by Lynn Bulock
Greg gave the bag back to her. When he spoke he sounded as if he had a lump in his throat. “And here I thought I couldn’t have any more respect for your aunt. She certainly devoted herself to you girls, didn’t she?”
“More than you can imagine. I know you’ve heard what everyone else has around town the last six months, but there’s so much more to the whole awful mess.” With the makeup bag still there in her hands, Miranda found herself relating the recent events and all the painful twists and turns her life had taken.
When she laid it all out there for Greg, including hearing the shots and finding the body they thought was Trudy in the library, all the disclosures since and then discovering her grandfather after the attempt on his life, it was a revelation. “No wonder I’ve had so many terrible panic attacks lately. I haven’t told a soul about any of this.”
“You’ve discussed it with your sisters, I’m sure, but they’ve been under the same strains themselves. Have you ever considered a therapist?” Gregory was holding her hand again, with those warm brown eyes focused on her as if she were the only other person in the world.
Miranda sighed and shook her head. This was more difficult to explain than the rest of the family problems. “Not really. Father always drummed into us that Mama left us because she was crazy. Any sign of mental weakness was to be eradicated immediately. He wouldn’t even let any of us cry in his presence.”
“Wow. I know that there wasn’t nearly as much child counseling twenty years ago as there is today, but I gather that means none of you got any grief therapy or other help. That just isn’t right.”
“I know that now. But then we just accepted it because that was the way Father said strong people handled things. And the Blanchards were strong.” She could still hear his horrible remarks about the problems on her mother’s side of the family. “I heard that for so long that even though I know it’s wrong, that nobody has to be that strong alone, it’s hard to even think about seeking professional help.”
“When you’re ready to do something, I’ll be here for you, Miranda,” Greg said softly but with conviction. “And more than that, God is always with you. There’s nothing we can suffer that Jesus doesn’t suffer along with us. We’re never alone, even in the darkest times.”
“You really believe that, without even thinking about it, don’t you?” The idea still felt foreign to her, but she could see that to Gregory it came as naturally as breathing.
“I really do. It’s the most often spoken promise in the Bible. God tells us over and over that He will never leave us, that He’s always with us no matter what.”
Miranda felt the tears pooling again as she saw the worn makeup bag, her melting iced coffee and the scarred surface of the wooden tabletop. “Of course it’s easy for you to say that, Gregory. With a life as perfect as yours, how could you not believe that?”
The words had hardly left her lips before Miranda saw how they wounded him. He drew back the hand holding hers and looked as if he was going to say something for a moment. Then his expression changed from hurt to something else, the light she’d seen all evening in his eyes shutting down. “I guess it looks that way, doesn’t it? Appearance isn’t everything, you know.”
“No, not everything. But it’s the only thing others are privy to most of the time,” she said. The silence for the next few moments was heavier than their conversation had been before. She looked at the puddle of cold condensation forming around her glass. “I’m sorry for keeping you here so long. I think maybe you should take me home now, unless you’d rather I called Winnie to come and get me.”
“No, I offered to take you home. But you’re right, we should probably go,” Greg said.
All the way to his car, Miranda berated herself for the way the evening was ending.
SEVEN
You know you’re an idiot, Greg told himself as he walked with Miranda to his slightly battered little SUV. How had things gone so wrong so fast back there? He was supposed to be a pastor, a shepherd for the lost sheep and here he was acting like a spoiled kid just because Miranda had intimated he was perfect. Wow, what an insult. He struggled with his thoughts, trying to find a way to bring things back somehow close to where they’d been before that little exchange.
At the car he pushed the button that automatically unlocked all the doors, and then stepped to the passenger side to open hers. “Do you need any help getting up there? Even with the running boards it’s kind of a stretch for some women.”
“Thank you, but I think I can manage,” Miranda said, her voice sounding a little frosty.
Greg wanted to protest that he’d be happy to help, but the truth was that Miranda was tall enough that she probably didn’t need help getting up there. Still, he wished for the excuse to hold her hand because the action could begin an apology he still wasn’t sure how to make. Instead he stood by the side of the door until she got in and then closed her door. Aunt Martha would blow a gasket if she thought he wasn’t doing things like that for a lady. And Miranda was certainly a lady.
That was probably part of the problem tonight. He had no idea how to deal with this woman. She wasn’t at all like anyone else he’d met lately. There was an air of vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her, yet she gave the impression of not wanting too much help. Greg started the car and pulled away from the curb, realizing he hadn’t been to the Blanchard home in months and wasn’t sure he remembered how to get there.
Turning down the gospel CD playing, he pulled over into the nearly deserted municipal parking lot. Miranda looked at him in surprise. “All right, I can’t play the stoic male for the rest of the drive. I need directions to your house.”
