by Anita Higman
The doorbell rang. Oh, well. Good. It was too late for any more fiddling. The way she looked would have to do. Trudie took in a deep breath, made her way to the entry, and opened the front door. “Hi. I’m Trudie Abernathy.”
“Wiley Flat here.”
Trudie reached out to him, and they shook hands.
“I promise you I’ll try not to be as boring as my name implies.” Wiley grinned.
She chuckled. Wiley fell into the cute but nonstandard category, with his neat ponytail, boyish features, and his Hawaiian shirt over his jeans. Okay, guess Lane was throwing her a curveball. “I’m going to have to be honest with you. My sister, Lane, whom I love, set this up between us without my permission. In fact, she just sprang it on me a few minutes ago.”
“Oww.” Wiley clicked his tongue. “Lane, you naughty girl.”
Trudie smiled. “Yes, I guess she is. But in spite of my sister’s finagling, I would love to have coffee with you.”
“Are you sure? The ball and chain method of dating isn’t exactly my style.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure. But would it be okay if we just went out as new friends?”
“New friends it is.”
Trudie glanced behind him, feeling glad that the rain had stopped. She grabbed her purse, locked up, and headed down the walkway with Wiley. “I heard you’re an artist.”
“Not quite, but close.” Wiley glanced at her. “I am a great lover of art, and I co-own a gallery in Houston.”
“Really.” Lane, dear Lane. What was she up to now?
Wiley opened the passenger door of his BMW convertible, and Trudie tucked herself inside its leathery luxury.
They drove for a bit, past the town’s artesian well and koi pond, and then parked in front of The Java Joint. “They have good lattes here if you like them.”
“I do. And this is one of my favorite places. Did Lane mention it?”
“No, it was just a guess.” Wiley opened her door and helped her out. Then he touched the small of her back as he escorted her up the sidewalk to the coffee house. After they’d gone inside, ordered, and picked up their beverages, they got snuggly situated in two overstuffed chairs.
Wiley stretched his arms over the side of the chair so that his hands dangled. He already looked very at ease in her company. “So, does your sister do this fulltime along with being an image coach?”
“Make sure I have plenty of dates? No, but it feels that way.” Trudie picked up the wide-rimmed ceramic mug and took a swig of her latte. Mmm. Lots of creamy froth with cinnamon sprinkles. Just the way she liked it.
Wiley laughed. “I’m in the middle of a blind date marathon myself.”
“Really. What number am I?”
Wiley fluttered his fingers near his temple. “Let’s see. I think you’re my twenty-ninth blind date if my calculations are accurate.”
“And why hasn’t one of the twenty-nine snatched you up?” She leaned toward him and lifted a brow. “Do you have a lot of quirks?”
“Oh, I hope so.”
Trudie laughed. Wiley was different—refreshingly so. “And do you tell all your dates which number they are?”
“Only if the subject comes up. Most women have a great sense of humor, and so if the date doesn’t work out she’ll set me up with her best friend.” Wiley took a sip of his latte, and when it left a mustache he just chuckled and dabbed it off. “I’ve adored every woman I’ve been out with. I just didn’t love any of them enough to marry. But if nothing else, I am never without great company.”
Trudie’s muscles relaxed as she felt more comfortable in Wiley’s presence. “I’ll bet women are astonished by your candor.”
“Yes, they usually are.” Wiley grinned and pulled something out of his back pocket. “Would you like a protein bar?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m addicted to them.” He ripped open the foil package. “And I find I can get twice as much done during the day if I have a few.” Wiley took a bite of his bar and washed it down with a mouthful of latte.
“I’m curious about something.” Trudie licked her lips. “But this is personal.”
“I love personal questions. It makes instant friends. Or enemies.” He winked.
“Has it ever happened that one of these women liked you very much, but you didn’t want to continue dating her?”
“Oww. That is personal.” Wiley pressed his forefinger over his lips as if in deep thought.
“Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No, no. I’m just thinking.” Wiley held up his hand. “So far, I’m happy to say, that with the exception of a couple of slight misunderstandings, there have been no real disappointments or heartbreaks on either side. But what’s a bit of heartbreak in pursuit of love? Love is everything. At least God certainly thought so.” He set his cup down. “It’s worth everything to find it. Don’t you think?” He looked at her. “And if you ever do find it, never, ever let it go. It’s a commodity that would drive Wall Street crazy if they could get their hands on it. It’s the one thing everybody wants but not everyone can possess.”
Trudie shivered.
“Are you cold?” Wiley leaned forward, looking concerned.
“No.”
He looked at her intently over the top of his protein bar. “I see now.”
“And what do you see?” Feeling bold, Trudie gazed back at him, taking in his startling hazel eyes.
“You’re an artist.” Wiley said the words as if whispered in a church sanctuary.
“Did Lane tell you that?”
He shook his head. “I can just tell.”
Okay, now she was intrigued. “How in the world could you tell that?” “In the way you talk. And there is a curiosity in the way you look at things. A subtle intensity that goes beyond normal.”
“Well, thanks.” Trudie cocked an eyebrow.
“I mean it as a compliment. You’re gathering material, and you may not even know it.”
Trudie leaned on the chair, resting her neck against her palm and thinking about his words. “I guess I’d never thought of my curiosity in that way.”
“And it’s in your eyes. The passion. And in your graceful hands. They’re the hands of an artist.”
Trudie glanced at her hands. “But couldn’t an artist’s hands be beefy and sandpapery?”
“They could. But I won’t hold them.” Wiley grinned and then took her hands in his, looking at them. “I get the feeling you’re not working on your craft. Why not?”
“Well, it’s a very long story.” Trudie felt herself perspiring. She enjoyed Wiley’s presence, but he was also making her feel prickly. And her cheeks were starting to tingle.
Wiley released her hand. “You hesitate in telling me, and that’s fine. But I do want to say that when you’re ready, I’d love to see what you do.”
Trudie slowly nodded. “Fair enough.”
“By the way, I don’t think it’s going to rain anymore, and the afternoon is far too scrumptious to waste inside. Should we go out onto the patio?”
“Good idea.”
They resituated themselves outside on the patio under an umbrella of leafy bougainvillea. A dragonfly darted over to them, showing off its green shimmery beauty, and then it soared off in a frightful hurry. Fortunately, the storm had left the air cooler and smelling of rain. Trudie leaned back in her chair, trying not to take furtive glances at Wiley. The coffee date was certainly turning out differently than she’d imagined.
Wiley pulled something out of the back pocket of his jeans. He held up a tiny vial and chuckled. “I’d forgotten that thing was in there. It’s a bottle of bubbles. I’d gotten it at a wedding, and I’d kept it to delight my niece. But maybe I really wanted it for myself. I’ve been fascinated with bubbles all my life.”
“I have too. Since age five.” Trudie smiled, remembering how she and Lane used to chase their bubbles until they doubled over in giggles.
“Five is a good age. It’s when we play like we mean it
.” Wiley pulled the tiny wand from the bottle and blew through the ring. Bubbles exploded through the little halo and danced around them like tiny fairies. “You know, one of the many amusing things to know about bubbles is that as exquisite and colorful as they are, they have no hue of their own. They take on the colors that are all around them.” Wiley handed Trudie the bottle and the wand.
Being a bubble lover herself, Trudie dipped the wand into the bath of liquid soap and blew into the ring. Several other customers stopped their chatting for a moment to watch the tiny show of iridescent orbs as they floated around them effortlessly. Then some of the bubbles popped while others whirled off in a breath of air.
“Artists are a little like that too,” Wiley went on to say. “They’ve been given the job of reflecting all the color and life on this earth.” He looked at her. “A rather sacred endeavor, I think.”
Trudie sighed. Wiley was a surprise, and an unforeseen blessing. And Lane had been right about him. At that moment, Trudie wished she had a brother, and she wished his name was Wiley Flat.
“Are you a little hungry? They’ve got good sandwiches here.”
