by Anita Higman
“I never knew.” Trudie shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, none of us live forever, so I’m sure someday I’ll get the opportunity to tell Mom that I love her. And so will you.” Lane smiled.
“You turned out pretty wise for a baby sister.”
Her sister arched an eyebrow. “Who’s calling me a baby? We were only two years apart. I mean, you were barely dry out of the womb when I came along.”
They both laughed.
“By the way, about the money and college. I’d always thought you wanted an art degree, but when the time came and you didn’t go, I was never sure what happened. But I should have asked you why you’d stopped painting.” Tears filled Lane’s eyes. “So many things should have been said and done. So many things.”
“When Mom died, we all became sort of tilted like those rides at the carnival. It changed all our lives.”
“Yeah, and me starving myself.” Lane shook her head.
“Yes, but at least you became gorgeous in the process.”
Lane chuckled. “Well, losing all that weight didn’t come from any discipline.” She picked at the ruffles on her blouse. “I was just too sad about Mom to eat.”
Trudie sat on the tub next to her sister and pulled her into a hug.
“I guess it’s pretty important that we tell the people we love how we feel about them. And I do love you, Trudie.”
“I love you too, Sis.” Trudie felt the moment was so healing that the last thing she wanted to do was to bring up a sensitive topic, so whatever she intended to say about Mason—she let it go.
Lane hugged her back.
Their faces touched and more tears fell, mingling on their cheeks.
Chapter Twenty-six
A few days later, Trudie stood staring into the cold and barren abyss of her refrigerator. She had nothing in there but a half-carton of goat’s milk, which she couldn’t continue to drink since it made her smell like a goat, and some green bean casserole with all the onion rings eaten off the top. Hmm. Oh, and a crew of condiments gone very bad. She hated seeing an empty fridge. It meant she’d have to make a trip to the grocery store. Not her favorite place in the world.
In between little fits of bemoaning her inevitable quest for supplies, Trudie changed into a jean dress, drove to her local grocery store, and grabbed a petite shopping cart. A single person only needed a small cart since there was no need to buy a lot—and certainly no one else to please. There were positives about being single. She had trouble making a list of all the good things at the moment, but Trudie was certain there was an impressive list. Somewhere.
She strolled down the processed “dinner-in-a-box” aisle—the place all heart-smart people were supposed to avoid. But since running out of mac and cheese constituted a pantry crisis, she would forgo the health tips. Apparently everyone else had done the same thing, since there was quite a herd of people in that same ominous prepackaged aisle.
Just as Trudie reached for the deluxe style mac and cheese in her favorite brand, she saw a hand reaching for the same product on the shelf. She looked up and saw Mason.
Surprise flickered on his handsome face and then was replaced with a look of pleasure.
Trudie gave him a big grin before she could filter her expressions. He was clad in denim too, just like her. Only she had on a denim dress, and he had on denim jeans and a denim shirt. They were like a cornucopia of denim, and apparently she was getting downright silly in her head.
“So, I see you’re a macaroni and cheese fan, too?” Mason lifted two boxes off the shelf and handed her one.
“Uh-huh. I am a fan.” Boy, that was deep, Trudie. “It’s a good comfort food.”
“Perhaps we both need some comforting.” He gave her an earnest smile.
Then they stood grinning at each other until it became obvious that someone would have to break up their little fest.
Mason looked in Trudie’s cart and then cleared his throat. “You don’t have any perishables yet, so do you want to have a quick cup of coffee in the café here?”
Suddenly their sweet reunion took on a more serious quality. She probably shouldn’t. But what if she treated it like coffee with an old friend? Surely Lane wouldn’t deny her that? But she and her sister’s bond had grown so much stronger with the recent heart-sharing that she hesitated in doing anything that might weaken it.
“I’ll even let you buy my coffee.”
Trudie chuckled. She could feel her resistance fading so fast she felt like a charlatan. No, she was a charlatan. “Okay. But just for a little while.” So much for hesitation. Lane, forgive me. But just for a few minutes I’m going to give myself this gift.
They wheeled their carts toward the open café area. Trudie tried not to steal glances at him but failed. Every time they were together, she sensed a rightness, a wholeness she couldn’t even begin to explain or understand. She just loved being with him and talking to him. And, well, kissing him wasn’t bad, either. Kind of like reaching a great summit. Or watching a live birth. Or seeing a rainbow after a storm. But if they were to have a “friendship coffee,” she’d have to hide all her similes in her pocket.
After they made their cappuccino orders, Mason made no move to pay for his coffee.
Trudie laughed, but it came out as a giggle. “You really are going to let me pay for your coffee. Aren’t you?”
Mason nodded. “Of course I am.”
“I’m glad.” Trudie grinned. He was a man of his word and a teensy bit smart-alecky about it, too. And she liked it. Way too much. And besides, considering the purchase of her art studio, she probably owed him about a thousand cappuccinos.
When they’d picked up their beverages on the counter, Trudie found a table in the front. He followed her and eased down across from her. She certainly didn’t want to sit in the corner and give the impression that they were a couple.
