Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “And I keep telling her to follow her first love,” Gina said.

  Chris looked at her. “Which is?”

  Ainsley’s frown returned, even deeper than before.

  Gina appeared not to notice. “Singing. Ainsley has the voice of an angel.”

  “Really?” His gaze drifted to her small, rose-colored lips.

  She lowered her lashes and shrugged. “I’ve been known to sing on occasion.”

  “That’s about the only time you’ll see this turtle poke her head out.” Gina shot her a wink. “You’d have to see it yourself to believe it. Put a microphone in her hand, play a few piano keys, and suddenly the girl’s . . . Gina’s nose wrinkled. “The girl’s . . . She let out an overdramatic sigh. “OK, so I’m out of cute slogans here, but the girl’s on fire, let’s just leave it at that. She’ll be leading worship in a couple weeks down at the North Kansas City Ray of Hope, a women and children’s shelter. You’re invited, if you’d like to come. I imagine they could always use a few more hands.”

  “Gina!” Ainsley hurled her pillow at her friend but it hit the bowl of popcorn instead, sending kernels flying.

  Gina giggled. “No, seriously. It’d be fun. Richard’s coming, right?”

  “Um . . . maybe.” She shot Gina a nonverbal message.

  Gina’s eyes rounded. “Oh, right.” She mouthed the word, “Sorry,” and then both girls grew awkwardly quiet, suddenly focused on the spilled popcorn.

  Not surprising, Gina broke the silence first. “Anyway, we’d love to have you.”

  Chris stood. “Look, it’s been nice, but I should probably—”

  Gina jumped to her feet. “Leaving already?”

  Chris looked from one girl to the next, feeling like Pee-wee Herman stuck in the football team’s locker room. “Yeah, I’ve got . . . stuff to do.”

  Gina’s glossy lips twitched toward a frown before stretching into her normal bubbly smile. “Right. So, I’ll call you later with the details. You can meet us here the evening of.”

  “I . . . He started to politely decline but Gina nudged him toward the entryway, stealing all cohesive thought from his brain.

  “Thanks for stopping by.” Opening the door, she flashed a toothy smile then gave him a gentle push over the threshold. “See you on the twenty-second.”

  A gust of wind swept across his face as the door closed in front of him.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or moan. Gina was beautiful, in a spastic, explode all over you, sort of way . . .

  Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 11

  ichard stared at his blank computer screen, the letter he intended to type no longer important. Swiveling his chair, he inspected his tidy desk, pausing to study a photo of Ainsley. A delicate, almost childlike smile spread across her sun-kissed face. He grabbed the frame and focused on her deep-green eyes. How long had it been since he’d seen her face light up? How long since he’d heard her easy laughter? Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and swallowed against a knotted stomach. Less than six months until their wedding and she was growing distant. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch.

  With a shove of his foot, he rotated his chair to face the long, tinted window behind him. A thick layer of smog clung to the tops of the adjacent factories, further darkening the already cloud-filled sky. A distant train bellowed in the distance, followed by the high-pitched screech of wheels scraping against metal railings.

  What if Ainsley broke their engagement? No, she wouldn’t do that. Not now, after years of courting followed by months of planning. All women worried, Ainsley most of all. And considering her background, and all the games her mother played, he certainly couldn’t blame her occasional emotional distance. Which was precisely why she needed him. No one else understood her like he did.

  She knew this. He just needed to remind her in a way that she could understand, that would override her normal distrust.

  He had thought, after five years, they’d moved past that.

  With a sigh, he rose and paced the room then turned to his bookshelf. Leather-bound volumes stood erect between marble book ends. Neurology and Neuropsychology in the Twenty-first Century, Applied Behavior Analysis, Understanding Psychosis of Varying Degrees, Effective Behavior Modification for the Adult Patient.

  He selected a small, green text outlining various techniques used to counter the negative effects of dysfunctional familial interaction on the human brain. He flipped through the pages but found nothing helpful.

