“You ready for this?” he asks in a voice that is as much teasing as it is worrisome.
“Sort of. How many people usually come out?”
“Fifty to a hundred. Used to be more, but the economy has improved some.”
He unlocks the door while I wait behind him. It’s a rusty contraption that takes him several attempts and lots of jiggling to open. “This lock is old, but give it a few tugs and it’ll catch.” Finally, he pushes the door in and wiggles the key back out. “Here.” He offers the key, and I take it, even though I don’t want to. If a four-minute jiggle is considered functional, I’m terrified to see what’s inside.
“I won’t be the first one here, will I?”
“Not usually. But I want you to have it just in case. We have three regular volunteers and they’re stellar. Nora and her husband run the kitchen. Although Nora’s dad has been in and out of the hospital, so she’s been pulled away quite a bit. And Pete serves and entertains.”
“Entertains?”
“You’ll see.” Ralph extends his hand, and I walk into the lobby of the building, eager for some warmth. What I get instead is a face-to-face encounter with a massive yellow reptile behind a thin piece of glass.
“What in the . . .” I jump back, knocking into Ralph with the force of a volcano. “There’s a snake on the counter.”
He steadies me with two solid hands on my upper arms. “That’s just Monty. Pete brings him for the kids.”
The lobby area is only about sixty square feet, most of it being the check-in counter and a small lounging area. The two double doors across from the entry are open, exposing a large dining space already bustling with activity.
I ease as far around the snake cage as possible, and I swear the thing lifts its head to get a better feel for how good I’ll taste. “He’s looking at me,” I say, sliding along the chair since I can’t go farther back.
“Doubt that.” Ralph’s mouth twitches upward at my terror, and I think I may like the old brooding version better. “Poor guy was born without any eyes.”
I pause to look closer at the snake’s head, trying to keep my stomach from revolting. It’s hard to tell, but sure enough, the scaled skin continues right from the head to the nose.
Good grief. A blind snake is chilling out in the lobby, likely waiting on his breakfast to be served. I’ve stepped into a circus sideshow.
I somehow make it into the dining room without incident and flinch a little at the bright fluorescent lights that periodically flicker and vibrate. The floor is waxed linoleum tile, white with a weird blue pattern on each square. Old recycled lunchroom tables fill the area, offering at least a hundred seats throughout the space.
“You must be the new Ralph.”
I take in the approaching man with baggy gray slacks and a fluorescent green Hawaiian shirt. He uses a cane when he steps with his right leg, and his hands are marred with at least a hundred scars ranging in depth and width. He offers me his left one. “I’m Pete Kenzie. January, right?”
I lightly shake his hand, which feels as leathery and damaged as it looks. “I actually go by Jan.”
“No need to simplify the exceptional. January is a great name. Means ‘month of the wolf,’ you know.”
My sudden curiosity surprises me. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Yep. And a wolf has powerful instincts, intuition, and high intelligence.” He winks at me. “I can already tell your name fits.”
Score one for the oddly dressed man who likes blind reptiles. I think this is the first time I’ve ever felt even a smidgen of pride for my name.
Ralph checks his watch. “We better keep moving. Doors open in an hour.”
“We’re fine. Got plenty of time.” Pete slides his arm through mine and tugs, using me as his stabilizer instead of the cane. “Nora and Mike are a fine couple. They’ll show you all the ropes in the kitchen.”
We weave around a stainless-steel serving counter that marks the start of a moderate but functional commercial kitchen. There’s a narrow island, two wide stainless refrigerator freezers, an eight-burner stove, and multiple sinks and counter spaces, but no Nora or Mike.
“They’re in the pantry.” Pete points to a small room in the corner. “We keep all the supplies locked up in there. Keeps things from walking off, if you know what I mean.” He goes on to inform me about keys and plate setups and then his cousin Benny’s schizophrenic toad.
He’s halfway through the story when Nora appears, moving at the speed of sound, arms full. Her long blond hair is braided down her back, and she seems to be a pattern girl like myself. Each step is exactly a tile square at a time. No cracks. The fact that she can do it so quickly and without looking is a testament to how long she’s been volunteering here.
“Hello and nice to meet you. Pull out the milk and I’ll get you going on the eggs.” She pauses when she spots Ralph at the doorway. “I thought you were on vacation.”
“I am as soon as breakfast is over.”
“It is over. For you.” Nora waves him away. “Now get.”
“But Jan needs—”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, though I’m not sure I believe it. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
He looks genuinely torn. “You have my cell, right? If you need anything, call me. Victoria’s co-workers have banded together to cover the schedule, so we’re thinking one week, two at the most. Eric will be available, as well.”
“I know he is. We’ve already discussed who’s doing what. So stop worrying and take all the time you need.”
After Mike joins in the chorus, Ralph finally departs, leaving me alone with the three oddest volunteers on the planet.
Pete must sense my unease because he pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s a piece of cake once you get the hang of it.”
The sentiment longest week ever has nothing on the four days I’ve worked without Ralph. My to-do list is growing longer by the minute, and even Eric felt the need to apologize to me as he promised to include the extra hours I’ve worked in my next paycheck.
