“I know.” She shifted, squeezing her eyes closed to block the tears. “Believe me, I know.”
“Bye, Ginny.”
“Goodbye, Riley.”
She hung the phone up slowly, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did.
“You are a first-class idiot,” she informed the disheveled woman who stared at her. “How can you be so stupid as to sit around and wait for a guy who hasn’t given you the time of day in seven years?”
The idiot stared back, eyes dropping to the picture that sat on the edge of her dresser. Tucker.
“Why can’t you find someone else to stare at?”
“Did you say something to me, honey?” Her father leaned in the doorway, his eyes approving her black jeans and bright orange sweater.
“No, sorry, Dad. Just talking to myself. Again.” She leaned down to tug on a pair of socks, then laced on her battered leather boots. Tucker’s snarky comment about her shoes made her only too aware of his scrutiny.
“Is there a problem? Anything I can do to help?”
“Thanks anyway, Dad, but I’ve gotten myself into this mess. I think I’ll just have to clean it up myself.” Ginny stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his balding pate.
She’d barely started down the steps when his words halted her.
“It’s that boy, isn’t it? The Townsend boy. He still hasn’t worked out what he’s after.”
“Well, he isn’t after me, that’s for sure. But he has got problems.” Ginny stepped more slowly down the remaining risers, her mind searching for an answer. She didn’t want her dad worrying about her problems, especially not if they had to do with Tucker.
“What’s he got problems with?” Her father followed her into the den and sank into his favorite chair while she curled up on the love seat. “His injuries aren’t healing?”
“He’s got other injuries, Dad. Deeper ones. He’s asked me to help him sort through them.”
“And?”
“I’ve tried to steer him to someone stronger, someone with more knowledge.” She stared at her fingernails, searching for the right words. “There’s a desperation about him now, Dad. I don’t like it. It scares me. He’s tortured within his mind.”
“Is it something about his friend dying?”
Ginny’s head jerked up. “How did you know?”
Her father smiled. “It’s what sent him back here, isn’t it? Even I can deduce that much. I’m sick, Virginia, not senile.”
“I didn’t mean that, Dad, and you know it.” She sighed. “The whole thing is just so difficult. What am I supposed to say, to do? I barely know Tucker anymore.”
“Maybe you don’t have to say anything. Maybe you just have to listen.”
Ginny gulped. “You mean—you want me to do this?”
“I told you, I think you’re probably the only one who can help him out. I don’t know why I think that, but I do. The other day I saw him. He was sitting by himself in the park. You know, Tuesday, I think it was.”
Ginny nodded. The unseasonably warm spring days were a blessing they all enjoyed.
“Tucker didn’t even seem to notice the weather. He was off in some bleak, cold place his mind carried him to. His eyes were glazed, and when I called out, it took him a long time to come back from wherever he was. It scared me, I’ll tell you.”
“Why?”
“I’ve only ever seen something like that once before.” Her father shook his head sadly. “My older brother, Mel, served in Vietnam. When he came back, he retreated and retreated from the rest of us. He dreamed horrible things that tortured him until he was afraid to close his eyes.”
“I’ve never heard you mention this before.” Ginny saw his sadness. “Is this the brother that died?”
“Yes.” Her father nodded, his face pale. “He came home from work one day, told us all he had to go away. He said he loved us, but he couldn’t stay. Then he drove his car over an embankment. I guess it was the only way he knew to stop the pain.”
Aghast, Ginny stared at her father. “But if Tucker’s suffering like that, I’m in no way qualified to help him!”
“Qualifications don’t matter in this case, honey. He’s chosen you. All he wants is for you to be there for him. Who else has he got?”
She sighed.
Her father nodded. “I’ve spent years in that store, and a lot of my time’s been spent listening. Nine times out of ten, that’s all anybody wants—somebody to listen to them. It’s as if once they dump out their problems, they can sort through them and gain a new perspective. It doesn’t take psychiatric training to listen.”
