Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  Wow! It didn’t take her long to nail my perfectionistic phobia. I guess it comes from being an only kid. A lot of times my fear of not being perfect the first time prevents me from trying new things. I didn’t think it was that transparent, but maybe it really is. The fact that it’s obvious makes me more determined than ever to break out of my shell and try something new and outrageous. I’m tired of being defined by the person that I’ve always been. I’ve been stuck in place by grief and indecision for too long.

  I take a moment to really study Suzanne’s movements with her dance partner. Fortunately for me, his movements don’t seem to be the most difficult. Actually, they seem really similar to the waltz I learned as a teenager. Perhaps this won’t be quite as difficult as I had envisioned. I can still count and do a basic box step.

  Placing my hand in the small of Jessica’s back, I escort her to an empty spot in the front of the lineup so I have a good vantage point and plenty of room to maneuver Jessica. I start to count off steps in my head. Soon enough, it becomes apparent that I’m not exactly quiet when it comes to counting off the steps because Jessica comments, “Thanks Mitch, I think I have the count. I’ve been dancing for quite a while; I can count the beat in my sleep.”

  I flash her a quick grin as I respond, “You might be able to, but some of us can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. We have to do things the old-fashioned way. I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

  Jessica shrugs as she responds, “No worries. Do whatever you need to do to make it work for you. I think it’s endearing. Just make sure you count correctly, otherwise you’ll throw me completely off.”

  I place her back in traditional hold and put my foot in the starting position as I whisper, “Is this the foot I start with?”

  Jessica nods and whispers back “If that’s your dominant foot, yes.”

  Thinking back to the way I climb rocks when I repel, it is my dominant foot. I shift my weight to it and begin the box step. I am about to congratulate myself on how coordinated I am, when all of a sudden Jessica does a complicated cross step and I become lost. Jessica reads the panic in my face and instructs me to breathe. She murmurs in my ear, “Relax, you don’t have to do that — only the women do. We have a couple of extra fancy moves in there to show off our sexy selves.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’d be nice if I had some advance warning of that, so I wouldn’t have a heart attack,” I mutter to myself.

  Jessica smirks and raises an eyebrow as she responds, “I suppose I could whisper, ‘Ta-da!’ before I’m scheduled to make a big move, if that would make you feel better.”

  I grin as I retort, “Could you? That would be helpful. Then I could be prepared for when you dazzle me.”

  Jessica groans, “You’re such a cheese ball. Do women actually buy this stuff?”

  I shrug as I respond, “I don’t know, I don’t get much chance to be nice to women — usually only on Mother’s Day and Secretary’s Day.”

  By the fourth run-through of the dance, I am feeling pretty competent. Jessica and I are starting to have some real fun. We’re even starting to add our own creative flourishes to the dance. Suzanne is so impressed that she even brings us up to the front of the class so that we can do a demonstration. It’s then that I realize how much I’ve really changed the last few weeks. Since meeting Jessica, I’ve sung karaoke and danced in a club and in front of a group of strangers. I would’ve never done those things without her encouragement — it’s strange how things work out.

  Just as we’re about to start another set of dance moves, an unusual ringtone breaks through the tango music. Much to my surprise, it’s country music. It’s quite jarring in the middle of the Latin dance class. I guess I really am caught up in the environment. At first I don’t realize that it’s from Jessica’s phone because everyone had placed all of their duffel bags in a central location on a big mat-table. I look behind me to see if Jessica has noticed the odd music. When I do, I watch in brief shock as she almost collapses to the floor. I run to catch her before she falls and hits her head on the mirror or bar. “Jessica, what’s wrong?” I am alarmed as she sinks to the floor like a falling kite.

  “That’s my phone, that song — it’s Flyover States — it’s for Kansas. It’s my grandpa. You don’t understand; my grandpa never, ever calls. He hasn’t called since we had the riff over Dex. This must be the worst kind of news. It’s either my grandparents or my parents. You have to answer it, Mitch; I’m too scared. I guess deep down, I knew that all those thoughts of my grandparents must have been some sort of premonition — don’t you think?”