The little above-and-beyond things that Ralph does each day without being asked or recognized are too many to count, and if nothing else comes from his absence, I’m pretty sure the “new minister” they’re searching for will get hired sooner rather than later.
The thought of my time at Grace Community ending makes me sadder than I expect it to, which isn’t good considering I’ve been teetering between depressed and lonely all night. Even the text from Cameron asking how my weekend was going wasn’t able to pull me out of my funk. Of course, that could have been because despite my very strong hint that I didn’t have anything planned beyond lying around and recovering from my busy week, he made no offer to keep me company. Instead, what I got was an I’m glad you’re resting, you deserve it text, along with a smiley face. Any chance of moving our date up from next weekend to this one is pretty much shot. Oh well. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?
I push the torturous thought away and continue my quest for the one item I have no business pulling out. Some people have blankets or lovies that they save from childhood. I have an old AC/DC T-shirt that’s two sizes too big. It’s the only thing I have from Stepdad #1, and why it brings me comfort after all these years I may never know. Still, I carefully pull the old shirt from its hiding place and inhale the faded cotton smell. The material lost his scent long ago, but on the really hard days, when the pain of rejection feels more powerful than the resolution to hate him, it’s nice to believe we have even the slightest of connections.
As it has too many times to count, the old shirt eases the sharp pain in my heart the minute I pull it over my pajamas. I don’t even care that I look ridiculous with red flannel arms and legs poking out under ugly stone-washed black cotton.
It’s funny how memories only tell part of the story. In my mind, Stepdad #1 was the coolest guy I’d ever known, even though his choice in clothing screams otherwise. He had a radiant smile and would lift me onto his
shoulders every time we’d go on an outing, which was often when he was around. Then he started disappearing. First for a night, then for a week, and then . . . forever.
I squeeze my eyes shut until his face fades from my mind. It happens quicker now than when I was a kid, but it still drains me every time. I slam the closet door with a fist, annoyed by my sentimentality, and escape to the front porch. A cold breeze slaps my face the minute I step outside, and I welcome the numbness, welcome the way it cools the heat in my cheeks and eliminates the moisture in my eyes.
Music is booming from the reception hall, and I know it has to be packed in there, even though the cars have thinned quite a bit since the actual ceremony two hours ago. I embrace the noise and the reminder that I’m here, safe and cared for.
Doreen has been a helicopter mom all week, far more concerned about this wedding than I’ve been. We argued for ten minutes when I refused to stay at their house, but I wasn’t about to set a precedent. Tonight is the start of many more events to come, and I know if we can just make it through this first milestone without incident, she’ll relax about my being out here all by myself.
Still, it’s no surprise at all when headlights flash across the old rocking chairs and a truck turns the corner toward my tiny parking lot. Uncle Jim has already dropped by twice to check on me. And even though I assured him and Doreen both not twenty minutes ago on the phone that I’m fine and no psycho wedding crashers have taken me hostage, he must be coming for round three.
“Are you going to do this all night?” I call out at the silhouette exiting the truck. “Because I’m pretty sure this is way past your normal bedtime.” Uncle Jim is on rancher’s hours—asleep by nine and up with the sun. “And I’m guessing you’re not going to like me very much when you’re sleep-deprived tomorrow.”
“Eh. I’ll find a way to get over it.”
I freeze when I hear the voice that is definitely not my uncle’s.
Dillon slams the driver’s door and walks toward my cabin, the porch light hitting the side of his face as soon as he reaches the edge of the gravel.
“What are you doing here?” I choke out, too surprised to come up with a nicer greeting.
“Taking pity on your aunt. Dad called and said she’s been pacing for an hour.” He glances up at me, and I swear he nearly trips when his eyes take in the full picture. “What are you wearing?”
“Don’t dis the T-shirt,” I snap and then force a smile so I don’t give away the significance.
“Sorry.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “I just never pictured you as a heavy-metal fan. You have Taylor Swift groupie written all over you.”
“I’m not a fan. I just like this shirt.” I cross my arms over my chest. There aren’t many emotional doors in my life that I open, but the one labeled DADDY is locked with a million dead bolts, and I have no intention of that changing anytime soon. “And don’t dis Taylor Swift, either. She’s an amazing songwriter.”
“Yes, I can see how you would gravitate to her hundreds of breakup ballads.” He smiles at me, and I return it with a scowl.
“Okay . . . you came, you saw, you insulted. I believe your obligation has been fulfilled.”
“Hardly.” He hops up the last step, taking away my high-ground position, and shakes a DVD case. “I’ve been instructed to stay until the last guest leaves.” He checks his watch. “Which I’m guessing at this rate will be close to midnight.”
“And how exactly did you get roped into being my babysitter?”
“I volunteered.”
“Why?”
His smirk grows. “Because the job came with two pans of your aunt’s chicken enchiladas.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for a pan of Doreen’s enchiladas. “Fine, but if I’m forced to spend the evening watching—” I grab the movie out of his hand and roll my eyes. Could he be more of a Texan?—“Westerns all night, then I better find a nice full Tupperware in my fridge tomorrow.”
