Truth and Circumstances

by Myrna Parks

  Ten minutes later, he turned into the driveway of a homey arts-and-crafts style bungalow. The home had towering oak trees in the yard, a wide front porch, and two lighted wall sconces glowing on either side of the front door.

  Carter opened her door, and Beth slid from the vehicle into the dark night. Carter remained where he was, blocking her exit. When she looked at him, Beth could see the pale light of the crescent moon shimmering on his face. She inhaled the faint fragrance of his aftershave and found his nearness more than a little disturbing.

  “Beth,” he spoke her name quietly. He reached out and touched her hair, gently pushing away a single strand from her cheek.

  Beth found it hard to breathe. She wished she could see the expression in his eyes.

  “This will all be over in a few days. Then you can decide when, or if, you want to tell your family the truth. In the meantime, I’d consider it an honor to stand by your side.”

  Speechless, Beth could feel the beginning of new tears.

  Carter reached for her hand. Weaving his fingers through hers, he pulled her gently toward the house. With her hand in his warm, strong clasp, they climbed the steps up to the porch. Beth felt as though her feet were weightless and her smile permanent. Never in her life had she felt so cheerfully optimistic.

  Carter’s friend, Eric, opened the door. The tantalizing aromas of meatballs, fresh baked bread, and cinnamon strudel reminded Beth of a trip to Grandma’s house on a Sunday afternoon. She adored the Pearsall family from the first moment Carter introduced them. Especially Maggie, the plain but very feminine mother of a six-year-old, with her light brown hair, a smattering of freckles across her pert little nose, and a welcoming smile. She made Beth feel right at home. Eric was more reserved but friendly enough, and their six-year-old son, Calvin, with his curly brown hair and big brown eyes was the perfect picture, in Beth’s mind, of a healthy first-grader.

  “Lead me to the table,” Carter commanded as he tilted his head and sniffed the air.

  “You can pacify yourself with dip and crackers.” Maggie pointed to the coffee table where a colorful display of hors d’oeuvres had been spread out. “Dinner should be ready in twenty minutes.”

  While Carter helped himself to artichoke dip, Beth followed Maggie into the old-fashioned kitchen. “May I help?”

  “Thanks, but you just sit on that stool.” Maggie gestured to a seat at the end of the island. “I wouldn’t want you to spill anything on your dress.”

  Beth glanced down at her simple black frock. All of her wardrobe, purchased before she moved out on her own, was costly. On her current salary, she dreaded the time when she’d need replacements. “I could wear an apron. I love to cook.”

  “You do?” said a masculine voice from behind her.

  Beth turned and saw Carter framed in the doorway. He chuckled, “I’d never have envisioned you at home in the kitchen.”

  “Carter! What a terrible thing to say,” Maggie scolded.

  Carter moved toward the refrigerator. He opened the door and retrieved a cool bottle of water. “You should see the house Beth grew up in. There are servants of every shape, size, and description.”

  “True,” Beth admitted. “But Dora, our generous-hearted cook when I was a little girl always welcomed me into her kitchen. She taught me how to bake cookies, stuff poultry, and skillfully flip an omelet before I was ten years old. For a brief time, I thought I wanted to become a chef. Father enrolled me in a well-known culinary school. However, I quickly discovered that becoming a gourmet cook is more than roasting a bird. It requires an obsession with food.”

  Eric sauntered into the kitchen. “Why is it that our guests always gravitate toward this room?”

  “I was thirsty,” Carter explained.

  “I was invited,” Beth countered playfully.

  Maggie laughed. “I thought it was my magnetic personality.”

  The doorbell rang. Maggie and Eric exchanged meaningful glances. Looking slightly uncomfortable, Maggie said, “Oh, dear! Beth, I fear I owe you an apology. If I had known you were coming...”

