Jessica flinches and nods her head as she answers in a low broken whisper, so quiet I have to move closer just to hear. “We used to live there when I was a little girl.” She wipes away tears. “I never knew the whole story and the parts I remember are probably sketchy,” Jessica explains as she sits on a pew and folds her knees up to her chest and crosses her arms around them tightly. “All I remember from when I was a little girl was that my grandpa needed a bigger church and a historical preservation company offered to come in and buy the church out with the promise that they were going to renovate the church. They just flat out lied and when a group of church volunteers tried to fix it themselves, the company tried to have them arrested for trespassing.”
“So why are we here now?” I ask. “Aren’t we technically trespassing?”
“I guess karma finally caught up with the cheaters; that company went bankrupt and our local bank took over the note and they really don’t care what happens to this place. In fact I’m probably the only person who remembers this place is even here. It only means something to me because it was the first parsonage I ever lived in. I remember Grandma and Grandpa were so proud when he graduated from seminary school and got this place. This was their home and they were so proud of it.”
As Jess walks over to the piano, she points to an instrument built into the wall.
“I don’t think they knew this, but when I was a little girl, I hid in the organ pipes and I watched my grandparents cry at the pulpit where my grandpa remembered every baby who had ever been born while he was a minister here. It was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I felt like my grandpa was having a funeral for this little church. It made me so mad when they didn’t keep their word,” she explains, as she wipes some dust off the piano. “Actually, I’m surprised it’s still standing. I’m shocked someone hasn’t come and stripped out the stained-glass windows. It would seem that they would be pretty valuable to a museum or something.”
“I’m surprised by that, too. I would’ve thought that a salvage company would’ve come through and taken the antique wood work,” I comment, as I run my hand along one of the wooden pews.
Jessica slowly gets up and starts to wander around the old church. “The church looks like someone has come to clean it every once in a while. I wonder if it’s Grandma and Grandpa? If it is, I bet it breaks their heart.”
Jessica sits down and plays a few notes of Amazing Grace on the piano. Much to my surprise, it doesn’t even sound out of tune.
“When I was a little girl and my grandpa was practicing his sermons, I liked to pretend that I was getting married. I would take my grandma’s rain bonnets — you know, those cheap plastic ones that you buy at the discount store — I would fold them together to make a veil. I’m sure it used to drive my grandpa nuts when I would interrupt his sermon practice and ask him to perform a wedding ceremony between me and my Care Bear.”
“You married your Care Bear? I thought all little girls wanted to grow up and marry their Ken dolls.”
“Are you kidding? Those things are hard and plastic and no fun to cuddle with,” she responds with a laugh. “I was all about Sunshine Bear. I wonder if my grandma still has him?”
“I bet you were an adorable little bride,” I comment. “I suspect your grandpa might be grateful for all that practice since you’ve grown up to be so beautiful.”
She stumbles over the notes she’s been playing. “Thank you, I guess I just don’t see myself that way.”
“Maybe it’s time you did,” I respond. I find it fascinating when she gets uncomfortable over a simple compliment. In some ways, she’s so bold and confident, but in other ways, profoundly shy. It’s intriguing. She’s had a tough day, so I decide to let her off the hook. “How long have you played piano?” I slide in beside her as I start to play a very rudimentary form of Chopsticks.
She glances up at me in shock. “You didn’t tell me you play. I thought you said you weren’t musical.”
I choke back a laugh as I respond, “Look, I can play Chopsticks, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Jingle Bells. I don’t think that’s going to get me on a concert stage anywhere. I think I learned it about the time I learned to play the recorder in the first grade. It’s weird, the stuff that sticks in our heads.”
“Do you have any other hidden talents?” Jessica teases.
“When we were sophomores in high school, Stuart tried to teach me how to play the guitar, so I could pick up girls. I think I probably remember about four cords. I also can shuffle two decks of cards at the same time. I can crack eggs with one hand, so I make a mean omelet. As you already know, dogs and kids kinda like me.”
