“So, say we decided to date. Alanna would do what she’s best at, which is fixing broken people.”
Henry wanted to protest that Gideon wasn’t broken but the man had never lied to her. She watched his face and kept silent.
“There are two outcomes. One, she succeeds.” He shifted and she moved her hand to his collar from his shoulder. “After months, or even years, she succeeds. I am now a new and improved, mentally and emotionally more acceptable version of myself.”
He gave a wry little smile. “Now, I’m suddenly not as interesting as I once was. The challenge is gone. Alanna loses interest, while probably not even understanding why she finds her attention drawn elsewhere.”
Drawn elsewhere. The old-fashioned phrase belied the heartbreak he was imagining. Henry closed her eyes briefly. The waltz was beautiful but jarring as background to Gideon’s words. The upbeat tempo sounded like a circus tune. “What if she failed?”
“Then she would feel terrible for not being able to save me. I would feel terrible for not being salvageable. And it would tear us apart anyway.”
“So what’s the answer?”
“Aside from not dating a therapist? I don’t know.”
Henry swallowed hard. She’d wanted to hear why a romance with Alanna would never work out but now she wondered if Gideon was trying to explain how he couldn’t be with anyone. “You seem well-adjusted for someone who spent so many years in prison.” The next moment she shook her head. “That was a stupid thing to say. Of course it’s not just the prison term.”
To her relief, he nodded as he swung them into another turn. “Tom and I agree on a lot of things, but he likes to talk psychology. I guess we both agree I committed a mortal sin that wounded my soul, but he also says it was a violent crime that scarred my psyche. When I repented, I was forgiven of the first thing, but maybe the psychological scars from the crime are something else.” There wasn’t any self-pity or self-loathing in his voice. He was merely repeating what Father Tom had told him.
The couples moved around them, smiling and talking, a discordant visual to their conversation. Henry looked into Gideon’s face and wondered if anyone had ever been as honest with her. In a world where no one wanted to admit they were broken, Gideon stated it as fact. She was broken, too, and she was tired of hiding it. The difference between them was that she wasn’t brave enough to say anything.
He shook his head. “Listen to me. Isn’t there a rule about talking too much during the dance?”
She laughed a little but it sounded false to her own ears. “My granddaddy says if you think too much you’ll miss all the steps. And we know the steps are where the fun is at.”
“And my mama used to say the longest path between two points is through the dance hall. At least, I think that’s the way it went.” He grinned down at her and she felt a little blinded by his smile, and spoke before thinking.
“Your adoptive mother?”
His smile faded. “No. My biological mother. She passed away when I was little.”
“Oh, no,” Henry said.
“With my father and my little sister.”
She felt a chill go down her spine. “All together? Was it an accident?”
“No. They were murdered.” He guided her to the edge of the floor and stopped, dropping his arm from her waist.
Scarred. “I’m sorry,” she managed. Henry looked around, finally realizing the song had ended.
Something in his expression made her mouth go dry. Anger, frustration, disbelief. He laughed and it was a very unfunny sound. “Tom and Denny are probably back,” he said, as if that was the next logical step in the conversation.
Henry nodded and started toward the tables. She could feel Gideon behind her. All the nervous giddiness she’d felt at the idea of dancing a waltz with him had fled. It was her own fault.
She’d asked a question and she received an answer. She would never learn.
***
“So, how did it go? Was Operation Steal Henry From Blue a success?” Tom asked. He glanced back at the group at the table.
Gideon didn’t answer, just kept plodding toward the sidewalk, dodging a toddler, a kissing couple and two small dogs on leashes.
“You wouldn’t even stay and share a meat pie with them. What did I tell you about the social aspect of sharing a meal? People enjoy eating and people enjoy eating in groups. It’s something we like to do,” Tom said.
Gideon started back toward his car, wishing he was a drinker so he could drown his sorrows. As it was, all he could do was retreat to his little house in the woods, shut the door, and pretend none of this had ever happened.
Tom kept pace with him. “I’m sensing things didn’t go well. Don’t give up. The kid is nice looking but he probably doesn’t know squat about Cane River history. That’s where you’ll impress her. Just keep up with that project you’ve got going on. You can’t spend all those evenings together by romantic lamplight and not have something happen.”
Gideon let out a low groan. He couldn’t imagine sitting across the table from Henry, not after tonight. Tomorrow, he’d fix that basement door. They could work separately and he would pray that they only saw each other when there was a real necessity. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m going to avoid her from now on.”
Tom reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hold on. Just slow down a second.”
Gideon wanted to shrug him off but their friendship didn’t allow that kind of behavior. He stopped, looking back to make sure they were far enough down the sidewalk that Henry was out of sight. “That was a mistake,” he said.
“What happened? She didn’t jump into your arms? You’ve got to grow a thick skin, Gideon.”
He ran a hand through his hair. He felt sick just thinking of everything he’d said. “It wasn’t her. It was me.”
Tom started to laugh. “You step on her toes? Boy, that’s nothing. Shrug it off.”
He looked up and something in his expression stopped Tom’s laughter in his throat. “There’s no way I can be in a relationship with anyone.”
