“Laura, you okay?” Madeline looked concerned.
“I, uh. . .” Laura shook her head, not wanting to talk. The knot in her throat wouldn’t allow it anyway.
“That’s all right,” Madeline said. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. This doesn’t have anything to do with my brother, does it?”
Laura laughed, in spite of herself. “No,” she said, grateful for the relief the laughter brought. “Nothing to do with your brother.”
“That’s good,” her boss said. “Because I thought for a minute there, I was going to have to hurt him. You just let me know.”
Let her know? Should she let her know her brother had one thing, and only one thing, on his mind—and it wasn’t American History?
“Would you mind taking over the register?” Madeline asked. “I need to check a new shipment that just came in.”
“No problem.” Laura headed to the cash register, her mind still reeling.
Jessica didn’t get the scholarship. The words still tossed themselves around in her head. She shouldn’t be this disappointed, but money didn’t grow on trees, and with two of them in college, things might get tight by the spring.
“Uh, umm. . .” A man in front of her cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. “Are you going to wait on me or not?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My mind is on other things.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Will this be all?” She glanced down at the book he’d placed on the counter: One Hundred Ways to Become a Better Person. Intriguing title. She would have to remember to look at it later.
“Yeah, that’s all,” he said, pushing the book toward her. “My wife says I have to read this.”
“Really.” She didn’t mean it in an accusing way, but he glared at her, just the same. “Well, I hope you enjoy it. That will be $29.95 plus tax—a total of $32.78.”
“That’s a lot of money just to become a better person,” he grumbled, reaching for a credit card.
“I’m sure you’re worth it, sir.”
He smiled warmly—for the first time. “Yeah, I guess I am. Who knows? Maybe this book will help.”
“If it does,” she said, “come back in and let me know so I can buy a copy for myself.”
The gentleman headed toward the door, his expression totally changed from when they had begun.
“Looks like you had a nice effect on him,” Madeline said as she returned with a tracking slip in hand. “He’s one of my worst customers. Comes in here every few months to buy another self-help book his wife has recommended.”
“I’ve never seen him before. But he wasn’t so bad, really. Sometimes people just. . .” She glanced at the floor. “Have a rough day.” She smiled lamely at her boss, hoping for a positive response.
“Laura...” Madeline looked at her intently, “it seems like nearly every day has been a rough one for you lately, but you’re going to get through all of this. I know you are. You’re a lot stronger than you think.”
“Then why don’t I feel it?”
“It doesn’t matter what you feel. You just have to begin to act on it.”
Laura smiled warmly at her boss, thankful for the encouragement. I sure hope you’re right.
thirteen
Kent bit into an apple, then spoke with his mouth full. “You didn’t forget about the game tonight, did you, Mom?”
“No.” She glanced through the refrigerator for something that might resemble lunch. There wasn’t much to choose from—a stale package of bologna and a half-eaten can of sliced peaches. Neither sounded appetizing.
“You’re gonna freeze to death if you stand there all day.” He reached around her to grab a half-gallon of milk.
“Yeah, I know.” She closed the door, opting to skip the food idea. It’s not like things aren’t already cold enough in this house already. Ever since her breakfast with Jessica yesterday morning, little more than a word or two had been spoken between them. She needed to apologize, but every outward sign convinced her Jessica wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
Kent poured a tall glass of milk, leaving the carton standing open on the counter. “Is Jess coming with you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Bummer.” It was only one word, but it genuinely reflected her feelings.
ß
Andrew pulled his jacket out of the closet and slipped it on. For late October, today proved to be particularly chilly. I don’t know why I’m going, anyway. I’ve got no interest in football. What an illogical game. Then again, Joe had been a good sport about the whole “Judy” thing, and his eldest, Jonathan, was like a son to Andrew. For that reason alone, Andrew would go. He would endure the crowd and the noise. He would put up with their lousy band and their childish bantering back and forth.
Andrew made the drive to the stadium with the radio playing softly in the background. A love song streamed from the radio. For some reason, a picture of Laura Chapman came to mind immediately—the way her hair framed her face, the richness of her smile every time she received a good grade. She seemed to be receiving a lot of those lately. Just thinking about her made him smile.
ß
Laura made her way through the crowd, shivering. Already, she regretted her decision to wear a lightweight sweater instead of her heavy coat. She gazed out onto the field where cheerleaders excitedly warmed up. They leaped about like gazelles, ready for the game to begin.
It feels so awkward, coming here by myself. Almost as bad as sitting in a pew alone. She hadn’t managed to do that for quite some time either. Her mind began to wander back to another game, just two years ago, when Jessica had been nominated for homecoming queen. Greg would have been so proud. Though their daughter hadn’t won the coveted crown, she had certainly excelled above the other girls in Laura’s eyes. In every conceivable way, she was a queen that night.
Just the thought of her daughter caused Laura’s brow to wrinkle. The strain between them grew more with each day. The gap seemed wider than the football field below, and there didn’t appear to be a way to narrow it.
