Sunshine and Shadows

by Pamela Browning

  "I don't need you to tell me how to take care of kids," Nina said. With that she opened the door and went inside, letting it slam behind her. The conversation was clearly over.

  "Well, that's that, but at least I managed to get my licks in," Jay said ruefully. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Now I suppose we might as well go home."

  Lisa moved closer and slid her arm around his waist. "You did the best you could," she murmured.

  He lifted his eyes heavenward, and with a rueful smile he reached toward her and pulled her close. He opened the car door for her and hurried around to the driver's side. Tonight he couldn't wait to leave the migrant village behind.

  When they were on the outskirts of Yahola, he said, "It was quite a day, wasn't it?"

  "Quite," Lisa said as she swallowed a yawn. Jay switched the radio to a station playing smoky jazz music, and she slid closer to him, her head resting on the back of the seat. After a while she let her head drop so that it nestled against his shoulder, and he looked down at her and smiled.

  They spoke very little on the long dark ride to her house. When they arrived, no lights showed through the curtains.

  "Adele must be asleep," Lisa said. Jay had turned off the engine at the head of the driveway so that the car glided soundlessly up to the house, and the only noise to break the silence other than her own voice was the racket of the crickets and the shrill of tree frogs. She looked at Jay, wondering if he was in a hurry to go home. "Would you like to come in for a while?" she asked.

  She couldn't read the expression in his eyes, even though he turned in her direction. She didn't know what he thought she was offering, and she wasn't sure herself. She only knew that she wanted to be with him. He picked up her hand and grazed the back of it with his lips. They felt gentle, like the brush of a butterfly's wing.

  "If you'd like me to," he said.

  "I would," she answered, feeling a certain solemnity about the moment.

  As they got out of the car, Lisa warned in a whisper, "Careful, don't slam the car door—it will wake Adele," and Jay latched the door behind him so carefully that the click of it blended with the night sounds from the river. He caught Lisa's hand in his and, fingers linked, they made their way to the front door.

  Inside, she held a cautionary finger over her lips and oriented Jay toward the kitchen, which was closer to her room than to Adele's. Adele's room had a private entrance in the wing of the house closest to the road; it had been meant for Lisa when she'd lived here with her parents, but now Lisa occupied the master bedroom on the river side of the house, and unfortunately, there was no entrance to that wing other than the door they had just used.

  Lisa had not yet reached for the light switch that would flood the kitchen with light, when they heard a cough from the direction of Adele's room. Lisa hoped that Adele was in bed. Another cough before a light popped on behind Adele's closed door.

  Lisa pressed close to Jay, cautioning him to keep quiet. Once in the kitchen, she and Jay could close the door to the rest of the house and put on the coffeepot. They would be able to talk undisturbed, or, if they wanted, they could even—

  "Lisa?" Adele called.

  "I just came in," Lisa called back. To her ear, her words sounded fast-spoken, nervous.

  "Are you going to bed?"

  In the darkness, Lisa could feel Jay's questioning eyes upon her.

  "In a little while," she said as normally as possible. "I thought I'd eat something first."

  "If it's those granola brownies you made, I'd like one, too," Adele said.

  "Look, if this is difficult for you, I'll go." Jay's whisper was urgent in her ear.

  Lisa shook her head. "It's my house. I'm allowed to have guests," she whispered back.

  "This is awkward for you," he said.

  She gazed up at him. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and she could see that he looked resigned. He also looked very tired.

  "I apologize," she said in a low tone. "I thought Adele was asleep. I'd like you to meet her, but not tonight."

  "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

  She could taste her disappointment in the back of her throat. "I'm sorry," she said.

  "So am I." He was smiling at her.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  His eyes held a warm glow as he pulled her close. Slowly he brought her face within kissing range, adjusting it just so, and she tasted his breath upon her lips before she felt his kiss.

  One kiss, and it wasn't enough. They lingered over it and tended it and then let it subside bit by bit until they stood breathing so heavily in each other's arms that it seemed that Adele would surely hear.

