“I’ve got the sprinklers set to run for a test. I’m not sure where your different zones are, so you might want to get out of the way of the sprink––”
A muffled pop was followed by a chicka chicka chicka noise and then, whichever zone it was that Shelley was sitting in chose that exact moment to kick on. Mitch watched the spray erupt and could see that with one more chicka it was going to make Shelley the target. But it was too late to do anything about it.
The sprinkler head pivoted and its spray hit her full in the face. Pruning shears went flying. She squealed and scrambled to her feet––and ran directly into another chilly stream of water from an adjacent sprinkler head.
Mitch watched it all with mouth agape, and when he could finally get his feet to obey, he trotted across the lawn to rescue her. He had to brave a spray of water himself, but when he saw she was okay, it was all he could do not to laugh at the comical sight they must be.
Biting the insides of his cheeks to curb a smile, he placed his hands on her shoulders and met her soggy gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Are you laughing?” Her attempt at looking incredulous failed, and he could tell she was on the verge of laughter herself. But she sputtered and flipped her ponytail at him, spraying him with a much milder dose of water than she’d received.
“Hey!” The water was cold.
His laughter escaping now, he put an arm around her and gave her a quick hug. “I am so sorry, Shelley. I swear to you, I did not do that on purpose!”
“Oh, yeah, sure you didn’t.” She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Is that retaliation for my suggestion that you consult the owner’s manual?”
“No! I promise!” He laughed harder.
She joined in. “Well, at least we know they work.”
“Yes, and for the record, I did not refer to the owner’s manual once.”
“And maybe you should have.” She shook her ponytail again and headed for the house. “I need to go check on dinner.”
“Hey,” he called after her. “Do you think it’s warm enough to eat outside?” Somehow it felt safer out here.
“Definitely.” She grinned. “But not until I change clothes and dry my hair.”
“I truly am sorry,” he said again, doing his best to look contrite.
“Don’t worry about it. It . . . was actually kind of fun.”
“You have a strange idea of fun. Do I look as bedraggled as you do?” He shook his head, sending a few more drops of water flying. “All I can say is, thank goodness for tall fences.”
That cracked her up, a feat he considered worthy.
“Can I do anything in the kitchen while you change?”
“No. Everything’s ready. You can grab a couple of Cokes from the fridge if you like. Or I’ve got some iced tea made if you’d rather. Get me a Coke, will you?” She shook her head to one side as if she’d just emerged from a swimming pool and had water in her ear.
Chuckling again, he went for drinks and brought them outside. The sun was low in the sky and felt warm on his back, but the evening air had a nip to it. He remembered seeing a portable fire pit in the garage and went to get it. He located matches on a nearby shelf and carried a few logs from the woodpile at the side of the garage. He moved two lawn chairs and a side table down onto the flagstone patio near the fire pit, and by the time Shelley reappeared he had a nice little fire going. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s going to be a little chilly once the sun goes down.”
“It’s lovely.” She came down the three steps of the deck balancing a platter of something steaming––and delicious smelling. She was bundled up in a flannel shirt and denim jacket. Her hair was dry, and the ponytail gone in favor of soft auburn waves that touched her shoulders. He looked away. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
Chapter 29
The sun set quickly, but the fire pit provided enough light to eat by, and a delightful warmth. Mitch relaxed and determined to enjoy the evening––and a rare home-cooked meal.
Shelley had fixed an old-fashioned pot roast in the crockpot with carrots and potatoes, and onions that had caramelized into a buttery sauce. He’d almost forgotten what a good, home-cooked meal tasted like.
He looked up into a clear, fathomless sky and would have gasped––or prayed––if he’d been alone. Unlike in his own backyard, the streetlights on their cul-de-sac didn’t encroach on the starlight in Shelley’s yard. The night sky was peppered with a trail of stars that twinkled and winked at them as if the heavens possessed a secret they couldn’t reveal.
Beside him, Shelley leaned her head back, following his line of vision. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Amazing. How can anyone not believe in God when they look at something like this?”
She murmured her agreement. “Oh, there’s the Big Dipper . . . See it?”
He looked where she was pointing, and after a few seconds he found the constellation's pattern. They stared into the dome of the night together, no words necessary. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable and at ease––and he didn’t want to try to remember. He felt happy being right where he was. Not letting himself think about the past––or even the future. Just this moment of complete contentment. Of ordinary life––something he hadn’t known for too long. And would never again take for granted.
The fire pit crackled and hissed, making pleasant background music while they talked quietly about their jobs, and local politics, and about their plans for spring gardening. Simple subjects that held no hidden land mines. They talked about their kids, and he discovered that Shelley had sent several e-mails to Katie “just to encourage her.”
“That was really thoughtful of you, Shelley.”
“It was no big deal.” She shrugged. “I just remember how hard that first year of college was––under ordinary circumstances. I figured she could use a little encouragement.”
