Even If

by Bethany Riehl

  Lillian sat quietly, relishing the first peek of dawn above the tall buildings that lined the street. She savored the pastry, bite by rich, gooey bite, as the first wave of morning customers began to trickle through. Licking the last of the crumbs and rich chocolate from her fingers, she spread the paper out on the table, cradling the mug of coffee in her hands. When she saw a job that looked promising, she circled it with the pink pen she’d borrowed from Nan.

  Lillian had been right about needing carbs. A morning in the cozy bakery with Nan’s spicy cinnamon coffee and a warm, flaky chocolate croissant did wonders for her spirits. She’d also brought her journal along and reread old entries. Looking for a peek at her old self? Or hoping the verse that danced around her earlier would be one of the many she’d written down in the first few pages of the journal?

  One of Nan’s employees arrived as the morning crowd thickened. Once the rush died down, Nan left her employee to run the counter and worked her way to Lillian’s table.

  “Want to tell me about it?” Nan asked as she took a seat across from Lillian.

  “Tell you about what, Nan?” Lillian ran her finger over a glob of chocolate left on the plate and sucked on it.

  Nan just arched a knowing brow at her.

  Lillian hesitated, then pushed the empty plate away and rested her elbows on the table. She wondered how much she should edit for Nan’s sake. Nan was a Bible believing woman, and the details of Lillian’s troubles were less than G-rated. But somehow she felt that Nan would listen without ridicule. Before she knew it, the story spilled out. Lillian told Nan about how she ended up at the apartments across the street. How she’d left her job without notice when Drew walked in to stake claim on that branch.

  Told her about a rash decision to chop off most of her hair on her way home the night before.

  Nan nodded her approval, eyes roaming over the choppy layers. “A good move, honey. It looks great, and there is something about a new look that gives a woman confidence, isn’t there?”

  Confidence. Lillian choked on the word. She was anything but. All morning, as she perused the depressingly sparse classifieds, she had waffled between stuffing her sadness and chiding herself for her total lack of responsibility.

  What was I thinking quitting my job? How am I going to pay my bills?

  She took a deep breath. “There. That’s all of it. The entire ridiculous story. And now I don’t know what I’m going to do—”

  The bell above the door jingled, pulling Lillian’s attention to a man that walked into the bakery. An incredibly handsome man. Tall. Broad shouldered. Trim waist. Dark hair curling out from beneath a Boise State hat. His skin was tan for that time of year, a delicious shade of light brown. He glanced at the table, catching her gaze, showing off dark, stormy eyes surrounded by sooty lashes. So, basically, a total dream boat. Lillian suddenly felt drab and disheveled and…she narrowed her eyes slightly.

  Hmmmm…he looked…familiar. Lillian’s eyes widened. Oh! That’s why. He looks just like the lead character on that T.V. show, Chuck. Spitting image. Except his hair is shorter. Eyes a shade darker—and blue, not brown. His chin is more square, and has a faint scar…

  The man smiled at Nan. Wait. Lillian knew that smile. Had seen it once before through tear blurred eyes in a dimly lit hallway just across the street inside Bittercreek. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands. Oh. Good. Gravy.

  The man took a few steps toward them and Lillian averted her gaze. It crashed into Nan’s twinkling eyes. Lillian lifted the coffee mug to her lips with trembling hands. Did Nan know? Surely not. Her look was more along the lines of matchmaker than secret keeper. Lillian rolled her eyes heavenward and subtly shook her head.

  Nan patted her hand and stood up. “Be right back, dear. Chuck here is my knight in shining armor.”

  Lillian choked on her coffee. The brown liquid shot out of her mouth and down the front of her sweatshirt. Nan came to her side and pounded on her back while she coughed and sputtered. Finally, able to catch her breath, Lillian laughed at herself and held up one hand.

  “I’m fine, really. Coffee down the wrong tube, I guess.” She laughed again, embarrassed at the way Nan and the guy—Chuck apparently—stared at her.

  “Okay…” Nan drew out. She looked at Lillian like she’d sprouted flowers out of her ears. “Lillian, this is Chuck. He fixes things around here for me.”

