Even If

by Bethany Riehl

  Lillian wrestled with the idea for a few minutes before she finally stepped away from a rousing ping-pong game and settled a gentle arm around Holly’s shoulders. The tiny act of tenderness must have broken the young girl’s resolve. She erupted into tears. Alarmed, Lillian led her to a private corner where the couches sat empty and asked how she could help.

  “I just…I have this boyfriend. Or I thought I did. But today after church, a girl from his school texted me—I don’t even know how she got my number. She was saying the meanest things and making fun of pictures of me he had on his Facebook page. She sent me a picture of them kissing.” Holly pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped her thumb through her library of pictures. Heaving with tears, she faced the screen for Lillian to see.

  It was a typical “selfie” pose. The girl taking the picture held the phone high in the air, pointing down at herself. There was, indeed, a boy kissing her, his eyes closed. The blond, however, looked straight into the camera with a provocative wink. Lillian handed the phone back to Holly, eyes full of compassion.

  “Oh, I’ve been there.”

  “You have?”

  Lillian stalled. She knew better than to tell the details of her story to this young, impressionable girl. And, truth be told, she was ashamed of her past and hoped no one in the church body—aside from Chuck—ever learned about her life.

  Still, Lillian knew she could be honest without being completely transparent. She wet her lips and sighed. “Well, I had a boyfriend that decided he liked someone else while he was dating me. It hurts to be rejected,” she lifted one shoulder and tilted her ear toward it in a sympathetic shrug, hoping Holly would be content with that.

  The girl sniffed and snorted, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt. “When I asked my boyfriend about it, he told me that he’s a senior and plans to live life to the fullest—and if I don’t like it that’s my problem.”

  Lillian just rubbed Holly’s back in soothing circles, unsure how to respond.

  The other girls in the room converged, apparently having caught the scent of misery in the shadowed corner. It soon became obvious that the group had been texting about it all afternoon. Advice was offered, insults were tossed out against the “other” woman. Instead of consoling, the frenzy of chatter only served to make Holly more miserable.

  Lillian held out her hands and motioned for them to all be quiet. “Girls, settle down,” she said just loudly enough to get their attention. Hoping to restore peace, she muttered, “You all are about as helpful as Job’s friends.”

  They scrunched their faces at her, and she laughed. “Look up Job this week and read it. Pay close attention to the so-called helpful support of his friends. If you’re still confused next week, we’ll ask Chuck to explain it better.” What was she, of all people, doing directing these girls to their Bibles? She wasn’t even sure she’d applied the story correctly.

  Letitia, a leader among the group smiled, “Smooth. Way to get us to read our Bibles. Make things all mysterious so we can’t help but look it up.”

  Lillian smiled. “There are numerous mysteries, and, yes, I’m trying to get you to check them out. I wish someone had done that when I was your age trying to figure out life and balance high school and social drama, and boys,” she added with a dramatic shutter. The girls laughed loudly at that.

  Katrina looked over from where she stood next to Chuck at the ping pong table. The smile fell from her eyes, and she slowly made her way to the group of girls. She sat as Holly eyed Lillian skeptically and said, “Whatever. I bet you were a real goodie two shoes.”

  It was Lillian’s turn to scoff. “Oh, my dear girl, I could tell you some stories, believe me.”

  Everyone leaned in excitedly, the boy and broken romance forgotten for the moment.

  “Really? Like what?” Letitia asked. Katrina crossed her arms and tilted her head, eyes flashing.

  Lillian saw the error in her statement too late. She scooted off the couch to lean her back against it, sitting cross legged, her arms wrapped around her legs. “I would much rather tell you about the way Jesus is rescuing me instead…”

  ***

  From across the room Chuck watched the way the girls leaned in as Lillian talked to them. When Holly had arrived, it was obvious she was upset. Chuck never knew what action to take when that happened. Working in a large youth group, teens often showed up angry or hurt about something. Often times, he could take the guys and wrestle it out of them or talk while they played foosball. Girls, he found, were much more difficult to understand and console. He didn’t feel comfortable talking with them alone, and usually they didn’t want to talk with the moms that helped out or even with Katrina. Having Lillian around brought him great relief.

