A Path Less Traveled

by Cathy Bryant

  There was no way she could call Andy, even though part of her yearned to hear the comfort in his voice. He’d already done more than enough. Besides she didn’t want to see the I-told-you-so look in his eyes. That left Dad or Steve. With a heavy weight on her chest, she grabbed her cell phone.

  Dad answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Laughter rang in the background. What was going on?

  “Dad, my car broke down.”

  “Where?” His voice took on instant seriousness.

  “I’m about a mile outside the city limits on my way to the ranch.”

  “We’ll be there soon.”

  True to his word, her father and brother pulled up a few minutes later.

  “Whose car is this?” Steve gave her a hard stare as he slammed the pickup door, his eyes disappearing behind his scowl.

  She raised her chin. “Mine.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since this afternoon when I traded the Suburban.”

  “You traded your SUV for this?” Dad spoke with an incredulous tone, his bushy gray eyebrows inching upward.

  “Relax, Dad. I checked the Blue Book values. I got enough cash to pay off the Suburban and have some left over.”

  Steve started the car and put it in gear. Nothing. “Transmission’s gone.”

  “Tr-transmission?” Trish hated the quake in her voice. “How much does that cost?”

  “A couple of thousand.” Steve’s mouth flat-lined. “If you’re lucky.”

  Dad stalked off toward the pickup, the fury on his face like a thunderous black cloud.

  So much for the extra cash. What she wouldn’t give for a hole to crawl into. “At least it gets good gas mileage.” The explanation sounded weak and puny to her ears.

  “Yeah, especially now.” Steve deadpanned the line, but none of them laughed.

  Later that night, after paying to have her car towed to Billy Ray’s Auto Shop, and after she and Bo made the trip to Miller’s Creek in the ranch pickup, Trish stood in the cottage and ogled her artwork with a critical eye. If only she could make a living with her paintings like Andy had mentioned.

  Was he just offering encouragement when he’d said she should sell her art, or was it a viable option? She chewed her bottom lip and tumbled the idea in her brain. The monthly Morganville Trade Days were next weekend. Should she take the chance of renting a booth space?

  Her imagination took over as she considered the possibility. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. All of the paintings could go except the one Andy liked best. That would be her farewell gift for all he’d done to help her and Bo.

  * * * * *

  Andy rolled out of bed on Saturday, still fatigued. He yawned and raked a hand over his whiskers. The past few weeks had been crazy. Besides keeping up with his law practice and t-ball team, he’d monitored the new building’s progress and his father’s decline. Sleep and relaxation had become a precious commodity.

  He moved to the bathroom sink and removed his shaving supplies from the medicine cabinet. The mirror revealed sagging pouches of skin beneath his eyes. More evidence that time was passing.

  Even with his father’s medical problems, the main thing tormenting him now was Trish’s situation. He’d spied her from a distance at church last Sunday, but by the time he’d made it out the door, she and Bo were pulling away in an old pick-up. What had happened to her car? He lathered his face with shaving cream while the sink filled with water.

  Yesterday he’d learned from the scuttlebutt at Granny’s Kitchen that Trish had been hired to help the summer custodial staff at school, and Dani mentioned that she also planned to sell her artwork today at the Morganville Trade Days. If the tide didn’t turn for her, and quick, she’d be gone before summer was up. The thought flooded his body with panic. Lord, help me know how to help her. And help me know when to let go, if that’s Your plan.

  An image of the stacked paintings in her cottage popped into his mind. He needed to find a way to buy her art today without her knowing it. And he knew exactly which painting he wanted.

  Half an hour later, shaved and showered, he downed a banana and glass of milk and headed downstairs. Just as he reached the bottom step, his cell phone rang.

  “Mr. Tyler, this is New Horizons Nursing Home. We wanted to make you aware of a problem.” The woman’s voice held a gentle Southern drawl.

  He stopped in the foyer of City Hall and ran a hand down his neck. “What kind of problem?”

  “Your father had a seizure, and we’ve transferred him to the hospital.”

  His heart pounded against his ribs. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Half an hour later he arrived at Morganville General, parked his car, and hurried inside, the smell of disinfectant burning his nostrils. Within a few minutes, he located his father’s room. A doctor and nurse stood at the foot of the bed perusing charts and conversing.

  “I’m Andy Tyler, his son.” He looked toward the frail man who once intimidated him. “How is he?”

  “I’m Dr. Green.” The older man with salt and pepper hair shook his hand, concern in his face and voice. “We gave him some medication to stop the seizures, but I’m glad you’re here. I need to ask a question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does your father consume large amounts of alcohol?”

  “He used to, so I assume he still has a problem.” There’d been days when he’d come home from school to find the house littered with empty beer cans. “Why?”

  “Because it explains both the dementia and seizures.” He no longer made eye contact, his lips pressed into a taut line of disapproval. “I’d like permission to try an experimental drug to see if it controls the seizures a little better. Of course, the nature of an experimental drug is that it is in the early testing stage. We’ll need your written permission.” He never looked at him directly, but instead stared at his clipboard.

  “Of course.” Andy battled ancient feelings. Was yet another person shunning him because of his father’s problem? Like he was somehow responsible.

