by Ted Dekker
“No.”
“Then, we’ll assume that you made this graft.”
“I’m telling you—”
“For the sake of argument, Ivena. It certainly didn’t just appear on its own. Either way, I’ve never seen a graft like this. We’re looking at several weeks’ worth of growth here and—”
“No. Less than a week.”
He dipped his head and looked at her over his wire-frame glasses. “This from the woman who doesn’t even remember grafting the plant? I’m just telling you what my eyes see, Ivena. You decide what you want to believe.”
She nodded. He was wrong, of course, but she let it go.
“Even with a few weeks’ growth, these flowers are extraordinary. You see there the stamen reminds of the lily, but these white petals lined in red—I’ve never seen them.”
“Could they be tropical?”
“We’re in Atlanta, not the tropics. I did my thesis on tropical aberrations in subtropical zones, and I’ve never come across anything like this.”
He touched and squeezed and humphed for a few minutes without offering any further comment. She let him examine the bush at his pace and searched her memory again for the grafting he’d insisted she must have done. But still she knew that he was wrong. She’d no more grafted the vine into the rosebush than she’d won the Pulitzer recently.
Joey finally straightened and pulled off his glasses. “Hmm. Incredible. Would you mind me taking one of these flowers to the Botanical Gardens Lab? It has to exist. I’m just not placing it here. But with some analysis I think we can. May take a couple weeks.” He shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of a vine like this taking off from a rosebush.”
“You want to cut one off ?”
“Just one. You have plenty more coming along behind these. They are flowers, not children.”
“No, of course they aren’t. Yes, you may. Just one,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE LONELINESS had struck Helen after two hours with Glenn while Ivena was off attending her flowers. Thing of it was, she was even high at the moment, but the emotion still swept through her bones like an unquenchable tide. Sorrow.
Somehow things had gotten turned around in her mind. This wasn’t the Palace as Glenn liked to call it. This was feeling like a dungeon next to Jan’s house. She had left the white palace for the dirty dungeon—that’s how it felt and it was making her sick. Worse, she had left a prince for this monster.
She’d rolled on the bed and thought about that. The preacher wasn’t her prince. He couldn’t be. They were like dirt and vanilla pudding; you just don’t mix the two. And it was clear who was who.
Not that Jan wasn’t a prince—he was; just not her prince. He could never be her lover. Imagine that. What would they say to that? Helen winning the heart of a famous writer who drove around in a white Cadillac. A shy, handsome man with hazel eyes and wavy hair and a real brain under those curls. A real man.
Given just the two of them without all this mess around them, she might even have a shot with him. She might not be Miss Socialite, but she was a woman, and one who had no problem reading the look in a man’s eyes. Jan’s looks were not the roving kind she was used to, but there was light there, wasn’t there? At times she thought it might be pain. Empathy. But at other times it had made her heart beat a little faster. Either way, each time they had been together his looks had come often and long. That much was enough, wasn’t it?
He likes you, Helen.
He’s married.
No, he’s not. He’s engaged.
Goodness, just imagine having a man like that on your arm! Or imagine someone like that actually loving you. That last thought felt absurd, like the drugs were talking, and she pushed the nonsense from her mind.
But the sorrow wouldn’t budge, and the thoughts returned five minutes later. But what if, Helen.
What if ? I would die for a man like that! I’d be happy to just sit with him and hold his hand and cry on his shoulder. And I would love him until the day I died, that’s what if. And not just a man like that, but Jan.
But then again, she was the dirt and he was the vanilla. She’d never deserve a man like that. There was no mixing the two.
She’d stayed another hour and then left the big pig facedown on the floor, passed out next to a small pool of his own vomit.
She’d returned still intoxicated, and to her relief Ivena was still gone. She climbed under clean sheets and passed out without removing her clothes.
Ivena was upstairs cooking breakfast when she awoke. It gave her time to shower and change before presenting herself with as much confidence as she could muster. If Ivena knew anything about her little escapade to the dungeon, she didn’t show it.
Helen spent most of the day walking around the house in a daze and for the most part Ivena let her be. Jan’s home really did feel like a palace, and in a strange way she felt like dirt on its floor. But she could clean up, couldn’t she? The notion brought a buzz to her mind. What if ?
And Jan was coming home tonight.
JAN PARKED the Cadillac on the street and walked up the path to his home two days later, on Sunday evening. Darkness had quieted the city, bringing with it a cool breeze. The cicadas were in full chorus, chirping without pause, ever-present but invisible in the night. The oak cross hung undisturbed above his door. In living we die; In dying we live.
The trip to New York had come off as well as they had planned in most regards and better than they had imagined in others. They’d signed the deal on Saturday, deposited the million dollars with some fanfare, and decided to stay in the Big Apple through Sunday. Jan had called Ivena and been informed that nothing had happened. At least nothing that he should concern himself about. Ivena had not elaborated. She’d made some flower deliveries on Friday evening—a few late customers to catch before the weekend—but otherwise she and Helen had mostly sat around talking and growing tired of remaining in a house that was not her own.
