He pulled up in front of her apartment not sure what to say, an unusual circumstance for him. She climbed out before he could round the front of the car. He caught up with her as she climbed the first step and caught her hand. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not.”
He held tight to her hand and just waited, silent, watching her. She sighed, blew out a breath and eyed the dripping trees. “I understand you have responsibilities. I’m sorry for trying to infringe on them, Jeff.”
Part of him wanted to turn the clock back ten minutes and just say yes to breakfast.
Although no way would he let her buy.
But another part of him recognized the hurdle she’d erected.
Yeah, he worked hard. He had to, partially to continue Walker Electronics’ growth and partially to repair the family name. And even harder right now because Trent was gone.
But he didn’t feel compelled to justify any of it. That rubbed him the wrong way. His work ethic was part and parcel of him. It wasn’t about to change.
She was obviously unsympathetic to that.
He stepped back, a sense of déjà vu blindsiding him, because hadn’t they just done this same dance last night? And come to the same conclusion?
She beat him to the parting line. “Thanks for the ride home. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime.”
They both knew he didn’t mean it. She’d put up a barrier he wouldn’t try to scale. Hard work and industry were part of him, a piece of the whole.
Her reaction said she only dealt with fragments.
Jeff wanted the whole pie graph. He headed back to the car, waved his hand, climbed in and refused to beat himself up over shouldering needed responsibilities, his gut reaming him for thinking this could have gone anywhere, been anything.
He pulled away from the curb with his foot on the gas while he worked to put the brakes on his heart. He’d see her each and every Thursday night, and at fundraising events no doubt, but her reaction to his work constraints added further bricks to her walled-in existence. Right now, Jeff didn’t have the time needed to make the climb.
And because he actually liked himself, who he was and what he’d accomplished so far in life, he was pretty sure he shouldn’t have to.
Chapter Nine
Hannah’s phone rang as she closed up the library a few days later. She fumbled with her keys while juggling the phone and answered just in time, sounding rushed when she wasn’t even close to rushed, a sad scenario at age thirty-four. “Hello.”
“Is this Hannah Moore?”
Hannah paused, the unfamiliar voice reminding her of intrusive reporters and media hounds relentlessly pursuing a story, only she saw nothing about her Ironwood actions as noteworthy.
“Yes.” Caution tainted her tone.
“Hannah, this is Dana Brennan. I volunteered to oversee the food preparations for the Harvest Dinner the library group is holding in conjunction with the Farmer’s Fair.”
“Jeff’s mother.”
The other woman’s microsecond hesitation said she found it interesting that Hannah classified her that way, which was totally understandable because…
Because Hannah hadn’t stopped thinking about Jeff since her rude about-face Sunday morning, making him feel guilty about his job when scores of people depended upon his business. She bit back a sigh of recrimination and covered smoothly. “Jeff mentioned he was going to sign you up for food because, in his words, nobody does it better.”
Dana laughed but Hannah was pretty sure the older woman had picked up more than Hannah meant to say with two little words. “What a lovely compliment. And that sounds like my son—hardworking, industrious and appreciative of a good meal.”
Hannah had watched him down a twenty-ounce steak at dinner the other night, so she was no stranger to his formidable appetite. “Sounds like the same guy. Do you need help with the dinner planning? There are committee members who’d love to talk with you tomorrow night.”
“I’ve actually got everything planned out,” Dana replied, her gentle voice self-assured. “There’s a local group of gals who love to put on this sort of thing and we haven’t had the chance in a while. If I could come to the meeting and pre sent my plans and ideas for approval, that would be great.”
“I’ll put you on the agenda when I type it up today and add you to our volunteer list, Mrs. Brennan.”
“Oh, Dana, dear, please. If we’re going to be working together, first names are so much more fun.”
“Dana, then. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Wonderful.”
Hannah headed for home, the crisp October day beautiful, the hillside colors deepening with time.
Her mother’s distinctive ringtone interrupted her musings as she neared the apartment. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Just checking in.” Jean Moore’s voice held warmth and reassurance. She’d obviously been eyeing the calendar, watching the days advance, a family habit every autumn. “How are you doing, honey?”
“I’m doing well, actually,” Hannah told her and was surprised by how true that was. “Very well, in fact.”
“Hannah, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy to hear you say that.”
She didn’t add “at last,” but they both recognized the inference.
“Are you busy with work?”
With work and life, Hannah admitted to herself, another thought of Jeff’s quirked grin and bright eyes making her squirm inside since she’d mucked that up. “Yes, we’ve got a library fundraising project going on that’s eating up my spare time and it’s been good for me. All around.”
“I’m glad, Hannah.”
Hannah read her mother’s relief and couldn’t disagree. “Me, too. Hey, I’ve got to go. I just got home and there’s a package on the step. But first, tell me how adorable this new baby is, our little Caitlyn Jean.”
Jean laughed out loud, embracing the new subject matter like any first-time grandma would. “She’s precious beyond belief. She’s like a mix of you and Leah, absolutely adorable, and Nick is going to be a wonderful father. I can just tell.”
