Eleven
Mesmerized, Alec watched Lydia gracefully move around her living room in a winter-white tea-length jacket-dress accented with red satin embroidery on the bodice and along the skirt’s hem. He thought the outfit hugged her form, but in a modest way, and in a fashion that offered Lydia a certain elegance and grace. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world, taking her out tonight.
“All right now, you two behave yourselves,” she drawled, kissing Brooke, then Tyler before giving the baby-sitter a final word of instruction. The sitter, an older woman with a grandmotherly disposition, had been introduced to Alec as Lydia’s next-door neighbor on the other side—Mrs. Connie Wilberson.
“We’ll be just fine, honey,” the matronly woman insisted, her stocky frame perched on one end of the sofa. “You and Mr. Alec have a nice time.” She grinned like a cat, looking from one to the other. “Did Pastor Boswick set up this match?”
“No, he didn’t,” Lydia replied vaguely.
“Oh?” The gray-haired woman’s round face contorted with concern.
“Not to fret, Mrs. Wilberson, my father-in-law has met Alec.” Lydia turned toward him. “Isn’t that right? You two met the Sunday after you moved in.”
“That’s true.” Alec thought Lydia looked a bit nervous, and he wondered, again, if they were making a mistake. Maybe they should put a stop to this relationship before it went any further. Maybe—
No, I prayed about this and decided to trust the Lord to guide my steps, Alec reminded himself. I’m not going to wimp out now.
“Alec, I think we’d best go before we’re late.”
He snapped to attention. “Right.”
Lydia snatched her coat and purse and they headed for the door.
“Bye, Mr. Alec!” Ty called.
“Bye, kid.”
Brooke waved shyly and smiled. Mrs. Wilberson appeared glued to her post, unanswered questions pooling in her eyes.
Outside, Alec helped Lydia into his truck. Before closing the door, he propped a palm against the frame and peered at her. “You’re not obligated to come with me tonight, Lydia. I mean, if you don’t think it’s a good idea or that your father-in-law might not approve. . .”
“But I want to go out with you tonight,” she replied softly, causing Alec’s heart to flip inside his chest. “And for the record, my father-in-law does not make my decisions.”
Alec grinned. “Okay, lady. I gave you one last chance to back out.” Closing the door, he laughingly walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. So, Lydia has some spunk after all. He strapped on his seatbelt and glanced at her. “By the way, you look like a million bucks tonight.”
“Only a million?” Lydia retorted.
Starting the engine, he chuckled and backed out of the driveway. The night definitely held promise. “I can tell we’re going to have a good time.”
She returned his smile.
“Except,” Alec added, shifting gears as he drove down the street, “I never imagined a Southern belle like you would have even an ounce of gumption in your veins. I thought you were a docile little thing.”
“Disappointed?” she asked carefully.
“No. Just surprised.”
“I imagine it’s my mother’s fault,” she drawled. “I called her this afternoon and obviously some of her rebellion rubbed off on me.”
“I sincerely hope you’re kidding, Lydia,” Alec said, seriously now. “I mean, following your heart and marrying a Christian man, like you said your mom did, isn’t rebellion in my book—God’s either, as far as I know.”
“And it’s not as though my mother is a teenager who thwarted parental authority.”
“That’s right.” He momentarily looked her way. “So, were you kidding just now or what?”
“Yes, I was being sarcastic. I apologize.”
“No need. But I guess I never saw your sense of humor in action before either. And, no, I’m not disappointed. I like it.”
Lydia glanced his way, wearing a slip of a grin. “May I share something very personal with you?”
“Sure, as long as it’s not going to get me arrested or anything.”
She laughed. “Hardly.”
“Okay, go for it.”
Her voice quickly became soft and solemn. “I’m realizing that after Michael died, part of me went dormant. But now I feel like I’m awakening to life again.”
“Oh, yeah?” Alec saw her nod.
“And I think it all began when you moved in next door.”
“Hmm. . .” He wasn’t sure how to respond. He felt flattered, more than flattered. He was both glad and relieved she felt the same way he did, but this thing between them was happening too fast. Wasn’t it? “Look, Lydia—”
“I know. Don’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re not ready for a commitment, we barely know each other, that we’re only on our first date. I’m aware of the facts. And the last thing I want to do is push you in any one direction. But, just the same, what I told you is the truth. I can’t help it.”
“Aw, I’ll bet you say that to all the guys,” he teased her, suddenly uncomfortable with the perilous turn to their conversation.
Lydia rapped him in the arm with her purse and Alec chuckled. But she didn’t say another word about their relationship during the remainder of the trip to the restaurant. Oddly, he couldn’t figure out if that made him feel better or worse.
When at last they arrived, he walked around his vehicle to assist Lydia. “I never rode in a pickup truck before,” she told him when her feet touched the pavement.
“Used to Lincolns, eh?”
“Oh, please, don’t remind me about that ill-fated night with Sim.” She clucked her tongue.
Smiling, Alec threw caution to the wind and took her hand as they walked through the parking lot. The Valentine’s Day dinner party was held in one of the banquet rooms of the Southern Cross Restaurant, which overflowed with a laughing, chatting throng of people. They squeezed their way through the queue of smartly dressed men and women, waiting for vacant tables, and found the Heritage Craft Furniture group standing around, mingling.
