“Why do you keep pestering me? It’s like being nibbled to death by a duck!”
“I just want to take you to dinner, and maybe later nibble your neck.”
“I’d rather...rather…” She stamped her foot down and jerked her chin up. “I’d rather…swing from a spinning ceiling fan!”
“Why, Mrs. Clark, I do believe you’re softening.”
“What are you talking about?” She paused between each word and squinted.
“You’re softening. You’ve gone from teeth drilling as your torture of choice rather than date me, to ceiling fan spinning. I’d say that’s an improvement.”
“Grrrrr...,” she growled through clenched teeth while yanking on the tool belt, “and don’t call me Mrs. Clark!”
“Well now, if you’re not married and if you haven’t legally changed your name, you’re still Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Clark.”
Lorraine’s hands shook as she fought with the string. “I have never met anyone so infuriating in all my life!” She stamped her foot, only harder this time, but missed the floor and hit his toes, before finally freeing the knot.
The car honked a third time.
Lorraine spun on her heel and marched down the hall like she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “Oh, by the way,” she hissed over her shoulder, “say hello to Denise for me!” Then she rammed the crash bar of the door with both hands, and shoved it open with the force of a fireman rushing to a three-alarm blaze.
What in the world? Dylan stood scratching the back of his head, puzzled, then walked to the exit and watched her get into the car.
Lorraine jerked the car door open, pitched her things in the back and then slumped down in the seat. Crossing her arms in front of her, she sputtered, “I am so mad, I could spit!”
“What’s the matter?” Connie asked.
“He’s what’s the matter!” Lorraine pointed a rigid finger toward the double doors.
Connie craned her neck sideways to see the broad shouldered man with the tool belt slung low around his narrow hips. He was halfway in, halfway out, with his forearm leaning against the door to hold it open.
“Ummm,” she purred. “He’s yummy! Who is he?”
Lorraine’s chin nearly fell to her lap. “That’s Dylan!”
“That’s Dylan? Girl, I’ll take him!”
“He’s already taken,” Lorraine said, ready to slap her.
“How do you know?”
“I talked to his girlfriend when he was in a stupor at the hospital.”
“How do you know she was his girlfriend?”
“The woman was holding his hand!”
Connie tilted her head in a shrug.
“That’s not all. The woman said they’d been seeing each other for months!”
“Too bad.” Connie took a final glimpse at Dylan before pulling out of the parking lot and twiddling her fingers in a flirtatious wave. “He’s gorgeous.”
Lorraine’s mouth gaped open again. “How can you say that after everything I’ve told you about him?”
“He looks harmless. Actually, he looks quite irresistible.”
“He’s not irresistible! He’s irresponsible!”
“So, what’d he do to ruffle your feathers?”
“He called me Mrs. Clark.”
Connie gasped, “He should be shot!” Then she laughed. “Legally, you still are Mrs. Clark, aren’t you?”
“That’s not the point.”
“So what else rattled your cage?” Connie swung out of the parking lot.
“He asked me out to dinner.”
“That always ticks me off.”
“That’s not the point, either. It’s De—”
“What is the point then?” Connie interrupted, before opening her eyes wide. “You still love him, don’t you?”
“Oh, please, be serious.”
“That’s it! You’re jealous!”
“I am not!”
“The green-eyed monster has its claws in you or you wouldn’t be so upset!” Connie sang, nearly veering off the road with her self-proclaimed revelation.
“Watch where you’re going!” Lorraine shouted, grabbing the dashboard for support.
“No, Lorraine, you’d better watch where you’re going,” Connie said with a loopy grin.
TWENTY-THREE
Buck’s massive frame filled the entrance when Dylan opened the door. “Hey, Buck, long time no see!”
