Her Hometown Heart.

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Tom winced. He knew about her panic issues. “I hate it that I caused you to be afraid.”

  “You’ll understand after we talk. But…maybe this will help a little. Do you remember when you said that you were afraid I’d change my mind about our partnership once I heard the gossip regarding your family?”

  “Yeah.” Tom sat back in the chair and crossed his legs.

  “OK, well, that’s sort of how I’m feeling now. I’m afraid you’ll change your mind about...well, about me after I share something from my past.”

  Tom had a good idea what that might be. She’d been intimate with someone and regretted it now. “Amie, there’s nothing you could ever say to change the way I feel about you. I’m hopeless. Jake and Katie will attest to it. The only cure is...” He balked, not wishing to broach the subject of marriage over the phone. “I guess we’ll have to talk about that, too.”

  “Are you working this weekend?” she asked. “And what in the world are you doing at the Best Rest Motel?”

  “On the job training.”

  “Oh.”

  “You would know that if you read all the emails I sent you.”

  “Sorry...”

  “And, yeah, I’m on this weekend. I’m working a double shift tomorrow—filling in for the manager.”

  “Good going. And as soon as you figure out how to run a hotel, you can teach me.”

  He chuckled. “You bet.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Listen, my break’s just about over so I’d better hang up. But, Amie? Don’t stop talking to me. Whatever’s bothering you, we’ll work it out.”

  “All right.” She still sounded skeptical.

  “Promise me.” A moment’s pause—or was it reluctance?

  “I promise.”

  Every muscle in Tom’s body relaxed. “Can I call you early Sunday afternoon before I go to work?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” Her voice returned to its honeyed tone.

  Neither spoke for several seconds.

  “I love you,” Tom said at last, cringing slightly at how trite his admission might sound to the average listener. “I know those three words are probably the most overused and misused in the English language.”

  “For sure.”

  The smile in Amie’s tone kept Tom grinning. For most of his teenage years, he’d longed to say them to that special someone. But, shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he all but convinced himself he’d never fall in love—that he was unlovable. And then Amie babbled her way into his heart.

  The thought brought a smile to his lips.

  Fleetingly, Tom wondered if he’d ever told his father he loved him. He hoped so. It was true. He’d loved his father enough to stick with him year after year, hangover after hangover, until finally the booze he cherished more than his family killed him. Still, Tom had refused to give up, praying his dad would trust the Lord with his soul. And he might have.

  Even so, Tom saw more suffering than he cared to remember while living with his father. He’d survived horror stories that would intimidate Hollywood film makers. Whatever secret Amie harbored, it could neither shock him, nor change his feelings for her a mite. He loved her.

  “And, Tom...? I love you too.”

  Like a healing balm, her mellifluous voice penetrated his wounded heart.

  ~*~

  Amie marched into her condo and dropped her purse on a nearby armchair. Then she shed her winter coat and scarf and hung up her wrap in the closet. She paused, stared at the white ceiling and let out a groan of exasperation. “My family makes me crazy!”

  She forced herself to breathe. In and out. In and out. She then decided on some chamomile tea to sooth her jangled nerves. She filled the teakettle and set in on the stove, turning the burner on high. She’d never been a fan of microwaving a mug full of water for tea—unless it was at work. No, she enjoyed preparing the hot beverage the old-fashioned way.

  Amie gazed at the warming red teakettle, her anger abating. She and Tom had more than made up for the past two months when they hadn’t communicated. However, because of his classes and work schedule, it soon became apparent that the earliest they’d be able to spend time together was Easter weekend.

  They’d plotted and planned and finally came up with an agreeable arrangement: Tom would come to Chicago and meet Amie’s family and they’d talk—face to face. Despite the forty days she had to wait to see him, Amie didn’t feel anxious in the least over sharing her three-year secret. Not anymore. It almost seemed as if it didn’t matter if she told Tom or not. He insisted his feelings for her were unconditional. But she’d tell him anyway. She needed to confide in the man she loved.

