Friends. He had grown to hate that word. Sometimes Dean wondered if Joelle’s lack of romantic feelings toward him was his own fault. After all, he hadn’t said anything to lead Joelle to believe he loved her as more than a friend. He wanted to. Badly. But he couldn’t. She was so vulnerable right now.
Dean had been at church with Joelle six months ago when she responded to the call to accept Christ as her personal Savior. Otherwise, he might not have believed it. Joelle had seemed perfectly content with her life. The youngest of five, she lived comfortably with her parents and never mentioned any desire to leave—except for once, a few years ago. After only a few months on her own, she returned, older and wiser.
And certainly now she was richer. He remembered the day Joelle pulled into his driveway in her new sports car. He’d been astounded that she had paid cash for it. As a child, Joelle had enjoyed few luxuries. When she became a young adult, Joelle developed a habit of splurging whenever she had money, and sometimes when she didn’t. Pride in material possessions kept her on top of the world for awhile. But as debts piled high and her new possessions aged, Dean could see Joelle develop a longing for something deeper. She’d gone to school and grown responsible. She’d even told him about her yearning to meet a man she could settle down with, someone who wasn’t afraid to commit.
Under other circumstances, Dean would have made it clear she’d already met that man. Only at that point, Joelle hadn’t made the decision to accept the Lord. She was comfortable keeping Christ in the background, a benign figure who loved her and who would always be there.
Jesus was much more to Dean. He never made an important decision without consulting the Lord. That kind of prayer life wasn’t something Joelle practiced. Even now, she would need time to develop a full relationship with the Savior. Dean didn’t want to interfere with that.
He remembered 2 Corinthians 6:14: Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?
No way would he spend his life unequally yoked. Not even for Joelle.
But then she made the decision.
Joelle’s voice brought him back to the present. “How about tonight?”
“Tonight?”
She must have noticed he seemed distracted. “If that’s not good—”
“No, that’s fine.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I can be at your house at seven.”
After they hung up, Dean found himself whistling a tuneless melody. The reason Joelle wanted to see him didn’t matter. What mattered was, she wanted to be with him.
“So what I want you to do, Dean, is help me find someone else.”
Dean nearly dropped his cup of coffee. “Say what?”
“You heard me. I want you to help me find someone else.”
He looked straight into her eyes. The teal contact lenses were a perfect match for the soft turquoise sweater she wore. After experimenting with hair flipped upward, on this day Joelle had styled her golden locks in a sleek fashion. He liked the effect. In fact, Dean was sure he was the only man who could appreciate Joelle. Why would she waste her time with anyone else? He didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “After what you told me about that lousy date? Surely you can’t mean you want to try again, Joelle.”
“So?” She shrugged.
Dean snapped his fingers in front of her nose. “Joelle, time to wake up.”
She laughed. “I’m perfectly awake, thank you.”
“In that case, what planet are you from, and what did you do with Joelle?”
A chuckle was her only answer.
Dean shook his head. “Joelle, I know how much you value your money. It’s not like you to throw away hundreds of dollars with such a cavalier attitude.”
“But I’ve accepted Christ now. Like you always tell me, all earthly things belong to Him. Anyway, in the scheme of things, it was probably a good investment,” she said. “I learned more about myself and what’s really important.”
“True,” he admitted.
“Besides, Lloyd said he’d pay me back.”
“Sort of like he paid you that first twenty dollars, huh?”
Joelle flinched. “Maybe he was just having a bad night. We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will. I’ll tell you one thing. If I were a betting man, I’d gamble he won’t pay you back. You’ll never see him again.” Dean took a sip of coffee. “Wonder how many other women he’s taken advantage of like that?”
“Who knows? All I know is, I learned my lesson. I guess I was trying to be too greedy. Would you believe that verse we talked about in class a couple of Sundays ago kept popping into my head?”
“ ‘Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.’ That one?”
She nodded.
“You wouldn’t have been so nonchalant about this a year ago.” He felt his eyes grow misty. “I can see the Lord really is starting to work in your life.”
“He must have been there all along, to send me a friend like you.”
Friend. There’s that word again. Dean gazed into the face he loved, the one sending an angelic smile in his direction. He wished he were a painter so he could capture the rose flush of her cheeks, her lips the color of a strawberry milk shake, her lustrous yellow hair. No photograph could portray such glory with any accuracy.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
She opened her mouth as if in protest, but something stopped her. Instead, she reached for the latest issue of Today’s Southwest Virginian Christian Singles. He narrowed his eyes. He wished Joelle had never seen that paper. If only she had given him time. . .time to let her get used to the real presence of the Lord in her life.
Dean hadn’t wanted to pursue Joelle when she was so vulnerable, at the point when she had approached the fork in the road and had chosen the right path. The narrow path. He had visualized himself helping her along the way, guiding her at times, walking beside her at other times, perhaps her even leading him on still other occasions. Now, because he had waited for her instead of pouncing, he was being asked to help her find someone else.
