by Lyn Cote
“Okay, okay,” Marc said, rolling out of bed. “You’re right. It’s time for your breakfast.” Marc stumbled to the kitchenette and opened a large can of dog food. He buried the morning antibiotic and vitamin pills in it, plopped the food in a bowl and set it down. He counted the remaining antibiotic pills to make sure he hadn’t missed one. He hadn’t. Good.
As he watched the dog inhale breakfast, more thoughts of Rosa flickered through his consciousness. That moment the other night in the midst of the deluge—their noses had touched. He’d nearly kissed her. What was I thinking?
The answer, of course, was that he was not thinking—just reacting to a pretty and very caring lady being so close. Stop. The command continued to have no effect. Rosa refused to be ousted from his mind. Marc went to the bathroom to get ready for the day—another day at the Habitat site, another day of temptation to draw closer to Rosa. I will just do my work and stick to myself.
Later that morning, he and his grandmother Naomi arrived at the Habitat site on New Friends Street. Marc’s intention to steer clear of Johnny and Rosa as politely as possible was set in concrete.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Rosa drive up in her beat-up car. She, her grandmother, and of course, Johnny got out. Johnny was carrying the small hammer and a dilapidated paper bag which Marc supposed held nails.
“Hi! Mr. Chambers!” Johnny called out, waving the hammer Naomi had let him keep.
Marc glanced at him, smiled and saluted. He stood among the volunteers gathered for the opening prayer. At the “amen,” the cheerful hubbub of people who were becoming friends blossomed around him.
Eleanor Washburn, the woman who was in charge, approached him with a young woman with long golden brown hair pulled into a pony tail tagging along.
“Jeannie Broussard,” Eleanor said, “this is Marc Chambers. Marc—Jeannie.”
Marc wondered why Eleanor was introducing them. So after shaking Jeannie’s hand, he waited.
“Jeannie has just been approved to receive the second Habitat house here on New Friends Street on the next lot.” Eleanor nodded toward the vacant lot next to Rosa’s corner one. “What am I thinking?” She tapped her forehead. “Rosa!” She glanced around. “Rosa, will you come here, please?”
Marc tried to hide the fact that his jaw had just clenched. What was Eleanor up to?
Rosa came, eyeing the group warily.
Eleanor repeated what she’d just said to Marc and then introduced the two women.
“I see you have a little boy,” Jeannie said shyly, motioning toward Johnny. “I have twin girls just about his same age.”
Rosa smiled. “Great. Then our kids won’t have to go far to find playmates.”
Marc hooked his thumbs in his jeans belt loops and wondered where this was leading. Then Eleanor fixed her gaze on him. “Your grandmother tells me that you are an experienced carpenter.”
Marc glanced darkly at Naomi who was standing several feet from him. She had the nerve to smile back at him and wave. After the accident, Marc hadn’t wanted to be in charge of anything. His confidence had taken a hit. Now he just wanted to be one of the volunteers. “I’ve helped my grandfather and dad complete additions to my parents’ house,” Marc admitted with frank reluctance, “and I’ve built a few garages with friends. But I’m not an expert. Someone else—”
“We don’t need experts,” Ms. Washburn interrupted in her usual brisk tone. “Today we are going to finish setting the trusses to support the roof and start laying the roof boards. I want you to direct the actual building from now on. And since you’re not working, I hope you’ll ramrod Jeannie’s house, too.”
Marc hesitated. It was a lot of responsibility. Was he ready to shoulder that much? He’d slept better the past two nights with Amigo snuggled beside him. Almost five hours a night. Still, his usual confidence hadn’t yet returned. “Maybe some other guy here knows more.”
“No, I’ve talked to them all and you seem to have the most experience. So you’re it.” She gestured for him to go to the front of the men and women who’d gathered to work today.
Marc did not want to put himself forward. However, he heard in the woman’s tone, no quarter was to be given. And Rosa was looking at him, and so was this new woman, Jeannie. Suck it up, Chambers. And get going.
Drawing up the reserves of his tattered self-assurance, he began explaining and directing the crew.
