by Tamara Leigh
I feel sympathy for him, even though he’s the one who was pushing First Grace so hard. “I know, but I’m sure Pastor Paul and the team are trying to get as close as possible without straying from biblical principles.”
Wow. That sounded deep. And wise. Was that really me? I squelch the impulse to pat myself down to root out whoever has hitched a ride inside my clothes.
Stephano shrugs. “Hard to say.” He glances at his watch. “I’d better get you home—church tomorrow, you know.”
Ten minutes later, as he merges onto I-40 to leave Nashville behind, I lay my head back against the seat and look past him at the sparkling skyline. The BellSouth Building, more affectionately known as the Batman building due to its opposing spires that resemble that Caped Crusader’s ears, stands above the rest. And draped in the sky, just to the right of the spires, is an enormous, haloed moon.
I love the Nashville night skyline almost as much as I once loved the Nashville nightlife. It’s compact, a wonderful mix of old and new architecture. Of course, as evidenced by huge construction cranes and skeletal structures poking into the skyline, Nashville is on the grow. Suddenly—or so it seems—everyone wants to live here. Unfortunately, many of the transplants are bringing with them their appetite for all things “cosmopolitan.” Which is what they were fleeing when they uprooted from places like Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York City, isn’t it? And it’s not just Nashville that’s dealing with the influx, but outlying areas like historic Franklin, where affordable housing has been replaced by million-dollar mansions. Yes, I’m selfish. But I miss what was.
The drive to Franklin takes twenty-five minutes, during which Stephano answers one call and makes another—the former something to do with a golf date, the latter about changing the shape of the in-ground pool he’s having installed.
He bangs a “U-y” on Red Sea Lane and halts his sports car in front of my mobile home. “It was nice, Harri.”
I reach for the door handle. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Harri?”
I look around, and his face is before mine. Then there’s his mouth. And it’s swooping in.
An oomph jumps from my lips as his mouth locks on. For the first few seconds, I’m too stunned to react; however, over the next two or three, curiosity kicks in. So this is how Stephano kisses. Unfortunately, he’s one of those “wet” kissers, as opposed to Maddox who’s…not wet…not dry…somewhere in between…somewhere just right.
Stephano draws back. “Nice, huh?”
Don’t wipe your mouth. “I… didn’t expect you to do that.” Did anyone see? His windows are tinted…
“It was a date, Harri.”
“Of course it was. You surprised me, is all.” I curl my fingers into my palms, even though I’m certain that if I don’t do something about my mouth soon, I’ll chap. “Well, good night, and thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
In hopes of exiting the car without his aid, which could easily lead to him walking me to my door, then another kiss in full view of those whose curtains are shifting, I pat the door in search of the handle.
“Oh!” Stephano springs from the car, bounds to my side, pulls open the passenger door, and helps me out. “How’s the cat?” he asks as he walks me across the lawn. “Did he recover from the pillowcase?”
“Seems to have. I haven’t found any cat hair on my pillows recently. And, to my surprise, he actually seems to be warming toward me.”
Stephano halts before the steps. “Smart cat,” he murmurs, then leans in.
“Uh…” I give a nod left and right. “Neighbors, you know.”
He straightens. “Right. Well, good night.”
I pull my keys from my purse and let myself in. As I close the door and flick on the light, I sigh. Provided no one saw the kiss in the car, I’m scot-free. Of course, sometimes imagination is more lethal than reality. Who knows what my fellow mobile home residents might think happened in the car?
Before I can worry about it further, Dumplin’ slinks out of my bedroom.
I eye him. He eyes me. Are we good? His tail is gently swaying—a promising sign, as opposed to the jerk and twitch he often displays when I return. “Hey, Dumplin’.”
He winds around my leg.
I blink. Not a hallucination. Dumplin’ is rubbing against me. As if he likes me. As if he missed me. “Oh, kitty!” I scoop him up.