  Chuck smiled, sort of, and nodded. “Hey there,” he said in that deep voice of his.

  Lillian waved. Waved? Seriously, Lillian?

  But Chuck had turned his attention back to Nan. Lillian wiped the front of her sweatshirt with a napkin.

  “Chuck, this is my best customer. She’s been dating a real slime ball and has come in for my healing pastries.”

  Lillian’s face burned with embarrassment. “Nan!”

  Nan shrugged. “Well, dear, I didn’t think that would embarrass you. You did just hack up a lung in front of the poor guy.”

  Chuck coughed once and brushed a hand over his mouth. Lillian squinted her eyes at him. Was he seriously laughing at her? She straightened her shoulders and rose to shake his hand. Channel your best professional confidence, Lillian.

  “Nice to meet you, Chuck.” There. That was…normal. But then, before she could stop herself—“Hey, have you ever been told that you look like Chuck from the T.V. show, Chuck?”

  Seriously, Lillian? How many times did you just say Chuck?

  He shook his head, one side of his mouth tucked into his cheek in a silent apology. His dark blue eyes were as rich as the chocolate croissant she had for breakfast.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t have a T.V., so…”

  Lillian snorted in disbelief, “You don’t have a T.V.?” She bent her arms up at the elbow and straightened them again like she was helping to direct a plane down the runway. “What’s all your stuff pointed at?” Oh, my goodness. Did I really do that in Joey Tribbiani’s voice, or did I just imagine that?

  The joke—or maybe just the impression—hung like a bad smell in the bakery. Nan and Chuck just stared at her. Well, Nan stared. Chuck’s eyes flashed, the thin lines around his eyes creasing. His lips seemed to quiver just a bit. Like he was barely restraining laughter. So, yes, she had. Done that. In Joey’s voice. She suppressed a groan.

  Note to self, Lillian, don’t quote lines from a Friends episode to a man that doesn’t watch T.V. and a woman who has most likely never heard of Friends. So much for channeling your air of sophisticated confidence. Also, maybe you should stop watching so much T.V.

  Chuck pulled both lips in his mouth and bobbed his head up and down. Eyes still crinkling at the corners, he slowly backed toward the kitchen. “It was nice to meet you. So, Nan, you need me to look at your oven?”

  Nan gestured toward the back and followed, glancing over her shoulder at Lillian in bewilderment.

  Lillian slammed a palm against her face. Could I be any more idiotic? Lillian turned to grab her stuff, chuckling in spite of her embarrassment at her Friends joke. And the fact that Chandler Bing’s voice was now in her head. Forget watching less T.V.; all she needed was a day in front of Netflix with a coffee table full of junk food.

  ***

  Chuck smiled to himself as Nan chattered on, making no secret that she adored Lillian, and that she thought he should adore her, as well. Little did she know how distracting the woman in 608 had already become every time he passed her in the hall.

  Lillian. So that was her name. He wanted to try it out on his tongue, but couldn’t think of a reason to say it out loud without looking stupid. And that smile. If she was distracting before with that perpetual thundercloud over her head…how would he get by with that smile burned into his memory?

  Chuck thought Nan wanted him to look at one of the commercial ovens in the bakery. Instead, she led past the ovens in the bakery kitchen and through the back room. He followed her up a narrow flight of stairs at the rear of the store that le
d to her apartment on the second level. The open apartment was clean and bright, with a country-style kitchen along the back wall opposite the huge floor to ceiling windows that faced the street. He walked to the kitchen counter and set down his tools.

  “So, what’s the problem, Nan?”

  Nan sighed, “The problem is that Lillian is wonderful, but she kept company with that scumbag, Drew, for too long. I know the Lord is pursuing her—I just know it. She told me a long time ago that she used to go to church. I just think she’s ashamed of the choices she made, and that Drew…” Nan curled her fingers into a fist, growling adorably, pink spots darkening her soft pale cheeks. “Oh, that man. He made her feel like she wasn’t enough. That’s the problem. We need to show her how wonderful she is. And how much God loves her.”

  Chuck folded his arms, ready to tease Nan until he saw the fire in her brown eyes. “Well, Nan, I doubt being angry at this Drew guy will help Lillian any.” There. He found a way to say it. And it felt as good on his tongue as he’d anticipated.