  Snapping the book shut, he resumed pacing. After five minutes of evaluating various behavior-modification techniques, all inappropriate in this case, he settled on a timeless course of action: flattery accompanied by a lavish dose of roses and flickering candlelight.

  He strolled back to his seat, chuckling at the simplicity of life, and his rather absent-minded mistake. With his impeding deadline and all the wedding details, he had allowed their romance to slide.

  Settling into his leather chair, he turned to his computer and typed Kansas City Florist into the search engine. He skimmed the various photos. Roses seemed too predictable. Tulips too formal. He clicked on an image of a bouquet made from varying shades of purple carnations and smiled. Perfect. Now for a flowery message to go along with it. He pulled up another window and navigated to a familiar site: Prose and Quotes for the Lovesick Soul.

  Less than five minutes later, a delicate arrangement with words able to bring tears to even the hardest of hearts awaited delivery. He smiled, imagining Ainsley’s wide-eyed response when she received the flowers.

  “I know you’re right, Deborah.” With her earpiece in place, Ainsley pulled into her tree-lined neighborhood. A steady wind moaned through the trees lining Ainsley’s cul-de-sac, sending red, orange, and gold leaves flittering to the ground. “Thanks for listening. And for being such a great support.”

  “My pleasure, dear. I’ll be praying for you, and for Richard. I know this is hard, but God will show you what to do, although from the sounds of it, He may have already. If your suspicions are correct.”

  “Yeah, I just hope things don’t get ugly.”

  “Me, too, dear. Me too. On another note, how are things with you and your mom?”

  Ainsley released a gush of air. “Same. Maybe worse. I’m probably not doing anything to help the situation.” Last Sunday, Pastor Leoffold had urged his congregation to love the unlovable, to reach out even to those who spurned your affections. Which was great when talking about co-workers or annoying neighbors. But her mom?

  “You know, you can invite her to the fall fest. Might be a safe . . . icebreaker. Pray on it.”

  If she did that, she’d be stuck, because she already knew what God wanted. It was the doing that was hard.

  An occasional gust rocked the frame of her car. A thick blanket of clouds dimmed the sun to a dull orange, casting a soft glow over the neighborhood. Old growth trees, their twisted and gnarled branches stretching across the street, cast elongated shadows across the road.

  Easing her car around, she pulled along the curb and lowered her window. Wind swept through her hair, sending a shiver down her spine. She reached into her mailbox and grabbed the thick stack of envelopes and newsprint shoved inside.

  To her left, Chris hunched beneath a sagging oak tree, gathering severed branches and throwing them in a pile.

  He waved. “If this is Missouri’s fall, I dread winter.”

  “You’ll get used to it in a year or two.” With a friendly nod, she eased into her driveway then stopped, letting her car idle. As much as I don’t want to do this . . . She glanced toward the cloudy sky. “You know I’m doing this purely out of obedience, right?”

  She sighed and called her mom. Luckily she got her voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. Our church is having this . . . thing, and I wondered if you’d want to come. Canning, making applesauce, crafts, that sort of thing.” She gave the date, time, and location, then ended her call. There. Now she could spend the rest of her
night in peace without feeling guilty for being perhaps the most hateful daughter ever.

  She clicked her garage door opener. Nothing happened.

  Lovely. Mental note: buy replacement batteries, preferably before blizzard season hits.

  Setting her car in Park, she gathered her things and jumped out. Her spine angled sideways, painfully pulled groundward by her overstuffed tote. Lengthening her stride, she fumbled for her keys and hustled to the front door to beat the approaching storm clouds. Tiny flecks of moisture swirled through the air, misting her face and causing her teeth to chatter. Halfway up the walk, her left heel hit a wet patch and flew out from under her.

  “Ahhh!” Her leg fought to go in two directions, wrenching her angle. A sharp pain exploded through her knee as her skin scraped against the pavement. Sitting on the damp ground, she rubbed her throbbing ankle then lunged toward the scattered pile of papers that spilled from her tote. Sheets flew across the yard, carried by the wind. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself to her feet then hobbled toward the mass of papers.

