It was far too late to get out of this relationship before anyone got hurt. Her heart was going to be broken more than Nicholas had ever had the power to do.
Not only that, she knew John’s heart was involved, too. She’d seen it in his eyes tonight, when he’d said he wanted to court her, to have a child who looked like her. And, to be honest, she’d known he cared for her for a long time, though she’d tried to convince herself otherwise.
Now Lori was in love with John, and she was pretty sure he was in love with her, too.
She hadn’t thought her infertility would be an issue, but John wanted kids who looked just like her—and she couldn’t give him any.
The irony and tragedy of the situation struck her head-on: she’d finally met a trustworthy man—and she couldn’t have him.
Her heart ached and she wrapped her arms around herself, sinking onto the couch in pain.
The last thing she wanted was to let John go, but it wasn’t fair to lead him on, to get involved with a man who wanted kids so badly. As much as it would hurt both of them, she had to break things off with John.
It wasn’t just the children she’d never give birth to. She realized she trusted John like she had her Grandpa Scott—but she wasn’t sure she trusted John to stick around forever. Not when he found out the truth about her.
The tears began to flow—and continued forever.
She sat on the couch like a zombie, praying, “Please help me, Father,” over and over.
When the phone finally rang at three in the morning, she was still awake. “Hello.”
“Sorry to wake you, babe. I’m home safely and calling as I promised.” John’s voice was soft, caressing.
“I’m glad.” Her voice caught. The relief she felt made her eyes burn again. She blinked hard.
“I won’t keep you up,” he said. “See you tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Sweet dreams, beautiful.”
As she folded up her phone, she knew she had less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to break up with the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Happy, John stood on the porch and rang the bell. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he hummed the silly song they’d heard at the Heritage Theater the other night.
When the door opened and he caught sight of Lori’s puffy eyes, he stopped humming, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I was up most of the night.”
“I woke you when I called. I’m sorry.”
“No, I was still up. I was just thinking through a lot of things.”
He wondered if she’d been thinking about her father, after finally talking about him. “Can I come in?”
“Oh. Yes. Please.”
He stepped in and leaned over to kiss her. Was it his imagination or did she pull away somewhat? Her lips were warm, but the kiss ended quickly, and not because of him.
“The Peach Days festival starts in ninety minutes, if you still want to go.”
She sighed and shook her head.
“So what did you do all night instead of sleeping?”
“I worried if you were safe or not.”
That pleased him. “What else?”
“I cried.”
“About what?”
She didn’t answer the question, but motioned him toward a chair. She sat on the other chair. Not together with him on the couch.
“I read a few chapters of—” She stopped, looking at him as if she’d said something wrong.
“Of what?” He smiled. “Some naughty novel?”
She smiled back, but it was a faint imitation of her usual bright smile. “You might not believe it, but I started reading the Book of Mormon after you challenged me that day when we were weeding.”
“Did you find any comfort there?”
“Some,” she admitted.
He kept himself from grinning. This was really great. “What else did you do?”
She looked down at her hands. “I did a lot of thinking.”
“About?”
When Lori looked up, he saw such sadness in her eyes that he reached out between the two chairs and brushed hair off her cheek, the touch scorching him.
Lori looked away. “John, this isn’t going to work.”
“What do you mean?” Wary, he felt adrenaline pump through every cell as though he were facing a fire. A big one.
When she blinked her eyes closed, John wondered if she was fighting back tears. More worried than ever, he asked, “Lori, please tell me what’s wrong.”
Finally, she opened her eyes, but she still wouldn’t look at him. “We need to break it off. Our relationship, I mean.”
Her words hit him like a blast from a fire hose. Carefully, quietly, hurting, he asked, “Why?”
She lifted her gaze toward the window. “I just think we’re getting . . . too involved. And, with me going back to New York soon, I just thought . . .”
Her voice faded away, as did his hopes—but then they rose again. Did she feel she was getting too involved? That must mean she cared for him. He definitely wasn’t ready to have her leave his life. He’d do whatever it took to win her, even if that meant backing off in the short-term, with the long-term goal of staying close by.
He reached out again and gently turned her chin until she looked into his eyes. “I’d still like to see you.”
She bit her lip, then said, “I just don’t want either of us to get hurt.”
Afraid if he didn’t backpedal a little he might lose her altogether, for the first time since he’d told his mother he hadn’t taken that pack of gum from 7-11 when he was five, he lied. “You know, I did some thinking last night, too. This has all moved rather quickly. You’re probably right—being just friends might be wiser for us.”
“I don’t know if I can still see you.” She stood and he stood, too. “I think it would be best if we broke it off totally.”
He stepped in front of her, close, but not too close. “Lori, have I done anything wrong?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
Not wanting to leave without having a foot back in the door, he hid his pain and asked, “Then can I still stop by and see you now and then?”
