“This friend—would it happen to be the gentleman in whom your mother said you’ve expressed an interest?”
Carrie pressed her memory—what all had she said to Mom? Very little, truthfully. Mac was obviously digging for more information. She chose a casual tack. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is, and I hate to keep him waiting, so if you don’t mind—”
“Tell me about him.”
Carrie drew in a breath, silently praying for patience. She knew her stepfather well enough to know he would keep her there until his curiosity had been satisfied. She might as well tell him what he wanted to know. Still, she’d give him the Reader’s Digest condensed version. “His name is Rocky Wilder, he’s the groundskeeper for Elmwood Towers, and we’ve developed a friendship.”
Mac stood for several long seconds, just looking into Carrie’s eyes, his expression unreadable.
Carrie stood, looking back, waiting for Mac to make a disparaging remark or to suggest she change her plans. But his reply, when it came, surprised her.
“Well, if this is someone with whom you’re taken, perhaps it’s time for your mother and me to meet him.”
Carrie’s jaw dropped. Was he being serious? She looked at him carefully to determine whether he was teasing her. “You really want to meet him?”
Mac shrugged, a slow smile creeping up his cheek. It didn’t light his eyes, but it did soften his austere appearance. “If you’re going to be spending time with him, I think it’s only proper that we become familiar with one another.” He slid one hand into the pocket of his tailored navy dress slacks. “Would tomorrow night for dinner be too soon?”
“N–no. Tomorrow would be fine.” Carrie’s heart beat a hopeful double beat. If Mac approved the relationship, it would eliminate one major worry. “I’ll ask him and see if he’s free.”
“Fine.” Mac’s smile widened; yet there seemed to be a cunning undertone in his expression. “Let’s say dinner at seven, and that will give us time to visit a bit afterward. We can all become better acquainted.”
Carrie nodded eagerly. “Yes. Thank you, Mac.”
She smiled all the way to the Ironstone. The smile remained as she chose a corner booth, where she could watch the door for Rocky’s arrival. She ordered a soft drink from the teenage waitress then settled back to wait. A juke box played country tunes, and she hummed and sipped, waiting.
“Carrie!”
The enthusiastic greeting pulled Carrie’s attention away from the door. She shifted her gaze to the left and found Angela’s grinning face peering down at her from over the top of the partition which separated the booths. Carrie swallowed her groan of displeasure and pushed a smile into place.
“Well, hello, Angela. Are you here alone?” In a way Carrie hoped Angela wasn’t alone—she didn’t want to be obligated to ask Angela to join her. The girl’s flushed face indicated she had been imbibing something.
“Me? Alone?” Angela pretended great shock then laughed raucously. “No, I’m here with Janine, Ted, and Alex.” Alex’s head popped up next to Angela’s. Angela gave him a kiss on the cheek, giggled when he tried to return the kiss, then pushed him away. Alex sank out of sight as Angela said, “But you seem to be alone. Come join us, girl!”
Carrie shook her head as a burst of laughter sounded from the other side of the partition. They must have already consumed a pitcher of beer; they were all so obnoxiously jolly. She had no desire to be a part of that, not even as a witness. So she shook her head. “No, thanks. You all enjoy yourselves. I’ll just wait for my d—.” She managed to stop herself from saying date and ended lamely, “Friend.”
“The gardener you told me about?”
Carrie cringed at Angela’s strident tone. She gave a quick nod in reply, praying Angela would drop the subject.
“Suit yourself.” Angela shrugged and disappeared, leaving Carrie alone.
Carrie whispered a thank-you for the answer to her prayer, but the laughter and loud conversation continued, making Carrie feel more and more alone as time slipped by and Rocky still didn’t appear.
Where could he be? Each time the sleigh bells hanging above the door jingled the arrival of someone new, her heart leapt with eagerness. And each time someone other than Rocky entered the restaurant, her heart plummeted with disappointment and worry. She certainly hoped nothing had happened to him.
She finished her first soft drink, ordered a refill, ignored the raised eyebrows of the waitress when she repeated she wouldn’t order food until her friend arrived, and waited some more.
