“Oh, Jeff, I love it!”
Since Hannah rarely got this excited about anything, Jeff enjoyed hearing the uplift in her voice when they finished her porch in the lamplight that evening. He stood back, surveyed the effect, and nodded, pleased that she’d enjoyed the afternoon. “It looks good.”
“It looks great,” she corrected him. She crossed the porch, then indicated the house with a wave. “Do you want to order a pizza and watch the beginning of the Sunday night game here?”
Jeff digested the invitation. She’d gotten weirded out last week by his work and football. Sure, she’d apologized, but no way was he about to mess with a great afternoon by chancing a bad evening. “Pizza’s good, but I’ve got an early morning and unless I’m really into the team, I don’t do late games.”
“Pizza it is.” She withdrew her phone, hit a number on her speed dial and placed the order. “I’m having them deliver it so we can tip the driver.”
“Because?”
“It’s Callie’s cousin. He usually does construction but with the slowdown he hasn’t had much work, so he’s going to trade school for electricians and delivering pizzas at night.”
Add kind and thoughtful to her growing list of wonderful attributes. She worked two jobs and drove a low-end car, but was willing to shell out five dollars she didn’t have to help a young man’s dream.
When the doorbell rang, Jeff moved quicker and waved her off. “I’ve got it.”
“But you paid for all the stuff this afternoon,” she protested, her chin thrust up in a really cute pout.
Jeff paid the young man, added a considerable tip and a nod of thanks, then turned. “My day, my decision. What kind of guy takes a girl out and makes her pay?”
She smiled, unwilling to argue that. “The worst. Thank you, Jeff.” She surveyed the decorated porch and lifted one shoulder. “I’ll smile every time I see that porch. Or think of it.”
“Perfect.”
A part of him longed to jump into hyperdrive, a typical Jeff Brennan move. The wiser portion urged him to pay close attention to laying a foundation of trust, the brick and mortar of a good base. Watching her devour a hefty share of the pizza, he waved outdoors. “Are you intent on making me walk off supper tonight, too? Because the rain just started and I didn’t bring an umbrella.”
“I have umbrellas, but no. I think we should just sit here with the curtains open and enjoy the fruits of our labors—”
“Vegetables, in this case,” he interrupted, smiling.
She accepted his correction, looking really pretty and serious. “Vegetables of our labors and spit-polish our presentation.”
“Gotcha.” Jeff stood and cleaned up the paper plates and napkins, then reached down and hauled her to her feet. “Since we did our civic duty by improving the appearance of both Wellsville and Jamison with great-looking porches, I suppose work is in order.”
“I concur.” She moved across the room and drew open the drapes, the front porch light showcasing the fall array. “And if we sit here, we can enjoy the view.”
“I already am.”
She flushed, embarrassed and charmed, her beautiful smile a gift he hadn’t expected and probably didn’t deserve, but that only made him want to be more deserving.
His mother kept telling him to forgive and forget. To leave the past alone.
He thought he’d done that, but Matt’s reappearance proved him wrong. Jeff followed Hannah across the room, took a seat and wondered if he had what it took to make things right. Go the distance. Be the peacemaker his mother and grandmother wanted him to be.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.” He’d learned that as a child, not understanding the depth of its meaning. Now, as Hannah leaned over the projected notes, her fall of hair curtaining half of her face, he understood the import more fully. He was letting his past dictate his present. Was that Matt Cavanaugh’s fault?
Hardly.
But Matt had wreaked havoc back in the day, ruining lives in the process.
“I’ve lost you, I see.”
Jeff pushed the puzzle of his life off to the side. “Only temporarily.”
“Thinking of work?” She tipped him a look before noting the clock. “If you need to go home and get things done, I can finish this. We’re almost done, anyway.”
“Not work,” he admitted, taking his time. He glanced away, then back. “Family stuff.”
“Ah.” Hannah sat back, steepled her fingers and met his gaze. “Meeting your brother yesterday.”
“Half brother.”
She considered his words then leaned forward. “I think you’ve nailed a big part of the problem right there. My parents divorced when I was nine years old. Both remarried. My father never had more kids, but my mother did.” She indicated the picture of Nick on the small table beyond Jeff. “And I’ve never in my life thought of him as a half brother.”
“But you lived with him, right?”
“Part of the time. But that’s just geography, Jeff.”
Jeff didn’t want to concede that. “You knew him since he was a baby.”
“Yes. But even if I hadn’t—” she met his look, determined “—he’d still be my brother. I don’t do halfway, Jeff. Ever.”
Her words speared him.
He’d have thought the same about himself, but right now he wasn’t too sure. Maybe he went full tilt when he had control, and pulled back when uncertainty loomed. Either way, he wasn’t a big fan of this conversation. “So. For Wednesday. Do you have time to do a volunteer time chart?”
Did his quick shift back into business mode put that shadow on her face? He thought so. She bent her head, made a few marginal notes and put together a packet of information for him. “I can if you manage to put this into a semblance of order for us.”
“I’d be glad to.” He stood, wishing they’d never brought up family, wishing…
“Then I’ll meet you at the Community Center. Is six-thirty good?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.”