“Whoa.” Tom looked around and then gestured toward a free bench. “Sit down. Take a deep breath.”
Gideon sat and stared at the people walking by, people who held hands, laughed, kissed, and carried their children. People who were as alien to him as another species.
“What happened? I could see you two talking.”
“No, I was talking,” Gideon said. “I talked and talked. I told her how Alanna probably only wanted to fix me and how I’m unfixable. Then I told her about my murdered parents and sister.”
Tom slowly leaned back against the bench. “Okay. And what did she say?”
Gideon made a sound in his throat. “What is there to say? Nothing. Nobody wants to hear that while they’re dancing.” He watched a teenage couple walking arm in arm. It looked so easy, so natural. “I was stupid to think that I could decide at my age to just… be different. This is the way I am. There’s no changing it.”
“First of all, stop with the age stuff. We’re almost the same age and I’m still young.” Tom crossed his arms over his chest. “And secondly, I’m sure you didn’t just blurt all that out without some kind of encouragement. She didn’t ask you anything at all?”
Gideon looked down at his hands, remember how it felt to hold her close. “Maybe she did. I don’t remember.”
“For the sake of argument, let’s say she did. Just one question. And you answered her honestly. Why is that bad?”
Gideon shot him a look.
“Humor me,” Tom said.
“It was too much. I never should have told her all of that.”
“And when would be a better time?”
“Oh, I don’t know… somewhere without fifty other people dancing in a big circle?” Gideon couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Why?”
He let out a huge sigh. Two nights in a row he sat on a bench just like this one and watched Henry’s apartment. Bix told him that Al
ice and Paul had come home on Thursday and had the locks changed as soon as they heard about Henry’s missing keys. That had left Gideon with one night of catch up sleep. Apparently it hadn’t been enough. He was exhausted.
Tom sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Gideon, you’re never going to be normal.”
He knew that but it still felt like a kick in the gut to hear. “Obviously.”
Tom went on. “That’s not a bad thing. But it is when you keep trying to make yourself into someone else.” He gestured back toward the dance floor. “Blue Chalfant is not going to spill his guts to Henry while they’re dancing. He’s not going to describe the inner workings of his psyche or detail his biggest fears. He’s not going to take the opportunity to expose the darkest moments of his life.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” he said, but there was no heat in his words.
“We could sit here and wonder what Blue will really say. You could practice some smooth lines and a little chit chat for the next time you see Henry.” Tom looked him in the eyes. “But something tells me that you’d end right back where you were tonight, telling her things that actually mattered.”
Gideon knew he was right. Something about Henry made him want to tell her the truth, all of it.
“Do you really want my honest opinion?” Tom asked.
“If this isn’t your honest opinion, I’m afraid of what is.”
Tom said nothing, just waited patiently.
“Okay, give it to me.”
“I’m not really worried about why you’re telling her all these things. It makes perfect sense to me, in a way. You’re not the kind of guy to waste time talking about the weather.” Tom paused. “The real question is… what is Henry telling you?”
Maybe he hadn’t screwed up as badly as he’d feared. Henry had done her share of blurting out the truth. She’d told him things she’d never told anyone else.
Maybe to a woman sick of lies and pleasantries, honest was a good thing. Maybe there was a chance for him after all.
Chapter Thirteen
“I do not mind lying, but I hate inaccuracy.”
― Samuel Butler
Henry opened her e-mail and blinked at the name at the top of the list. Gideon Becket. She hadn’t seen him since the Friday of the Zydeco Music Festival weekend. Now it was Thursday. They’d spent every Thursday evening so far down in the basement of the Finnemore house and all day she’d been swinging between anticipation and dread.
She took a deep breath and clicked it.
Dear Henry,
I borrowed a lathe and shaved down the door where it was sticking against the frame. It should open easily now (from both sides). Let me know if it doesn’t open for you and I’ll come over.
Gideon
She stared at the page for several minutes. The feeling in her stomach was the same as when she’d been dumped by her first high school boyfriend. He hadn’t really been a boyfriend, just a crush. Just like Gideon.
He’d bolted from the dance as soon as the song had ended. Henry had pried into his life too many times and he’d had enough. She thought that meant the end of any chance of social interaction, but it must also mean the end of working together. Well, not together, but together together.
Fine, she’d been avoiding him, too. On Sunday, she’d gone to Mass at the basilica instead of St. Augustine’s. She’d told herself that it was because Patsy and Denny were visiting, but the truth was that they would have gone wherever she wanted. In fact, they loved the historical little country church. Father Tom would have been happy to see them again. It was Gideon that Henry was avoiding and he must know it. Hence, the fixed door.
She tightened her ponytail, pushed up her glasses and tapped out a quick reply.
Hi Gideon,
Thanks so much! I appreciate that.
Henry
She hit the send button before she could think about it. Done. It wasn’t so hard to e-mail him. She didn’t know why she’d insisted on seeing him face to face. It was better this way, actually. When they got together, they seemed to do a lot more talking than they needed to and certainly a lot more divulging of personal details. At least, she did.
