Even If

by Bethany Riehl

  “I don’t know what the Lord is doing, Lillian, but I know He has plans for you. Plans to give you hope and a future,” she’d said one morning.

  Although Lillian spent only a sliver of her lifetime in church, she recognized the verse that Nan quoted from Jeremiah.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I ticked off the Lord a long time ago. If these few weeks are any indication, His plan for me is to live on the streets.” Lillian joked, but Nan set her mouth.

  “No, my dear girl.” Lillian had never heard Nan be so firm. “No. God doesn’t hold grudges. He’s standing with His arms wide open to you, always.”

  Lillian’s smile fell, and she shifted her feet. “Yeah, uh, okay.”

  Nan patted her cheek. “I would give you more hours if I could.”

  “I know you would, Nan. I have one more application in at another coffee shop. I’m just waiting to hear back. They said they would call me by the end of the week.”

  “Wonderful!”

  The greatest benefit that had come of the job was that Nan was teaching her to bake, something Lillian had always thought would be too complicated. Wasn’t bread delicate and finicky? Turned out, not so much, if one was patient.

  Before long she could make half the pastries in the bakery without asking for help every five minutes. It challenged her in the best way and made her feel somewhat worthwhile. But the mornings were early, the paychecks small, and the nights worrying about her dwindling savings account were so very long.

  The day before, Lillian had found a grocery flyer in her mail that advertised a flash chicken sale for that day only. In a panic, she’d put together a list of freezer meals, took money she’d set aside for groceries, and bought a box of chicken and various ingredients to store in the freezer for leaner days ahead. She’d cranked up the Fiddler on the Roof station on Pandora and spent the day chopping, sautéing, dredging, measuring, marinating, and storing. And possibly singing out of tune and dancing with her mop.

  Possibly.

  For the first time in days, she’d gone to bed happy and content. It had been ages since she’d really cooked—other than the few hours a week that she baked with Nan. The day in her kitchen had re-awakened her culinary creativity.

  Lillian had awoken this morning and dressed, planning to splurge on coffee and a croissant at Daily Bread Bakery. She wanted to take Nan a thank you chicken pot pie, but was devastated as she reached in the freezer to find that the unit had stopped working sometime in the night. All of that food—and money—would go to waste if she didn’t act fast. She called the apartment manager and explained the dilemma. The manager assured Lillian that maintenance would be right over.

  “Right over”— Lillian snorted to herself— “sure.”

  Lillian had only needed maintenance one other time—for a faulty shower. She’d waited most of her first Saturday morning in the studio for the white-haired gentleman to arrive. She remembered that he spent more time talking with her then he did fixing the shower. But she also remembered the adorably old-fashioned way he’d tipped his imaginary hat to her and called her “ma’am,” and the way they’d bonded over their love of old black and white movies.

  When a brisk knock sounded on her door just under fifteen minutes later, Lillian jumped. “Whoa, someone has got pep in his step today.”

  Thinking of the sweet man and his hat-tipping, she opened the door bent over in an exaggerated curtsey, arm extended toward the small studio. When his heavy boots thumped past her, Lillian shut the door and spun to face him, her hands clasped together beneath her chin, eyelashes fluttering toward the ceiling.

  “My dashing hero,” she breathed.

  “Um, thank you?” Instead of the dry, weathered voice that she remembered, the smooth base of a young male reverberated in the room. A smooth bass that hiccupped on poorly restrained laughter.

  Lillian’s eyes flew open and settled on the too-handsome face of Nan’s Maintenance Man Chuck. Of course.

  If you’re not careful, Lillian, you’re going to knock this fella right off his feet. Her eyes swept away from his as she stuttered, “I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else. Didn’t there used to be a different guy that worked maintenance here?”

  “That would be Larry. He retired around Christmas. So now I’m your guy.”

  Christmas. Just a few weeks after she’d moved in.

  Chuck smiled and—to her chagrin—her stomach flopped. Good golly, Lillian, get a grip. Her eyes swept over his worn jeans, work boots, faded blue hoodie. She brought them up to his face, pausing on his smile before moving on to his eyes. She had never seen blue eyes that so closely resembled rain clouds before. The brightness of his grin contrasted against the zaffre tint of his irises. It reminded Lillian of a summer storm falling across a field of golden wheat. The kind of storm that sneaks up on a person, leaving them bathed in bright sun while watching dark, majestic clouds roll in, slicing light and dark in half.

