Chip looked a lot like his dad, with lanky limbs he needed to grow into and fine hair that had a mind of its own. Deep brown eyes looked up at her as he formally held out a hand. Then he ran from the room, green balloon flying behind him.
Ruth stared after him. “Is he always so full of energy?”
“Always.” Betsy entered the room carrying two glasses of iced tea. She handed one to Ruth and the other to Nate.
“What about me?” Chet glanced at his cast. “I’m wounded.”
“You know the way to the kitchen, and this scullery maid only has two hands.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and turned to Ruth. “Feel free to sit if you want or join me in the kitchen.”
The preparations for supper were quickly finished, and Chip was rounded up, hands washed, and settled on his stool at the table. Before the others had time to sit, Chip announced in a grown-up voice, “I pray.” He folded his fingers together. “God thank You for food, even salad.”
Chet quickly dropped into his chair.
Betsy winked at Ruth and closed her eyes.
“Thank You for Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Nate and his girlfriend. Thank You for cake and for television and—”
Chet cleared his throat.
“Amen.”
Ruth and Nate sat across the table from Chip. The boy had the whole side to himself, and Ruth soon appreciated the wisdom of the seating arrangement as spaghetti landed beside Chip’s cartoon cup, in front of his matching plastic plate, and on the floor. Betsy sat on the end closest to Ruth while Chet stretched out on the opposite side.
They passed the food from person to person: family-style, Betsy called it. Conversation about the guys’ work was interspersed with comfortable silence.
“Hope you like chocolate,” Betsy said, handing Ruth a slice of chocolate cake with a scoop of ice cream on the side. “I guess I should have asked before I served you.”
Ruth licked icing from the tip of a finger. “I love it.”
Betsy put her elbows on the table and leaned toward Ruth. “You remind me of someone.”
“The drug store, remember?”
“No, from somewhere else. The more I look at you, the more convinced I am that I’ve seen you before.”
“Well, I was raised in Atlanta.”
“I’ve lived my whole life in Logan.”
“I spent a year and a half in Wilmington, North Carolina.”
Betsy shook her head. “That’s not it. Oh, well. It’ll come to me.”
Chip wiggled out of his booster seat only to be caught by Betsy. “Is that how we leave the table?” Betsy’s mother-expression loosened a soft chuckle from Ruth, remembering her own early childhood, back when life was normal.
Chip returned to his chair. “May I be ‘scused?”
“Yes, you may. Get the dishcloth and let me wipe your face and hands before you go off to play.”
“He’s such a good boy.” Ruth watched him run toward the kitchen.
Chet laughed. “He’s on his best behavior for you.”
A knock sounded.
While Betsy wiped Chip’s face, Chet made his way to the door, his cast thump announcing each step. “Someone probably selling something,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m the master of chasing them away.”
“And he is,” Betsy said. “We had the cutest little girls stop by and—”
“Nate, you need to come to the door, buddy.”
Nate wrinkled his forehead and mumbled, “Who can want me here?”
Awkwardness seeped under Ruth’s skin as she sat alone with Betsy. “I like your house,” she said, desperate to talk about something.
“We bought the place but had little money left over to fix it up. Thankfully, it was solid and didn’t need any structural work. Chet added the front porch last year.”
“I noticed the porch.” Ruth glanced toward the sound of mumbled voices at the front of the house.
“I hope you don’t mind all the homemade touches.”
Ruth smiled, this time with sincerity. “Your house looks a lot like mine except the stairs to the second floor at my house have been blocked off. The dining room is my bedroom.”
“So what about the upstairs?”
“The owner said he wanted to renovate the second floor and rent it out, but I’ve been there two years, and he hasn’t done anything yet. Actually, I’m just as glad. It gives me a sense of privacy.”
The two men returned with Nate clutching an official-looking envelope. He turned the envelope over and examined the front.
“You going to open it?” Chet asked.
