by Lyn Cote
Jo pushed away the thought. They were in a public place. Bram was unlikely to lean over and kiss her here and now. And on the way home, the teens in the back seat would be adequate chaperones. Why not just relax and enjoy the evening?
A tall, silver-haired man appeared at their table and cleared his throat. “Miss Jo?”
Snatched from her comfortable mood, she stared up into the face of Mr. Henderson of Henderson’s Florals. She recognized him from his TV ads. She gaped, keeping her mouth closed by biting her lower lip.
“May I sit down for just a moment?” He pulled out the chair. “I have been meaning to drive over to Prescott and apologize in person, but things keep coming up.”
Jo opened her mouth, closed it and tried again. “Apologize?”
Mr. Henderson sat down. “Yes, I don’t know if you were aware of it, but I started semi-retirement at the end of last year. My wife and I spent most of the winter in Florida.”
“Oh?” She tried to come up with his motive for telling her this.
“And so my son is buying me out and taking over the business. I’m afraid in trying to impress me with his ability to turn a hefty profit that he caused you to lose some business this winter by opening that store in Prescott.”
Oh. That. Jo looked down into her Shirley Temple, not trusting herself to reply.
“And his twenty-five-percent-off new-customer rate?” Mr. Henderson prompted.
“Well, I did think that was…rather…” Jo couldn’t come up with a word she wanted that was polite.
“Thoughtless,” Henderson supplied. “I’m afraid my son didn’t realize that giving such a deep discount on top of investing in another store cut way into our profits.”
“I see.” This had all occurred to her and she’d put it down to vindictiveness by Henderson for some unknown reason.
“Plus, since the discount was only for new customers,” Henderson continued, sounding put out, “your customers would most likely only use us once. You are well-established. So what was the purpose in the first place? We only realized a tiny profit and really no new lasting customers.”
Jo took strength from his words. “I wondered when—”
“When your customers started coming back to you, you wondered what we had gained by cutting into your trade the first part of the year? Is that it?”
“Yes.” She smiled as she sipped her drink.
“We gained exactly zero—except the hostility of some of the customers who didn’t like our grabbing your customers, and the same from Prescott florists. I hope you won’t hold any hard feelings. The shop is going to close as soon as we complete the final few obligations.” Henderson offered her his hand.
“Of course.” Jo shook his hand.
“And if your date will permit me, I’d like to pick up the tab for your dinner tonight?” Henderson looked inquiringly to Bram.
Jo looked to her date. My date. That’s right. For the first time in years, I’m on a date.
“No thanks,” Bram declined.
Henderson rose. “As you wish. Again, my apologies.” He bowed his head and walked away.
“Well—” Jo looked at Bram with wide eyes “—what do you think about that?”
“I think it’s about time,” Bram added, hitting each word hard, “and that he owes you more than a dinner.”
Jo laid her hand over Bram’s. “I’m just glad to have the mystery solved and my customers back.”
Bram claimed her hand and drew it to his lips.
Her nerve endings screamed, Warning! She glanced over at the teen couple. Had Bram forgotten that they were supposed to set them an example tonight? But she couldn’t draw back her hand. His touch flowed up her arm, warming her, making her even more aware of him, if that were possible.
“Do you have any idea of how you’ve turned my life upside down?” he whispered.
Jo couldn’t reply. She could barely breathe. So much for the protection of a public place and teenaged chaperones.
“I never thought I’d find a woman like you—honest, caring, giving. You think of others, not just yourself. Jo, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
She clutched his hand and choked back sudden tears. Halfheartedly, she tried to pull her hand from his. But another glance told her that Tassie and her date had no eyes for anyone but each other.
“I know you don’t trust in a man’s love,” Bram went on. “But won’t you give me a chance?”
Her world as she knew it, as she’d constructed it began crumbling. Jo found her voice. “I need time.”
“That’s fair.” Bram’s thumb traced slow circles on the flesh of her palm. “We don’t have to rush into anything.”
“Let’s take time to get to know each other better.” With each sensible word, she felt the noose around her heart and lungs loosening.
Bram drew her hand to his insistent lips again. “Time is relative.”
His touch was doing things to her pulse. She checked the teens. They were still oblivious. She closed her eyes, letting her whole being concentrate on where his skin met hers. “What does that mean?” she breathed.
“It means that no one can predict how long it takes to get to know another person.” He kissed the sensitive inside of her wrist.
“Bram,” she whispered silently.
“Some people you never know. They keep themselves hidden. Other people, like you for instance, are easy to know. You’re all out in the open, sincere. I know you, Jo.” His grip became more commanding. “I know I care for you.”
His deep voice stirred her pulse. “I need time,” she murmured again. He rubbed her hand against his cheek. She reveled in the sensation of the hint of his beard and the firm line of his jaw. But thinking of Tassie, she drew her hand back.
“Okay, Jo. I want to give you whatever you want. Even time. But just remember my feelings won’t change because I know you won’t turn out to be someone I couldn’t love. My heart is sure that this time is different. Because you are different. I’ve never known any woman like you before. Let me love you, Jo. That’s all I want.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant about this time is different. Who had he loved before and why had it ended? But she couldn’t pry like that, not now. “You’ll give me time?” She opened her eyes to read his.