  The bell sounded a second time. Eric said, “Look, we are all adults. We might as well tell them straight out. This is no big deal, but two weeks ago when we thought Carter would be staying with us, Maggie extended the invitation to include one of her friends. She invited Miss Donavon to come as our dinner guest tonight, in hopes she and Carter might hit it off.”

  Beth tried not to let the horror show on her face as the realization dawned upon her that she had just become the fifth wheel on a blind date.

  Carter’s instant snicker soon progressed into a full-blown belly laugh. Maggie giggled and covered her mouth. When the doorbell sounded persistently a third time, Eric chuckled and then turned away and headed to the door.

  Beth felt like a big rock in a very shallow pond.

  Carter could hardly control himself, and when he heard the female voice coming from the other room, he leaned over the counter and laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his face.

  Everyone appeared to find the moment hilariously funny. Everyone, that is, except Beth.

  Candice Donavon was a knockout with almond-shaped eyes and full copper-colored lips that matched her short, tight dress. She had long, blonde hair and a voluptuous figure that reminded Beth of one of those popular advertisements for suntan products.

  Beth sat stiffly on the other side of the dinner table and tried not to stare. “So what do you do, Candice?” Beth made a strained attempt at polite conversation.

  She snorted. “Please, all my friends call me Candy. I’m a dental hygienist.” Candice’s nasal twang brought Beth’s eyebrows to the top of her forehead.

  So that would explain the perfect smile.

  Beth turned to the child seated beside her and talked to the well-behaved youngster, asking him questions about his school, his friends, and what games he preferred. As the boy responded, Beth’s mind wandered. She listened to Candice’s nonstop conversation. For the duration of the meal, the blonde entertained the men on either side of her with humorous anecdotes featuring her patients.

  Beth preferred Maggie as a conversationalist. The two women swapped cooking stories and favorite recipes as Beth longed for the moment when the evening would end. She wondered what she should do when the meal was over.

  “Calvin, did you say you liked to play cards?” Beth asked.

  “Uh huh. Go Fish is my favorite.”

  “I haven’t played that game in a long time. When we finish dinner, perhaps we could play together?”

  His big brown eye grew wide. “Can we, Mom?” He looked to his mother.

  Maggie gave Beth a knowing, sympathetic look while nodding her consent.

  When dessert finally arrived and the remainder of the adults lingered over coffee, Beth allowed Calvin to lead her into the living room.

  While he went to fetch his game, Beth cleared the coffee table. For the next hour, the two sat on the floor and played. They graduated from Fish to Chinese checkers and finally to Battleship. The child was polite, considerate, and very bright, forcing Beth to apply herself — especially difficult since her attention kept straying to the conversation in the dining room. From time to time, she could hear Carter’s laugh, which was immediately drowned out by sounds of Candy’s screeching laughter.

  The foursome finally drifted into the living room, and Maggie advised Calvin it was past his bedtime. Beth felt both relief and reluctance to see him leave. When the little boy wrapped his arms around her neck in a spontaneous hug, catching her off guard, Beth found it surprisingly difficult to keep moisture from her eyes.

  Maggie led Calvin off to bed, and Beth peeled herself from the floor. Walking stiffly around the room, she feigned interest in family photographs and wondered what she should do next. She made the circle, returned to the group, and found Eric seated in his recliner. Carter, she discovered, was on the sofa with Candy so close beside him that whenever she crossed one long, shapely leg, she managed to rub her
limb against his.

  Beth sat down across from them.

  “Did you say your name was Ashton?” Candice asked, looking quizzically at Beth.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I once had a patient named Ashton! That famous racecar driver, Peter Ashton. Is he any relation?”

  Beth’s eyes slid toward Carter. He held her gaze. When Beth took a deep breath of resignation, Carter quickly inserted, “Beth doesn’t know him.”

  Chapter Eight

  Beth lay in the darkness and listened to the silence. All was still and quiet except for the occasional creaking sound of an old house. When the grandfather clock on the second floor landing chimed the midnight hour, she whispered, “Carter.”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you awake?”