Everyone listened with a respectful silence and started working. The welcome sound of hammering and talking took off, a blessed distraction.
Marc was kept busy, answering questions, demonstrating how and where to drive in nails. However, he could not stop keeping track of both Rosa and Johnny. It was as if he had some kind of radar on them.
Consuela was knitting under the oak tree once again. Johnny was busy practicing pounding nails in the nearby stump. On the outside of the house’s shell, Rosa was helping to nail sheeting over the bare frame walls. Then with several other volunteers, he hefted one side of the first truss and raised it into place.
The triangular trusses rose, one by one, and were nailed into place. When all the trusses were secured, creating the triangle of the future roof, impromptu shouts of victory broke out. Marc added one of his own. He turned to find that Rosa had appeared at his elbow. Her pretty face radiated joy. Again, his hand rose to touch her cheek, to connect with her bright warm luster. No. He raised his arm and swiped the perspiration with his sleeve, hoping no one had noticed or guessed his original intent.
A horn honked. Rosa along with everyone else turned to the source of the sound. A white panel van that had a dark pink logo of two bright pink cupcakes and “Sweets Two Go” painted on its side had just pulled up.
Very aware of Marc so near and the fact that she thought he had been reaching for her cheek, Rosa welcomed the interruption. For that one brief moment as the final wall truss rose, she had felt completely connected to Marc. They had shared a moment of pure joy. She scolded herself for this lapse in keeping her distance from Marc. She turned and moved away toward the van.
Two women of the same height with short curly red hair and similar features—who looked like identical twins—bustled out. Wearing crisp blue jeans and white smocks dotted with tiny pink cupcakes, they swung open the van’s rear doors. Soon they hustled past Rosa and started setting up a table under a tree near the street. Hammering slowed and then stopped altogether.
Eleanor Washburn hurried around Rosa to the women. “May I help you?”
“Hi, we’re your caterers today—Sweets Two Go. And yes, we’re twin sisters. Everyone asks,” one of the women said, motioning toward the van and then her twin. “We’re sorry we’re late. We were supposed to be here earlier but we had a flat tire on our way. We have your coffee and doughnuts.”
“There must be a mistake,” Ms. Washburn said. “We didn’t order any—”
The other twin interrupted her while unrolling white paper over a table and taping it down. “We know that, but we don’t know who paid for it, either.”
“What?” Ms. Washburn said.
Johnny took Rosa’s hand. She glanced down. Her son was holding her hand but looking back at Marc a few paces behind her. The expression on her son’s face told her everything about what her little boy thought of Marc Chambers. His face bore all the signs of hero worship. Her jaw tightened. I didn’t want this to happen, Lord. When the house is built and Marc disappears from his life, I don’t want Johnny hurt.
The nearby conversation between Eleanor and the caterers continued. “We just got a printed note with what the person wanted to be delivered and a hundred-dollar bill,” the same twin said.
“In the mail with a local postmark,” the other added with a nod. “We’re a reputable company.”
“That’s right,” her twin agreed as she and her sister hurried back to the van. “We couldn’t keep the money if we didn’t fulfill the order.” The two returned, bearing two large cellophane-covered boxes of doughnuts.
Then f
rom the van, they carried two large barrel-shaped red-and-white drink dispensers, one marked “Coffee,” the other “Hot Water.” Within minutes the refreshments were all laid out on the long table.
Rosa hadn’t been hungry till the scent of sugar doughnuts came to her on the breeze. Eleanor Washburn stood nearby, frowning at the tables. The twin caterers turned expectantly toward her. “Okay, we’re ready!”
Rosa glanced behind her. She wasn’t the only one who’d smelled the seductive doughnut scent. Johnny was already tugging her hand toward the tables. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Eleanor Washburn was probably thinking what she was thinking. Doughnuts were made for eating; doughnuts couldn’t be ignored.
A sideways glance showed Rosa that Marc looked puzzled. Was that an act? This was something a good man like he might do. Was this another gesture of this man’s kindness?
Eleanor waved her hand high. “We’ll take a ten-minute break! Come and get it!”
