Even If

by Bethany Riehl

  The days were warm, but the evenings cool as they slid into May. Not quite time for dinner on the rooftop. Lillian sent out flyers advertising the garden opening and the first dinner of the season scheduled for the first week of June. She could hardly wait. An entire side of her kitchen was covered in little plants she’d started from seed. She knew it wasn’t much, but hoped the tenants would join her in filling up the garden with summer bounty.

  One sunny, Saturday morning a few weeks after Chuck agreed to build the tables, Nan was out of town for her niece’s college graduation and had implored Lillian to come in early. She’d willingly agreed. Lillian baked all morning with two other employees and was covered in flour and cocoa—untamed wisps of bangs rebelliously poking out from under a butter yellow and white daisy bandana—when they came in.

  The bakery was full, bright and cheerful, the bustle of the Farmer’s Market spilling into the small space. Lillian joked with one of their regulars as he moved down the line to where another employee handed him his bagel. Still laughing at something the customer had said, Lillian turned to help the next person in line. The smile died on her face.

  “Drew.” His name escaped her lips all thready, as if riding on a fragile cloud. His eyes widened, obviously just recognizing her. The two were locked in a gaze of shared memories before Hilary turned from eyeing the pastry case and linked her arm through his.

  “Hello, Lillian,” she purred, a smirk on her face. “What a surprise.” Her brown eyes, perfectly highlighted by what was most certainly not drug store make-up, took in Lillian’s dirty apron, torn capris, and overall disheveled appearance. Hilary crinkled her perfect nose. “My, you’ve moved up in the world,” she laughed and leaned into Drew as if she’d told a wonderful joke.

  Drew’s eyes were uncertain, and he glanced uncomfortably between the women. Lillian wanted to crawl under the counter. The bell over the door dinged, jolting her to action. Nan was counting on her, and the bakery was full of paying customers. That’s all these two were—customers. If only she could convince her trembling hands of that.

  “So, what can I get for you guys?” Her cheeks and lips twitched with nerves, adding to her humiliation.

  What are they doing here? Drew was the most health-conscious man she knew. Of all the places she’d stayed away from to avoid a run-in with Drew, Daily Bread had been the one place she felt certain she’d be safe. Her eyes swept over Hilary’s expensive outfit, feeling like her sanctuary had been violated.

  Hilary took in the pastry case, pouting her lips adorably. “I don’t know Drewie, what do you think? Want to split a croissant? Or maybe a breakfast sandwich?”

  Drew hadn’t turned from Lillian. His gaze made her uncomfortable.

  Yeah, Drewie, what do you want?

  Her sarcasm must have seeped into her expression. Drew shook from his trance and looked at the pastries as well. “Do you guys have steel cut oats?”

  “Nope.” The “p” made a popping sound as it left her lips, emphasizing the absurdity of the inquiry. Well, okay, so they did. And they were amazing. But they’d run out an hour ago and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—give them the satisfaction of hanging around while she made another batch.

  Hilary leaned forward as if she and Lillian were best friends, confidants. “We’re attending a conference down the street, and assumed they would serve breakfast. Apparently, our very expensive tickets didn’t include a meal, so this is our only choice.”

  Only choice? She could think of other things they could eat. Dirt. Crow.

  “We have whole grain bagels and low-fat cream cheese. But you’ll have to pick something quickly.” She gestured to the growing line behind them, “As you can see, we’re a little busy.”

  Lillian delivered the same smile she reserved for her most trying tenants. If only she could casually insert her other, much more impressive job into the conversation. Immediately after she had the thought, she felt guilty. After everything that Nan had done for her, how dare she be embarrassed by this job? She was happier with flour coating her clothes, make-up free in torn jeans and worn sneakers, than she’d ever been with her job as a receptionist for a large insurance company. She was happier sharing laughter and conversation with her friend Chuck than she’d ever been sharing romance with Drew. Happier spending her Sunday evenings with the teens at church.

