You don’t want me to be so tired I can’t get up in the morning, do you?”
Seriously? He’d send her on a guilt trip over this? “Try the milk and graham crackers.”
“Please, Rebecca. I love you.”
He had just moved from irritating and pesky to hurtful. Was his love conditional on her singing? “That’s not fair.”
He raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. I love you whether you sing or not, but I’d really like to hear you sing.”
Chris Reynolds made Rebecca want to sing, maybe like no one or no thing ever had before. She remembered singing praise songs as a little girl for the simple pleasure of singing and for the love of God. Chris made her want to sing like that again, out of sheer joy, but now singing was a sad reminder. A reminder that she didn’t measure up. That in her father’s eyes, the thing she did best was disappoint. That even when she hadn’t failed per se, her femininity—the very thing that Chris seemed to foster and treasure—caused sin and shame. She curled her toes, and pulled her feet from his lap, hugging her knees to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said as he reached for her. “I pushed too hard.”
“You talked to Abby about it, didn’t you? My singing.” Oh, no. The tears. Where were the tears coming from? She had been a child. Why did it still hurt?
“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I hate to see you bound by a heartless, thoughtless comment made so long ago.”
She pushed off the couch and took her jar of sand to the counter that separated her kitchen and living areas. “Please, let it go, Chris. I know you mean well, and I appreciate it. Truly, I do, but I can’t sing. I won’t.”
He was off the couch now, too, and walking toward her. “I won’t push again, I promise, but I’m going to keep asking.” He pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped her eyes. “I’d better go.”
She nodded and walked to the door with him. He stopped before he opened it.
“Alan texted me this afternoon. They want to have us over on Friday. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Your family must think we’re serious.”
He shrugged. “I think they know you mean the world to me.”
The blue intensity of his eyes made her feel small and ashamed. Why did she have to overreact about the singing anyway?
“Thank you for the gifts. It was very thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”
She opened the door and then closed it behind him as a weight settled on her chest the way a mood had settled over her when Chris had asked her to sing. Maybe it was all an illusion. Maybe she’d just drag Chris down, too. Tempt him. Keep him from finding a woman worthy of his love and generosity.
“Goodnight, Chris.”
14
I’ll Back You Up
Rebecca inhaled the smell of scorched food as it wafted through the screen door. Apparently Chris and Alan hadn’t been exaggerating when they said Jamie couldn’t cook. The shrill and incessant beep of a smoke detector punctuated the continuous clattering of pans culminating in a loud curse that included the Lord’s name.
Chris winced. “Everything okay in there?” he yelled through the front door of Alan and Jamie’s gray-brick ranch house. He slid his arm around Rebecca as she clutched her homemade cheesecake to her chest.
“Should we go in?” She didn’t want to intrude, but she thought maybe Jamie could use her help.
“Let’s give them a minute.”
In less than ten seconds, Alan strode toward the door with his phone in hand. “Hey, guys. How does Italian sound? I’m going to order some cheese-stuffed shells, salad, rolls. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Chris said, sharing a look with Rebecca. “And Rebecca made a cheesecake for dessert.”
“Awesome,” Alan said as he let them in and then adjusted the screen to bring more fresh air into the house, which smelled like burnt pasta. There was another curse from the direction Rebecca assumed was the kitchen, followed by a choked sob.
“Maybe I can help. Is the kitchen this way?” She pointed down a hallway with gleaming hardwood floors.
“Yeah,” Alan said. “I can’t seem to do anything right for he
r. Maybe she’ll be more receptive to another woman.”
Rebecca found the kitchen and Jamie on the floor in front of a cupboard. Her face was hidden by her hands and her red hair hung like a long, straight curtain at her shoulder. Above her, the countertop was cluttered with pots and pans, the sink was near to overflowing, and the vent above the oven whirred at high speed.
“Jamie? Is everything okay?”
Jamie wiped her face with her hands and clambered to her feet. “Rebecca. I’m so embarrassed. I’m an utter failure in the kitchen. It’s pasta for crying out loud. I had to boil the noodles and heat the sauce, and I nearly burned down the house.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I once turned a dozen Zip-loc bags into a molten pile of goo while trying to make toast.”
