“You out already?” Adams untied his cleats and chucked them under the bench.
“Mind’s on other things.” Zan readjusted the towel, hung it below his neck. The sweltering locker room made everything sticky.
“Kent and I are cramming for exams at Rose’s tonight. You in?”
“Why Rose’s?” The coffee at that place could fuel his Jeep.
“Cheap coffee. Cheap food.” Adams shoved his practice shirt into his duffel and grabbed his soap.
“Y’all up for a drive? Huntington’s a half-hour away, but I know a place with some serious coffee.” And Bailey goes there once in a while. Maybe she’ll show up.
Adams nodded. “I’m in. I’ll tell Kent. See you back at the apartment?”
“Yeah.” Zan headed toward the exit without a word to anybody else. Maybe luck would smile on him tonight and he’d run into Auburn too.
Outside, he relished the unseasonably warm sun on his neck. He shoved a hand into his mop and scratched his head till his hair just about stood on end. Man, things had been simpler in high school.
Coach had offered him a scholarship to play right field—nothing to shout about. He could’ve gotten a full ride elsewhere.
But his school was close to Bailey.
Then the scouts found Firelli. Zan flipped up a corner of his towel and roughed his face.
Firelli.
Rumor was the kid could have had his pick of Division I schools, but his family’d pushed this school since he wore diapers. Firelli was a right fielder too, and Coach’d made him starter from day one. Zan never stood a chance, and it ate at him. Coach would always choose Firelli over Zan.
Any good coach would. Even Markman. Best coach ever.
He swung over to the activity center to check his mail. He dropped his backpack on the floor, stabbed his key into the lock. He pulled out a bill and something else—a letter? Bailey. A letter after nothing for a week and a half?
Falling back against the metal mailbox doors, he tore into the envelope and tugged out the paper. Nice stationery. Normal handwriting.
A phone number.
Zan dropped to a squat and pulled his cell out of the side pocket of his pack. He punched in the number at the bottom of her note, skimmed the text for more clues. The reverberating shouts and laughter around him fell silent. All that mattered was hearing Bailey say she was all right.
Why couldn’t people answer the freaking phone?
Some other woman picked up. What was the deal?
“I’m looking for Bailey Weston.”
“I need to ask who’s calling.”
All right, good response. “Her brother. Alexander Maddox.”
“Just a minute.” Muffled conversation.
“Hello?” Her voice was a grand slam.
“Bay, where are you? Are you all right?”
“I’m good, actually. Sorry I scared you. I know I must’ve.”
You think? He pinched his eyebrows together and willed himself to keep it cool. “Tell me you’re somewhere safe.”
“I am. Some friends got me out—to stay this time. I’m getting help.”
“So, you’re in a clinic or something?”
“With people from this new church I’ve been going to.”
No. Way. What could they do besides fill her head with fairytales? “Can I see you?”
“Yes! I…I know I should’ve called sooner, but I was sleeping a lot.”
“You couldn’t call because—what would it have taken, two minutes?” He needed to curb the irritation. Focus on the relief that he knew where she was—that she was all right.
“Honestly, I thought it would be easier to write. I know how you are about anything churchy, and I didn’t want to hear it when you disapproved.”
Touché. It was all he could do not to give her an earful. He tugged at his hair. What kind of help did these people offer exactly?
“When do you want to come by?”
“Saturday’s the big game. Any chance you can come watch?” It wasn’t like he’d get any playing time, but family in the stands would be nice.
“Michael might look for me there.”
Right. Of course. “Sunday afternoon, then. As long as you’re safe, I can wait.”
~*~
The conversation with Freckles at the homework club kept flitting through Kasia’s mind. She needed to hear that daddies don’t quit loving their little girls.
But Kasia shouldn’t be at Loch Haven this late. Her grandmother didn’t know she was coming, the center’s visiting hours would be over soon, and every time she rounded a corner, her stomach knotted.
What would she say if she ran into Mama or Lenka or somebody?
