That Wilder Boy

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Rocky Wilder is trouble, Carrie. Don’t even think about a friendship with him! He’ll rob you blind, and I’m not just talkin’ money. I’m talking about your heart, honey. He’ll use it, abuse it, and leave you high and dry. Run—don’t walk—run away as fast and as far as you can from that man! You’ll be much better off, believe me.”

  Carrie sat in stunned silence. The person Angela just described couldn’t possibly be the same man with whom she’d spent the last two weeks. She managed a weak thank-you then hung up, reeling. Staring at the ceiling, she envisioned Rocky as she’d seen him once earlier this week. He hadn’t even been aware of her presence, because he’d been reading the New Testament he carried in his pocket. The look on his face as he’d read the Bible—he’d been so engrossed, it almost seemed as though he were absorbing the words. She hadn’t had the heart to bother him, so she’d crept away.

  The man she’d seen soaking up God’s Word couldn’t be anything like the one Angela had depicted. . .could he? If Angela was right, if Rocky truly was someone who’d been consistently in trouble, then he certainly had learned how to play games. He could deceive her. Suddenly she felt queasy. She really didn’t want to believe it, but doubts pressed in.

  How many other men had duped her in the past, complimenting her, pursuing her. . .and doing it only because she had money. Rocky didn’t have money—he’d openly admitted that. Did he see her as his opportunity for wealth? Would he use her and abuse her, as Angela had said? Or could she trust him?

  She groaned, pressing her face against her pillow shams. “Dear Lord, please help me sort this out. What is the truth?” She prayed for several minutes, pouring out her frustration and worries to her heavenly Father. The prayer finished, she had no clear answers, but she felt calmer.

  Slipping from the bed, she crossed to the window and looked down at her mother’s rose garden in the backyard. Their gardener took as much pride in his work as Rocky did in his. How fortunate both men were, Carrie decided, to be able to see so clearly the results of their labor. How wonderful to create something of such beauty. She propped her chin on her hand, catching her elbow with her other hand, and stared pensively down at the profusion of color.

  The man Angela described would not be capable of creating beauty. Angela had spoken of a man who created chaos. She supposed Rocky was creating chaos in her heart, but she wasn’t quite ready to believe he would create chaos in every other aspect of her life. She needed to explore his person more deeply—develop their friendship and allow it to bloom as fully as one of the prize roses in Mother’s garden. Once the bloom was open, she’d be able to see Rocky for who he truly was.

  But to see that open bloom she would need time with him. She turned from the window and picked up the camellia blossom again. It was wilted and sad-looking now, but the color was still deep and rich. She cradled the flower gently in her palm as she made her decision.

  She would meet Rocky next Friday. And she would ask the kinds of questions that would help her see his true character. In the meantime, she’d pray for God to open her eyes to the truth, whatever that might be.

  Six

  The Monday following the manager’s return, Rocky went to the familiar bench in the center of the courtyard to eat his lunch, but it didn’t feel right without Carrie. His sandwich tasted like cardboard. Dissatisfaction filled his middle, making it hard to swallow. Plunking the sandwich back into its baggy, he blew out a frustrated breath. Who would have thought Rocky Wilder, toughest kid on the block, would be struck down by puppy love?

  Yet it was true. He couldn’t get Carrie off his mind. And he needed to. The relationship couldn’t go anywhere. He’d suspected they were different when he’d first seen her in her cute little beaded outfit with a soggy sandwich in her manicured hand. But when she’d said she was a Steinwood—that pretty much settled it. They were worlds apart.

  He recalled his embarrassment when she’d told him about the degree she was working toward in college. Carrie had to be smart to handle all that. One degree in business administration and another in computer programming. He shook his head, trying to comprehend all that would entail.