  “You OK?”

  She glanced up, cheeks burning despite the cold. Chris stood in front of her, crinkled papers in hand. Before she could answer, he dove toward another fluttering sheet that settled into an oil-topped mud puddle.

  He held it up with a lopsided grin. “Hopefully this wasn’t too important.”

  She hobbled over, snatching up stray papers along the way. “Oh, just a memo from my boss.”

  He tucked the pile of papers under one arm and supported her elbow with the other. “That was a nasty fall. Think you sprained something?”

  She shook her head and fought against his support until another twinge of pain nearly buckled her knee. “I hope not.”

  His hand gripped warm and strong around her arm, bearing a good deal of her weight as they walked.

  Once they reached her doorstep, he waited as she searched for her keys then handed over her mud-splattered papers. “Gotta love Missouri weather, huh?”

  “You do?” She smiled. “Thanks for the help. Sorry to be such a bother.” Her papers rustled and her hair whipped around her face.

  He shrugged. “No bother.” He glanced at her three-inch heels. “Although you might consider wearing sneakers until spring.”

  She flushed. “Yeah, maybe so.”

  “Let me help you in.”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine, really.”

  He stared at her for a moment then shrugged. “OK. Hope you feel better.” With a dip of his head, he traipsed back to his yard, where he quickly resumed his tree-limb pickup duty.

  Ainsley slipped inside as another gust of wind swept over her. She limped into the living room and deposited the mail and her papers onto the coffee table. Dropping her tote to the floor, she collapsed into the sofa.

  Her cell phone buzzed but she ignored it and sifted through letters and bills instead. A pale-green envelope labeled Collection Notice caught her eye. Her stomach soured as she read the return address: Chief Financial Visa.

  “Some folks might call looking for me.”

  “Mom!” She tore open the envelope and scanned the page. The dollar amount printed at the bottom glared back at her. Adrenaline surged through her as she reached for her phone. Landing on her mother’s number, she hit Dial, breathing deeply in an effort to calm herself. The ringtone grated against her ear. After five rings, she started to hang up when her mother answered.

  “Hello, pumpkin. I’m so glad you called. I got your message, and that sounds like such a lovely party. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it. But I’ll let you know.”

  “Mom, what’s going on with your Visa?”

  “What Visa?” Either her mother was playing games or more than one creditor was tracking her down. Most likely, the latter.

  “The one I cosigned on.”

  “Oh, that. I’ve got a new card now.” She launched into a long story of cash rewards and low-interest rates.

  Heat climbed up Ainsley’s neck and down her arms like bolts of electricity ready to spark. “What do you care about interest rates? You never pay your bills anyway.”

  Her mom went silent, amplifying Ainsley’s breathing. When she finally spoke, she used her, “look who’s crabby now” tone. “Have you had a tough day, honey? Did someone say something unkind? I know how sensitive you can be, especially when it’s that time of the month.”

  “No, Mom, I’m not PMSing. Seriously, everything isn’t about hormones.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You and Richard had a fight.”

  “No.” It’d be easier talking to a slab of plywood. “I received a collection notice for your Visa bill. You have an outstanding balance, and you need to pay it.”

  “I will, dear, as soon as I catch up on a few things.”

  “Like what? Stocking your lipstick drawer? If you default, I’m responsible for every penny. The extent of your irresponsibility never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes I wonder who’s the parent here.”

  “Ainsley Meadows, what is with you today? You’re being downright hateful. You know how hard it’s been since your father and I—”

  “It’s been fifteen years, Mom.” Followed by nearly as many men, each one slimier than the previous.

  “Fifteen years of starting over, scraping by, and scrambling for every dime. I know it’s hard for you to understand, being engaged to a man like Richard and all. I’m so glad you found him. He’s as opposite to your father as you can get. Responsible, mature, driven.”