  I scoop her up off the floor and carry her over to some folded mats on the side of the room. “Jess, it’s too early. You don’t know that yet. There are a lot of people in this room. It might even be someone else’s phone. You just don’t know. You need to breathe, Red. If you panic, you won’t be able to help.”

  Suzanne rushes over with Jessica’s jacket and purse. Out of respect, I start to hand Jessica her purse, but she waves me off and says in voice clogged with tears, “Can you check, please? I don’t know how I am going to handle it if it’s ‘the call’. ”

  I nod tightly as I respond, “I understand. What am I looking for, Jess?”

  She becomes almost impossibly pale as she stammers, “Six… six-two-oh… I don’t know… I’m sorry I don’t even know if it’s still listed under the Parsonage or if it’s back under the farm or under Walter Wal—” Jessica’s speech breaks as she starts to sob. An older lady from the class brings her a bottle of water and a wad of paper towels for her to wipe her face.

  I cringe as I realize that her phone doesn’t have any security features installed, but that can be a topic for another day. I swipe her phone open and have to fight to school my expression when I read the list of missed phone calls and see ‘Almost the Voice of God’ listed in her contacts list. The sarcasm is oozing right through her screen; it must’ve been really interesting in that household when she was a teenager. No wonder she’s regretful about things that happened in their relationship. When I glance over at her, she’s speaking up at me through fingers, clearly anxious to see my response. “Is there anything there?” she asks with trepidation. I nod carefully. “It looks like you missed a call from your grandpa,” I reveal softly.

  “Well? Did Grandp… Walter… leave a message?” Jessica inquires anxiously.

  “I didn’t find one yet, but I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for.” As I start to thumb through her messages, the phone rings in my hand. It’s the same ring tone I heard before. As soon as Jessica hears the familiar notes, tears start to stream down her face again.

  Knowing her family must be concerned, I answer the phone, “Good evening, this is Jessica’s phone.”

  “Why on earth are you answering my granddaughter’s phone?” A voice on the other end of the phone demands.

  “I’m Jessica’s friend, Mr. Walker. I’m helping her out because she got a little scared when she got a call from home. Jessica’s just taking a minute to collect herself so that she can talk to you. We’re in a rather public place right now. Do I need to get her somewhere private for the news you need to share?”

  “Well, if she would call home more often, the sound of my voice wouldn’t reduce her to tears,” Jessica’s grandfather asserts, with pain in his voice.

  “Sir, I don’t know the whole story, but I get the impression from Jess that she feels that you might not welcome her call,” I explain cautiously, reluctant to step on anyone’s toes.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete,” Mr. Walker mutters, “where in the world would Jessie get some silly notion like that? My Missus waits for her call every week after church.”

  I can’t disguise my relief as I reply, “I’ll be sure to convey your message, Mr. Walker. Is there anything else I should tell her?”

  “I’d like to talk to my little Buttercup if I could, but if I can’t, just tell her that Wilma is having more of her spells and she’s just not bounci
ng back like normal. I think it might do her spirit some good if Jessica could come for a visit.”

  Jessica taps me on the knee and whispers, “Is everything okay? Did anybody die?”

  “Sir, how are Jessica’s parents? No one else is gravely ill, correct? She is quite concerned.”

  Through the phone, I can hear Jessica’s grandfather say some very un-pastor-like things under his breath, before he sighs and says, “My little Buttercup always had a heart bigger than the surface of the sun. Between you and me, as far as I know, they’re on some beach somewhere in California. We got a call from some collection agency trying to get some money for one of those newfangled Jacuzzi things. I told the guy if they were stupid enough to sell an oversized bathtub to two beach bums with no job, that was more his problem than mine. Her parents always did care more about chasing the good life than they cared about her. It was the saddest thing I ever did see. If you’re as good a friend as you say you are, I don’t need to tell you that she’s one of the kindest souls the good Lord ever put on this planet. She didn’t deserve to be given to those parents of hers.”