She paused. Debated. Finally nodded.
John raised an eyebrow. “Dinner tonight?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m going to turn in early.”
“Okay. Get some sleep.” He forced a grin. “See you around, friend.”
She smiled faintly and nodded. “See you around.”
She closed the door behind him, and he walked to his truck, his muscles tight.
He had some questions to ask his bishop.
~
A scowling boy, probably twelve or thirteen, answered the door and peered up at John through long, ragged, black bangs. “Yeah?”
“I need to speak with Bishop Robertson, please.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” The kid rolled his eyes. “Don’t you know what day this is?”
Punk. “Sure I do. It’s Wednesday.”
“Yeah, Wednesday. The first day of Peach Days, and my sister is in the Junior Peach Queen Pageant at the middle school.” The boy called back over his shoulder, “Dad. Someone else to see you.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Again.”
“Sorry.” The kid was resentful, but John could understand his frustration; after all, his own father had been a bishop at one time. His questions could certainly wait another day. In fact, he could talk with his own dad later tonight or tomorrow. “Hey, look. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come back another time.”
But then the bishop was at the door. “John. Hi.”
“Hi, Bishop. I’m sorry. I didn�
�t realize I was interrupting a family event. I’ll come back later.”
The bishop motioned him in. “I have some time.”
“Are you sure? I really don’t want to interrupt.”
“I’m sure I can give you thirty minutes, anyway.” He pulled the door open wide, and glanced back at his son with a smile. “Then we’ll leave and we’ll still be thirty minutes early for the pageant, just like we planned, okay?”
The boy stared through his bangs; he seemed to accept what his father was telling him because he shrugged and said “Okay” before disappearing into the living room.
The bishop led the way down the hall and through the first doorway. The room must have originally been a medium-sized bedroom, but it now housed a desk and computer and a couple of chairs.
John had known Bishop Robertson for more than five years, but had only met his family on a few occasions, usually at holiday time.
The bishop might look a little out of shape, but John and the rest of the single guys had learned from experience that looks could be deceiving—the bishop was rock hard muscle with a belly. He wasn’t someone you wanted to have block you in a game of football or on the basketball court, either. Now John realized what a sacrifice those games must have been for the bishop’s family.
Bishop Robertson motioned John to sit and did the same, settling back comfortably into the easy chair. “So, what can I do for you?”
John hesitated. “I’m not sure exactly what I’m asking, but I need help figuring out some things.” He started slowly, but soon was pouring out his story. Meeting Lori and being smitten by her. His talk with Dawn. Dating Lori. Being dumped by Lori. And how he very much still wanted to date her.
When the words quit spewing from his mouth, John sat back in his chair, relieved.
“Whew. That’s quite a tale. But how exactly can I help you?”
“I have a lot of questions. But mainly I just need some perspective on how to proceed.” John told the bishop about Lori’s father’s betrayal and her subsequent mistrust of men. “I really care about her, Bishop. How can I get her to trust me? What do I do next?”
Bishop Robertson steepled his fingers and said, softly, “Pursue her gently. Don’t put pressure on her. At the same time, prepare yourself to accept whatever she decides.”
Disappointed, John said, “Then I might lose her.”
“Yes.” The bishop paused, as if considering his words. “Sometimes that happens.”
“But—”
The bishop held up his hand and John quieted.
“John, I think it’s fairly obvious to everyone in the ward that Dawn Lawson cares for you deeply.”
“Dawn?”
“The point I’m trying to make is that you can’t force people to do what you want them to. You can’t change things with Lori if she doesn’t want to go there, no matter how much you wish you could. Just as Dawn can’t change things with you, no matter how much she wishes she could and no matter what she does.” The bishop looked John straight in the eye. “I just want you to remember that you can’t dictate how a person responds to you, even if you want it with all your heart.”
Guilt speared John. He knew he’d hurt Dawn. “That hardly seems fair.”
“It’s not. But it is real life. It has to do with that darned agency we fought so hard for in the pre-mortal life.”
“So you’re suggesting I pursue Lori. But if she doesn’t want to be pursued, step away and let her go.”
The bishop nodded. “I wish I could help you more. I can’t make this decision for you, John. And you can’t make it for Lori.”
THE GARDEN GURU
Dear Ms. Scott: We want to start a community garden in our subdivision. We already have a small plot donated. What is the best way to set this up to avoid problems down the road? I want to participate, but I also want to be in control of what I plant. (Phil)
Dear Phil: Give each individual or family their own plot of land in the community garden, as a small well-tended plot will produce more than a larger, neglected one. Have a kickoff date when someone (a local farmer, perhaps?) will till the plot and when everyone starts planting at the same time. This will get some excitement going. A community garden is a great opportunity to work together as a team, but it does require some give-and-take. And the harvest will be well worth it. Since the harvest is over for this year, let me tell you the best time to plant in the spring . . .