“Chet.” Betsy frowned. “Maybe Nate needs some privacy.”
Nate resumed his place at the table and opened the envelope.
More trouble; it had to be, or Nate wouldn’t look as if someone had just cut off his head. The vandalism at the church had caused him a lot of stress. How could peaceful Logan suddenly offer up so much pain? Nate slipped a sheet of paper from the envelope.
Ice clinked in Chet’s glass as he drank.
Betsy rose to clear the table, but Nate motioned her to stay. “It seems I am to be assessed extra tax at the home place.”
The paper shook slightly as he handed it to Chet. “There’s an item in the Salvation Law that defines a church as any place that is occupied more than twice in one month for the purpose of worship. Sunday was the second time. Any more and my home will be declared a church, and I will have thirty days to pay the tax or be locked out of my home.”
Chet passed the letter to Betsy.
Nate swallowed. “No wonder Joe wanted this delivered.”
Ruth stiffened. “Joe?”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “Apparently my dear cousin intercepted the letter and paid to have it hand delivered. The poor guy had a heck of a time tracking me down tonight and finally saw my truck out front. Joe somehow managed to provide him with a description, and the license number.”
“We’ll hold worship somewhere else,” Chet said.
“But we’ll have to change locations every two weeks. Life is confusing enough without keeping track of where you’re supposed to be for church each Sunday morning.” Nate slumped back into his chair. “My church, now my house. What’s next?” He glanced at Ruth.
Cold fingers ran up Ruth’s back. Was she in the middle of a battle between two cousins?
~*~
It was after midnight when Nate and Ruth left for home. Ruth agreed to attend church with Nate on Sunday, now to be held at the Ross’s home. Chet and Betsy’s house felt comfortable to her; it would be a good introduction to Nate’s religious world. Nate remained on the stoop until she’d locked the door from the inside then waved to her through the living room window. His truck disappeared down the street.
Ruth made it as far as the bedroom before a knock came on the door. Nate must have come back! While her heart did a dance, she ran back to the living room. As she unlocked the door, she realized she had not heard the diesel engine of Nate’s truck. Too late.
Joe grabbed the edge of the opening door. “Hello, Ruth. Keeping late hours, aren’t you?”
“What do you want, Joe?” Suddenly she was tired; it was late; she had to be at work in less than seven hours. Then she jerked awake. “Have you been watching my house?” She raised her chin. “This is my life, and I don’t welcome your intrusion.”
“Hey, Ruthie. I just stopped by to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.” His words flowed smooth as silk.
Had the footsteps that followed her the other night belonged to Joe?
“I saw Nate leaving, so I knew you’d still be awake.” Contempt filled his eyes. Contempt for whom—for her or Nate? It didn’t matter.
“It’s late. I need to get to bed.”
“No problem. A girl needs her beauty sleep, especially the night before a big date.”
Her face reddened. “There won’t be a date tomorrow. Now, let go of the door.”
“Oh Ruthie, Ruthie.” He reached out and stroked her hair.
Ruth twisted her head away. She wanted to run from his touch, but leaving the door would allow him access to her apartment. “Don’t touch me again.” She squeezed the words through clenched teeth and tried to pull the door closed, but Joe held it tight.
“You didn’t mind my attention before.”
“That was a long time ago, Joe. Please go.” Ruth felt his stare but refused to meet his eyes. She wasn’t afraid of sinking under his sensual gaze—she had overcome any physical attraction long ago—but she knew if she allowed herself the intimacy of a direct look, the anger she held bottled up would ignite and nothing would stop it. She was too tired and too emotionally spent right now. If she fought with him tonight she would lose, and she swore to never again be defeated by Joseph Ackerman.
He stood with his fingers wrapped around the edge of the door.
Memories flowed of other times she had listened as he breathed in her ear. She bristled. “Get away from me.”
“Promise you’ll have supper with me. Just once and I’ll never bother you again—if that’s what you still want.”