  "Tomorrow," he murmured, and she had the idea that he'd meant to say it lightly but failed. He hesitated as if there was something else he would have liked to say, but he didn't. Then, leaving her trembling and feeling as though she should be able to control her own response to him, he melted soundlessly into the darkness. In a moment she heard his light retreating footsteps on the flagstones outside.

  "Lisa?" said Adele, sounding querulous. "Are all those brownies gone?"

  "I'll see," Lisa said shakily. It had been only one kiss and her senses were still swimming. She groped her way toward the light switch and flicked it in time to cast a bright path on the grass outside the kitchen window. She looked out barely in time to see the minivan disappear up the driveway.

  She stood for a few moments getting her bearings. Then she located the brownies and put one on a plate for Adele. She'd plead exhaustion when she delivered the brownie and then she'd go directly to bed.

  Which is exactly what she did.

  After a few moments, for some reason she could only think about those five children alone in that dark dirty house with Nina, and of the way Connie had told Lisa she loved her and had hugged her so desperately when she'd said good-night.

  Chapter 7

  "You've never invited a man to Sunday brunch before," Adele pointed out the next morning as she measured out flour for crepe batter.

  Lisa considered how to reply as she wiped a few spots of tarnish off the best silver, which she'd dug out of the silver chest after Jay's phone call earlier.

  "I've never known a man I wanted around in the morning before," she answered at last.

  Adele shot her a keen look. "You've mentioned this one's name quite a few times," she observed.

  "Jay and I work together at the mission," Lisa replied curtly. "By the way, Adele, do we have any bananas? I could make fruit salad."

  Lisa was mixing the fruit salad in a large crystal bowl when she saw Jay's car pulling into the driveway.

  Suddenly nervous, she dodged Adele's stately bulk to check her own reflection in the black plastic door of the microwave oven. "My hair looks limp," she said in distraction. It was important that everything be perfect, and her hair was no exception.

  "Your hair looks all right," Adele said stolidly, and Lisa decided that Adele was to be believed but that hair that looked all right was not as desirable as hair that looked terrific.

  When Jay rang the bell, Lisa hurried to open the door. He swept one hand from behind his back with a flourish. It held a single, perfect pink rosebud. "For you," he said.

  "I didn't expect—" Lisa began.

  "That's why I'm giving it to you. Surprises are supposed to be unexpected, and besides, I feel guilty for phoning and waking you so early in the morning."

  "Not that I minded. Anyway, come in," she urged, ushering him inside. She slid her arm through his and, after a quick look toward the kitchen, pecked him on one cheek.

  "Hi," he said under his breath. She saw that with any encouragement he would sweep her into his arms, and she tried to keep her heart from speeding up, but it was no use.

  "Come on, I'll show you around the house," she said.

  She showed him the guest room and Adele's room at the end of that hall; she showed him her mother's collection of antique wooden toys in the living room and the marlin that her father
had caught, now mounted over the fireplace in the den.

  They sat down on one of the window seats in the den and looked out at the Loxahatchee. A sailboat went by, its sails billowing in the breeze.

  "I see why you love this house," he said. "It has a lot of charm." Suddenly his own bachelor digs seemed to cry out for a woman's touch. Here, with the sun-spangled river flowing past the windows, with sweet-smelling potpourri filling the air with fragrance, life seemed peaceful and calm.

  "Adele likes it here, too," Lisa said. "By the way, she's eager to meet you." He raised his eyebrows in a silent, skeptical question. "Yes, really she is," Lisa assured him.

  Adele looked around briefly as the two of them came into the kitchen, and she wiped her hands on her apron.

  "Jay Quillian, this is Adele Finley," Lisa said, but her formal tone evaporated when she turned to Jay. "Adele makes the best crepes in the world," she told him.

  "Oh, I don't know about that," Adele said. She inspected Jay at close range, hardly making a secret of her interest.

  To distract Jay, Lisa said, "I'd better find a vase for this rosebud. Come help me look for one," and she led him through the door to the garage, shutting it firmly behind her.

