He walked toward her with stiff, almost rhythmic steps. “You look lovely today.” He leaned forward to kiss her. She turned her head, offering her cheek.
“Thanks for meeting me.” She motioned to the barstool beside her then glanced toward the counter. In cafeteria-style fashion, patrons were lined from the door to cash register, trays in hand. “You hungry?”
Richard shook his head. His Adam’s apple shifted with what appeared to be a nervous swallow. “What’s this about, Ainsley?” His eyes searched hers, and her heart tugged at what appeared to be genuine concern. Or perhaps insecurity, neither of which she’d seen from him in some time. “Is everything all right? Did I do something to upset you?”
She ran her nail along the edge of her napkin. “I’ve been . . . I have some questions.” She looked at him, held his gaze. “Questions we should’ve discussed long ago.”
“OK.” Straightening, he folded his hands in front of him.
“Where do you stand, faithwise?”
“Excuse me?”
“How do you feel about Jesus?”
He wrinkled his brow, giving his head a slight shake. “Forgive me, but your question surprises me. Have I done something to make you question my integrity?”
“Not exactly, more like your . . . (heart).” But saying that seemed too harsh.
His smile widened as he placed his hand over hers. “You’re nervous and overwhelmed. That’s understandable, and as such, you’re looking for some sort of . . . confirmation. Is that it?”
She pulled her hand out from beneath his and turned to face him. “I’m concerned that we aren’t as compatible, spiritually, as I previously assumed.”
“But of course we are. I have no problem with your women’s gatherings, holiday rituals, or biweekly church attendance.”
“Maybe not, but I have a problem with yours. Lack of, I mean.”
He stared at her for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
The more they talked, the more she realized just how true those words were. That was what made this discussion all the more difficult. He truly had no idea why she was even having this conversation, why his faith status was so incredibly important.
“My dear, if you’re looking for a billboard to fall from the sky saying, ‘He’s the one. Marry him . . . ’” He chuckled in a way that made her nerves ignite. “Well, it’s not going to happen. I really believe God has much more important things to worry about than whom you or I marry.”
“That is where you’re wrong, Richard. God is incredibly concerned about every detail of our lives, including whom we marry, of that I am certain.”
“Really?” His eyes narrowed, his former mirth replaced by an underscore of sarcasm. “And you believe He’s revealed this to you. Is that it?”
She bristled. Had he always been this condescending? “If you really must know, I’ve received numerous signs that indicate marrying you truly isn’t God’s design.”
His face hardened. “Then tell me, who does God intend you to marry?”
“A Christian. Which leads me to my original question: Where are you spiritually?”
“You’re being absurd. I go to church. Maybe not as often as you like, but I go.”
“And why is that?” She crossed her arms. “Because you’ve fallen madly in love with Jesus or because you feel it’s the responsible thing to do?”
“Not everything is about emotional responses, Ainsley.”
She stared at him, trying to make sense of his statement in light of his personality. True, some were more emotional than others; and Richard was certainly more of the logical, calculating type. But even so, Jesus Christ had died for him; to have an intimate relationship with him. Surely that warranted heartfelt love in return. Perhaps she had phrased her question wrong. “Let me put it this way. Who is Jesus to you?”
“What do you want from me? You want me to go to church more? Fine. You want me to donate to charities, to serve in the nursery? Tell me.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Christianity isn’t about doing anything. It’s about accepting what Jesus Christ has already done.”
He offered nothing more than a blank stare, confirming her suspicions. But even so, she couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Not without at least pointing him to the gift of eternal life.
“Don’t you see? That’s the beauty of grace. We can’t earn it. None of us could ever do enough good deeds to earn God’s favor or pay for our sins—”
His phone rang. He pulled it from his shirt pocket and checked the screen. “Excuse me, but I have to get this.”
Ainsley nodded with a sigh. He hadn’t been listening anyway. Not really. And though she’d received her confirmation, the moment felt anything but victorious. Clearly, Richard wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. Or maybe more accurately, had hoped he was. Because looking back, she’d seen hints of this all along. She’d just been too stubborn—too focused on following her detailed life plans—to acknowledge them.
“I did this morning.” He moved a step back, shooting Ainsley an apologetic smile. “No. I’m away from my computer, but I can send it this evening.” He checked his watch. “Fine. I’ll have it to you within the hour.”
Facing Ainsley once again, he returned his phone to his pocket. “I am so sorry. I can tell this concerns you a great deal, and I’d really like to discuss this further. But I must take care of something. I’ll call you?”
As if having this conversation a second time would do any good.
She couldn’t marry him. That was so very clear now.
Chapter 13
hank you for coming in, Miss Meadows. I trust you know the way out?”
“Yes, doctor.” Ainsley stuffed her brochures into her tote and stood. Squaring her shoulders despite the sinking feeling in her gut, she crossed the room with long, deliberate strides. A dull ache permeated her right ankle, still tender from the day before, but she gritted her teeth against it.