  She blinked rapidly and looked away, struck dumb by the affect. “Well,” she pointed to the fridge. “Help yourself while I figure out how to save all of the food.”

  Chuck opened the fridge door, felt inside and did the same with the small freezer on top. “You have a little time. You can store your food in my fridge if you’d like to.”

  Lillian stared at him, confused.

  Chuck gestured beyond the still open door to the hallway. “I live down the hall, right next to the manager’s apartment. Didn’t you know that?”

  Lillian swiveled her head back and forth, disbelieving. Nope, seems I would have noticed Chuck living across the hall, life crisis or no life crisis. “No.”

  Chuck squatted down to open his tool box. “It’s okay. I’ve only seen you a few times since I took over, and you seemed…distracted.”

  Distracted? In that case, maybe he hadn’t gotten a good look at her face and didn’t remember—

  Chuck smiled up at her. “I’m glad you got the apartment.”

  Drat.

  Face flaming, Lillian averted her eyes and mumbled a thank you. She crossed the room to her small closet and rummaged around for something to carry the food in. She pulled out two paper bags with handles and spun around, a flat smile fixed on her face.

  “So, you don’t mind if I scoot past you and get the food?”

  “Not at all,” Chuck said. He stepped back to lean against the counter, hands gripping the edge, one leg crossed over the other at the ankles. His casual dress was unassuming and charming. So different from Drew’s attire of slacks and polo shirts. She immediately appreciated Chuck’s laid-back presence. And at the very same time, was completely unnerved by it. That, and the amazing spicy fragrance that followed him into the room and now wrapped around her, all warm and comforting.

  Lillian wished he would have stepped out of the small space as she shook open the paper bags and placed them beside one another on the counter next to his right hand. She quickly pulled her cheese and deli meat out of the top drawer and tossed them in the first bag. Next went her coconut coffee creamer, ghee, almond milk, and tofu. Was it her imagination, or did Chuck wrinkle his nose at that one? Lillian shut the fridge, deciding her fruits and vegetables would be fine for a while longer.

  Chuck let out a long, low whistle when she began to transfer the contents of the freezer to the second bag. She turned to him, embarrassed.

  “There was a one-day chicken sale,” she said, as if that would explain everything.

  Chuck nodded, his lips pushed out slightly as if “chicken-sale” equals “freezer-jammed-full-of-food” made perfect sense.

  Lillian shut the freezer door and held her hand out, “Keys?”

  Chuck smiled, a small lopsided one this time. He reminded her of a Labrador puppy. She resisted the urge to ruffle his hair—or scratch under his chin…

  Lillian, honestly.

  “I’m not too worried about a break-in when I’m on the same floor.” He hooked his thumb out and to the right. “Apartment 602. Door’s unlocked. Help yourself.”<
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  She balanced the bags in her arms and left her apartment. She found his door at the end of the hall, making her feel slightly better about never noticing him before. She only came this way after hours once a month to drop her rent into the payment box outside the manager’s apartment—which was right next to his.

  Chuck’s apartment was surprisingly large. Where Lillian’s studio had two tall but relatively narrow windows facing the small courtyard six stories below, Chuck’s entire back wall was floor to ceiling windows facing Eighth Street. She set her bags on the kitchen counter and crept past his large, worn green couch with matching loveseat—both pointed at a cluttered coffee table to answer her “what’s all of your stuff pointed at?” question from weeks ago—to take a peek at his view.

  The morning sun shone through the unadorned windows, warming her skin. Lillian smiled down at Daily Bread, looking small from the sixth floor, tucked cozily in the middle of restaurants and shops that lined the street.