“No!” he blurted. His outburst was strong enough to elicit stares from the women at the adjacent table. Dean recognized one of them as a member of his mom’s garden club. From the corner of his eye, he noticed they suddenly huddled together and whispered. He didn’t even care.
A stricken expression flashed into Joelle’s eyes. “No, what?”
He lowered his voice. “No, I’m not going to help you ruin your life. Wasn’t one bad date enough?”
“Enough with him, yes, but I won’t pick someone like that this time.”
Seeing there was no use in trying to talk sense into Joelle, Dean extracted a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and threw it on the table.
“Wait! I said it was my treat.”
He was in no mood to take any gift from Joelle. “You can pay me back some other time.” Slipping out of the booth, he headed for the exit without saying another word.
As he made his way to the car, he heard Joelle’s footfalls crunching on the gravel behind him. Dean almost wished he could leave her standing there, but he opened the door on her side, catching a whiff of her heavy floral perfume that saturated the inside of the car.
Dean sighed. It would be a long ride home.
Joelle allowed silence to permeate the car. From time to time, she would steal a furtive look at Dean’s profile, the straight nose, strong chin, and full lips she knew so well. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead. The road curved around in several hairpin turns, challenging even the best driver. Dean had navigated it so many times over his life, Joelle knew he hardly needed to concentrate. His anger filled the space between them. If she could draw a caricature of Dean at that moment, she would include a thundercloud over his head.
Just before they reached her driveway, Joelle knew she would hav
e to be the one to break the oppressive stillness. “What’s the matter with you, Dean? Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Of course I want you to be happy.” His gruff tone would have put off a lesser friend.
“You don’t seem like it.”
“Things aren’t always as they seem.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He pulled the car up to the flagstone walk leading to her front door. “It means I won’t go through that paper and pick your next date.”
“All right. You don’t have to.” She stepped out of the car. “I can fend for myself.”
He leaned toward her, his auburn hair catching the light from the porch. “Can you? Remember that the next time you’re stranded.”
Despite the edge in his voice, Joelle stood in place, waiting for him to kill the engine and walk her to the door, as was his custom. Instead, Dean drove off, leaving behind a cloud of red dust as he sped over the dirt road.
Barking, her gray mutt ran up, leapt, and placed her front paws on the side of Joelle’s leg. Without taking her gaze from the departing car, Joelle gave Raindrop a pat on the head. “What could possibly be the matter with him?”
Four
NO FRILLS, JUST SIMPLE PLEASURES. Devout Sunday school teacher, 35, seeks Christian woman, 25–35, who enjoys quiet evenings at home reading fine books and listening to classical music. If you’re cerebral and quality time with an equally cerebral, attractive man sounds good to you, I’m the one you’ve been seeking!
Scanning her latest copy of Today’s Southwest Virginian Christian Singles, Joelle stopped at the ad. As she munched on a tuna salad sandwich, strawberry yogurt, and soda, she read in relative privacy behind the closed door of her office. Even better, her next date would likely be at work. She could quickly leave a message on his answering machine and get back to sending out the month’s bills.
She read the ad one last time as she picked up the phone to dial the number listed. A Sunday school teacher! Even if the ad hadn’t included the word “devout,” the fact that this man was willing to teach a class every Sunday was good enough for her. Not even Dean could argue against a Sunday school teacher. Surely this new man was an unimpeachable Christian.
Joelle thought about the other specifications. Maybe “cerebral” wasn’t the first adjective to describe her, but Joelle thought her grades in school had been good enough. Maybe classical music wasn’t her first choice, but she could usually sit still through at least a couple of the unbearably lengthy, compositions before turning the station to something more contemporary. Surely she wouldn’t disappoint this brainiac. And surely he would prove a far cry from the world-class sponger she had chosen for her last date. Shuddering at the thought, Joelle had no time to dwell on her past failure before someone answered the ringing phone. “Hello?”
Joelle was taken aback by the fact that the voice belonged to a female, but she rebounded before her surprise became evident. “Is this the number where I might reach Dexter Smythe?”
“Who wants to know?” The voice sounded edgy, suspicious.
I hope this isn’t his roommate!
Joelle’s heart beat with anxiety. “Um, I’m calling in reference to the ad.”
“Oh! The ad! The one in the Christian singles’ magazine?” The voice sounded relieved, then became perky.
“Yes.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” She could hear the woman’s smile.
“Um, I did—”
“You know, that ad hasn’t gotten the number of responses I had hoped. I think that’s because it takes a very special woman in this day and age to shun the glitz and glamour the world has to offer in exchange for an honest, down-to-earth boy like my son, Dexter.”
Well, that explained why Joelle was talking to a female. She breathed a sigh of relief before uttering, “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“My Dexter is a good catch. He knows his way around computers, and everyone knows they’re the wave of the future.”
Joelle considered computers to be the wave of the present, but she refrained from making the observation.
“So many women are so pushy today. All they seem to want is a man who’ll make plenty of money so they can laze about all day and have their nails done.” She paused. “You do your own manicures, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Joelle glanced at her unpolished nails that she had trimmed to an attractive length and buffed to a sheen.
