He smiled. “I’ve never been on a date. But considering your take on it, I now consider myself lucky,” he said.
She felt her mouth drop open a little. “Never? Not a single date?”
“What’s this about a date?” Father Tom was back, holding a deep green bag with By the Book printed on it. She could see the curiosity in his dark eyes.
“Hey,” Gideon said. “All done?”
He held up the bag. “One book of Southern Cakes. One book of Southern Pies.”
“Your mother sounds like someone I need to meet,” Henry said.
“You’d like her,” Father Tom said, glancing at Gideon. “The next time they’re in town, I’ll have you both over for dinner.”
Henry was about to agree when she caught Gideon’s expression, his lips pressed tight together, eyes narrowed. Of course. Two single people in the same room and the entire town starts planning a wedding. Gideon just said he wasn’t interested in dating anyone and here Father Tom was trying to fix them up. “I couldn’t impose,” she said. She stepped away before Father Tom could protest. “Well, I’d better be getting home.”
“We’ll walk you out,” Gideon said.
She was already half way across the foyer, headed for the back of the store. “I live upstairs.” She waved a hand. “Nice to see you both again.”
“Don’t forget,” Gideon said. “Tonight at six, Trudeau Street.”
Henry almost missed her step. “Right. See you then.” Of course she hadn’t forgotten. As she slipped through the back door and up the old wooden staircase to her apartment, she berated herself. She needed to act like a professional, not some awe-struck fan. No more poetry quoting, no more commenting on the lack of privacy, and absolutely no more discussions on dating.
***
They were hardly out the door when Tom turned to him, a grin spreading over his face. “Well, now.”
Gideon stared straight ahead, refusing to take the bait. He was wishing he’d parked closer because he knew how much talking Tom could do in the length of a block.
“That was interesting,” Tom said. “Very, very interesting.”
He kept his expression neutral and watched two young boys navigate the historic district sidewalk crowd on their scooters. There was the tiniest bit of breeze coming off the water but he felt like he was wearing a sweater in the humidity and he ran a finger under his collar.
“Oh, come on,” Tom finally said, reaching out and nudging him with an elbow.
“What?”
“Talk to me,” Tom said, laughter in his voice. “You saw it. Everyone saw it.”
“I still have no idea what it is you’re talking about.”
“You stopped her in her tracks. She was like a swamp toad in the beam of the flashlight.”
Gideon threw him a look. Tom was being intentionally ridiculous just to get a rise out of him. “I didn’t see anything like that.”
“She was mid-sentence when we came in and lost her train of thought. Then she couldn’t even find words to explain herself,” Tom said.
“I told you, she has some kind of anxiety disorder. I don’t think it’s funny at all.”
Confusion flicked over his face. “I don’t think so. I’ve talked to her before when she’s visited St. Augustine’s with Birdie and Frank. She seemed a little serious, but plenty able to hold a conversation.”
“Maybe there were too many people today. Maybe she does better with just a few friends.” Gideon thought of how she’d been nervous when she’d first met him, but her nerves seemed to translate into babbling rather than reticence.
“Or she was fine until certain people showed up,” Tom said, the smile returning to his face. He dodged a little white dog straining at his leash and tossed a wave to the older woman attempting to get him under control. “I mean, I understand. You’re a good-looking guy and it’s natural for her to give you a second glance, especially―”
“I don’t really want to talk about this.” Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked faster. “You can’t say for sure why she acted the way she did. Maybe she’s afraid of me. You were just saying I needed to lay off the weight lifting.”
“I think I know what fear looks like.” Tom kept pace with him. “In fact, you’re doing really good impression of a guy who’s had his cage rattled.”
Gideon spotted his car and let out an internal sigh of relief. He loved Tom like a brother but the guy didn’t know when to quit. “I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”
“And why so insistent working separately?” Tom said, completely ignoring Gideon.
“Nobody was insisting.”
“Wrong. It was a big deal. Very not together. Very not at the same time. Heaven forbid you two spend some time alone in the same room.”
Taking out his keys, Gideon hit the unlock button and the car beeped loudly, like punctuation to Tom’s question. “Maybe we’re trying to head off all the small-town gossip that starts when people imagine things where they’re not. Anyway, I don’t have time to babysit her, so I’m happy we’re on the same page about it.”
“Don’t have time?” Tom asked, skipping over the accusation of being a gossip. “You’re the guy who spends his evenings reading sad love poetry when you’re not trying to deadlift your own body weight.”
He turned to face Tom. The breeze from the river smelled of mud and fish, and he wished he was already home in his little house at the end of the dusty dirt road, set back under the trees. “You’ve known me for a really long time.”
“That is true,” Tom said. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smug smile pasted to his lips.
“And you are also a keen observer of the human condition, a minor expert on the human heart.”
“I took a few psychology classes during my years in the seminary,” Tom said, grinning.
Gideon sighed. Tom knew that taking a psychology course wasn’t the best way to understand other humans. In fact, every beginner psych student imagines disorders and mental illness in everyone around them. “You’re able to understand people in a way I can’t. You have a natural ability to connect with strangers, to reach out to people in trouble.”