“So, is Wiley okay after throwing his back out?” Mason appeared genuinely concerned rather than just making chitchat.
“He’s fine. They gave him some powerful pain pills that night, and he seemed to be in excellent spirits when I dropped him off. In fact, he thought he was singing in the rain...even though there wasn’t any rain.”
Mason laughed.
Trudie blew on her drink to cool it off. “I wanted to thank you again for the art studio. I’m using it more and more. It’s...well, it’s not an exaggeration to say that it’s changing my life.”
“I’m glad. Very glad.” He reached out to her, almost touched her hand, but didn’t quite. “I hope you will invite me to your first art show.”
“Well, I’m far from ready to have my work hung in a gallery again, but if it happens, you’ll be at the top of my invitation list.” Trudie thought it might be best to keep the conversation light. “Is your father doing any better...with his heart?”
Mason sighed. “No, I’m afraid not. He’s the same. But thank you for asking.”
Oh, dear. So much for keeping it light. Trudie took a swig of her cappuccino, but since the liquid was still too hot, it burned her tongue. She tried not to wince.
“Thanks for buying the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.”
Oh, no. Silence again. It was obvious they were stepping carefully on what felt like thin ice. But they were still in danger of sinking.
Mason looked away. “There’s that song again...from the wedding.”
Trudie turned her focus to the music playing over the speakers. “Unforgettable.” They just weren’t going to get a break. Everything around them seemed to be a reminder of what had passed between them. “It makes me think of a radio station I listen to sometimes. In the evening they play a lot of romantic tunes like that. I could listen to a CD, but hearing people talk about their favorite song adds such a human touch. You get to hear a bit of their stories. It’s nice.”
“I know what station you’re talking about.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
She shivered
.
“Are you cold?”
Trudie took a cautious sip of her coffee. “No, not at all. I’m very warm.” Oh, brother. Why had she said it like that? She needed a quick conversational diversion. “So, how is your work?”
“Busy...as always.”
“Well, people love to invest in the future.” Why was everything coming out loaded with innuendo?
“Yes, they do.” Mason caressed the handle on his cup but didn’t drink any of his coffee. “Funny thing about investments. Sometimes when stocks are going down the wise investor stays with it even during the downturn. And in the end, they’re usually the winners. The ones who didn’t give up.” He looked at her then with those brown eyes of his.
Trudie felt her face flush as she touched her cheeks. Every bit of her wanted to speak up and say what was in her heart, but the respect she had for her sister’s feelings kept her silent.
He took on a more serious air. “At some point my clients have to ask themselves what kind of investors they really are. The skittish kind...or the ones who hang in there.” Mason rose from his chair.
Instead of looking astonished and asking Mason if he were leaving, Trudie looked up at him and said, “So, what kind of investor are you?”
“I think you already know.” Mason leaned down and gave her a tender kiss on the cheek. Then, just like that, he walked out of the grocery store, leaving his coffee, his shopping cart, and her in a state of mystification and skin-tingling euphoria.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Two weeks had passed since he’d kissed Trudie’s cheek in the grocery store. Mason hadn’t forgotten the surprised look in her eyes or the pleasure he’d felt in putting it there. But in spite of that one fine moment, he felt no closer to the object of his affections.
Mason got out of his car and turned his attention to his father. He saw him in the cemetery a good distance away and began walking toward him. His father had on a three-piece suit even though the temperature was in the nineties. But that was just like him. He had so much respect for the people who were grieving that he felt a hot suit in the summertime was an acceptable burden if it would add to the dignity of their day.
As Mason approached, he could tell his father was standing over the grave of an old veteran friend of his—Leon Atkinson.
His father looked up. “Hi, son. What brings you here today?”
“Well, Mom said you were in the hospital this morning.”
His father chuckled. “Yeah, much ado about nothing, as Shakespeare would say.”
Mason stuffed his fists in his pockets just like he used to when he was young. “What did the doctors say?”
“They said I’d live. But I know what you’re really asking. How long do they think I have?” His father shrugged. “They still don’t really know. One doctor thought a few months. Maybe a year or two.”
“I see.” Mason took in a deep breath.
“It’s all right, son.” He smiled and pointed at a newly planted tree not far from them. “Who’s that gardener fellow of ours? Oh, yes, Simon Mueller. Anyway, he likes to plant live oak trees. Funny tree to plant in a cemetery. I always thought so anyway. Why don’t we walk for a bit? It’s a good day.”
Mason wondered how it could be a good day when his father had such dire medical news, but he was pleased to spend some time with him. As much time as he could get. As they walked through the cemetery, his father pointed out the graves of people he’d known through the years—people who’d changed his life in one way or another.
“I have had a good life. I’ve loved and lived and through it all I have known the Lord. I had two wonderful sons, whom I loved with a whole heart, and I am blessed with a fine wife.” He smiled. “How can I be caught complaining?”
“I guess asking God for a few more years wouldn’t be complaining.” When Mason saw his father stumble a bit he reached out to him.
“I’m fine, son, but thank you.” He sat down on a concrete bench under a loblolly pine.