Buck extended his hand. “How’s it going there, pal?” Upon release of the handshake, Buck’s beefy paw disappeared into a bag of pork rinds, as he wedged past Dylan and plopped down on a kitchen chair. Buck was the spitting image of John Goodman, except for the fact that Buck’s teeth were bad. Real bad—like someone swapped his teeth out with a pair of dice—bad, so that when the gentle giant smiled, Dylan wasn’t sure where to look without appearing rude. He tried to maintain polite eye contact, but caught his gaze drifting four inches south. Old Buck had a sweet tooth all right, particularly favoring those caramelized candy bars. The sugary habit obviously hastened the untimely demise of his pearly whites.
Regardless, other than the nasty dental difference, Goodman and Buck had the same build, appearance and boisterous personalities.
“Coffee?” Dylan reached into the cupboard for a mug.
“No thanks, I’ll just munch on the rest of these poke rinds.” He shook the bag at Dylan. “Want one?”
“I’ll pass,” Dylan said, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. “So how’ve you been?”
“Perty good. Still working at the steel mill. Same old same old.” Buck leaned back in the chair and noshed on another pork rind. He hadn’t been there more than a moment when Misty hopped onto his lap.
“Yowza!” Buck yelped as he sprang to his feet and tossed the cat from his lap. Misty flew from lap to mid-air to floor with all fours splayed, meowing and howling all the way.
“Whoa! Sorry about that, but I’m a bit squeamish around cats,” he confessed, while brushing kitty fur from his pants. “They’re a nuisance, if you ask me. Always sticking their noses where they don’t belong, sniffing around for food, walking all over the furniture.” Buck gave a quaking shudder, as Dylan’s flying feline skittered under the table.
“Sit down in this house and you’re guaranteed a lap full of cat.” Dylan reached for Misty, patted the top of her head then sent the unscathed puss on her way.
Buck reclaimed his seat and leaned back in the chair. He put his feet up on the table and crossed them at the ankles. “How’s about you and me hittin’ the town tonight?” Buck shoved another pork rind in his mouth then after downing the crispy curl, wiped his greasy hand on the front of his pants, apparently recovered from his harrowing ordeal.
Dylan leaned his backside against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “No, thanks.”
“Why not? Ain’t nothin’ holding you here.” Buck nodded toward the living room. “The old ball-and-chain doesn’t seem to be around anymore. C’mon, I’ll buy ya a few rounds.”
Although the remark stung, it was a minimal slur, considering the fact that Buck’s usual lingo could make a trucker blush.
Lord, help me. Dylan remained calm and decided to answer as politely as possible. At one time, Dylan thought Buck was funny, a regular clown for a night on the town, but now he found Buck’s behavior offensive. Yet, he also knew that no matter how crude Buck acted or appeared, he still had a soul that needed redemption, and Dylan would show him respect. “Thanks anyway, but the Lord’s helped me quit drinking.”
“So it’s true!” Buck’s feet hit the floor at the same time his fist pounded the table. “I was wondering where you’ve been lately. Heard you got religion. Smitty owes me five bucks.”
Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got bets on me?”
“Just a friendly wager.”
“Yeah, right,” Dylan said, pouring another cup of coffee, splashing some on the counter. “Anyway, I’m not religious at all.” He grabbed a sponge and mopped up the spill. “Religion involves a lot o
f rituals and formalities, sort of like trying to work your way into Heaven. Being a Christian isn’t the same thing.”
“How so?” Buck grabbed a can of mixed-nuts from the table and peeled off the lid.
“Christianity is God reaching down to man, not the other way around. I don’t have to work my way into Heaven. Jesus came down and got me. He’s forgiven me.”
“Then one night out won’t hurt.” Buck shook the can to pick out the cashews. “You can ask God to forgive you in the morning. Come on out for old times sake.”
“Sorry, Buck. I’m not interested anymore. There’s a difference between the world’s version of entertainment and the Lord’s version of fulfillment.”
Buck held a hand up in surrender as he stood to leave. “Okay there, Padre! You’ve got it bad!”
“Actually, I’ve got it good, never had it so good.” Dylan walked to the utility cart and picked up a small booklet and handed it to Buck. “Here, read this. Maybe it’ll help you understand what I mean.” He gave Buck a friendly pat on the back and bumped the table on the way to the door.