Tom nodded.
“You always had lots of friends, even when we were kids. I’ve never had more than one or two. Maybe it’s because I was always too angry, or too quiet, or too untrusting… or maybe it’s not my fault at all. But it is the way it is, and I’m used to it.” Gideon said. “I wouldn’t recommend it, but there’s nothing wrong with the solitary life.”
Tom said nothing for a moment, just looked down at the asphalt between them. “I won’t tease you anymore about it. I’m sorry I forced the issue.” His voice was subdued and he looked up, all laughter gone from his eyes. “But just because you’re comfortable in your solitude doesn’t mean that you’re meant to be alone forever.”
“I’m not hiding from the world. I’m out of my house, talking to people all day,” Gideon said.
“You know I don’t mean chit chat,” Tom said. “We were created to love one another, Gideon. Deeply, unconditionally, the way God loves us. We were made for it. Even if it’s only one or two others. Don’t forget that.”
He wanted to say it was easy for Tom to say, safe in his vow of celibacy, but he nodded, opened the car and slid behind the wheel.
Tom stepped forward, putting his hand on the door before Gideon could close it. He looked resigned, as if knowing his next words would be too much. “I know it’s scary, the thought of being rejected. But if we don’t take chances, what are we even doing here?” he asked.
Gideon looked up at his friend and wished, for the tenth time that week, that he wasn’t Gideon Becket, but some other man who had not lived through decades of viciousness and despair. “I’m not afraid of being rejected, Tom. I can already predict that part of the story.”
Tom stepped back, letting Gideon close the car door. When Gideon turned the corner at the end of the block, he could see Tom standing there still.
/>
Chapter Five
“Lie to me, but in your own way, and I’ll kiss you for it.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
“There you are!” The voice took a minute to penetrate Henry’s thoughts. She turned, dread making her limbs heavy.
Kimberly Gray was trotting towards her, long dark hair flying behind her, one slim arm raised far over her head in greeting. It took a pro to walk in three inch stilettos but somehow Kimberly managed a mincing jog, her skin tight red dress hobbling her stride. Henry glanced around, grateful the street was almost deserted.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Kimberly came to a stop in front of her and adjusted the chain of her purse over her shoulder. “Well, that’s a real fine greeting. I expect more from my niece.”
Lie.
“I’m sorry,” Henry said and leaned forward, letting herself be hugged and kissed. She could feel Kimberly’s lipstick on her cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away. She felt dowdy in her old jeans and T-shirt but she pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t going to wear a nice dress to work in a cobwebby basement.
“That sweet old man in the bookstore told me you were headed to the Finnamore place.” She looked around. “He said you were meeting someone.”
Henry felt panic rise in her throat. “Actually, I’m going to sort some old papers. It’s really not interesting. Can we meet up for dinner later? We can try that new Thai restaurant on LaRose street or we can go to The Red Hen.”
Kimberly brushed her hair back over her shoulder and beamed. “I’ll come with you. I love old papers.”
Lie.
“Really?”
“Oh, honey, it’s so boring back at your mamere’s. Every time I visit, she invites her bridge group and the St. Augustine’s Women’s Auxiliary and I can’t turn around without having to sign an autograph. Ellie Costa keeps hinting at an invitation to my Malibu beach house and Lana Rae Jepperson wants me to get her daughter into movies, as if I can make directors hire anybody I choose. Everybody wants something from me.”
Henry bit back several responses. “I’m sure it’s difficult to be so famous.”
“It really is. You’re so lucky that you were raised by Lisette in a little sleepy town, away from Hollywood types. You had the best childhood anybody could ask for.”
Memories of Lisette washed over Henry, memories of her tight expression when Henry was sick, of her sharp tongue when Henry had trouble in third grade math, of her undisguised anger when another relationship failed because the man wasn’t ready to take on the responsibility of someone else’s child.
Henry looked at her watch. “I have to go. I’ll be back in―” The rest of her sentence faltered as she saw Gideon walk around the corner. He raised a hand in greeting, his expression sliding from friendly to guarded to curious.
“What have we here?” Kimberly asked, smoothing her dress over her hips. Henry could hear the appreciation in her voice. She could never resist a handsome man, and what Kimberly wanted, Kimberly got.
Gideon stopped in front of them, looking from Kimberly to Henry and back.
“Is this your friend?” Kimberly asked.
“I― no,” Henry blurted.
Gideon raised an eyebrow at her.
She sighed. “Kimberly, this is Gideon Becket.” She assumed she didn’t need to finish the introduction. Everyone in the country knew the woman by sight.
Kimberly held out a hand and beamed. “So nice to meet you,” she gushed. “I think I’ve only met one of Henry’s friends before. That girl from your high school class, the one with the curly red hair. What was her name? Penny? Patty?”
“Patsy,” Henry said.
“Such an interesting woman. Always going on about which insects are native to the area and which are invaders.” Kimberly brushed back her hair, letting it fall along her back like a glistening waterfall. “Well, I’m glad to see you with a man. I was starting to think you were against them on principle.” She let out a little laugh, as if to prove she really meant no offense.