Kasia wrinkled her nose and tried to smile at the nurses as she walked down the unfamiliar, fluorescent-lighted hallway. This retirement community had been Busia’s home for a full year, and this was her first visit. Could she be a worse granddaughter?
The buzz of overhead fixtures and an occasional blaring television were the only soundtrack as she made her way into the labyrinth of hospital-like rooms. The blend of antiseptic cleansers and lavender unsettled her. She missed opening the kitchen door at Busia’s house and inhaling the mouth-watering scents of kuchnia Polska—kiełbasa, cabbage, and onions.
Mama had given her Busia’s room number at Christmas, and the note was exactly where she’d stuck it all those months ago, tucked securely in the back of her Bible. She pulled out the pocket-crumpled piece of violet paper. Room 407.
A blue sign with three-inch numbers declared she’d reached the four-hundred hall. Busia’s room would be all the way at the end. Kasia padded quietly past the open doors and peeked into room 407. Next to the window, her grandmother rested, eyes closed, in the walnut rocker Tatuś had handcrafted. A blanket lay across her knees and an open Bible in her lap.
What peace she exuded.
Stepping quietly into the room, Kasia set her keys on the dresser by the door. The slight noise caused Busia to stir.
Her eyes evidently took a moment to focus. When they locked on Kasia, they widened. “Kasiu,” she said. “I prayed I’d see you soon.”
Kasia missed so many of these sweet details—like Busia adding a u to her name. The Polish flavor in even her most casual greetings made Kasia’s throat tighten. When her grandmother pulled at the afghan across her legs, Kasia hustled over to her. “Oh, you don’t have to get up! Let me come hug you, Busiu.”
“Oj tam. Hush with that. I’m standing to hug you right. No half measures today.” Kasia took the blanket, set it on Busia’s bed, and helped her up.
The moment Busia stood, her soft, weathered hands found Kasia’s cheeks, and tears filled her eyes. “Look at you, my lovely, lovely girl. You’re the picture of my Marta. So dear.” She patted Kasia’s face and embraced her with surprising strength. Kasia’s arms circled her grandmother’s sweet shoulders, hunched with age and a lifetime of hard work.
They rocked side to side for a moment before Busia pulled back and kissed her right cheek, then left, and right again. “Usiądź. Usiądź. Sit down, proszę.”
Kasia laid the blanket back across Busia’s legs and perched on the bed.
“Now, tell me how you are. Not quite home for the summer, are you? Your mother tells me she’s got a few weeks to wait.”
“No, ma’am. I, um, I just missed you. How have you been?”
“The Lord must have a purpose for me yet, because I woke up again this morning.” Her eyes twinkled. “I imagine it’s to keep my friend Ida in line. She’s a handful, that one, but does she ever keep me entertained.”
Kasia’s heart filled with affection. Busia’s sweet face was wrinkled by decades of pouring herself out for her family. Nearly overcome by regret, Kasia shoved those thoughts aside and determined to make this moment count. “I brought you some Leibniz biscuits. I found them at a little deli in Huntington.”
“Z mleczną -czekoladą?”
“Dark chocolate, not milk. I know what you love best
.”
“Ha! Better and better. How about we taste one now?” She reached out an arthritic hand.
“Don’t worry about me.” Kasia pulled out a cookie for her grandmother and set the package on the table. “These are all for you—and one or two for Miss Ida if you want. I bought a pack for myself too.”
“Oh, but have one now, with me.” Busia reached for the package and offered it to her. Once Kasia had a biscuit in hand, Busia nodded. “Smacznego.”
“Dziękuję, Busiu.”
Busia’s eyes closed as she savored each bite. “Pyszny, Kasiu.” Delicious.
Kasia pointed to a cut-glass vase on the table. “Those flowers are lovely.”
“Dziękuję. Lenka brought them over yesterday. She found them up in the meadow. Tell me, are you ready for your wedding?”
Kasia’s shoulders tensed. Had she come for honest conversation or not? “Busia, how did you feel when you got married?”