  Seriously, Davis. What is your problem?

  “Well, of course not! I didn’t let her know how fired up I was!” Nan was snarling now.

  Chuck bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and inducing more of Nan’s wrath. When he was sure his laughter was under control, he said, “Okay, well…I’m sure it will all work out. Now, uh, what’s the problem with your stove?”

  Nan stared at him blankly for a moment, and then shook her head when her mind was back on why Chuck was there in the first place. She explained that the oven wouldn’t heat up properly and that as of yesterday it had stopped heating at all. She rushed through the details, waving the problem away as if that was the least of her concerns. And with two commercial grade ovens downstairs, maybe it was. Chuck asked Nan a series of questions to determine where to start. He turned on the oven and waited a few minutes, and Nan continued to tell Chuck all about Lillian.

  She was certainly a different woman this morning than the one in Bittercreek or in the stairwell last night. This Drew fellow sure made his woman cry a lot. Chuck wondered how serious they were.

  “I loved that girl right from the start,” Nan shared, staring out her windows thoughtfully. “She has come into the bakery every Saturday for the last three months—ever since she dumped that slime and moved here to get away from him. Only, I just found that out today.”

  Chuck nodded, fixing his face into a passive mask of indifference. Outside, he was a nice guy listening to his old Sunday school teacher. Inside, his brain was working overtime. So, the woman from apartment 608—Lillian—was single. Interesting. The morning was chock full of useful information.

  After a few minutes, Chuck opened the oven door and felt inside. Cold. He pulled the range away from the wall and unplugged it before he unscrewed the bake element from inside the oven. Nan watched from above his shoulder, finally quiet about Lillian, and inspected the element with him.

  “Yup,” he said, pointing to a black section. “Looks like your element is burned. Can you survive without an oven for a day or so more while I order the new part? It’s pretty easy to fix once the part comes in.”

  Nan nodded. “I should be fine, Chuck. Thank you. What do I owe you?”

  He flashed what he hoped was a charming grin and said, “Why don’t I take a tray of your famous cinnamon rolls, and we’ll call it even?”

  The rest of the day passed in a blur, and Chuck didn’t think about Nan or Lillian until much later. Or at least he didn’t think about Nan. Lillian was a very different—very distracting—story.

  He met up with his friend Felix in the church parking lot that evening to play basketball. Often when they played, a handful of guys from the neighborhood would wander onto the concrete court—a labor of love poured into the empty lot next to the church three years prior—and join the game.

  Chuck was always proud of how the teens from the youth group stepped up to welcome anyone that wanted to play and how they boldly shared the gospel as they interacted. A few of the neighborhood kids had even joined them for Sunday nights in the youth room over the years.

  Felix—taller than Chuck by at least a head, and much more agile—passed the ball to Chuck as they warmed up and waited for the kids to show. They hustled across the court, passing the ball back and forth, dunking the ball, shooting from the free throw line until they were in a small game of one on one. Soon trucks and cars pulled in, and a handful of teens joined them.

  Chuck loved nights like this this. Guys and sweat and hoops in the cool night air. Talking with kids about life and the Lord. They played until well after sunset, when the street lights came on. When the boys finally went home, Chuck remembered to tell Felix about the odd comment Lillian had made when they met.

  “Have you ever seen a T.V. show called Chuck?” he asked, holding the mesh bag out while Felix collected scattered basketballs from across the pavement.

  “Bits and pieces of it. Isn’t it a spy show?”

  Chuck shrugged. “I have no idea. My T.V. died on me when I moved in, and I’ve kind of enjoyed not having it around, so I never replaced it.”

  Felix lifted a brow at him, his face becoming unreadable in the fading light. “Then why are you asking me?”

  Chuck explained about how he’d met Lillian and how Nan had been in a tither for him to have a romantic interested in her. He left out the part where he’d made Lillian cry the first time he’d spoken to her. No point in mentioning that. He shrugged, “Anyway, she told me that I look like the guy on that T.V. show.”