“Andrew, over here!” Behind her, a man’s voice rang out, almost deafening her. Laura looked up to find Professor Andrew Dougherty waving from a distance. Their eyes met. She immediate dropped her gaze to the ground. Great.
ß
Andrew’s heart skipped a beat the minute he saw Laura. She looked beautiful in her soft peach sweater. With her hair pulled back like that, she almost looked like a teenager. In fact, she looked remarkably like Jessica tonight. Should he tell her so? Would that be inappropriate? He made his way up the steps to her row, pausing momentarily to nod in her direction. She nodded back with less enthusiasm.
Joe acted a little more interested. “Glad you could make it,” he said as he reached out to shake Andrew’s hand. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind.”
Thank goodness I didn’t. “Oh,” he said finally, “I, uh. . .I got caught up in traffic.” He sat quickly, gaze fixed on the back of Laura’s head.
Truth was, he had pulled his car off the road to listen to the love song on the radio. It sparked something in him that he hadn’t felt for some time. And now, the very one he’d been thinking about sat directly in front of him, completely alone. This had to be more than coincidence.
Joe slapped him on the back. “You look like you’re a million miles away tonight. Rough day?”
“No, not at all.”
“Well, I hope you’re ready for a great game. I hear they’re playing a tough team tonight.”
“Really? That’s nice.”
Joe laughed, slapping him on the back once again. “You’re a laugh a minute. No wonder Judy never asks about you anymore.” He erupted into laughter, and Andrew did everything in his power to change the subject, hopeful Laura hadn’t heard.
“Who did you say they were playing again?” He glanced toward the field.
“Westfield High. They’re a tough team.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard tha
t.” Not that he cared. Football was a sport he deliberately avoided.
“We’ll whip ’em.” The proud papa beamed.
“Speaking of ‘we,’ where’s Jolene?” Andrew asked, looking around. He still chuckled, thinking of their names. Joe and Jolene. The all-American couple.
“Oh, she’s at the junior high tonight,” Joe answered with a shrug. “Kelli’s in a play of some sort. You know how it is when you’ve got a houseful of kids. You have to divide your time.”
No, I don’t know. Andrew often wondered if he ever would. He turned his attention back to Laura’s hair. A soft breeze played with her tiny ponytail, causing the peach ribbon to dance around in the wind. He stared at it, fixated.
The field below came alive as the game got under way, yet Andrew just couldn’t seem to concentrate on it. Laura’s perfume pulled at him in a way that boggled his mind. What is that smell—some sort of flower or something else? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but talk about alluring. And that hair of hers—that amazing, wavy brown hair—it was making him a crazy man. He wanted to run his fingers through it, to nuzzle close and smell it. What’s come over me? Is Laura Chapman some sort of unattainable dream? Do I really need a woman in my life?
“Snap out of it!” he whispered to himself, shaking his head. What am I doing, thinking about her that way? She’s certainly not making any moves to communicate with me.
Perhaps she had plans to meet someone. A fear gripped him as he considered the idea. Maybe Dick DeHart would take the place on the bench in front of him. Maybe he was already here. Maybe. . .
“Andrew, are you listening to me?” Joe’s voice shocked him back to reality.
“I, uh. . .”
“Are you okay, man?” His friend looked concerned. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah. . .”
“You’re sure acting strange,” Joe said. “I know what you need. You need food. I’m gonna go get a hot dog and a soft drink. You want the same?”
“Oh, sure,” Andrew said, fishing for his wallet. “Whatever you say.”
“What I say is, you’re in need of some serious help, my friend.” Joe flashed him a grin as he left. Andrew sat in silence, trying to decide what to do next. Should I talk to her?
ß
Laura watched in silence as the professor’s friend left the stands, realizing he sat alone behind her.
Please don’t let him talk to me. The words flashed through her mind like an alarm going off. She couldn’t bear another confrontation tonight. She’d been through enough over the last few days.
His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Laura, how are you?”
“Fine.” She deliberately looked back down at the field, hoping he would take the hint. He didn’t.
“I didn’t realize you still had children in high school,” he commented, moving to sit next to her.
Laura knew she should say something to him—make him go back to where he came from. She turned, prepared to do battle—but no words came out. Something about the way he wore his hair tonight seemed a little different, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“Uh, yes,” she said finally. “Well, just one. My son Kent is in the band.” She pointed to the section below where red and white reigned alongside silver and gold instruments. Suddenly the cold air gripped her. She began to shake, and goose bumps made their way up each arm.
“You’re cold!” Andrew pulled off his jacket. “Please, put this on.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she argued. He draped the coat over her shoulders and she instinctively pulled it tight, grateful for its warmth.
“Kent, did you say?” the professor asked with interest. “Which one is he?”
“He plays the trumpet. He’s the one with the brown hair on the end of the fourth row.” Why are you so nosy?
“Ah. He looks like you,” the professor said with a nod. “Same hair.”
She shrugged, still shivering. “I guess so.”
“No, it is,” he said firmly. “Your hair is brunette, just like his.”
