by Dana Corbit
“Hey, I’m not criticizing the quality of the work, just the pace.”
“What would the Sistine Chapel look like if Michelangelo was rushed like this?” With her sleeve, she brushed at the perspiration dotting her forehead.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we have several years to spare when the carnival is just two days away.”
Dinah stuck out her tongue and then tilted her head to the side. “You know…isn’t there an old saying, ‘If you want something done right, then do it yourself’?” She extended the brush his way.
Instead of coming up with another quip, Alex pulled a clean paintbrush from his back pocket. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Retrieving a bowl, he poured a small amount of paint from her can into it. He pointed to the E at the end of the Welcome sign. “I’ll start there, and we can meet someplace in the middle—if you get a move on that is.”
“Good thing for you there’s no quality inspector on the job here.”
“Are you saying I do shoddy work?”
Dinah shook her head. There was no way she could say that about a man who took on every project he was given with intensity and a strong work ethic. It didn’t matter if he was shirring the material around the table for the pie-throwing booth or reinforcing the braces for the dunk tank, Alex would make sure the job was done right.
“Well, glad to hear it because I was about to be offended.”
Alex moved the drop cloth so it could double as a kneeling pad of sorts, settled on it and stuck his brush in the paint.
Dinah waited until he’d taken his first stroke before she began a conversation. “It’s probably been a boring week for you at the fire station.”
Instead of answering, he looked over at her quizzically.
“You know,” she explained. “Not a single alarm from Grove Elementary all week.”
He returned to his work with quick, efficient strokes. “That’s what we were hoping for when I conducted all those Fire Prevention Awareness presentations.” He looked up again and pinned her in his stare. “At least I thought that was what we were both hoping for.”
She waved away his comment with a flick of her brush and then scanned the floor, hoping she hadn’t spattered the paint. “Of course that’s what I want. I was just worried about the guys at the station. You probably miss us.”
“Maybe a little,” he said with a sigh.
They’d been able to see each other every night this week except Sunday, which, to some extent, made up for the new lack of daytime sightings. Whether they were working together, touching up the paint on signs, or on opposite sides of the room counting prize inventory, Dinah hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him.
The best part—even if it had been a little scary—was that every time she’d glanced at him, she caught him staring back. Even now she smiled over the challenge the distraction had presented. It was downright tough sharing secret glances without getting paint in her hair.
“Come on, Picasso, pick up the pace.”
Dinah looked up from where she was doing a fine job on the first E in welcome, if she did say so herself, to find Alex already finished with his M and halfway around the circle of his O. They were getting closer to each other by the paint stroke. “First Michelangelo and now Picasso? Aren’t you mixing up your genres here?”
“That and time periods. Renaissance and Cubism.”
A brawny firefighter who also knew something about art—when was Alex Donovan going to quit surprising her? There was so much to like about Alex, beyond the fact that he’d faced her parents and still seemed to think she was worth the effort.
Alex was different from any of the men she’d known before. Though his strength and confidence had drawn her to him in the first place, it was his caring qualities and his steadfastness that tempted her to step even closer. That in itself should have sent her running in the other direction. She knew better, but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from wanting to know him better.
She dipped her brush into the paint and began another series of strokes. “It looks like all this work has been good for Brandon and Chelsea.” She glanced around the room, pausing first on Brandon, who was having a little too much fun tossing around stuffed bears that were supposed to be prizes with Tyler. Then she paused on Chelsea, who was spending more time looking adoringly at the big girls than counting bags of hot dog buns. Alex followed the path of her gaze.
“It’s keeping their minds off their parents, at least for a little while.”
“Have you heard anything new?”
“Karla called yesterday and talked to both of them before she talked to me. She sounded so weak. She still isn’t responding to the chemotherapy. She’s starting to lose hope.”
Dinah wondered if Alex’s cousin wasn’t the only one. “It will happen.” She said it with a certainty she hoped was contagious. “We’ll both just keep praying. Any word about Mike’s leave from Iraq?”
He only shook his head. “In fact, no word at all for the last four days. Until then, I’d been getting regular e-mails from him. Neither of the kids have thought to ask, and I haven’t mentioned it.”
Four days without contact. Dinah swallowed. They both knew what that could mean for this family. “Maybe Mike’s just on a covert operation or communications are down or something.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s it. I’m sure of it.” Before Alex could say he wasn’t so sure, Dinah pressed on, shifting the subject. “It takes a special person to enter the military—and to be a firefighter. You never told me why you did it.”
Whatever dark thoughts had been crossing his mind seemed to filter away as his posture softened. “What can I say? I have a hero complex.”
Since she’d once thought the same thing about him, Dinah couldn’t help grinning. “That’s it? I figured you lost your kitty in a tree once, a ladder truck came racing down the street, and—”
Alex was already shaking his head. “No, nothing as romantic as that. It’s just that, you see, my parents were older when I was born.” He cleared his throat and started again. “Anyway, Dad was a firefighter. He had to retire when I was little because of an injury, but he would always tell these incredible stories about heroes who laid their lives on the line for others. Mom and Dad taught me there was honor in that.”