“How charming that you keep calling me ‘ma’am.’ I can tell you were brought up right. But there’s no need to ‘ma’am’ me. Just call me Bertha. And you are. . . ?”
“Joelle.”
“Noelle? So you were born at Christmas?”
“No, Ma’am. I mean, Bertha. It’s Joelle with a J.”
“Ah. That is a very unusual name, although it is quite lovely. I take it your father’s name is Joe and he really wanted a boy?” Bertha managed to conjecture without sounding offensive.
“No, I have four older brothers. My name is a combination of my parents’ names, Joseph and Eleanor.” Having spilled so much information so quickly, Joelle realized she had let Bertha lure her into becoming much too chatty.
“Oh. How interesting. So your mom has five children, huh? It’s so lovely to learn you come from a family that values tradition and old-fashioned ways. The world moves much too rapidly these days,” Bertha opined. “So, Joelle, do you have a last name?”
Despite Bertha’s obviously sincere attempts to be pleasant, Joelle was becoming annoyed. Calling a man she’d never met was difficult enough without having to undergo an inquisition from his mother. Nevertheless, she concentrated on making sure her voice revealed no negative feelings. “Jamison. Joelle Jamison.”
“How darling! Does anyone call you J. J.?”
“Not as of yet.” Joelle drew a breath. “I don’t mean to be abrupt, but I really must keep this call short. I’m on my lunch break, and I need to get back to my work in a couple of minutes. If you want to know the truth, I figured an answering machine would take the call so I could just leave my name and number. Since I managed to contact a human”—she giggled in hopes her amusement would be contagious—“I may as well speak to Dexter.”
“I’d be glad for you to speak to him, except Dexter’s not in.”
“Perhaps I could leave my number—”
“That won’t be necessary. I know exactly what Dexter would say if he were here,” Bertha assured. “He has tickets to Concert under the Stars at the community college. It’s on Friday night. The symphony will be playing selections from Mozart and Debussy. You know their works quite well, yes?”
“Well enough, I’m sure.”
“Good. And don’t worry about dinner. Dexter can bring a picnic basket.”
“Sounds like fun,” Joelle had to admit.
“Oh, it will be!”
After firming up the details and giving directions to her house, Joelle asked, “Why don’t I leave my number, just in case Dexter would like to talk to me before we meet?”
“You’re welcome to leave your number, but I can tell just from your voice and how polite you are that Dexter will be as crazy about you as I already am.”
Friday night, Joelle’s hands shook as she popped in her contact lens as she readied herself for the date. She’d been the victim of friends’ matchmaking efforts before, but never had she flown this blind. What had made her agree to go to a concert with a man she hadn’t met, or even spoken to?
I wish I could talk to Dean before taking such a plunge. But why? All he’d do is say “I told you so” and add that I should cancel. He might even give me a lecture on going out with strangers, not to mention another reminder that I never should have tried to find someone in a personals ad—even if the magazine is published by and for Christians.
She sighed. Dean hadn’t called all week, and she hadn’t been able to manufacture a convincing excuse to phone him. She knew he wasn’t pleased that she was trying the ads again, but she never dre
amed he wouldn’t even speak to her in the interim. For the hundredth time, she wished she could hear his voice. . .even if it was lecturing.
Joelle deliberately focused on the upcoming evening. She glanced at the daisy-shaped clock in her room, a relic from her teen years. Dexter was due in ten minutes. She wondered if he’d be on time. Maybe he’d be inconsiderate, showing up late and making them miss the first part of the concert. She shook her head at the reflection in the dresser mirror. Classical music fan. Cerebral. Sounded like someone who’d have his watch set with precision so he could be exactly on time.
Coaxing hair that hadn’t quite reached her shoulders into a manageable bob, Joelle mused that Dexter was lucky her parents were at an annual awards banquet for her mom’s work. That meant he wouldn’t be subjected to Dad’s standard pre-date interview. Not that Dexter didn’t deserve it after the examination Bertha had conducted with her. Sighing as she remembered the grilling, Joelle slipped into a pair of denim sandals. They matched the indigo-washed jeans she wore, which in turn picked up the deep blue roses embroidered on a recent acquisition, a coral short-sleeved summer sweater. Going for cashmere had been a splurge, but the cloud-soft knit was so luxurious, she felt as though any evening would be a success when she was wearing such a garment. Remembering Bertha’s comment about manicures, Joelle gave her nails one last swipe with the buffer before her date rang the bell.
“Here goes!” she said to no one in particular. After hurrying through the den and living room, she opened the heavy oak door.
Dexter’s ad had promised someone attractive, but the description barely fit the man of slight build who was standing on the front porch. As if to compensate for a receding hairline, he had grown the hair on the back of his head almost to his shoulders. A full beard that hid most of his face looked as though it hadn’t been subjected to a pair of scissors in a few months. She felt a sudden urge to braid it but held her face in rigid composure, lest she wrinkle her nose in distaste. Her gaze swept to a nondescript shirt and khaki pants before returning to his face and noting stylish, wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Joelle suspected their removal would not improve his appearance.
Elusive Mr. Perfect Page 3