Trudie grinned, wondering where he could put it all. “Sure. A sandwich sounds good.”
An hour later when Wiley deposited her back home, Trudie remembered fondly that he’d downed two lattes and a protein bar, and that was all before their sandwiches, chips, fruit cup, and ice cream. Even with his overly enthusiastic eating habits, Wiley was a delightful man. He’d listened to her with genuine interest, and he was friendly and funny. Wiley would make some woman a playful and devoted husband. But even as fine a man as Wiley Flat was, he still wasn’t Mason Wimberley.
Their date ended with a tender kiss on the cheek and the assurance of friendship. It had been a very full and freeing as well as a fascinating day.
Trudie wandered back into her art studio. She loved the fact that she really had an art studio. It was still a pleasant shock to see it. More than anything, she wanted to call Mason to thank him, but she wasn’t sure it was wise. However. Not calling would be impolite. She stepped over to the phone in the hallway. She had Mason’s number memorized from the bottom of his note card, so she pushed in the numbers with ease.
Trudie held her breath, realizing she had no plan. After she thanked Mason for the gift, what did she plan to do if he asked her out again? What would she say? To be kind to Lane meant being unkind to Mason. Lord, please help me out of this strange and terrible circle.
Chapter Nineteen
After several rings, when Trudie realized Mason wasn’t going to pick up, she sighed with relief. She could simply leave a message on his machine. That would be so much easier. After hearing the beep, she said, “Hi, Mason. This is Trudie. I received your gift. It was the most amazing present I’ve ever gotten. Kind of like all my Christmases rolled into one. All that I need is here...to begin again. And you made that possible. How can I ever thank you enough?” Trudie, hang up. She gently put the phone back on its cradle. Oh, dear. She’d slipped and said too much. Her last words seemed like an invitation to call her. Or to drop by. Or to marry her!
Trudie was sweating again. She needed to get ahold of herself. Breathe. Maybe she could sit at her new art table for a while, just to get the feel of it. She eased down on the soft cushioned chair, hooked the heels of her shoes on the footrest, and swiveled back and forth. She switched on the light and then reached for the charcoal stick she’d gotten out hours before. Hmm. Subject matter. Bubbles came to mind, which made Trudie smile.
She began to sketch out a child blowing bubbles. The girl had on a jumper and a frilly blouse, and she was on her tiptoes in anticipation of the coming felicity. At first Trudie drew with broad strokes, and then she began to add more detail and some shading. After thirty minutes’ work, she placed the sketchpad on the easel and stepped back for a better view. It was amateurish. The girl’s feet didn’t seem as if they even belonged under her ankles, and the girl appeared as animated as, well, paper.
Trudie tore off the page, crumpled it, and tossed it into the corner of the room. That was the one thing Mason had forgotten to purchase for her studio. A waste bin. Perhaps that was what she needed the most. She began again with a flower this time, an iris, up close, which always reminded her of the work of Georgia O’Keeffe. Irises were mysteries to her—so full of graceful lines, exotic interiors, and unfathomable delights. After working for half an hour, though, even the irises came out one-dimensional. “Flat” seemed to be the operative word for the day. She wondered if that bit of comedy would make Wiley laugh or cry. It was about to make her cry. She saw no humor whatsoever in the moment. There was no other way around it—she’d lost some of her skill from lack of practice.
Practice and patience. Those words appeared in her thoughts—and almost whispered in her ear. Then she remembered God’s still, small voice. The clock on the wall read ten thirty. Maybe she needed some rest. Perhaps enough had happened in one day.
Trudie went to her bedroom and opened the closet door. On the top shelf was the little koala, her birthday present from Mason. And at the back of the closet, behind all her clothes, were the two nightgowns and peignoirs that he’d given her. She hadn’t even tried them on, fearing what she would feel—that it would only make her speculate endlessly about the “what ifs.” She shook her head. Honestly, Mason, you have to stop buying me gifts. But he hadn’t been in the wrong; she was the one who needed to stop. No more. She made up her mind that whatever else he sent, she would refuse it. What else could she do? Whatever path she chose, her actions felt wrong.
