by Cathy Bryant
The softly-spoken words spawned fresh fear in his heart. What if he bared his soul only to have her disappear like every other woman in his life? He shook off the thought. Love was a risk—a risk he was prepared to take when it came to Trish.
Their meal arrived a few minutes later, and Andy delved into the creamy guacamole. Amid bites of the delicious food, the conversation relaxed into comfortable chatter about various subjects from the baseball team to Trish’s one-day stint as a substitute teacher near the end of the school year.
Andy couldn’t keep his eyes off her while she relayed the teacher story. The hard edge of disappointment was replaced by animation, and laughter now sparkled in her eyes.
Trish continued to chatter away. “The lesson was on healthy breakfast foods. I asked the first-graders what they liked to eat for breakfast. One little boy raised his hand and said ‘blueberry Muppets.’”
They both laughed out loud.
Their eyes met, and Trish shyly lowered her head. “I’ve really enjoyed our lunch today, Andy. For just a little while it helped me forget my problems, and for that, I thank you.”
Andy gulped in a big breath. “I have something I’d like to give you.” He reached in his jacket for the gift he’d ordered, pulled the package from his pocket, and pushed it across the table toward her.
She sighed and tucked her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes sad again. “I can’t. You’ve already given me so much.”
“Like what?”
“Like my son back. I’m not sure he would’ve made it through all his psychological problems if it weren’t for you. If anyone deserves a gift, it’s you.”
He laid a hand on top of hers. “It was my privilege and honor to help. I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve spent with both of you.”
Again she lowered her eyes, and this time allowed them to rest on the gift. She seemed apprehensive about accepting it.
“Please take it, Trish. It would mean a lot to me.”
She met his gaze and attempted a smile, then nodded.
Time slowed as she withdrew her hand from beneath his, carefully undid the tape on the package, and lifted the box lid to reveal the wooden box inside. Carved into the lid was the verse, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not into your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”
Trish drew back with a sharp intake of air.
“Something wrong?”
She glanced up, mouth half open, the area above her eyes wrinkled. “No, it’s lovely. It’s just a special verse to me—one that God seems to keep directing me to.”
Andy’s breath caught in his throat. Her too?
Her expression still held heavy sorrow. She lifted the lid of the box to uncover the collection of artist’s brushes he’d placed inside. Fingers shaking, she gently stroked them. “These are expensive. I’m not sure I can accept them.”
“Please. I believe in the God-given ability you have. I-I wanted to encourage you to keep painting and keep trusting.”
She studied him a while longer—almost as if memorizing his face—then gave a tentative nod. “Thank you.”
His heart galloped, half in joy, half in apprehension. He swallowed hard and reached across the table to take her hands in his own. “Trish, I want you to know how special you are to me. I’d be honored if you’d allow me to . . . to . . .” To what? How did he put into words that he wanted to spend every spare second with her?
Trish yanked her hands away, her chocolate-drop eyes swimming with tears. “Andy, I wish things could be different. I really do. But somehow the timing seems all wrong. Not just because of Doc’s death, but because of where I am in my life.” A tear escaped and slid down her right cheek. She raised fingertips to swipe it away. “I’m not sure I can make it in Miller’s Creek. If something doesn’t change soon, I’ll be forced to move to Austin. Under those circumstances, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to allow this to progress any further.”
Chapter 20
What a lousy birthday this had turned out to be. Bo’s first birthday without his daddy, and Trish hadn’t had the time or money to throw a big party.
She peered in the rearview mirror at her son’s sad eyes and pouting lips. He hadn’t been pleased with either of the gifts she’d given him, and she understood why. Bo had asked for only one thing—a video game—but she didn’t have that kind of money. Instead she’d purchased a football and a stuffed horse like the one Dr. Wyse had in her office. Seeing his fallen face had just about done her in.
Now—on this beautiful Saturday afternoon in June when she’d rather be painting—they were on their way to Mama Beth’s house for a family birthday party. Ever since Dani had entered the family, it seemed like they were always going to Mama Beth’s for some event or celebration.
She steered into the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires of her Yield-sign-yellow rattletrap. In sharp contrast, Andy’s sleek silver sports car sparkled in front of her.
Trish frowned and pressed her lips together. She’d managed to keep things on the friendly-slash-professional side since the incident at Soldano’s, but rather than the normal easygoing conversation they once shared, everything now felt stilted and awkward. It was difficult enough to be around him during t-ball games and at the job site. Now she had to deal with him at intimate family functions as well? She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. This wouldn’t be easy, but she’d somehow muddle through for her son.
“Why are we here?” Bo poked his head up from the back seat.
“It’s a surprise.”
His face brightened. “What is it?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”
He released his seat belt, bounded from the car with a whoop, and headed for the picket fence gate. She slammed her car door and followed, attempting to psych herself up for the party, the inevitable move from Miller’s Creek also weighing heavy. In spite of months of financial hardship and her memories of the accident and happier times, she still loved this place. Still called it home. And bit by bloody bit, it was being ripped from her grasp. Would life ever be the same once they left?
She trudged to the front door and knocked, Bo already long gone.