  One of the moms, as if reading his thoughts, stepped close and said, “She’s great, Chuck. My daughter loves her, and my son said he’s happy that she controls the drama so the rest of you can hang out in peace.”

  They laughed together and watched the girls stand up and disperse. Lillian spoke with Holly for a moment longer, the young girl alternately nodding and wiping her nose. Katrina hung back, seemingly unsure if she should say something or walk away. She awkwardly patted Holly’s back while the teen hugged Lillian tight. The two rose, linking arms as they joined the other girls at the snack table.

  “Yeah, she certainly keeps the drama to a minimum,” he acquiesced quietly.

  “I know it’s none of my business, Chuck, but if you hesitate too long, you might just miss out on something special.” The woman patted his shoulder and walked away, letting her warning hang in the air.

  “Yeah, only that something special wants nothing to do with men,” Chuck murmured to himself, arms crossed as he watched Lillian throw her head back and laugh at something Holly said, ignoring the clench in his chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lillian was surprised to find a woman in her mid-sixties waiting outside her door the next morning when she opened the office for the day. She’d followed Viv’s protocol about keeping her apartment door open during business hours, and for the most part, the tenants respected her personal space and kept to the office portion of her home. This woman, a tenant she’d only seen a few times in passing, marched passed the office and into the living room.

  “Come on in,” Lillian muttered with an amused grin.

  The woman, dressed in slacks and a pink blouse, her hair in a sassy bob stacked high in the back, with long, professionally colored red strands perfectly framing her face, turned to take in the entire room. “I’m Rhetta Goodwin. I live on the fourth floor.”

  Lillian stuck out a hand, but Rhetta brushed it aside and gave her a hug. She squeezed and rocked Lillian back and forth.

  “Whoa, hi there,” Lillian laughed softly, unsure what to think of the woman.

  Rhetta released her and stepped back. She turned to take in the apartment, a finger hooked over her top lip, deep in thought. She eyed the couch and the two chairs Lillian had arranged in a semicircle around a large, low coffee table she’d found at a consignment store the week before. Chuck had let her borrow a sander and helped her stain it a deep walnut.

  “Yes,” Rhetta muttered, “yes, yes. We can set up one here, the second there.” She turned and looked toward the kitchen, a frown pulling on her face. “Hmm. No kitchen table. I guess we could squeeze the head table here.”

  “I’m sorry, can I help you with something, Rhetta?”

  The woman faced her, hands clasped together near one shoulder. “Tell me—” Rhetta’s eyes flitted to the office window where Lillian imagined she was reading the placard that stated her name and position as the building manager, “Lillian—how do you feel about Bunco?”

  “That depends—what’s Bunco?”

  “A really fun dice game. It’s easy. You’ll love it. Trust me. I invited a bunch of ladies in the building to play. They all RSVP’d, and then I realized my little place just isn’t going to be big enough. And that grouchy neighbor
of mine complains about my radio being too loud. I can’t have him interrupting our game all night. You don’t mind if we play here, do you? Of course, you would be our twelfth player…”

  Lillian scratched her upper lip to hide a smile. This was a new one.

  “Ah. Well, Ms. Goodwin, I don’t think—” Wait. It was the perfect chance to test out the roof. “Actually, we just got the roof all cleaned up, and there’s a big table up there. Would that work?”

  “Wonderful! It’s Tuesday night, so that gives you time to plan snacks. We need a few little things—nuts or crackers, even candy and pretzels—at each table, okay? Since it’s your first-time hosting, I’ll plan the prizes.”

  Whoa. First time? Hosting? What was happening? In her excitement to use the roof, she had quite possibly jumped in too quick. Lillian tried to protest but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate, and Rhetta kept right on planning.

