“She’s not thinking clearly. She’s exhausted most of the time lately.”
“We just hope you’ll—”
John gripped the arms. “Ladies, Penn was pretty clear about not—”
“We know what she said. We just wondered if maybe...over time...”
He rocked backwards. “I appreciate how much you love her. I know you want her to be happy, but I don’t think I can do that job for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a pilot. Yes, I hope my writing takes off and becomes my main source of income. But, ladies, the fact is—I love flying. I can’t change that.”
“We don’t want you to give up on Penny.”
Something glimmered behind Winnie’s glasses.
Please, please, please don’t cry.
“I think she’s terrific. Give it time and maybe we can work out a friendship—if she wants to.” That’s what he kept telling himself about the knot in his chest lodged there since yesterday afternoon. Give it time. It’ll go away.
“You’re such a good young man, John Townsend. We’re going to miss your visits.” They rose.
Don’t say that. You don’t know me as well as you think you do. If you did... He gripped the spindly arms of the rocker. Stop. Don’t go there today. Not now.
He unfolded himself from the sloped seat and led them to the door. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. I can’t go too long without a celebration cookie or a cinnamon roll, you know.”
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll keep you supplied—even if we have to do it on the down low!”
He laughed and hugged both of them. “I appreciate that you came by.”
“You take care.”
He watched them walk down the steps and waved to them as the car crawled along the street. He’d miss seeing them as well, another kink in the knot tangling up his chest.
21
Penn ransacked her closet for something appropriate to wear. What do I wear to lunch with someone I’ve avoided for the past twenty years, give or take? She spread out the gathers of a yellow sundress.
No. Too perky.
How about a lilac blouse to go with a pair of grape capris pants?
No. Too purple-y.
She settled on a skirt swirled with fuchsia, aqua, green, and blue and topped it with a hot pink cotton sweater. Bold colors. Good. Strong colors would make her feel strong. Wouldn’t they?
Why did she agree to this lunch with Abby? She’d been caught off guard as she thumped the watermelons at the farmer’s market last weekend.
Abby stood with a basket of peaches on her arm, looking sweet and interested and...like someone she used to love.
When Abby asked her, Penn’s heart pinged, and for a split second she’d wanted a best friend again. “Sure. When?” popped out of her mouth before she realized the commitment she’d made. Lunch. Only lunch, not a relationship.
She slung a straw purse over her shoulder, kissed the aunts who grinned like Christmas morning, and headed out the door.
Parked in front of the Mars Sandwich Shop, she cracked the window and braced herself for the heat. A squeal from down the street arrested her attention.
Abby, dressed in scarlet shorts, black top, and black sandals, jogged toward her. “Penny, you’ve still got Gretchen?”
Penn blinked away tears pricking behind her eyes.
Not now, tears. Not now.
“I’ve always loved this car.” Abby trailed fingers along the hood. “I was so jealous of you.”
“Jealous?” Penn blinked. “Of me?”
“Uh huh. Remember what I drove? I bought my granddad’s green sedan for two hundred bucks.” She wrinkled her nose. “What a dad car. Or, I guess, granddad car.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” A faint picture flickered in her mind of a green car with a silvery, goopy top. Not a very handsome ride.
“Do you remember the top and that silver gunk globbed on the roof? Dad insisted it waterproofed the ceiling.” She shuddered now, ten years later. “It was horrible. You got to bebop around town in this cutie.” Abby swept another long glance at the blue Volkswagen. “I’m so glad you’ve still got her.”
Penn’s mouth gaped. “Bebop? You thought I bebopped?”
Abby dropped her keys into her purse. “You know what I mean.”
She really didn’t.
“Are you hungry? Because I’m starving.” Abby headed toward the cafe. “I hope they have a vegetarian choice.”
Opening the door, Penn tinkled the warning bell. “They’ve got pretty much whatever you want.”
Aromas of kosher pickles and pastrami mixed with pumpernickel and sour dough greeted them as they lined up by the counter.
Several minutes later, they munched on their selections, a tomato, fresh mozzarella, and pesto on sour dough and a portabella mushroom with balsamic vinegar on whole wheat, in silence.
Abby twirled the fancy toothpick, relieved of its duty of holding the sandwich together. “I’m glad you agreed to come today, Penny.”
Penn sipped her frozen green tea.
How could she answer? Truth.
“You took me by surprise. I didn’t know what else to say.”
Abby grabbed her napkin and hooted behind it. “Honesty. I love it. I could always count on you to be honest.”
Penn scrunched her face. “What do you mean by that?” She bit the end of her pickle spear, the brine fighting a bit with the sweet balsamic.
“You don’t remember?” Abby swirled her straw through the crushed ice and root beer.
“Remember what?” Penn laid down the pickle and wiped her fingers.
“Our last conversation. Pretty much anyway.”
Penn furrowed her brow, splayed her fingers against the tingling in her chest. Their last conversation? At the Parkers’ house? After the tragedy?
“Do you mean...right after...?”
“Good grief. Not then. We were about eight maybe. Walking to Brownies after school. I waited for you because I knew you’d be by yourself.”
