Not knowing how to handle tools, there was no way she could tackle this job on her own. Her dad knew that, too. She could only conclude that he wanted Chris’s help. He wouldn’t know if Chris was handy—neither did she really, but since he maintained a motorcycle and his job was somewhat mechanical in nature, it wasn’t a bad bet.
The whole thing made Rebecca’s blood boil. It took a helluva lot of nerve for him to even think he could count on Chris’s help after the way he’d treated him. Well, if he wanted Chris’s help, he’d have to swallow his pride and ask for it.
To her surprise, he did. When for the third time Rebecca told him she didn’t know what she could do, he finally said, “If that boyfriend of yours is the Christian he says he is, maybe he’s willing to come over here and give me a hand.”
Well, gee, since you asked so nicely…
Not wanting to commit Chris to anything, she told her dad she’d talk to Chris and let him know. And then she had to follow through, despite the fact she didn’t want to bother Chris with this. She knew what his plans were. He and three friends were going on a motorcycle ride as long as the weather held out. He had wanted her to come along, but since none of the other guys were bringing a girlfriend, she had declined. Chris planned to stop by early in the evening, and they would do something together.
“Hey, is your ride still on?”
“Absolutely. Change your mind about coming?” He sounded hopeful.
“No. Actually, I’m calling to ask for a favor.”
“What do you need?”
“Well, it’s not for me. It’s for my dad.”
Silence. She explained the situation and ended with, “So, he’s in a bind, and he’s hoping you might be able to help him out.” More silence.
Chris sighed. “I’ve been looking forward to this ride for weeks.”
“I know.”
“But, if I can build some goodwill with your dad, I guess it’s worth it.”
“This is my dad, Chris. I’m not promising goodwill.”
“Well, then I’ll have to think of it as doing a good deed and expecting nothing in return. You’d better tell him though, that I’ve never done this before. I mean, it seems straightforward, but sometimes when you start a project you run into unexpected problems. I’ll do my best, but I can almost guarantee it won’t be a perfect job.”
“Well, seeing as though he’s in no condition to do any job, I don’t think he can be too fussy about it.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a half hour. Where are you at?”
“My apartment. I’ll meet you at my dad’s. And, Chris—I owe you one.”
***
When Rebecca arrived, she found Chris on the porch in old jeans and a tee shirt, a pencil behind his ear, squatting to measure the length of the tongue and groove floorboards.
“Do you want to be my ‘Tool Time Girl’?”
“Huh?”
“My lovely assistant.”
She didn’t know how lovely she appeared in a long, baggy, tee shirt and Capri-length leggings, but it would have to suffice. “Oh. Sure.”
He extended the tape measure to her. “Grab this end and pull.” Chris scribbled the length on a small piece of bare two-by-four lumber. “I brought what tools I have, but it’s not much. I could borrow some of my dad’s stuff, but if your dad’s got what we need that would be better.”
“I’ll show you where he keeps stuff.”
She and Chris walked to the detached garage at the rear of the yard, and they came out with two sawhorses, a band saw, a sander, a crow bar, and a hammer and nails.
“So, why didn’t your dad have Joel come over here and help?”
Rebecca laughed. “Uh, Joel can’t even work a screwdriver. He’s a good lawyer, but he has no practical skills. Abby takes care of all that stuff, and what she can’t do, she hires someone else to do. Here’s an analogy—as Jamie is to cooking, so Joel is to carpentry.”
“That makes it crystal clear.”
“Dad’s not exactly Joel’s biggest fan anyway. Dad kind of ignores him.”
“Oh.” His lips set in a thin line, as if he’d just glimpsed his own fate.
Chris made steady progress all morning as the day grew warmer and more humid. By noon he and his sweat-soaked shirt had made two trips to Lowe’s, and by the way he grumbled about the rotted support beams he discovered, she’d bet another trip was in the offing.
Rebecca did whatever he asked, which wasn’t much and consisted mainly of holding boards steady while he sawed, handing him tools, and talking to him while he did something that didn’t require much concentration. She brought him lots of water and a sandwich for lunch. When dinner time came, she got Chinese takeout for them and her dad, who had yet to emerge from his bedroom.
She didn’t mind watching Chris work. The back of his neck and arms had reddened in the day’s sun even though they had set the sawhorses up in the shade of the elm tree in the front yard. She watched as he finished sanding the boards, and it reminded her of their weekend camping trip when she had been bowled over by his masculinity. He had said this job wouldn’t be perfect, but near as she could tell, it was.
By early evening, he had finished replacing and sanding the boards. Rebecca brought him a big glass of strawberry lemonade as he took a break before painting. She sat beside him on the porch steps, but when she touched his leg and leaned in to kiss his cheek, he pushed her hand back and stood.
“Thanks for the lemonade. It hit the spot.”
She didn’t even try to hide the hurt on her face. “Did I do something wrong?”
Chris stopped. “No, of course not.” He lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “Part of the reason I’m here busting my you-know-what is to score points with your dad. If he looks out and sees us canoodling, I can kiss that goodwill goodbye. When I said I wouldn’t be the cause of him going off on you again, I meant it.” He took a breath and lightened his tone. “So, save your tokens of affection for later. I promise you I’ll cash them in.”