Women in pale-blue scrubs crowded the nurse’s station, clipboards in hand. They glanced up as Ainsley passed then returned to their conversation. A man with black hair streaked with gray followed a nurse practitioner down the hall, biting on his nails. He mumbled as he walked, his eyes shifting right to left like a movie clip on instant replay.
Ainsley continued through the lobby and toward the thick metal elevator leading to the parking garage. As soon as the doors closed, she checked her phone for missed calls. Three had come in—two from her mom and one from Richard. Had he thought about what she said? Prayed over it? And if he had?
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was as if her heart had suddenly shifted. She cared for him, longed to see him come to know Jesus. But other than that . . . She shook her head as her phone rang with yet another call from Richard. Though tempted to hit Ignore, she knew she needed to conclude their previous conversation.
“Hi.”
“Good morning.” He paused, his breath echoing through the line. “Listen, I know how important religion is to you. I want to assure you that I am behind you 100 percent. Whatever you want to do. This doesn’t have to be a deal breaker.”
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Why did this have to be so hard? Lord, please show me what to do.
Except He already had. Things couldn’t be any more clear. Even so, she couldn’t break up with Richard by phone.
“Can meet for lunch.”
“That sounds great.” His voice lifted with a hope that broke her heart. “At Pierre’s? I can be there in thirty minutes, with a surprise.” He hung up.
Frowning, Ainsley dropped her phone in the console. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Heading south on 69, she wove through lunch-hour traffic until she reached Broadway. Thick storm clouds hovered near the downtown skyline, casting the city in a blanket of gray. Pedestrians dressed in thick jackets streamed up and down the sidewalk. Others flowed in and out of stores, cheeks red, bags in hand.
As expected, Rich
ard beat her to the restaurant, his Lexus parked along the curb. She paused to say a quick prayer for courage and kindness to say what she needed to. Limping her way inside, she gritted her teeth against the pain pulsating through her ankle.
The maître d’, a tall, well-groomed man wearing a suit and tie, greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Meadows. Mr. Hollis is waiting. Follow me.”
Nodding, she hobbled past a stone-covered fireplace surrounded by suede furniture to a formal dining area. Men and women dressed in business attire gathered around white-clothed tables, the warm glow of flickering candles illuminating their features.
Richard sat at a far table near the window, and apparently, he had company.
Lovely.
Richard stood to meet her, his smile and stance stiff. “Hello, beautiful.” His forehead wrinkled. “Are you hurt? You’re limping.”
Heat pricked Ainsley’s cheeks. He’d only noticed just now? But then again, the last time they met she’d remained seated. “It’s nothing.” She turned to the men seated in front of her and waited for Richard to make introductions.
“You remember Dr. Lizenhower?”
Two balding men in matching pinstriped suits stood. Ainsley forced a smile and extended a hand. “Of course. From the Midwestern Neurological Research Center, right?” So much for having that heart-to-heart. Now what? Pretend like everything was OK then schedule a second meeting?
“Correct.” The man puffed out his chest and ran a hand over his charcoal tie.
“And this is Dr. Shevell from North Kansas City Neurology.”
The three looked like chiseled replicas, from their tight smiles to their crisp dress shirts. Their raised chins and nasally tones promised a rather uncomfortable lunch.
Eyes narrowed on Richard, she fought to keep the frustration from her voice. “I didn’t realize you had a meeting.”
“I arrived early and while in the lobby, struck up a lively conversation with these brilliant gentlemen. I invited them to join us, and they graciously accepted.”
Dr. Lizenhower nodded. “Yes, yes, indeed. And Dr. Hollis was just about to tell us more about his book.”
Ainsley suppressed an eyeroll and reached for her chair.
Richard beat her to it. “Allow me, my dear.” He slid it out with one hand and took her coat with the other. “You should tell these gentlemen about the revolutionary new psychotropic drug Voltex Pharmaceutical’s developed, bearing the same name. It really is quite unlike anything that’s currently available.”
“Really?” Dr. Lizenhower raised an eyebrow. “Do tell, Miss Meadows.”
No sense wasting an hour. Attempting to make the most of an irritating situation, she launched into her oft-repeated pitch.
“Sounds intriguing.” Dr. Lizenhower pulled a business card from his front pocket and wrote something on the back. He handed it to Ainsley. “I would be interested in hearing more. Why don’t you call my secretary to set up a meeting?”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.” She glanced at Richard, careful to keep her face void of emotion.
He cleared his throat. “As I was saying earlier, gentlemen, my book explores the stigma associated with mental illness in terms of how it relates to children. In many ways, I address the nature versus nurture debate, approached from a unique angle. To what extent is irrational behavior learned, and what can we as a society do to address the problem? Because it is clear, this problem is affecting society as a whole.”
“An interesting topic well worth discussing, Dr. Hollis.” Dr. Lizenhower crossed his arms. “And an area in need of further research. What do you propose?”
As the men continued to discuss the development of the human brain and its role in psychopathology, Ainsley stared into her water glass. She needed to find a polite escape route before her brain went insane due to utter boredom.
