Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  Finally, I can’t deal with it anymore. I tie the last bead on my plant holder and stuff it into the canvas bag. For the most part, I’ve learned to deal with most of my hyperactive tendencies as an adult, but confined spaces like this, where I can’t get up and move around, are my Achilles heel. Just as I feel like about ready to pull my hair right out of my scalp, my grandpa pops his head into the room. “All right, Buttercup, time for you to skedaddle. I love you and all, but you’re crampin’ my style. How am I supposed to flirt with my beautiful wife if you are always underfoot?”

  His statement takes me so off guard that I can’t help but giggle, but I’m not the only one. My grandma looks at him with open-mouth astonishment as she just blushes prettily and chastises him, “Walt, you know as a minister you’re not supposed to lie and I know I’m not looking very pretty these days.”

  My grandpa gently kisses her on the cheek as he says, “Willie, you’ll always be the prettiest thing I see in the morning and the most beautiful thing I see before I close my eyes at night, no matter how long I live.”

  I can’t help it, I have to look away to hide my tears. My grandpa is not a grand gesture kind of guy. He and my grandma have the same gold bands they had when they first got married. They don’t go on fancy trips much — well, except for the time that Isaac and Rosa got married — and he doesn’t shower her with elaborate gifts, but those small nuggets of love that they share almost casually are so valuable. When I find love, that’s the kind of love I want. Love in small, steady heartbeats.

  I retrieve my purse from the little closet and announce over my shoulder, “Okay, see you guys later. I’m going to go take a walk.”

  “Don’t forget to enjoy yourself for a change,” my grandma calls out the door.

  I’m so caught up in the emotion of the moment, I don’t even notice when I walk smack into the middle of Mitch’s chest. To make matters worse, I lose my balance and inadvertently step on Hope’s tail. She shrieks in pain. Immediately I drop to my knees and hug her. I bury my face into her neck and whisper over and over, “I’m so sorry, Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never mean to hurt anyone.” Hope tries to lick away my tears. People are starting to stare at the pile that we make in the middle of the hospital hallway.

  Gently, Mitch coaxes me to my feet and escorts me out the door. “Come on, Red. I doubt Hope is really hurt. I think she’s just going for sympathy. She and Lexicon play a lot rougher than that. Hope is in the mood to play. I bought a few Frisbees for her to destroy. Does that sound like fun? Do you have any wide-open spaces around here?”

  I snort back a laugh as I gesture in a big circle. “Mitch, I hate to tell you this but you’re not in Florida anymore — look around this is Kansas — you’d be hard pressed to find a space around here that’s not open.”

  “Okay, point taken, this is a tad different from Tampa. I’ll let you be my tour guide,” he concedes. Mitch fishes something out of his pocket and tosses it at me as he warns, “Walter said to remind you the clutch sticks a bit.”

  I open my hands; a wave of nostalgia hits me as I see the key ring. I remember how proud Grandpa was when I won that silly little glittery musical note at the fair by shooting water at a clown’s mouth. Of course, what I didn’t know was that it was all an elaborate set up. Grandpa had purchased this old beater Jeep to help teach me how to do things like change my own tires and check my oil. I had a whole year to learn to do those things; I was supposed to learn to drive on my learner’s permit before the car became mine. Of course, I was less than impressed because my friends at school were getting new cars and this thing was an eyesore. Let’s face it, it was little more than just an eyesore, I didn’t understand how it was ever going to be anything more than destined for the junk pile. Grandpa tried his best to show me that you couldn’t judge a book by its cover or a vehicle by its dented, scratched part. He would show me how to take a part off and sand it down and re-finish it. At first, I was interested enough. It was fun to have his undivided attention as we worked together. We would sing old B.J. Thomas songs to the radio while we worked miracles and fought rust. B.J. Thomas was okay in my grandpa’s book because sometimes he sang gospel and sometimes he sang country. Soon enough, Dex came along and I was convinced that no one could ever love me like he did and my grandparents couldn’t love me like my real parents did. Following Dex blindly, I abandoned everything I ever knew and found myself stranded in New York. I know now that that was probably one of the dumbest things I could’ve ever done, but in a weird way it led me to Mitch so it’s hard to know how to feel about that.