He withdrew his key and opened the front door. Dim light glowed from the far hall leading to the bedrooms, but the rest of the house lay in darkness. He flipped the switch that controlled the entryway lights. They stuttered to life.
“Hello.”
Silence.
“Ivena!”
Jan walked into the living room, still holding his overnight bag. Had they left? He flipped another switch and the room stuttered to life. No sign of the women. “Ivena!”
“Hello, Jan.”
He whirled to the voice. Helen stood, arms crossed, leaning on the wall in the hall’s soft light with one leg cocked like a stork. Immediately his knees felt weak, as if she’d injected him with a drug that had gone for his joints.
“Good night! You scared me,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Helen returned. But she was smiling.
“Where . . . where’s Ivena?”
“She left an hour ago. Said she couldn’t spend the rest of her life here while her flowers died at home. She’s pretty excited about some flowers that she says are going nuts over there. We haven’t heard a peep from anyone so we figured it would be safe enough.”
“She just left? Is she coming back?” Helen lowered her arms and walked into the light. He saw the difference immediately and his heart jumped. She wore a strapless white evening dress with a sheen, and it flowed with her small frame like a fluid cream. She wore sandals and a pearl necklace that sparkled in the kitchen light. But it was her face that had pricked his heart. She was smiling and staring at him. The bruises had vanished, either under the hand of God or with the careful application of makeup, and honestly he thought it must have been the hand of God, because her complexion appeared as smooth as new ivory. Her hair lay just below her ears, bending in delicate curls.
Jan’s hand released the travel bag he’d carried in. It landed with a distant thump. Goodness, he’d all but forgotten about the madness.
Helen stared at him with those impossibly blue eyes, smiling. She turned for the kitc
hen but her eyes lingered on him for a moment. She swayed naturally as if born to wear that dress. Jan’s mind began to scramble. You dropped your bag, you big oaf. You stood here like an idiot, gaping at her, and you dropped your bag!
“Yep, she left,” Helen said. “She wants you to call her when you get back, which I guess is now.” She picked an apple out of the fruit bowl and took a small bite from it.
“So she said nothing about coming back?” Jan asked, opening the icebox.
“She said she didn’t think that was necessary.”
“No?”
“No.” Helen looked at him from behind the apple and she winked. “She said you should take us out for dinner.”
“She said that? Take you and Ivena out?”
“Yes. What do you say, Jan? Want to take me out to dinner? I didn’t get all dressed up for nothin’, you know.” She took another bite, her teeth crunching through the brittle fruit.
There now, he was cornered. Cornered with a pounding heart and weak knees, like a teenager on his first date. The icebox was open and he’d retrieved nothing from it. He closed the door.
“Well, I guess that would be—”
“I knew it!” She tossed the apple into the sink and rushed over to him. Before he could move, she had her hands around his own, pulling him back down the hall. “I want to show you something,” she said. Jan stumbled after her, too stunned to speak, very aware of her hands on his.
“What about Ivena?”
“I’ll call her while you get ready.”
She led him to his own bedroom. “I hope you aren’t mad, but I just couldn’t resist,” she said, glancing back with a smile. His door was open and she pulled him through. On his bed lay his best black suit. A white shirt and his red tie were arranged neatly with the jacket. The slacks draped to the floor and his shoes rested at their cuffs. “Will you wear this?”
She had been in here. Helen had done this.
“I found them in your closet. They’re perfect.”
“You found these in my closet?”
“Yes. They’re yours. Don’t you recognize them?”
“Yes, of course I do. I just . . .” He chuckled. “It’s not every day that I have my clothes laid out for me.”
“You’re upset?”
“No. No. So you want me to wear this suit and take you to dinner, right?”
She stared at him without responding.
He laughed. “Okay, madam.” He dipped his head. “Your wish is my command. If you will please step outside, I’ll get dressed and we’ll be off. Did Ivena suggest where we dine?”
“The Orchid.”
“The Orchid, then.”
She tilted her head, as if surprised that he’d taken her up so suddenly. A mischievous grin lit her face and she curtsied in return. “I will be waiting.” She left and pulled the door closed behind her.
Jan showered quickly, his mind busily scolding himself for playing along. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to take her to dinner, or even that he shouldn’t take her to dinner. It was that his knees had gone weak at the sight of her. It was that he did want to take her to dinner. It was the madness of it all. It was the voice that had started speaking to him while the hot water cascaded over his skull. You like her, Jan. You really like her, don’t you?
Yes, I like Helen. She’s a refreshing person with charm and . . .
No, you really like her, don’t you? You like her so much you can hardly stand it.
Don’t be absurd! I’m engaged to Karen. What of Karen? Oh, dear Karen!
He forced his mind to a new line of thought. They were going to the Orchid, the finest restaurant in town. A romantic . . .
Stop it! He shook his head and stepped from the shower. Goodness, he was not an undisciplined schoolboy. These matters of the heart were best left to careful thought.
Jan grunted and dressed quickly.
You aren’t married. Ivena will be there, of course. It’s only dinner. A farewell dinner—you will tell her that she must leave at dinner.