“I agree totally,” Hannah replied. Her brother Nick’s fun, gentle nature was perfect for fatherhood. “And I can’t wait to see her, to see all of you. I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving.”
“Well…”
The single word said something had gone awry with Nick’s well-laid plans. “You’re not coming up to Philly for the baptism?”
“We’re doing Thanksgiving with John’s family this year and it seems rude to head up north right after we’ve arrived, don’t you think? And since we’re coming up at Christmas, it gets a little expensive.”
And right there was reason enough to hate the long-lasting effects of a broken family. Her stepfather’s discomfort around her father dictated her mother’s actions, and as wrong as that seemed, Hannah knew better than to expect anything else. “Is it less rude to miss your granddaughter’s christening?”
“Unfortunately we don’t have limitless funds, travel’s expensive and John’s pension fund took a huge hit, so we’ve got to pick and choose. And we’ll see you at Christmas if you make the drive to Nick’s house in Bucks County.”
“I understand.” And she did, although a part of Hannah wished they all lived closer. “I’ll let you guys know about Christmas. It mostly depends on the weather. Getting caught on I-81 in a blizzard isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Me neither. And Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“It’s nice to hear you sounding so good. So strong.”
Her mother’s approval added a layer of strength to her growing confidence. “Thanks, Mom. I think so, too.”
She pocketed the phone and stared at the box on the stoop, the bold, black marker address way too familiar.
Brian.
She sighed, lifted the box, felt the lightness of it and wondered what on earth he might have sent her at this late date. She’d left nothing of consequence in Illinois, except a good pa
rt of her heart and soul, unboxable items she was reclaiming step by step.
Toss it.
The advice seemed timely. No way did Hannah want her growing initiative blindsided by the parcel’s contents. She made it halfway around the house, then paused and shifted her gaze up, the bright blue sky edged by an incoming storm system.
Was fear driving her thoughts of dumping the box? Or common sense, a necessary attribute touted by therapy?
“Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened.” Peter’s presence in the Bible was brief, a span of two letters, but his encouragement to face fear and bind to courage touched Hannah’s heart. Sighing, she took the box inside and pushed it into a closet for another day, another time. Right now, basking in her mother’s words of pride, she had no intention of interrupting the current upward cycle.
She’d deal with the box later. The packaged presence was unable to hurt without her tacit permission. But for the moment, setting it aside shielded her from memories that had owned her for too long.
Hannah looked lovely and that seemed so unfair, Jeff thought as he strode into the library Thursday evening, determined to keep everything quick, friendly and business oriented. One look at Hannah in some kind of fitted dress tossed those well-scripted plans out the window.
He’d come early on purpose, wanting to go over a couple of points with her. But when she met his gaze he morphed into a tongue-tied teen boy, captivated by her grace, her charm, the look of her.
She moved his way, seemingly unaware of the war raging within him. So why did he lean forward as she drew near, take a deep, slow breath and sigh, his mouth a whisper’s breadth from her cheek? “You smell delightful.”
Her answering smile feathered her cheek against his mouth, the sweet softness sublime, but common sense reminded him he’d walked away on Sunday with good reason. Hannah had issues with the constraints of his job, her reaction made that obvious, and his job wasn’t about to change. So why did that reason seem to vaporize in her presence?
“Thank you.”
“Nice dress.”
She smiled and her left hand came up, twisting a thin lock of hair, a habit he’d noticed at each meeting. “If I admit I wore it on purpose, do I gain or lose points?”
“I thought we decided to stop keeping score on Sunday.” He leveled a straightforward gaze on her. She released her hair and the spiraled curl sprang forth, turning and dipping its way to her shoulder.
“I was rude on Sunday.” She paused, glanced away, then drew her attention back as if deliberately choosing her words. He didn’t note any reluctance to engage face-to-face or the hesitation he’d sensed at previous meetings. Instead she faced him with a look of understanding. “And I didn’t mean to be. Sometimes my emotional buttons get pushed by circumstance, triggering out-of-line reactions.”
“And my needing to work triggered you?”
“On a Sunday, before watching football,” she explained. “Which probably seems ridiculous, but…”
“It reminded you of someone else.”
“In part, yes.” Her expression said she wasn’t proud of her reaction, but understood it.
“And he did quite a number on you.”
Her face shadowed. She pursed her lips, the flash of pain in her eyes brief but real. “Life did a number on me, Jeff. Brian’s actions just added fuel to the fire.”
Brian.
His nemesis had a name. But Jeff had no intention of fighting the past. He’d taken his past on headfirst, moving forward, refusing to let the father’s actions shackle the son’s choices. Well, until Matt showed up.
Hannah would be wise to do the same.
He stepped back, because the scent and sight of her made him want to help, but he’d learned the hard way that God helped those who helped themselves. It was a belief system he embraced.
“Jeffrey.” His mother’s voice pulled his attention toward the door. She walked in, her step light, her smile infectious, her warm look taking in the situation at hand. Hannah. Jeff. The mood.