“Well, thank you.” It choked him up just a little. When he was sure he could trust his voice, he tiptoed around the subject of Evan and Audrey’s renewed friendship. “Audrey hasn’t said anything to you, has she? I can’t get a word out of Evan on the subject,” he told her. “Not that it’s any of my business.”
“She still just says they’re friends––and ‘seeing where things lead.’ That’s about all I get. I guess we should be glad they’re just taking it one day at a time.”
“That’s a good way to live,” he agreed, not wanting to ruin the evening by bringing up subjects that had the potential to hugely complicate his friendship with Shelley. She seemed more than willing to leave the subject alone, too, and they moved on to books they were reading and movies they wanted to see.
The one thing they didn’t talk about was Jill. And that was a relief. Not that Jill was an unpleasant subject. Ever so gradually he’d been growing into a tentative peace about what had happened. With the knowledge that he’d done everything in his power to find her, to discover what had happened, he had no choice but to be willing to accept that he might never know the answers.
He looked at his watch, thinking it must be getting late, but was surprised to find it was only nine o’clock. He shifted in his chair.
Shelley must have thought he was making a move to leave. She scooted forward in her lawn chair and touched his arm briefly. “Hey, I picked up a DVD on my way home from work.” The eagerness in her voice betrayed her loneliness. “I can’t even remember the name of it, but Audrey and her roommates watched it and recommended it. Would you want to watch it with me?”
He feigned a suspicious look. “It’s not some chick flick, is it?” He was buying time, not sure if this was a good idea.
“Not a chick flick. Well, at least I don’t think so. I’ll have to check, but I think it’s more of a Western. Or something historical. You’re welcome to watch.”
He hesitated for a second too long.
“It’s fine if you’d rather not.” She rose and gathered their supper dishes. “You won�
�t hurt my feelings if you don’t stay. I promise I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable––and I’m sorry if I already did.”
Her words went a long way toward easing his wariness. “No. It’s okay, Shelley. I just . . . I’m still feeling like I need to be careful. Guard my . . . heart.” Once the words were out he realized he wished he hadn’t put it that way. He debated whether it would make things worse to try to explain himself. But it wasn’t fair to Shelley for him to reveal how much he still struggled with his attraction to her. Especially when he knew that––at least at one time––she’d reciprocated his feelings.
But she seemed calm, willing to let his comment stand without further explanation. And truly fine whether he stayed or left.
That helped and he let himself relax again. “I’ll watch a movie with you. At least for a little while. Till I make sure you’re not tricking me into watching a chick flick.”
She reached over and delivered a playful slug. “I told you, it’s not a chick flick.”
He put the grate over the fire pit and made sure it was safe, then helped her carry in their supper dishes.
She made popcorn that filled the house with a smell that caused a wave of––it felt like homesickness––to roll over him. He suddenly ached for things he’d taken for granted. Having someone to watch a movie with. Sharing a meal. He doubted Shelley knew what a gift she’d offered him tonight.
In the family room off the kitchen, she got the movie playing and turned out the lights, leaving only a table lamp burning, and the dim strand of light that shone from under the kitchen cabinets behind them.
He started to plop on one end of the long sofa, then caught himself in time to gracefully make a different choice. The leather club chair near the window felt––safer.
As the movie theme music crescendoed, he was transported to the rare Friday nights not so long ago, when the kids were both out with friends and he and Jill would declare a date night. Tonight had that same “treat” feel to it. He quickly checked the thought. Because he and Shelley were certainly not dating.
Still, he was thankful for this comfortable friendship they’d grown into. Shelley had helped him feel moments of true happiness again. She’d helped him deal with the kids––especially Katie, filling the gap for a girl who still needed her mother so much.
She’d meant the world to him in these days since he’d lost Jill. And more and more he’d started wondering if there could be something more between them. Something his thoughts welcomed a little too eagerly. Because he hadn’t yet felt the Lord release him from Jill––from his wife. And he was certain of that. Because he’d been asking.
Shelley jerked awake. The light from the TV cast a gray glow over the room, the image set on the menu for the movie. Groggy and disoriented, she threw off the afghan she’d covered up with and eased off the sofa. She had to work tomorrow. She needed to get to bed and get some real sleep.
Fumbling with the remote, she looked up and her heart nearly stopped seeing the tall form sprawled in the leather club chair.
Mitch. The movie must have bored them both to sleep. With his feet up on the coffee table, one arm behind his head, and his mouth slack in sleep, he looked boyish and sweet.
She checked the clock on the DVD player. Almost one a.m. She considered tucking the afghan around him and going on to bed, but she knew he wouldn’t be happy about that when he woke up in the morning.
She nudged his foot. “Mitch?”
He stirred and closed his mouth, but settled back to sleep.
“Mitch?” she said louder, nudging harder. “It’s one o’clock.”
“What?” He swung his feet off the coffee table and slipped on his shoes. He stretched, then rubbed his eyes. “What time is it.”
“One o’clock,” she repeated.
“In the morning?” He seemed fully awake now.
She laughed softly. “Well, it’s not afternoon. Look outside.”