Dropping her hand, Johnny ran fast and was the first one to the table. “Do you got ones with red jelly in them?” he asked.
His voice was loud enough that everyone heard him. A chorus of friendly chuckling added zest to the midmorning treat. Rosa suddenly experienced the true meaning of this Habitat for Humanity project. It was about giving and loving, two very good things in this often sad world.
Rosa tried to ignore the fact that as they all went forward toward the refreshment table, Marc had moved closer to her. He hung back while she went ahead to supervise her son.
“Hey,” Johnny said, turning back to Marc, “I got you the best one.” Running over, he offered Marc a plump white powdered-sugared Bismarck.
Rosa watched Marc hesitate as he looked down into Johnny’s hope-filled, eager face. Just as Rosa was about to intervene and distract her son, Marc reached over, touched a finger to the white powdered sugar and then pressed it to the tip of Johnny’s nose. Johnny beamed at this bit of friendly teasing. “Thanks, Johnny. It looks like it is the best one. Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“No,” Johnny said as he handed it to Marc, “it’s for you.”
At that moment, Rosa knew trying to keep Johnny and Marc apart might already be a lost cause. But a boy needed a man in his life and Trent was not ever going to fill that role. He’d started a new life in Florida.
Behind her, Eleanor mused aloud, “Who would send us a hundred dollars worth of doughnuts and coffee?”
“We don’t know,” the twins said in unison, “but here’s your change.” They handed Eleanor a white envelope.
Rosa bit into a sugar-coated cruller and rolled the sweetness around her mouth. Johnny was taking Marc over to see his progress at nailing into the stump. Rosa followed them, letting herself for once enjoy the sight of her son happy in the presence of a kind man. Yet Marc Chambers was complicating her life.
That followed because Marc Chambers was complicated, a complex man. Gray smudges still underlined his solemn eyes. And the accident in January no doubt still weighed on him.
Would he end up hurting her son even unintentionally? She hoped not, but she couldn’t think of any way to stop what was happening. Perhaps she should learn more about Marc. I hate prying into other people’s business. Her own experience as an unmarried pregnant teen, an object of gossip, had given her a healthy respect for the privacy of others.
Naomi appeared at Rosa’s elbow. “Your son is good for Marc. I was afraid…” Naomi pursed her lips for a moment. “Anyway I think everything is going to work out now.”
Rosa nearly turned to Naomi to ask more about what she meant. Then her son shocked Rosa by asking, “Mr. Chambers, will you come to church with us this Sunday?”
She stared at Johnny in disbelief. Where had this come from?
“That’s right,” her grandmother, Consuela, said, “I told Johnny he should ask you. I think you would like our church, Senor Chambers. We got good singing.”
Rosa now stared at her grandmother, astonishment vibrating through her.
“Well, I’ll give it some thought, Johnny,” Marc said. “I usually go to church with my grandmother.”
“She could come, too!” Consuela invited.
Rosa could understand her son’s motives, but her grandmother had never played matchmaker before. She gave her grandmother a look that said, No, Abuela, no, don’t try to bring us together.
Marc walked reluctantly down the center aisle at the venerable Hope Community Church, Johnny tugging him along. In front of them, the two grandmothers, Naomi and Consuela, were chatting quietly as they went down the aisle. Rosa moved silently beside Marc. She certainly wasn’t making it easy for him to resist the pull toward her.
He tried to keep his eyes from shifting to her. But he had never seen her in a dress before, and the flattering royal blue summer dress that she was wearing attracted him magnetically.
Consuela led Naomi into a row halfway down the aisle. Rosa followed them. Marc tried to let Johnny go in after his mom to be a buffer between Rosa and him. But the child shook his head and pulled back. Marc didn’t want to make a fuss so he sat down next to Rosa. Johnny climbed happily into the pew on Marc’s other side. A shiver climbed up and down Marc’s neck as if everyone around was looking at him.
The pianist began playing a lively hymn and Marc rested his aching back against the pew. Lifting trusses had stressed his muscles that hadn’t done heavy work since January. A song leader motioned for them to stand and Marc rose with everyone else. Rosa offered to share her hymnal with him. He sang along with her to “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus.”