  "One thing I don't understand," Jay murmured, close behind her as she balanced on tiptoe to survey the crowded shelves. "Why does it matter so much about Adele? Here, I can reach that," he said, edging her out of the way.

  "I'm all Adele has," Lisa said, standing aside. "I'm like a daughter to her."

  "But you're not her daughter," Jay said patiently. He handed her the vase.

  "Her daughter was my best friend," Lisa reminded him, keeping her voice low so that Adele wouldn't hear.

  Jay bit his lower lip. "Okay. So you're all she has, and the lady has been depressed for—how many years?"

  "My friend died a long time ago," Lisa said. "Before that, Adele was always cheerful and happy. She had a sense of humor. Why, I remember her singing to us, wonderful old songs like 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,' things like that. In those days, she was a different person from the sad, lonely, and defeated woman you just met."

  "It isn't your job to make everything up to her, Lisa," Jay said soberly.

  "I know, but I can't help wanting to. It's like you and Connie, Jay. You can't make the circumstances of her life a whole lot better, but you want to brighten it as much as you can."

  He smiled at her. "Well, let's go in and brighten Adele's Sunday, shall we? We're just little rays of sunshine, you and me."

  They were both laughing when they went back in the kitchen, and Adele looked at them strangely. "Lisa, why don't you put that flower on the table?" she said, and Lisa, feeling reassured that things were going well, left the two of them together while she went into the dining room.

  Jay leaned against the counter and watched Adele pouring batter into the crepe pan. To make a crepe, she swirled the batter around the pan until it completely covered the bottom.

  "I've always wondered how people do that," Jay said musingly.

  "It takes practice to do it properly," Adele said. She turned the finished crepe out onto the plate and poured more batter.

  "I'll bet it's all in the wrist," he said.

  "What?"

  "The way you flip the crepe. It probably has to do with the way you move your wrist."

  "No, I think it's more in knowing the surface of the pan. You know, some pans just aren't slick enough and require more of a toss."

  She finished cooking that crepe and poured another. "Would you like to try it?" she asked, surprising him.

  "I might ruin it," he warned.

  "A ruined crepe isn't such a big deal," she said. He thought that if she'd smile, her face would be almost pretty.

  "Okay, I'll give it a try," he said, moving over to take her place.

  "It's almost done now, so get ready," she cautioned.

  Jay jiggled the crepe from side to side. "Are you sure?" he asked nervously.

  "Don't waste time talking—just do it!" Adele said.

  Awkwardly he whipped the pan up and the crepe slid crazily out of it and onto the floor. He stood looking at it with a mortified expression.

  Lisa walked in and saw the crepe, which had puddled into a gluey mess.

  "What in the world—" she said, her eyes darting from Adele to Jay and back again.

  "Remember when I tried to teach you?"

  "I was fourteen," Lisa said.

  "And you didn't do much better than this. Pour another one, Jay. About two tablespoons of batter will do the job."

  "I'll clean up the mess," Lisa said, reaching for a paper towel.

  Jay resumed his position at the stove. He waited until Adele said, "Now," and tried flipping again. This time he caught the crepe, although he didn't exactly catch it dead center. Batter oozed down the size of the pan, but he was heartened when Adele said, "Good! The next one will be perfect."

  The next one was perfect, and the next, and the next, until Adele said, "Jay, you don't need any help from me. I'll start putting the filling in," and after that the two of them worked together while Lisa watched.

  "What a great view of the river you have from this window," Jay said when the crepes were arranged on a platter and they moved into the dining room. Outside a powerboat cut through the rippling blue water, laying down a curling white wake. Across the river two boys fished from a white dock, their hair ruffling gently in the breeze.

  "You two really should go out in Lisa's canoe this afternoon," Adele suggested.

  "Jay has asked me to his town house to see some of his artwork," Lisa supplied.