Maybe I moved too fast, or maybe I just read him wrong, but he’s not going for it. With a hiss, he launches out of my hands and, with a whip of his tail, darts down the hallway.
“Fine! No Jelly Bellys for you, mister.”
Not that I feed him many. My stash is too precious to waste on that ungrateful beast. However, I did toss him one last night, and the night before. Just one each time, but he seemed to enjoy the treats. Well, tonight is his loss. My gain.
I walk into the kitchen and go straight for the Jelly Bellys. Of course, the pink helmet is still on the refrigerator. I grab the candy and stalk into the living room. The bedroom is my destination, but a glance at my answering machine makes me alter my course.
I press the Play button and unscrew the lid as the machine informs me I have one message recorded an hour ago.
“Harri, this is Leah Pinscher. Anna’s gotten herself into trouble. She won’t talk to us, and I don’t know if she’ll talk to you, but could you try?” A strident breath. “Call us when you get in, no matter the hour.”
Time doesn’t stand still. It keeps ticking, counting off life second by second. Seconds that add up to minutes… hours… days… months…years. Seconds that can only be retrieved through memories.
As I stare at the machine, memories pile on me. Memories of the first time I got into trouble, when the police caught me and my friends smoking in the park. Memories of how frightened I was despite the defiant face I presented to my parents. Memories of the next time I got into trouble, when a friend coaxed me into joining her for a joyride in her father’s new sports car. Memories of the sense of empowerment at the lessening of my fear and remorse. Then there was the time after that, and each time I cared less about repercussions and the people I hurt. In fact, it became a game to see how far I could push my parents. I shudder, remembering the satisfaction I felt at knowing my actions were causing them anguish, just as their decision to remain at First Grace despite the attacks on our family caused me anguish.
Lord, I was so far from You. And proud of it. With eyes wide open and heart tightly shut, I hurt not only my family, but my father’s flock. I don’t like the Harri I became, and I know You don’t either. I set my life right so I could leave all that bad stuff in the past, and that’s where I want it to stay. I do not want to revisit the me I was. Use someone else. PLEASE.
No.
“No?” I press my forehead to the Jelly Belly container. “Lord, I don’t want to do this.”
“Freely you have received, freely give.”
Instant Scripture—a side effect of spending too much time in those little God’s Promises books. “Do you mind? I’m trying to talk to the Lord here.”
“Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?”
More Scripture. “Okay, so it is You, but I can’t do this.”
“Do good and share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”
Hey! I tithe. On that matter, no Scripture comes to mind, and I’m tempted to shove Jelly Bellys in my mouth. I draw a deep breath. “Lord, I’m the wrong person to talk to Anna. I’ll only mess her up, not to mention me.”
“He who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.”
I drop to the sofa. “But what about ‘Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver’?” I tap my chest. “Reluctant. That’s me. Nowhere near cheerful. Couldn’t You send someone like Lisa, who’s open to sharing—”
Lisa! I reach for the phone, only to draw back. I’m certain Leah’s call wa
s meant to be kept in confidence, so I can’t enlist Lisa’s help. Or can I?
Shortly, a sleepy-voiced Lisa answers my call.
“It’s me, Harri.”
“Is everything all right?”
“No.” I spill my dilemma, leaving out the identity of the one I’ve been asked to help. “And…”
“You don’t want to do it.”
“No.”
“Have you prayed about it?”
“A lot.”
“And what does the Lord want you to do?”
“Talk to her. But I can’t help her. All I’ll do is sit there, and she’ll hate me for being there.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s what I would have done.”
“Maybe, but you have to remember that she’s… How old did you say?”
“Thirteen.”
“Well, you were sixteen. Believe me, she has to be more scared and confused than you were. Also, she’s probably more reachable.”
“I doubt that.”
“Listen, Harri, I know you’re uncomfortable with this, but God stretches us when we’re outside our comfort zones. This isn’t just for this girl. It’s for you. In fact, maybe it’s more for you than for her.”
