Chris picked up his phone from the end table and sank into his dad’s recliner. After all the calls Missy had ignored last night, he didn’t expect tonight to be any different. But he had to give it a try. He waited through several rings, silently willing her to answer. When her message came on, her voice, pure and sweet, wound its way right into his heart, and he closed his eyes against the sense of loss sweeping over him. He couldn’t have blown it that badly. It was such a minor mess-up. She had to see that eventually.
He left a message, much the same as the one he left the prior night. Now he would have to wait till Saturday. Maybe by then she would be willing to listen.
He picked up the remote and pressed the power button. Canned laughter filled the living room, the product of some senseless evening sitcom. But his mind wasn’t on the characters and their issues—he had enough issues of his own.
Three more vendors had cut him off, and now that all the checks had cleared, he wouldn’t have enough funds to make payroll this week without wiping out the last of his personal savings account. Donna had seen to that, with two final four-thousand-dollar checks to her phony company two days before she disappeared. But the worst blow came when Karen called about the mortgage. Donna had made interest-only payments for the past five years, and the full amount was coming due in four months.
He picked up the remote and advanced the channel. The canned laughter was getting on his nerves. So were the off-color jokes that really weren’t funny. The scene switched from a New York City lounge to the Serengeti Plains. A cheetah stalked a herd of gazelles, pacing back and forth, eyeing one unfortunate female lagging behind.
He laid the remote on the table and settled back in his recliner. The cheetah’s escapades would be far more engaging than Tom’s bumbling attempts at finding George a date. And that soon-to-be-devoured gazelle—he could relate. He would never dig himself out of the mess he was in. The only option left was for the store to file bankruptcy.
When his phone rang moments later, he snatched it up, hoping but not really expecting it to be Melissa. He was pleasantly surprised. Elated, actually. He flipped it open so quickly that the ringtone didn’t even reach full volume. She would think he was holding the phone, pining away, waiting for her to call. He didn’t care.
“I’m glad you called me back.” He rushed ahead, making sure he got his chance to explain before she shot him down. “I’m sorry about last night. I had a massive headache when I got home, took some painkillers and lay down, never intending to fall asleep. Well, the next thing I knew, it was eight o’clock.”
She responded with a disgusted sigh. “Don’t insult me by lying to me. She answered your phone. You’ve been caught. Again.”
Her reminder of the past was a well-aimed barb, an arrow piercing his heart. It sank deep, its poison of guilt and regret spreading throughout his body and seeping into his bones. He had already explained everything to her, why he had made his accusations, why he didn’t trust her. And he assured her that nothing happened between him and Adrianne. Didn’t she believe him?
She obviously didn’t believe him now. “My phone never rang.” Of course, it was in the kitchen, and he was dead to the world. But no one would have answered it. Unless... “Betty! You called and Betty answered my phone.”
Realization slammed into him. No wonder Missy thought he was with another woman. The whole situation would be funny if she wasn’t so mad at him. “Betty was my dad’s cleaning lady. When I got home, she was still working. She must have picked up my phone when it rang.”
A long, heavy silence followed, so long he was afraid his phone had dropped the call. “Missy? Are you there?”
A sigh told him she was.
“That was only Betty,” he continued. “Trust me when I say there’s no one else. There never has been. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
Another sigh came through the phone. “I’m sorry. This whole thing was a bad idea.”
“What thing?”
“You and me, trying to resurrect what we had.”
Was she serious? She couldn’t really be thinking of giving up already. “Missy, I’m sorry. It was an accident. We can reschedule. And I promise I won’t lie down, even for a minute.”
“No, Chris, I just can’t do it.”
“What can’t you do?”
“See you, be with you.” Her voice caught. “I have to go.”
“No, Missy, don’t give up on us.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Please don’t call me anymore.”
“Missy, wait.”
And then she was gone. For several moments, he stared at the phone in dumb silence. It was over. She wasn’t even going to give him a chance. All because he slept through their date. But for her, it went much deeper than that, touching a nerve that had been exposed with her father’s betrayal long ago. And each of his own mistakes only reopened those wounds. He had unwittingly hurt her in the worst way possible.
He lifted his eyes to the forgotten screen. The cheetah had taken down its prey and was enjoying a good meal. The herd had moved on, unperturbed by the fate of the laggard. And that was life. Tragedies happen and people get hurt, and for the rest of the world, life continues without a hitch.
In a little over twenty-four hours, everything dear to him had slipped through his grasp. The store was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and the only woman he would ever love had walked out of his life forever. What was God trying to do to him?
As soon as the thought slipped into his mind, he kicked it aside. He wasn’t important enough in the whole scheme of things to be singled out by God, for good or bad. Besides, if he didn’t credit God for the good things, he couldn’t blame Him for the bad. He hated double standards. No, God had nothing to do with the mess he was in.
He pushed the power button on the remote, plunging the Serengeti Plains into darkness. He needed some fresh air. A good run would help clear the cobwebs from his mind and give him a new perspective.