Brunette? It was brown—plain dull, boring brown. She’d never thought of it as anything else. Somehow “brunette” made it sound more intriguing.
“His hair looks a lot more like yours than Jessica’s does,” Andrew observed. “Her auburn hair isn’t anything like yours.”
Had he actually spent time thinking about this? The notion blew her away. “She takes after her father. Greg was a redhead.” She inwardly scolded herself for talking about her husband to a man she barely knew.
“Ah, that would explain the temper too,” he said with a laugh.
“You think Jessica has a temper?” Her own quickly rose to the surface.
“And you don’t think so?”
He has a point. Jess had even used that temper in his class a time or two to gain attention from him.
“Maybe I should’ve said ‘strong willed.’ She’s a girl who knows her mind. But I like that in people.” He paused. “I’ll bet you’re really proud of her.”
“Sure. I’m proud of both of them.” He had struck a nerve—flattering her kids. Was he serious or just trying to smooth things over with her?
“No, I mean the news. . .”
“What news?”
“I just found out yesterday afternoon myself,” he continued. “Of course, it’s all over campus.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The scholarship,” he said, looking at her incredulously. “The music scholarship.”
Laura’s heart began to race. Something must be wrong here—very wrong. Just yesterday morning, Jessica sat across from her at breakfast, telling her that she didn’t get the scholarship.
“That’s not right,” she said, shaking her head. “Jess didn’t get the music scholarship. She didn’t even audition. I know all about it.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “Sure, she did. Her vocal coach, Barbara Nelson, is a friend of mine. We talk about Jess all the time. She’s doing really well in her voice lessons.”
“Voice lessons?” Laura struggled to maintain her composure. There must be some mistake here.
“Sure. They say she’s a natural. Haskins was anxious to hear her the other day. From what I heard, she really knocked his socks off. He said there was something about hearing that hymn sung with such depth that almost brought tears to his eyes.”
Haskins? Hymn? Laura’s head began to spin. She started to tremble uncontrollably but not from the cold. Her emotions were in a whirlwind. This made no sense at all. Jessica is a pianist. She went to audition for a piano scholarship. When did she start taking voice lessons? To be honest, Laura had been so busy, she wasn’t sure what classes her daughter had signed up for.
“Haskins?” she stammered.
“Sure. The choral director. He was very impressed—said she sounded like she’d been singing for years.”
“Singing for years. . .” Laura’s voice trailed off. This is awful.
“That Haskins really knows his stuff, so she must be good. He told Barbara that he might be willing to commend Jess for the Houston Grand Opera’s Youth program if she continues to work hard. He feels she’d be an asset to their program.”
“An asset to their program. . . ,” Laura stammered.
“I’ll bet you’re really proud,” Andrew said with a smile.
“Really proud. . . ,” she echoed softly. Laura nodded numbly, not knowing what to say next. Jess won a scholarship. That’s what she was trying to tell me yesterday morning. Laura had been so impatient, she hadn’t even waited to hear the news. Shame suddenly flooded her heart. I’m a terrible mother. The absolute worst.
ß
Andrew watched as Laura’s eyes filled with tears. What did I say? Something had gone terribly wrong, but what? “Laura, is there a problem?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “I, uh. . .I have to go.” She stood abruptly, trying to step across him, the jacket dropping down onto the bench below.
&n
bsp; “But your son. . . He hasn’t even played yet.”
“I know, but I have to go.”
What did I say?
She made her way down the steps, disappearing into the crowd below. Andrew wasn’t sure what he’d done, but somehow he had done it again.
ß
Laura pulled the car up the driveway, relieved to see Nathan’s car parked there. Father, for once let me get this right. Help me to lay down my crazy, foolish pride and show my daughter the kind of love she needs and deserves. Help me to use the right words. She bounded up the walk to the front door, knocking instead of reaching for her keys. Jessica answered. Nathan stood just behind her.
“We just got here, Mom, I promise,” Jess said defensively. Apparently she had prepared herself for an argument.
“I trust you, Jessica, but I really need to talk to you. Do you mind, Nathan?”
“Of course not,” he said, reaching for his jacket. “Should I go?”
“No, please stay,” she said. “I want you to hear this too.” She stood silently for a moment, trying to decide what to say and how to say it.
“What is it, Mom? Are you gonna stand there all night?” Jess’s voice had a sarcastic edge.
“Jess, I’m so sorry.” Laura’s mind shot back to one of Greg’s favorite Sunday school expressions—the twelve words to heal any relationship: “I am sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me. I love you.” She would say them all before this conversation ended, no matter how difficult.
Jess looked at her dubiously. “Sorry about what?”
“About getting angry. About the scholarship. It was really wrong of me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“About the vocal scholarship.”
Jessica’s expression changed immediately. “You know?”
“Yes,” Laura explained. “I just found out.”
“Who told you?”
“Professor Dougherty.”
“What? When did you see him?” Jessica looked stunned.
“He was at the game tonight.”
“You’re kidding. What’s he doing—following you?”
Texas Weddings (Books One and Two) Page 8
