I thought of Cor's comment about my oblivious father, and for the second time that day, my emotions trembled.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pull myself out of the insidious snare Cor wove with his voice and his conviction as he named each of his kids and prayed for them in turn. Even Jack, who was sitting right beside him.
“And, Lord, we pray for Terra…”
My heart jumped. Me? He was bringing my name before this God he was speaking so intimately with?
No. Not a good idea. I preferred to stay out of God's line of sight, thank you.
“Be with her in her work, and give us a good time together this evening.”
Well, that sounded innocuous enough. “Help her feel Your presence in her life. Give her comfort and encouragement…”
I bit my trembling lip against the swell of yearning that his innocent words brought up.
Chapter Seventeen
Give me your plate and I'll scoop you up,” Cor said, holding his hand out.
“She can help herself.” Jack placed the pot of rice beside me.
“Look how skinny she is. She needs good food,” Cor protested.
Jack let his eyes drift upward in a “Help me” moment, then lifted the lid off the pot. “Here you go. Help yourself to some china.”
“What?”
“Oh, c'mon. I thought that was diner slang for rice.”
“You've been doing your homework,” I said, trying to regain some of my shaken equilibrium.
“I like to keep up.”
“Not hard to do with me when I'm on foot most everywhere I go.”
“You check out my car after,” Cor said as he spooned a mound of soft, fluffy rice onto my plate. “It's a good car. A Shadow.”
“Of its former self.” Jack passed the stir-fry spoon. “That thing has been around the world. Twice.”
“Don't exaggerate.” Cor grabbed the spoon and dropped a huge pile of steaming vegetables and chicken on top of the rice. “It only has a hundred and eighty-seven thousand miles on the odometer.”
“My bad. Seven and a half times. It's ready for the junk heap.”
“What do you mean? I drove that car until I got my truck.”
“You've had your truck for four years, Dad.”
“Only two.” Cor filled a small bowl with salad, poured a liberal amount of dressing on it, and pushed it my way.
“You bought it when Harland put that right-of-way through to the interstate. That was four years ago.”
I ate, and they argued. But their argument held no rancor. It was as if they both felt obligated to spar and parry. I got a sense that beneath the surface bickering lay a relationship that had depth and roots. A relationship not easily shaken.
I didn't mind not having to participate, content in my role as spectator. The food was good, spicy with a hint of ginger. The house was cozy—as worn and lived in as an old sweater. It had that early sixties look with its turquoise Arborite countertops and blue-and-brown-striped wallpaper. A few of the pale green tiles on the backsplash were missing. The varnish around the curved brass handles of the kitchen cupboards had been worn away by countless hands opening their doors. This house had history, I thought, taking in the scuffed line and pencil marks by the door, marking off the heights of the various DeWindt progeny.
I wondered how often Cor's other kids came home. I wondered if they knew that Cor prayed for them. Every day, I was sure.
Did they just assume that would happen, or did they really appreciate it? Did Jack?
“I'm sure Dan could fix it up for you if there are problems. Right, Terra?”
With a start I pulled myself away from my contemplations and back into the conversation.
“Does the car have problems?”
“I don't know. I haven't run it for”—he raised his eyebrows toward Jack—“four years, according to my know-it-all son. But if you bought it, you wouldn't have to hitchhike everywhere. It would be much, much safer for you, girl.”
He sounded so excited about the prospect, I hated to rein in his enthusiasm. “That would be pretty cool, but I can't afford to buy a car and then spend money on repairs.”
“I would sell it cheap.”
I looked from Cor's almost pleading expression to Jack, who was watching me with curiosity. Probably trying to figure out why a thirty-and-change-year-old woman couldn't afford a vehicle. Of course, the fact that he'd caught me hitchhiking twice might have clued him in to the fact that I wasn't exactly listed in Forbes.
“You wouldn't have to pay me right away,” Cor continued, emphasizing the point with his fork.
“I had hoped to save the money first,” I said, patting my mouth with the paper napkin Jack gave me. “I don't like being in debt.”
“You have to go into debt for the big things,” Cor protested. “Right, Jack?”
Jack shrugged.
“Jack just bought a house outside of town. He's fixing it up himself, bit by bit.” Cor's teasing manner showed Terra what he thought of that idea. “I keep telling him to borrow the money and finish the job.”
“It's biblical,” Jack said. “When Luke talks about someone wanting to build a tower, he writes, ‘Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost?’ I'm making sure I can finish what I start.”
“The longer you wait, the more everything goes up. Interest rates will be higher; lumber is going up.”
“I've got the kitchen done.”
“You're too cautious.” Cor turned to me. “Tell my son he has to take a chance once in a while. Stick his neck out.”
Like I, with my very patchy résumé, was in any position to give Jack DeWindt life skills advice.
“Sticking my neck out has never done me much good.” His quiet comment momentarily flicked aside the curtain to his past. I thought of the girl Leslie had told me about. Of course it made me curious.
But of course I wasn't going to ask.