  Rocky had used computers in high school, but he didn’t own one—he couldn’t afford it. And business administration—his brother, Philip, ran his own business, but Philip had the brains in the Wilder family. He was fooling himself, thinking he could handle running his own landscaping business. He wasn’t smart like Philip and Carrie. He didn’t have money like Carrie, to hire someone to help him. If, as he suspected, he was falling in love with Carrie, he’d want to take care of her and the children they might have together. How would he be able to do that on a gardener’s salary? He couldn’t. It wasn’t possible.

  He groaned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, dejection striking. A part of him could hardly wait until Friday arrived, when he’d be able to see her again, and a part of him dreaded Friday, when he’d have to see her again and be reminded of just how impossible continuing a friendship would be.

  He felt so lonely out there on the bench by himself.

  “Rocky!”

  The voice jerked him out of his reverie. He looked over his shoulder and spotted Eileen standing in the open doorway of Tower Three.

  She waved her arm at him. “Come upstairs and have lunch with me! And you can call Philip on my phone.”

  Rocky balled up what was left of his lunch as he trotted to Eileen. Pitching his lunch in the trash can next to the entrance to Tower Three, he said, “Sounds great! But call Philip? Why?”

  Eileen shook her gray head as she led him to the elevator. “No emergency. He just said he needed to talk to you about something going on at church, and he couldn’t reach you at home. Says you need to get a cell phone.”

  Rocky nearly laughed out loud at that. A cell phone? Those things were for preppy teenagers or business execs, not a man on a gardener’s salary. Carrie probably had one, though. He pushed that thought away as he followed Eileen out of the elevator to her apartment. A tantalizing smell greeted his nostrils as she opened the door, and his stomach rolled over in eagerness. He stepped past a sleeping Roscoe, who lay on his back in the middle of the walkway with his front paws curled beneath his furry chin.

  “Boy, I sure appreciate this invitation.” Rocky sat at the bar and let Eileen serve him a steaming bowl of noodles swimming in a thick broth with chunks of chicken and topped by two plump dumplings.

  “I appreciate the company,” she told him. “Pray and eat.”

  He followed her direction, and when he’d finished he used Eileen’s telephone to give his brother a quick call. “Hey, Philip, what’s going on?”

  “Oh, good, Eileen found you. Listen—there’s a Bible study starting at church this Wednesday I think you would enjoy. I took the class a year or so ago, and I really gained a lot from it.”

  Rocky twisted his face into an uncertain scowl. “Bible study? I don’t know.” He thought about Sunday mornings and the length of time it took him to find references as the preacher spoke. He felt stupid when he couldn’t locate things quickly. And a Bible study would be held in a smaller group. His groping would be more noticeable.

  “It’s a good one,” Philip’s voice went on, “on the Fatherhood of God. It helped me come to terms with my earthly father. Our dad wasn’t all bad, but he wasn’t the best influence. This study helped me settle into my place in God’s family. I think you’d get a lot out of it, Rocky.”

  Rocky scratched his head. “Well. . .Wednesday, you said?”

  “Yes. In the church basement.” A light chuckle came through the line. “They serve refreshments with it, if that sweetens the pot.”

  Rocky laughed. “Great motivator. I’ll think about it, okay?” He hung up and joined Eileen at the kitchen sink where she washed their few dishes.

  “Philip told me about a Bible study he thinks would be good for me,” he told her as he picked up a dish towel and dried a bowl. “Something about the Fatherhood of God.”
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  Eileen swished her hand through the water then rubbed the soapy rag over the spoon she located. “Bible study’s always good for people.”

  “Yeah, but”—he opened a cupboard to put away the dry bowl—“I always feel lost scrambling around for verses. Maybe I should wait until I know my way around the Bible better.”

  Eileen gave him one of her famous eyebrows-high-chin-tucked-low looks. “That’s just silly. How do you get familiar with something? You use it regularly. How’d you get so good at that landscaping out there? By standing on the sidelines? Nope, had to dive in and do it. Same thing applies to that Bible of yours. Might as well be practicing getting around while you’re learning something at the same time, right? Go to the study, Rocky.”

  Rocky shook his head, chuckling. “You never mince words, do you?”