As he stepped out the door and jogged toward the sidewalk that bordered his yard, a gentle breeze rustled the trees. Fall was his favorite time of year, when cooler evenings provided some relief from the blistering days of summer and the air began to lose some of its oppressive stickiness.
But it was going to take a lot more than a sprint around the block to fix everything wrong in his life. He was at the end of his rope. And it was fraying. Some long-ago words drifted into his mind, spoken to him during the other dark time in his life. When you reach the bottom, there’s nowhere to look but up. “Up” for his friend was God, and he was quick to say so.
God. That was the second time God had crossed his mind. Was it more than coincidence? Was God trying to get his attention?
No, that was ridiculous. God wasn’t aware of him and his problems, not with billions of other people vying for His attention. In a world where every minute children are kidnapped, women raped and men murdered for no greater crime than being who they are, his problems were pretty insignificant.
But that wasn’t what Missy believed. Missy believed that God was concerned with everyone, with every problem, no matter how minor. How did she put it? “God cares about every aspect of our lives.” Was it true? Did God really care about him, one small speck in a world of hurting people?
He slowed to a fast walk and lifted his gaze skyward. The moon shone brightly, a swollen crescent. Thousands of points of light hung scattered across a backdrop of inky-black. Tens of thousands more cast their light earthward, too distant to be seen with the naked eye.
God was up there somewhere. When He looked down from his throne in the sky, what did He see? A giant orb with its irregular patterns of land and sea, hanging in cold, dark space? Or could He actually see each person and know his thoughts every moment of every day? Did He even want to?
God, are You there? Are You listening?<
br />
There was no answer. Of course, he didn’t expect one. That wasn’t how God worked. Not that he had any firsthand knowledge. Actually, when it came to communicating with God, he had all the wisdom and understanding of a box of rocks. He began again.
God, if You help me save the store and get Missy back... He cut off the thought midsentence. No, those get-me-out-of-this-mess-and-I’ll-serve-you-forever kind of prayers reeked of hypocrisy. If he was going to make a commitment, it was going to be a heartfelt one with no strings attached.
God, he began once more, I don’t even know how to do this. Help me know You’re there. I want to give my life to You. I don’t know if You even want it, because right now it’s a pretty big mess. But I need Your help. I can’t do this alone.
He once again broke into a full run, sneakered feet pounding the sidewalk as energy surged through him. His faltering prayer had been heard. Somehow he knew. He couldn’t explain it if he had to. There were no lightning bolts, no voices from heaven.
Just an overwhelming sense of peace—not that everything was going to be all right, but that whatever happened, he wouldn’t be alone.
TWELVE
“There’s got to be a way to hit the triple word score, but I sure can’t see it.” Mrs. Johnson laid down her tiles, ending one space shy of a red square.
Melissa frowned at the board. “I had a way, which you’ve ruined, incidentally.”
“Sorry about that.” She wasn’t, really. Mrs. Johnson took her games seriously and didn’t cut anyone any slack.
Two soft knocks sounded on the front door, followed by creaking hinges.
“Grandma?”
“In the kitchen.”
Moments later, Dennis’s stocky frame filled the doorway. His eyes registered surprise when he saw her sitting there with his grandmother. Of course, he probably already knew. He was likely watching her from the moment she stepped through the gate until she disappeared into the house.
“Help yourself.” Mrs. Johnson picked up a plate filled with thick slices of banana-nut bread and set it on the edge of the table. “I told Dennis to come and get some when it came out of the oven. He loves my banana-nut bread.”
Melissa smiled at her elderly neighbor. “Dennis and half the world.” Even if she wasn’t such a game buff, she would probably still agree to monthly game night just for Mrs. Johnson’s banana-nut bread.
Throughout the next round, Dennis silently munched his bread and watched them play. His gaze on her at close range was a little less disturbing than his presence at the apartment window. Maybe it was because his grandmother sat right across the table. Or maybe his observing their game just wasn’t as creepy as the way he sat hour after hour holed up in that apartment, keeping his silent vigil.
Mrs. Johnson laid some tiles on the tray and sighed. “Melissa’s beating me tonight. That seven-letter word she played pretty much did me in. But I’ll get her next time.”
Dennis grunted a response and stuffed the remaining half slice into his mouth. Then he retraced his path to the front door, his gait an irreverent strut-shuffle that announced his general annoyance with life.
After the front door creaked shut, Mrs. Johnson leaned forward, voice lowered. “I finally kicked him out. He’s got till tomorrow. I can’t keep supporting him while he plays video games and draws all day. He’s got talent. But he needs to do something with it.” She shook her head and frowned. “I hate to be the one to teach it, but he’s got to learn some responsibility.”
Melissa flashed her a sympathetic smile. “I know. That’s tough love, and it’s never easy.” Especially for a kind soul like Mrs. Johnson. She couldn’t even turn away an abandoned animal, as two highly spoiled dogs and six or eight cats could attest.
“I appreciate you coming over here to play with me. Harold and I always played games after dinner.” She released a long, wistful sigh. “It’s been four years, and I miss him like it was yesterday. We had fifty-three wonderful years together.”