  The doctor clicked his pen and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get the paperwork rounded up for you to sign.” He pivoted and hustled from the room with not so much as a “goodbye” or “nice to meet you.” The nurse plumped Dad’s pillow, sent him a “poor you” smile, then left.

  Andy released a sigh and checked his watch. As badly as he wanted to get to Trish, Dad was his responsibility. He wandered down the hall to a chair in the waiting room, picked up a magazine, and tried to distract himself with an article about plants that thrived in hot Texas summers. Fifteen minutes passed. He tossed the unread magazine aside and approached the nurse’s station.

  A woman in scrubs stared at her computer screen, never glancing his way. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m supposed to sign some papers for Dr. Green concerning my father’s medication. I’ve been here a while—”

  “We’re working on it.” She glanced up, impatience flashing in her eyes. “Our computers are having issues. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll call you as soon as I have them ready.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be in my father’s room.”

  Back at Dad’s bedside, he plopped down in the chair next to beeping machines and stared at the grizzled profile of the man who’d once struck terror in his heart. The man he’d loved desperately—the man who’d never shown love in return. Trying to figure out why was pointless. The best thing to do was accept it for what it was and move on.

  A scene from his childhood flashed to his mind. His father had towered over him, his breath thick with booze. “It’s all your fault that your mother left!” Andy blinked back the sting in his eyes. For years he’d believed it, and part of him still wondered if—

  “Here you go, Mr. Tyler.” The nurse entered the room with a clipboard and pen and held it out to Andy. “Thanks for being so patient.”

  He signed his name and handed it back. “I’ll be back later today to check on him.”

  It wasn’t dif
ficult to locate Morganville Trade Days. All he had to do was follow the flow of traffic. Downtown swarmed with people. After several minutes of driving around, he found a parking spot, and joined the hustle and bustle. Historic buildings housed businesses and encircled a turn-of-the century courthouse. The pecan trees surrounding the square were so thick that grass struggled to grow in the shade.

  Andy tried to keep a safe distance from both sides of the street. It wouldn’t do for Trish to see him. He finally spotted her on the far side of the square, and his heart melted. She stood near the entrance of her booth in a flowered dress that billowed around her knees. Several minutes passed. Her attempts to befriend people who passed appeared futile. No one entered her booth. Only a few accepted the business cards she offered.

  He ducked behind a pecan tree to think through his options. He needed an accomplice. An elderly man parked on a nearby bench, the woman with him unloading her packages. “I know you’re bored to tears, Henry. Why don’t you sit here while I shop?”

  The man nodded in relief.

  As the woman bustled away, Andy approached. “Excuse me, sir, my name is Andy Tyler. Could I get you to do me a favor?”

  The man didn’t respond, but just looked skeptical.

  “I want to purchase a painting from an artist here, but I don’t want her to know I’m the one buying it.” Andy pointed toward the stall where Trish’s artwork hung on display. “She’s right over there.”

  “Why don’t you want her to know?” The old man’s tone held wariness.

  Andy propped one hand against a pecan tree’s rough bark. “Well, it’s a long story, but the short version is that she’d think I was doing it just to help her out.”

  “Is that why you’re buying it?”

  “Yes and no. I want to help her, but I also really love her artwork.”

  “You in love with her?” The man cocked his bushy eyebrows in a way that made Andy laugh.

  Good question. “Let’s just say I care about her.”

  “Same thing, if you ask me,” muttered the old man, “but in that case, I’ll do it.”

  Andy grinned and reached for his wallet. “The painting I want is large and shows a cowboy hat on a fence post with a rocky path and bluebonnets.” He withdrew the bills and handed them to the man, who reached for his own wallet. “I want her to have all this money.”

  The man’s bushy brows rose again as he counted the money. “You must love her a lot.” He tottered off toward Trish’s booth.

  Andy hustled to the safe side of a pecan tree to watch. The man located the painting and pointed it out to Trish, but she shook her head no. Andy frowned. Why wouldn’t she sell it? The man stuffed the bills back in the wallet, shook her hand, and hurried back across the street.

  “She won’t sell,” he wheezed once he reached the bench.

  “Did she say why?”

  “Something about how she planned to give the painting to someone, but she’d take orders to paint another one just like it.”

  Andy peered around a low-hanging branch. Trish looked utterly dejected. Her shoulders slumped and she hung her head. He turned back to the man.

  “Let’s try again. Let her know you really want the painting, but you need it now. Tell her you’ll give her half the money now and send her the other half later.”

  The man gasped. “The painting’s beautiful, but it’s not worth that much money.”

  “It is to me.”

  The older man’s expression changed from incredulity to soft understanding. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Andy watched the scenario unfold from the safety of his pecan tree. His new friend gestured and talked while Trish listened intently.

  She hesitated as if mulling over the man’s words, then reluctantly nodded. Henry handed her the cash, which she put in a bank bag. Then she gave him a business card and removed the painting from its hanger. The man thanked her and shook her hand before scurrying back.

  “Here it is.”

  “Thanks so much. You’ll never know how much I appreciate this.” He took the painting then reached out to grasp the man’s hand.

