A Path Less Traveled

by Cathy Bryant

  Sheila leaned back and shook her head, eyes wide.

  Andy chuckled. “Let me tell him, Sheila. It’s such an interesting story, don’t you think?” A look of horror washed over her face, but he continued. “Sheila and I were engaged. In fact, the night before our wedding I caught her kissing her old boyfriend.”

  Chase’s toothpaste grin faded. Andy patted his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Chase. Keep an eye out for those old boyfriends of hers. She collects ‘em like Barbie dolls.” Andy whirled around and stomped out the door, the delicious food smells stalking him.

  He let out a frustrated breath as he pulled out of the parking space into typical Dallas traffic. Sheila was right. They ran in the same circles, and he couldn’t avoid her. She’d serve as a constant reminder of his bachelorhood. On the bright side, she’d also be a reminder of the out-of-control fast ball he’d dodged.

  Though the confrontation with Sheila left a queasy feeling in his gut, his hunger pangs were stronger. He pulled into a fast-food drive-through and ordered a burger to-go, then headed back to the office.

  Andy entered through the back door and hurried to his suite. A boring shade of beige greeted him. Beige walls, beige carpet. A different kind of prison, but a prison none-the-less.

  He’d just plopped down in his leather desk chair when Debbie, the firm’s receptionist, buzzed him. “Mr. Wayne on line one.”

  “Thanks, Deb.” He pressed the button. “Mr. Wayne, this is Andy Tyler. How can I help you?”

  “As much dough as I’m shelling out, you’d think you could get my son’s case moving along a little faster.” Mr. Wayne, his voice razor-edged, was obviously used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

  Andy pressed a hand to his stomach, which felt more unsettled with each tick of the clock. When would these wealthy dads realize he had no control over the speed of the justice system? Better yet, when would they start showering their kids with time instead of money? Then they wouldn’t need his services. “Mr. Wayne, the judge sets the date of the hearing, not me. I promise as soon as I know more, I’ll be in contact.”

  The man didn’t express a ‘thank you’ or a ‘good-bye,’ but slammed the phone with so much force Andy’s ear continued to ring long after he laid down the receiver.

  He peeled back the paper wrapper on his burger to take a bite, his mouth salivating, but the buzzer sounded again.

  “Yes?” He pelted the word in frustration.

  “Mr. Robert Simms on line one.”

  As soon as he said hello, Andy regretted taking the call.

  “Mr. Tyler, I’m in debt collection, and our records show your father has neglected six months of payment on his overdue account. We thought you might like the opportunity to help him before we take legal action.” He spoke the words in a matter-of-fact monotone.

  Andy ran a hand down his neck. “How much this time?”

  “Two thousand plus.”

  “Send me an itemized bill.” He gave the man his fax number, then banged the phone to the receiver, his insides pure acid. He’d had all he could take, and it was only noon. He buzzed Debbie.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Hold all calls until further notice.” He slouched in his chair and scarfed down his now cold burger. The constant phone calls and meetings were part of his job, but everything else was his choice. And a choice meant he could determine what to do next. He could stay in Dallas with a life he now hated, or he could move to Miller’s Creek.

  His thoughts turned to Trish and Little Bo. Under the tragic circumstances, there would be challenging days ahead, but he yearned to do for Little Bo what Lester had done for him—to make a difference.

  He’d already crunched numbers and met with the Miller’s Creek city attorney. It’d be tough at first, but between the job for the city and picking up private clients on the side, it should work.

  Andy drafted a quick e-mail to his partner to request a conference, then called Steve to confirm his decision to take the job. A few minutes later, he hung up the phone, his plan taking on new dimension. He tilted the chair back and laced his fingers behind his head, his confidence skyrocketing. Why hadn’t he decided to make a fresh start a long time ago?

  Next order of business . . . to call Trish.

  * * * * *

  Trish’s legs thrashed. The anger in Dad’s eyes sent waves of shame crashing over her. “I told you no, and you did it anyway! Your disobedience put you and your brother in danger!”