“Don’t look now, Lydia,” Alec leaned over and whispered loudly, “but Greg Nivens is about to drop his teeth.”
“What?” Lydia frowned in confusion.
“Greg Nivens,” he explained, his hand still enveloping hers, “is my supervisor. He also attends your church, and I think he’s surprised to see you here. No, make that shocked. The guy is definitely shocked.”
“Greg Nivens?” Lydia repeated the name. “I don’t believe I know him. But then, again, ours is such a large church. It’s impossible to know everybody.”
“Well, here he comes, so you’ll get a chance to meet him now. And I think that’s his wife with him.”
Lydia followed the direction of Alec’s gaze and spotted the attractive pair heading their way. Having faces to put with the name, she recognized them at once. Still, when the Nivenses reached them, introductions were made.
“We know Mrs. Boswick,” Greg said, rocking on his heels. “Doesn’t everyone at SPCC?”
Lydia gave the man a polite smile. He was the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome type right down to the dimple in his left cheek, and suddenly she recalled Michael’s term for men at SPCC—plastic people.
Alec released Lydia’s hand, turning her way. “Want a pop or something? I’ll go get you one.”
“Mineral water would be nice.”
“Coming right up.”
Lydia watched him walk away before giving her attention back to the Nivenses.
“Small world, isn’t it?” Greg said curiously.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“How’d you meet up with Alec, anyway? He just moved to town.”
“He’s my next-door neighbor.”
“Ahh. . . ,” the couple said simultaneously, as though they’d just figured out one of the great mysteries of the world.
“Guess he wo
rks fast, too, eh?” Greg replied slyly, laughing at his own comment.
Lydia forced a smile.
“Okay, now, be honest,” he said amusedly as he leaned slightly forward. “Does the pastor know you’re out with my newest employee?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just that Pastor Boswick seems awful particular about who his family associates with.”
“He is, but Alec is a fine man.”
“I agree. And he’s a hard worker. I just meant. . .well, he’s not one of us.”
“A member of SPCC?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, now, perhaps Mrs. Boswick will be the one to persuade him to apply for membership,” Greg’s wife suggested, patting the side of her French twist. “You know how convincing those Boswicks are.” She smiled indulgently.
Greg agreed. “But I don’t need convincing when it comes to our pastor’s innocence, and I want you to know that my wife and I are behind your family all the way.”
“Why, thank you.” When Greg looked like he might enjoy continuing their discussion about the scandal, Lydia sought a quick escape. “I’d better go see if Alec needs some help. Excuse me.” She hurried toward Alec, just as he finished getting their mineral water.
“People are really putting away the booze here tonight,” Alec remarked, handing Lydia one of the glasses in his hands. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. Before I knew the Lord, I drank like a fish myself.”
She smiled. “You have the funniest sayings. ‘Dropped his teeth.’ ‘Drank like a fish. . .’ ”
“I’m glad you find me so entertaining.”
Several of Alec’s buddies approached them and Lydia was introduced to more people. The evening progressed and dinner was served. She discretely observed Alec’s table manners and felt mildly impressed—he selected the correct fork for his salad, even going so far as to pick up his knife and cut some of the larger leafy greens on his plate. He didn’t talk with his mouth full, and he made good use of his napkin. Lydia wondered if perhaps his mother played “restaurant” with him like she did with her children. Regardless, he’d picked up proper social etiquette somewhere along the line.
In between dinner and dessert, Alec sat back and stretched his arm over the top of her chair. At the same time, she caught sight of the Nivenses sitting two tables away, staring in her direction. No doubt they disapproved of her being there with Alec. Gerald wouldn’t approve of her dating him, either; however, Lydia hoped to get around him somehow. How exactly, she wasn’t sure. But she planned to be firm about her decision to see Alec—even if it meant standing up to Gerald, something she wanted to avoid. He’d done so much for her in the past, but did she owe him her life in return? According to her mother, yes. Gerald would expect that and nothing less.
“I had always thought Southern Pride Community Church was a wonderful place to worship God and fellowship with other believers,” her mother had stated during their conversation that afternoon. “I had the utmost respect for Gerald, but he’d been using me—and my money—all along. He’s using you, too, honey.”
Although the statement worried her, Lydia wanted to shrug off what her mother said as sheer ridiculousness. Using her? Hardly. Gerald had been a bulwark in Lydia’s life since Michael died. And yet, in her heart of hearts rang a warning knell. Could the extortion allegations be true? And if such problems were really rippling through SPCC, why hadn’t she taken notice of them? Were they that imperceptible as her mother claimed, or had she been totally blind to the facts? It was true—while in her hibernation of grief, Lydia hadn’t been able to see beyond her everyday duties, caring for her children, working at her job. Now, however, it seemed she was awakening to a veritable nightmare!
❧
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” Alec said much later as they sat in his truck, parked in Lydia’s driveway. “Your baby-sitter is probably anxious to get home.”