“Come on in, Trish.” Mama Beth sang out the words, bustled toward the door, and engulfed her in a hug. “How are you, dear?”
“Fine.” The familiar lie burst from her lips, but she didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t cause her to dissolve in tears.
The older woman skewed her lips to one side and studied her through narrowed blue eyes. “Everyone’s in the kitchen,” she said kindly.
Trish stepped toward the back room, the pine floors creaking beneath her feet, the scent of a fresh-baked cake in the air. Even this old house was a part of her heritage—a part of who she was. How much of her would be left with all the pieces she’d leave behind once they moved to Austin?
Dad met her at the doorway to the large eat-in kitchen and hugged her neck. “There’s my beautiful daughter.” He crooned the words, rocked back and forth with her still in his embrace, and kissed her cheek.
Dani and Steve were close behind to greet her and give her a hug.
Andy stood on the far side of the table, his frank green-eyed perusal sending off shivers down her bare arms. He sent a half-smile and wave, which she returned with an equal lack of enthusiasm.
Mama Beth clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Y’all have a seat and help me sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the birthday boy.”
Little Bo’s face beamed with the force of a thousand suns as they sang, and Mama Beth placed a towering chocolate cake with six candles on the table. He smiled at the people he loved. The people who loved him.
The bittersweet moment brought tears to Trish’s eyes. This might well be his last birthday party in Miller’s Creek. She reached up a hand to dab the tears, glancing around to make sure no one noticed.
Andy’s gaze was tr
ained on her, his expression solemn, his eyes troubled and stormy.
“Happy Birthday to you!” The song ended and Bo blew out all the candles in one breath, his face a study in triumph.
Trish snapped a photograph. Maybe one day she could paint the picture with the new brushes Andy had given her. She longed to sneak a peek at Andy, but dared not. Instead she turned toward her father.
The sight before her sucked air from the room. Dad’s hand covered Mama Beth’s, and the look in his eyes was one of unadulterated love.
Rage bubbled inside. When had this happened? And why? Mom had been dead less than a year, and Dad was already in love. With Mama Beth. And judging by the happy glow on her face, she loved him, too. No wonder she hadn’t seen much of him lately.
She swallowed against the rush of emotion and focused on her son, trying to erase the image of Dad and Mama Beth from her mind.
Bo giggled as he reached for the first gift and opened it, then squealed with glee. “Just what I wanted!” He held up the video game he’d asked her for, jumped from the ladder-back chair, and hurled himself into her brother’s lap. “Thanks, Uncle Steve.”
“You’re welcome, tiger. Aunt Dani picked it out.”
Bo peered over Steve’s shoulder and shot Dani a huge grin. “Thanks, Aunt Dani.”
She smiled back and patted his arm, then allowed her hand to rest on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re welcome, sweet pea.”
Jealousy and resentment swirled and mingled in Trish’s insides. She was tired of not being able to give her son what he wanted. Tired of trying to make ends meet in a place that had no use for interior designers. Tired of happy couples. She bit her lip and battled more threatening tears. Why had God deserted her?
The rest of the party passed in a fog, as if everything had been tainted by a gray wash she could no longer paint over with high hopes and pipe dreams. Even Mama Beth’s delicious chocolate cake and her son’s laughter couldn’t pull her from the mist. Darkness had descended with Doc’s death, and now enshrouded her with such intensity she doubted she could ever escape.
Dad cornered her a few minutes later. “You okay, honey?”
She tried to muster a feeble smile, but instead, bitterness spilled from her in words designed to hurt. “Obviously not as good as you.” She growled the comment as angry tears plopped to her cheeks.
His eyes and mouth widened, revealing the pain her sharp tone inflicted. “What do you mean?”
“What’s with you and Mama Beth? And why am I the last to know?” She sounded selfish and small, but didn’t care one whit.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid you would react, well, like this.”
“Didn’t know how to tell me what?”
Dad lowered his gaze and took a deep breath. “I love her, Trish.”
“What about Mom? It hasn’t even been a year—”
“I’ll always love your mother. You know that.” He rubbed her arm.
Trish’s throat cinched up so much she could barely speak. “Well, you have a strange way of showing it.”
Mama Beth waddled over, her expression etched with alarm. “Is everything okay?”
Unable to contain the spitefulness that reigned within, Trish spun around to face her, fists clenched at her side. “How long have you been waiting for my mother to die?”
The color drained from Mama Beth’s face, but she said nothing.
“Thanks.” Trish spat out the word. “You just confirmed my suspicions.”
“Trish!” Dad spoke the word with censure she hadn’t heard since she was a teenager.
She hastily gathered the presents Bo loved more than the ones she’d given him. Avoiding Andy’s concerned gaze, she flew out the door and across the yard to get Little Bo. Next stop, the grocery store, to pick up moving boxes.
* * * * *
Andy sauntered away from the futon he’d slept on for the past two months to get a closer look at the painting he’d just hung on the wall. The small studio apartment didn’t do Trish’s artwork justice. He couldn’t wait to hang the painting in his new home. Maybe things would eventually work out with Trish, and he could hang it where she could see how much he loved her. Then again, maybe not.
