Texas Weddings (Books One and Two): A Class of Her Own & A Chorus of One

by Janice Thompson

  Energized, she flew into action.

  ß

  Andrew fought his nerves as he knocked on Laura Chapman’s front door. Jessica answered with a shocked look on her face.

  He flashed a smile and managed, “I’m here.”

  “You’re here,” she echoed. “Uh, come on in.” She opened the door.

  Awkwardness kicked in. “Didn’t your mom tell you I was coming?”

  “She must have forgotten that, but she’s been a little pre-occupied lately.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Please come on in. I’m sure she’ll be out of the shower soon. We’re having dinner in about thirty minutes. Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “Well, have a seat.” She gestured to the couch.

  He sat, still feeling out of place.

  “You the fellow who brought the turkey?” An elderly man entered the room.

  Andrew rose, extending his hand.

  Jessica made the introductions. “This is my grandfather, Buck Timmons. I’m sure he’ll keep you occupied ’til dinner’s done.”

  “Guess she thinks I’ve got a big mouth,” Buck said, “but that ain’t true. I like to talk with the best of ’em, sure, but I know when to quit. What is it you do for a living again, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Andrew. Andrew Dougherty. I teach at the college. In fact, Jessica and Laura are both in one of my classes.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about your teaching skills,” Buck said, joining him on the couch, “but you sure know how to pick your turkeys. I just carved your bird, myself.”

  “I’m glad to finally have an excuse to cook it,” Andrew felt the weight lift off of his shoulders. “To be honest, someone gave it to me awhile back, and it’s just been taking up room in my freezer. I don’t have any family in the area, so I started to think it would stay in there forever.”

  “No family, eh?” Buck gave him a wink.

  “Uh, no, Sir.”

  The elderly man dove headlong into a discussion about the merits of family. Andrew sat quietly, listening as he rambled on and on about every conceivable thing. Their conversation transitioned from families to the battles Buck fought in the Vietnam War. “You fight in Desert Storm, Boy?”

  “No,” Andrew said, looking down. “I’ve never been in the armed forces.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’ll tell ya, fighting for your country can be a blessing and a curse all at the same time. Wait. Didn’t I hear someone say you taught history?”

  “Yes, I teach American History,” Andrew said, smiling.

  “Well then, if anyone knows your battles, you do.”

  The older man transitioned into another story about his journey across the Pacific on a battleship as Andrew politely listened. He found himself slightly distracted by the photos of Laura and her husband on the wall across the room. Another smaller snapshot of the whole family sat on the end table next to him. Without thinking, he reached to pick it up and ran his finger over Laura’s brown hair.

  “That Laura. . . ,” Buck exclaimed. “She’s a pretty filly, ain’t she? I always said she was the spittin’ image of her mother. They both just get prettier every day.”

  Andrew nodded, not sure how to answer. He found himself captivated by the face next to Laura’s. This had to be her husband. He had been a handsome man—light-skinned, with auburn hair and an inviting smile. His eyes glowed with a warmth that spoke of friendship.

  “Greg was a great man. Did you ever meet him?”

  Andrew shook his head, suddenly apprehensive.

  “A great man,” Buck repeated with a sigh. “Just about the best father a kid could ever have. And so good to Laura. They were still very much in love, just like young kids. It like to broke her heart when he passed, it really did.”

  Andrew set the picture back down, not wanting to hear anymore. He felt like such a stranger in this place, a man who didn’t belong. He could never fill the shoes of the man in this picture. Why would he even try to? He stood suddenly, knowing he must leave. He had to back out of this thing before it was too late, before. . .

  ß

  Laura stuck her head out of the bedroom door, shouting, “Jessica, could you get my jeans out of the dryer?” She had tossed on an old terry-cloth robe and wore a towel around her head but didn’t figure her mother or Buck would mind. “Jess?” No answer. Laura stepped out into the living room, hollering a little louder. “Jess!”

  “Laura?” She looked up at the sound of Buck’s voice to find herself face-to-face with Andrew Dougherty.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said, clutching at her robe. “I’m, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were here. You’re early.” For a moment, Laura felt a familiar frustration rise up within her. Then, just as suddenly, it was replaced with an odd sense of satisfaction that he had come. I can’t let him see me like this. She backed toward the bedroom.

  “Kent fell asleep,” Andrew explained, “and the nurse said she didn’t see any point in my staying. His medication should keep him out like a light for a couple of hours—at least, that’s what she said. I just came on over. I’m sorry. I should probably go.”

  But I don’t want you to. She gave him an imploring look. “No, please don’t go. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be a minute.” She backed into the bedroom, overcome with embarrassment. “Jess!” she called once more, peeking her head out of the door. She watched as Jessica raced across the living room, a pair of jeans in her hand.

  “I’m coming, Mom. I’m coming.” She practically knocked the professor down as she passed by him. She entered the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Laura trembled as she pulled the towel off of her hair. “Help me, Jess,” she whispered, flipping on the blow dryer and running a brush through her hair.

  “What’s wrong with you, Mom? What’s got you so shook up?” Jess teased.