Lydia shook her head. “Mrs. Wilberson always falls asleep. It’s all right. Besides, I’m glad you told me about Denise. It helps me get to know you. Except. . .” She paused and, under the glow of the full moon, Alec saw her thoughtful expression. “I can’t understand why that woman up and changed her mind.”
“Me, neither.”
“Does it still hurt?”
Lydia’s velvet drawl was like a soothing salve, but he’d be a liar if he said the pain of being dumped had completely gone. “A little,” he finally replied. “It still hurts a little.”
A long paused settled between them.
“Well, we should get you inside before you catch a night chill,” Alec announced facetiously. “You Southern belles aren’t used to these frigid temperatures.”
“Ooh! You can say that again!” As if to emphasize it, she shivered.
Unable to contain his laughter, he climbed out of his truck and walked around to the other side. Lydia hadn’t budged, but waited for him to open the door and help her down. And a good thing he noticed, too, or he’d look pretty stupid walking to the porch all by himself. Denise usually beat me out of the truck. I never held the door for her.
Together he and Lydia walked to her front door, and Alec recalled her conversation with Sim about kissing on the first date. Whether it was pure arrogance or a good case of male ego, Alec couldn’t be sure, but he knew he was going to get a kiss out of Lydia tonight or die trying.
“Thanks a lot for coming to the party with me,” he began.
She smiled. “It was fun—and I mean it.”
He grinned and watched her dig in her purse for her house keys. Clasping them in her palm, she looked back at him.
“Good night.”
“ ’Night, Lydia.”
In two smooth, practiced moves, Alec stepped forward and gathered her into his arms, pausing only briefly to view her reaction. When she didn’t protest, he lowered his mouth to hers. But the moment their lips met, Alec knew he’d made a grave error.
He cut the kiss short. “I better go.”
Lydia nodded. Was that disappointment he saw in her eyes?
“See ya,” he said hastily.
“Good night,” she replied once more.
Back in his truck and leaving her driveway, Alec berated himself for being such a fool. Oh, he’d won the challenge and gotten the prize, but he hadn’t considered the consequences, and they were steep. Having tasted Lydia’s sweet kiss tonight cost him plenty.
It had just cost Alec Corbett his very heart.
Twelve
As Lydia fed her children a snack the following evening, she threw a glance next door. She hadn’t seen Alec all day, even though she’d hoped to run into him after church that morning and invite him over for lunch—since it was Valentine’s Day. But then as now, his house looked dark and deserted.
“Mama?” Tyler’s voice penetrated her thoughts and Lydia gave him her full attention. “Matt’s E-mail address doesn’t work.”
“Yes, I figured.”
“Could I call him? I won’t talk long.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
“I got his phone number from his aunt Rita. I saw her at church tonight.”
Lydia hesitated, but only because she wasn’t sure how welcomed Ty’s call would be. Then again, he and Matt had stayed true-blue companions even though she and Sherry’s friendship had come to an abrupt halt. “All right,” she acquiesced. “I suppose you can phone Matt.”
His mouth full of cheese and crackers, Tyler jumped off his chair and ran for the phone hanging on the wall on the other side of the kitchen.
“Chew your food before placing the call.”
The boy swallowed. “Okay.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pants pocket, picked up the receiver, and dialed the number. After a few moments, he smiled. “Hello, this is Tyler. Can Matt talk?”
Lydia listened quietly as she straightened up the kitchen.
“Mama?” Brooke asked, still sitting at the table. “Could I have a friend from school come over and p
lay?”
“I think so,” Lydia replied, sensing that her daughter missed the Smiths’ little girl, Pamela, even though she was a year older than Brooke. “Maybe next weekend.”
“Goodie!” Brooke exclaimed before nibbling on another cracker.
“Yeah, and a man moved next door named Mr. Alec,” Tyler was saying. “He’s really big, and he doesn’t even care if me ’n’ Brooke stand on the fence. And guess what else? He and my mom went on a date last night!”
“Oh, Ty, I don’t think Matt cares about that,” Lydia remarked softly, feeling oddly embarrassed.
“I think they’re gonna get married.”
“Tyler!” This time Lydia’s voice carried throughout the entire room.
“It’s true, Mama,” the boy replied with the receiver under his chin and an earnest expression on his face. “I knew it from the first day I saw Mr. Alec moving in. Isn’t that right, Brooke?”
She nodded. “We thought you’d like him, Mama.”
Lydia sighed. “My two children, Woodruff’s own matchmakers!” After rolling her eyes, she tapered her gaze at Tyler. “Hurry up and finish your call, now. Long distance is expensive.”
“Yes, ma’am. What did you say, Matt? Oh, yeah.”
Tyler began disclosing various events at school while Lydia instructed Brooke to go upstairs and change into her nightie.
“Mama? Mrs. Smith wants to talk to you now,” Tyler announced, following several minutes of idle chitchat with Matt.
Lydia was taken aback. Sherry? Wanted to talk to her? Slowly, she stepped to the phone and took the proffered receiver.
“Hello?” she said cautiously.
“Lydia? I know you probably loathe and despise me, but—”
“What are you talking about?”
A pause.
“I’m talking about Jordan and me and our public statement about Gerald.”
Southern Sympathies Page 9