She stared at the gowns in a fit of indecision. It seemed wasteful to never wear them. Finally, Trudie made a decision. She peeled off her clothes, slipped on the nightgown and peignoir with the delicate rainbows, and then gazed into the full-length mirror. Nice. Really nice.
Everything reminded her of him now. Maybe that was his secret ploy. And it worked better than he ever imagined. If Mason only knew the reason for her retreat. That part always hurt the most—the fact that Mason might think she was rejecting him outright. Nothing was farther from the truth. And yet she had to remain silent.
It was at least a blessing that she didn’t attend the same church as Mason. Life would be that much harder. She padded into the bathroom to brush her teeth when she noticed an ivory envelope peeking out from behind the hamper. Must have fallen back there when she lifted the lid. Trudie picked it up and slid the invitation out of the envelope. Kelsey and Jerold. Friends from high school. And the wedding was Sunday afternoon at four. That’s tomorrow!
She had at least remembered to mail the RSVP weeks earlier. What to do? She could pick up a wedding gift right after church, and then call Wiley to see if he could accompany her. It might come in handy to have a male friend who was pleased to escort her to events. It seemed like a good plan. Okay. Settled.
After a bit more bedtime preparation, Trudie slipped off the sheer robe and lowered herself onto the bed. Wearing the elegant gown made her feel less like torpedoing onto the bed. Instead, the nightwear made her want to stretch out and ponder. Actually, she became so occupied with ponderings surrounding the gown—the person who’d selected it for her, the hands that had touched it, the eyes that had given her such an intent look when he’d given it to her—that Trudie felt wild-eyed and completely unable to sleep. After an hour of tossing and turning and trying to get her mind off Mason, she gave up, changed nightgowns, and then plopped onto the bed.
The night fell softly on Trudie, and the morning came up in a bright crescendo of glory. Church had been bathed in a worshipful atmosphere— more than she ever remembered. She couldn’t tell if the added reverence was in the service or in the sanctuary of her heart. But it had been real.
And then the inimitable and comical and courtly Wiley Flat had agreed to escort her to the wedding. He became particularly excited on the phone since he loved weddings even more than food. Wiley seemed to think weddings were all things beautiful and joyful and promise-fill
ed, all collaged together in one sanctified portrait of love. Only hitch—there were no protein bars. Trudie smiled. Wiley. Sooner or later she’d find the perfect blind date for him. It appeared to be the custom, and she’d had plenty of lessons in setting up blind dates from watching Lane. Hmm. Maybe Lily, Mason’s secretary.
Trudie took her time dressing in one of the new outfits Lane had purchased for her birthday. A red silk dress. She wished she’d made time for that makeup lesson, because just when she really wanted to look more polished, she was clueless. Hopefully her feeble attempts at makeup were more appealing than appalling.
The doorbell rang. No more time to fuss over her looks.
Wiley was at the door, looking both dashing and darling in his tan slacks and navy jacket. She tucked her arm through his, which suddenly seemed like a new habit, and they both headed out for what surely promised to be a wonderful evening. Also it was a chance to escape from Lane’s inevitable inquisition about her first date with Wiley and her own ever-increasing pile of ponderings about Mason.
After a rather convoluted drive through some woodsy back roads, they entered a long private driveway, which then led to a clearing in the woods. Just beyond a pond and a three-tiered fountain stood an elegant Spanish-style mansion set amongst immaculately manicured grounds. “Now this is a romantic spot for a wedding.” The word palatial came to mind.
“High school friends, you said?” Wiley looked over at her. “They have very good taste.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Very sumptuous.” Wiley pulled up next to a Bentley and parked. “Are you still close friends with them?”
“No, not really.” Trudie turned to him. “But Kelsey and Jerold...were both very kind to me when it would have been easy to ignore a new senior transferring in.”
Wiley winced. “Not a good time to move...just before your senior year.” “You’re right. It wasn’t a good time.”