Mason stood next to his father, knowing that the subject of his health was officially closed for the moment. “I know you’d like a decision from me about taking over the business.”
“Well, I didn’t want to push, son, but I’m sure you’ve felt pressure. Especially after Nate died. He wanted the business. But I know your gifts lie elsewhere.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “But I will say this... one of the blessings in this vocation is the opportunity to tell people about our faith in the Lord. When people are bustling around with their schedules, it’s hard for them to hear the truth. But when everything stops, when they suddenly see the end to someone’s life, someone dear to them, it changes them. They suddenly listen.”
“It’s a fine calling, Dad.”
His father seemed to study him. “And a calling you feel you never received?”
Mason rolled up his sleeves and sat down on the bench next to his father. He’d chosen to accept his father’s offer, but it broke his heart that when the moment came to give him an answer, he was still hesitating. “I’ve prayed about it. But I just don’t know for sure.”
His father slapped his hands on his legs. “Well, that’s an honest answer if ever I heard one. Perhaps this ministry was meant for another man, and I can’t see it yet. Why God still hides things from me I have no idea, since we’ve been such close friends and all, but in His sovereignty, He knows best. Through a glass darkly, I suppose, until we’re on the other side.” He started to whistle a hymn, and then rose from the bench. “I’m rested. Let’s walk some more.”
Mason strolled alongside him, grateful for some quiet time with his father.
“We’re a heartbeat away from August now. A transition time and one of my favorite times of the year. You see?” He pointed to the sun. “You can tell it looks different in the sky now, rather misplaced and not so zealous. Like a weary traveler.” He stumbled again and Mason reached out to help him.
His father touched one of the headstones to right himself. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dusted the stone. “There, that’s better. They get so old and dusty, don’t they?” He shook his head and put his handkerchief back in his pocket.
Mason swallowed back the emotion that was building inside him. To watch his father grow thin and pale had been one of the most agonizing things he’d ever known. God, give me strength.
His father lifted his hands toward the sky. “Ah yes, we’re headed toward autumn, the season of jewels. My only regret is that we don’t have lots of those pretty colored leaves. But we have everything else in Humble, so I’m not complaining. No, don’t want to be caught complaining. No use for it.”
Mason had noticed his father talked more about simple things and less about business—more about the past and less about the future. It bothered him, but talking about it would sadden them both and inspire no one. “I’ve probably become pretty proficient at complaining.” He’d suddenly blurted out those words, but he wasn’t sure where they’d come from.
“So how’s love, my boy? Has it found you yet?”
“I’m not sure about that, either.” Mason paused to look at a statue of two cherubs locked in an embrace, their faces frozen in rhapsodic contentment. He hadn’t remembered seeing that one before.
His father stopped. “Not sure about love? Or not sure about a particular woman?”
Mason was glad he didn’t have to tiptoe around the facts with his father. “I’m sure about love in general. I’d like to marry someday. I’ve just never met the right woman...until recently.”
“Oh?”
“But I’m afraid it’s gotten complicated.”
“It was that way with your mother and me. Love can get messy.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Well, her parents didn’t like me at the time. I was a pauper, and she came from money, as you know. I came off looking like an opportunist. But it wasn’t that way at all. I loved your mother. But I faltered...waited too long. Their wealth intimidated me. Or I should say I let it paralyz
e me. So, I nearly lost your mother to another man because I was too afraid to speak up. Too timid to say what needed to be said.”
“I don’t think I’d heard those particular details to that story.”
“Well, I always hated to grow old and start repeating myself.” His father grinned. “So, whoever this woman is you’re talking about, if you think she might be the one, don’t hesitate too long, son. Work things out. I’d like to go off to heaven someday knowing love found you.”
Mason and his father strolled off together, surrounded by hundreds of headstones and a lifetime of memories. He wondered if his father was right about waiting too long to speak up. The original plan had been to allow Lane ample time to see that they weren’t compatible. The idea seemed practical in theory, but it wasn’t working very well. Perhaps the time has come to make things right.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Trudie finished up her sketch of a porch swing, which was encircled by a monstrous bush of lilacs. She tore the paper off the pad to study it. Her drawings had steadily improved. The perspective on the swing and porch were right, and it had enough dimension with light and shadow. But even though the picture was technically correct and she was enjoying her work again, something else was missing.
She looked at her fingers and the side of her right hand, which were tinged with charcoal. It felt good to be in the midst of doing something she truly loved. That part felt just right. But she still wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the same style she’d grown accustomed to. A lot had happened over the years. She’d grown up, and as an adult artist perhaps she felt like stretching her creative muscles a bit. But how?
Trudie remembered the playful atmosphere Cyrus had brought into her studio. Maybe she could create something for Cyrus—something that would make him laugh. She began again, this time drawing a flower that was unknown, a blooming plant that might be found on the planet Glopiral. At first she made sweeping motions to create the stem and triangular leaves, and then she gave more detail to the marbleized petals. Hmm. Not bad. Maybe the flower would be called “butterdils” by the locals on Glopiral. She grinned.