  “Would I be answering if I wasn’t?” Carter murmured sleepily.

  “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about my manuscript. Even if I figure out a way to see Mr. Adams, what if he doesn’t like my book? What if Bill and Amy are wrong?”

  “You shouldn’t allow one man’s opinion to mean so much. If writing is what you want to do, then keep doing it. If, on the other hand, you’re just trying to find a way that will build your esteem in the eyes of your parents, then the odds are you’re letting yourself in for a big fat letdown.”

  Beth sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

  Carter yawned. “Try not to worry. Set your mind on something else or you will never go to sleep.”

  Beth lay quietly for several long minutes, thinking, pondering. She whispered, “I want to ask you something.” When she received no reply, she lifted her voice. “Why did you lie for me tonight?”

  There was a shuffle on the other side of the chunky barrier and the sound of a pillow being punched. She watched his silhouette as he rearranged the covers before lying back down. Beth wondered if he was stalling for time before he answered.

  “You have very expressive eyes.”

  Beth frowned in the darkness.

  “When Candice first mentioned Peter, you made me think of a long-haired kitten on a roller-coaster ride. Then suddenly, just before you were about to answer, you took a deep breath and looked at me like a basset hound lying on a surgeon’s table.”

  “You wanted to rescue me?”

  “It’s becoming a habit.”

  His statement brought to mind their morning kiss. His unexpected tenderness brought back sweet memories. Beth experienced a painful ache in the middle of her chest.

  “Beth?” Carter spoke softly. “I owe you another apology.”

  “If you mean about the fight—”

  “No. I want to apologize for kissing you this morning.”

  He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had kicked her in the stomach. Her throat closed, hot and tight, and her eyes began to burn with painful tears.

  “Beth?”

  She could not answer.

  “If I had known that you—” He paused. “If I had realized how innocent you are, I would never have taken such a liberty.”

  A single tear slid down Beth’s cheek. She swiped her face, swallowed hard, and then whispered in a broken voice, “Yours was not my first kiss. Lon and I dated for more than a year before—” She couldn’t finish. Rejection was painful.

  ****

  “Beth, are you crying?” Listening in the darkness, he said with a snort of anger, “Keaton is such a jerk! You are better off without him,” he announced and silently cursed the bulky barrier.

  He heard two sniffs before she softly said, “No. We cannot control our hearts. Lon is crazy about Alexis. He never felt that way about me. Looking back, I wonder if my pride may have caused more pain than the transfer of his affection. Our breakup was inevitable. However, you must understand that when he chose my sister, who already makes me feel inferior, it was like stamping ‘failure‘ across my forehead and seating me on the sidelines.”

  “I wish my parents were here,” Carter replied softly.

  “It might be a little crowded.”

  Her quick retort brought a smile to his face. He was glad to hear that touch of humor.

  “My parents are teachers, and either one of them could probably put this better than I. You need to be at peace with who you are. Trying to succeed at something just to impress others sets you up for failure.”

  “That’s easy to say. But fear of failure and desire for approval are nature’s earliest tactics of manipulation. No matter what we say, we never outgrow the need to hear the words, ‘I’m proud of you’ or lose the fear of hearing one of our parents say, by word or outward expression, ‘Your best is not good enough.’”

  “If you accept yourself as unique, just as you are, regardless of whether or not you publish a book, become a chef, or do anything else the world deems successful, you can experience peace.”

  “And do you have that kind of peace?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. I haven’t thought about it or analyzed my motives, but I’m completely at peace with who I am and what I do. I helped you, not because I felt a need to be hailed a superhero or to hear someone praise my name, but just for the satisfaction of helping someone in need.”

  “Even when it means lying?” Her voice sounded curious, no longer tearful.

  Carter sighed. “Can’t say I get it right all the time, but I keep trying. In the meantime, I refuse to allow guilt or fear to embalm me while there is still breath in my body.”

  There was a long pause. “I-I don’t want to be a failure.”