The screen door creaked, and Rebecca’s dad stepped out. His gait was stilted and awkward as he moved toward the end of the porch where Chris had been working.
“How’s your back?” Rebecca gathered up their empty lemonade glasses and napkins.
“Still hurts like hell, but I need to move around.” He looked at the boards and then over at Chris, who had opened a paint can and was stirring the contents with a stick.
“What grit sandpaper did you use on that?”
Chris nodded toward the garage. “Whatever you had out there. Looked like a medium grit to me.” Chris scraped the excess paint off the stick and grabbed the brush he was going to use. “Some of the two-by-fours underneath were rotted so I replaced them.”
Her dad nodded and rubbed a hand over his lower back. “Looks like I might have to go back over some things later, but it’ll do for tomorrow. I appreciate it.”
Rebecca raised her brows and smiled from where she stood behind her dad. Chris was careful not to change his expression.
“Dad, there’s some wonton soup and a couple egg rolls if you’d like them. I can warm them up for you.”
“Sounds good, Rebecca. I’m going to try sitting in my chair for a little bit and watching some TV.”
He turned and hobbled back into the house with Rebecca behind him. Chris hadn’t exactly won him over, but at least her dad had been civil. Chris would be able to see he wasn’t an ogre all the time. And maybe Dad would see what a great guy Chris was - generous, hard-working, and kind.
Chris was hammering the lid back on the paint can as she stepped back out on the porch. The paint fumes dissipated in the breeze. The sun had begun to set, and had he not been finished, he would have had to rely on artificial light from here on out.
“Done.” He sighed and leaned against the porch rail.
“You must be beat.”
“I am.” He walked over to where she stood at the foot of the steps looking over his work. “Do you have your helmet
?”
Rebecca turned to him. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, in my car. Why?”
“What do you say we put things away here, I change out of this shirt so I don’t smell quite so bad, and I take you home?”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll pick you up in the morning, we’ll go to church, and then I’ll bring you back here to get your car.”
He had it all worked out. Going to Mass with him would mean that she couldn’t go to a service at her own church, which made her a little uncomfortable. It would be a church though, and she remembered how much Scripture was incorporated into the Mass the last time. Plus, she wondered if her impression would be different now that she understood things a little better. She had already traded in the three books Chris had loaned her for some more, and one of them was all about the Mass. It would be okay.
“All right. Let’s put this stuff away, and I’ll tell my dad we’re going. You did a good job, by the way. It looks great.” She moved her gaze from the gleaming porch floor to the sweaty, sawdust-covered, sexy guy next to her. She wished she could kiss him, but she remembered what he’d said before. He was right, too. Her dad seeing them kiss would be counterproductive. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Plenty, including getting your dad to like me.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe he’ll come around. Today was a good start.”
“I hope so. I want to make one stop on the way to your place, okay?”
“Where?”
“Let me surprise you.”
***
Rebecca hadn’t anticipated anything more than a stop at a frozen yogurt shop. Chris killed the motorcycle’s engine in Harrisburg’s Reservoir Park where the view of the capital city was spectacular from the overlook even with the haze brought on by the hot summer day. Other than some sirens off in the distance and a few kids laughing and hollering as they cut across the parking lot, it was more peaceful than she would have expected. Rebecca grabbed hold of Chris’s arm and swung her leg over the seat while he steadied the bike. She dismounted, took a step back and removed her helmet.
He got off the bike only to turn around and swing his opposite leg over the seat so that he straddled the bike again—backward. He motioned for her to come back toward him.
“Get back on the bike.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see.” He motioned again. She caught a slight quirk of his lips that looked a lot like a suppressed grin. “Come on.”
Rebecca did as he asked, and again using his arm for balance, got back on the bike, now facing Chris.
Inching first his left and then his right foot forward, he moved closer to her and settled his hands on her waist.
Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he shifted into a comfortable position. When he spoke, his voice was as smooth and rich as honey, but his eyes spoke the loudest, so filled with love and desire. “I can’t ask you to fulfill all my fantasies …yet. But I thought maybe you’d indulge me just one as thanks for today. You did say you owed me one.”
He had alluded to a future with her, and the only context for her fulfilling his every fantasy would be in marriage. All the air left her lungs in a whoosh.
His brow creased. “Nothing kinky. I promise.” He gave her a reassuring smile and his right hand combed through her hair, which was all knotted from their ride. Holding the back of her head, he lowered his lips to hers. He tasted like the strawberry lemonade she had served him. His kiss was all sweetness and hinted at a promise he hadn’t yet made but she was now fairly certain he wanted to. One that would keep her encircled in his arms forever.
She gripped the sides of his cotton shirt and pulled him closer although it didn’t feel nearly close enough. Why on earth had she ever been nervous about kissing him like this? It was a foretaste of heaven.
His hand let go of her waist and slid up her side until it moved dangerously close to a place it shouldn’t be. What could have been a clumsy grope was a gentle and loving touch, and she hated the fact that she had to squelch it. Without breaking the connection to his lips, she laid her hand atop his and slid it across her tee shirt where she flattened it, sure that he could feel the pounding of her heart.