Alone.
Yes, she remembered that part.
“I told you I missed you. You said you missed me, too. I said, ‘Good. Come to my house after school on Friday. We’ll play dolls.’“ She dipped her chin but held Penn’s gaze. “Do you remember what you said?”
Penn shook her head.
“You said it was too hard. Being with me made you sad.” Tears pooled in Abby’s eyes. She widened them to keep the tears from falling.
“I have no recollection of that conversation.”
Was Abby serious? Why couldn’t she remember?
“It’s burned into my brain, for sure. I skipped Brownies, ran home, and cried all afternoon.”
A wave of sadness rolled over Penn and settled around her heart. She hurt for the two little girls, struggling to find their way in the wake of her family’s tragedy. She folded the end of the wax paper draped over the plastic basket. The remainder of her sandwich no longer appealed to her. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You were honest. I appreciate that about you.”
Penn pushed away the basket. “I thought you avoided me.”
“Why on earth would I do that?” She slid her hand close to Penn’s, stopping before touching it. “We were best friends, for heaven’s sake.”
“Because I was the orphan.” Penn winced at the weak argument in her words.
Abby’s mouth dropped. “What? Penny, you had your sweet aunts who bought you Periwinkle, the coolest horse in the world by the way, who took you on summer trips, who made those delicious cookies for every bake sale we ever had. What did I do to make you think that way?”
Nothing. Not really. She’d just always felt that way, the outsider. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. She’d pushed people away, not the other way around.
Abby nudged Penn’s knuckles with hers. “Penny. Oops. I’m sorry. Missy said you go by Penn now. I’ll have to get used to the new name.” She smiled. “It fits you.”
/> “Don’t worry.” Penn waved away the apology. “The aunts call me Penny half the time. No. Most of the time.”
“I’m glad we had a chance to talk.” She glanced at her chunky white watch. “I need to get to the ‘burgh.’” She raised shining eyes to Penn. “Do you think we could try it again sometime?”
Penn checked her own watch. Should she rush into another lunch with Abby? This one wasn’t so bad. She’d learned something about her past, something that shifted a couple of the broken pieces of her heart into place.
“I think that’ll work.” She smiled. Tentative, yes. But a real one. “Yeah. Let’s try it again.”
~*~
John slammed his gloved fists against the speed bag hanging from the basement ceiling. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. If the pounding rhythm of the bag and the gloves didn’t chase away the heaviness in his chest, maybe it’d exhaust him instead.
The ache underneath his ribcage strengthened daily. Would it be a permanent companion?
One pummeling strike walloped the bag into the ceiling tiles.
The sound alerted him to the pressure he asserted on the anchoring screws. He caught the teardrop shaped ball with both gloves. How long could David’s handyman skills withstand this beating?
Save the bag. Cool it.
A glance at the clock radio resting on a bare, particle board side table reminded him David would be home from work within the hour.
He swiped his wrist across his damp brow. A good workout always helped him unwind after several hours in a cockpit, loosened the kinks in his muscles, cleared his mind. He fooled himself for a while that he burned off steam after this morning’s flight. Now, however, he conceded other demons fueled his efforts.
Jancie’s words floated through his mind, mocked him. “You’re such a good young man, John Townsend.”
Yeah, right. If she only knew.
Unhooking the straps with his teeth, he stuck his glove under the opposite arm, slid his hand free, and chucked the gloves into a corner.
A good guy wouldn’t have hurt someone like Penn. She barely made eye contact with him today at the Apple meeting. A hello nod comprised their interaction. The sadness circling her eyes looked familiar, probably matched his own.
John grabbed his water bottle and sank onto the bean bag chair. He remembered the names people had tagged on him as he chugged his water—committee member, youth group chaperone, criminal nabber. Uh huh. A nice cover. He knew the real John.
Long, auburn hair teased his memory. He crushed the bottle, crackling the plastic and cascading the remaining liquid over his arm. Bolting upright, he flicked off the droplets.
John bounced from the bean bag and gripped a pair of twenty pound dumbbells. He didn’t want this memory. He felt bad enough with Penn’s reaction. He didn’t want to walk down memory lane.
He rammed the dumbbells toward the ceiling but couldn’t push the memories into the corners of his mind. They were sixteen years old...
Grunting against the weights and the memories, he pushed the dumbbells up again and again until his muscles trembled with the effort.
Lowering them to the linoleum, he dropped into a straight back chair, his head in his hands. What a sweet summer they had. His first girlfriend. Really—his only one. He’d had girls who were friends since then but kept himself purposefully at arm’s length.
He rocked on the back legs of the chair and heard his mom say, “Four on the floor, John,” but he ignored the faint admonition ringing in his brain.
The call came a few days into their junior year. Her dad died before leaving for work as a state patrol officer. Massive heart attack.
John squeezed his eyes shut, and the big, burly man filled his mind again. Scary to a sixteen-year-old boy but always nice, personable.
He crashed the front legs to the floor. What happened to the vow they’d made at youth group? The vow to...not to...
