Freedom

by Faith Potts

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  Standing near the entrance to the rented venue, I let my cheeks fill with air which I force out in a huff. Why am I here again? I mentally berate myself. Brushing my hands across the front of the simple but stylish, mid-calf length, royal blue dress, I step into the room where the dance is being held, being sure to stick to the sides and blend into the throngs of people observing.

  Maybe I’m being a ‘wallflower’—I don’t know. And I don’t really care right now. If my date doesn’t get here soon, I just might leave.

  Stand up someone that stood you up first? Wow, Lex, that’ll show him.

  From across the room, Uncle Joe catches my eye and winks, boosting my confidence. I smile and give him a little wave. Surely he would know—and warn me—if James had decided to play the no-show.

  I discreetly dig my phone out of my clutch purse—one of those tiny little handheld things that everyone insists ‘goes’ with formal attire—and check the time. It’s still five minutes until this thing is supposed to start. Why am I freaking out?

  To distract myself, I start people-watching. The occupants of this room are enough to make this quite an entertaining evening, without ever stepping onto the dance floor.

  I’m snickering over a couple teenagers goofing off near the punch table when James enters the room. And my heart warms in spite of myself.

  He stands tall and proud in a medium green shirt and khakis, his posture so very different from when we first met—a time when he wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place with so many people. People who may stare, ask questions he does not want to answer. God can do some awesome stuff.

  I watch as James scans the room. When his eyes fall on me, he grins. The adorable, charming grin where his cheeks dimple and his lips crook. I smile back and remain in my place as he makes his way toward me.

  It’s just James, I remind myself. The guy you’ve teased and laughed with for months. You can do this.

  “Good evening, everyone!” Uncle Joe stands on the stage in front of the band, microphone in hand. “Thank y’all for coming out tonight in support of the ministry.”

  A chorus of applause follows his opening words. He goes on to explain what’s been going on with the ministry, what’s foreseen in the coming months, and what’s to be expected tonight. Meanwhile, James appears at my side, his focus on the stage.

  Uncle Joe soon finishes his little spiel and turns everything over to the musicians. The lights lower. The music starts. And James turns to face me.

  “Good evening, Miss Lorance.”

  “Evening, Corporal. I wore a dress,” I blurt out—and immediately wince at how cold and prideful it came out.

  “I see that.” His eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, oblivious to my thoughts. “You look very nice.”

  Before I have time to give a sarcastic response, he offers his arm and invites me onto the floor. “Want to dance?”

  “I’d like that.” I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow.

  As James leads me onto the dance floor, I can’t help but wonder exactly how he plans to hold me to dance with only one arm. I hadn’t thought of it until now—hadn’t even known whether or not he planned for us to actually dance. But I’m certainly not going to voice my thoughts now.

  James, contrarily, must have thought of that ahead of time. As if it’s perfectly common, he authoritatively takes my right hand and places it on his shoulder, clasping my other hand in his.

  As he draws me a bit closer, his gaze suddenly flits to my face. “Is this okay with you?”

  “Of course.” To emphasize my words, I situate my hand more comfortably and follow his lead as the music picks up. “I should warn you… I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “I wasn’t a good dancer before I got hurt.” He grins menacingly. “You’re doomed, Lil’ Miss Therapist lady.”

  I laugh, pleased with the way he can joke about it now. “Maybe if we’re off beat in the same direction, we’ll do all right together.”

  He laughs again, but his face soon sobers. “Can I ask you a rather personal question?”

  Oh great. Taking the snarky way out, I reply without missing a dance step. “Yes. But I can’t promise I’ll answer it.”

  James doesn’t say anything to that—his face blank as he guides me around another couple in order to stay to the outskirts of the dance floor. I focus in on my hand on his shoulder, waiting.

  “I feel like dressing up tonight was a big deal for you. Why is that?”

  I jerk my eyes up to his, surprised by the sympathy and kindness I find there. “That’s a…long story.”

  “We have all night.”

  As if I want to spend the night discussing such things. But he probably deserves to know about my past, especially since I know so much of his.

  “I haven’t worn a dress since a nasty breakup, two years ago.” There. I said it.

  James staggers, nearly losing his footing. Or so I thought. He regained it so fast though, I can’t be sure. “I’m…I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. He was a jerk.”

  James eyebrows arch. “I see.”

  Actually, you don’t. “If he were here tonight,” I begin again, “he would probably introduce me to you as his fiancée. But I never got a ring, and he never actually asked me. It was just assumed, by him, his family, and parts of mine, that was the way it would be.”

  James studies me, watching me closely. But I’m not uncomfortable under his gaze. He’s not judging me—he’s genuinely interested.

  “And you…didn’t want that? But you still dated the loser?”

  Biting back a grin at the name-calling, I nod. “Pretty much. I thought I wanted to marry him for awhile, but his true colors bled through sooner rather than later, for which I’m thankful.”

  I pause, unsure how much of my story I want to dump on James on our first date. He’s quiet, not even probing, and soon enough I find myself revealing more. He might as well know the rest.