Jamie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s the worst you’ve got?”
Rebecca didn’t know what to say. “So, cooking’s not your thing. You’re good at lots of other things I’m sure.”
“Yeah, but it would be nice to be good at something we have to do three times a day every day of our freakin’ lives.”
Rubbing Jamie’s shoulder, Rebecca spoke softly. “I think Alan ordered dinner. Why don’t you let me help you clean up?”
“Thank you. I just wanted us to have a nice evening together. Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Water or iced tea would be great. Thanks.” Rebecca loaded what she could into the dish washer and then started filling one side of the sink with warm, soapy water.
“You don’t drink, do you?”
“Not much.” Rebecca hoped Jamie would leave it alone.
“Do you like chocolate?”
Maybe there was something they could bond over after all. “It’s my favorite food group.”
“Then you’ve got to try some chocolate liqueur. Next time I pick some up, I’ll get a little sample bottle for you. You’ll love it.”
Jamie placed a glass of water next to Rebecca on the counter as she took a long drink from her wine goblet. “Thank you for bringing the cheesecake.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I hope it turned out okay.”
“The way Alan raves about your baking, if Chris weren’t so far gone over you, I think he would make a move.”
Chris stood in the living room, where Alan showed him a Blu-Ray movie he'd pulled from a bookcase filled to capacity with them. He glanced up and gave her a wink and a little wave.
When Jamie spoke again, Rebecca turned to find her staring at her and Chris in the background behind her. “I’ve never seen him happier,” Jamie said. “You’re good for him.”
Her heart fluttered. She flattened her breezy summer skirt with her hands. Another new skirt and top. She was worried the dressy tee shirt hugged her chest too tightly, but Chris had said he liked it.
“He’s…he’s more than I ever dared to dream.” She didn’t mean to share something so heartfelt, but with him standing there so handsome in his khaki pants and Polo-style shirt with eyes only for her, she didn’t even think before she spoke.
“I kept trying to set him up, but it never took. Alan’s friend has a sister who’s had a thing for him since they were kids. I gave them every opportunity, but Chris would rebuff her every time.” Jamie swiped at the counters with a wet dishcloth, occasionally shaking it out over the trash can. “When he brought you to our wedding and you two shared that, uh, soul-melding kiss on the dance floor, I think she finally conceded.”
Megan. It had to be Megan. Did Chris even know they had been trying to set him up? And did she just hear a hint of disappointment in Jamie’s voice?
“Anyway,” Jamie continued, “I’m glad he has you. I mean, not only is he great eye candy, he’s a great guy. Great husband material. Even if he is a little loopy about the God stuff. But I suspect you already know all of that.”
The God stuff?
The doorbell rang, and Alan headed for the door while Jamie searched through her purse looking for cash. When they both went to meet the delivery man, Chris came into the kitchen and put his arm around her and kissed her temple. She felt a twinge there just as she had earlier in the day. Over the past hour, a mild headache had crept up on her. It might be tension or maybe a change in the weather. Sometimes barometric pressure changes gave her headaches.
The shells were rich and filling, but by the time Alan sliced the cheesecake for them, both Rebecca’s temple and her jaw on her right side were aching. No, throbbing.
When Chris had finished his dessert and coffee, she leaned into him and whispered, “I’m not feeling well. Would you take me home?”
Chris’s brow creased, and the worry in his voice touched her. She laid her hand on his leg. “I’m okay. I think it’s my tooth, but the pain is in my jaw and my cheek and my whole head.”
“I’m sure Alan has some ibuprofen or something.”
“I’ve got some in my purse. I’ll take a couple, and then maybe I can call my dentist on the way home. He said he thought this molar was trouble.”
Chris made apologies for them and made sure she was seated comfortably in her car while he said a final thanks to Alan and Jamie. Alan joked that it was the first time someone left their home sick and not from Jamie’s cooking. Rebecca felt sorry for her; she had really tried. So she couldn’t cook; maybe Alan should give it a try if home-cooked meals were that important to him.