Although her thoughts drifted, she caught Dr. Lizenhower’s brisk rebuttal. “I’ll skim the pages as I have time.” He spread his linen napkin across his lap. “However, and please forgive my forwardness, it sounds like your book offers theories, and unsubstantiated ones at that, rather than solutions.”
Richard leaned forward, eyebrows pinched together.
Dr. Lizenhower glanced at his colleague and shrugged. “But as I said, I’ll take a look at it. Well, more likely, I’ll ask one of my graduate students to review it.”
When the conversation shifted to a stilted discussion of etiology and pathogenesis, Ainsley checked out. Stirring her ice with her straw, she surveyed the busy restaurant. Two women, the younger dressed in maroon from her pointed shoes to her knit sweater, the other in all black, appeared to be engaged in a rather heated conversation. Behind them, sat an elderly couple. As they ate, they watched their plates, never once looking at the other. Neither spoke. Neither smiled.
Till death do they part.
“Shall we?” Richard’s question jolted her back to the present.
She glanced up. “Um . . . sure.”
The men stood.
After everyone said good-bye, Richard guided her through the restaurant and to her car.
She spun around and glared. “So, was that your surprise? Richard Hollis saves Ainsley’s career once again?”
He smiled. “You are so cute when you’re frustrated, but of course not. I understand how you value your independence, and I would never do anything to cause that pretty little face to pucker.” He traced his gloved finger across her upper lip. “I merely lined up an appointment. The real work of turning the meeting to profit is up to you.”
“If only it were that easy.” She sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Listen, Richard, we need to talk.” Squaring her shoulders, she ushered the courage to look him in the eye. “This isn’t working.”
He froze, his face slack, his mouth slightly ajar. But then he smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders. “My dear, you worry way too much. As I told you before, everything is going to be fine. I promise.” He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stepped back and out of his reach.
“Richard, please.”
“Close your eyes.”
“Not now. I need you to hear me.”
“Let’s not fight. Here, this is for you.” He held a heart-shaped diamond pendant dangling from a gold chain in the air. “A delicate locket for a delicate lady. Do you like it?”
“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” She swallowed, wishing she could think of an easier way to say this. “I can’t marry you. I’m sorry, but it’s over.” She pulled her engagement ring from her pocket and handed it over. He stared at it, making no effort to accept it, so she set it on the ground by his feet. Standing, she turned to leave but he grabbed her wrist.
His eyes turned hard. “No. It’s not over, my love. We’ll get through this. I promise you that.”
Chapter 14
insley sat along the far wall in Pancho’s Village, an oldstyle Spanish restaurant located in the heart of Parkville, a close-knit community five miles north of downtown Kansas City. The aroma of cilantro and steak fajitas surrounded her with warmth. Breathing deep, she leaned back in her chair and watched pedestrians pass her window, heading to or from one coffee house, shop, or boutique to another.
How many afternoons had she and Deborah spent here over the years, eating enough tortillas to produce a bellyache? When done, they’d meandered through the stores and galleries, pausing to nibble on chocolates and to smell the handmade soaps and candles.
Ainsley’s favorite was the Parkville Antique mall, a 500-square-foot building filled with vintage furniture, hand-sewn lace dresses and satchels, and wicker baskets. She loved sifting through old black-and-white photographs, imagining the stories behind the pictures. Lives long forgotten except by those whom they had touched.
She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and breathed in the rich aroma. Things might have been rough growing up, but God had been faithful. He’d provided so many people to help her along the way. So many moments of jo
y and peace.
Footsteps approached, and she glanced up to see Deborah dressed in her familiar red jacket and yellow clogs. She wore her hair short, the ends flipped out. Her circular reading glasses balanced precariously on the tip of her slender nose.
“Hi.” Ainsley rose to meet her.
“My sweet girl.” The woman embraced her, the scent of cherry-blossom lotion filling Ainsley’s nostrils. Grabbing her hands in her own, Deborah stepped back. “You look as beautiful as ever, although,” she cocked her head, forehead creased, “you’re not sleeping well, are you?”
Ainsley shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, you know. Failing miserably at my job, dealing with my slightly insane mother, and breaking off a five-year relationship months before my wedding has a way of keeping one up at night.”
“A lot to process, I’m sure.” She shucked her jacket and purse, draped both over her chair, and sat. “Mmm . . . She reached for a chip and dipped it in the guacamole Ainsley had ordered, “I’m starved. Oh, I almost forgot. I brought something for you.”
She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pink, pocket-sized book. She handed it over. The title read: Daily Nourishment for a Woman’s Heart. “I discovered this little gem a few days ago. Bought one for both of us.”
They made small talk until their order had been taken and the chip basket emptied. That was Deborah’s way. She never dove into the meat of their discussion until they’d had a chance to build a buffer. That used to drive Ainsley insane, back when she was an impatient and highly emotional teenager. But now she cherished every moment.
“So,” Deborah folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, her blue eyes centered on Ainsley’s. “Enough about my dying blue spruce, overgrown vegetable garden, and plantar fasciitis.” She smiled and patted Ainsley’s hand. “Tell me about you and Richard. How did he take the news?”
Beyond I Do Page 9