Leaning close to Gideon, Kimberly looked up at him from under her lashes. “Maybe you can convince my niece to spend a little less time on dead people and a little more time on making some live friends. History is real nice but all we have is the here and now. That’s what my yoga instructor says.”
Gideon let out a sound that was a combination of cough and laugh. Henry shot him a look. It was probably very funny to him to see Kimberly Gray, standing there like a red stop light, displaying the figure that made her famous and spouting nonsense. Henry knew she was ridiculous, but she didn’t want anyone mocking her, either.
“We need to go. I’ll call you when I get back,” Henry said and turned to head back down the sidewalk. She hoped Gideon would take the cue and follow her because although she knew where the Finnamore house was, she didn’t have a key.
“It was nice to meet you,” Gideon said.
Truth.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Kimberly said, giving a tiny wave, fingers wiggling. “My niece can cook us some of her famous jambalaya.”
He caught up with her in just a few steps and Henry didn’t look back to make sure Kimberly was gone.
“Famous jambalaya?” he asked.
“I can’t cook. I don’t know where she got that idea.” For some reason, that small fact made her more angry than Kimberly’s other comments.
He laughed out loud and she turned in surprise. She was so used to his usual expression that she almost stopped walking just to look at him.
“Well, I can cook, so if you get roped into hosting a dinner, we’ll just do a switcheroo and no one will know the difference,” he said with a wink and Henry decided there was no way she was putting Gideon in Kimberly’s man-eating path.
They reached the wide porch stairs and looked up at the dilapidated older home. It would have been a beautiful building, if it wasn’t on the verge of being bulldozed.
“Since there isn’t any electricity, we have to use oil lamps for light. I also have a few head lamps, if you’d rather use those, but I find them distracting as I move around,” he said.
Henry let out a slow breath. She was so thankful he wasn’t going to say anything more about Kimberly. Maybe they could both pretend she didn’t exist. “Do you think anyone will buy it?” she asked.
“No. The amount of work to be done is more than the house is worth. Only someone with a real love of the area’s history would buy this place, and they’d also have to be prepared for a long course of repairs. It’s not livable.”
Henry noted the three stories, gabled windows and wrap around porch. But as beautiful as the bones were, the roof was rotting and the front steps sagged suspiciously at one end. “And it’s too out of the way for a bed and breakfast, probably.”
He nodded. “Maybe so. It seems the businesses do best along the waterfront, like By the Book. I admire how Alice has kept all the original fixtures.”
“Have you ever been upstairs?” As soon as she asked the question she almost cringed. It sounded as if she was hoping for a chance to invite him into her apartment.
“No, but if it’s anything like the store, I bet it’s a wonderful example of preservation.”
He didn’t seem to think anything of her comment. Henry felt herself start to relax. There was something about Gideon’s conversation that was almost soothing. He spoke with an utter lack of subtext while Henry felt her entire life was an exercise in decoding the meaning beneath someone’s words.
“The apartment is a dream. My fireplace mantel is two hundred and twenty year old French cherrywood. Alice said it survived a hurricane on the trip over. She knows the names of the Creole freemen who laid the brickwork. The floor is hand hewn quartersawn oak from a grove north of the city.” She couldn’t help smiling as she remembered the first time she walked into the apartment. “Living there is like touching history.”
He looked down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You touch histo
ry every day.”
“Yes, but it’s a whole different experience when I make my coffee in the percolator on the fifties stove and brush my teeth in the tiny water closet and do the dishes in the old porcelain sink.” She pushed up her glasses. “It’s not all luxurious accommodations, of course. I can’t tell you how many cold showers I’ve endured since I moved in.”
“I can’t say I’m a fan of cold showers,” he said, starting around the back of the house. “The basement entrance is over here.”
She followed him down a narrow flight of cement steps and watched him unlock a narrow door which had green paint flaking off in long strips. He turned the brass handle and the door didn’t budge.
“Watch out,” he said, putting a hand out behind him. She dutifully moved to the side and watched him take a step back and ram his shoulder against the thick panel a few feet above the knob. It unstuck with a crack. “Sometimes the door is a bit stubborn, so you may have to give it a little help.”
Henry cleared her throat. “Does it ever stick when you’re inside?”
“Yep,” he said, letting it swing all the way open. He turned, as if realizing what she must be thinking. “But it doesn’t take much, just a tug.”
She glanced from Gideon’s shoulder to the door frame. She was no frail twig but that had been more than a tug. “I’m feeling a real Cask of Amontillado vibe here.”
He tensed. “I’ll let you go in alone if that would make you feel better.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid you’re going to seal me up behind a fake wall. I’m worried about being trapped in here and no one noticing that I’m gone for months and months, and when they find me I’ll just be a skeleton holding some old letters.”
“I’m sure you’d be missed much sooner than that,” he said, his lips turning up at the corners. “Come on in and I’ll show you around.”
She stepped inside, inhaling the smell of damp stone and cool, stale air. The light from the door illuminated a long table, a chair, a scanner and boxes. Many, many boxes.
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 36