  The narrow avenue was bustling in the early spring sunshine. Couples strolled hand in hand, a skateboarder wove in and out of the foot traffic holding a to-go cup of coffee up to his lips, a mother pushed a jogging stroller while her husband grasped the hand of their toddler, three sweaty cyclists—adorned in way too tight spandex shorts—stopped for what had to be a post ride carb-load at Nan’s, and the barber next to Daily Bread worked to sweep debris off of his stoop. The scene swelled with the budding promise of spring. It lifted Lillian’s overwhelmed spirits.

  She turned from the windows and walked across the same refinished solid maple floor as hers to the galley style kitchen along the adjacent wall. Chuck had a long island that ran the length of the open kitchen, topped with a surprisingly clean steel countertop. He kept five black barstools beneath the overhang. The sink was piled with dishes—more than one man could use in a week’s time—but even those were stacked neatly and had been rinsed off.

  Chuck must have had a party last night, she thought, eyeing the sink. Somehow the handy man didn’t seem to be the partier type. But what did she know? She hadn’t even noticed the guy in three months of living down the hall from him.

  Lillian stacked her meals in the freezer, surprised to find only one large carton of peanut butter cup ice cream and an empty ice tray on the rack. His fridge was not much better. Milk, bacon, and precisely one egg. What on earth did this guy eat?

  “Not my business,” she said aloud, placing the entire paper sack on the bottom shelf and shutting the door.

  “What’s not your business?” Chuck asked from the open doorway.

  Lillian spun to face him, her hand over her heart. “Huh?” She grimaced, “I mean, you scared me.”

  Chuck gave her another lopsided grin. “I realized after you left that I should have done the gentlemanly thing and carried your bags for you. So now I’m curious—just what in my fridge is none of your business, Lillian?” His eyes twinkled teasingly.

  Her name cloaked in the deep bass of his voice felt surprisingly familiar and warm. It gave her a sudden burst of bravado.

  She curled her lips to one side and crossed her arms. “Oh, just the cavernous depths of your fridge, sir.”

  Chuck laughed with her. “Yeah, those youth group kids can really tear through a place like a cloud of locusts.”

  Lillian furrowed her brows and tilted her head.

  “I help out with the youth group at church and we have a get together here once a month,” Chuck explained.

  Lillian felt her heart hammer in her chest. Sure, it was harmless to be attracted to this guy, especially since she wouldn’t see much of him…but knowing he was a church going man both refreshed her and devastated her. Immediately her attraction felt dirty and misplaced. He volunteers with the youth group. Ai yi yi, can this guy get any more attractive? Or could I be any more wrong for him?

  Remembering why she was there—and hoping to cover the awkward silence—she hung her hands on her hips and asked, “Is that why you offered to let me use your fridge? So you could steal my food?”

  Chuck shrugged. “Guilty. How do you think I eat? I take advantage of unsuspecting women, feigning kindness and generosity. Once I’ve convinced them to safely store their groceries in my fridge, I pounce—pushing them out, keeping their food all for myself. They never see it coming. Now, if you’ll just step out into the hall here…”

  Lillian shook her head, making a cavalier show of passing by his outstretched arm into the hall.

  “Of course. I love to share. And you seem like a guy who likes to eat healthy. So, I’m happy to tell you that everything is conveniently gluten, dairy, egg, and sugar-free.”

  Chuck’s smile fell away, horrified. “Well, when you put it that way, I wouldn’t be too worried about your stuff not being here when—”

  Lillian suddenly held up one hand to silence him, her brow scrunched, and looked past him toward her apartment. “Did you hear that?”

  They both went still. A small whirring sound cut through the silence.

  “There! Is that my phone?” Lillian bolted past Chuck, practically ramming him into the door jam.

  “Sorry,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Please. Oh, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…”

  Lillian ran down the hall and into her much darker apartment, barely taking in the fridge that had been turned out away from the wall and the tools smattered around the small kitchen. Her phone vibrated again, buzzing loudly now that she was in the room. She grabbed it off her side table and answered with a breathless, “This is Lillian.”

  “Miss Rodgers? This is Penelope at Cuppa. You applied here the other day?”

  “Yes, I did.” Lillian worked to calm down, turning her back on Chuck as he entered behind her, a look of curiosity on his face. She closed her eyes tight. Please, oh, please. I need this job.