  I feel Mitch tap me on the shoulder. Startled, I look up at him. Grinning, he asks me, “Are you going to look at those keys all day or are we going to go somewhere?”

  I must have looked confused because he guides me to a shiny red vehicle about fifteen feet away. “No! You’re kidding me!” I look up at him and back at the car. “This is Candy Apple Junk Five?” I ask.

  “Well, I’m not privy to all the details, but on the way over, Walter did tell me that this was the Jeep that you helped him restore when you were a teenager.”

  My eyes mist over a little as I clarify “I think he’s being too generous. I helped him sand a few parts before I abandoned him in the middle of our big project. He finished the rest of this himself. It’s absolutely amazing. This was what my dream car was supposed to be like before I gave up on the dream. I can’t believe he saw it all the way through. This belongs in some sort of antique car magazine. I can’t believe he’s letting me drive it!”

  “I know I didn’t know you back then, but I know you now and I can’t imagine that you’re all that much different —”

  Exasperated, I twist out of his hold as I argue, “How can you say that? I was shallow and stupid. You would’ve hated me as a teenager; I’m not even sure I didn’t hate me as a teenager.”

  “Jessica, how old were you when you learned to belly dance for your roommate?”

  I blush as I intentionally answer vaguely, “I don’t know if I was even eighteen yet. I think I must’ve lied about my age so that they would let me do it.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know if I remember this correctly — but, the last time I checked, when you’re eighteen you’re still a teenager. Funny how that works,” he teases. “Doesn’t sound too terribly shallow and vapid to me. In fact, it sounds pretty heroic to do something you’re absolutely terrified of and completely bury your own fear to do something in a different social group than you typically hang out with to support someone who is terminally ill just to put a smile on their face. I’d go so far as to say that you are the anti-shallow role model.”

  “Okay, you might be right about that, but my grandpa doesn’t know anything about all that and I haven’t done anything to make amends for all the pain I’ve caused him and my grandma. Yet, they’re still the most supportive people I have in my life. I just feel really awful about that,” I add with a wistful sigh.

  “Jessica, have you stopped to consider that your grandpa might have a few regrets over the way he handled it, too? Like you said, phones go both ways and he didn’t call you either. I think that him refinishing this car is his own apology card to you for all of the misunderstandings you guys had when you were younger. I think he recognizes that maybe he was a little hard on you and may have had some unrealistic expectations given the circumstances of your life. Just viewing the situation from the outside, I think that one of the reasons the two of you clash a lot is that maybe in a lot of ways you are very much alike. You both have gigantic hearts that feel everything one hundred percent and you don’t know how to give half of your heart to someone. When the two of you are together and on opposite sides of an issue, neither of you are going to give it up easily. No matter who ‘wins’ there is always going to be someone who has their feelings hurt one way or another.”

  I melt back into his arms and rest my head against his solid chest. For a moment, I just absorb his warmth and support. “Where were you when I
was an angsty, angry teenager? Maybe if you had been in my life, I could’ve avoided this whole crazy blowup with my grandparents.”

  Mitch’s chest rumbles like an earthquake as he chuckles, “I’m not so sure about that, Red. Even if we didn’t live half a nation apart, I wasn’t really in touch with the real world back in those days. I had a fantasy relationship with a girlfriend who belonged to someone else, remember? Does that sound real balanced and healthy to you? I lived on wishes, could-be’s and should-be’s. I didn’t even have the guts to go after what I really wanted.”

  “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound real great — but I don’t know if you were all that different from most high school guys. Most of the guys I knew in school weren’t dating the girl they really wanted to be dating. They were dating a stand-in until the one they really wanted became available. I always thought that was a pretty sad way to live your life.”