  “Oh, I think I know.”

  Andy smiled. “How?”

  The man glanced over at the park bench, where his wife unloaded an array of multi-colored bags. His eyes misted and a soft smile curved his mouth. He nodded toward his wife. “That’s how.”

  Chapter 19

  Trish did a double-take when she spied Andy from a block away. He paced outside the developing shell of his new office in a dark suit, his blond curls tousled by the breeze. The sight took her breath away. She could no longer deny her attraction—spiritually, mentally, physically, emotionally—there was nothing about him she didn’t like. Even more than her family, he’d been a support system and source of constant encouragement for her and Bo, his Christ-likeness shining like a beacon in a dark storm.

  The one traffic light in Miller’s Creek flashed to red. She braked to a stop and stifled a cough, the fumes from the diesel pickup directly ahead of her strong enough to choke a horse.

  Andy had kept his distance for a couple of weeks, but over the past week, he’d been more attentive, more like the Andy she’d desperately missed. She moistened her lips and rested an elbow on the car door. What made the situation especially difficult to bear was his attraction to her. She felt it every time he was near. Felt his gaze on her. Noticed his tenderly-spoken words and the soft sheen in his eyes. To his credit, he never mentioned his feelings, never once pressured her.

  A heavy sigh escaped. She’d love to reveal her own growing attraction, but it wouldn’t be fair to offer either one of them the hope of a relationship. Not when everything pointed toward a move to Austin.

  Sometimes trusting God meant launching out in faith. And for her that leap of faith possibly included leaving Miller’s Creek. She brought a hand up to rub away the tension building behind her eyes. Only one painting had sold in Morganville last weekend—the one she’d planned to give Andy.

  At least it had been a big sale. The proceeds had covered the house mortgage and utility bills. Hopefully, with her next paycheck for Andy’s job, she’d be able to pay off her debt to Otis and have a little left over for the move.

  The light turned green, and she pressed the accelerator. She had no other design jobs lined up, and the mental stress of not being able to provide for Bo was wearing her down. But she refused to become a burden to her family.

  As she pulled into the parking lot, Andy met her, his dimpled grin wreaking havoc with her resolve to appear disinterested. He opened the car door. “Well, don’t you look all business-like today?” His gaze rested on her hair, which she’d pulled back away from her face.

  “That’s what I call curb-side service.” Trish smiled briefly, then reached for her digital camera, notepad, and measuring tape. She exited the car, sucking in a deep breath to slow her racing pulse.

  “Anything for you.” He gave a mock bow.

  She ignored the gesture and faced the new building. “Shall we?”

  He motioned with one arm. “After you.”

  They traveled from room to room discussing furniture layout, and confirmed the color choices for each space. Andy helped measure the rooms for flooring and the windows for draperies. Within the hour they were finished.

  Trish turned toward him. “I think that gives me everything I need. I’ll get things started so we can get you moved in before the Chamber banquet.”

  Andy shifted his weight to the opposite foot and glanced at the floor before peering back up at her. “Could I interest you in lunch at Soldano’s?” The words were spoken with slight hesitation.

  She searched for a way to say no, but just couldn’t bring herself to destroy the hope in his eyes. “Sounds nice.”

  His face lit up. “Great! I’ll give you a ride.” He grabbed her hand and led her to his car, her heart pounding so fast she could barely breathe. Why, oh why, hadn’t she told him no?

  * * * * *

  Andy
could hardly contain his jubilation as he hustled around the car to open Trish’s door. This was his chance. He’d hoped for an opportune moment to tell her how he felt, had prayed for it. He warred with a sudden attack of nerves. He could do this. God had brought him this far and wouldn’t desert him now.

  Once inside Soldano’s, the air awash with the aroma of grilled chicken, enchiladas, and sopapillas, Gracie Soldano led them through an archway and seated them in the front near a large plate glass window that overlooked a lush garden. The lunch crowd had almost dissipated, and they were virtually alone. Perfect.

  He pretended to study the menu, knowing full well he’d order the chicken fajitas like he always did. Andy thought through what he wanted and needed to say. While part of him wanted to blurt out his feelings and get it over with, it would be better to wait until after they’d eaten. Maybe by then he could work up his courage.

  “So how’s your work going?” Trish sipped her iced water.

  “Can’t complain. More than enough to keep me busy.” A solemn expression covered not only her face, but inched its way into her posture and dark eyes. “How about you? Dani told me you entered some of your artwork in a show at Morganville.” Sneaking around behind her back to buy the painting still made him feel like a creep—no, make that a creep and a stalker.

  “Not really a show. It was the Morganville Trade Days.”

  Gracie swished up in her traditional Mexican dress, plunked down a basket of fresh tortilla chips and salsa, and took their order.

  After she left, Andy returned his attention to Trish. “How’d you do?”

  “I only sold one painting.” She lowered her gaze, her tone flat. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. I got a lot for it. The one you really liked.”

  “Good for you.” How could he best encourage her? “Don’t be upset, Trish. There are other ways to get your work out there. Keep trusting God.”

  “I’m trying, but His plans seem to be different from mine.” She blinked rapidly, then stared out the window, her mind obviously somewhere else.