Lord, he had no idea how to reconcile the two extreme ideas tugging at his heart. But why would Jaxon tell him he was the one Trista wanted if it wasn’t true? What point would that serve?
“Look, Jaxon, I hear what you’re saying. But if Trista wants me, all she has to do is say the word. Instead she keeps ending up with you. I’m not trying to be a dick about this, but what would you think if you were me? Even if you tell me you didn’t sleep with her and I believe you, I don’t even know if that matters now.” He slugged it over to Jaxon’s sofa and fell down into its cushions. Their tautness didn’t allow for the slouching he sought out.
Jaxon followed him and stood just feet in front of him, his hands now raking his hair. “What do you mean? Of course it matters.”
“No. None of that matters as long as you have your hold on her. If she won’t let that go…then what can I do?”
Finally, he’d said something Jaxon seemed to understand. His cousin ground his heel into the plush carpet and pivoted to sit himself down in a nearby chair. The deep breath Jaxon let out was so forceful it made its way to his face. He bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair to extinguish the moment but looked back up when Jaxon spoke.
“That’s not going to be a problem anymore. In two hours, I’ll be on the plane with the guys heading to our next gig. Trissy won’t be.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s taking some time off. I suggested she go to her gramma’s—or with you. Some place she feels safe.”
“I don’t know what to say, Jaxon. On one hand, I hate you for what you’ve taken from her.”
“It’s okay; I hate myself for that, too. That’s why she needs you, Lucky. I need you to be there for her.”
“And if Trista disagrees?” That was a question they hadn’t thought of.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Decided on trying to make this work the best they could for now, Lucky made his way with Jaxon back down the classy hallway of the hotel, to Trista’s room. He still had her key and so he let them in after a few unanswered knocks.
They stepped inside.
“Trista?”
“Trissy?”
They called her name so as not to startle her if she was dressing or in the bathroom—with the lights off—for some reason. But there was no one in the room. The covers had been pulled up loosely to the head of the bed. The chairs pushed back in to the table and the lights all turned off. The heavy black-out curtains had been opened about a foot’s width, and the sunlight seemed like a foreign new adornment to what had been such a dark cave the past few hours.
Trista was gone.
He was the first to pull out his cell and call her. Jaxon picked up the room phone to ring the front desk but then hung up muttering something about it being strange that he’d be calling from the room he was inquiring about. Lucky nodded in agreement.
He looked to Jaxon and shook his head in a negating side to side motion. “She isn’t answering. I’ll leave her a message to check in.” He walked to the window and spoke into the phone, begging her to check in.
“All right.” Jaxon paused for a moment while deciding what to do. “I’ll call Grace. Maybe our girl has checked in with her.”
He frowned at the term as he did a once over of the rest of the room, searching for any sign of his Trista.
Jaxon’s call to Gramma Grace seemed to be getting them somewhere. He listened closely to Jaxon’s side of the conversation.
“So she’s on her way to you, that’s good. Good. I was worried.
“Yes, but then I had to leave and I just hadn’t expected her to be gone so quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s here with me.” Jaxon tilted his chin up at him.
He continued to listen intently as Jaxon attempted to explain parts of the situation but it didn’t seem to be going well. The phone probably wasn’t the best way. Just then, Jaxon became instantly rigid in his stance and grimaced. What had Gramma Grace asked?
“Well, the three of us had a misunderstanding this morning. It was my fault and I made a bit of a mess of things. When you hear from her again, will you please have her call Lucky? What happened, it wasn’t his fault Grace. It was mine.
“Yes, ma’am.Me, too. Thank you.” The phone flipped closed.
Jaxon turned to him and said, “She’s left and has a flight to Tennessee.”
“Should I go after her or do you think she needs some time?” He didn’t know why he was asking Jaxon for advice, especially when it concerned Trista. But Jaxon had just manned up on the phone with Gramma Grace in a huge way. And he respected that.
“Honestly? I think she needs some time to herself. But yeah, if it was me, I’d be doing my best to catch up with her right now.”
He nodded his head and bit in on his lower lip. He had to decide if he was going to follow in his cousin’s footsteps or try a different route. If Trista needed time away, it was conceivable that he would be included in that package of people she needed a break from. He had left her and then come back and then scared her off. She would probably need some time to sort through all that.
Trista had to contend with being attacked and losing, at least temporarily, her life’s work and her best friend. It wasn’t even clear what his expectations would be if he was the one dealing with that amount of pressure. But one thing he did know was that he wanted to be there for her. He wanted to be her friend. And he wanted her to know he still loved her. He wasn’t Jaxon. Never had been and never would be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It had been three months since Trista had last seen Lucky. The image of his face, hurt and dejected as he watched her unsuccessfully try to hide the fact that she was in bed, naked, with Jaxon, had haunted her ad nauseam. Even from where she sat now, alone in the quiet room, surrounded by stoic wooden seats, vases of fresh lilies and the exquisitely formed stained glass window panes, she couldn’t escape her guilt at how she’d treated the good and sweet Lucky.