Angela, hanging on Alex’s arm, came around from the partition. She stopped beside Carrie’s booth and tossed her head, swinging her auburn hair back over her shoulder. In a voice loud enough for the entire place to hear, she said, “Well, good-bye, Carrie. I sure hope your gardener shows up. Otherwise won’t you look silly?” She released a shrill, brittle laugh.
Alex sent Carrie an apologetic look. “She’s had one too many, kiddo. Ignore her.” He gave Angela a tug that nearly sent her nose first to the floor. “Come on. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Me?” Angela’s voice pierced an octave higher than usual. “I’m not the one who’s sitting alone. I have a date!” She poked Alex in the chest with her long fingernail. “That’s you, remember?” She squinted at Alex and said, “You aren’t a gardener, are you?” She giggled again, peeking back at Carrie. Leaning in close, she lowered her voice to a raspy whisper. “This is what happens when you date gardeners, Carrie, dear. They aren’t dependable. Remember that.”
Alex jerked Angela away from Carrie. “Come on. I’m taking you home. ’Bye, Carrie.” He led her out of the restaurant, with Janine and Ted following.
Carrie watched them go, her face burning as she realized how many people had turned to stare at Angela’s display. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice, just sipped her pop and drummed her fingernails on the checkered tablecloth, but eventually embarrassment got the best of her.
She waved the waitress over and said with a tight smile, “Something must have come up with my friend.” She dropped a five-dollar bill on the table and rose. “Keep the change.” Lifting her head high to retain what was left of her dignity, she strode out of the restaurant. Outside, she wilted against the brick exterior and allowed tears of mortification to fill her eyes. But she didn’t let them fall. She blinked them away.
Surely Rocky didn’t stand her up on purpose. Surely something happened. But why hadn’t he called the restaurant and let her know? Sniffing, she pushed off from the building and headed to her car. She’d make a few phone calls, check to make sure he was okay. And if he was—well, she’d decide how to handle that after she’d figured out what kept him away.
❧
Rocky marked another passage with a yellow highlighting pen, rubbed his eyes and looked up at the clock. Again. Eight-fifteen. By now Carrie had probably given up and gone home. Regret twisted his stomach. It had been cruel not showing up, but sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind. Wasn’t that what the old song said anyway?
With a sigh he reread the passage he had been studying. One tiny phrase in Psalm 49 stood out—“rich and poor, together.” He leaned back in his second-hand recliner, closed the Bible and released a sigh. Rich and poor together wasn’t a concept he could grasp. Maybe in God’s eyes, he conceded, the rich and the poor were equal and therefore could be together, but in man’s eyes? Rocky couldn’t imagine it happening.
Last Wednesday, seeing Carrie’s friend behind the wheel of an SUV that probably cost more than a year’s income as groundskeeper had been enough to convince him he had to back off. Caroline Mays Steinwood belonged with somebody who could buy SUVs and wear designer clothes and keep his fingernails clean.
He lifted a piece of paper on which he’d scribbled Carrie’s name then his own below it. The pairing looked odd on paper. It was beyond odd in person. He dropped the paper and pressed his palms to his Bible. At least he had acceptance with God. He belonged to God’s family. God called
him a son.
Despite his despondency over Carrie, joy pressed upward as he considered being an adopted son in God’s own family. And Carrie was a daughter. That made them brother and sister in Christ. He toyed with the idea. Could they be friends as brothers and sisters in Christ? Could they have a relationship that was strictly friendship? He’d told Carrie how special it was to be friends with her, and he’d meant it. He’d never eased into a relationship the way he had with Carrie. Their time together had been unique, special, and after only a few days of separation he missed it. He missed her. . . .
He set the Bible on the end table and rose, crossing to the window to peer out at the darkening landscape. The closest neighbor was more than a mile down the road, and the lights in their windows looked like wavering dots from this distance. That was okay, though. He didn’t mind being alone. At least he hadn’t minded until lately. Until Carrie.