  “Since it’s nearly summer you could decorate with some cute flag themed tablecloths…”

  Lillian was still stammering when Rhetta bid her good-bye and breezed out into the hall past Chuck, planting a pinch on his highly-amused face.

  “Have a good day, Ms. Goodwin,” Chuck called before stepping into the apartment, rubbing his face.

  “See? I told you she pinches,” he hissed.

  Lillian laughed. “At least she pinched that cheek,” she quipped.

  “Haha…ha Very funny,” Chuck retorted.

  “I have no idea what just happened, but I feel like I got suckered into some old lady dice game.”

  “Would that be so bad? You do need a social life besides me.” He winked when she lightly smacked him on the stomach with the back of her hand. Oops. Did her knuckles linger on his abs or was that her imagination? Lillian clenched her hand into a fist.

  He followed her into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. They usually shared a cup in the morning and discussed whatever needed to be done for the day. Lillian had already set the printed list on the island and read from it while Chuck poured his coffee.

  “Okay, I got a message yesterday that the air conditioning isn’t working in apartment 113—”

  “Hey,” Chuck reached out to take the paper from her. “Before we get to that, I wanted to thank you for talking with Holly last night. I had a few parents tell me yesterday how grateful they are to have you there.”

  “They did?” Lillian reared her head back, surprised. She enjoyed her time with the youth group, but had wondered if the parents were annoyed by her presence.

  “Yeah. They did. You seem to keep the girl drama down,” he wiggled his brows.

  She breezed past that one, “I don’t know if I’m the kind of leader they really want hanging out with the youth group.”

  Chuck growled low in his throat. “Stop it. You’re amazing.”

  “But my history—”

  “Is just that, Lillian—history.”

  She considered him for a minute. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Chuck grinned. He straightened and reached for a mini blueberry muffin on the plate on her counter.

  “So, I had a new tenant move in on Friday, and I thought it would be nice to take her dinner tonight.”

  “Why tonight instead of Friday?” he asked.

  “Well, I was thinking that on the night a person moves in, they order pizza. Enough pizza for them and the friends that are helping them move. Then they munch on cold pizza the next few days while they get the new place put together, or they go out because they’re tired of a messy apartment. By Monday the pizza is gone, but they still don’t know where the kitchen box is, or they’re too tired to cook after all of that unpacking. And they’re totally over eating out.” She struck a pose. “Enter, your kind and wonderful building manager to the rescue.”

  Chucks raised his eyebrows in approval, “Wow, yes. That makes perfect sense. I’m bummed, though. I was banking on you making me dinner before I go hang out with Felix, so now I don’t get to eat tonight, but whatever.”

  Lillian brushed past him and pulled open the freezer drawer beneath her fridge. She lifted out a square aluminum pan covered in foil. A blue post-it note that readBaked Ziti,followed by cooking instructions, was stuck to the top.

  “I would never let you starve,” she said, handing him the pan.

  “No way,” he said, setting down the coffee and accepting the offered pan. “You’re amazing.”

  She shrugged. “I try. Now, can we discuss the list?” she asked, waving the paper in the air.

  ***

  Although she feigned confidence for Chuck that morning, Lillian was unsure as she took the stairs to the new tenant’s apartment. Is this an intrusion on her privacy? Will she even want the ziti? Why did I make ziti, anyway? After a weekend of pizza, if my theory is even correct, why would she want pasta?

  Lillian sucked in a breath and held it as she approached the door, then knocked and exhaled slowly. Yes, it might be lame, but she so badly wanted to step out of her comfort zone and be a blessing to others.

  She heard movement inside—a bang and then a pained grumble. Lillian bit her top lip to keep from laughing. The door lock clicked and the knob turned slowly.

  “Yes?” A young woman with wild, curly brown hair captured in a poof on top of her head stuck her face out, leaving the door mostly closed. She wore bright red glasses and eyed the pan in Lillian’s hands suspiciously.