Enough work. She couldn’t stay in the little office any longer. Vonda and her archeology partner, Joe, were making real progress on the outbuilding excavation. Maybe they would let her help out for a while. She’d worn dark blue slacks and cream colored linen shirt that day so she didn’t even have to worry about a skirt and heels.
She found Clark, told him where she was headed and struck out across the park. After a few minutes of walking she felt the muscles in her back and shoulders start to relax, as if the land itself was a remedy for her tangled thoughts.
The little white-washed building was set far back from the path but two large hemlock trees grew up on either side, leaning toward each other like weary sentries. The door stood open. Vonda and Joe were kneeling side by side, brushing away the dirt with stiff-bristled whisk brooms. Floor boards were carefully stacked near one wall and the dirt was marked out with tiny wooden stakes and colored string.
She knocked on the door. “Hey, you two,” she said cheerily. It was incredibly exciting to see the progress on the excavation. They’d already found several interesting objects, including a clay marble, two old coins, three shell buttons and two carvings that might be more than a hundred years old.
They looked up and Vonda spoke first. “Hi, Henry. Did you bring us some ice?”
“Some… what?” She looked around. The tiny room was swelteringly hot even though it was early September. Outside, the breeze made the heat more than bearable, but in the little house, it felt like a sauna.
Vonda’s face was red and shiny with sweat. The scarf she had tied around her hair was crooked and she looked exhausted. Joe shifted back onto his haunches, then stood and stretched his arms over his head. He was nearly six feet tall and Henry had the impression of a slinky as he lowered his arms and his shoulders slumped.
“Can I help?” She moved toward the nearest quadrant and looked around. “I saw the notes on your work for the last two days. Y’all have been putting in some really long hours. Do you want some volunteers? Or I can take a few shifts? I don’t want to horn in on your project but I’m ready to help.”
Vonda looked at Joe and he nodded. “This heat is incredible. I’d rather work at ten below zero like we did last spring, ‘member that, Vonda?”
“That was like heaven and hell all in one, if hell was freezing cold,” she said.
Joe laughed. “It started out all heaven, though.” He started picking up his brushes. “The land was owned by a private school but before that, the area was a plantation with slave quarters. Everybody thought the slave quarters were gone until they tore down a house on the property and found the two hundred year old original brick floors in the basement.”
“It was like a dream,” Vonda said. “Joe and I couldn’t believe we got picked for that project.” She wiped sweat from her face, a dreamy look in her eyes. “The first few days were full of incredible finds. Medicine bottles, ceramics, an ivory button.”
“And then the weather started to turn.” Joe swept a hand from side to side. “We put up huge tents and got most of the hand-made bricks removed, photographed and catalogued so we could put them back later. Then it started to rain and never stopped. Pretty soon we were bailing ourselves out like we were in a sinking ship.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” Henry said.
“It got worse,” Vonda said. “It was March and usually that means spring but this was Maryland and suddenly it was snowing.”
“A lot,” Joe said. “The tent started to collapse. The water on the floor froze. We had portable heaters hooked up, trying to thaw out sections of the floor so we could dig.”
“But mostly we were just trying not to freeze to death,” Vonda said, laughing. “Remember when you slipped backward into that slush puddle and your backside was freezing solid?”
Joe held up a han
d. “We don’t need to tell her everything.”
She turned to Henry. “I was afraid he’d get hypothermia before I could get him home so he stripped down to get into that extra pair of pants and suddenly our chief shows up with the rest of the field techs. They came to pack up because there was a big storm coming but boy, did they get a surprise.” Vonda laughed and maybe it was the affection in her voice, or the expression in Joe’s eyes, but Henry realized these two were more than professional partners.
“I’m glad you thawed out,” she said. “And I wouldn’t want you to get heat stroke, either. You two take the afternoon and go have some fun. Did you make it to the Zydeco Festival?”
“We sure did,” Joe said and winked at Vonda. “I learned this woman can dance.”
Vonda giggled. “Not really. But I sure had fun.” She stacked her brushes near the wall. “If you were serious about working in here, feel free to use my stuff. I have knee pads and everything.”
“Thanks,” Henry said. “I think I will, actually. I need to get out of my office for a while.”
“Digging in the dirt is good for the soul,” Joe said.
Then they were gone. Henry took off her glasses and grabbed Vonda’s knee pads. She consulted the graph and chose a place near the open window. There was a tiny breeze there and it stirred the hair on the back of her neck as she leaned forward, gently brushing the dirt away in long swaths, breathing in the heady scent of red clay and history.
She didn’t know how long she’d been working when she heard footsteps outside but her arms were aching and she’d changed spots several times.
Shock traveled up her spine when Gideon stepped into the doorway. He blocked out the light for a moment, stopping to knock lightly on the door frame, his face in shadow.
“Come in,” she said, scrambling to her feet. She stood there awkwardly, brushing dirt from her hands, knowing her hair was a mess. The knee pads were strapped on tight and her pant legs were hitched high above her socks. Henry looked down at herself and tried not to sigh. She must be a laughable contrast to the girl he danced with at the Zydeco Festival.
These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance Page 15