  The man she loved. The words still felt foreign on her tongue, yet they came from her heart. And the closer she grew to the Lord, the more she felt ashamed to have assumed that God, in all His goodness, mercy, and everlasting love, would “curse” her for a sin she’d not committed. She’d condemned herself after Jasper and his pastor placed blame on her, and she’d lost something precious because she’d been naïve and trusting. Her contemplation these past two months had led her to the Bible, and the words had been a balm to her soul. She’d not done anything wrong except trust the wrong person. Her prayer of late was that the Lord would help her forgive—forgive everyone involved. Now Amie began to understand that there was sweet peace in forgiveness.

  But another matter was causing her mild apprehension and total aggravation. Her family. Telling them about Tom tonight at their Sunday evening dinner turned out to be a complete fiasco.

  Upon hearing the news, Dottie dropped her folk. It clanged loudly against the expensive dinnerware. “The gas station geek! You’re kidding!”

  “Tom is not a geek.” Jaw set, Amie gave her younger sister a furious stare.

  Beside her, Dottie’s fiancé shifted uncomfortably. “He works at a...gas station?” He said the last two words in a manner of distaste with a perfectly wrinkled nose.

  “No, Gregory,” Amie corrected him, “Tom is my business partner.”

  “He used to be a gas station geek,” Dottie whispered.

  “Amie, dear,” Mom crooned from one of end of the long, polished dining room table, “what happened to that charming young man. Wanda Carter’s son?”

  “He wasn’t all that charming.” Amie had met Kevin Carter only once, very briefly—and she hadn’t been impressed.

  Besides, she loved Tom.

  “Now, listen everyone,” Dad told his family from where he sat at the head of the table, “we owe it to Amie to at least meet this fellow before we pass judgment on him.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, picking at her veal cordon bleu. “But I’d prefer you all not pass judgment at all.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean, Princess.”

  Amie’s jaw began to ache from clenching it so hard and so long.

  “After all,” Dad continued, “Tom did inherit quite a bit of money from Hal. Let’s not forget that.”

  Amie wondered how she happened to be born into this money-minded family. Except she remembered God never made mistakes.

  “I met that dude,” Dottie stated flatly, “when Stephen and I drove to northern Wisconsin to claim our inheritances. And there he was...a dirty-fingernailed car mechanic with long hair and a stubbled face.” Her brown-eyed gaze zeroed in on Amie. “Are you out of your mind?”

  She shot a quick glance across the table at Gregory, his soft, shiny baby-face grinning amusedly, and thought she might ask Dottie the same thing. Of course, Amie hadn’t judged her sister’s fiancé on appearance alone. It was his bad temperament, moodiness, and sickening habit of whining which made her dislike him. Dottie’s attraction, however, seemed to stem from the fact that marrying Gregory ensured her a position within the wealthy Bradford family.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Just how...serious are you about this man, Amie?” Mom’s white-winged brows were knitted together in concern.

  The room fell deathly quiet and all eyes turned on her. Amie took a deep breath, fe
eling overshadowed by her family’s expectations. They’d never understand. They never did.

  Gazing back at her mother who looked as she always did, very dignified, very regal, Amie began, “I’m quite serious about him. Tom is probably the best friend I have on earth and I...I’m in love with him.”

  Dottie shook her head with a disgusted expression. “You have flipped your wig. You’ll ruin your reputation. What will people say when they find out you’re involved with a...a grease-monkey?”

  “He is not a ‘grease-monkey,’ and I couldn’t care less what anybody says.” Amie scooted her chair back and stood. “Tom is a warm, caring person with a good head on his shoulders. He’s a hard worker and—” Amie took in all the glassy-eyed stares. “Oh, never mind. I don’t want him to meet you...any of you. I would be ashamed for him to discover how shallow my family really is.” Tears of humiliation filled her eyes. She glared at her father. Some help he’d been! She tossed her linen napkin onto her barely-touched plate, ignoring the gasp from Mom and the appalled expression on Dottie’s face. Leaving the room, she grabbed her purse and coat.