Chapter Twenty-Four
As Lori looked at the zucchini she’d harvested and tossed into two big boxes, she was amazed at the never-ending supply of both zucchinis and thoughts of John. It had been two days since she’d told him she couldn’t see him anymore, and he’d apparently believed her and returned to the playing field.
Though it had to be this way, she was melancholy. When she’d caught Nicholas with another woman, she’d thought her heart was broken. Now that she’d stopped seeing John, she knew better. Now she knew what a broken heart really felt like.
Harvesting zucchini as the sun edged toward the horizon was supposed to be therapeutic, but it just gave her more time to think. And the thoughts all centered on John. Holding her hand. Kissing her. Cradling her safely in his arms. Making her laugh. Listening to her when she needed to talk.
She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Yes. Of course she had. He needed a woman who could give him children. She’d known that from the beginning. So why did she feel so bad?
She bent over to pluck more of the long green veggies that she’d grown to despise for the very fertility she couldn’t achieve herself. Even a vegetable could reproduce—but not Lori.
“Hey, beautiful.”
At the sound, Lori twirled.
John was opening her back gate. Coming into the yard. Latching the gate behind him. “I thought you might need some help with your garden.”
Though her heart filled with joy at the sight of him, the sound of a few words from his lips, his mere presence, Lori had to be strong. Didn’t she? “John, I was serious the other day. I think it would be best if we don’t see each other again.”
“We’re friends, remember?” He carried a bulging grocery-sized plastic bag. “It looks like you could use a friend to help you get rid of all this zucchini. Don’t even try to deny it.”
She looked at the two full boxes—and the vines still producing like crazy. Overwhelmed, she nodded. “If they sent zucchini plants to starving Third World countries, the world’s food shortage could be totally averted in one growing season.”
“I can see it now. Zucchini-rice cakes in Asia. Zucchini tacos in South America. Zucchini-grub-casserole in Africa.” He laughed. “I’m offering to help. As your friend.” He raised an eyebrow. “We did agree it’s okay to remain friends, right?”
She couldn’t help but smile, thankful he’d found a way around her weak defenses. She was so glad to see him. So thankful he still wanted to see her. “Yes.”
Turning, he planted his fists on his hips, the filled plastic bag hanging from his wrist, and surveyed the garden. He shook his head and pursed his lips. Using his John Wayne imitation, he said, “You need some major help here, little lady. So here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll just take these plants and do some doorbell ditching.”
“Doorbell ditching?”
“You bet. A time-honored Western tradition. So grab a box. We’re going to get the job done.”
For a second, all she could remember was that the last time he’d spoken in his fake John Wayne voice, she’d gotten a kiss. She jerked her thoughts away and looked at the box, heavy with bounty. “I don’t think I can carry one.”
He opened the plastic bag to reveal more bags inside, and smiled slowly. “I thought these might come in handy.”
They spent the next fifteen minutes bagging the zucchini and dropping the filled bags—eighteen of them—back
into the boxes. John dragged the boxes, one at a time, and hefted them into the back of his pickup.
As they drove, he said, “Usually it’s wise to wait until nightfall, but it’s dusk now. Close enough.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my parents’ ward. I know some people who can use free vegetables. And this is an excellent time to do it, because a lot of folks are down on Main Street for the Junior Parade.”
“Junior Parade?”
“Part of Peach Days. Softball tournament. Teen Dance. Small town fun and games. The custom car show is in the morning—you could bring Ben and show him off.”
“I think I’ll skip that golden opportunity. I already drive him once a week after dark so no one can see him.”
When he pulled up to the curb in his parents’ neighborhood, it wasn’t quite dark. “Okay, grab a bag.”
They climbed down and she pulled out a bag of zucchini.
He made a great deal of noise while shushing her, and walked stealthily toward the edge of a fence on the corner. Not like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible; more like Kronk in The Emperor’s New Groove, only without the theme music. Obvious. Exaggerated. Fun. “Give me the bag and I’ll show you how it’s done. You wait here.”
He Kronked his way across the street and up to the front porch of a home a few houses away. A large van was parked in front, the tops of several car seats visible. Apparently the family had lots of kids. John placed the bag on the porch, rang the bell, and hightailed it back to the corner with Lori.
As he raced past, he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the cover of the fence. They were both laughing.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s see if they answer.”
He stood right beside her as they peered around the edge of the fence. Sure enough, the door opened and a woman looked out and saw the bag. Before she could look up and catch them, John pulled Lori back and they ran to his truck, climbed in, and drove down the street.
“What happens if they catch us?” asked Lori, laughing.
“They make you take your zucchini back home,” he answered with a chuckle. “And make you take some of theirs, too.”
How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini Page 21