  And she was definitely more content as a single woman cautiously pursuing the heart of God than she’d ever been as a lonely partner to the man in front of her. So, let them brag about their expensive conference and fancy jobs and romantic relationship. Let them mock her job. Her life was abundantly better than they would ever know.

  She squared her shoulders. “So. What’ll it be?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  That afternoon, the pep talks she’d given herself in the face of the Drew-and-Hilary-invasion began fading away, and her loneliness seeped in. Slowly at first. She lounged around and tried to read a book. It was supposed to be a murder mystery, but a romance between the main characters crept onto the pages unannounced, so she tossed it aside. Lillian picked up the remote and scrolled through Netflix. Nothing looked interesting. She turned off the T.V. and stood up. Restless. What was the matter with her? She had friends, if Nan and Chuck and a handful of teenagers counted. She had a full life. But she didn’t have love.

  Couldn’t have love. How could she? No man of God would want her…and she couldn’t be yoked to a man that didn’t follow the Lord.

  Lillian rummaged around in her closet for a box she’d tucked away after she’d moved in. She folded back the cardboard flaps and sat back on her heels, reflecting on the collected memories of her life with Drew. A napkin from the night they met at Bittercreek. A movie stub from their first date. The first—and only—flower he bought for her. The folded receipt from the hotel they stayed in for their first weekend getaway, a work trip he’d invited her to in Seattle.

  There had been good moments in the beginning. Before his financial portfolio had become his driving force. Before he’d imposed his health-conscious way of life on her. Before Lillian began to suspect that he’d been unfaithful. Before she’d pointed out to him that for all of his concern with their finances and health, he sure drank a lot. Before her own shame and regret had seeped into every pore of their relationship. Before the bitter fights and constant miscommunication, there had been tenderness…and passion. Her stomach quivered as she remembered more intimate times.

  Jesus, please help, she breathed, ashamed of the memories and how they stirred her, I know it was wrong. I know that I never should have been in bed with any man that I wasn’t married to. Please help me to forget those memories. Please forgive me for that and deliver me from future temptation.

  Her prayer both comforted and depressed her. Celibacy was difficult once passion had been stirred.

  She gathered the trinkets back into the box and trudged down to the dumpster in the alley. She dumped the contents in the blue bin, wishing she could dispel the memories as easily. Back in her apartment, Lillian spent time reading through the gospels, soaking in the tender way that Jesus loved on sinners, all the while telling them to “go and sin no more.” She closed her Bible and wrote for a while in her journal.

  A brisk knock at her door brought her eyes to the clock above her T.V. She was shocked to see that she’d passed the day away reading and journaling. Pouting.

  Lillian set her journal aside and opened the door cautiously.

  Chuck stood on the other side, dark hair curling out from under his baseball hat and over his ears. A subtle hug of cologne, spicy and comforting, reached out to encircle her. Her eyes welled with tears, and she resisted the urge to fly into his arms.

  His eyes flashed immediately with concern, and—not waiting for an invitation—he stepped in and shut the door behind him.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” He pulled Lillian into his arms.

  “Drew came into the bakery this morning,” she sobbed.

  “Drew…you mean your
ex?” Chuck’s voice rumbled against her cheek.

  She nodded. “And Hilary. Apparently, they’re still dating.”

  ***

  Chuck closed his eyes, and leaned a cheek against her hair. He had no idea who Hilary was, but could take a guess. Personally, after the little bit she’d shared about her relationship with Drew, Chuck couldn’t understand the tears, but then again, he’d never been in an intimate relationship. Who was he to judge her heartbreak? He pulled her in tighter, locking his hands together behind her back in a secure embrace.

  Her tears wet the front of his shirt, her shoulders shaking. Chuck didn’t know how long he stood there, holding her close while she emptied herself of her pain. Eventually the shaking stopped, and the only sound she made was a periodic sniffle. Her vulnerability, the closeness of the moment flipped a switch in him. A slow awakening dawned, like the quivering start of a campfire.