Pushing off from the window frame, he stomped to the television and snapped it on. But after scrolling through the few channels that came through, he found nothing of worth to watch. He jammed his thumb on the Off button, dropped the remote and sat back in his chair.
The moment his backside connected with the chair seat, the phone rang.
And Rocky knew without a doubt it was Carrie.
He sat, frozen, holding his breath, as the telephone blared. Ri-i-ing. . .ri-i-ing. . .ri-i-ing. . . . But he didn’t answer it. After ten rings it stopped, and he blew out the air he’d been holding. He sat in tense silence, his shoulder muscles aching, while he waited to see if it would start again.
Nothing.
His throat felt dry, so he pushed himself out of the chair and headed to the kitchen. While he held a glass under the water spigot, the phone began blaring again. Ri-i-ing. . .ri-i-ing. . . ri-i-ing. . . .
Water splashed over the rim of the glass and across his hand. He smacked the handle down and raised the glass to his lips, gulping water as if he hadn’t had his thirst quenched in years. At the last swallow the phone stopped.
“Whew.” He put the glass in the sink and hung his head low, his hands braced on the edge of the counter. Before it could start again, he’d have to get out of here. Go see Eileen? No, it was Friday—she and several residents got together for a red hat tea every Friday evening. Philip and his wife, Marin, might be home, but they were still pretty much newlyweds. He hated to intrude uninvited. He’d given up most of his other friendships when he’d accepted Christ. Where could he go?
Loneliness struck hard, and he wished he’d just gone to the pizza place to see Carrie one more time before deciding he couldn’t do it anymore. He stomped again to the window and peered across the acreage he’d purchased. In his mind’s eye he envisioned rows of hybrid irises and roses and shrubs—his own plantings which could be transplanted into other people’s yards. He had the space. He just needed the know-how.
Suddenly he knew how to fill the remainder of his evening. The public library was open until ten on weekday nights. He’d go in, do some research on the internet, find out if any correspondence courses were available in landscaping, check out some books on starting a business. He’d engross himself in his future plans. That should help him forget his past, brief relationship with Carrie Mays.
Just as he snatched his keys off the end of the kitchen counter, the phone started to ring again. His hand hovered over the receiver, the temptation to answer nearly overwhelming. Please, God, give me the strength to let her go. She’s too good for a no-good wild boy like me. He balled his hand into a fist, ordered himself to ignore the sound, and headed out the door.
❧
Carrie slammed her telephone onto her mattress. Why didn’t he answer? When, out of concern, she had called his brother, Philip had assured her nothing was wrong. As Rocky’s next of kin he’d have been notified if there had been an accident. As far as Philip knew, Rocky was spending his evening at home.
But Rocky was supposed to have spent his evening with her!
Fury filled her as she remembered sitting in that booth, straining toward the door at every jingle of those bells. Angela had said she looked ridiculous, and Angela was right. She had been ridiculous to wait that long for Rocky to show up.
She yanked the scarf from her ponytail, and her hair fell in an unruly tumble across her shoulders. Impatiently she shoved the strands behind her ears. She yanked drawers open, pulling out clean pajama pants and a T-shirt for bed. Changing with jerky motions, she deposited her clothes into the hamper the way a basketball star deposits a slam dunk. Then she flumped across the bed, crossed her ankles, folded her arms, and glared across the room for several minutes, letting the anger keep the hurt at bay.
But it couldn’t last. In time the fury faded, and all that was left was a feeling of intense betrayal. Another man had let her down. And she suspected that, once again, it had to do with her money. But this time, instead of the man trying to find a way to get to it, she was pretty sure Rocky was trying to get away from it.
When she’d told him her full name, his reaction spoke of intense discomfort. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Rocky felt inferior to her. Although she’d feared that he, like so many others, might chase her for her money, it now appeared her money was chasing him off.
“Why, God? Why can’t I find a man who looks at me and only sees me, not the money I have? I just want to be loved for me. . . .”
She rolled onto her side and cuddled a plump pillow, hugging it against her chest as she tried to overcome the pressing desire to cry. But despite her best effort she didn’t succeed.