“I guess it can’t hurt,” she muttered, only half-believing her own words. “I just hope you’re right. Tucker hasn’t exactly opened up to anyone around here. He locks himself away in his own little world and broods. I don’t really know why he came back here at all.” Ginny got up, straightened her clothes. “I’d better get going.”
“He’ll talk when he’s ready. Just be there.” The phone rang. Her father jerked his head toward the telephone. “That’s probably him now. He’s called at least four times in the past couple of hours. I tried to tell him you had a consultation and then you were going to the church, but I don’t think he heard me.”
“Don’t feel bad. He ignores a lot of what I say, too.” Ginny picked up the phone. “Hello? Hi, Tucker.” She listened for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a meeting. At the church.”
“Oh,” Tucker said. Then there was dead silence.
She looked at her father. Adrian raised one eyebrow and nodded.
“Ask him,” he mouthed.
“Why don’t you come? It’s because of you that we’re doing this fund-raiser, you know.” Ginny quickly told Tucker about the night she’d seen his report on the orphanage and the lack of fresh water in the war-torn country.
“We decided to see if we could raise enough money to pay for a well. All because of you.” She thought for a second, then plunged on. “Please come, just this first night. Lend your support? Maybe you could say a few words afterward to help us understand the best way to help.”
He didn’t speak for a long time, then muttered his answer. Ginny listened, nodded, grinned and hung up the phone.
“Maybe.” She crossed both fingers. “At least he didn’t say no.”
“Worth a try.” Her father padded along on his slippered feet, following her to the front door. “He needs to get out.”
“You’ll be all right, won’t you, Dad? This first meeting isn’t all that important. We’re just hoping we get people on board to help us raise enough funds. I can stay if you need me.”
“Go. I’ll be fine. Besides, I think you need to be there. I told Tucker about your project, you know.”
“You did? He didn’t say anything.” She searched her father’s face. “Why did you tell him?”
Her father avoided her stare. “I, uh, I thought he needed to know his work had done some good.”
“Uh-huh.” She peered at him. “And?”
Her father’s chest huffed out belligerently. “I had to do my part, Virginia. He won’t come to church, avoids everyone on coffee row. He even refused to help Coach with the football games.” His face filled with pity. “Mrs. Bains says he sits in his room most of the time, staring at the walls.”
“All right, Dad. I’ll make an effort to get him to talk tonight. If he comes.” She waited for his nod. “But I’m only doing it on one condition.”
“A condition? Uh—” Adrian turned away “—I think I heard the phone.”
“No, you did not.” She shook her head, wrapping her fingers around his wrist to stop him from escaping. “Come on, Dad. Just promise me you’ll eat all that salad I made, and at least half of the puny little casserole in the oven. Agreed?”
“Ginny, I’m not really hungry these days.”
“Deal?” she demanded, glaring at him.
“Yes. All right. It’s a deal. You are such a bossy da
ughter.” He sighed, hustled her out the door, then slammed it closed behind her.
Ginny grinned. At least she’d scored one victory for the home team. Now to deal with Tucker.
By the time Ginny arrived at the church, most of the adult fellowship group was there, laughing and chattering as they greeted each other.
In the middle of Rob Lassiter’s joke about grooms, Tucker rode into the parking lot on his motorcycle. Several long anxious moments passed as she waited for him to come in. But Tucker never appeared. The pastor clapped his hands to get their attention.
“We’re ready to begin, folks. If you’d all take a seat.”
Ginny waited until the foyer was empty. Would Tucker come in, or would he run away?
Finally he walked through the door.
“Hi, Tucker. I’m glad you came. They’re just about to start, so you haven’t missed a thing.” She heard herself chattering madly, but she couldn’t seem to stop. This was the first effort he’d made to be part of their group.
She pointed out some empty chairs near the back of the fellowship hall. “How about here?”
“It’s fine.” He waited until she was seated, then flopped down beside her.