“That’s a pretty impressive list. See, that tells me an awful lot about you, because I have never met someone who plays the guitar who doesn’t actually sing. I actually thought you did a more than admirable job at karaoke. You more than held your own that night. Are you sure that you’re not just holding out on me? Do you wish to declare any other secret habits?”
Jessica hops up from the piano bench and disappears for a few moments. When she comes back, she is carrying an old dusty guitar case. The minute I see it, I am instantly reminded of the time that I went home on spring break with great pride after learning to play. I was so excited to show my family my new skills, but my grandfather told me that we were not from the Glen Campbell side of the Campbell family and there were not going to be any slacker musicians in his family. He actually went as far as breaking the fret of my new guitar. I had never been so humiliated. I took the money that I had been saving for a new car and bought a replacement guitar. To this day, I’ve never told Stuart what happened because I was so ashamed of what my family did. Jessica would be astonished if she knew how close her guess came to the truth. I actually enjoy singing a lot. I just can’t because it’s not worth the conflict.
After some difficulty with the latch, Jessica opens the case. It’s fortunate that I’m fascinated with her beautiful eyes because had I not been watching so closely, I would’ve missed the spark of pain that zips through them as soon as she sees the guitar. “Red, what’s wrong?” I ask, as I see her grow pale.
“I just haven’t seen this since I was really little and I guess I just didn’t expect it to be so painful.”
“What hurts, Jess?” I ask as I gather her in an embrace.
“Daddy asked me to keep that for him until he came back and he never came back for it or for me, that’s all. Some days, I’m over it and other days, not so much.”
“Jess, I don’t even know that I remember how to play. You don’t need to torture yourself this way,” I declare as I kiss her temple and hold her close, trying to absorb her pain.
“No, it’s not fair. His guitar is a beautiful instrument. It deserves to be played and it didn’t do anything to be sentenced to death in the closet.” Jessica answers tearfully. She takes a cloth from the guitar case and wipes it down as she expertly re-strings it. When I give her a questioning glance, she shrugs and says, “I was the equipment manager for band camp during my freshman year at school before I decided that I should be all bad-ass. Yes, it was probably the geekiest thing that I’ve done my whole life. But, it was also one of the most fun. I got to learn to play so many instruments. I am truly a band nerd in the geekiest sense of the word. But what do you expect? Grandma taught piano lessons for more years than I can remember to help make ends meet when the crops were less than spectacular. Let me tell you, as a hyperactive kid, piano practice was not my favorite. I think that’s why I got into theater — I need to be able to move while I make music and sing.”
Jessica hands me the guitar. It feels really foreign to me because I haven’t held one in years. It’s beautiful and perfectly weighted. I play a few notes. The first few are discordant, but eventually they sound a bit better. “I have to warn you, my skills are going to be rudimentary compared to yours. I don’t really know all that much. I can’t make chord changes very quickly. I have to think about it pretty hard,” I warn.
&nb
sp; Jessica kisses me quickly before she pats me on the shoulder and says, “I happen to know you have a habit of underestimating yourself. I think you’re going to do just fine.” In a flash, she’s gone and sitting back at the piano. Jess looks back over her shoulder at me as she offers, “Any requests?”
At this particular moment, I’m regretting my decision to step out of my comfort zone and live on the edge. This is so much farther over the edge than I ever wanted to go. What is it about Jessica that makes me go places that I’ve never gone before? I’ve never performed with anybody else. Sure, Stuart knows that I can play because he taught me. Singing in front of Jessica and accompanying her on the piano is a whole different ballgame. What am I thinking?
“Mitch! Stop thinking so hard. We’re going to make some music. We’re not balancing the federal budget here. You can do this! Come on! I love you, I’m not going to hurt you—,” she says as she continues to play through some elaborate scales to test all the notes.
“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” I confess quietly.
“What?” she asks, seemingly confused by my response.