  “Nothing. Just help me.” Laura fought with her brush until her hair was nearly dry. She grabbed her jeans, struggling to slide into them. Her hands shook so hard, she could barely get them up.

  “Mom. . .”

  “I don’t have time, Jess.”

  “Mom, you’re putting your jeans on backwards.”

  “Oh.” She turned them around and tried again.

  “Much better,” Jessica said. “What’ll you wear with them?”

  “Get my peach sweater out of the closet.” Laura put on a pair of earrings.

  “You mean your ‘special occasion’ peach sweater?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving, Jessica. That’s a special occasion, isn’t it?” Her hands still trembled as she fought to put her earrings in.

  “What’s wrong with you, Mom? You’re acting like you’ve got a crush on a certain someone.”

  “That’s crazy.” Laura tried to avoid looking her daughter in the eye. Why was it so hard to admit she actually liked this man? I do like him, very much. More than I could admit to Jess or anyone else.

  She quickly applied some lipstick and blush, then ran the brush through her hair one last time. “Do I look okay?” she asked, turning for Jess’s approval.

  “You look great, Mom. Now get out there and knock him dead.” Jessica clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing what she had said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean. . .”

  Laura grinned a silly grin. “It’s okay. It’s about time we got back to joking around here. You just be yourself, and everything will be fine.”

  ß

  Andrew tried to compose himself as Laura entered the room. Keeping his emotions in check proved to be very difficult. Her hair was still slightly damp, but it carried the familiar aroma of flowers. She wore the same sweater she had worn at the game—the one he remembered so well. She completely took his breath away.

  “I hope you didn’t mind waiting,” Laura said, looking as nervous as he felt. “I just had to change before going back up to the hospital. You understand.”

  Of course he understood. He would have understood if she had decided to
paper and paint the living room before going back.

  “Everything smells great, Mom,” Laura said, giving her mother a hug. “Professor Dougherty, have you met my mother, Violet Timmons?”

  “Just call me Vi,” the older woman responded.

  He shook Violet’s hand firmly and smiled, knowing from her easygoing smile she would be easy to like.

  “Well, why don’t we all go on into the dining room,” Vi said, leading the way, “before everything gets cold.”

  ß

  Laura watched Andrew carefully as he made his way into the dining room. Buck pulled out the seat that had always been Greg’s and gestured for Andrew to sit down. Immediately, Laura’s heart began to twist inside her. Greg’s chair. No one else should sit there. No one. Not yet, anyway. She reluctantly sat across from Andrew, unable to focus.

  “Let’s pray, shall we?” Buck said, looking around the table.

  Laura glanced in Andrew’s direction, trying to read his reaction. How would he feel about this? Would he be offended, or. . . She was relieved to see that he bowed his head reverently and closed his eyes. She did the same. Buck began to pray a deep, genuine prayer, thanking God for Kent’s recovery and for the food provided. He added a special prayer of thanks for Andrew’s gift of the turkey, but Laura barely heard it. Her eyes were once again fixed on Greg’s chair.

  Heads lifted, and the food began to make its way around the table. Everyone chatted and laughed as if nothing in the world could be wrong. But something felt wrong, very wrong.

  “Laura, honey, would you pass the potatoes?” She numbly passed them to her mother, trying to focus.

  “I’ll have the dressing, Laura,” Buck said, reaching out for it. She nodded but never touched it, her focus drifting once again to the chair.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Jessica asked, looking at her curiously.

  “Oh. Yeah, sure.” I’m not. A war had suddenly and inexplicably risen up inside of her. There was no logical reason why she should feel this sudden anger, but she couldn’t seem to stop it.

  “I’ll take a roll,” Andrew said, looking directly at her with a smile. She picked up the basket, clutching it tightly. She couldn’t seem to release it.

  “Mom?” Jessica gazed at her with a worried expression.

  “Oh, I—” She passed the rolls without further explanation, turning her attention to her own plate. She could do this. She wouldn’t humiliate herself or anyone else. Not today, not when everything was so perfect. She looked up again, and a very clear picture of Greg seated in the chair greeted her. Suddenly, Laura could take it no more. “I. . .I have to get out of here,” she said, standing.

  “What do you mean?” her mother asked.

  “I. . .I have to get back to the hospital. I’m sure you all understand. Kent needs me.”

  Andrew stood immediately. “Maybe I should leave. It’s getting late, anyway.”

  “No, please don’t go, Mr. Dougherty,” Buck said. “You’re our guest. You just sit right down and eat.”

  “Really,” Laura said, trying not to look at him. “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean you have to.” She practically ran to the front door, throwing it open. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the hospital.”

  She stepped outside into the cool autumn air and leaned back against the house, where her tears flowed freely.

  ß

  Andrew stood up from the table, excusing himself. He needed to catch up with Laura before she left. He had so much to say to her. She couldn’t just slip away—not this time. He had lost her this way before, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

  He opened the front door, expecting to find her in her car, but she was propped up against the side of the house, sobbing.

  “Laura?”