“No!” She tried to pull the door closed.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
She froze at the suggestion in his tone. Did he really think she wanted him again, especially after what he did? The pain he’d caused her?
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“No.” Ruth’s arms and legs shook. She clutched the door tighter.
“You didn’t spend my money the way you were supposed to. What if I share that information with my cousin?” A look of victory spread across his face. “I’ll see you at six.”
She faltered. How could he know that? No one knew. No one.
Even after he disappeared down the sidewalk, after the sound of his shoes stilled in the darkness, Ruth clung to the stability of the door. “No. I won’t go,” she murmured to no one.
How could she build a new life when her old one kept haunting her?
13
Friday, June 14
Another hour passed. The dreaded date with Joe loomed closer with each jerky movement of the red second hand. Ruth wanted to pull the clock off her office wall and stomp the wood frame to bits; grind the mechanisms to shards. As the workday ended, she closed down her computer and settled the worn blue strap of her purse into the familiar groove over her shoulder. There was still time for her visit with Mr. Charlie.
Once outside, it took seconds for sweat to drip down her chest in little rivulets, soaking the fabric of her bra. The pink cotton shirt clung to her back. Cars passed, stirring the air enough to lift strands of her hair but failing to provide any respite from the June heat.
As usual, Mr. Charlie sat on the courthouse steps. She should have brought a bottle of water for him. Again, she wondered at his adamancy to remain in that spot.
“Ah, Miss Ruth.” Mr. Charlie’s smile welcomed her. “How was your day at work?”
She settled beside him on the hot cement. “Same ol’, same ol’.”
“Hmm.”
She waited for more, but he stared toward the church, as he did every day lately. “I have a Gala apple today.” Ruth placed half the slices into his hand.
“Gala’s my favorite,” he said, taking a bite of the flesh.
“I didn’t know that.” Ruth fingered her apple. “Why Gala?”
“I like the name.”
Simple as that. They chewed in silence. She needed to ask him about Joe, but it could wait a bit longer.
Mr. Charlie coughed. The gagging, choking sounds kept coming. A man on the sidewalk stared but continued past them.
Spittle dribbled down Mr. Charlie’s chin as he forced out one lung of air after another. The skin around his lips turned blue as Ruth stood in shock. She should know what to do. Should she pat his back or raise an arm? Which arm? Did it matter? As she debated, Mr. Charlie’s cough subsided. He wiped his face with the edge of his shirt.
“Are you all right, Mr. Charlie? Do you need to go to the hospital? Or to the doctor?” Without thought, she grasped his hand.
He smiled. The tight lines in his face softened. For an instant, Mr. Charlie reminded Ruth of her father.
They sat holding hands until a shadow fell over them.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Her hand jerked from Mr. Charlie’s. “Joe!” His expression sent daggers into her, the hardness of his eyes making her feel dirty, and that angered her even more. How easily she let others control her emotions. “What do you want, Joe?”
“What are you doing here…with him?” A sneer accompanied his words.
Ruth burned with anger. She took the blind man’s hand in hers. This time he did not return her squeeze. “Mr. Charlie is my friend. We visit together every day, and it’s no business of yours.” She wanted to tell Mr. Charlie how sorry she was for Joe’s inappropriate behavior, but she sat with her teeth clenched tight.
“You have any trouble with the crows, young man?” Mr. Charlie asked.
“Ruth, go home. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“You don’t have the right to tell me—”
“Young man, what about the crows?”
Joe grabbed Ruth by the upper arm and pulled her to her feet. His lips curled in anger. “I said go home.”
Ruth pulled away and rubbed her arm, the imprint of his fingers red on her pale skin.
Mr. Charlie slid toward her, his trousers scraping against the hard cement as he moved. “Ruth, perhaps you should go on home.”
“But Mr. Charlie…”
“Do what the man says,” Joe retorted. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“I hate you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Wear something pretty.” Smiling, Joe strode back toward the courthouse.