  She shrugged and handed him the last of the silverware. “Too old to be mincing words. So are you going or not?”

  “We’ll see,” he said, unwilling to commit just yet. The dishes done, he thanked Eileen for the lunch and the use of her phone, took a few moments to scratch Roscoe’s neck then headed back to work.

  The Bible study and the idea of looking at God as his Father teased Rocky’s thoughts for the next two days. His earthly father hadn’t been the easiest man to live with, and truthfully Rocky wasn’t sure he liked the idea of applying the term “Father” to God. He’d rather keep his ideas of father and God separate. Yet when Wednesday rolled around, the opportunity to gain a better understanding of his relationship with God found him climbing into his old clunker and driving to church.

  Roughly twenty people were already in the basement when Rocky arrived, and relief washed over him when he saw they were casually dressed. He wouldn’t stick out in his clean dungarees and snap-up Western-style shirt. He helped himself to three vanilla cream-filled cookies and a cup of tea then sat on the outside aisle of the second row. He ate his snack while waiting for things to get started.

  At seven o’clock on the dot, the teacher—a mid-thirties man with a receding hairline and thick glasses—stepped behind the podium and had them go around the room and introduce themselves. Rocky’s hand trembled as he stated his name. He never knew whether someone would recognize him as that messed up Wilder boy, and he was relieved when the attention moved on to the person seated behind him.

  Once the introductions were over, the teacher instructed everyone to open their Bibles to the book of Galatians, chapter four, starting with verse six. Rocky found the reference in time to hear the last few words of verse seven: “God has made you also an heir.” He slipped a pen from his pocket and made a note in the margin to remind him to go back and read the section again later.

  As the evening wore on, he forgot his discomfort about not being able to locate things quickly and got caught up in the lesson. His heart pounded with eagerness to accept not only that Jesus was his Savior but that God was his Father. He, Rocky Wilder, could take his place as one of God’s heirs. To think God loved him enough to adopt him into His family.

  A feeling of acceptance, the likes of which Rocky had never before experienced, filled him and brought tears to his eyes. He swallowed hard to bring himself under control then fixed his gaze on the teacher and listened with his whole heart.

  ❧

  Carrie was disappointed she’d missed the first part of the Bible study. Frustration with her stepfather still sat like a weight on her chest as she slipped in quietly and took the least obtrusive open seat, in the middle of the last row.

  She settled in the chair and peeked at the Bible in the lap of the person on her left. Flipping open her own Bible to the same place, her thoughts raged on. Why couldn’t Mac just let her go to church without creating a scene? Her church attendance took nothing away from him; yet he opposed it as adamantly as if she were attending a meeting to overthrow the government. Right now she needed to lean into the idea that God was her Father. How she hoped her Father in heaven would help her deal patiently and kindly with the father she had on earth!

  She tried to focus on what the teacher was saying, but her thoughts were still too jumbled from the confrontation at home. Mac insisted she needed to give her whole attention to college and job-seeking, that anything outside of that created a diversion which might ruin any future opportunity for success. Church attendance ruin her opportunity for success? That made no sense to Carrie. Mac was completely unreasonable.

  Mac’s ranting had certainly created a diversion from gaining anything from this study! She had to get focused here. To settle herself in, she allowed her gaze to drift across the rows one by one, seeing how many people she knew. After attending this church for a little over a year, she’d gotten acquainted with a handful of college-age students, but most of these people weren’t from her Sunday school class.

  Her gaze reached the second row from the front, and she had to tip her head slightly to see all the way to the end. When she found the familiar thick head of sun-bleached dark hair belonging to Rocky Wilder, her heart jumped into her throat and lodged.

  Angela’s words echoed in her mind: Run—don’t walk—run away as fast and as far as you can from that man! Almost of its own volition her body recoiled, pressing against the cold back of the metal folding chair in an attempt to shield herself from his view. Her pulse raced—how did he know she would be here this evening? Then she made herself calm down. She hadn’t even known she would be here until earlier in the day when one of her Sunday school classmates had called. There was no way Rocky could have known. It was a coincidence. Angela’s ominous words were making her paranoid.