Rebecca’s jaw pounded and pain shot through her temple by the time she got a hold of her dentist through his answering service. After describing the situation and reminding him of the warning he had given her about that tooth, he told her he’d call in a prescription and ordered her to see him first thing Monday morning.
She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes, grateful that she could count on Chris to see that she got home safely.
She kept her head as still as possible while he drove and tried to focus on anything other than the pain. What had Chris told her dad about suffering? He called it medicine for salvation. Well, then this was some strong medicine.
Through her conversations with Chris and reading the books he had loaned her, she knew that Catholics didn’t dismiss suffering as something to be avoided at all costs. If she understood things correctly, his faith valued suffering if it was united to Jesus’ pain at the crucifixion.
In fact, it seemed like his church placed considerable value on the body itself. She’d always felt like having a body held her back. The way her head throbbed now, she still couldn’t disagree. After all the sermons she’d heard about the temptations of the flesh, she couldn’t help but wonder what good a body was. But in Chris’s church, the body freed you to experience God in a tangible, corporal way, through the sacraments and even more so through communion. Even through making love to her husband some day, if she could believe that.
They hit a bump and the car jolted, sending pain shooting through the side of her face. She groaned.
“Sorry. I couldn’t see that pothole until I was on top of it.”
She let out a deep breath. “It’s all right.” When the pain receded, she thought once more about lending meaning to suffering and said a silent prayer. Lord, if you can make something good of this pain, then do it, because otherwise this is a whole lot of misery for nothing.
***
Chris pulled into the pharmacy and looked over at Rebecca. Was she asleep or resting with her eyes closed? He touched her leg. “Rebecca, honey, we’re at the drug store. I’m going to run in and get your prescription.”
She rolled her head slowly to face him and opened her eyes. She grimaced and then answered. “There’s cash in my purse.”
He fished her wallet out of the purse at her feet and removed some bills. “Hey, it’s going to get better once you get this antibiotic, okay?”
She nodded her head, but the unshed tears in her eyes made his heart ache. She must be in a heck of a lot of pain.
After they got to her apartment and she took the penicillin, Chris asked what he could do for her. “Make th
e pain go away,” was all she said before she buried her head—very gently—in his chest. He wished more than anything he could do that for her, but they would have to wait until the medicine got into her system.
“Do you think you could sleep?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you could knock me unconscious.”
At least her sense of humor was intact. “Why don’t you try?”
“You don’t have to stay, you know.”
No, he didn’t, but she wasn’t well, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “I could spend the night on your couch if it’s okay with you. That way if you need anything, I’m right here.”
“I’ll be okay, but I do like the idea of you staying.”
“Then I’ll stay. I’m supposed to help Tom and his wife move tomorrow, but I can go straight from here.”
He kissed her goodnight on her pain-free cheek, and she retreated to her bedroom. After a few quiet moments of prayer that Rebecca’s pain would go away, he made himself comfortable on the couch. Thinking he wouldn’t be able to sleep for at least another hour or two, he found a decent B movie to watch on TV. When the credits rolled, he took the quilt off the back of the couch, wrapped it around himself, and got as comfortable as he could.
Despite its small size, she had made her apartment homey with only sparse furnishings. All the colors went together and she had arranged pictures of Abby’s kids and landscapes artfully on the walls. Potted plants filled every window sill, and two large containers near the front window held more greenery. He’d have plenty of oxygen.
Chris slept and didn’t budge until he heard Rebecca up and moving around. A glance at her wall clock told him it was half past four. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Rebecca stood in the kitchen drinking a tall glass of water.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Much, much better. It’s a mild ache around my tooth now. I took more penicillin and a couple more ibuprofen. I’m not used to going to bed so early though, and now I can’t fall back to sleep.”
“Come here,” he said as he rearranged himself and the quilt on the couch so that she could sit between his legs and lean back against him. She settled in there with her head nestled under his chin, her breathing soft and steady, and he felt himself drift off again almost immediately.
Stay With Me Page 17