  "Oh? What kind of art?" Adele said with interest, and the conversation was off and running again. She watched Jay as he charmed Adele, noting the way he asked perceptive questions at exactly the right time and admiring his ability to listen instead of talk. Her heart warmed to him for caring about Adele. So few people did.

  After brunch, Lisa and Jay escorted Adele into the living room and insisted that she settle down with the newspaper while the two of them performed the necessary cleanup chores.

  "But—" objected Adele.

  "No buts," Jay told her firmly, and he brought a footstool from across the room so that she'd be more comfortable.

  "Shall I invite Adele to go with us to my place this afternoon? Out of politeness, I mean?" Jay whispered when he and Lisa were alone in the kitchen.

  "Nice of you, but she'll be perfectly happy to sit all afternoon looking out at the river and knitting as she watches television," Lisa told him. She gave the counter top one last swipe. "Besides," she said, tossing the towel over the rod, "after yesterday when we were so well chaperoned, I'm looking forward to being with you and only you."

  He slid his arms around her from behind and kissed the top of her head. "My sentiments exactly," he murmured.

  Adele bade them a cheerful goodbye when they left, and Lisa slid her hand into Jay's as they walked to his car.

  "You've opened the sunroof," she said, delighted.

  "I wanted to see you with the wind in your hair," he told her.

  "You want me to look like one of those shampoo commercials on TV," she accused.

  "No, actually I'd prefer another kind of commercial—you know, those late-night nine-hundred-number commercials that show the woman lying on a couch wearing one of those lacy things? You know what kind of thing I mean—I think it's called a tommy," he said. He started the engine and turned the car around toward the road.

  "A tommy? What in the world is—oh, you mean a teddy!" and she dissolved into gales of laughter.

  "Have I said something funny?" he asked in bewilderment.

  "No, I suppose if you don't know what it's called, you haven't been seeing many of them lately," she said.

  "If you want to know if there are any other women in my life, the answer is no," he said firmly. Then he chuckled. "Unless you count Connie and a bunch of nuns." He turned suddenly serious. "How about you, Lisa? Any suitors?"

  She lo
oked at him. "Not lately," she told him.

  At the guardhouse at the entrance to the development where he lived, Jay spoke to the security guard.

  "This is Lisa Sherrill," he said. "Put her on my list of visitors."

  After they were inside, Lisa said, "What was that all about?"

  "He'll let you in whenever you come to see me without calling me to find out if it's all right," he said, smiling at her.

  "I'm invited to visit when I'm not invited?" she asked.

  "Anytime," he said. "Especially if you're wearing a teddy."

  She had to laugh. "The only teddy I own, unfortunately, has one eye and stuffing falling out of his side. And his last name is B-e-a-r."

  Inside the town house, Hildy recognized Lisa immediately.

  "She likes you," he said.

  "The feeling is mutual," Lisa said as Hildy delivered a long sloppy kiss. "I haven't had a dog since after we moved to Stuart from West Palm Beach. She was supposed to make up for moving away from my best friend, and she did, in a way." She stroked Hildy's silky ears.

  "Have you ever seen a dog who could count?" Jay asked with mischief in his eyes.

  "I can't say that I have," Lisa said.

  "Watch this," Jay told her. He went into the kitchen and returned with a handful of dog biscuits, one of which he held up in front of Hildy.

  "How much is one and one, Hildy?" he asked. Hildy barked twice.

  As he fed her a biscuit as a reward, Lisa asked skeptically, "What's the secret?"

  "A dog with a brilliant mathematical mind," Jay said. He held up another biscuit. "Hildy, how much is three plus four?"

  Hildy barked seven times and held her mouth open for the biscuit.

  Lisa was mystified. There had to be a trick to it, but she couldn't figure it out.

  "How do you do it?" she asked.

  Jay laughed. "I'm not telling, and Hildy won't, either."

  "Let me try," Lisa demanded, but when she commanded Hildy to add two and two, the dog only whined and lay down with her head between her paws.

  "I give up," Lisa said finally, surrendering the last of the biscuits to the dog.