When we finished dinner, Jack cleared the table, insisting that I stay where I was, which I did. Gladly. Having two men wait on me hand and foot was a novel experience.
Cor brought out my fruit plate. From the casual way he put it on the table, I once again sensed his disappointment that I hadn't stopped at the co-op and picked up the heavily-hinted-at black forest cake.
“This is a great idea, Terra,” Jack said, filling up a plate with fruit after I'd helped myself. “Tastes good, doesn't it, Dad?”
Cor gave me a polite smile and took a couple of pieces. But a few minutes later, he had a few more.
“So, do you think you want that car, Terra?” Cor polished off the last piece of pineapple, then returned like a terrier to his previous topic. “I can give you a good deal. In fact, I can give it to you, period.”
“I don't want you to do that.” From the look of his house, I guessed he lived on a fixed income and could use all the money he could get.
“It's in good shape.” While he kept at me, Jack got up and took out a large black book from one of the kitchen drawers behind him, setting it in front of Cor along with a pair of glasses. I caught the glint of the words Holy Bible.
This time, however, I was prepared for whatever would come out of that book. When Cor began reading, I sat back, folded my arms, and let my mind slip away. I wandered to Leslie's place, imagining her and the kids working in their yard. I should call her and see about coming on Friday. Visit her in the wide-open spaces of the farm, bounded and protected by the surrounding mountains. My mind slipped with ease to the daydream I'd had the last time I was at her place. Me, wandering like Julie Andrews, minus a guitar and all those kids.
But with Jack.
A slow chill drifted through my chest as my eyes were unwillingly drawn to him. Why this inexplicable attraction? He hadn't encouraged or nurtured these fluttery feelings that, of late, came over me whenever I thought of him.
…How he could make me smile.
…His hand on my shoulder after church.
…The concern in his voice when he checked o
n me.
I mentally shook away the memories. I wasn't going to settle here, and Jack and I each had our own histories to deal with.
Jack sat with his arms crossed, his eyes staring sightlessly at the empty fruit platter as he listened to his father. Then Cor's words caught my attention.
“‘And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost.’”
Cor pulled the silk ribbon bookmark between the pages and slowly closed the Bible, as if afraid to disturb the words within. Then he looked across the table at me, his watery blue eyes intent on mine. Did he think I needed rescuing? Like that single sheep that wandered off? Did he think I was worth rescuing?
I was glad when he said nothing, just turned to Jack and asked him to pray.
Jack's prayer was short and took a different tack from Cor's. Thanks for the food and company. Prayers for the safety of family and friends.
“…and be with those of us here who are lost and hurting…”
I doubted that either Cor or Jack were the “us here” who were lost, so I guessed he was praying for me. The thought was like a shot to my chest. What did I matter to him?
When he said, “Amen,” I kept my eyes on my hands, now folded tightly in my lap.
A moment of silence followed Jack's prayer, as if it needed time to settle. Which it did. I didn't know where to store this new information.
Why did he pray for me?
And what was going to happen to me now?
But in spite of my questions, the idea that he would lift me up to God, a God I spent minimal time even acknowledging, took root and developed, creating feelings I had neither the time nor the patience to examine.
“Well, I have to walk to the mailbox and get the mail,” Cor announced, pushing himself away from the table. “I didn't have time earlier today. So you two will have to do the dishes.” Then he blithely walked out the back door without a backward glance.
“As if that wasn't obvious,” Jack said, taking the plates from the table. “Sorry about that. Dad has his moments…”
“That's okay. I planned to do the dishes,” I said, purposely misreading his apology. “I just don't think it's fair that you have to help.”
“Dad cooked the rice, set the table, and made the salad. In his mind, that makes him exempt.”
But more important to Cor I was sure, it made me and Jack alone. In spite of my nonchalant attitude, Jack's prayer interlaced itself through the memory of that moment in the church parking lot, weaving a low-level tension around us.
We worked in silence, which, if Cor were around, would have been a grave disappointment to him. After all the work he had done to bring about this moment, I was sure he would not have been pleased that Jack and I only murmured the occasional “Excuse me” when our elbows happened to brush together.
I wiped the last pot and set it beside the stack of mismatched but clean dishes. “Anything else?”
Jack took the damp dishtowel from me and hung it over the handle of the oven door. “By the way, the fruit was a great idea,” he said, buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves.
“I know Cor eats way too many sweets.”
Jack grabbed the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration. “Dad thinks that if he ignores his diabetes, it will magically disappear.”
“Is he on pills or insulin?” I handed Jack a pile of plates.
“He was on pills, but they're losing their effectiveness. He thinks once he goes on insulin, he's halfway to dying.” He pushed the plates into a cupboard and closed the door.
“That would mean injections, wouldn't it?” See Terra show off the little bit of knowledge she gleaned by Googling diabetes on the Internet.
“I think he's scared of the whole needle idea,” Jack said as he took the glasses I handed him and pushed them into another already full cupboard.
“I can sympathize.” I shuddered. “I hate needles.”
“You're nothing like Leslie, then.” Jack chuckled.
“That I'm not.”