  She bolted to an upright position, her heart pounding against her ribs, and peered groggily around the room, the bed sheet twisted around her ankles. Just a nightmare. She brought a hand to her face and breathed out her relief. It’d been years since she’d remembered the time she deliberately went for a horse ride against her father’s orders. Along a gravelly butte, her horse had slipped and hurled them both into a ravine. Steve had risked his life to rescue her.

  Trish flopped back against her pillow. Funny how a childhood memory could still haunt you. She was in the ravine again, and the blame lay squarely on her shoulders. Letting the insurance lapse had been an accident, but it was still her fault. Would Steve and Dad have to rescue her once again?

  The alarm clock usually glared red numbers, but this morning it was blank. From behind the mini-blinds the sky glowed brightly. Trish hustled out of bed and snatched her cell phone, gasping when she saw the readout. Almost eleven? They’d overslept, and on the day she planned to take Bo back to school. She ran to the kitchen. The microwave clock was blank, too. The electric company must have grown tired of waiting for payment and turned off her power.

  She scrambled to wake Little Bo and get him ready, grabbed the last granola bar for him to eat in the car, and dashed to school. Within thirty minutes they stood outside the brick and stone building. “But I don’t wanna go to school, Mommy. Please don’t make me.”

  Trish knelt in front of him in the gravel parking lot. He thrust out his bottom lip and cocked his head to one side. Puppy dog eyes—she hated when he used his puppy dog eyes. “Sweetie, you have to. Mommy has to go to work so she can pay your baseball fees. And someone I know has a birthday coming up.” She smiled and tickled his belly.

  He pulled away. “I don’t wanna play baseball.” He hung his head and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Why did this have to be so hard? She rose to her feet, grabbed his hand, and started for the building. “I’m sorry, Bo, but you have to go to school.”

  Her son whimpered and drug his feet.

  Trish gulped in air, yanked open the steel door, and side-stepped a group of teachers who stood in the hall. She ignored their stares and whispers and continued on to his classroom. Good timing. The class had just returned from lunch and was pulling out their nap mats under the supervision of Mrs. Walsh.

  Disregarding the woman’s stare, Trish ushered Bo to his cubby to put his backpack away. Carla Clark’s son stood nearby with a group of boys. “Look, the thumb-sucker’s back.” He pointed at Bo and laughed. The other kids followed his lead.

  Trish sent them a hard stare, then guided Bo to a table where children were working puzzles. “Look, Bo, you love puzzles.” She pulled out a chair, and he sat with reluctance.

  With a deep breath, she marched to Mrs. Walsh’s desk. The woman seemed a little more approachable today. “Mrs. Walsh, Bo told me the Clark boy has been calling him names on the playground. That’s why he started the fight.” The teacher opened her mouth, but Trish continued. If she didn’t get the words out, she’d lose her nerve. “I’ve had a talk with Bo about his behavior, and he’s promised not to let it happen again. Could you please see that the other boy is kept away from my son?”

  “Mrs. James, I can’t do that. I will have a talk with Brody, but Bo has to learn to get along with the other children. He’s already a loner. It’s not good for him to be isolated.”

  Tears threatened, but she blinked to hold them at bay. “I know, but right now he’s fragile. If you could just try to help him through until th
e end of the school year, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said, a begrudging tint to her voice.

  “Thank you.” Trish hurried to where Bo sat, his eyes pinned on her. She bent down to give him a hug. “I have to go.”

  He frowned, his dark eyes moist. “Mommy, please.”

  Her stomach churned. This was for his own good. “After school I’ll take you for ice cream and a trip to the park.” Trish ran from the room before he caused a scene.

  Behind her Little Bo started to sob. Not only was she a horrible businesswoman, she was a horrible mother. She pushed through a line of children and out the door, shaking and crying. Only when she reached the privacy of her car did she give in to her tumultuous emotions. She cried all the way to the store.