  Her frame fit perfectly within his, her head neatly tucked under his chin. He laid a cheek across her soft hair, clenching his jaw against the temptation to kiss the silky wisps that tickled his face. He pulled her closer as the tears receded and leaned to whisper, “I’m sorry,” in her ear. Her citrusy scent and the soft graze of his lip against her earlobe stirred him. The world went still and muffled. He relaxed his arms and lifted his head.

  Lillian pulled back slightly and looked up into his face. They locked eyes and froze. Chuck’s heart pounded in his ears, his fingers and lips itched to pull her close again, to touch and comfort, to set up camp on her soft, pink lips and erase Drew from her heart. Her hazel eyes shimmered where her tears had been, and Chuck remembered that she was crying for someone else.

  “So,” he fought to speak casually though his heart raced. He licked his lips, and asked, “Inquiring minds want to know—would you like to go have the best Mexican food in the valley?”

  Lillian blinked, seemingly unable to process the question. She winced at the wet spot on his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and settled a hand over his heart. “I know he’s not worth the tears, I just…” she looked into his eyes and shrugged. “I guess it was hard to see them sharing something I’ll never have again.”

  The liquid sheen over her eyes was stunning. Distracting. He wet his lips again, “And you want that again, Lilly? Drew, I mean.” His heart paused as if her answer would determine if it was worth beating again.

  She snorted out a laugh. “No. Not Drew. Not ever.”

  Chuck’s heart kicked back into gear and sprinted to catch the beats it had missed. He tried to focus on Lillian’s words, instead of her lips.

  “Just intimacy—the feeling of knowing someone. Romance. A relationship founded on truth and love. It’s not that I had that with him, either, but I just…I don’t know.” A shrug.

  Chuck found himself wishing for all that she mentioned and more. With her.

  ***

  Lillian wondered at the strange look in Chuck’s eyes and, uncomfortable, moved her gaze to his chin. She found the scar along his jaw endearing, close enough to trace with her finger…or her lips. Disgusted with herself, Lillian stepped back and cleared her throat.

  “Uh, what did you say about Mexican?” She wiped her fingers under her eyes, buying time.

  Chuck looked down at his empty hands and slowly closed them into fists. He shook his head slightly and scrunched his face, seemingly as distracted by their closeness as she.

  Oh, Lord. Please help me guard my heart and his.

  “Uh, Mexican. Yes,” his eyes snapped open and his signature grin was back. “El Gallo Giro. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.”

  Lillian smiled back. “Absolutely. That sounds amazing. Let me clean up a bit, and I’ll meet you in the hall in fifteen minutes?”

  “Sure thing, kid,” Chuck said as he ducked out the door.

  ***

  Kid? Where did that come from?

  Chuck stepped back into his apartment, hoping Lillian wouldn’t notice if he changed his shirt. Sure, he cared about her, but he didn’t necessarily want to wear her tears all day. At least not tears spent on another man. How can she cry over that jerk? Especially when all I could think about when she was in my arms was how right it felt?

  Chuck pulled the t-shirt over his head and rumpled it up, tossing it in the corner. He picked another off the pile of clothes on the floor of his closet and smelled it. Nope. He tossed that one and yanked another off a hanger. He snatched his keys from the kitchen counter, hoping the drive to the country would quench the fire the hug had started in him.

  Lillian’s door clicked in the hall, followed by her knock. Chuck opened the door, relieved to see that Lillian’s tears had run dry. Her hair was clipped back on each side. She’d applied a touch of make-up, so Chuck couldn’t tell if the bloom on her cheeks was brushed on or a natural result of the embarrassed countenance she wore. Cruelly, her lips shimmered with freshly applied gloss. The prayer on his lips as they descended the stairs together was strikingly similar to hers.

  Lord, please help me out here. I don’t want to ruin this friendship, and I definitely don’t want to hurt her.

  Chapter Twenty

  They sat in awkward silence as Chuck maneuvered his way through the streets of downtown Boise on his way to the freeway. It was obvious that Lillian was lost in thought and unsure of how to recover from her earlier vulnerability. Chuck wanted to reassure her that he was someone she could trust with her heart, but what did he mean by that? Unable to answer that for himself, he said nothing.