  “I agree with you, Mr. Walker. Just thinking about her makes me smile,” I concede. “Give me a second to assure her that you don’t have catastrophic news for her.”

  THE ROAR OF MY RACING HEARTBEAT is so loud in my ears that I can hardly hear what Mitch is discussing with my grandfather. Of course, it doesn’t help much that Suzanne has resumed teaching the class. It wouldn’t be fair for me to expect her to do anything else. The whole world can’t stop just because I’m having a family emergency. I laugh at my own hubris that I would even expect anyone to remotely care about my mini meltdown. Even so, people are amazingly kindhearted.

  I’m still trying to determine how alarmed I should be when Mitch rests my phone up against his shoulder and moves his face closer to mine and starts to explain, “Jessica, come on. It’s safe for you to start breathing again. It sounds like there’s no immediate emergency. Your grandma is just feeling a little under the weather and your grandpa thought it might make her feel a little bit better if you were able to come home for a visit. They both miss you.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is? Nothing is wrong with my parents?”

  “Nope, apparently not. It appears they are in California.”

  I nod as I inelegantly let out one last little sob and hiccup at the same time. “Unfortunately, that sounds just like my parents,” I acknowledge. “They’ve always had more wanderlust than a sense of parental responsibility.”

  “I’m sorry they’ve missed out on somebody so great. Speaking of that, your grandpa would like to take a minute to say hi,” Mitch fills me in, as he hands me the phone.

  I’m so surprised that I almost drop the phone before I work up the nerve to break the ice with a tentative, “Hello?”

  “Buttercup? Is that you?” my grandpa asks from what seems like a million miles away.

  “Yes, Gramps,” I respond falling back on a childhood name I haven’t used in forever, “it’s me. What’s wrong? Why are you calling? Is someone hurt? Are you all right? Is Grandma all right?”

  “Aside from missing you, Jessica, I’m right as rain. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about your grandma. She’s been having her spells. I thought maybe since your exams are over, you might come for a visit. Maybe you could cheer her up a bit and snap her out of it. What do you think, Buttercup? You can even bring your friend.”

  “I’ll have to ask for time off at the mall. Wait… How did you know that my exams are over?” I ask as my brain finally catches up with what he just said.

  My grandpa just laughs as he responds, “Buttercup, don’t you ever check the Dean’s list? They post it on your school’s fancy website every term and you’re almost always on it.”

  I blush a little when he says that, even though I know he can’t even see me. “Um I- I g-guess I knew it was there. I just didn’t realize anybody I knew actually paid attention to that stuff,” I stammer.

  “Well, I don’t know about anybody else, but your grandma and I do. We download it every term. We have viewing parties of your little recital thingies too. I have to say, young lady, that costume you wore last year was a little risqué for my taste. It was a little difficult to explain to the church ladies.”

  I blush even more as I recall the can-can girl costume I wore in last year’s play. “I’m sorry, Grandpa, I wasn’t in charge of costuming.”

  “Should I tell Wilma to set two extra plates for dinner after church?”

  I look up at Mitch with total panic in my eyes; I didn’t expect my grandpa to back me into a corner with no way out, yet here I am.

  Much to my relief, Mitch just shrugs and nods his head yes.

  Home. That word ricochets around my brain like some runaway pinball in a crazy arcade game. What will it be like after all of these years? I’ve been lurching from place to place, trying to make families from my collection of friends. Sometimes, I’ve gotten really lucky — like with Ivy and Rogue — and I have been able to create a reasonable facsimile of the family experience. I certainly wouldn’t trade my experiences in New York for anything. They helped me discover who I am as a person and I developed a great deal of inner strength by living through them. Despite all of my inner growth, there has never been any outside experience which has fulfilled the need for my own family, as dysfunctional and unconventional as it is.