  Ainsley’s breath caught as her mother’s words settled deep. It was true. Richard was nothing like her father. Wasn’t that what she’d always said? Normally, the thought brought consolation, peace. But now?

  Was that why she accepted his engagement? Because he was predictable? Safe?

  She shook her head as if doing so would clear her inner tumult and gripped the phone tighter. “Let’s stay on topic, Mother. According to the notice, you have thirty days to make a payment before it goes to collection.”

  “They’re just trying to scare you, dear. Besides, it goes off your record in seven years.”

  “I’m not playing these games, Mom. Pay the bill.” She hit Call End, snapped the phone shut, then slumped further into the sofa.

  Did her mom care nothing for her at all, other than what she could get from her? Tears stung her eyes as painful memories surfaced. How many times as a child had she waited up for her mom, aching for a sympathetic ear and a warm hug—for any sign of affection at all—only to fall asleep alone. In a silent house. Her mother would never change. The sooner Ainsley realized that, the better.

  Her Bible lay on the edge of the table, the long, silken ribbon tucked between the smooth pages. She grabbed it and flipped it open to Jeremiah 31.

  “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.”

  She closed her eyes as a sense of peace washed over her.

  Yes, God, You have loved me. Throughout my life, You alone have proved faithful and true.

  Her doorbell rang and she glanced toward the partially cracked blinds of her living room window. A bright-green van parked in front of her driveway. Pushing to her feet, she hobbled to the door and peered through the peephole. A woman with long, blonde hair that blew about her head like sugar in a cotton-candy machine stood on her front step. She clutched a bouquet of carnations. Her torso hunched forward, her arms raised in a protective shield around the flowers.

  Ainsley opened the door. “Hello.”

  The woman smiled through her swirling hair, pushing it from her face with her forearms. “Are you Ainsley Meadows?”

  “Yes.”

  “These are for you.” She thrust the flowers forward.

  “Thank you.”

  Closing the door against the wind, Ainsley pulled a small, cream envelope from a plastic holder and turned it over to read the words printed on the back.

  As fragrant as a thousand flowers upon the hill, as delicate as the pe
tals that stir in a springtime breeze, your angelic smile awakens me and stirs me still. Forever yours, Richard.

  Forever . . . the word echoed in her mind, adding weight to her chest. How could such a tender token of love cause such angst?

  Forever was a long time.

  She and he were so completely opposite. In everything, and their differences appeared to be widening rather than merging. He liked formal dinners and attending parties with academics, where she preferred to stay home reading or watching television. But even more than that, she loved going to church, reading her Bible, spending time with wonderful older women in the faith. That was where she drew her strength, found her peace. Richard almost seemed to feel the opposite, bristling when the conversation turned spiritual, turning down opportunities to serve or spend time with other believers.

  What would happen once—if—they had children? How could she expect her children to seek after a God in whom their father appeared to show no interest?

  She turned her face heavenward.

  I’m listening, Lord. It took a while, but I’m listening now. Please give me the strength to do what I must. This wasn’t something she could put off anymore.

  She grabbed her phone and dialed Richard’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. “Let me guess, my little surprise arrived.”

  “Well, yes, and thank you. But that’s not . . . Richard, we need to talk.”

  Chapter 12

  insley sat on a barstool in front of the window of Jalapeno’s and Burritos, a family-owned restaurant halfway between her place and Richard’s. Her stomach knotted as she mentally rehearsed the conversation she was about to have.

  She spent the next ten minutes sipping her drink—to keep stomach acid from bubbling up her throat—and watching cars pull in and out of the parking lot. Another five minutes and Richard’s Lexus rounded the corner. He parked in the farthest stall, one where his car was least likely to get dinged.

  Not long after, he entered the restaurant dressed in a button-down shirt and pressed slacks, leather briefcase in hand. After a quick scan of the dining room, his gaze landed on Ainsley, and he offered a stiff smile.