A ghost of a smile played around Miranda’s lips. “Now there’s a conundrum. I’m not sure I can call you perfect anymore. Admitting to needing help certainly gives you an imperfection. But a man actually asking for directions? That puts you closer to perfect in my book than almost any other man I know.”
He had to smile along with her. When he did, Miranda’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Do you mind shutting off the engine for a little while? I feel like I really messed up back there and I want to try and start fresh with you,” she said.
The shine in her golden brown eyes made Greg sure that he couldn’t refuse her request. He turned the key and shifted in his seat so that he was looking at her. “It’s as much my fault as yours, Miranda. I guess being called ‘perfect’ is a thorny issue for me. Ministers are always held up as this standard whose behavior must be spotless, and it gets to me. I mean, I’m a normal human being like anybody else and perfection isn’t possible for me any more than it is for you, or your aunt Winnie or anyone besides Jesus.”
“I suppose I know that, but you’re right, I automatically put you at a level higher than me on my personal behavior scale. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that, but I suppose I just naturally expect you to be better than I am, after years of seminary training and the experience you’ve had as a minister. But I truly didn’t mean to get you going like that, Greg.”
Her hand was on his arm now and he could feel the warmth of her touch through his cotton shirt. The fingers resting on his sleeve had the delicacy of butterfly wings.
“There is a lot of anger in me right now,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have taken some of it out on you.”
He shrugged softly, hoping her hand would stay where it was. She didn’t move and he luxuriated in her touch even though he knew he ought to pull away. “I’m fairly tough. It should take more than that to offend me. If I’d been thinking the way I should, I would have laughed it off.”
“So you forgive me? And we can go back to being friends?”
Her eyes held such depth of feeling Greg leaned closer toward her, wondering if her skin would feel as velvety as it looked. It took all his strength to resist closing the gap between them and discovering that with his lips on her cheek.
His head felt as if it were spinning. What was there about this woman who drew
him so? Normally vulnerability made him step back and go into “pastor mode” right off the bat. He usually wanted to try to fix the problems of those in need, but at a safe distance. Instead, Miranda made him aware that she was a woman in so many little ways, and unless he was badly mistaken she wasn’t trying to do that at all.
He leaned back slowly into his seat, easing her hand off his arm with his motion. “Of course we can be friends.” The struggle would be how to keep himself in a position where all he would be to Miranda was a friend. She certainly didn’t need anything more, especially from somebody with even more problems than she had herself.
She brightened even more at his statement, making him feel worse for wanting to keep his distance. “Good, because I could use a few more friends. I don’t make friends easily, but when I do the relationship is important to me.”
Okay, right about now was when the warning bells would normally be going off in his head. He was alone in the car with a beautiful woman who needed comfort and friendship. But this time all Greg could think about was how to give her what she needed without hurting either of them.
It was time to get things moving again. “Well, friend, how about giving me those directions to your house? I imagine we could both use a good night’s sleep and I need to get you home.”
Miranda’s directions were concise and in just a few minutes Greg found himself at the gate of the Blanchard estate. She gave him a series of numbers to punch into a keypad and the gates swung open. They made their way up to the house and Miranda directed him onto a secondary driveway that led around to the back of the house.
“I usually go in this way, through the mudroom and kitchen,” she told him. “I like using the back stairs up to my room because it keeps me out of the front hall and those formal public rooms there.”
“You strike me as more of a family-room kind of person,” Greg said, picturing her in an easy chair or curled up on the end of a comfy sofa with a good book, perhaps with a cat on her lap.
She gave a short laugh. “Would you believe that out of the fifteen or more rooms that this house has, there’s absolutely nothing that could be called a family room? The closest we have is the study in Aunt Winnie’s suite. My sisters and I have always gathered there, or on the sunporch off of it in the summertime.”
Greg felt a bit sorry for anybody with all the obvious wealth of the Blanchards who had to deal with such poverty of family togetherness. He didn’t want to say anything that would cause another awkward situation, though, so he kept his thoughts to himself. “I hope you’ll let me see you to the door,” he said. “I have an aunt, too, and if she ever thought that I had let a lady go into a darkened house without company she would be very unhappy with me.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” Miranda opened her door and started up the path to the mudroom. Greg started out a few steps behind her but caught up quickly with his longer stride. She seemed to be searching for her key in her purse. Once she found it she turned to him.
“Thank you for taking me home and for all the help you’ve given me this evening. I appreciate your leadership of the support group, even though seeing you there worried me a little when I first came in.”
“Why was that?” Greg asked.
“After sitting at your table at the wedding and having such a delightful time, I was appalled that now the same man I had a meal with would know all my awful secrets.” She looked as if she wanted to bury her face in her hands, and Greg was overwhelmed by the desire to make her feel better.
“Please, don’t give it a second thought. Discussions in a support group like those are a part of what I’m trained to do, and I would never mention them outside of that meeting. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Miranda’s fingers trembled and she dropped her house key. Greg automatically bent down to retrieve it at the same time she did, and in trying to avoid crashing into each other he could see her losing her balance. Rising, he clasped her arms just firmly enough to keep her from falling. That brought them face-to-face, her breath so close to him that for a split second he could only pay attention to her nearness.