  Get a grip, Carrie, she told herself firmly. Rocky’s no stalker. In fact, as she watched him, it became clear he was unaware of anything in the room except what the speaker was saying. His gaze bounced from the teacher to his Bible—a full-sized one, not the little testament he carried to work. His fingers raced to find the scriptures mentioned. A napkin holding a half-eaten cookie rested on his knee, but he ignored it, his attention obviously on gaining spiritual food.

  Something warm and soothing spiraled through Carrie’s middle. She relaxed in the chair, a smile found itself forming on her lips, and a silent prayer went up from her heart. Thank You, God, for giving me this glimpse of Rocky. He’s no longer that man Angela described; he is a new creature in You. I can see it.

  She turned her attention to the teacher. It was nearly seven thirty, the class half over. She’d better pay attention to what remained. At the close of class the teacher asked for prayer requests. Several people voiced concerns, which the teacher wrote on a white board behind his podium. Carrie waited for Rocky to ask for prayer for his new business venture, but he remained silent. She considered asking for him, but she decided that would be breaking a confidence. Instead, as the teacher prayed, she prayed, too, asking that if Rocky’s dream was God’s will, it might become a reality.

  People rose to leave, and Carrie slipped her purse over her shoulder, intending to catch Rocky and talk to him. But someone grasped her arm and turned her around.

  “Carl!” What was he doing here? Although it had been months since she’d seen him, the reaction to his presence was intense. Her heart picked up its tempo, she felt a prickle of awareness tingle down her spine, and she fought an urge to dash away.

  “Hi, Carrie.” His thumb caressed the bare skin of her upper arm. “Mac told me I’d find you here. I’ve been waiting outside the door for class to finish.”

  She pulled her arm free. “Why?” She tried not to sound snappish, but her jangled nerves made the word come out more harshly than she intended.

  He ducked his head, bringing professionally added blond highlights to view. “I hoped we could talk.”

  “What about?”

  He glanced around, his expression solemn. “It’s kind of personal, Carrie.”

  She hesitated. As much as she hated to admit it, his grave countenance stirred her sympathy.

  “Please?”

  The sincerity in his tone did her i
n. “All right. But give me a minute, will you?” She glanced around, seeking Rocky. She finally located him, but before she could call out he moved through the doorway leading to the stairs. She sighed.

  “Everything okay?” Carl asked.

  “I wanted to talk to someone, but it’s too late now.” She turned toward the doors. “Come on then.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back and escorted her to the stairway. She bounced up the steps, managing to elude his touch until they reached the foyer, but then his hand was back, warm and firm and possessive. She didn’t like it.

  He guided her to her car then braced his hand on the roof, leaning in too close for comfort. “I appreciate your doing this for me, Carrie. You’re a real doll, you know that?”

  Oh yes, she was a real doll, she thought disparagingly, taking a step back to put some distance between the two of them. More likely she was just a sucker who would later regret this time with Carl. She didn’t respond.

  “Where can we go?”

  Carrie considered his question. She didn’t want to be seen in public with him. If any of their mutual friends saw them together, tongues would start wagging. She didn’t want to go to his townhouse—that would give him the wrong ideas. There was only one alternative.

  “Why don’t you just follow me to the house? It’s a pleasant evening. We can sit on the porch and talk there.” She waited for him to move aside so she could get in her car. To her chagrin, when he removed his hand from the roof, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his fingers gracing the line of her jaw.

  “Thank you, sweet thing. I really appreciate it.”

  The nickname he’d given her struck like a blow. Instead of bringing a rush of affection, it brought a jolt of revulsion. She turned her face from his touch. Swallowing the nausea that threatened, she said in a tight voice, “Let’s just get going, huh, Carl?”

  He smiled, his teeth even and white in the dusky evening light. He opened the door for her. “Okay. I’ll follow you to your place. Thanks again.”