  “Don’t women do that, too?” Mitch asks. “I can’t tell you how many people asked me out just so that they could get a shot at Stuart. It was like I was some weird ‘gateway’ date for the Prom King.”

  I pull his arms around me and squeeze them as I admit, “I suppose I should be more sympathetic, but all I can think about is how glad I am that some smart, pretty cheerleader didn’t snap you up along the way. Even so, I’m really glad that I don’t have to go back and relive my high school days. Although, I’m grateful I went through those experiences because I learned a lot about myself and I’m a stronger person because of what Dex put me through.”

  Mitch rests his chin on the top of my head and nods as he responds, “Life has taught me some pretty hard lessons too. Mostly, not to take anyone for granted. I just sort of figured that Nora would be in my life forever and then she wasn’t. Looking back, as much as I loved Nora, I think my dream of love was mostly built on childhood loneliness and innocent crushes. I don’t know that a real relationship would have survived if we’d have ever had a chance to be together, because truthfully, Nora lived her life far too close to the flame for me. Even as kids, she was a thrill seeker like none I’d ever seen. I can’t tell you how much of my childhood was spent trying to keep her and Stuart out of trouble. Still, like you, her presence in my life taught me a great deal about myself and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  As much as I try to impassively listen to him talk about his love of another woman, my body involuntarily stiffens and I flinch when he says the word love. Mitch is quick to pick up on the subtle shift. He spins me around in his arms and pulls my baseball cap off. My hair cascades over my shoulders and he plunges his fingers through it. He leans down until his mouth is just a fraction of an inch away from mine. “Loving and losing Nora taught me all the important things,” he murmurs before he tenderly kisses me. He is in no hurry to stop, even though we’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

  As he pulls away, I fan myself and quip, “Please tell me she didn’t play spin the bottle with you, because if she was responsible for teaching you that, I might just cry.”

  Mitch blushes as he admits, “I did play spin the bottle with Nora. In the fourth grade she refused to kiss me — she insisted I had cooties. The next time we played, we were under the bleachers at the Sadie Hawkins dance. She pretty much gave me an air kiss, but it didn’t matter, I was smitten anyway. You know the rest from there. She didn’t teach me to kiss, though,” he informs me as he opens the door for me and helps me untangle the seatbelt.

  I wait for him to walk around the jeep and fold himself into the passenger side before I ask, “Really?”

  He grins and winks, as he retorts, “Nope, I learned that particular skill during a bet in college.”

  “You lie!” I accuse, sticking my tongue out at him, barely stifling my giggles.

  “True story,” he asserts, nodding his head. “You’d be surprised by how valuable my ability to scale the side of a building without ropes is to a sorority sister whose keys and I.D. had been thrown on the roof. I was able to negotiate a sweet payout.”

  I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Were you the one who threw the keys?”

  “Of course not!” he exclaims. “What kid of cad do you think I am?”

  “The kind who would barter for kissing lessons,” I reply pointedly.

  “I guess you’re right, but that’s not the point here.”

  “There’s a point?” I ask, still snickering.

  The laugh lines that had been radiating from the corners of Mitch’s eyes a few moments ago are now gone as he studies me intently. “Yeah, there is a point. I want you to hear the lessons Nora taught me.”

  As much as I try to hide it, Mitch catches my wary grimace. I don’t want to be that kind of woman who is jealous of her guy’s every ex, but apparently my body hasn’t gotten the memo.

  Mitch runs his fingers along my jawline and shakes his head ‘no’ as he replies, “Red, don’t do that to yourself. Nora was my past, you are my present and I hope my future. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nora taught me to laugh in the face of my fear and to never take a second of time for granted with someone I care about without letting them know what they mean to me.”

  “Oh,” I breathe quietly as the potential implication of his words sink in.

  I mindlessly put the Jeep in drive and the gears grind as I shift. I look over at Mitch and comment apologetically, “Yikes, I forgot about the clutch.”