Great.
“Dana, good evening.” Hannah moved forward, a hand extended, her surety surprising Jeff. “I’m Hannah Moore, Jeff’s cochair.”
“Hannah.” Dana grasped Hannah’s hand and squeezed lightly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Hannah worked to keep her voice easy. “All good, I hope.”
“Marvelous.” Dana squeezed her hand again and shifted her gaze back to Jeff. “I had lunch with Grandma and she’s delighted with how quickly you two got things in motion. She’s quite impressed, and my mother is not easily impressed.”
“That’s for sure.” Jeff grinned, his manner gilding the words, but Hannah read the distinct difference between the two women now that she’d met both. Martha and Mary, mother and daughter, opposing points of view. The scientist in her said that had to make for interesting holiday conversation and the pacifist within warned those meals should be avoided at all costs. Which wouldn’t be a problem because Jeff had shrugged her off, right?
The door swung open and Hannah moved to greet more arriving committee members.
Jeff caught her arm. “May I see you for a minute?”
“Umm…” She glanced from his hand to his face, letting her cool expression speak for her. “You just did.”
He flushed slightly. “I was distracted. My bad.” He indicated the brightly toned children’s area to his right. “For just a moment, Hannah. Please. I wanted your advice on an Advent Walk project before we convene.”
“Oh. Business talk.” She led the way to the children’s book nook, then turned and caught him noticing the dress.
That made her smile. The way Jeff managed to stumble over his first words widened it even more. “Listen, I, um…”
“Yes?”
He ran a hand through his hair, the rising voices of the committee members forcing him to speak up. “I was thinking of introducing a buy-a-brick campaign in conjunction with the Advent Walk.”
Hannah frowned. “Explain.”
“Jamison schedules an Advent Walk every year.”
“Right.” Hannah drew the word out deliberately. She’d only been in town a few years, but the quaint tradition of people walking from church to church around the town green, carrying candles for light and greens to decorate the church doors had proven delightful. The gathered group caroled as they walked, and once a church door had been decorated for the Advent season, they paused within that church to pray before proceeding to the next house of worship. The evening concluded with a dessert hour in the newly refurbished youth center, a marvelous finishing touch to a small-town celebration.
“But because there’s no sidewalk, we walk in the street.”
“We do,” she agreed slowly. “But it’s not like there’s a lot of traffic in the street, Jeff. On a weekend December night.”
“But what if we sold pavers to create an Advent walkway for next year?” His animated gaze said he liked the idea, and it was village-centered enough for people to embrace. “I called Winchell Brick and the owner said we could get the pavers at cost and they’d donate the underlayment stone and sand. That way we could build the walk next summer, have a pretty path to do the Advent Walk from that point on and a safe path for kids over the summer when traffic to and from I-86 does get busy.”
Hannah recognized the merit in his well-considered plan. “I like the idea,” she told him. “And we could sell the stones for a fifty percent profit with the proceeds going to the library fund, staying community-based with a positive outcome as a benefit.”
“Exactly.”
The grouped tables were rapidly filling with committee members. Hannah headed that way. “It’s a great idea, Jeff. Go ahead and introduce it. I’ve got your back.”
She crossed the room to get the meeting started. Her defined movements warred with the undertone of hesitancy he’d witnessed, but he wasn’t good at reading hints and signals. He needed straightforward direction.
Hannah threw curves.
His current time constraints might be temporary, but as a company executive and design team leader, they’d resurface as business grew. And he couldn’t afford to mess up, not with so much at stake.
“I waited patiently for the Lord. He turned to me and heard my cry.”
The psalm mocked Jeff. He’d stopped waiting patiently for anything years ago, needing to be in charge. But right now, watching Hannah’s ease with the other committee members, he wondered what he hoped to gain by rushing through life. Did he want his measure of success to be in business only?
“Imagine what my parents thought,” his mother exaggerated, amusing the group as he approached, “when they got me instead of the science-loving prototype they envisioned. While my mother devoured every issue of American Scientist, I was hiding in my room reading romance novels and practicing the piano, imagining myself a modern-day Elizabeth Bennett.”
Hannah laughed with the others, lilting and sweet, the kind of reaction he’d like to inspire. Of course, he was a stuffed shirt scientist, like his grandparents. But Hannah liked science. She’d said so.
Which meant he might still have a chance, although after tonight’s fiasco, his opportunities appeared dim.
“Do you still play, Dana?” Miss Dinsmore asked as she settled into a seat, a huff of breath making her sound tired.
“I do.” Dana smiled at her old teacher before indicating Jeff with a wave of her hand. “And I forced Jeff and Meredith to learn because as much as I respect the periodic table and great haircuts, the arts and a nice garden are food for the soul. A good life should embrace balance.”
Jeff read her message, but wouldn’t pursue that now. He called the meeting to order and went through the customary procedural notes before offering his idea up for a vote.
Mended Hearts Page 9