He ended the kiss, but neither one of them moved their hands folded over her heart.
“Thank you,” he said, his breathing ragged and irregular. “Now I don’t have to imagine it; I can remember it.”
Rebecca smiled. “My pleasure.”
“I hope so.” Chris grabbed her around the waist and tickled her until she fell against him laughing. “Okay. Let’s get you home.”
16
Say Goodbye
Usually Chris waited until Rebecca got into her car or her apartment before he left, but this afternoon he had to hurry. They were already cutting things close between 10:30 a.m. Mass in Harrisburg and his 1:00 p.m. tee time with Alan in Gettysburg. Factor in the ten minutes they’d spent saying goodbye, otherwise known as kissing, in a private spot on the edge of the battlefield boundaries, and Rebecca knew he had to go if he didn’t want to keep Alan waiting.
Her experience at Mass had been positive this time around. Part of that she attributed to the fact that she knew better what to expect. It also helped that she now had an inkling what was going on. She was more at ease with Chris now, too, and felt comfortable whispering a question to him when she had trouble following along.
She unlocked and opened the back door of her car and laid her helmet on the floor. After closing the rear door, she lifted the handle on the front door, then decided she ought to check on her dad. Chris didn’t like her spending time alone with him, but he was her dad after all, and the least she could do was check in on him to see if his back had improved this morning.
The car door clicked shut and, hoisting her purse onto her shoulder, she turned up the walk to her dad’s house. Chris’s job on the porch floor looked good even in the daylight, although she noticed a small spot where the boards met the wall that could use a little dab of paint. It had been a long day for him yesterday, and while he didn’t complain, she could tell by the way he moved in church that the work he’d done had left him sore.
Rebecca knocked on her dad’s door, then opened it and called to him. When he didn’t answer right away she went in.
“Dad? You upstairs?”
“I’m right here,” her dad said as he descended the stairs, taking each one like a man twenty years his senior so as not to jar his back. “Chris isn’t with you?”
“No. He had to meet his brother for a game of golf.”
Her dad walked to his favorite leather chair and sat with a groan.
The smell of bacon lingered in the air.
“I guess you managed breakfast okay?”
“Yes. Bacon and eggs.”
“Good. Do you need anything, Dad? Otherwise, I’m going to get home. I haven’t done any laundry yet this weekend, and I need to run to the grocery store.”
“One thing. Can you put the cast iron skillet back in the drawer under the oven? I can’t bend while holding something that heavy.”
“Sure.” Rebecca tossed her purse onto the coffee table in front of her dad and went into the kitchen to put away the heavy pan for him. When she returned to the living room a couple of minutes later, her dad held a small booklet in one hand that he smacked against his other hand. She recognized it right away.
After Mass, while Chris talked to someone he knew from work, she had browsed the rack of pamphlets at the rear of the church. She picked up one with a picture of a statue of Jesus’ mother on the front entitled, “Mary, Our Mother.” What she thought of as the Catholic Church’s preoccupation with Mary confounded her. Chris said it was simply honoring Jesus’ mother. She thought maybe the booklet would help her understand why Catholics placed her in such high esteem. She took the pamphlet and stuffed it in her purse to read later. It must have slid out of the open pouch when she tossed it onto the table.
“What’s this?”
She hoped
that her dad wouldn’t make too much out of it, so she tried to convey an air of nonchalance. “Oh, I picked that up in the back of church. I thought maybe it would help me understand why Catholics think Jesus’ mother is so important.”
Her dad winced as he leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. His voice took on a tension she hadn’t heard in it before. “Rebecca, I have to admit that Chris seems like a decent young man despite my reservations about him. I am grateful for what he did yesterday—but, and this is a big but, I cannot abide with you attending that heathen church with him. I’m sorry to say this, but I will never, ever accept him nor give my blessing should things become more serious between you two.”
“Dad, I’m trying to understand what he believes, that’s all.”
“Rebecca, I see how he looks at you. I remember that feeling. Your mother and I were in love once—back in the beginning. Trust me when I tell you it would be easier for both of you if you ended it now. You are unequally yoked. There is nowhere for the relationship to go. Whatever you think you have in common, you’re wrong. It’s not enough. You’re a physical temptation to him and nothing more. Better to end it now.”
She walked to the window and stared blankly at the street. Why hadn’t she just gone home? She didn’t want to hear his ridiculous opinion. A physical temptation and nothing more? What did her dad know about what they had in common?
“Rebecca, honey.” He waited until she looked at him again. “All I want is your happiness. I know you girls think I’m a cruel, old man, but it breaks my heart to say these things.”
Maybe if he had made the slightest effort to get to know Chris as a person that would mean something to her, but he had prejudged him, plain and simple. Lost in her thoughts and the battle to restrain her tears, Rebecca hadn’t noticed her dad heave himself out of his chair and over to the end table. He opened a drawer and pulled out several small pamphlets. He flipped through them, assessing whether they were the right ones, then took them to the coffee table and pushed them into Rebecca’s purse.
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