“Looks like a good turnout, don’t you think? After they watch the clip, everyone is going to contribute ideas, and we’re going to have a contest for the most successful ones.” She smiled at him, trying to ease his obvious discomfort. “It won’t be a very long meeting.”
“You sure I won’t be intruding?” Tucker glanced furtively around the room as the lights dimmed. “I hardly know anyone.”
Ginny thought he resembled a street person. His hair stood out in shaggy tufts. His eyes were bleary, his clothes rumpled. Her heart ached at the sight of the once-fastidious reporter.
“Of course you’re not intruding. I was just trying to come up with some ideas of my own for the fund-raiser.”
“Uh-huh.” Tucker slumped beside her.
“We’re hoping to get enough to dig a really good well. African famines and dry spells are notorious.” Babbling again. Ginny clamped her lips together and prayed.
Finally Tucker’s recorded news presentation started. Only then did she wonder if this would remind him too much of the past.
“Please, God. Help him,” she whispered. She focused on the plight of children dying in a world where water was worth its weight in gold.
Ginny wasn’t sure how much time elapsed before she noticed Tucker’s unease. But gradually her attention was diverted by his shuffling foot, his fidgeting body, his hissing breath as another display of human brutality flew across the screen, underscored by his quiet, solemn voice. She had to do something.
Ginny reached out and touched his arm. “It’s hard to look at, isn’t it? I’ve never understood why people are like that.”
Tucker jerked his head once in affirmation. His eyes flickered over her face before they were drawn to the screen by the mournful wails of a family bereft of its father.
Ginny, who’d previewed the video, remembered well the graphic scenes. The pastor hadn’t been sure how his congregation would react, but the plight of these people was so horrible, so hopeless, that the committee had decided the shock value for comfortable North Americans might be good.
Apparently he’d been wrong.
With at least four minutes of tape still remaining, Tucker bolted from the room, his departure so noisy many of the others turned to see what was wrong.
“What happened to him, Ginny?” Rob Lassiter turned in his seat as he watched Tucker shove the door open and almost run outside.
“I don’t know, Rob. Maybe he remembers someone he visited in this place. Maybe it brings back memories he’d rather not have.” Why had she asked him here tonight?
“He’s a reporter. He covered the story.” Rob frowned. “Surely he can’t be all that affected by it now?”
Ginny barely heard him. Her eyes stung. She recalled the ravaged look on Tucker’s face as he’d opened the door. The light had sparkled off the tears coursing down his cheeks.
What on earth was wrong with him?
The pictures died away, and the chairman got up to speak. Ginny slipped out the door as soundlessly as she could.
“Where did he go?” Ginny scoured the parking lot, but saw nothing. “Tucker?”
She stood perfectly still, her ears attuned to the night sounds of the little town. After a minute she walked around the corner of the church.
Tucker was there, his face pressed against the cold brick wall as he gasped for breath.
Ginny touched his shoulder, felt the trembling that shivered through his muscles.
“Tucker? Are you all right?”
“Fine.” His brusque tone belied his words.
“I’m sorry. It was pretty horrific stuff.”
“No worse than a lot of places. You can go back in. I’m fine. Just needed a breath of air.” The gruff words came out raw, needy.
“I don’t have to go back. I already know what comes next. I’m on the committee.” She sensed he didn’t want her to see him like this, so Ginny pretended to concentrate on scuffing her toe against the sidewalk. “If you need anything—”
“I don’t.” Tucker shoved himself away from the wall and glared at her. “I’m perfectly fine. You don’t have to hover around here like some nursemaid for a puny child, or a mother with a baby chick, Gin. I wanted some air—I took a walk. End of story.”
But his eyes, when he stepped under the floodlight, were not those of a man who was out for his constitutional. They were the eyes of a man who’d seen too much.
“I don’t mind missing the chitchat,” Ginny told him quietly. “If I know Vera Malloy, the ideas will be getting pretty outlandish right about now. She sometimes gets carried away.”