He actually hesitates, and I smack his arm.
“Fine,” he moans and rubs at his flesh. “I’ll share, but only because you asked so nicely.”
“Go inside before I come to my senses.” I push him through the door and then immediately head toward my room.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I just need to take this shirt off.”
Dillon leans against the couch and stares at my face with way too much insight. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
He continues to stare, and my whole body tenses with the need to beg him not to push. Finally, he straightens. “Well, hurry up then.”
It takes me exactly 5.4 seconds to rip off the shirt, shove it back in my closet, and return to the living room.
Dillon’s squatting in front of the DVD player, blowing air into the disc tray. “How long since you used this thing? It’s full of dust.”
“Never. All my movies are digital. Do you want some popcorn?”
Dillon stands, apparently satisfied now with the cleanliness of the movie player. “Only if it’s not that no-flavor, air-popped kind.”
“Do I look like I’ve been skipping butter lately?”
“Is there a safe answer to that question?”
“No, probably not.”
He tosses the empty case on the coffee table and comes to help me in the kitchen. “Here, let me do it. That microwave is moody.”
I jerk the packet away. “I know how to pop popcorn, Dillon.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure you burned it so bad last week that the stench lingered in here for two days.”
Busted.
He reaches for the popcorn a second time, and this time I let him take the bag. “The secret is to put it on fifty percent power for two and a half minutes. Never trust the popcorn button. It lies.” He closes the door and mashes the corresponding buttons.
“Dillon?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you really come here tonight? I know my aunt is an amazing cook, but come on.”
He turns, and his mouth tenses to the point I wonder if I’ve finally asked the one question he won’t answer. Seconds pass, but then he rubs at his chin and admits, “Being alone on a Saturday night sucks. And I just didn’t feel like doing it tonight.” And because it’s Dillon, I know he’s one hundred percent telling me the truth.
“Even when the company is a Taylor Swift–loving basket case?”
His smile is enough to make all the teasing I endure from him worth it. “Yeah, even then.”
And I realize he’s right, because somehow the earlier sadness I’d been wrestling with has disappeared, and I’m pretty positive the shift had nothing to do with the AC/DC shirt crumpled in my closet.
“In that case, I guess for the sake of Saturday night, I can also deal with a moody popcorn Nazi who has a dust fetish.”
Dillon shakes his head and points to the cabinet. “Just . . . get out a bowl.”
“A bossy popcorn Nazi at that.” I feign annoyance but do as he asks.
It’s a crazy idea, but I think Dillon and I might have just become friends.
nineteen
I stand in the center of Ralph’s semi-clean office feeling pretty proud of what I’ve accomplished in just over a week. We certainly have more to go, but hopefully I’ve done enough to encourage future getaways with his wife.
“Knock, knock.” Darcy pokes her head inside Ralph’s office and gives me a wide grin. “Cam said you were up here.”
“Hey. What are you doing here?” The question comes out more surprised than friendly, even though I’m actually really happy to see her. My female interactions lately have been reduced to women thirty to fifty years my senior.
Darcy steps through the door. “I’ve come to beg for money. Hence the fancy getup and the appointment with Pastor Thomas.” Her hand sweeps down her outfit of black slacks and a white button-up dress shirt. She wears no makeup or jewelry, and her hair is in a p
onytail. Add a hand towel over her arm and she’d be ready for table service.
I hold in a laugh and decide right then and there that the two of us need to spend more time together. She desperately needs some fashion help, and I need a large dose of her self-assuredness. “Why are you asking for money?”
Darcy drops into Ralph’s old leather chair and slouches, as miserable as a teenage boy at a baby shower. “I’ve been accepted to teach English at a Christian school in Guatemala, but you have to have all your funding secured before you can go. And I guess the organization I’m working with has had too many missionaries back out, so they require a full six months of salary to be wired ahead of time. And then written letters of obligation for the last six months of sponsorships. I don’t have either yet.”
“You speak Spanish?” I’m taken aback by nearly everything she just said, but for some reason this is the question that comes out.
“I’m not fluent, but I can get by. And I know once I’m immersed in the culture, it will come even more.” She spins Ralph’s chair in a circle. “PT’s gonna talk to the missions team and see how much they can sponsor.” She crosses both fingers and holds them up. “Anyway, I thought I’d grab you and Cam, and we could go get some grub.”
“It’s already lunchtime?” I look down at my watch and cringe. “I can’t. I have a standing appointment.” One I’m forty-five minutes late for. “In fact, I should have been there a while ago. Time totally got away from me.” I grab my purse as Darcy stands, her disappointment obvious. “I want to go, I do, but I haven’t gone to see Mrs. Cox in days.”
Her eyes brighten. “Sandra Cox?”
“You know her?”
“Everyone knows her. She and her husband taught second-grade Sunday school for twenty years. Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her at church in a long time. Then again, we’re so big now that I could probably pass right by her.” There’s a bite to her voice as if she doesn’t necessarily love how much Grace Community has grown. It’s very different from Cameron, who seems to feed off the influx of people.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 12