A tremble had taken to his fingers and he had some trouble with the buttons, but he managed after a few more lines of scolding. He examined himself one last time in the mirror. His wavy hair lay combed back and wet, darker than Helen’s but still blond. His eyes were nearly as bright, hazel not blue, but as bright. Now his jaw, it was square and strong while hers was so . . . delicate. He smacked his cheek lightly with his right hand. Stop it!
She was waiting in his chair, one leg folded over the other, a copy of The Dance of the Dead spread open in her hands. Her eyes looked up as she closed the book. “My, we are quite handsome.” She set the book on the coffee table and walked toward him with an extended hand, sliding gracefully in that dress.
“What about Ivena?”
“She’s going to meet us there. Shall we, then?”
“Yes,” he said, and he took her elbow and led her from the house.
Dear God, help me, he prayed.
JAN SLAMMED through the men’s room door and stepped inside. Ivena was late! And her absence was becoming a very big problem.
The bathroom was empty. He slumped against the wash counter and leaned on his hands. His mind spun in crazy circles, confused, buzzing. His breath came in short pulls. It was as if he’d ingested some hallucinogenic drug that now raged through his blood stream. But he hadn’t, he was sure of it. He had done nothing but bring her here, order his food, and engage her in small talk. Get a grip, Janjic. Control yourself.
He twisted the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. It was the girl. It was Helen. She had bewitched him. Her voice was the drug, her breath an intoxicant that made straight for his spine and spread like a fire through his bones. It was why he had excused himself and come here not five minutes into the meal— because he was losing his mind out there, watching her bite into her salmon and drink her water. Watching her jaw move with each word.
Jan patted his face with a towel and straightened to stare at his image in the mirror. “My God, what are you doing to me?” he muttered, and he said it as a prayer. “What’s the meaning of this?”
You are falling for her, Janjic.
He didn’t answer the charge. It just sat in his mind, awkward and misguided, like a belch in the middle of careful speech.
If you’re not careful, you’ll have fallen for this girl.
But why? Why, why, why? I don’t want to fall for her! There’s no reason to it.
He had to find some control somewhere, because he simply could not afford to give his heart to someone as unlikely as this woman sitting wide-eyed and so very delicate and . . .
Oh, God . . . it was the most ridiculous thing he could imagine. Ask him to tell a fanciful tale and his imagination would not wander this far. He’d just asked Karen for her hand in marriage before the entire world, just a few days ago. Now he was in Atlanta’s most extravagant restaurant, sharing dinner with another woman. With Helen.
With such a beautiful, sweet, genuine woman who seemed to have the power to melt his heart with a single innocent look.
Karen’s face wandered through his mind and Jan moaned. He fell back to the counter. Karen, dear Karen! What am I doing. Rescue me! If she could only see him now, playing teenager with the sexy little hippie. He ground his teeth and struck the side of his head with his palm.
“Stop it, Janjic! Just stop this nonsense!” he said aloud. And then to himself, Coming here was a terrible mistake, and now you’re going to have to go out there and straighten this mess out. You’ve gone over the edge on this.
“Excuse me.”
Jan spun around. A stranger stood by the door looking at him curiously. “Are you all right?”
Jan blinked. “Yes.” How long had the man watched him? “Yes, I’m fine.” He straightened his coat and hurried from the room. You’re losing it, Jan.
Jan walked back to the table on weak legs. He saw her when he was still twenty paces off, sitting frail and alone against the Orchid’s twenty-story view of Atlanta
’s skyline. A tall white candle cast a yellow hue across her neck. She was looking away from him, at the city lights below. Her left hand was cocked delicately over her glass; she drew circles around its rim with her forefinger. Her hair rested delicately against her cheek, touching her silky skin.
It was details such as these that screamed out at him. And he wasn’t seeing them because they were exceptional; he was seeing them because she was exceptional. She could be scraping the mud from her soles over there and his knees would go weak.
A tingle ran up Jan’s spine and flared at the base of his neck. The air thickened about him, forcing him to pull at it deliberately in order to breathe. He pulled up behind the salad bar.
You’re acting like a schoolboy, Jan. Control yourself !
He straightened his tie and walked on. Then he was there, and he slid into his chair. Actually, he attempted to slide into his chair; it came off more like a collapse. Collect yourself, you oaf.
“Oh, hi. You’re back.”
“Yes.” Now, Janjic. You must tell her now that this has all been a terrible mistake and that you should leave immediately.
“I was just thinking about how wonderful you’ve been to me,” she said. He looked up and saw that she was innocently forking a piece of pink salmon into her mouth. Innocent because it didn’t seem as though she was deliberately tempting him or intoxicating him or any such thing. She was simply eating a piece of fresh salmon. But it wasn’t looking so innocent to him. It flooded him with a dizzying shower of images. Images that set off crazy vibrations in his bones.
She lifted her eyes and the candle’s flame flickered in her pupils. “I can’t remember anyone being so kind to me.”
“It’s nothing, really,” he said. “You’re a person who should be . . . that it is good to be kind to.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why am I a person who should be loved? That is what you meant, isn’t it?”
Good God! Heaven help me! “Yes. Everybody should be loved.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Thank you. I try to be kind.”