  “Huh.” Felix volleyed his head from side to side, gauging. “I guess you do, kind of. But I’m more interested in this girl. Don’t tell me Charles Edgar Davis Jr. is going to finally show interest in a woman?” His wide smile—and perfectly white teeth—was prominent against his ebony skin. The mockery in his voice was not lost on Chuck.

  Chuck walked to a set of concrete stairs that led to the basement. He unlocked the door and tossed the mesh bag of basketballs inside, then shut and locked it again, ignoring him. Chuck turned to find Felix standing right behind him.

  Felix wiggled his brows at him. “Is she pretty?”

  Chuck thought back to the woman in the bakery. So different from the one he’d passed numerous times over the last few months. Pretty? Yeah, so the sun had been streaming through the window just then, casting a halo of light around her short brown hair. Sure, her hazel eyes were striking—a mix of greens, blues, and browns framed by thick lashes. So, her pink sweatshirt complimented her olive skin and was just the right cut to compliment her curves. And maybe her lips formed a delicate pink heart when she wasn’t doing impressions of television characters. A smile worked over his face just remembering her nervous chatter.

  Felix whistled low. “Never mind. I think your face just said it all, man.”

  Chuck felt his neck heat up. “Nah, you misread me.”

  Felix shook his head, laughing. “So, when are you going ask this woman out?”

  “Why is everyone suddenly on me to date?”

  The men walked to their trucks parked on the street.

  Felix twirled keys around his pointer finger. “Maybe because you haven’t dated anyone since, well...anyway. Just tell me you’ll consider it. You’re becoming a grumpy old man. Maybe a nice, pretty lady would soften you up.”

  Chuck snorted. “Hmm, okay. I’ll consider it if you answer one question. When was the last time you talked to Tiffany?”

  The jab hit its mark. Felix glowered at him and hopped in his truck, the engine drowning out Chuck’s quick—and insincere—apology.

  Chapter Five

  “No, no, no!” Lillian shouted into the freezer, panic crawling through her veins. She poked the plastic bag of marinated chicken again just to be sure. Yup, it was definitely thawing. There was substantial squish.

  Lillian groaned and smacked the counter. “This cannot be happening! The freezer was completely fine before I went shopping!”

  Two weeks with
out a job had been more than Lillian had bargained for. Her first few days were exhilarating…and excruciating. She’d taken long walks through the neighborhoods nearby, admiring the old homes full of the character that modern homes lacked. She’d taken her journal to the park and settled onto an old blanket, snacking on carrot sticks and writing as she hadn’t in years.

  But at night, the hopelessness of her situation crushed in on her. Lillian had no idea what she wanted to do, or how she was going to make money. There were virtually no job openings in her area of expertise. Even so, she was pretty sure she’d ruined her chances of ever working for an insurance company again. So, she’d applied for a job at a coffee shop, reasoning that she could stay there and work part time if a better job opened up. The shop never called.

  Next, she’d applied at the library, a bank, a law firm that advertised an assistant position, and as a receptionist for a doctor’s office. No one called back for an interview. It was eerie and horribly unsettling. She was qualified, had good references, was a hard worker. Why was a job so hard to find?

  Perhaps impulsively walking out on her last position had not actually worked in her favor. Go figure.

  Hoping it would only be temporary, she had called her mom’s boss at the motorcycle shop, Harvey’s Harleys. She’d worked plenty of summers and breaks there as a kid. It wasn’t ideal; the shop was on the other side of town, and it wasn’t much money—not to mention it felt very much like moving home as an adult. But, she had hoped to get ahead of the game before she became desperate.

  “Oh, Kiddo, you know I would hire you in a heartbeat, but we’re fully staffed at the moment. I could probably use you in a couple months when the season starts back up,” Harvey said in that deep, gravelly voice of his.

  Lillian sighed. “Thanks anyway, Harvey. I’ll call you then if I still need a job.” There went her sure thing. Drat.

  Nan soon became her only real friend aside from her mother. And while Sheila was supportive, she was also, well, a mother. Nan was enormously encouraging. She had even, thankfully, offered her a job prepping and baking with her in the mornings before the shop opened. It wasn’t much money, but it would keep her fed. Nan’s uplifting spirit had worked to beat back the overwhelming despair that often threatened to take over.