“I agree,” she said before she could stop herself.
He smiled when she looked over at him again, but it was a sad smile. Was there something more to his story that he wasn’t telling?
“I don’t know about you, but I think it’s kind of a romantic notion to want to follow in your father’s footsteps.” His noncommittal shrug only made her wonder more. “You must really miss them now that your parents are both gone.”
“How’d you know they were gone?”
“You keep forgetting that I’m Chelsea’s teacher. I always tell parents that if they’ll believe only half of what their children tell them after school, I’ll believe only half of the stories their kids tell me from home.”
“Still planning on Sunday night?”
“Of course.” She wouldn’t tell him she’d thought of little else any more than she would inform him that his change of subject couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d painted it on a sign. He’d let her get by with changing the subject before, so she decided to return the favor. “You can always count me in for a good meal.”
“Great because I made reservations at Chez René in Richmond.”
“That sounds fancy.”
“I figured I owed you after Friday night.”
Setting her paintbrush aside, Dinah pulled up on her knees and planted her hands on her hips. “I happened to have had a blast the other night, so don’t ruin it for me.”
“You’re easily impressed,” he said with a smile. “I guess you really haven’t had a date in a while.”
“I appreciate your rubbing it in.” Though she continued their banter, inside Dinah braced herself for his questions about her d
ating history. The questions he didn’t ask. Would they continue to tiptoe around so many subjects tonight, never quite making the commitment to step into any of them?
A brush from Alex’s shoulder interrupted her thoughts. Though she was just putting the finishing touches on the L, she could see that he’d already reached the letter C and they’d met each other in the middle of the word. Whatever questions she would have liked to ask, her time had run out, at least for now.
“Looks like we’re finished here.” He stood up, his paintbrush in one hand and the bowl of paint in the other. “I’m going to head over to help Eli do the final touches on the dunk tank.”
“Do you think it will hold water?”
“It had better or the church parking lot is going to turn into the Chestnut Grove Lake.”
Alex stepped away then, and all Dinah could do was wish she could have come up with a clever remark to convince him to stay longer. He understood, even if she didn’t, that they needed to stop flirting and get back to work if they were going to be ready for Saturday’s carnival. She needed to get focused, too. The youth group and the other programs that the carnival supported deserved her full attention, and until Saturday, she would give it just that.
Only Saturday, after all the games were finished and the last elephant ear had been reduced to crumbs and dots of powdered sugar, would she allow her thoughts to linger on her upcoming date with Alex. Just a brief thought about it now filled her stomach with butterflies.
Those fluttering feelings were at least part of the reason she stood and took a few steps toward the dunk tank to get a better look at Alex’s progress. She should have known better because as soon as she caught sight of him, as handsome with a tube of silicone caulk in his hand as he was in full firefighter gear, he was staring back at her.
The moment convinced Dinah of two things: a look from Alex Donovan was warm enough to give her a sunburn, and forgetting about her plans with Alex until Saturday night would be easier said than done.
Chapter Nine
T he day of the Chestnut Grove Youth Center’s new and improved fall carnival couldn’t have been more perfect in Dinah’s opinion. God had blessed them with lovely fall weather all afternoon, far more suited to a sunny September Saturday than one twenty days into October.
The church parking lot had been transformed into an amusement park with everything from a Tilt-A-Whirl and Ferris wheel to an inflated bounce room and a tall slide that children rode using burlap bags as flying carpets.
The glitter-covered fairy-tale castle that stood in the center of those midway rides might have appeared out of place to some, but to Dinah, it was the perfect blend of past and present. The castle had been the centerpiece for last year’s fairy-tale theme, and the children would likely enjoy the chance to play in it again.
Dinah poured more kernels into the industrial popcorn popper, sick enough of the smell that it would be spring before she would crave movie popcorn again. At least she hadn’t been stuck with cotton candy duty though. Newlyweds Andrew and Miranda Jones Noble were the unfortunate souls who’d drawn the latest cotton candy shift, and already they wore as much of the fluffy blue confection in their hair as they were whipping around paperboard wands and stuffing in plastic bags.
For the third time in the last fifteen minutes, Miranda’s seven-year-old son crept past Dinah on his way to try to swipe a taste of the fluff.
“Daniel, if you don’t get out of here right this instant, you won’t be going on any more rides the rest of the afternoon.”
Miranda’s voice sounded stern, but she grinned at her husband when he passed Daniel a wand of candy and tucked the appropriate number of tickets in the collection container.
Adjusting her sanitary gloves, Dinah glanced back at her machine as the kernels popped in the little tray at the top, spilling over and beginning to refill the bottom of the glass container. With her large metal scoop, she filled more of the red-and-white popcorn boxes that would be gone again as soon as another wave of children passed by the food booth on their way to the carnival games.
“Popcorn. Get your hot popcorn.”
The words were barely out of Dinah’s mouth when Eric Pellegrino and his new wife, Samantha, stepped to the front of the line.
“Two boxes, please,” Samantha said.