  Chuck had only dated a few women in his life, but nothing had ever clicked for him. There’d been a chemistry missing with those women. No electric jolt when he looked at them like what he felt just at the thought of Lillian beside him.

  Chuck flipped on the radio. The beginning of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go blasted out of the speakers. Lillian’s lips twitched, and she started to bob her head. Soon, she was snapping her fingers and wiggling her brows, exaggerating the moves to get a laugh out of Chuck.

  Relishing the mood change, Chuck turned up the volume and cranked down his window, pleased when she did the same. She laughed long and loud as he went for a high note. The wind from the open window blew Lillian’s hair into a wild mane. Her white teeth gleamed.

  Chuck stopped at a red light, and three bikers came to a roaring stop next to them. Lillian’s eyes crinkled at Chuck, and she quickly turned the radio dial to a hard rock station. Metallica thundered into the air, matching the menacing look of the bikers on their hogs. Lillian put on an equally exaggerated show of head banging, her lips pushed out, brow furrowed. The light turned green, and Chuck stepped on the gas, laughing when Lillian turned the radio back to the upbeat pop station from before. They went on that way for the next few blocks, pretending to listen to heavy metal at each light, be-bopping around in their seats when at last the light turned green. Finally, on the freeway the bikes roared past, and Chuck changed the radio to an oldies station. They continued to sing along until Lillian turned the volume down and shouted over the wind.

  “Where on earth are we going?” She tried to tame her short hair with one hand pressed against her head, but stubborn wisps continued to break free and tangle together.

  Chuck took pity on her and rolled up his window before turning on the air conditioning. Lillian followed suit. “I told you, to an incredible Mexican restaurant,” he answered.

  “I thought you said it was in Boise,” she hooked her thumb over her shoulder, “We just passed Meridian.”

  Chuck held up a finger. “I said it was the best in the Valley. I think I even told you it was in Kuna, but maybe you were distracted.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s a possibility.” Lillian buried her face in her hands. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t normally cry in front of people, let alone all over them.”

  Chuck shrugged. “I’d say we’re becoming good friends, Lillian, and I’ll never be embarrassed by your em
otions. I might not completely understand why you’re crying over that jerk, but…” he let the sentence hang, not sure why he’d said that much.

  Lillian stared out the window as Chuck exited the freeway and followed a two-lane road south through farmlands. She slowly worked her fingers through the tangles in her hair, lost in thought.

  “Wow, it’s pretty out here. So open. Look, cows!” Lillian leaned forward in her seat, anxious to get a closer look.

  Chuck laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about cows.”

  Lillian grinned, eyes staring out the windshield, “I guess I’ve been cooped up downtown for too long.”

  Her head snapped back around a minute later, craning to see something through the back window. She tapped his arm in excitement.

  “Turn the truck around.”

  “What?”

  “Can you go back for a minute?” Lillian twisted her torso around toward him, one arm braced against the back, the other clutching the dash, her face practically pressed against the back window.

  “Alright.” Chuck slowed and pulled off the two-lane road, waiting for a van to pass before he spun around, his tires spitting gravel as he turned. He glanced at Lillian, “Where are you leading me, Lil?”

  Facing forward now, she leaned as close to him as her seatbelt would allow and squinted. “There, turn there.”

  “Where?” He couldn’t see anything along this sparsely populated road that she would be interested in.

  “THERE!”

  A narrow dirt road, mostly hidden by overgrown bushes and willow trees was the only place he could see to turn; he cranked the wheel hard, thankful no one else was on the road. A faded “For Sale” sign hung on a wooden post, dangling crookedly by a chain on one side; the other chain blowing in the breeze. He drove about one hundred feet before the trees on either side thinned out, and the road cut into an open field. Lillian rolled down her window and stuck her head out, eyes closed. The heady fragrance of mint wafted through the window.