  “Drake didn’t treat me right—not like a woman he was supposed to be in love with. He expected me to dress up for him, no matter the occasion. If I didn’t do my makeup and fix my hair, he made it clear that I wasn’t attractive enough to be seen with him.” I focus my gaze on a random couple dancing off behind us. “Once I was finally out of that relationship for good, I didn’t dress up at all. I guess I wanted to show that I was free to do as I pleased without his constant oppression and nagging.”

  James tightens his hold on my hand, and I swallow. He cares.

  “The amount of extreme dieting I did during that time was dangerous, too. Joe and Gloria were finally able to convince me that I needed to get out. Drake guilted me for awhile after I broke things off, but they helped me through it.”

  “They’re an amazing couple,” James murmurs, giving no other indication besides the hand squeeze that he even heard all of this.

  I slowly look up at him. He’s looking back at me with that special gaze of his, seeing right into my very heart.

  “Have you been on a date since?” he asks softly, like he’s making sure no one but the two of us can hear. Like he’s looking out for my interest instead of broadcasting this moment across the room.

  “Not until tonight.”

  He grins. “Well then, I feel privileged to break your record.”

  He swings me around sharply, and I grip his shoulder to steady myself, laughing at his spontaneity. “Furthermore, Miss Lorance, if it makes any difference, I think you’re just as beautiful washing dishes in workout clothes as you are tonight, in a party dress on a dance floor.”

  The music ends and the applause that follows threatens to drown out James’s last words. But I heard. Contributing to the clapping, I lift my gaze to where he stands before me—unable to join the noise and seemingly oblivious to its existence.

  Without a hint of doubt on his face, he meant what he said.

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  || James

&nb
sp; Whatever doctor made the diagnosis that I didn’t suffer brain damage from the explosion should be fired.

  I rewind the conversation from the dance floor through my head as I follow Alex toward the dining area, on the opposite side of the building. Did I seriously tell her she was beautiful? After inquiring into her private life? On our first date?!

  If I were to be totally honest with myself, I would admit that I’m of the mind to consider our ice cream/hand-holding venture last weekend a date. I believe we both knew it was coming long before that, but tonight still feels different. Somehow that makes me feel like a little kid—I want to know but I don’t want to have to ask.

  Yeah, definite brain damage here.

  Alex stops at a round table that’s set to seat six and turns toward me. The nearest two seats have our name cards at the head. Barely catching myself in time, I step up and pull out her chair.

  “Thank you.” She takes her seat and waits for me to do the same.

  Elbows propped on the table, she leans as far to the right as she can without falling out of the chair.

  I laugh, relaxed in her presence. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Shush!” She whirls to glare at me, grinning all the while. “I’m trying to see who we’re seated with.”

  “I thought you arranged the seating and helped set everything up this afternoon.”

  “I did, but Aunt Glory made me leave to get ready before they were finished.”

  Just as I’m expecting Alex to stand and start around the table, a middle-aged couple approaches, dressed to the nines.

  Sitting stiff and erect, self-consciously smoothing her dress, Alex mumbles under her breath.

  “What was that?” I ask, glancing her way and then back to the approaching dancers. Wait, isn’t that…?

  “Hello, Alexandria. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Yep, Alex’s mother has made an appearance. This is about to get interesting.

  “Hello, Mom.” Alex smiles across the table to her mother, nods to the suit-clad guy whose arm Ms. Lorance is dangling from. “Good evening, sir.”

  Now seated to Alex’s right, she tosses a jewel-clad hand toward the man at her side. “Oh, this is Paul Harand. CEO of Satellite Marketing. Paul, this is my daughter, Alexandria.”

  I stay there without speaking while Alex makes polite inquiries about Mr. Harand’s business affairs and his relationship with her mom—the latter of which is apparently news to her.

  “Mom, I believe you met James at the hospital a few months ago. I’m not sure I was in a decent enough state of mind to make introductions, though. Mom, this is Corporal James Greene. James, this is my mother, Nora Lorance.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” I extend my hand to shake hers, until I realize she has no desire to do so. Okay, then. I fake fumbling with my napkin and act like I didn’t just stick my arm across the table and then withdraw it.

  “Nice to meet you.” She nods, barely enough to be called polite. “Quite honestly, I’m surprised to see Alexandria here with a date—and actually dressed like it. She usually comes to such functions in jeans and hides out behind a counter somewhere.”

  What am I to say to that? I pull my eyes from the fidgeting young woman at my side and smile at the woman to whom she bears no resemblance. “She certainly has a servant’s heart.”

  Eyes wide, she can only nod. “Oh…yes, of course.” Nora Lorance doesn’t have much of a reply and strikes up a subdued conversation with her date.

  Alex blows out a slow breath, twisting to face me. “I’m, uh, sorry about that. I would say she’s usually not like this, but unfortunately, this is about normal.”

  I shrug, wondering how someone as kind-hearted as Alex came from that kind of home. “You don’t need to apologize.”

  Any thoughts of further conversation in that area are cut short when Joe claps his hands at the front of the room and talk ceases.