“Whoa there, you sure you haven’t been hittin’ the sauce?”
“I’m okay. Just a little dizzy for some reason. I just need some fresh air. It’s been nice seeing you, buddy.”
“You, too.” Buck walked off the porch and waved the can of nuts in the air.
Dylan watched him drive away and said a prayer for his friend. He swaggered to the edge of his yard and leaned against an apple tree. The dizziness suddenly made him nauseous and his head was beginning to ache. “What is this, Lord?”
* * *
Lorraine felt terrible about the way she spoke to Dylan at the fitness center. After all, he seemed sincere about his dinner invitation, and he did look bewildered when she mentioned Denise’s name. Maybe she’d been hasty in judging the situation. An honest mistake, that’s all.
When she stopped at the red light, she flipped down the visor to check her face in the mirror. She turned her head and reached her fingers under her hair to give it a quick little fluff. She had to admit that Dylan seemed different the evening they went fishing and had dinner together. And then there was the incident with Mr. Jenkins. Dylan’s kindness to the old man couldn’t have been an act for her sake, since he didn’t even know she was there.
The light changed, the visor went up, and her car cruised through the center of town. Yes, she would do the mature thing and apologize for her rude behavior. Satisfied with her noble decision, Lorraine rounded the corner and headed down the dirt road that led to Dylan’s house.
About halfway there, an old pickup truck approached from the opposite direction. As it rumbled down the road toward her, the truck backfired and a chunk of rust fell from the bumper. The sound of the bang startled her and made her jump, just as the driver honked the horn and waved to her. She snapped her head around for a second look. “Buck?” Lorraine scrunched up her nose as though she’d just smelled something horrible. “Couldn’t be.” She tried to dismiss the gnawing feeling that wrenched her stomach, as unpleasant memories of uncouth behavior emerged. Buck was the closest thing she’d ever seen to a real hillbilly. All he needed to fit the image was a corncob pipe clamped in his teeth, a rifle in one hand, and a boot propped on a rock next to a whiskey still.
Lorraine could never figure out how Buck ever got into the steel mill or why Dylan was ever his friend. She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she slowed the car and swung into Dylan’s driveway. She sat there for a moment, rehearsing what she would say to him, while checking her face in the mirror again. She pulled a comb from her purse and ran it though her hair, but suddenly stopped. The recipient of her intended apology was leaning against a tree in his yard. His head was bowed and he was holding onto it, almost as though he was praying.
Dylan lifted his head and looked out toward the car then began a slow saunter in her direction. Her stomach quivered when she wondered how he would react to her unannounced visit, and if he would accept her apology. She reached for the door handle, while keeping an eye on his slow methodical steps.
He reached for his head again while weaving and swaying more noticeably now, and holding an arm out like a blind man grasping for something to hold onto. And then he waved. Not a friendly, hi, how are you kind of wave. He was waving like a drunken sailor signaling ship-to-shore. Lorraine leaned forward to scrutinize Dylan through the windshield as he staggered back-and-forth across the yard.
And then he fell.
Lorraine sat bolt upright and smacked her hand on the steering wheel. “He’s drunk! I knew it! That was Buck and they’ve been drinking! And to think I almost apologized to him!” Lorraine backed the car from the driveway and ripped down the road, spraying dirt and gravel from beneath her tires. She pulled onto the main highway in such a fuss that she new she’d better calm down, before she had an accident. So she snapped on the radio and pushed the buttons a dozen times before a word caught her attention, and she began to listen.
“If you do not forgive, it’s like locking yourself in prison with the person you want to punish, because the keyhole is only accessible from the inside of the cell. And when you’re cellmates with those you resent, they have the power to torment you day and night. This happens because the cell is really inside your head and your heart, and you are the only one who has access to the lock. In order to free yourself, you must unlock and open the door, but in doing so, you will be releasing your offender too, not because they deserve to be free, but because you do.”
Lorraine turned the volume up on the radio.