Her grandmother’s face beamed with unfathomable love and joy. “I felt I had been made for that very moment, that very man. Your dziadek, Kasiu, was my dearest friend.” She settled back into her rocker. “My greatest champion.”
The answer rendered Kasia empty and brittle, as if a single blow would shatter her. For a moment, she wished someone would just do it.
End her.
Her throat squeezed shut. Her eyes burned.
The tears would let loose any second.
She waited.
Nothing.
How could she feel such utter pain and not cry?
“Kasiu?”
Her eyes focused on the speckled tiles.
“Kasiu.” Smooth fingertips grasped her hand. Busia’s touch offered none of its usual comfort. Only strength and determination.
“Czy kochasz tego chłopaka?”
Did she love this boy? “I…I don’t know.” She pressed the heel of her hand into her knee. “I know I did. But the wedding—I feel like I’m in the last car of a bullet train, racing forward. And nobody knows the bridge is out but me. I can’t stop. Nobody will listen, but—I want to get off.”
“So jump.”
Kasia snapped her head up. “But what if—”
“I may be old, but I am sitting here, looking at you. The first time I’ve been able to do so in a year.” She sat back. “I think maybe some things are worth the risk, no?”
A knock sounded at the door. “I hate to interrupt, but visitor hours are over, Ms. Kowalski. This your other granddaughter?”
“This is my Katarzyna, but we call her Kasia—the Polish nickname.”
“Nice to meet you, Kasia.”
“Celeste, you have already spoken to everyone else?”
The woman smiled and looked at her watch. “I can give you about five more minutes. How ’bout I go and get you a glass of warm water?”
“That would be kind, dear.”
As soon as she left, Kasia busied herself by picking at the side seam of her pants.
Her grandmother’s gaze settled heavily on her. “It’s been a year, kochanie.” Beloved. Even Busia’s reprimand was gracious.
“Przykro mi, Busiu. Bardzo.”
“I know you’re sorry, dear. I simply want to know why. What kept you from us?”
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t place the blame solely on Blake. “I’m not the Kasia you knew.”
“Where did that Kasia go?”
A thread began to pull loose. “I’m afraid I’ve lost her.”
“Do you know what has always made you stand out to me?”
Kasia leaned out to straighten Busia’s blanket.
“Your selfless love for others. You found joy in making others smile. Zawsze byłaś piękna.”
“Beautiful?”
Busia’s eyes wrinkled. “Inner beauty. Perhaps that might be the best way to find yourself again, hm? A little mission project.”
Hope sparked. “You think it would work?”
Busia took her hand again. “Only God can change you. But I know He hasn’t given up on you. Nor have any of the rest of us. You jump, and your family will meet you where you land.”
All nice to hear. With another bite of her cookie, Kasia prayed Busia’s words were true.
And that she’d find enough courage to jump.
4
Once a decision was made, a girl could stand a little taller.
An early-morning thunderstorm cooled the mountain air, so Kasia spent Saturday morning jogging the cross-country trails beyond campus. Her feet pounded the packed dirt as she tried to hammer out every one of her doubts.
And failed.
But each time she wavered, Busia’s challenge pushed her onward. Kasia skirted the commuter lot, equally exhausted and invigorated.
Her plan was straightforward. She’d shower, eat a late lunch, and then call Blake to break up with him.
Between now and then, all she had to do was come up with the words.
“Kosh!” His voice stopped her like a brick wall.
Didn’t Blake have plans with Travis all morning? She pasted on a smile and turned to face him. “Hey. I didn’t think I’d get to see you before dinner today.”
“You never know where I’ll turn up.”
What was that supposed to mean? “Where’s Travis?”
“Busy.” He shrugged. “Everybody’s busy.”
Blake hadn’t smiled yet. That needed to happen fast, or this could get dicey. “There’s always so much going on at the end of the semester, you know?” She stepped close and playfully grazed his arm.
He took the gesture as an invitation. His mouth was hot on hers, his hands strong on her neck and shoulders—a stranger’s mouth and hands. She didn’t know him, didn’t want him. Any of this.