Not what I want to hear.
She yawns. “Do what God’s asking, and let me get back to sleep.”
“But what do I do?”
“Just listen. If she wants to know something, don’t lecture. Short and sweet work best and might prompt more questions.”
“Okay.”
It takes five minutes for me to get up the nerve to return Leah’s call. As I dial the number, I assure myself that if she really wants me to talk with Anna, the earliest it might happen is tomorrow. Wrong. She asks me to come over now. Only after I change into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt do I realize something is missing—my keychain that holds a key to my mobile home and car. It’s not in my purse, on the desk by the door, or beside the answering machine.
As much as I’d like to take it as a sign that the Lord has changed His mind about my speaking with Anna, I know it isn’t. So what to do? It’s too dark to pedal a bike, and the Pinschers’ home is five miles away. As for hitching a ride from a fellow resident, not only are the seniors tucked in for the night, but whoever I ask would want to know why I’ve been called to our pastor’s home. So I’ll have to phone a cab and hope its arrival doesn’t awaken anyone.
I lift the handset from its base and, having lost interest in Jelly Bellys (almost unheard of), tote the container into the kitchen. I set it on the refrigerator, and the pink helmet catches my eye—a reminder that there is one resident who’s not likely tucked into bed. And who’s also discreet. But that would mean getting on the back of his motorcycle and wrapping my arms around him.
Do I look stupid? I whip up the handset and punch 411. Soon I’m connected to a cab company. When the man on the other end tells me he can have a cab out in thirty to forty minutes and I protest, he gruffly reminds me it’s Saturday night.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” Not allowing myself time to consider what I’m about to do, I grab the helmet.
On the second rap, Maddox answers the door, and the light from his living room is so bright at his back that it makes me squint. “Harri?”
His hair is wilder than ever, sticking out all over the place, as if he’s been raking his hands through it.
He frowns at the helmet beneath my arm. “What’s going on?”
“I’m ready to prove that I’m not afraid.” I head for his motorcycle.
“Do you know what time it is?”
I look around. “I do, and I’m sorry. If I hadn’t lost my keys, I wouldn’t bother you. Now I really need to get over to Pastor Paul’s, so if you could step it up—”
“Paul’s?”
“I’ll explain later. Can we go?”
“All right, but I’ll meet you at the park entrance.”
Good idea. It’s not likely many of the residents are up, but it wouldn’t do for us to be seen—or heard—together on Maddox’s motorcycle in the middle of the night.
Five minutes later, Maddox appears out of the dark walking his motorcycle.
I fall into step beside him, and not until we reach the road does he mount up. “Let’s do it.” He puts his helmet on and swings a leg over.
Okay, Harri, put your leg over and arm around him. No big deal. It’s not a thrill ride. Nothing waiting at the end of it. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just point A to point B. But, oh, those memories! They’re back, replaying the bad choices I made…my lack of discretion…one reckless day and night after another…
“Harri?”
I blink Maddox’s face into focus. “What?”
“Are we going to do this or not?”
Not. Though I told Leah I was on my way, she’ll have to wait until I can get a cab out to her place. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
“And maybe you should have asked Stephano to take you.” His voice is gruff, and I know he’s referring to my date… that he likely saw our return…is probably wondering what went on behind tinted windows. “I’m sure you’d feel safer with him.”
I catch my breath. “Is that what you think? That I’m afraid of you? I’m not.”
“Then get on.”
“Fine.” I shove the helmet on, secure the strap beneath my chin, and put a leg over. No sooner do I settle behind Maddox than the current leaps from him to me. I’ve made a mistake. I am afraid of him. Afraid of what I feel when we touch. Afraid of how much more I’ll feel when I loop an arm around his waist. Afraid bad Harri will not only take advantage of me, but of him.
The engine rumbles to life, causing my blood to thrum. Wow.
Maddox says something, but I close my eyes and feel what I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Harri!”