Her last words to him—asking that he not leave—hadn’t been enough and she knew it. She realized the stupidity of her plea in light of what he saw as clear as day and as badly as she’d wanted to explain everything that had happened that night, she just couldn’t force her brain to form the words, to say it out loud. Without any explanation, there really was only one sane choice for Lucky to make, and how could it have been one to stay as she’d so weakly asked?
A few days later, she’d mustered up the humility to call him, just once. And she understood the feeling he must have had when he’d initially decided not to contact her when he had been the one to leave. The worst of it centered on the unknown but surmised fact that this man she’d let go probably wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. The only reason she’d gone through with it was that she remembered the sick feeling of not knowing if he was okay. She refused to have Lucky worry about her in that way.
As soon as he’d answered, she began her rehearsed speech, not allowing him to even say hello. “Lucky, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay and you don’t need to worry about me. I know you must hate me and I’m sorry for everything. I hope one day you can understand. That’s all. I just wanted to let you know that.”
She’d hung up before he’d had a chance to respond. And the five successive calls he’d made to her phone after that went straight to her voicemail. The first four were simply his attempts to get her to answer. The fifth one was a heart-breaking message. “Trista, I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. I understand, more than you know. I know you need some time. When you’re ready, darlin’, please call me.”
And that was it.
Three months had now passed and she hadn’t called him and he hadn’t called her.
She was terribly saddened to have left things so shredded and raw. No closure to be had. She remembered the beautiful song he’d sung to her and the way he’d asked her to leave and start a new life with him, at his home, not so far from where she was now.
The bible that
Gramma kept on the nightstand in her room, the one she’d never cared to open before, now held the pressed remains of a wilted dandelion she’d found in her hotel room the morning she left.
She missed Lucky so badly. But what was done was done. It was best this way. It would most likely take her a lifetime to sort everything out. And she didn’t want to present herself as anything less than healthy in mind, body and soul to whoever might love her next. Lucky had asked her to be sure of that once. She would never forget the way he’d held her in such high regards. Ones she hadn’t deserved. But now she was trying so hard to be worthy. And he would never know.
* * * *
Outside Gramma Grace’s trailer, in her swept and flower pot-lined driveway, Lucky pulled up in his baby blue pick-up truck and parked just behind Trista’s Jeep.
He opened his door and caught sight of Grace standing on the front porch with the back of her hand resting on her forehead. She looked like she was swooning but he hadn’t known her to be that type.
Slowly, he walked up the front porch steps, not sure of the welcome he’d receive, and stood there with his thumbs tucked into his jean pockets. He knew he was fidgeting in ways he hadn’t in the past but couldn’t control it until Grace let him know he was indeed welcome.
“Lucky. This is a surprise.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I wasn’t sure…”
“You weren’t sure of what, son?” she asked innocently enough but with a charge.
He realized he had no idea of what Grace knew and he clammed up. “Um, ma’am, is Trista here?”
“No. She isn’t. But if you’d like to come in, I’d like to talk to you.”
Wow. He didn’t know about bullets, but he was sure he was sweating something. But he’d come this far. He doubted Grace really had a shotgun like Trista had dreamed that one time. Still, she might be downright angry with him, under her cool demeanor. She might see him as yet another man who had failed her sweet pea. He swallowed then coughed.
“Come on in, son.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pulled out a chair for him at the dining table and offered him a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Grace or Gramma. Either one is fine.”
This settled him a bit.
“Okay. Is Trista okay?”
“I’m glad you asked. The truth is that, I really don’t know.” Grace started to explain how lackluster Trista had seemed since she’d arrived. “I haven’t been able to get a solid answer out of her and it’s been frustrating. I keep trying to find a way to help her past whatever’s upsetting her but she just won’t open up about it. I suggested maybe she should attend church. If you know her at all, you’ll know the suggestion started a very loud argument between us, something that had never happened before. In the past, she had always been respectful of me, even as a teenager. That’s why I know whatever Trista’s carrying inside, whatever has her by the darkness of her soul, it must be terribly bad. But having said that, she has started going to the local church. She says she doesn’t like to go on the main service days but on the off days she can sit and think. It’s taken a few weeks, but she seems a little less burdened now when she comes home. Lucky, please don’t take this the wrong way, but can I ask why you are here, now?”
“Oh, um. Well…the way I left things with Trista, it hasn’t settled with me and I really just wanted to come see her and see if maybe we could talk.” He bumbled through the nervous explanation, shocked at everything he’d just heard. Grace was right, he had a hard time envisioning Trista at church.
“So you’ve come to make peace with her in some way?” Grace tilted her head a fraction and sipped at her coffee.
Hidden under the table, he rubbed his sweaty palms over his jeans. “Yes, that’s part of it.”
“And the other part?”
“Well, I really would like it if we could be friends again. I miss her. Deeply.” He didn’t feel right telling Trista’s gramma exactly the way he missed her. The very profound way in which he wanted to have her back. And also, the part of him that still wanted to take her back to his home.
“Well, I wish you luck then.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. What do you mean?”