“I’m not afraid that you’re going to hurt me, but did you mean what you just said?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Yes,” she responds tentatively, “I hope that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“It is. It just seems like such a random time to say something. I feel like I’m not in a great position for you to love me yet. I haven’t gotten everything all sorted out with my parents, my job or my life yet. I don’t know that I can offer the life you deserve right now,” I babble unable to stop the words free flowing out of my mouth like lava from a volcano.
“Mitch, that’s silly. Love isn’t like an ice cream treat you get at the end of a doctor’s office visit after you’ve been good for your shots or something. It’s what sustains a friendship, a relationship — it’s the meaning of life. It’s the heartbeat of togetherness. You don’t save it up and give it when everything is perfect. Love is best served when things are chaotic and uncertain because it’s the glue keeping everything together.”
After I put the guitar back in the case, I walk over to stand behind Jess and I put my hands on her shoulders as I confess, “That kind of love sounds amazing. If I forget that this kind of love is out there, you’ll have to remind me. I was raised with the idea that the only time you could get love was if a certain standard of perfection was met and if you failed to do that, love and affection was withheld. I don’t think my parents were intentionally cruel, I just think that that’s what they learned, and they just passed it down. I’m looking forward to changing the family legacy.”
“I guess that’s the bonus of being raised the way I was. Every week, I got a different lesson about what love is,” Jessica explains as she leans her head against my stomach. She sighs deeply. “I only wish that I had understood the value of those lessons more when I was growing up. Did I just blow it between us by talking about this too soon?”
I gently turn her so she’s facing me and I pull her down on the steps so she’s cocooned between my legs. “Jessica, nothing could be further from the truth. You were the answer to a prayer I never even knew I had. I never planned to fall in love with you, but I’m so grateful and honored that you chose me. My life is so much better with you in it. I hope you can say the same because I’m in your life. I’ve been feeling this way for a while and I’ve been looking for a way to tell you; but like usual, you were just a little braver than me.”
TODAY STARTED OUT PRETTY CRAPPY, but now I’m grinning like a high school girl who just got asked out by the most popular kid in class. In a sense, I suppose I did. Adrenaline is pumping through me like I’ve just had four or five energy drinks. Of all the things I expected to happen today, this wasn’t one of them. Today worked out better than I could’ve ever expected, it does not always work out as well. My mouth can get me in massive amounts of trouble. However, today I’m glad that I didn’t stop to think about what I said out loud and just followed my heart. As I’m pondering the events of the day, Mitch is still playing the guitar, and I have a newfound appreciation for how my mom fell for my dad. Even though Mitch doesn’t think of himself as much of a musician, there’s something inherently sexy about a guy with a guitar when he’s listening to his own internal beat and strumming along with the music. He misses a chord and the strings fire discordantly. Mitch looks up to see if I’ve noticed. When he observes the pensive expression on my face, he immediately stops playing. “Hey, I know I’m bad, but I thought I was getting better,” he comments with an air of self-deprecation.
I’m startled out of my private thought bubble by his little joke. “Oh, no your playing is great. It has nothing to do with that. I’m just really worried about what Grandpa is going to say about what happened here today. He is big on tradition. My grandpa is going to be understandably curious about what happened today because I’m not going to be able to hide my happiness because I’m over the moon about what happened today. Even though I am an actress, my happiness is going show all over my face and I am a terrible liar especially to my grandpa. So, he’s going to know exactly what happened today. As silly as it seems, I don’t want him to be disappointed with how our love story progressed. I know, I’m being a dork. You can tell me that now. I’ve pretty much come to that conclusion. My brain does this sometimes, it just goes around and around and around like a hamster in one of those training balls. I guess I should’ve told you that about me. My timing probably could’ve been better, right? I should’ve told you about my weirdness before you fell in love with me.”
Hope, who has been lying in a patch of sunlight filtered through a big stained-glass window, jumps up and walks over to my side. She places her paws on my shoulders and her head next to my neck. It’s a little startling. She’s not a very big German Shepherd, but she is still pretty imposing and she’s almost as tall as I am with those long, lanky legs.