  The impact of her words caused him to swallow hard. Tenderly, he said, “Just because you fail from time to time, does not make you a failure. I prefer you just the way you are.”

  She whispered, “If only my family could...”

  ****

  “You knew! You knew Adrian Adams was already at this conference and you never told me?” Exasperated, Beth vented her frustration.

  Carter glanced over his shoulder as he eased the convertible into the early morning traffic. When the vehicle was gliding smoothly along with the rhythm of the freeway, he said, “If you recall, neither of us was in the mood for pleasant conversation when we arrived home yesterday. And besides, if you already knew, why didn’t you mention the fact to me?”

  Appeased and contrite, Beth said, “When I received Alexis’s message yesterday, everything else evaporated into nothingness. I could hardly concentrate on any of my lecturers, but I did meet a woman during my first class who told me Mr. Adams was leading a training workshop this week. Apparently, the man is working exclusively with writing instructors on the tenth floor of the conference building. Mrs. Martin told me she talked to him in the elevator. She recognized him from a book signing she had once attended several years ago. Even though that’s a restricted area, there must be some way to get up there!”

  “Why don’t you just send him a note? With so many terrorists around, you know how tight security is these days. There are at least three conferences going on inside our building. Thousands of people come and go each day. You couldn’t possibly consider sneaking into a non-clearance area.”

  Beth’s eyes moved from side to side, quickly analyzing schemes to see Adams, her mind spinning like a food processor. “I don’t know, but truly, where there is a will—”

  “Bethany Ashton! I thought we decided no more lies.” Carter shot a warning glance in her direction.

  “Not all plans require lying.”

  Carter groaned. “Don’t call me from jail.”

  Beth smiled at him as he left for his morning workshop and then sat down in the lobby behind her favorite palm. She watched. Listened. And plotted. She skipped her morning workshops and meditated on ways in which she might gain entry onto the tenth floor. By noon, she had a plan.

  Every entrance into the building had security attendants on duty behind counters that faced the door. She observed that anyone entering the building without a proper pass walked directly up to the desk. Security guards immediately approached anyone who didn’t check in
at the counter.

  There were special attendants, comrades of Ms. Huxley, Beth suspected, stationed on each level to guide misdirected guests back toward the elevator and into their designated areas. There were also uniformed guards on each floor spot-checking suspicious looking characters. Beth’s entrance pass gave her clearance for floors five through eight.

  The key, Beth decided, was to find a way to become inconspicuous. There was one group of people no one seemed to notice — deliverymen. Whether it was Parcel Post or pizza, their uniforms appeared to make them invisible. From her bench-seat, Beth watched a pizza delivery girl as she walked past the front desk with only a nod toward the attendant on duty. She boarded the elevator without anyone questioning her presence.

  That’s it! All I need is a uniform and food.

  Beth waited anxiously, filled with excitement. She could hardly sit still. When the delivery girl returned, she followed the young woman outside. Stopping the girl on the sidewalk, Beth offered her friendliest smile. “Excuse me. Where is the restaurant you work for?”

  The attendant, a skinny young girl dressed in faded black pants, dark shoes, and a food-splattered vest over a blouse that had once been white, looked irritated. She pointed down the street. “Two blocks east. You can’t miss it,” she said, and started to leave.

  “Wait.” Beth yanked out her wallet. The gesture grabbed the young woman’s attention. She responded with a quick smile. Beth adopted an embarrassed, timid giggle and said, “You might think I’m silly and sentimental but this is my first writer’s conference in Sacramento.” Which wasn’t a lie. “And I was wondering if you would sell me your cap and vest as a keepsake?”

  Beth retrieved a crisp one-hundred dollar bill from her wallet and waved the money like a prize-winning sweepstakes ticket under the young woman’s nose. The server looked closely at the bill and then quickly peeled off her vest, snatched the cap from her head, and reached for the offering faster than a tollbooth operator during five o’clock rush hour.