Grabbing a jump rope tangled near the weight bench, he clamped the handle in his fist. He coiled the rope around his elbow, up over his palm, under his elbow again until he knotted the end, securing the rope. He shrugged his arm free off the coils, pressed the loops together.
Although the memory of that time shined as clear as the chrome on his motorcycle—he could still see her pink sundress, smell her favorite bubblegum—he refused to relive the details. He tossed the jump rope aside. It slapped the floor beside the discarded gloves.
The warnings of his parents, his youth pastor chimed in his ears. “You’re spending too much time together. Give her some space.”
She didn’t want space and neither did he. He wanted to help her, to take away the pain that dogged her every day. He wanted her to be the happy girl who watched movies with him, flirted with him at the pool.
But she’d never be that girl again. Her dad died, and they’d crossed the line, broke the promise they’d made less than two months earlier.
Thank God—again—she hadn’t become pregnant.
Absolutely. Thank God. But that news hadn’t removed the awkwardness between them. Hadn’t helped them talk or make eye contact.
Then before Thanksgiving, she was gone. Moved back to her mother’s family in Iowa.
He scrubbed his chin. The whiskers scratched at his palm. He sank onto his knees.
God, I’m so sorry. I know You’ve already forgiven me, but I’m sorry I let these memories come back. I don’t want these memories.
He twisted the sweaty t-shirt away from his clammy chest.
Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus because through Christ Jesus the law of the Sprit of life set me free from the laws of sin and death.
He loosened his grip on the shirt.
A sweet promise from the Bible. A sweet release of the guilt.
Upstairs, a door slammed. David, home from work.
He drew in a long breath and shifted on his knees.
Thank You for forgiving me.
Now help me forgive myself.
~*~
Sitting at a red light, Penn drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, impatient to arrive at the coffee shop to meet Abby, the second time in a week and a half. “Can you believe it, Gretchen? I’m actually looking forward to seeing Abby again.” Where was the old dread? The sad feelings? Maybe she was finally growing up.
Or not...talking to her Volkswagen as if Gretchen were a real person, something she’d done since she started driving by herself.
The aunts had played very cool with the news of the rekindled relationship with Abby. They smiled, hugged her, but left her without the twenty questions game they so loved to play. Maybe they were growing up, too.
Abby embraced her when they met outside the shop. “Thanks for switching from lunch to coffee. My hours changed at the clinic, but I didn’t want to cancel on you.”
They were waiting for their skinny cappuccinos to cool when Abby dropped a bomb. “So I’m dying to know about the dreamy man you were with on the Fourth. Missy says he just moved here.”
Penn prayed a quick thank-you prayer. Her hands rested in her lap safe from the coffee mug that would have crashed into a hot, drippy mess at the surprising words.
Of all the possible topics of conversation, Penn never dreamed John would be the first one Abby chose.
She breathed in the soothing aroma of coffee. “You mean John?”
“That sounds right. Tell me about the dreamy John.” Abby raised the over-sized mug and sipped her drink.
What to say? Except for one Apple meeting, she hadn’t seen him since the storm clean up. Three weeks.
Kind and personable, he nodded hello when they made eye contact but didn’t walk her out or chase her into the parking lot for a chat beside Gretchen. Instead, he hung in the meeting room, sharing a joke with Jacob.
He’d been present in her mind, however. How many times a day did she have to banish thoughts of him? Her brain assured her she’d done the right thing, nipping in the bud whatever had started between
them. Her heart, however, argued the point, pushed tears from her eyes several times the first week.
The aunts had been oddly silent about John. She’d caught furtive glances and an occasional raised eyebrow between them, but they hadn’t probed her with questions. She couldn’t believe they gave up their idea of John as a suitor so quickly.
“What do you want to know?” And why does she want to know?
“Look at you blush. What’s the deal with you two?” Abby leaned her elbows on the table, rested her chin on top of her hands. “He looked pretty interested at the parade.”
She grimaced. “I’m not blushing. It’s the steam.” She fanned her hand over the mug. “We’re on the Apple committee together. That’s all.”
Abby cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. Nothing’s going on. If you’re interested—”
“Penn. I’m seeing someone. You’ll have to meet him.”
A lightness swelled in her chest.
“Then Missy...”
“Not Missy. She’s too...too Missy for a guy like John.”
“A guy like John?”
“Missy, and you know I love her, is flighty, looking for the next good time. John is a solid, stand-up guy. He’s a relationship guy. He doesn’t do the speed dating thing.”
That observation warmed her. Would John agree with Abby? “You got all that from the maybe five minutes you met him?”
“What can I say?” She grinned. “I’m that good.”
Penn rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Did you know he bungee jumps?”
“Cool.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
The bell signaled another customer.
Abby glanced at the door and sucked in a quick breath. “Don’t turn around, but guess who’s coming for coffee?”
Penn didn’t have to turn around.
Abby’s grin and the hairs on the back of her neck radioed that John had entered the shop.
When he stepped into her peripheral vision, she cut her gaze toward him. He hadn’t seen them. His attention centered on the menu board.
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