“Hannah, I—”
“I loved the decorating.” She smiled toward the front porch as she led the way to the door. “And the pizza. Thank you.”
He wanted to say more, but good sense told him to hold off. He shrugged into his jacket. “You’re welcome. See you Wednesday.”
“Yes.”
And that was it. He strode across the porch, remembering how carefree she’d looked as they decorated, the innocence of the day reflected in her face, her emotions. The memory of that kiss made him think all kinds of things.
Right up until they started talking about family and she realized he was a jerk of the highest proportions.
Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but most days were too chock-full of work to dwell on things like old wrongs.
But you do, his conscience reminded him. Your quest for bigger, better, stronger is nothing more than trying to best your father. Get over it, already.
Easier said than done when his life echoed with constant reminders. But whose fault was that? Hadn’t he deliberately chosen a similar career to prove to himself and the world that he could do it better?
He headed home, tired and a little miffed that Hannah didn’t quite get it. His conscience took great delight in reminding him that the problem probably wasn’t Hannah’s at all, and that just made him feel worse.
Chapter Twelve
Hannah drew her lightweight jacket snug as she hurried into the Jamison Community Center on Wednesday evening, the sudden dip in temperature a chill reminder. She spotted Jeff and headed his way. “Have you seen the weekend forecast?”
He gave her one of those steady, long looks and quipped back, “Hi, Jeff. How are you tonight? How was your day? Oh, and by the way, have you seen the forecast?”
“Sorry. I’m in business mode. First things first. We’ve got this nailed—” she held her presentation folder aloft “—and I’m projecting ahead. The weekend forecast is dire and we’re pu
tting a lot of stock into this big opening fundraiser. Are we going to bomb?”
“We’re hardy stock here, Hannah.” Jeff shrugged off her concerns. “A little rain’s nothing to get steamed up over.”
“We’re not talking scattered showers,” she retorted. “We’re talking monsoons. Flood watches. The real deal.”
He still didn’t have the decency to look worried. “Everything moves inside the high school if it storms. The performers use the auditorium and we move the dinner to the high school cafeteria.”
The high school. Hannah hadn’t bargained on that, hadn’t given it a thought, actually. His words sent an adrenaline shot to her heart. She had to work to find her voice and when she did, she hoped it didn’t tremble. “Where do the vendors set up?”
“Along the hallways,” he explained. “It gets a little crowded and the fire marshal turns a blind eye for those two days, but it’s doable. And Megan’s got a candy booth and a cookie booth this year, so you’ll have your hands full between those and the library fundraising booth. You’ve never driven down for the Fair before?”
Hannah refused to explain that she avoided anything to do with fall or schools, that this was the first time she’d actually felt somewhat normal watching the march of color enrobe the surrounding hillsides. “No. Megan only did one booth in the past, so she didn’t need me.”
Her excuse was partially true. She was doing better, but the thought of being closed in in the high school during a rainstorm iced her from within, a condition that had nothing to do with external temperatures and everything to do with one young man’s murderous rampage. “When do they decide?”
“Friday. If the forecast seems extreme, we go for the indoor venue. How’s your scarecrow lady doing? You might want to consider giving her a raincoat for the weekend.”
Yes. Concentrate on funny. Sweet. Mundane. Do not think about the high school, do not perseverate, do not allow the past to ruin the present. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?”
That psalm verse was inscribed on a wooden plaque over her bed and the words engraved on her heart. But despite her push forward, the thought of being entombed in that high school for hours on end blindsided her.
Then it’s high time it didn’t, her inner voice scolded. You will be surrounded by people you’ve come to know and care for. One, especially.
“Hannah, you there?”
She flushed, painful emotions rising within. “Yes, just thinking of how to do this and make it the best possible experience for all.”
“Which for me, just means you’re there.” Hannah flushed. “Are you hungry?” he asked as the town clerk opened the meeting room door, allowing them to enter. “We could grab something after the meeting.”
She shook her head, the idea of food a worst-case scenario right now. “I can’t, thanks. I’ve got to stay ahead of things this week because I’ll be working the Fair the whole weekend. I’ve got the library hours covered, but that means having everything organized for the gal who’s stepping in for me.”
“Understandable,” he agreed. “And since we’ll have you trapped indoors, you’ll be fairly inaccessible this weekend.”
Trapped indoors.
Her heart clenched; the common phrase was uncommonly chilling.
Jeff touched her arm, slowing her progress, letting others move into the room before them. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She wasn’t. She was about as far from okay as she could get, but she hoped, no, prayed it wouldn’t show, that she could present a normal face to the world. And right now the world was Jeff Brennan.
King David had wondered out loud what could mortal man do to him, what should he fear?
Hannah had seen what mortal men did firsthand; she’d watched, listened and smelled the horrible aftereffects of man’s depravity. And yes, she feared, that was painfully obvious when the prospect of being in a totally unrelated high school during a rained-out festival messed with her emotions.
But she’d grown strong enough now to regain control. Heading into the meeting room, she was determined to push through the wall of sensations steamrolling her. It was a building, no more, no less.
And she was so much better now.