“Two boxes? Isn’t one enough?” Eric asked her, lifting his brow.
“I need my own,” she said to both Eric and Dinah, grinning. Leaning forward, she spoke to Dinah in a conspiratorial whisper. “Whenever I share with him, he eats the whole box.”
Eric looked offended. “I do not.” But then he shrugged. “Well, not all of it.”
“Have you heard any word on the adoption?” Dinah asked. Eric had been in the process of adopting two brothers from Africa when he’d fallen in love with and married Samantha.
Samantha shook her head. “You know what a lot of red tape foreign adoptions can be. It’s taking a while, but Amani and Matunde are going to be with us eventually. I just know it.”
The two walked away, arm in arm, looking like blissful newlyweds. Both were holding their own boxes of popcorn in their free arms. Dinah couldn’t help smiling after them. Samantha’s past struggle with anorexia was common knowledge around Chestnut Grove since her interview on Afternoons with Douglas Matthews, so Dinah was pleased to see the young woman enjoying a playful attitude toward food now.
After they were out of sight, Dinah scanned the crowd for the umpteenth time in the last three hours. So many of her friends from church, the youth center and school passed by her. Others she recognized from around town—the grocery store, Starlight Diner, the post office, Winchester Park.
She would have tried to tell herself she was only looking for familiar faces as she scooped more popcorn into boxes, but she thought it best not to lie to herself anymore. She’d been looking for any sign of Alex or Brandon and Chelsea all day.
The truth was Alex had even invaded her thoughts this week while she should have been concentrating on Virginia state history and essay-writing rubrics. He’d even trespassed on her dreams when what she really needed was some good REM sleep. No matter how Dinah tried to think of something else, Alex had remained front and center in her mind. Why should she expect today to be any different?
Where was he, anyway? Had something happened with Karla’s treatment, or had Alex received bad news about Mike in Iraq? She glanced again at the bake sale booth across from where she stood. Alex was on the schedule to work at that booth, but, instead, youth group members Nikki and Gina were hawking fudge brownies and pink-frosted sugar cookies like veteran hot dog vendors at a Washington Redskins game.
The two teens startled as colorful midway lights flicked on around them. The lights filled the void as the sun was already dipping behind the church building and the parking lot lamps, set on a timer, hadn’t turned on yet.
Finding a lull in her concession line, Dinah slipped over to the bake sale booth just to make sure sales were running smoothly.
“Hey, you two. If you don’t quit making puppy-dog eyes at all the boys, you’re going to sell out too early.” Dinah grinned as she selected a trio of pumpkin cookies with cream cheese icing. “You have to make this stuff last until the carnival’s over at eleven.”
Gina drew her eyebrows together and then had to push her glasses back up on her nose. “Why would we not want to sell out? Then we’ll have made all the money we can by selling baked stuff for the center. After that we could go spend some of our own money, raising even more money for the center.”
Because the studious brunette had a point, Dinah nodded, as she handed over a few prepurchased tickets for the cookies. “Go ahead then, but just don’t steal all my customers. We won’t be able to sell cold, hard popcorn.”
She started away from them and then stopped, turning to speak over her shoulder. “Is there anything the two of you need before I go back? I have the walkie-talkie, so I can have Dad, Scott or Caleb bring it to you.” She pointed to the buzzing
gadget attached at her belt loop.
Nikki, the green-eyed blonde who had mellowed in the last year but still preferred black clothes and dark eyeliner, gave Dinah a strange smile before she answered. “Yeah, I need a date for next Friday night’s football game. And could you send him with a thermos of hot chocolate?”
“I’ll have Dad get right on it,” Dinah said with a feigned frown. “But remember that he thinks all women should wait until they’re thirty to date.” One in particular, she could have added but didn’t.
Nikki exchanged a glance with Gina and then turned back to Dinah. “You wouldn’t be wondering where Mr. Donovan is, would you?”
Dinah tried to look offended. “Why do you ask that?” She raised a shoulder and then lowered it. “Sure, I wondered if he was here. We need all the volunteers we can handle today, and I did want to check on Brandon and Chelsea. Those two have been going through a tough time lately, and you know that Chelsea’s been in my class for two years now, and—”
She stopped herself before she could dig an even deeper hole. For their part, the two girls continued to nod at everything she’d said, but the sides of their mouths were beginning to lift. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Dinah could imagine Shakespeare penning a second time on her behalf.
Dinah frowned. She’d been a minister’s daughter for far too long not to realize how closely she and the rest of the Frasers were always watched. She could just imagine what stories were already making the rounds through the Chestnut Grove church community, and she and Alex hadn’t had a single date without chaperones yet.
No wonder ex-boyfriend Bill had bolted when he had. Would Alex be able to handle the pressure of dating someone like her? Of course, it was too soon to wonder. They weren’t even an official couple yet, but still it was hard to enjoy the newness when she couldn’t help wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.
Gina chewed her lower lip, perhaps to keep from laughing. “Anyway, if you’re looking for Mr. Donovan, he got recruited for a shift in the pie-throwing booth and then one in the dunk tank.”