Her pale blue eyes grew soft with love and cherished memories. And it stirred something in Melissa, a longing for a life that seemed completely out of reach. “You’re blessed. A lot of women would kill for a taste of what you had. Especially nowadays. They just don’t make men like that anymore.”
Mrs. Johnson took a sip of her tea and placed the china cup back on the saucer. “There are still good men out there. You just have to know how to recognize them.”
Yeah, and how many mistakes would it take to learn? She didn’t exactly trust her instincts when it came to spotting good men. One bad choice after another worked for her mother, but not for her.
Mrs. Johnson drew the last three tiles from the box. “Well, I’d say you’ve got me for sure. Unless ‘wbshitz’ is a word and there’s a place to play it, I don’t stand a chance.”
Melissa made the last play and finished thirty-four points in the lead. But Mrs. Johnson was right—she probably would get her next time. After sixty-plus years of playing, the old woman had half the Scrabble dictionary memorized.
Mrs. Johnson followed her through the foyer and onto the porch. “Are you comfortable walking home alone?”
“I think I’ll be okay.” She shot a glance toward the garage apartment. For once, Dennis wasn’t watching her. In fact, even though the light was on inside, his form wasn’t at either of the windows. That wasn’t exactly reassuring. If he wasn’t in the apartment, where was he?
“I’ll watch you from here.”
She nodded and started down the walk. She had decided not to go out alone at night anymore. But this was different. Number one, it was right next door; hopefully she could slip out and back unobserved. Number two, Mrs. Johnson really looked forward to their game nights, and she hated to disappoint her.
But next time she would bring a flashlight.
She stepped from the end of the walk and waited for her eyes to adjust. The glow from Mrs. Johnson’s porch light stopped at the driveway, and the spotlight on the front of the garage was out. She started across the yard, feeling her way toward the fence. The half-moon peeking through the edge of the clouds wasn’t much help. Neither were the few stars whose light managed to escape through holes in the puffy charcoal blanket.
By the time she reached the gate, she was kicking herself for deciding to walk home in the dark. She could have asked Dennis to accompany her. But that option wasn’t any more comforting than the thought of walking home alone. And it seemed silly to have Mrs. Johnson drive her when she lived right next door.
She found the gate and cast a glance back at the house. Mrs. Johnson still waited on the porch, soft light falling all around her. But her own form wouldn’t be visible. From Mrs. Johnson’s perspective, darkness had swallowed her the moment she stepped past the garage, darkness that also lay thick and heavy in front of her. Uneasiness sifted over her, and she clutched her key more tightly.
When she turned to close the gate, her heart leaped into her throat and lodged there. Not four feet away stood a figure, a vague silhouette against the faint glow of the porch light. A scream rose in her throat, and she threw up both hands as if to defend herself.
“Whoa, lady.”
The voice belonged to Dennis, but that wasn’t any consolation. The threat didn’t lessen; it just moved from unknown to known. She sucked in a steadying breath and tried to still her pounding heart. He had emerged from his cave for a reason, and the sooner she found out what it was, the better. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, you can.”
He stepped through the opening and closed the gate. The simple motion sent panic coursing through her. She looked past him to see Mrs. Johnson turn and step back into the house, taking away her last thread of security. What did Dennis want with her?
Now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he was no longer just a vague shape. He cleared his throat
and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He actually seemed unsure of himself, that ever-present chip on his shoulder gone, or at least much smaller.
“My grandmother’s kicking me out,” he began, “and I need a place to stay. Can I rent a room from you?”
Her jaw dropped. It was bad enough having him watch her from the garage apartment next door. But having him inside the house? Even if he didn’t give her the creeps, she didn’t need a mooch taking up residence in one of her bedrooms. “I can’t rent you a room. It’s not my house.”
“Why not? It’s plenty big enough. And you wouldn’t have to tell the Tylers.”
“No!” she exclaimed, the last of her fear giving way to indignation. “I’m not going to do something behind their back.”
He shifted his weight again. “What about the stable? The Tylers wouldn’t care if I stayed out there.”
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told someone else recently. It’s not livable. It doesn’t lock, it leaks and it’s ready to fall down.”
“Please. I’m not picky.” He dropped his hand from the gate and stepped closer.
She held her ground. “The Tylers won’t let you stay there. It would be a liability.”
He gave it one last-ditch effort. “My parents don’t want me. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“I’m sorry.”
He flipped up the latch on the gate, the movement fast and sharp. The chip was back. And it had gained some mass during its brief absence. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was mad.
“You’re just like my family,” he spat. “Greedy, stingy and won’t share with anyone else.”
He shoved the gate open with enough force that it swung back and hit the fence with a solid clang. Then he stalked toward his temporary home, kicking at the ground as he went.
And she strode toward her own temporary home, thankful that by tomorrow evening, they would no longer be neighbors. Now that he was so angry with her, she wasn’t going to rest easy until he was gone.
Midnight Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 12