  “May I have your attention, please? Thank you all for coming out and being here tonight. It means a lot to know we have support from friends and relations. The food is ready, so I’m going to say grace, and the buffet will officially be open.”

  Quiet claims the room, and a few couples who were caught on the dance floor scurry to take their places.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, I come before You this evening with a grateful heart. I thank You for this ministry, Lord, and the people and support that make it possible. I thank You for placing a burden for service members on the hearts of my Gloria and myself. We have a love for it, but truly You are the heart of the ministry. Bless this food and every soul making up this crowd here tonight. May Your will be done in each heart and life. In Your sweet name we do humbly pray, amen.”

  The prayer over, I help Alex with her chair best I can and then follow her to the forming chow line. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing Joe pray.”

  She smiles at me over her shoulder. “Me either. It’s calming.”

  “And inspiring.” We reach the head of the line and take plates.

  “And humbling.”

  “That too.” She looks toward my single hand. “Do you want me to carry your plate?”

  “Ah, no.” I set my plate on the edge of the buffet and slide it along to the next dish. I can totally handle this.

  From across the room, I catch Joe’s eye. He glances from Alex’s mom to us, then just smiles and waves to us on his way down from the podium.

  “Smiling and waving,” Alex growls under her breath. “He looks like the stupid penguins on that kid movie. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Violent, aren’t you?”

  She smirks at me over her shoulder. “I’ve known him my whole life, James. I would put money on it that he arranged for us to sit with Mom and what’s-his-name tonight. As in, on purpose.”

  I follow her back to the table, attempting not to snicker. After we sit our plates down, Alex sprints off to the drink table. Meaning I’m here solitarily when Ms. Lorance and her boyfriend return. Neither of them speak, so I only nod and smile and dig into my food.

  Alex must have seen them, because she comes hustling back with two sweet teas and takes her seat beside me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble under my breath.

  She just laughs and sets one of the glasses in the corner of my place setting.

  Halfway through the meal, our table companions decide to strike up a conversation with someone other than each other.

  “So, Mr. Greene, what exactly do you do?”

  The question came from Mr. Harand, and I take my time chewing as I attempt to come up with a creative response.

  “Well, sir, if you’re inquiring into my line of employment, then nothing at the moment. As soon as I’m officially released from physical therapy, I’ll be looking for a job.” Not exactly what a guy wants to tell his potential girlfriend’s potential stepfather.

  “I see.” He merely nods, while Ms. Lorance takes the opportunity to pounce on me.

  “So what did you do before the service? Do you have a college education?”

  I can almost feel Alex’s anger as she resumes eating without putting anything into the conversation.

  “No, ma’am. I joined the Marines right out of high school. College is a prospect in my future, but I think I need to get my feet under me first.”

  “I see.” By the looks of things, I don’t think she does see. I’m not even sure she heard a word I said.

  Apparently convinced she’s come to the end of me, Alex’s mother turns her aim toward her youngest child.

  “So, have you told him about Drake?”

  Alex nods, glancing my way, her eyes pleading for a rescue. “Somewhat, yes.”

  Ms. Lorance sighs and returns her attention to me. “As you have probably observed, my daughter has a knack for thinking she knows what she wants when, in all honesty, she doesn’t know what’s good for her. A few years ago, she had a fellow who could have given her a life of ease and comfort, yet she dumped him.�
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  Alex’s fork clatters to the table. “Mother!”

  Eyeing the dropped fork with disdain, Ms. Lorance lifts her nose into the air. “Well, is it not the truth, dear?”

  “That depends on how you define ease and comfort. Mom, he treated me terribly. You only liked him because he was filthy rich.”

  Uh oh. I’ve got to get her out of here before she really explodes. Clearing my throat louder than necessary, I slide my chair away from the table and lay my hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I believe this is our song.”

  Without even looking my way, she scoots out from under the table and leads the way to the dance floor.

  Chapter Twelve || Alex

  Joining the others couples on the dance floor, James and I resume our distant arrangement and begin swaying to the music. Mom’s words tumble over in my mind, upsetting my heart rate. I wonder if he can feel my trembling.

  With his hand gripping mine and his gaze focused on something far across the room, James leads our steps and doesn’t say a word about the situation he just rescued me from.

  “Thank you for saving me from that,” I murmur when I’ve had ample time to compose myself. My view of the room across his shoulder lands on Mom and Paul, and I quickly turn my head. Studying the stitching of James’s collar suddenly becomes rather intriguing.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it. It was getting pretty uncomfortable.”

  “I can’t believe she just said all those things.” I sigh and spin on one foot when he twirls me around. My elementary ballet teacher would be so proud. “By the way, I didn’t know we had a song.”

  He laughs at that, accentuating his dimple. “I guess we’ll have to get one then.”

  “What song are they playing, anyway?”

  “Stand. Rascal Flatts.” He answers without even thinking about it.

  “Maybe this should be our song. I think the title fits our relationship so far.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Not exactly how I want to tell it to the grandkids.”