Ruth stared, her mouth agape, her hands twitching.
“So that is Joseph Ackerman,” Mr. Charlie said. “You have a date with him?”
“Not really. Well, sort of. He threatened to keep bugging me unless I went out with him one time.” She sighed. “I just want to get it over with and never have to see him again.”
“No one can force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
She glanced toward the courthouse door. “He can.”
~*~
A formally dressed host greeted them at the door of the restaurant. “Welcome, Mr. Ackerman.” Joe held Ruth’s elbow possessively as the tuxedo-clad waiter escorted them to a table overlooking the bay. Twilight softened the reeds while the exterior lights sprinkled the tall grass in glitter. Off to the right, an island formed a small mound of green and brown in the dark blue. Spanish moss dripped from the trees that stood as sentinels for the small plot of sand and shells.
Once they were seated, Joe glanced around like a lord surveying his kingdom. “This is one of my favorite places. Makes the drive to Myrtle Beach worth it, wouldn’t you say?” The room was packed with patrons clothed for a ball.
Ruth shifted uncomfortably in her cotton sundress and shoved her sandal-clad feet further under the table. “It took over an hour to get here.” She refused to tell him she felt like the unwanted step-sister in this environment. He had to know she didn’t have clothes for a place like this. Even if he didn’t, any decent guy would have changed plans once he saw how she was dressed.
Looking through the window, Ruth imagined the smell of the salt air. In her mind, she could feel the evening breeze on her skin and its whispering sound as it moved across the marsh. Instead, she was trapped in a barely-lit room surrounded by the clank of china, murmuring voices, and jazz background music.
Without consulting her, Joe ordered for both of them. His smile told anyone watching that he was perfectly content with his life. Such arrogance.
Ruth seethed inside. She wondered if her clenched stomach would accept even one bite of food. What irony if all the money he was spending on crab and lobster ended up wasted. In spite of her reservation, the food tasted delicious.
Whe
n dessert arrived, Joe lifted his fork and smiled. “You disappeared from Atlanta. I called your mom. She said you had a job in Wilmington.”
Ruth focused on her key lime pie.
“I know where you were in Wilmington.” He settled back in his chair. “It wasn’t a job that took you there.”
The food in her stomach surged, and she fought her body for control. A glance at his face showed only hard lips and accusing eyes.
“You spent six months at a place that takes in unwed mothers. Who were you hiding from? Were you afraid perfect Ruthie would disappoint her mother?”
She didn’t answer.
“What did you do with our baby? I gave you money for an abortion. You should have told me you changed your mind.”
“If I changed my mind? I never wanted an abortion in the first place!” Her voice screeched like a shrieking bird trapped in someone’s nightmare. “You were the one who said a baby did not fit in your career path.”
The couple at the next table glanced her way.
Joe leaned forward. “Keep your voice down!”
She quieted her words, but not for Joe. She had to have her say, right now, or her courage would be gone. “I couldn’t afford to raise her, and you made it clear you weren’t helping. There was hardly enough money to feed my mom and me. I had no other choice.”
“I paid for an abortion. Problem taken care of!” His flaring nostrils reminded Ruth of a raging bull. At least in this public place the bull was restrained.
She stared at him, wondering what had happened to the sweet person she knew that summer. Her mom had been skeptical about a rich boy dating a poor girl, but after half-a-dozen dates, it seemed his attentions were sincere. He shared his dream with her, his need to change the world. It was a good plan, full of noble acts. All summer they’d roamed Atlanta’s parks, shared ice cream cones, and canoed. She went with his family to their beach house. By the middle of August, and as time neared for him to return to grad school, Ruth expected a commitment, a promise they would remain a couple, that he would come home to her on breaks. While he was gone, they would talk on the phone and listen to each other breathe, …just like they did when he finally convinced her to join him in bed. She agreed, believing he loved her and they would be together forever.
Light of Logan Page 10