Bram nodded, though everything inside him shouted for him to disagree. In her lustrous cream-colored dress and her auburn hair, Jo glimmered like a burst of fireworks frozen in the darkened room. He wanted Jo in his arms now. He wanted to put a ring on her finger. He wanted to kiss her sweet lips good night tonight and every night.
Her hesitance only made him firmer in his decision. Jo wasn’t chasing the hot new high-school football coach or erstwhile quarterback who’d almost gone pro. She cared about him even if she denied it. He saw it in the way she closed her eyes when he kissed her hand. In the way she’d reached out to Tassie. Even in her plea for time. But, Lord, I don’t want to wait. If I can’t persuade her, would you do it for me?
Later, in the spring moonlight, Bram walked Jo up the steps to her door.
“I know why you asked me to drop you off at home first,” he said with a grin. “You’re not fooling me and you’re not getting off without a good-night kiss.”
“The kids are watching us.” She nodded toward the motion-activated lamp that had flickered on at their approach.
“Then I better show Adam a good example.”
“Right—”
Bram gripped her shoulders tenderly and pulled her to him. “I better show him how to do it up right.” He cradled her chin in one hand and kissed her.
Jo felt her knees soften to jelly. She kissed him back slowly, forgetting her resolve, forgetting everything but him.
He finally lifted his lips from hers. “Good night…my sweet Jo.”
“Good night.” She felt winded and wondered if she could walk without his support.
He unlocked her door and she managed to slip inside. Bram’s kisses packed way too much power. They mig
ht be illegal. Grinning, she slumped into the kitchen chair. How am I ever going to be able to take time to get to know him when he keeps kissing me like that? How can I think when he turns my knees, my brain to mush?
Her phone rang. She stood and answered it.
“Jo,” Aunt Becky said, “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve been calling you every half hour this evening.”
“I was out with—”
“I know. I know. Come over right now. Please.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Just come.” Aunt Becky hung up.
Chapter Nine
In the balmy night, Jo didn’t even get a chance to knock on Aunt Becky’s back door. Looking perfectly distracted, her aunt threw wide the door. Aunt Becky was wringing her hands. “Jo, I didn’t read my mail when it came today. Too busy.”
At her aunt’s troubled tone, Jo’s worry quotient zoomed. “What’s wrong?”
Aunt Becky lowered her eyes and then pulled away. From the coffee table in the living room, she handed Jo an opened letter. “He must have given my name as next of kin to be notified upon his death.”
Her aunt’s words made no sense to Jo, so she opened the tri-fold letter and began reading. At first, it appeared to be just an official letter from an Illinois hospital to her aunt. Then she read her father’s name. Shock like an invisible needle pierced Jo’s lungs. Still clutching the letter, she bolted out to her car.
Aunt Becky didn’t call after her. But when Jo looked in her rearview mirror, her aunt stood in the door, the light behind her outlining her silhouette. Her aunt held out one hand as though beckoning her to return, as though throwing out a lifeline.
Jo put her hand over her heart. The pain was excruciating. Was this what a heart attack felt like? She knew logically that the shock of what she’d read hadn’t actually ruptured her heart. But that’s what it feels like. Why the truth, the horrible truth now, Lord, after all these years?
Still in her pale-blue pajamas, Jo huddled, battered and crushed, under her afghan on her sofa. She’d hidden away all day Palm Sunday. Now on Monday morning, she couldn’t bring herself to get dressed and go down to work. The phone rang. With effort, she lifted the receiver. “Jo’s Bower,” she muttered.
“Hi, Miss Jo, it’s me, Tassie.”
“Hi.” Jo tried to infuse her voice with warmth and failed.
“I’m calling from school. My counselor said you didn’t need me today.”
“That’s right.” Jo rubbed the back of her neck; it was so tight a dime would have bounced on it. “I’m not opening today. I’m sick.”
“Oh.” Pause. “Could I come over anyway?”
Jo shut her eyes, fatigue and despair rolling over her again. “I’m sick, honey. I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay. Bye.”
There was something in Tassie’s voice. What? “Tassie—” But Jo was too late. Tassie had hung up. Jo put down the phone and buried her face in the sofa pillows. She didn’t have the strength to deal with her own problems, much less Tassie’s. Bram would have to handle his sister.
Some time later, the phone jangled again. Jo lay still. Let the machine pick up. The machine did, and Jo heard: “Hi, Jo, it’s me.” Bram’s rich voice came into the shadowy room.
Just as it had Saturday night, that needle of pain pierced her. She squeezed her lips shut, trying to hold back an agonizing moan. Bram, don’t call me.
“I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed Saturday night.”
In her present state, she only vaguely remembered that they had shared an evening. But the memory of it caused no response in her. She was flat, filled with sawdust and ashes.
“I’ll drop over early this afternoon to pick up Tassie.”
No. Jo grabbed the phone. “Bram, I’m not open today. I called the school. Tassie knows.”
“Jo, you’re there? What’s wrong?” His palpable concern didn’t soothe her. She didn’t want him to show concern for her.