“I just mean that she’s not the same as before. She’s not that carefree fiery spirit from even a few months ago. I think everything finally caught up to her and she can’t shake free of it. But I hope that maybe you can help. I have prayed that something would happen to bring her out of it, and now here you are. I’d like to tell you a story, quickly if you don’t mind. It may help you to understand what I mean.” Grace began a tale about a flower that had grown up in the cracks of a sidewalk. “Do you understand, Lucky?” she asked at the end.
What had they done to her? Himself included. For Trista to be in church, it just made no sense to the woman he knew her to be. And if that woman was lost, then a part of him was lost. And that made him determined to find her and bring her back.
“Yes, I think so. Do you know where I might find Trista?” he asked.
“Well, about this time every night she takes to walking through the park, down to the fountain. There’s a church near there with beautiful stained glass windows. She’s been gone about an hour now. I imagine she’ll be out until the sun sets, like most nights. Lucky, please help her, if you can, son.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
Lucky went over the route that Grace laid out for him on a sliver of paper napkin at her dining room table. He followed along, turning at trees and street signs, until he saw the rose garden with the beautiful statue of an angel. It was the fountain where Grace believed he might find Trista. He walked closer and stepped through an opening in a lush wall of hedges that worked to conceal two stone benches. Beyond the small, serene garden were the large mosaic panes of stained glass. It was an awesome sight. The only thing that would have made it better would have been to have seen Trista sitting at the fountain. But she wasn’t there.
He found his way to the church’s front doors, the right side propped open in an inviting way. He was starting to see what it was about this place that had called to Trista. It felt so different from the one he’d seen from her childhood. As he looked around inside the large and open hall, full of wooden rows of benches, he still didn’t find her.
A kind, older gentleman tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he needed help.
“I was looking for a friend. Her gramma told me I might find her here.”
With a rosy-cheeked smile, he asked, “What’s her name, son?”
“Trista. Trista Jeane Hart.”
“Oh yes, Trista. Here, why don’t you have a seat with me for a moment?”
It felt strange that this person he’d never met would ask him to sit and converse about someone so dear to his heart. But he had to. He couldn’t make himself leave. And the white-haired man had kind eyes. What would he have to say about Trista?
“Yes sir. Excuse me, but, do you know her?”
“Well, yes and no. She’s been coming in and…visiting, for a couple of months now. She doesn’t say very much, but it’s that silence that usually speaks the loudest about us.”
“Hmm.”
“You say she is a friend of yours? I’m sorry, forgive me. My name is Francis. I am a pastor here.” The old gentleman extended a gracious hand to him.
“That’s okay. I’m Lucky. I’m a friend of Trista and her gramma Grace.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Lucky. What a wonderful name.” The old man’s blue eyes crinkled. It was such a simple thing but obviously brought him a wash of amusement. “Well Lucky, I’m glad that you are a friend of Trista’s. She rarely ever comes here with anyone. Mostly it’s just to sit and listen or think I suppose. Many people here do the same thing. But she seems like she should be so much happier. It just feels like her spirit is broken and for such a young woman to be that downtrodden, well, it makes an old guy like me wonder why. I ge
t the feeling that she wants to be left alone. And it’s against my nature to leave someone in such obvious pain to themselves.”
“Well sir, that is one of the reasons why I’m here looking for her. I want to help. But I have to find her first.”
The old man seemed to size him up in a very derisive glance up and then down. “Come with me, son.”
He had no idea where they were headed but he followed. Again, this mysterious man, so likeable and seemingly trustworthy, surely would not lead him or anyone else for that matter astray.
Francis beckoned him to follow along as they walked through the center aisle of the wooden benches, up toward the area where the sermons were given, where Francis probably spoke lovely words of enlightenment each Sunday morning, and then to the right, to a hallway that led to a series of rooms. The doors were all closed and had no markings on the outside of any nature. Francis stopped them at the second one on the right. He turned and said, “Son, I think you will find what you are looking for here. Please give her my best. God bless you.”
With that, Francis turned around, clasped his hands behind his back and walked back toward the main assembly area of the old wooden church.
Whew, those sweaty bullets were back as he stood outside the door. His hands were nearly soaked. Was he really about to find Trista on the other side? He studied the wood, knowing so much about it and what type of tree it had once been. He was stalling. He didn’t want Francis to come back and find him stuttering around. So finally, he grasped the brass door handle and pulled it open. Inside the room, which was made to look like a smaller version of the larger church, was one golden, tangle-haired woman.
She sat alone on a bench with her back to him. He could see that she had her head bowed and seemed to be in deep thought. He hesitated, unsure about approaching her. Hovering in the background of her solitude, he’d never felt like such an intruder as he did right then.
He took in a breath of air and let it back out again. The noise had not startled or alerted her yet. He approached her on the left side of the open wooden pew and sat down at the end of her row. She didn’t make any immediate movement to acknowledge that someone had just joined her, only a few feet away. And it was then that he could sense the difference Grace had spoken about.
Sidewalk Flower Page 29