Bright blue morning sky provided a backdrop for the riot of fall colors surrounding the high school. Hannah parked her car and headed inside, then turned in surprise. Her red car had become silver, and it was newer. Longer. She frowned, waved to a colleague and ducked into the teachers’ entrance at ground level, the familiar hallways her home away from home.
As she reached the third level, a voice called her name. She looked around but saw no one, the hall empty and dark as if maintenance forgot to switch the lights on.
She unlocked her classroom door and opened it.
Ten faces looked up at her, expectant.
She frowned and glanced at her watch, but she wasn’t wearing a watch. She moved into the room as dark clouds blotted out the sun beyond the long bank of windows; the predicted midday storm arrived early.
Except it wasn’t early. The wall clock said 12:32, which meant she was late. Very late. She did an about-face, confused. Then she hurried to her desk as the silent class watched her. Waiting. Wondering. She had to say something, apologize for keeping them waiting. It was unspeakably rude behavior and she was never late for anything. Or rude.
The clouds opened up beyond the glass wall, unleashing a torrent of rain, the dismal sight and sound dulling the day in shaded grays.
She never heard the first gunshot. She was sure of that. Maybe the thunder blotted the noise, masking it.
But she didn’t miss one scream, one plea for help as the kids in the adjacent lab room begged for their lives.
She ran for the adjoining door. When she got to it, she didn’t open it, fearlessly running in to save the day.
She locked it, using the set of keys clutched in her hand, saving herself and the ten students in her room, but sealing off a possible avenue of escape for nine others.
Their screams echoed as she locked the hallway door, their pleas lost in a volley of gunfire, breaking glass and pouring rain, a cacophony of blended sounds. She scurried, gathering her ten students like baby chicks beneath a falcon’s shadow, huddling them behind the half-wall bookcase in front of the windows, while chaos reigned in the lab next door, the eventual silence more formidable than the noise ever thought of being.
Hannah struggled awake, fighting her way out of the dream, clawing through blankets to escape. It took long seconds to realize she’d been dreaming, a dream she hadn’t had in over a year.
She sat up, cradling a pillow, wanting to cry, longing to turn back the clock and think of something she could have done other than turn that key.
Many labeled her a hero in the aftermath. That made her sick to her stomach. She was no hero. No matter what she did, she couldn’t forget how she used those keys in her hand to lock out three crazed killers, one innocent lab instructor and nine innocent kids.
God forgive her, she’d turned that key, barricaded the door with the help of two sturdy boys, gathered the ten kids in her charge and crouched like a frightened rabbit behind a makeshift bookcase blockade while gunfire shattered the windows above them, showering them in a volley of crushed glass and cold, teeming rain.
Sure, she’d saved some, and everyone told her she should focus on that. Grab the positive and avoid the negative. Scientifically speaking, she understood their reasoning.
But she couldn’t forget that she was Brad Duquette’s intended target, the one he came gunning for because she’d turned down his application for her elite science class. He’d reminded her as he targeted the teacher and students in the adjacent lab, counting them off nice and loud for her benefit.
Dark thoughts invaded her heart, her soul, the memories of so much lost in so little time.
“Father, help me. Be my strength, my heart, feed my soul. Shelter me from this mayhem, from these memories, from this fear. Strengthen me, uphold me, u
plift me.”
Lisa had told her that life would trigger strong emotional reactions sometimes, that she’d have to bolster herself to push through. “And each time you do, you’ll gain strength and momentum,” the young therapist promised. “But you need to take it step by step.”
The impending weekend loomed before her, the thought of rain beating on the school roof, darkening the windows, weighing heavy.
Because you’re letting it, her conscience scolded. It’s rain, nothing more, nothing less, in a building that’s common to every community in the world. A school. Go. Do good work. Be at peace.
Could she?
Hannah clutched the pillow tighter and sighed.
She had to. She knew that. Eyeing the clock she noted the predawn hour and climbed out of bed, knowing there’d be no more sleep this night, praying she wouldn’t repeat this performance every night this week in anticipation of the indoor setting.
But if she did?
She would not cave. Not ever again. She’d move forward. No more would she let fear and guilt dog her steps or impede her way. She was determined to take charge of her life, once and for all.
She washed her face, made coffee, opened her laptop and sat down to do something she should have done long ago: write notes of apology to those families whose children died that day, seeking their forgiveness. She hunted through files, found most of their addresses and withdrew a pad of notepaper from her desk drawer.
She’d felt better after talking to Jane Dinsmore about Ironwood, and while she hated what she felt compelled to say to these parents, she knew she had no choice. With God as her witness, she needed to face the enormity of her guilt head-on. And it was high time she did just that.
“I’d prefer snow,” Megan grumbled as she and Hannah removed wet, protective plastic sheeting from the stacks of cookies on Saturday morning. “At least snow can be brushed off. This—” she held out a dripping sheet of plastic and shook her head as she glared toward the windows “—borders on ridiculous.”
Hannah handed over a fresh roll of paper towels. “Don’t talk. Wipe. We need to get set up down the hall and some bossy gray-haired man is standing guard at the hall door to make sure we don’t mess up his floors.”
Mended Hearts Page 12