Overwhelmed by the attraction he felt for her, Greg closed the small space between them and kissed her on the lips. She was as velvet soft as he’d expected. The tenderness of the moment surged through him and it was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and kiss her much more thoroughly.
It only took a split second for his conscience and common sense to take over and let her go. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Are you all right?”
She touched one finger to her lips with the expression of a sleepwalker woken from a dream. “All right? I think so. My key is still down on the walk, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Do you want me to pick it up?”
“That would be fine,” she said slowly. He found the silver glint of it on the bricks beneath their feet and picked up the key, handing it back to Miranda.
“There. And I need to apologize again for what just happened.”
“Why? Do you regret it that much?” Her question threw him for a loop.
“Regret it? Only for your sake. I know that kissing you wasn’t the right thing to do but I couldn’t help myself.” That sounded lame the minute the words left his mouth, but Miranda didn’t seem to mind.
“Good. Because I don’t regret it, either, even though it was totally…unexpected.” She put a hand to her temple and Greg wondered if she felt a little dizzy. “Could we go sit down on that bench over there?” She pointed to a stone bench a few yards away.
“Sure.” The bench felt cool to the touch but not cold. The smooth surface under Greg’s hand made him more aware of his surroundings on the lush grounds of the estate. That brought home with force another of the differences between him and Miranda. He’d never had much in the way of money, even when his parents were alive, and this woman had grown up surrounded by wealth.
Miranda sat down and took his hand, putting Greg’s full attention on her once more. “Even though that kiss can only be a one-time experience it convinced me of something. I’m sure now of what you said, that my secrets are safe with you,” she said.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve got a huge secret to tell someone and I hardly know where to begin.”
“Just start telling me whatever you need to,” Greg said, trying to keep his voice calm and even. “I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.” He squeezed her hand gently and she squeezed back.
Miranda felt so incredibly comforted by his kind, accepting presence. She fought to keep from crying. “Good. I know you heard me tell the group about how my panic attacks have gotten so much worse lately. That isn’t the only reason I came back to the group.” Now she was getting to the scary part, but she still wanted to push on.
“I had a feeling there might be more.” Greg’s gaze made her feel that he was the only person in the world. “What’s happening, Miranda?”
Her first impulse was to say anything but the truth. Help me, God, she prayed silently. With a surge of confidence she kept looking straight at Greg. “Last night I had an especially bad panic attack and I went to my studio. It’s the place where I can usually calm down no matter what. I know it sounds childish but I have a song I hum to soothe myself. It’s a lullaby I remember my mother singing. And last night…I think I heard her singing with me.”
She couldn’t watch his eyes anymore. Surely his expression would change now and this wonderful connection between them would be over. The next words she’d hear would be Greg telling her that she was in need of serious psychiatric help.
Instead there was silence around them for a few moments, so deep that she could hear crickets in the grass. He let go of her hand, making Miranda’s heart sink, but then his arms wrapped around her in an enveloping hug. “Oh, Miranda. This has been so hard on you. You’re so sure that your mother is alive now, and near you. With all the stress of this situation, perhaps your mind is trying to give you the thing you want most…contac
t with her.”
Relief washed over her like a wave. “You mean you don’t think I’m crazy?”
Still in Greg’s arms, she could hear his sharp intake of breath. “I’d never say that to anyone. It’s just not a word I’d use even if I thought you might need medical help. But I don’t think it’s time to see a counselor just yet.” He let go of her but didn’t pull too far away. “If this happens again, though, I hope you’ll tell me.”
“Of course.” She didn’t have to think twice about it. “After tonight I feel that I could tell you anything, Greg.”
Miranda wasn’t sure if she saw the briefest flicker of a shadow on his face. If she had, it disappeared quickly. “I’m honored by that. I’ll try to keep earning your trust. But right now, we probably both need to get some rest.”
She was glad there wasn’t too much light in this back garden. That way Greg couldn’t see her blush. “Of course. I’m sure you have so much to do in the morning, and it’s late. Thank you again for bringing me home. And for everything else.” They both rose from the bench and he followed her to the back door. He stood there until she was safely inside, and only then did he wave and go back to his car.
Miranda locked the back door and leaned against it, watching as Greg started his car and pulled away. This had been the most amazing evening of her life. Now she had to bring herself back to earth and concentrate on the mundane things, like setting the security system Aunt Winnie had turned off since she’d been out late, and going upstairs quietly so she didn’t disturb her aunt. Usually she would welcome a quick chat with Winnie when she’d been out somewhere, but tonight she needed to be alone. One look at her face and Winnie would have all kinds of questions Miranda wasn’t ready to answer.
EIGHT