He glanced toward the darkened windows. “Holy cow. I’m so sorry. I must have dozed off.”
“It’s okay. I did too. But I’m going to bed now. You can stay if you want––on the sofa, I mean. In here. I just didn’t want you to wonder . . . when you woke up.” She was rambling, trying to get her foot out of her mouth. Mostly unsuccessfully.
“Thanks, but . . . I’ll let myself out.” He rose and straightened the cushions on the sofa. “Thanks again for dinner. It was great.”
“Any time. Good night,” she whispered. She let him out the back door and locked it behind him. It had felt strange having Mitch here all evening––in the middle of the night. Strange, and just a little wonderful.
Wide awake now, she carried their popcorn bowls to the kitchen and put the rest of the supper dishes in the dishwasher and started it running. She felt a little like she had as a fifteen-year-old babysitter, playing house in somebody else’s home, dreaming about what it would be like to have her own family someday. Only now the imaginary hero in her pretend world had a face. A real face.
She tried to sober herself by imagining what it would be like if someday Jill knocked on her door, returned from wherever she’d been all this time. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She missed her friend desperately. But if Jill came back she would assuredly lose her as a friend. And lose another friend––one who’d become every bit as dear to her.
Oh, Jill . . . What have I done? I love him. I love your husband.
June
Chapter 30
Friday, June 17
Mitch started a pot of coffee and took his ritual morning walk through the house. Feeding TP, checking on the weather from two different windows, watering the houseplants, which weren’t looking so hot without Jill’s deft touch.
He almost tripped over a pair of flip-flops and smiled to himself. A year ago it would have driven him nuts to have Katie’s things strewn around the house. Now it warmed his heart. She’d only been home for a week, but already her presence had brought some life back to this lonely house.
He headed for the shower, rapping twice on her door as he went by. “Up and at ’em, Katiebug.”
She groaned in response, but her iPod speakers blared, and he heard her feet hit the floor. They'd already fallen into an easy schedule. She was working as a lifeguard and teaching swimming lessons at the city pool again this summer, as she had all through high school. Her two best friends from high school had remained in Springfield over the summer, but Katie had become close with a couple of girls she worked with at the pool.
Mostly she was her sweet, cheerful self, but when she was home she spent more time in her room than she had even in those angst-filled early teen years. He knew, for her, the house didn’t even seem like home without Jill here, and she was struggling. He’d heard her crying––sobbing––one night, and it nearly tore him apart. But when he’d knocked on her door and asked if she was okay, she pretended everything was fine. He wished he’d called her on the deception, but he didn’t have a clue what he would say, how he could help, if she admitted how much she was hurting.
Twice, Shelley had invited Katie to go shopping with her and Audrey, who was home for the summer too. But each time Katie had come up with an excuse. Mitch wasn’t sure what was going on. Jill would have known exactly what to say––or whether to say anything––but he didn’t have a clue how to start that conversation.
When he came back to the kitchen twenty minutes later, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, the aromas of coffee and toast mingled enticingly.
Katie sat at the bar counter in her bathing suit and cover-up, buttering toast over the morning newspaper. She looked up briefly. “Hey, Dad.”
“Morning. You work till eight again tonight?”
She nodded and went back to the op-ed page.
The TV in the family room blared the weather, and after starting a bagel toasting, he went to find the remote and turned the volume down.
“Hey! I was listening to that . . .”
He turned it back
up two notches. “How can you read the paper and watch TV at the same time?”
“It takes special talent,” she deadpanned, eyes still on the paper, “which you obviously do not possess.”
Trolling his brain for a snappy comeback, he came up empty, but her droll humor made him smile. He pulled his favorite travel mug from the dishwasher and poured coffee, leaving room for milk. “You want some?” He held up the carafe.
She looked up from the newspaper, glanced behind him at the clock on the microwave, and gave a little gasp. “No, I’ve gotta run. See you tonight.” She gathered her gear and started out the door, but turned back to him, one foot still in the garage. “Did you get Shelley’s message? About the cookout?”
“Oh? No, I didn’t see it. Where? Answering machine?”
“No. She left a note in the mailbox. I put it––” She hiked her bag up on her shoulder, and went to the bar counter and lifted the newspaper. A small sheet of notepaper fluttered off the counter. Katie gracefully caught it just before it hit the floor.
She handed it to him and he skimmed it quickly.
I’m making BBQ chicken tomorrow night. You guys are invited if you can come. 7:00 unless we need to go later for Katie.
“Tonight or tomorrow?” he said. “When did you find this?”
“It was in with yesterday’s mail. She means tonight.”
“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do for supper. Can you come?”
Katie started to say something, then seemed to change her mind.
“What?” he said.
She studied him. “Dad, do you think Shelley is trying to . . . I don’t know”––she lifted one shoulder––“catch you?”
“Catch me?” He gave a laugh that sounded every bit as false as it was. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged again. “It just seems like she’s awfully friendly to us. You especially. I think she likes you.” Her tone said she didn’t think that was such a good thing.
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