“Some twenty-four-hour bug probably.” She tried to sound casual as her pulse pounded through her. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I’ve got to hang up and lie down again.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything—”
“I will.” She hung up. Lying back on the sofa, she pulled her afghan around her and shivered as if it were January again. I can’t face this, Lord. I can’t.
That evening, Elizabeth and Hannah flanked Aunt Becky as Jo opened her door. They filed in silently and went to the living room. Still in her pajamas, Jo sat down facing them and lowered her eyes again. Feelings, sensations, emotions she’d long forgotten gushed over and through her—cold, so cold. She felt abandoned, emptied, unprotected again—as if she’d been stripped naked for all the world to see. That was how it had felt all those years ago, to have her father walk away then. Now it all came back too vividly, too wrenchingly.
“I won’t beat around the bush.” Aunt Becky clasped her hands together. “Jo, you read the letter. Your father left you and your mother because he was suffering mental problems. He was severely depressed and was suicidal.”
“But why was he depressed?” Jo blurted out. “What was so wrong with his life?”
“Your aunt says that the letter called his depression a clinical one,” Hannah said gently. “I looked that up on the Internet today and it means that it was triggered by a chemical imbalance in his brain, not by his life.”
“I don’t understand.” Jo looked away.
“Depression is an illness, Jo.” Elizabeth sighed.
“So he left us because he was sick?” Jo snapped. “Was that better for Mom and me?”
“He didn’t want the stigma of his mental illness to rub off on you or your mother.” Aunt Becky reached for Jo’s hands. “Attitudes are changing. Years ago admitting that he had mental problems would have affected you, tainted you. In a small town like this, people would have wondered if you’d turn out like your dad. Some people would even have shunned your family.”
“Stop!” Jo jumped up. “Was that—the stigma—worse than leaving us without a word? Mama faced terrible gossip. Everyone whispering, ‘What has she done to make her husband desert her?’”
Aunty Becky stood. “Your father’s mind wasn’t working the way it should have.” Aunt Becky approached Jo with her hands held out, beseeching Jo. Elizabeth and Hannah had let Aunt Becky take center stage. But Jo felt their concern like a warm blanket around her. “He had to make a terrible decision.”
“But why didn’t he ever write us? No one would have had to know.”
“He didn’t suffer only from depression. The letter said he’d been diagnosed as manic-depressive or bi-polar. The doctors spent years trying to get the right mix of medications so he could live a normal life. But he died before that could happen. Maybe he couldn’t bear you knowing.”
Jo sat back down, her head in her hands. “I needed him. Mama…”
“Do you realize, Jo,” Aunt Becky asked, “That before he left town, he made sure all your debts were paid and he put everything in your mother’s name? And she was in good health when he left. How could he have foreseen that she was going to get cancer and leave you alone?”
Images of the distant past flowed through Jo’s mind—her father trying to put a barrette in her baby-fine red hair when her mother had been away for a few days, his bringing home a baby robin that had fallen out of its nest and letting her help him feed it with an eyedropper, his swinging her up into his arms when he came home from work at night. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I wish Mama had known.”
“Jo,” Aunt Becky said, “I’m sure she does and has for a long time. You remember her favorite verse?”
Jo nodded. “Love covers a multitude of sins.” And it did. Her dad had made a poor decision, but he had been ill at the time. It explained so much. Love for her father had lain crushed and dormant all these years. But it hadn’t died. Now it flowed through her warming her, quickening her. “Now,” she whispered, “I understand, Daddy.”
“Jo, it’s Bram. Tassie’s run away.”
Chapter Ten
In Bram’s pickup, Jo sat beside him as he turned onto the darkened old state highway. Flying down these back roads, they were trying to catch up with the Trailways Bus on its way to Little Rock. Jo stared straight ahead into the apron of brightness in front of the headlights.
“I just hope we can catch up with Tassie tonight,” Bram said. “The world is much too dangerous a place for a fourteen-year-old girl.”
“We’ll find her, Bram. I know we will.”
Under the cover of darkness, he took her hand in one of his.
The touch of his hand heartened her, sensitized her to him. “Why did Tassie run away?” Jo finally asked.
“I don’t know.” Bram sounded unhappy and distracted. “We’ll have to ask her when we pick her up. Her note said she would write me when she reached Natasha’s or I could call her there. I just don’t get it.” He slammed the steering wheel with his free palm. “She’s been doing so much better. I thought we were getting somewhere.”
“I think you’re right.” She studied his profile by the scant green glow of the dashboard light. “Don’t despair. It’s a good sign that she left you a note telling you where she was going.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“What can I say—teens run amuck.” For some reason, Jo thought of Johnny Harrison dying on prom night. She wouldn’t bring that up now. “She’ll be fine.” She inched closer to him, either to comfort or to draw comfort. She didn’t know which.
She caught herself again just as she was about to lift his hand to her cheek. She made herself release her hold on him. His hand lay on the seat just beneath hers.
He turned up his palm, caressing her hand. “I’m so glad you’re with me, Jo. That I don’t have to do this alone. You’re so special.”