I look at his profile over his shoulder. “Sorry?”
“Put your arms around me.”
Scooting closer, I lay a hand on either side of his waist.
A sound erupts from him, and he grips my wrists and pulls me tighter against him.
Overwhelmed by the thrill of being on a motorcycle again and an awareness of the man in front of me, I stiffly hold myself as far apart from him as possible. A moment later, we’re on the road, and the warm night air turns cool as the motorcycle stirs it to life. I draw a breath and am struck by the scents of grass, pine, dust, pavement, and Maddox.
I search beyond the scent of the man before me. Unimpeded by the hustle and bustle of day, the night smells of hundreds of things unseen—some identifiable, most not. Regardless, the bouquet is made sharper by the speed at which we travel through it. It’s wonderful, but frighteningly seductive.
Over Maddox’s shoulder, I focus on the painted yellow lines that blip past at ever-increasing speed. But still I breathe in the night. More, I feel it. Almost as strongly as I feel the man whose waist I clutch. This was a very bad idea.
I lower my helmeted head to his shoulder. Another bad idea, as it increases my awareness of him. Fortunately, he eases the motorcycle into a turn, and as I lift my head, he halts alongside Pastor Paul’s driveway.
I scramble off.
“Now that wasn’t so bad.” Maddox’s wry voice hits me between the shoulder blades.
I remove the helmet before turning to him. “Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.”
In the light from the porch, I see him raise an eyebrow. “If you keep telling yourself that, maybe you’ll start to believe it.”
I narrow my gaze on him. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Anytime.” I start to turn away, but he adds, “You know, you’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”
I’m only slightly surprised to feel a pang caused by his pending departure from First Grace. Of course, it’s months away, and by the time he leaves, I’ll be beyond eager to see his backside… er, the last of him. I shrug, and though I have every intention of denying I’ll miss him, I say, “Maybe.”
I cat
ch his smile as I turn away.
“How are you getting home, Harri?”
I hadn’t thought about that. Of course, if I phone a cab the moment I walk into the Pinschers’ home, the timing could be perfect. I start to turn back, but the front door opens, and Pastor Paul appears.
He advances on me, and I can see the weariness that etches his face. “Thank you for coming, Harri.” He looks past me to Maddox. “I don’t know that it will help, but Leah seems to think so.”
“Are she and Anna inside?”
“Yes, go in.” He pats my shoulder and moves aside. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, Maddox.”
“Harri needed a ride.”
As I near the door, Pastor Paul’s next words, spoken at a volume surely meant to escape me, whisper across the night. “I appreciate you bringing her, but it isn’t the best idea you’ve had.”
I turn. “It was my idea.”
He swings around.
“And no, it wasn’t a good idea, but I lost my keys and couldn’t get a cab for at least half an hour.”
“Of course. Well, when you’re ready to leave, I’ll have Leah drive you home so Maddox can get back.” Thereby avoiding the possibility of questions over what First Grace’s consultant and women’s ministry director are doing out so late—on a motorcycle, no less.
When I enter the house, Leah pulls the door of her husband’s small office closed and walks toward me. “I appreciate your coming, Harri.”
I manage a smile. “Where is she?”
She glances over her shoulder at the door. “In there.”
I can do this. Lord, please help me do this. “What kind of trouble did she get into?”
Pain flickers in her eyes. “She took something from a store.”
Déjà vu. Fortunately—or not so fortunately—it was one of the few things my parents never caught me doing. If they had, perhaps my rebellion would have ended there, but I was emboldened by my success, and more so when the crowd I was mixed up with extolled my “sleight of hand” (a.k.a. thievery).
“Was she arrested?”
Leah presses a hand to her heart. “Thank God, no. We were shopping, and she asked if she could go to the teen section while I picked out some shirts for her father. That’s where it happened. Elva’s daughter, Maria, works there and saw her take a bracelet. She recognized Anna and immediately paged me.”