  As she unlocked the door to Designs By Trish, her stomach grumbled. She set down her things in the musty-smelling building, grabbed a package of saltines, and gulped down three or four to appease her growling belly. Okay, she could do this. She had to for Bo’s sake. Trish opened her desk drawer and retrieved the phone book.

  A while later she clicked her phone shut. The last call had been made, and no one needed their store fronts decorated. Now what? Call people to see if they wanted their living rooms redone? She rested her forehead against the heel of her palm. God, I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to trust You, but when the checking account is overdrawn and we need groceries, it’s kind of hard. Help me.

  Trish checked the time. Already two o’clock. She nibbled at another cracker until it was half-gone, then stared at the other half in disgust. She was tired of crackers. Tired of being hungry. Her cell phone buzzed as she placed the uneaten half back in the waxy paper. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Trish. It’s Andy.”

  She slumped in her chair. “Hi.”

  “Bad day?”

  “No worse than any other, I guess.”

  The line grew quiet. “You okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  “Uh, I wanted to let you know I’ve decided to make the move.”

  Great. Just what she needed—someone else who felt compelled to rescue her. She had nothing. No words to say. Nothing to encourage him the way he’d encouraged her.

  “I’m going to set up a temporary office in City Hall while I build my living quarters and office across from the train depot.” He sounded excited about his plans. “I need your help.”

  Trish snorted. “Are you asking or telling?”

  “Neither. I’m begging. I have to stay in Dallas this week to tie up loose ends, but I’d like my temporary office ready when I arrive Friday evening.” He let out an audible sigh. “Look, Trish, I know this is short notice and I know you’re busy, but I really need your help.”

  She sat up straighter. Why not take the job? Her main concern had been to keep distance between her and Andy, but he wouldn’t even be here. “I’ll need money for purchases.”

  “Set up an account, and I’ll wire whatever you need.” He shuffled papers in the background, and she imagined him cradling the phone between his shoulder and sandy curls. “I’ll also send you half of whatever price you set up front, and pay you the second half this weekend.”

  A burden the size of Texas rolled off her chest. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Tyler.”

  After they straightened out the details, Trish clicked her phone shut, her mood suddenly buoyant. Her first real client. And not a wedding, but an actual office space. Maybe other businesses would see the benefit of her services. Sure it was only one job, but at least it would help pay the bills and give her portfolio a boost.

  Amazing how life could turn around in a heartbeat. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed for the door with a jauntiness in her step she hadn’t experienced in ages. First she’d set up Andy’s expense account. Then she’d treat herself to a nice lunch.

  Later that afternoon when she picked up Little Bo from school, she felt like a different woman than the frantic mother who had dropped him off. And to her delight, Bo looked better, too.

  He bolted out the classroom door, his face bright with an excited smile. “Guess what, Mom? I learned to tie my shoes today.” He knelt in the crowded hall and proceeded to untie his shoe. “Watch. First I make two bunny ears then I cross ‘em. Next I have to tuck one under the other.” Bo fumbled the last step, and his mouth turned down at the corners.

  “Here, honey, let me help.” Trish bent down.

  He pushed her hand out of the way. “No, Mom. I can do it myself.” He started the process again, his expression a combination of concentration and determination. His words rang in her ears. I can do it myself. He finished with a lopsided bow, and then sent a triumphant grin.

  Suddenly, the path ahead came into focus for the first time in months, so clear she could see a fork in the road. One road led to dependence on her family. The second road would be rough, and one she’d have to travel on her own. It might even mean leaving Miller’s Creek, but it was better than feeling inept. She stood, her spine ramrod straight, her shoulders squared.

  Yes, she could do it herself. And she would.

  Chapter 10

  Trish stared at her father, unsure how to respond. “We’re doing okay.”

  Dad pinned her with his eagle-eyes, making her feel like a twelve-year-old who’d been caught smoking behind the barn. “You’re hiding something.”