His thoughts returned to last weekend’s birthday party. Though he hadn’t heard the words Trish leveled at her father and Mama Beth, their strained faces and Trish’s quick departure had spoken loud and clear. Yet one more reason for her to leave. Lord, help me find a way to reach her.
He studied the precise detail in the painting more carefully. Her gift was undeniable. A gift she seemed determined to ignore in favor of an interior design career. He sensed she loved painting more, so why was she so focused on the Austin job?
Andy’s mind wandered to their lunch together, her face animated as she’d excitedly relayed stories about the kids at school. He shook his head in exasperation and eyed the clock. Time to get to the ball field. If nothing else, maybe it would allow him extra time with Bo and Trish.
Out of nowhere, an idea popped into his head. Yes, that might just work.
A smiled wiggled onto his face. He grabbed the bat bag and his baseball cap, then headed out the door singing the electric guitar lick from an old Eagles’ song.
Once at the ball field, he went to work to get everything ready for the game. The Eagles had settled into a comfortable routine now, and the team had gone undefeated. After everything was set, he moved to the fence to wait for Trish and Bo.
A few minutes later they pulled up, the knock of the car engine sounding from a block away. That junker couldn’t last much longer. Not without a pile of money spent on repairs. They parked, and Bo ran toward him, his face lit with a happy smile.
Andy scooped him up in his arms, remembering the sad-faced little boy from a few weeks ago. “Hey, buddy, how have you been?”
“Good. When are we going horseback riding again?”
“Well, I came out the other afternoon just for that very thing, but no one answered the door.”
With solemn eyes Bo glanced around, his words hushed. “I know. Mom wouldn’t let me. She’s very sad right now.”
Trish approached, her gait slow and lifeless. She barely acknowledged his presence with a tight tilt of her lips. Her face was pale and drawn, and in contrast, her eyes seemed especially large and luminous.
“Hi, Trish.”
“Hey. You need help in the dugout? If not, I’m headed to the stands.”
Andy shook his head, his heart aching at her pain. “I don’t need help, but if you don’t mind I’d like to talk to you alone.”
She stopped, released a tired sigh, and turned weary eyes his way. “Okay.”
Andy slid Bo out of his arms. “Go sit in the dugout, buddy. I’ll be there in a second.”
“’kay.” The boy bounded off with a smile.
“I thought of an idea I’d like to run by you.” He tried his best to inject his tone with enthusiasm, but it was difficult when her face was as hard and unyielding as a towering brick wall.
“What?” She looked eager to escape.
“Well, after hearing your stories about your teaching experience, I got to thinking. You love painting. You love kids. Why not teach art lessons?”
Her flat expression remained in place. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.” She gave a noncommittal shrug and pivoted toward the stands, her shoulders slumped. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
As she shuffled away, his heart dropped to his stomach. She’d given up hope. Had he already lost her?
The rest of the evening went downhill from there. The Pirates had improved since the first game of the season, and played as if invincible, while his team regressed to stupid mistakes. During the last inning, the Pirates led 8-7, with two Eagle players on base, and one out.
Andy stuffed a handful of salty sunflower seeds in his mouth while Brody Clark headed to the batter’s box. Little Bo waved from first base, his smile revealing a toothless gap. A sudden wave of resentment washed over him. The son
of his heart was growing up before his very eyes.
Brody swung and missed.
“Stre-ike One!” The ump’s heavy Texas drawl split the air.
His thoughts traveled to the weeks he’d spent caring for his dad. Almost every evening, except for game nights, he’d gone to sit with him. His dementia had worsened, as had the seizures. The doctors offered no hope of improvement.
“Stre-ike two!” called out the umpire.
C’mon, Andy. Keep your head in the game. He glanced over his shoulder at Trish. She hunched over, one arm curled around her waist, the other hand propping up her chin, while she stared off into the distance.
Crack! The bat made contact, and Andy snapped his head around to see what had happened. Brody raced full out toward first base, where Little Bo stood, frozen in one spot.
“Run, Bo!” Andy yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was too late.
The first baseman scooped up the ball, stepped on the bag then tagged Little Bo for a double play.
Game over.
Andy came unglued. He stomped toward Little Bo, the frustration taking over. “What were you thinking? How many times have I told you to pay attention to what’s going on around you?”
Bo’s bottom lip quivered, and his eyes filled with tears. “I was paying ‘tention.”
“No you weren’t. If you’d been paying attention, you’d have run to second base like you were supposed to. What were you looking at anyway?”
“You and Mom.” Tears spilled over onto his chubby cheeks.
Sharp-edged slivers of guilt imbedded themselves in his heart. Andy dropped to one knee and took Bo in his arms. An odd mixture of sweat and baby shampoo made its way to his nose. “I’m sorry, buddy. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Why were you looking at us?”
Sobs erupted from the boy and his tiny shoulders began to shake. “I’m just tired of seeing you both so sad.”
Chapter 21
“Against You, and You only, have I sinned.” Trish read the words from her Bible again, their startling clarity winding their way throughout her being. She had sinned. Sinned by neglecting to be grateful for what God had given her. Even worse, she’d blamed God and allowed bitterness to take root in her heart.