  As I glance over at Mitch quietly reading a thick crime novel, I wonder what he will think of my odd little family. My grandfather can be overbearing, authoritarian and downright cantankerous even when he is not undergoing massive stress. I can’t imagine what he’s going to be like right now. I know he told Mitch that he’s not upset with me. Still, I wonder how much of his statement was just for show. After all, during all of those years, I never changed my phone number and he was able to reach out to me when it really counted. It’s hard to know where the real truth lies in our situation, since we both have our own perceptions of what happened.

  I guess I’ll know soon enough, because we’re very close to landing. The flight attendant comes by to pick up our garbage from the snack we were just served. She looks down at Mitch’s feet and says, “Sir, you’ll have to put away your briefcase.”

  Puzzled, Mitch looks down to see if he inadvertently left his computer case on the floor.

  “I don’t have any bags on the floor,” he argues.

  The flight attendant points to Hope and declares, “Yes you do, it’s right there; I see the strap.”

  “Hope, sit!” Mitch commands.

  Hope snaps to attention, her jowls quivering with excitement.

  The flight attendant cannot cover her astonishment as she exclaims, “How in the world did you hide a dog as big as that on this plane?”

  My gaze jerks from Hope to the perky, picture-perfect flight attendant. I stifle the urge to ask her how many times she’s flown in oxygen-deprived environments as I attempt to explain, “Hope is a service dog. She’s been lying in that same spot for the last two hours. You’ve walked by her at least a dozen times.”

  The flight attendant chews on her bottom lip as she says, “I’ll have to talk to the captain, I’m not sure that’s allowed.”

  The man who is sitting next to Mitch in our row just chuckles as he responds, “I’m not sure what the captain could possibly do. It’s not like he can stop by the nearest kennel and let the dog off. He wouldn’t need to anyway, that dog hasn’t let out a peep the whole time we’ve been on the plane. I’ve never seen a dog be so good.”

  “But, the dog might upset the other passengers,” the flight attendant argues stubbornly.

  We’re on a small puddle jumper plane because Great Bend, Kansas is practically in the middle of nowhere. About twelve other passengers start shaking their heads and one older lady wags her finger at the flight attendant as she asserts, “Young Lady, the only person here who’s upset is you. We all think it’s wonderful to get to fly with a dog who is providing such a n
oble service to the country.”

  The flight attendant looks startled for a moment and then she looks around at all of the passengers who are nodding. She carefully examines everyone’s expressions before she asks, “Really? No one has an issue with this? Not even the dog?”

  I shake my head as I respond, “No, remarkably, she seems to be a much more even keeled flyer than I am. I’m usually a nervous wreck. It’s easier with Hope here.”

  The flight attendant has the good grace to look chagrined as she amends her statement, “It appears that I stand corrected. You do not have to put your service dog in the overhead compartment. She is free to roam throughout the plane as long as she is under your control.”

  Mitch lights up with an unintentionally sexy smile as he responds, “Thank you for your understanding. Service dog teams everywhere are grateful for people like you.”

  I have to admit, it’s rather amusing to see the formerly stern professional young woman practically melt on the spot. I can almost see her mentally fight the urge to fan herself as she blushes and stammers, “You’re welcome, it was no problem.”

  I mentally salute her response because he can render me almost speechless with just his smile, too.

  I lean over to Mitch and whisper, “Careful where you aim that smile, you might cause some poor innocent female to trip over something and hurt herself.”

  Befuddled, Mitch stares at me for a second, he shakes his head and states empathically, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  I smile at him with bemusement. I still can’t believe he has no concept about his power over women. “I am sure it is,” I insist as all the women within eavesdropping range nod in agreement.

  When we finally get a chance to exit the plane and enter the small airport, I’m surprised to see my grandpa holding a sign that reads, “Welcome Back Buttercup!” The enormity of half a dozen years catches up to me as I run those last few steps to land in my grandfather’s arms. It’s such a weird dichotomy. In some ways, I can feel the pain of the last few years be washed away, yet in other ways, it feels as if it’s being placed under a magnifying glass. Why did I waste all those precious years over a matter of simple pride? I’ll never get those years back. How utterly stupid am I?