  She faced the pine cabinets and sink and scraped food into the garbage disposal, the grating noise adding to her shredded spirit. Would he ever treat her like an adult? After she loaded the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, she slammed the door and twisted the knob. The motor whirred, and water trickled.

  “Look, you’re over here all the time cooking my meals and cleaning the house. At least let me pay you for your time.” His throaty words held barely-contained emotion.

  It was true. She cooked his breakfast and supper, cleaned his house, and washed his clothes. Even if he could pay her enough to meet the mortgage each month it would help. No! She refused to take the easy way out. These things she did for him because she loved him, not for a handout. It wasn’t like it was any big deal, especially since her house was a quick walk away. “It’s a little tough right now, Dad, but we’re going to be okay. Andy’s already paid me half of what he owes me. I should get the rest today.”

  “And then what? Have any more jobs lined up?”

  She turned toward him, lips pressed, and shook her head. “Only the possible position in Austin.”

  The news apparently cut into him, because his forehead furrowed, and he flinched. “Are you actually considering that move?”

  She steeled her resolve with a quick breath. “I might not have a choice.”

  Dad lumbered from his seat and placed his large hands on her shoulders. “You can’t do that to Little Bo.”

  “I’m not doing it to him. I’m doing it for him. There’s a huge difference.”

  “You know all of us are willing to help.”

  “Of course.” She pulled away from his grasp and wiped crumbs from the counter and deposited them in the trash. “But I also know I’m a big girl and can do it myself.” Okay, now she was regressing. A minute ago she felt like a twelve-year-old, now she sounded like she was five.

  “That’s nothing but stubborn pride talking, Patricia Diane!”

  His angry words slapped her in the face. It had been years since he’d used her full name.

  A weary sigh escaped him. “Remember the verse I showed you the other day?”

  “The one about trusting the Lord?”

  Dad nodded. “Don’t depend on your own strength when you can depend on God.”

  “I am depending on God.” Her anger spiraled upward, increasing the volume of her words. “I just don’t want to depend on your charity.” The words came out more forceful than she’d intended, and her father grew stone quiet.

  Finally he broke the tense silence. “How do you know that God doesn’t mean to provide for you through us?”

&nb
sp; Trish arranged the dish towel to where it hung perfectly from the oven handle, ignoring his question. “I have to go. I’m meeting Andy to put the finishing touches on his temporary office.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “Yes. See you later.” She hurried out the French doors at the back of the house before he reduced her to a screaming two-year-old.

  The spring morning already held warmth, the air dry and dusty. Little Bo lounged beneath a small grove of oaks and petted Steve’s golden lab.

  “Come on, honey. We have to go into town. Mama has work to do.”

  “I want to stay here with Papaw.”

  “No.” Her son was her responsibility, and no one else’s. “You need to come with me.”

  “Why?” His chin held a defiant tilt.

  “Because I said so.” How she’d hated those words as a child, and had even sworn she’d never use them. “Come on.”

  “Please, Mom, it’s Saturday.” His voice took on a whine. “There won’t be anything to do.”

  “You can take some books and puzzles. Now let’s go.” She checked her watch. The last thing she needed was to be late to a meeting with her only client. “Bo, now.” She struggled to keep her anger in check. “We don’t want to keep Andy waiting.”

  “Andy?” His head shot up, his eyes hopeful. “Andy will be there?”

  “Yes.”

  He sprinted toward their house, only a few steps away, but concealed by live oaks. “Gotta get my glove and ball.”

  Trish stared at his retreating back and frowned. She should be glad he’d agreed to come with her so easily. Instead it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She followed after her son, entered the kitchen from the garage, and moved to the sink to rinse out the coffee pot. At least the house was clean. Another sleepless night had provided plenty of time for the housework.

  The sound of Little Bo digging through his toy box echoed down the hallway. She flipped the handle on the faucet. It clattered into the sink, and a spray of water shot into the air, drenching her clothes and leaving puddles on the counter and tile floor. Her cry of surprise brought Bo hustling into the room.