Nine
Carrie lifted a bite of Myrna’s succulent beef roast to her mouth, chewed and swallowed. But she might as well have been eating shredded paper for the enjoyment she found in the meal. Her parents sat at opposite ends of the dining table, candlelight flickering across their faces, as they exchanged occasional glances. Conversation lagged, and Carrie knew why. The empty seat across the table from her—the seat in which Rocky would be sitting had she been able to invite him—provided a tremendous distraction.
Although neither Mac nor her mother had quizzed her when she said he wouldn’t be joining them, Carrie knew the question was rife in both their minds. She had no desire to address the issue because she’d have to admit she’d been stood up. The humiliation still stung. She’d tried calling Rocky off and on all day, still with no answer, and the acute sadness that had brought on her tears last night had changed once more to anger. At least the anger was easier to carry than the sadness had been.
Myrna came in quietly to clear away the plates then served dessert—apple pie with scoops of vanilla ice cream sprinkled with cinnamon. The cook looked into Carrie’s eyes when she placed the warmed dessert dish on the table, and Carrie rewarded her with a smile. She appreciated Myrna’s attempt to cheer her up. Even if this pie was flavorless, she would consume every bite, for Myrna’s sake.
When Myrna returned to the kitchen, Mac leaned his elbows on the table and fixed Carrie with a dour look. “Well, I’d say it’s time to talk.”
Lynette raised her gaze and suggested, “Should it wait until after dessert?”
But Mac shook his head. “I’ve waited long enough. She needs to know.”
Carrie’s heart leapt into her throat. Fear assaulted her so fiercely she dropped her fork. “What?” She looked frantically back and forth at her parents. “What do I need to know? Is it about Rocky?” Oh, something was wrong! Something had happened to Rocky! She clasped her trembling hands together and pressed them into her lap, the dessert forgotten. “Tell me, Mac, please.”
Mac pursed his lips for a moment, his eyes turning steely. He took in a deep breath. “I’ve done some checking on this groundskeeper from Elmwood Towers. When you mentioned his name last night, I was certain I’d heard it somewhere before. I was right.”
Carrie processed Mac’s remarks. From what he had just said, she gathered nothing had happened to Rocky. A feeling of relief washed over her, followed by a wave of an
ger. If nothing was wrong, he should be here! She nearly missed Mac’s next comment.
“Are you aware that when Rocky Wilder was a young man he stole several hundred dollars’ worth of lumber from one of the Steinwood building sites?”
Carrie blinked, staring at her stepfather. That explained why his name had seemed familiar when he’d told her. Now she remembered how Mac had raved about some juvenile delinquent who dared to walk off with his property. Still, she couldn’t see Rocky doing that. “Stole? From you?”
Mac nodded grimly. “That’s correct. He was caught red-handed, taken into custody and spent six weeks in a juvenile detention center.” Mac leaned back, propping one elbow on the high back of his chair. “It would have been more had the lumber not been recovered, completely undamaged.”
“Carrie, darling, I know you’re taken with this man”—Carrie’s mother spoke softly—“but perhaps you should give this relationship some serious thought. My main concern when we spoke was the differences in your backgrounds, but now, with what Mac has uncovered. . .” Lynette pursed her mouth in sympathy. “It doesn’t seem wise, to me, to pursue someone who so clearly lacks scruples.”
Carrie spun back to Mac. “How old was Rocky when this happened?”
Mac waved his hand as if it didn’t matter, but Carrie leaned forward, intent on having her question answered. Finally Mac huffed. “Junior high age, I believe—thirteen or fourteen.” Then he pointed at her. “But that’s beside the point. The point is the man is a thief. To be honest, I’m not sure I want him to continue as an employee at Elmwood Towers. What’s to keep him from pilfering things from the residents there?”
Carrie’s hackles rose. Her stepfather was being unfairly judgmental, and she couldn’t let his comments pass. “Rocky does an excellent job as groundskeeper. The landscaping is beautifully done, and the residents adore him. He’s friends with them. Please don’t interfere in his job there.”
That Wilder Boy Page 7