  She looked at him fearfully. “I’m. . .I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  He reached out to take her arm, but she eluded him. “Laura, please wait. I need to talk to you.”

  “I can’t talk to you right now, Andrew,” she said, moving away from him.

  “I just want to tell you something. Please.” He felt like his heart would burst if he didn’t say it.

  “Can’t it wait?” she asked impatiently.

  “No, it can’t. I can’t.” His ears were ringing now. Just get through this.

  “What’s so important?” She took a few steps toward her car, obviously trying to avoid him. He followed her closely.

  “You remember that conversation we had in the hospital cafeteria yesterday?” he asked breathlessly. “Something really, I don’t know. . .amazing happened to me when I got home last night. For the first time in years, I found myself able to pray.”

  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes. I asked God to forgive me for being so angry with Him. That happened because of you, Laura.” He reached to take her hand. She let him hold it for a moment, then pulled away. “Don’t you see? I would never have had the courage to face the truth if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “The truth. . . ,” she stammered. “It’s the truth that’s killing me right now. The truth of how I felt about Greg. The truth about how scared I am when I see someone else sitting in his chair.”

  “So that’s what it is.”

  “Yes.” Tears filled her beautiful eyes again.

  Andrew reached out to brush them away, but she pushed his hand away. “Can’t we at least talk about this?” he implored. “Please?”

  “Maybe someday,” she said, opening the car door.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know,” she spoke through the emotion. “I just can’t right now. I can’t.” She jumped into her car and sped away, leaving his heart in a state of chaos. With his head hanging, Andrew climbed into his car and drove away.

  twenty-two

  “Mom, it’s been two weeks, and you haven’t even spoken a word to him. That’s not fair.”

  Laura did her best to ignore her daughter. Frustration overwhelmed her these days. She seemed to always be in a bad mood at home. She had thrown herself into her work with a vengeance. “I don’t expect you to understand, Jessica,” she said finally. “I’m just confused, that’s all. I need time. Space.”

  “Confused about him?”

  “Him who?”

  “You know who, Mom. The professor. The one you’ve been avoiding for the last two weeks.”

  “I haven’t been avoiding him,” Laura argued. “I’ve been going to class, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, but you haven’t said a word to him,” Jessica commented. “Everyone’s noticed. The other students loved the bickering that went on between the two of you, and now it’s just nothing but silence. It’s boring. You’re boring.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No, I mean it, Mom. You’ve got to snap out of this. Whatever he’s done, you need to forgive him. Remember, we talked about that. Forgiveness is everything.”

  “It’s nothing he’s done, Jessica. That’s the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean. . .” Laura hesitated. “I mean, he’s not your father. He never will be. There will never be another man like your dad.” Surely Jessica would understand that.

  Her daughter looked her squarely in the eye. “You’re right, Mom. He’s not Daddy. But did you ever consider the fact that God might be bringing you something—someone—completely different?”

  “He’s different, all right.” Laura smiled.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be looking for someone like Daddy at all. Maybe you should just be open to any man God might bring into your life, no matter how different he is.”

  “What?” Laura was stunned at her daughter’s tenacity.

  “No one can ever take Daddy’s place—that’s true. But you don’t have to worry that we’ll forget him, Mom. He’s always here, in my heart.” Jessica’s voice trembled with emotion as she continued. “But you’ve got things all confused where the professor’s concerned. Maybe all he needs to do is just b
e himself.”

  “You’re right, Jess. I know you are,” Laura said softly.

  But what could she do? There were too many bridges crossed, too many things left undone.

  ß

  Three weeks and counting. Andrew paced around his classroom, tormented by the struggle that ensued in his heart and his head. His head convinced him he should give up—not pursue any type of relationship with Laura Chapman once the semester ended, friendship or otherwise. Still, his heart cried out for more.

  As the semester came to a close, he faced an inevitable deadline. Grades for American History had just been averaged. Laura’s good, solid A had been earned without any assistance from him. She had aced his class. Not many people could boast of that.

  Of course, it might not have happened if Dick DeHart hadn’t gotten involved. Andrew’s skin began to crawl. The idea of any other man looking at Laura—his Laura—made him so angry, he could hardly see straight. But she’s not my Laura. She doesn’t want to be with me. She made that abundantly clear on Thanksgiving. It had started. . .when had it started, again? Ah, yes. When I sat in that chair. A light tap on the door distracted him. He looked up, shocked to see Jessica standing there with a concerned look on her face.

  “Professor Dougherty,” she said hesitantly. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure, Jess. What’s up?”

  She looked a little nervous. “I just wanted to talk to you. Of course, my mom would kill me if she knew I came.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said, “I think you need to know that she’s, she’s just. . .”

  “Just what?” He waited anxiously to hear the rest of the sentence.

  “Scared,” Jessica said finally. “She’s scared to death.”

  He dropped into a chair, his forehead breaking out in a sweat.

  “You don’t look like you’re in much better shape than she is,” Jessica said with a laugh. “This is really pathetic.”

  “I’m not very good at this.”

  “I’ll say. That’s why I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me?” She’s just a kid. How can she help me?