But she knew what to do. When passing voices made her want to disappear, she smiled against his lips. Switched off her mind so she wouldn’t feel any of it.
Blake broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. His gaze was all heady expectation. Breathless need. His eyes seemed to darken. “It’s been a while since I had your undivided attention. We should go back to my apartment.”
New, not-so-improved Kasia was entirely too good at distracting Blake.
She had to avoid his place. Not the ideal breakup scenario. “Why don’t you walk me to my room? I’ve got to get cleaned up, but we could talk about the wedding.”
He took her hand and went along with her suggestion. For once.
Her stomach felt like a solid ball of lead.
Oblivious, Blake yammered the entire way about how he and Travis had embarrassed some poor freshman in the library. She let him. She rehearsed her spiel, wished it was over. Near her dorm, a rush of determination bolstered her strength.
She pointed to a bench. “Can we sit a minute?”
“Sure.”
Her mind was a jumble. If she didn’t speak soon, the awkward silence would betray her. She flashed a smile, prayed for mercy, and sat.
Blake joined her. His fingers traced a slow circle on her back. “Kosh?”
All she wanted was to arch away, shake off his touch. Throw the words at him and run. She twisted the ring he’d offered her five months before. “So, I think I’ve got to make some changes, to more than my major.” She forced out the rest. “I can’t marry you this summer.”
His hand paused beside her shoulder blade. “What?”
She peeked at him. His jaw muscle was a solid knot, his gaze riveted on her hands as she worked the engagement ring around. He pulled his hand away.
If God would let her lay this on Him, she could make a clean break. “I feel like the Lord wants me to wait. I mean, I should’ve waited before. I’d always hoped…” Words failed her again—allies turned enemies.
Her fingers stilled. “Blake, I don’t think I’ve been very clearheaded. I guess I regret…well, we’ve done…” He tensed, and her stomach dropped to her heels. She scrambled for a different approach. “Look, my reasons won’t make sense to you, but—”
; Commit to it. “I need to walk away for now and focus on my faith again.”
“What do you mean ‘for now’? Are you trying to break up with me?”
Her voice went AWOL. She dug the toes of her shoes into the gravel and mud under the bench, half searching for the right answer in the dirt, half tunneling out a place to hide. Terrified of what she’d see in his face, she tipped her head forward and used her hair as a shield.
His knuckle forced her chin up and gave her no choice. She stared into his eyes, almost crumpled at the confusion in them.
“And you’re blaming this on God.”
She clamped her eyes shut tight. He’d nailed it. She had no right to expect God’s help. Maybe she could’ve asked Him two years ago, when innocence and possibility were the norm, but not now. Now this wild pastor’s kid deserved any trial she brought on.
“Blake, believe me.” She pulled her face away, studied the grass, straight and proud. So unlike her. “I wish I had answers you liked better.”
He white-knuckled the bench. The yelling would start any second now.
A few people approached, and Kasia’s head swam with relief. “Maybe one day it’ll be different.” She held the ring out to him, and he glared at it, unblinking.
Strength came from somewhere—filled her—and she didn’t question it. She opened one of his hands, pressed the ring into it, and closed his fingers. “I’m walking away. To figure out what God wants for me, so…this is the end.”
Blake sat, tense and too silent.
People were still around. “I’m sorry, Blake, but I need to go.” She stood.
“Wait. Please.” He shot off the bench. “Can we pray about this together? I can do that. Just…don’t leave.”
He’d never offered to pray with her, not once in all the Sundays they’d attended church together. Had he simply needed an ultimatum? A tear slid down his cheek, sliced her heart.
“Blake—”
He pressed his lips to hers. This time, the kiss hummed with familiarity and warmth. Her resolve faltered. What if they could make changes? Follow God together? She reached for his fingers, longed for the simple and sweet moments they’d shared in the beginning. A shuddering breath escaped her.
She immediately wished it back. But too late.
Strains of Silence Page 3