Mitch snickers at the sight. “Hope, how many times do I have to explain to you that you are not a psychotherapist or a lap dog?” Mitch just shakes his head when Hope looks over her shoulder and wags her tail. Mitch’s voice turns stern as he issues the command, “Off!”
Hope gives me a look of indignation as if she’s saying, “Thanks a lot, I was only trying to help.” She walks back over to the patch of sunlight and curls into a small ball with her back toward me.
As she pouts, I look at Mitch helplessly. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
Mitch sets aside the guitar and laughs as he responds, “Don’t buy her act. She’s a huge drama queen. She thinks she’s going to get some more dog treats out of you. She has a total agenda. She probably did feel your stress. About that, the only thing we have to tell Walter is that we took Hope out to go play Frisbee and it was really fun. The rest of it, we can sort out between the two of us. You can share your news if you want, or we can wait until things have settled down a little.”
Mitch stands up and rakes his hand through his hair as he starts to pace. He looks at me and shakes his head in bemusement. “You are really hard on a guy who likes to make step-by-step plans, do you know that? I used to be that guy before I met you. You’ve changed me in all sorts of little ways. Believe it or not, at some point, I intend to make things more official. This wasn’t really the environment where I had planned to make lifelong promises. I figured it would be a little more formal than this — but, if today meets all your criteria for swoon-worthy romantic moments, so be it.”
My brain is busy trying to put together all of what he said, sort of like sprockets and gears. The first thing that clicks is the phrase ‘swoon-worthy’. It’s absolutely the last thing I ever expected to hear coming out of Mitch’s mouth. Before I can stop myself, with a little amused grin, I ask him, “Swoon-worthy?” As soon as I ask him that, I want to kick myself in the brain. Of all the things he said, on a scale of -5,491,975,386 to a million, that was the least important thing I could ever ask him.
Lucky fo
r me, Mitch doesn’t seem offended by my goofy question. He just shrugs and explains, “My grandfather might’ve been wound tighter than a Swiss pocket watch, but my grandmother was a real pistol. She used to keep a collection of amazingly dirty historical romances hidden from him. I know they were pretty steamy, because when Stuart and I were in the seventh grade, we both came down with strep throat and his mom had him stay at our house while she worked. Everyone thought we were sufficiently sick that they could safely leave us alone without us getting into much trouble. We took that opportunity to investigate the interesting fiction laying around the house. My grannie could never understand why Stuart and I couldn’t manage look her in the eye after that when she would tell us that we needed to grow up to be ‘swoon-worthy’ young men. I’m sure she didn’t mean it in the full context of those books. Still, we could never quite get those images out of our minds after that.”
I clear my throat lightly as I respond, “Um… I’m not exactly sure how to take that. Was that a threat to be a gentleman or a promise to be a scoundrel?”
Mitch grins. “Don’t you mean that the other way around?”
I wink at him. “I don’t know. How do you want me to interpret it?”
Mitch looks around the sanctuary and remarks, “Probably in ways best not contemplated here. What do you say we blow this popsicle joint?”
I just roll my eyes and respond, “We haven’t even been here two whole weeks yet and the quaint ways of Walter Walker are already starting to rub off on you. The man is a force of nature.”
I have to stop and rub my shoulder; I had forgotten how much effort it takes to throw a Frisbee. Still, it’s worth it to see Hope have so much fun. It’s startling to see the difference in her behavior when she is wearing her work harness and when she’s free just to be a goofy German Shepherd. If I didn’t know they were the same dog, you would have a hard time convincing me that they were even related. Even more evident is the change in her demeanor from the time that I found her. She is a happy, confident dog. Her tail is wagging and her ears are perked up and alert. She clearly worships the ground that Mitch walks on. Although, I can’t blame her. I watch his every move as well.
Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2) Page 15