The song was one he’d sung since he was a child, but now Rosa’s sweet soprano voice joined his. A wealth of feeling, more than he thought possible, flowed through him with the melody. He clamped down on his slipping composure, hiding his reaction. But the music and Rosa’s voice had uncapped a deep well of feeling and healing within him. Then out of the blue, he thought of Caroline Mason, gone now. He mourned her once more. His chest tightened, hurting him. This is hard, Lord, so hard.
Johnny reached up and slipped his hands around Marc’s bent elbow and leaned his head against it. The simple gesture of affection released Marc’s lungs and he was able to breathe easily again. Then Rosa glanced up at him and smiled. Her smile warmed him within like afternoon sunshine.
The hymn ended and with much rustling, everyone sat down. The pastor spoke a prayer. Then there was more singing. Marc settled into the service. It was different and yet the same as the small country chapel he had attended since birth. Being in a new church helped him experience worship as if it were all new to him. His lungs expanded and his back rested more comfortably against the pew.
Finally, the pastor began his sermon by quoting verses from Matthew. “‘Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.’”
Marc squirmed. The verses didn’t ring true to him. How could a burden be light? This year he’d struggled to carry a load beyond any he’d known before. He suffered it then—a virtual weight bearing down on his lungs and heart. Lord, how do I take up Your yoke and learn how to find rest?
Caught in his own tangle of pain and loss, he found suddenly that Rosa was urging him up for the closing hymn. He must have completely zoned out through the whole sermon. That shook him. Gaps in his short-term memory had been common for a couple of months after the accident.
With relief when the last note was sang, he made his way toward the church doors. He would go home and busy himself with yard work and homework. And the cloud from January would lift again—for a while. If he hadn’t accepted Johnny’s invitation, he’d have gone to the chapel as usual. And this crevice in his armor wouldn’t have opened up and let the pain leak in again.
He would just stop saying yes to everything Johnny asked. I can’t be more than a friend to him. And right now I can’t be a very good o
ne.
Outside under the tall oaks, pines and maples surrounding the brick church, Marc looked toward his truck, the way home where he could be by himself with just Amigo for company.
“Senor Marc, why don’t you come home with us for lunch?” Consuela invited with a smile. “I made my own abuela’s recipe for tamales, wrapped in fresh corn husks.”
“Yes!” Johnny agreed loudly, pumping his arm.
Marc started to say no and was cut off by his grandmother’s faster than the speed of light acceptance.
Rosa drew in a sharp breath. No, Abuela, no. Sitting beside Marc in church and managing to appear nonchalant and indifferent to him had been a test. She’d tried to concentrate on the worship service. But being so close to a good man who didn’t want to become involved with her, whom she couldn’t involve in her life, had become a torment. One so slow and painful it had seemed like a twisted wire dragged through her by a turtle.
Anyone with one half an eye or ear could see that Marc was still suffering. Marc had his problems and she had hers. And her responsibilities. Johnny always came first no matter what.
“We’ll just follow you home,” Naomi said, taking Marc’s arm.
“Bueno,” Consuela replied with a cheery grin, taking Johnny’s hand and leading them toward their car.
Rosa avoided Marc’s eyes and started off toward her blue beater. Once inside with her grandmother and son, Rosa started the car. As she backed out, she said stiff as starch, “Please don’t do that again without consulting me. I have a lot of homework to do today before I go to work tonight at the Truck Stop.”
“Rosalinda, we all have to eat,” Consuela said with a teasing lilt in her tone.
Rosa glared at the windshield and turned onto the street, heading home. She glanced in her rearview mirror and glimpsed Marc’s red pickup. She fumed over her grandmother’s blatant matchmaking. When we are alone tonight, Abuela, we are going to have a long talk.
But first she had to get through lunch with Marc. And think of some way to safeguard Johnny from Marc. Marc wasn’t the kind who would hurt a child. But when their house was finished, Marc would slip out of her son’s life. And leave Johnny heartbroken. Why didn’t her grandmother get this?