“You don't need to be. Like Leslie.”
I shouldn't have been surprised that Jack caught my derisive tone. What did surprise me was how his simple comment created a warmth that no man had kindled in me in a long time.
I didn't know where to put these emotions. Jack was exactly the wrong person for me. Besides the whole police gig, he was churchgoing. Solid. Dependable. Probably planning to live in Harland forever.
And I couldn't?
You need to keep moving. Stay in one place long enough, and you start having expectations of people. They'll always let you down. Always.
I thought of Eric. Thought of the dreams I had when we first started dating. Dreams that I had slowly but surely compromised the longer we stayed together. First it was intimacy before marriage. Then it was moving in before marriage.
Then pregnancy.
During my time with Eric, what dreams I hadn't discarded or compromised had been broken or twisted beyond recognition.
I wished Cor would come back.
“Listen, about that car…”
“I can't buy it.” I was about to tell him that I couldn't afford much of anything right now, but I held back. I looked like enough of a loser for now.
“Dad would give it to you. He really worries about you hitchhiking.” Jack folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter, tapping his fingers against his arms. “He'd feel better if you took it off his hands.”
“But he could use the money. I mean, he doesn't seem to have a lot.”
Jack just laughed. “Trust me, he's got boatloads stashed away.”
I looked around the kitchen with its worn floor, the old-fashioned table with the cracked vinyl chairs.
Jack caught the direction of my puzzled gaze. “Dad could give Ebenezer Scrooge tips on how to pinch pennies.”
“But he tips really well.”
Jack just nodded, his crooked smile once again doing those silly things to my stomach. “Dad likes you.”
“Why?” I couldn't recall anything I had done that would have endeared me to him. I didn't treat him special.
“For one thing, he thinks you're cute.”
“What?”
Jack grinned and spread his hands in a What can I do? gesture. “He's perfectly harmless, if that's what you're worried about.”
“No. No. Of course not. I mean, I don't…'cause he's…” I stumbled over my words, taken aback.
“He feels protective toward you. He told me that he sees deep hurt inside you.” As Jack spoke, his smile faded and his gaze became intense. The kitchen grew smaller, and Jack seemed closer.
I remembered our conversation in his truck. Each time we met, something shifted between us. I recognized the signs.
And it scared me.
“That hurt he sees is probably the indigestion I get from the burgers I have to wolf down so Mathilde doesn't think I'm slacking off.” I tossed off the comment with a smile, trying to break the atmosphere.
Jack's expression didn't shift. His eyes stayed on me, but I managed to hold his gaze, even though inside my chest, my heart wobbled and spun. Then his hand came to rest on my shoulder, his fingers curling around it. I wasn't going to lean toward him. Wasn't going to let him pull me close. Wasn't going to let his lips lower to mine.
But I did. And he did.
And next thing I knew, I was being held close against a hard, warm chest, strong arms holding me tight.
“What's happening, Terra?” he whispered, his fingers tangling in my hair as his hand cradled my head against him.
“I thought you'd done this before,” I whispered back.
“I have.”
“So why don't you know?”
He drew back, his fingers still woven in my hair. “I just don't know about you.”
“You arrested me…” I was scrambling h
ere, trying to find the strength to pull away from him. To do the right thing. I was supposed to be a liberated, free-living woman. In spite of Eric, or maybe because of him, being supported by Jack's strong arms created a haven I was loath to leave.
“All I got from that was your date of birth and the fact that you had no previous convictions.” He shook his head. “I don't want to talk about that.”
“What does that leave?”
He finger-combed my hair back from my face, his eyes following the movement of his hand. “You. Leaving once things are settled here.”
The reality of my situation finally gave me the willpower to pull away. I thought of what Leslie had said about Jack's previous girlfriend and knew that this moment of weakness wasn't fair to Jack.
“I'm sorry” was all I could say.
“Of course you are.”
He was about to say something more when the door flung open, announcing Cor's return. I was off the hook.
Chapter Eighteen
So what do you think?” Cor patted the hood of the Dodge Shadow, and a few more flakes of white paint peeled off. He brushed them aside with a casual gesture. “That's just surface stuff. They had problems with their paint that year. Don't let the looks fool you. It runs real good.”
I walked around the vehicle once more. The little white car had definitely seen better days. Better years. In places, the paint had peeled so badly I could see gray primer underneath it.
Cor unlocked the driver's door and held it open. “Sit in it. See how you fit.”
I hesitated, remembering the little spiel I'd heard from a used-car salesman—insert favorite used-car salesman joke here. He told me that as soon as a customer touched the car, he started calculating his commission.
As I settled into the seat, the chemical scent of orange air freshener drifting past me, a force beyond my own took control of my feet and will. Seconds later, I was holding the steering wheel in my hand, the plastic seat cover warm under my legs, as my eyes flicked over the dashboard, taking inventory.
At least I refrained from making vroom-vroom noises.
An incongruous orange-colored pine tree swung from the rear view mirror. Stereo with old-time cassette deck. Automatic transmission.
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