  I’m lost in thought as we silently drive through town listing to the old a.m. radio. It’s hard to make out but I think it’s an old Bob Seger song playing. Near the outskirts of town, I bring my Jeep to a stop. It’s funny, I wasn’t intending to come here; it’s almost as if the Candy Apple Junk Five knew to come here all on her own.

  Mitch surveys the area and glances back at me with befuddlement as he remarks, “It’s nice here but, it doesn’t look like a very good place to play Frisbee. There are too many trees and windows around.”

  Hope sticks her head between the seats and I give the scruff of her neck a rub as I respond, “I hope she doesn’t mind too much but I think I need something different right now. I don’t know that I’m up to a rousing game of Frisbee right now.”

  Hope sticks her head through the seats and places her head on my shoulder. Mitch observes the interaction and he comments with a crooked smile, “Somehow, I don’t think she’s all that upset with you. Whatever you have planned seems to be okay with her.”

  I get out of the car and do some back stretches like I do before I do any complicated yoga moves or belly dancing. Sitting around the hospital room has made me really antsy, and I feel like I need to decompress. I guess that’s how we ended up in this place. Perhaps my subconscious mind needed something that I wasn’t fully aware of. As I finish up a neck and shoulder roll, I look up at Mitch only to discover him watching me with complete fascination.

  “I just love how you move your body. It’s like watching artwork come to life. I feel like you could be the inspiration for a work of Degas or something.”

  His complement is so beautiful and unexpected that I actually have to catch my breath. I am hot, sweaty and upset. I certainly don’t feel very beautiful or graceful. I feel like I might shatter like a snow globe. I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. When I finally meet his gaze, there are tears in my eyes as I say, “Wow, you do have a lot in common with Walter. You don’t say much but what you do you say packs a real wallop.”

  “I didn’t say a word that wasn’t true, Red,” he insists as he looks up at the building in front of us. “Are you going to tell me about your little hideaway?”

  I shake my head at him as I answer, “No, I have a better idea. If you know the art world well enough to compare me to a famous artwork from Degas, I think you’ll be able to fully appreciate what I’m about to show you.”

  I’LL FREELY ADMIT THAT I’M usually one of those guys who likes my life neat and orderly with a certain degree of precision. It’s one of the reasons that I like mathematics and accounting. Gene
rally speaking, there’s a predictable answer at the end of every problem. I cringe when I think how many of those tendencies have bled into my real life. Even my free time is governed by my hyper-organized self. I’m not generally a person who strays from my plans. So, an impromptu trip through town to an unknown destination is pretty unusual for me. Had I planned this trip, I would’ve researched every stop along the way and known every bit of background about it.

  When Jessica first pulled up in front of this property, I thought she was having problems with the Jeep. There doesn’t appear to be anything around here within miles. This looks like an abandoned farm. The walls are old, tattered and aged by the sun. The grass is overgrown by several feet and what was presumably intended to be a wildflower walkway has overgrown to resemble a jungle of flowers.

  I’m a bit concerned about our safety, but Jessica confidently walks up to the big heavy wooden door and opens it as if she’s been here hundreds of times. For a moment, I’m spellbound by the intricacy of the ironwork on the latches of the wooden door. It’s such an incongruous sight to see such delicate iron work together with such a dilapidated door. I’ve seen this exact move many times in horror movies and I half expect someone to come lurching out of the darkness.

  What I don’t expect is a quaint room with wood polished floors and intricately carved pews on each side. However, what makes this room even more breathtaking are the huge stained-glass windows and the elaborate engraved crown moldings. Sunlight is streaming in from outside, creating beautiful patterns on the floor and the walls. It’s almost as if the window at the front of the church is acting as a huge sundial. I spend several minutes just looking around at all the beautiful woodwork and stained glass, the crown molding, books original and hand hewn. I’m completely fascinated by how someone could let such fine woodwork and art glass just set unused. I turn to Jessica and say, “Wow! This is beyond incredible. Why is it just sitting here?” I ask, incredulous at the wasted old space. “Is there a parsonage like this too?”