“I don’t need a baby-sitter!” Tucker’s voice dropped to a whisper as some of the men began to leave the church. “You said you can’t help me. Fine. I accept that. I won’t bother you any more.”
Ginny frowned. What brought this on?
“I’m your friend, Tucker. I’m concerned about you.”
“I don’t want your concern! I asked you for help. You won’t do it. Okay. I accept that.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t, I just said I don’t know how.” Frustration made her voice sharper than she intended. Ginny softened it. “I’m sorry.”
“Just leave me alone,” he said bitterly.
“I can’t. What do you want from me, Tucker? You won’t talk to me, you won’t come to the house, won’t stay after church, won’t join in with anything, but you claim I’m supposed to help you. How? I don’t even know what’s wrong with you! You’ve got to stop hiding. You’ve got to let me in.”
The others poured from the building. They stood in groups discussing ways and means of funding a new well for those who so badly needed it.
“That was some journalism, Tucker. We’re going to the coffee shop to plan some team strategy. Wanna join us?”
Tucker half-turned away from Ginny, his voice slightly muffled. “No, thanks, anyway. I think I’ll just head on home and get some of Mrs. Bains’s hot chocolate.”
“She always did coddle you the most.”
The rest of the group joined in with remarks meant to make Tucker feel like he’d come home and also to lighten the atmosphere. Now that they knew the scope of the horror, they needed to concentrate on alleviating it. Dwelling on the negative wouldn’t help.
Ginny suspected it cost Tucker a great deal not to turn away when the focus was turned on him by an old school buddy.
“Nice to see you out, Tucker. Feels pretty good to be back home in Jubilee, huh?” One eyebrow lifted suggestively. “You wanna pitch in with us? Your past experience should be good for something.”
Ginny gasped as her stomach hit her toes. She watched Tucker straighten, saw him mask his distress. He strolled over to his motorbike, ignoring her outstretched hand.
“You’d think so, Wolf, wouldn’t you? You’d certainly t
hink so.”
Tucker pulled on his helmet, completely ignoring Ginny when she followed him to the bike. She stood waiting as he snapped the strap, hoping he’d speak. Between the poor lighting and the darkness of his visor, she couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell how the words were affecting him.
“He didn’t mean anything, Tucker,” she whispered, touching his hand. “He was just trying to include you.”
“Yeah. I know.” He yanked his hand away, pulled on his gloves and revved the motor. His fingers clenched the grips. “The funny thing is, he’s right. All those years of covering that misery should be put to use. I guess I’ll just have to think on that.” Then he flicked her a nod. “Good night, Ginny.”
He was gone with a quiet roar that spoke more loudly than anything he’d said. Ginny peered after him worriedly.
It wasn’t the words that bothered her. Tucker had always had lots of words. It was the way he’d said them—hopelessly, listlessly, as if he were finished trying to figure everything out.
In an echo of memory, her father’s words about his brother played over in her mind. She shivered.
Please, God, just keep Tucker safe tonight. Hold him tight in the hollow of Your hand, and don’t let go. I promise I’ll talk to him again tomorrow, Lord. I’ll do whatever he needs of me. I’ll find a way to be what he needs. Just keep Tucker Townsend safe tonight.
Chapter Four
Tucker wheeled his bike into Ginny’s driveway and flicked off the motor, conscious of the group of rowdy boys who’d been dogging him for the past four blocks. He’d hoped they’d give up, but apparently such hopes were futile. He knew from past experience that a motorbike drew teenage boys as well or better than a burger and fries.
This gang was no different.
He stayed exactly where he was, hoping he hadn’t brought trouble to the Browns. He’d seen these kids hanging around town. He’d know the type anywhere. Bored, with a negative attitude, they were trouble just waiting to happen. He’d have to watch what he said.
They dropped their bicycles on the Browns’ lawn and clustered around him, five boys, thirteen, fourteen, maybe fifteen, with scraggly hair and scruffy clothes. The message in their slow swaggers didn’t need translating. They were bad boys, and proud of it.
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