The announcer continued, “Most people who have committed offenses worthy of punishment or imprisonment have done so out of ignorance or defiance of Truth. When Jesus died on the cross, he prayed for his murders by saying, ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.’ He basically said they were ignorant of knowing and doing God’s will, because they were disconnected from His power.”
Lorraine snapped off the radio. “Humph! Ignorant! That’s it! Dylan’s ignorant all right!”
TWENTY-FOUR
“An ear infection? Are you kidding?”
“No, sir. That’s what you’ve got.” Dr. Forrester set the otoscope on the counter.
“I thought I was losing my mind. It was the same feeling I had as a kid when I twirled in circles to make myself dizzy.”
“That’s one of the symptoms. The inner ear controls your equilibrium, and an infection can throw your balance off. Any allergies?
“None that I know of.”
“Take these and you should feel better within a few days. In the meantime, don’t do any tightrope walking or motorcycle stunts.” The doctor smiled then ripped the prescription sheet from his pad.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and Dylan, we’re offering an express pass to those who’ve been in-and-out of here five times within a five month period. You’re almost eligible.”
They both smiled.
* * *
Lorraine flipped through the keys on her ring as she walked from the hospital to her car. The naked trees silhouetted against the gray sky were a stark reminder that winter was just around the corner. She hated the dismal dreariness and lack of sunlight that winter offered with a frosty hand. The gnarled branches seemed to hate it too, as they stretched their jagged claws heavenward seeming to plead for more light, more warmth, more time.
In spite of the dreary weather, she was glad that her shift was over. Not that she had anything exciting planned for the evening, but she was cold and tired and hungry. Hopefully, a hot meal and a warm bath would do the trick to perk her up. Maybe she’d light pumpkin-spice candles or add lavender scented oil or bubbles to her bath tonight, anything to lift her sagging spirit.
Something had to relieve the mounting tension that she’d been feeling the past few weeks. Three nights in a row she’d dreamed of Dylan. He’d been invading her sleep more and more since he came back into her life. Slowly at first, once a week, then twice, then more often th
an she cared to count. She blamed it on her pillow since it graced the bed that they once shared, so she threw it in the trash. Buying a new one didn’t seem to help, plus it was overstuffed and uncomfortable. She wondered if her parents heard her thrashing about in the middle of the night while she beat the daylights out of the blasted thing.
She hitched up her collar then scanned the parking lot where three silver balloons bobbed above the sea of vehicles in the vicinity of her car. Now, let’s see. It wasn’t her birthday. It was too late for Halloween. Too early for Thanksgiving. If they were on her car, which they clearly appeared to be, they must be from him.
Dorothy, who had also just finished her shift, yelled from what seemed like clear across Kansas, while pointing toward the balloons. “Hey, Lorraine, looks like you’ve got a secret admirer!”
“Yeah, looks that way,” she hollered back and waved, hoping that the secret would stay that way, when in truth, she knew that Dorothy would be asking about the bobbing balloons first thing in morning.
Yep, they were hers all right. The balloons were tethered to her door handle where they gently thumped together, struggling in the autumn breeze, trying to break free. She pulled the ribbons down, intending to read the message on the silver foil, but they were simply decorated with hearts and flowers and little brown bears.
A tag hung loosely from the makeshift bouquet as it twirled and tangled around the ribbons. Lorraine lifted the note, and read: Love, Dylan.
“You don’t give up, do you?” She wanted to snap the ribbons and let the balloons sail into outer space, but the way things were going lately, she’d probably be arrested for being some sort of atmospheric litterbug.
Instead, she pulled the balloons down, pushed them into her car, and swatted them into the backseat. She sat down inside, turned on the ignition, turned on the heater, and then checked her rearview mirror, ready to back out of the parking space. The balloons blocked her view so she turned around and yanked them down, and that’s when she saw him. Her heart leaped to her throat while Dylan, on the other hand, leaned cool and collected against the car behind her with his rump against somebody’s hood, his arms folded across his chest, and his mouth curled up in a Grinch-like smirk.
The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story) Page 19