  “Yes, well…I’m sorry, but we just hired someone else for the position. Your application was great. Other than…well, anyway. You’re really overqualified for this kind of job, though.”

  Lillian’s heart sank. “Right. I understand. Of course. Thank you for calling.” She pressed “end” and tossed her phone on the couch. She sank down next to it and dropped her head in her hands. “Well, that’s that.”

  She heard Chuck’s boots drum across the floor before he squatted in front of her. “Anything I can help you with?”

  Lillian rubbed her hands down her cheeks until they met and templed beneath her chin. She forced a laugh, meeting his warm gaze. “Yeah, can you get me a job? Or go back to three weeks ago and let me know how idiotic it is to walk out on a steady income no matter how right it feels?” Lillian looked around at her apartment. “I definitely can’t afford this place anymore. Darn it. I love this building.”

  Chuck tilted his head slightly, considering her, it seemed. Then he slapped his hands against his thighs and stood abruptly. “Well, I figured out what was wrong with your fridge. Why don’t you come with me to the manager’s office while I order your part?”

  Chapter Six

  Lillian’s heart thundered in her chest. She knew she had to notify the manager about her situation eventually, but wanted to avoid it as long as she could. Although Chuck said she should talk it over with them, Lillian knew that the only talking she’d be doing would be to ask for an early termination of her contract.

  Chuck led the way to the office and knocked on the open door. “Viv? Dave?” he called out, stepping inside.

  A woman’s voice answered from deep inside the apartment, and Chuck turned to Lillian who hung back, chewing her thumbnail uncertainly in the hallway. He waved her in ahead of himself and shut the door.

  The sweet, homey fragrance of baked chocolate permeated the air. Just inside the entryway to the right was a set of French doors that opened up into a quaint office where most of the tenant work was taken care of. Lillian remembered the day she sat in front of the mahogany desk in one of two high backed Victorian style chairs to talk over and sign a one-year lease. Was that really only a few
months ago? She’d been filled with hope and renewed purpose that day. How had everything fallen apart so completely?

  Lillian didn’t even know if it was possible to break her lease. At this point her only option seemed to be to stop paying rent and wait for them to evict her. Her face burned with shame.

  Viv’s voice grew louder, “Chuck, did you make it to 608 for the freezer issue?”

  Lillian and Chuck continued into the living room, meeting Viv as she walked out of the kitchen. Or rather, her swollen belly walked out, and the rest of her tiny frame just trailed behind. Lillian’s eyes rounded. She’d not seen the Murpheys since she’d moved in, and, although she had known then that Viv was expecting, suddenly the woman was expecting. Lillian knew she was staring, but couldn’t seem to turn away.

  Chuck nudged her with an elbow, and she shook herself out of the belly trance. “Huh? Oh, yeah, that’s me. 6-0—I mean, Lillian Rodgers.” Her eyes drifted back to the belly on their own.

  Viv followed her eyes and let out a hearty laugh. She grabbed both sides of her belly and shook it slightly, “Yes, I know. These two are making me huge.”

  Ah. Lillian had to keep from sighing aloud with relief. Somehow knowing there were twins in there made her feel better. As if Viv could read her mind, she winked at Lillian before turning to address her employee.

  “So, what’s the verdict?”

  Chuck snapped his fingers on one hand and hit his other hand over and over in a fidgety rhythm. “The verdict is that we need to order a condenser for 608. In the meantime, I think you should invite the tenant and your hard-working maintenance man in for some coffee and those cookies I smell in there.” He nodded over his shoulder toward the kitchen, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

  Lillian followed his nod and was again engrossed. The living room was similar to Chuck’s—a wall of wide windows and smooth, maple wood floors. Viv had an eye for style, and the room felt inviting and warm. The kitchen, however, was not what Lillian expected. Twice as large as Chuck’s, and in a U-shape as opposed to the galley style of his, the kitchen sported a large, white quartz island in the middle. Lillian’s eyes drank in the double ovens, a large farm style sink beneath a corner window—complete with white plantation shutters—and more cupboards than she would know what to do with. Dark, cherry cabinets complimented the white of the countertops. Again, she felt Chuck elbow her, although this time both he and Viv laughed at her gaze.