  “Amie, don’t leave the house like this,” Dad warned, coming up behind her.

  She yanked opened the front door and marched out to her car, parked in the circular drive.

  By the time she arrived back at her condo, Amie felt ashamed at her outburst of temper. It was one of the things she couldn’t stand about Gregory, yet she’d behaved the same way.

  Lord, I don’t think my actions glorified You, did they?

  The teakettle sang its screeching melody. Amie shook herself back into the present and fixed her tea. Steaming mug in hand, she ambled to the answering machine and checked for messages on her land line.

  “Hello, Miss Potter, this is Dennis Templeton of Templeton Realty. Good news. I believe I’ve sold your condo this afternoon. I told you it wouldn’t take long...”

  Groaning, Amie smacked her free palm against her forehead. Now she’d be forced to actually live with her parents.

  Her cell phone chirped from inside her purse. Setting down her tea, she fetched it and glanced at the caller’s ID. Seeing it was the Lincoln Park number, she decided against answering it. Instead, she turned to an inspirational channel on TV before changing into her pajamas. Plopping onto her sofa and covering up with a plush blanket, Amie checked her phone and decided to check her voice mail.

  “Amie, darling…” Mom’s smooth voice set her nerves on edge again. “I’m so sorry we hurt your feelings this evening. Of course, we want to meet Tim—”

  “Tom!” She glared at her phone.

  “Now, you just tell me when he’s coming and we’ll all be on our best behavior.” A pause. “Honey, I want you to be happy, it’s just that...well, you know, I grew up in Tigerton and I’ve always wanted better for my children. People are so...so backwards up there, and...oooh!” she moaned, “my worst fears have been realized. My daughter is romantically involved with someone from the small town which I endeavored to escape.” She sighed dramatically before her voice took on a steely tone. “It’s a good thing Hal’s already dead because if he were here, I’d wring his neck for starting all this trouble. I knew it was a mistake for him to leave you that gas station.”

  A decisive click and Amie let her head fall back against the pillows behind her. She couldn’t allow Tom to come to Chicago. There was no way. She wouldn’t put him through it. Except she had a sinking feeling that Tom would insist.

  ~*~

  “All right, peeps, listen up.”

  Amie rolled her eyes at her father’s vernacular, learned from Stephen, no doubt.

  Dad got his family’s attention. They were all gathered in the living room, including Stephen, who’d come home from college on Spring Break. “We’ve promised Amie we would be polite and I will not tolerate any rude remarks or smug comments about her...friend. Got it?”

  Dottie clucked her tongue and cozied up next to Gregory on the love seat. “Oh, Dad, you make us sound like naughty children.”

  “If the shoes fit, Dot.” Amie folded her arms. “Wear ‘em.”

  “Oh, like you should talk.” Dottie snorted. “You with all your four-inch heels.”

  “And you with your sensible shoes.” They’d been sparring over shoes since they were girls and quite often reverted to the argument just to razz each other.

  “Girls, please.” Dad wore an exasperated frown.

  Amie giggled.

  Dottie laughed. “All right. We’ll behave, Dad.”

  Amie prayed her sister would keep the promise.

  For the past week, she had pleaded with Tom, begging him not to come for Easter weekend. But he was determined to meet her family. To thwart his efforts, Amie phoned Jake Warren and explained the circumstances, only to have him side with Tom.

  She supposed Jake was right: Tom had to meet her family eventually. But now she doubted her decision.

  As she gazed around at the faces here in the living room of her parents’ home, she felt so sorry for Tom. Her siblings and Gregory looked like felines ready to pounce. Mom sat comfortably in one of the two matching powder-blue, wing-backed chairs and filed her fingernails, looking quite indifferent. Only Dad appeared to be making any sort of attempt.

  A vehicle’s door slammed outside, and Amie startled. Dottie stood and ran to the large front. She peered through the white sheers. “Hey, Princess, your knight in a shining pickup truck is here.”