  “Hi, Tiffany? You don’t know me, but I’m Lillian, the new building manager. You signed with me online a few weeks ago.” She knows how she signed the contract, dummy. Lillian wished she didn’t sound so insecure. She cleared her throat and held out the baked ziti and loaf of garlic bread she’d wrapped in aluminum foil. “Anyway, I just wanted to welcome you to the building and hopefully make your unpacking process a little easier with dinner tonight.”

  The woman looked from Lillian to the pan, the glint from the hall light hitting her glasses at just the right angle so that Lillian couldn’t read her gaze. Finally, she opened the door and reached for the offered meal, her chin trembling. She finally moved enough that Lillian could see tears pooling in her eyes. Lillian opened her mouth in dismay.

  Uh-oh, what did I do?

  Tiffany laughed at herself, wiping a finger under her glasses. “Don’t pay any attention to me; I’m easily verklempt. Overly emotional. It’s really embarrassing. Come on in.”

  Lillian followed her into the room and through a maze of mostly empty boxes to the kitchen. Her studio was similar to Lillian’s old one but with built in bookshelves and a slightly larger kitchen. There was also a built-in below the windows for seating, complete with three cubbies beneath the seat for storage.

  “Oh, that would have been nice in my old apartment,” Lillian commented, pointing to the bench.

  Tiffany turned to look. “Oh, yeah. My Dad built that,” she said as she placed the ziti on the counter and read the note before turning on the oven.

  “He built it?” Lillian took in the long white bench again. She had to walk closer to convince herself that it wasn’t anchored to the wall or part of the original woodwork.

  “Yeah, we measured everything when we first looked at the apartment. A different woman was the manager then, right?” Lillian nodded, but Tiffany had already moved on. “It was my graduation present from college. I just graduated last weekend and feel like I haven’t accomplished a single thing. I was so busy catching up with family this week that I’ve barely begun to unpack. I was just thinking that I have no idea where my pans are and was about to order pizza for the second time since I moved in. I really didn’t want to do that because the pizza guy is pretty cute, and I don’t want him to think I’m some pathetic thing that only eats pizza, you know? Whoa, how many times did I just say pizza?”

  Lillian blinked at the fast-talking woman. That was a lot of information to take in.

  “I’m sorry—I’ve always been a babbler. And a fast talker,” she wiped a hand on her leg, and reached out for a handshake. “I’m Tiffany Kessler.”

>   “Right. I read that on your application. Wait. Kessler?” Lillian threw her hands up on either side of her face. “Are you related to Nan Kessler?”

  Tiffany drew back, stunned. “Yes, I am. She’s my aunt.” Recognition lit up her face and she punched Lillian in the arm. “Shut up—you’re Lillian?”

  “You’re Nan’s niece?”

  The women squealed and hugged enthusiastically.

  Lillian pulled back, feeling like she’d found a long-lost friend. “Nan talks about you so much, I can’t believe she didn’t tell me that you’d be one of my tenants.”

  Tiffany shook her head, “I know! I can’t believe she didn’t tell me, either. She had to have known. My aunt finds great delight in fun little stories. Knowing her, she planned to introduce us at work, but was secretly hoping we’d become friends on our own first.”

  Dizzy, Lillian hoped someday she would be able to track with Tiffany’s fast-track speaking. The oven beeped, and, instinctively, Lillian helped herself to the kitchen and put the ziti in the oven and set the timer.

  She took in Tiffany’s lounge pants and sweatshirt with Left Coast Bible School printed along one arm, her high messy bun, and the piles of boxes. Feeling brave, and excited to have a potential friend so soon after she prayed for one, she stood akimbo next to the oven.

  “Okay, that ziti will be done in forty-five minutes. I say we unpack as much as we can until the timer goes off. Then we eat, set the timer again, and then call it a night with dessert at my place.”

  Tiffany struck a similar pose. “Deal,” she smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After work, Chuck met Felix at the driving range to hit a bucket of golf balls. He hoped an hour or two of practice would loosen the tension he’d held since the night out with Lillian. Their conversation, and the thoughts it stirred in him, had been messing with him. After they hit a dozen balls, Chuck finally asked his friend a question.