  “Be nice,” Dad warned.

  “I’m always nice.” Dottie returned to the sofa while Stephen and Gregory snickered.

  Amie headed for the front door before the bell sounded its three-toned chime. Hurrying into the foyer, she checked her appearance in the mirror of the antique, wrought-iron umbrella stand. She smoothed down the blue and green full plaid skirt and shifted the navy turtleneck at the shoulders, feeling like a nervous teenager. With a deep breath, she pulled open the large front door.

  Tom smiled a greeting.

  “Hi. Come on in.”

  As he stepped into the house, she gave him a discreet hug. “I’ve missed you so much.” His cheek felt cool against hers as a rush of nippy spring air blew into the house.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Amie stepped back and shut the door. Turning back to Tom, she offered to hang up his coat.

  He nodded, shrugging out of the handsome camel’s hair and handed it to her. After tucking it in the closet, she gazed at him, taking in his every feature and realized that four months had dulled her memory. His dark-brown hair was neatly cropped, although, for the moment, it looked windblown. As if divining her thoughts, he quickly combed his fingers through it. Their gazes met, and Amie decided his hazel eyes no longer seemed sad as they stared back at her with adoration sparkling in their depths, leaving no doubt in her mind as to how he felt about her. She noticed, too, that he wore the sweater she’d given him at Christmas over a pair of khaki tan trousers. He looked terrific. He might even impress Dottie.

  Amie smiled almost apologetically. “Can I introduce you to my family?”

  He nodded. “Lead the way.”

  18

  “So, what line of work is your father in?”

  Amie cringed at the barrage of questions being hurled at Tom, although he seemed to be holding his own.

  “My father’s dead, Mr. Potter.” Tom didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “But he worked for the railroad for almost fifteen years.”

  “The railroad? Hmm...” Dad pursed his lips. “I had a cousin who worked for Union Pacific.”

  “Really?” Tom had the good grace to look interested.

  “Anderson...I’m trying to think if I went to school with any Andersons.” Mom drummed a well sculptured finger against her chin pensively. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Margaret Anderson, would you?”

  Tom gave it a moment’s thought then shook his head. “Not that I know.”

  “So, um,” Stephen began, sitting forward on the sofa, “like where are you
working now that my uncle’s filling station is gone?”

  “I’m the assistant manager of a motel in Shawano.”

  “Assistant manager, huh?” Dad appeared mildly impressed.

  Amie was aware of the promotion and felt so proud of him. The national motel chain knew Tom planned to move on but advanced him anyway, citing his outstanding work ethic—and within just a few months of his employment. She wished he’d tell her family that piece of information, but figured he’d probably consider it bragging, which wasn’t at all Tom’s nature.

  The interrogation continued. It wasn’t long before Dottie and her fiancé grew bored and left, claiming they had dinner reservations. Stephen, too, made his excuses and exited the house.

  “Our dinner will be ready shortly,” Amie announced.

  “She’s making lasagna for us,” Dad said. “She took over our kitchen, so she could impress you with her culinary skills.”

  Amie sent him a glare then noticed Tom’s grin. He caught her gaze and quickly sobered making Amie laugh.

  “Mr. Potter, I think your daughter could make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I wouldn’t care.”

  Dad snorted. “So, how’s this hotel adventure coming along?”

  “Excavation has already begun.” Tom’s enthusiasm about the subject matched Amie’s. “And if the mild weather keeps up, the foundation could be poured as early as next month.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Mom said. “I can remember snow storms up there occurring as late as May.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Potter. That has been known to happen.”

  Dad brows knitted together. “How’d those architectural drawings work out for you?”

  “Would you like to see the plans? I’ve got a set out in my truck.”

  “Sure!” he boomed enthusiastically.

  Tom fetched the drawings and explained the layout for the hotel, café, and antique shop.

  Amie made the final preparations for their dinner. At last they sat down to eat, and, although her parents’ questions persisted, the focus centered on the business “adventure” instead of Tom’s personal life.