Entertaining Angels

by Judy Duarte

  Speechless, Craig nodded and waited for him to get in. Then he put the transmission in gear and pulled back onto the pavement, the engine purring as though the car had just rolled out of a dealer showroom.

  “My name’s Jesse,” he said.

  Craig introduced himself and added, “I’m the new associate minister at Parkside Community Church.”

  “You don’t say. That’s a noble profession.”

  Craig, who didn’t feel very noble right now, supposed that in some cases it was. “My granddad was a missionary for about thirty years. Now he pastors a large congregation in Phoenix, so it seemed like a natural decision.” And one that had certainly pleased his family.

  Jesse nodded, as though taking it all in. Then he pointed to the radio on the dash. “Do you mind if I turn that on for a minute or so? I’d like to get the baseball scores.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Jesse pushed in the button, turning on the power, then tuned into an AM station and sat back in his seat. “Do you follow any of the teams?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I don’t have time for sports anymore.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Yeah, it was. Craig did his best not to stew about it, though. At one time, baseball had been his whole life, and giving it up had nearly killed him.

  He glanced across the seat at his passenger, a guy who didn’t appear to do much work—or play—then continued to watch the road ahead.

  As the radio announcer rattled off the scores of tonight’s games, including a win for the Padres after a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth, Craig stole another look at Jesse, who was smiling, a glimmer in his eye. If Craig didn’t know better, he’d think Jesse had hit the winning homer himself.

  “Did you have money on the game?” Craig asked.

  “Nope. I’m not a gambler.” Jesse crossed his arms. “But just before the game, Dave Ellings stopped by Children’s Hospital and promised a kid named Joey that he was going to hit one out of the park for him.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “The kid’s going to have surgery tomorrow morning. The odds are against him waking up, but he’ll pull through.”

  Craig didn’t pay the homeless man any mind until the radio announcer said, “Before we cut to the next commercial, I’d like to share a bit of news that was just leaked to our producer. Dave Ellings’s homer went way beyond the left field fence tonight. It seems that just this afternoon, Ellings learned that Joey Grabowski, a ten-year-old baseball fan who’s in Children’s Hospital with a brain tumor, is facing surgery tomorrow morning—a surgery that’s both delicate and dangerous. And while the other team members gathered at Petco Park, Ellings risked a fine by making a surprise visit to Joey and promising to hit one out of the park—just for him. What a heartwarming bit of news. My hat’s off to you, Dave.”

  Craig looked across the console at Jesse. “How’d you know about that?”

  The man shrugged. “I guess you could say that I’ve got a … gift.”

  Craig believed people sometimes had gifts, but he wasn’t so sure about this particular guy. If Jesse had been blessed with something special, it hadn’t appeared to have taken him very far.

  “There’s an all-night diner on Bedford Parkway,” Jesse said. “Would you mind dropping me off there?”

  As much as Craig wanted to drive right to the Delacourts’ house, he figured he owed Jesse the ride he’d requested. He’d probably still be walking if the man hadn’t tinkered with the engine. “I’ll need directions.”

  “No problem. Just turn left on Applewood. It’s a couple of blocks beyond Mulberry Park.”

  Craig followed his instructions. As they drove past Parkside Community Church, he gave the old-style clapboard structure a once-over, since that’s where he’d be working. It was also where he’d be meeting the senior pastor and the board of elders tomorrow morning.

  But it was the park across the street that drew his attention, especially the empty ball field, with the lights still illuminating it. The green and black scoreboard indicated that the home team had won five to two.

  A couple of young men in matching red T-shirts walked away from the dugout toward a white pickup. One carried a black canvas duffle bag—filled with baseball gear, no doubt.

  Seconds later, the lights faded to black, and Craig returned his attention to the road.

  “There it is.” Jesse pointed to a small restaurant on the right side of the street.

  Craig stopped in front, double-parking, and glanced at the restaurant window that was trimmed with white café-style curtains. Bold cursive paint on the glass read:Debbie’s Diner.

  “Thanks a lot,” Jesse said, as he climbed out of the car and shut the door.

  Craig was just about to pull away when he saw Jesse reach into his pocket and begin counting coins. It was clear to see that the man was down on his luck and probably had been for awhile.

  Using the control panel on the side of the door, Craig lowered the passenger window. “Hey, wait a minute.” Then he reached for his wallet and pulled out one of the few twenties he had to last him until he received his first paycheck, and handed it to Jesse. “Let me buy you dinner tonight.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Jesse took the cash. “Before you go, do you mind if I give you a piece of advice?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem around here, Pastor. You’ll need to look beyond the obvious and dig deep within yourself if you want to make a difference in this town.”

  At one time, when a pro ball career was no longer possible and Craig had resigned himself to the ministry, he had hoped to make a difference in the world, but here he was—stuck in Fairbrook.

  Still, for a moment, he clung to what the homeless man had said. Then he let the words fade into the night air.

  A guy like Jesse couldn’t possibly have made all the right choices himself. If he had, he wouldn’t be lacking a car, a job, and enough money to buy his next meal.

  “Take a left at the intersection,” Jesse added. “And if you follow that road down a mile, you’ll be back on track.”

  Craig did as the man instructed and, just before eleven o’clock and nearly six hours late, he arrived at Tuscany Hills, the gated community in which the Delacourts lived.

  After providing an ID to the guard, Craig was allowed inside and followed the winding road to 2316, a newer two-story house with a well-manicured yard. He parked at the curb, then grabbed his canvas carry-on and a vinyl garment bag from the backseat and headed to the front door, where he rang the bell.

  He waited until a man in his late forties to early fifties answered.

  “Mr. Delacourt?” he asked.

  “Yes, but call me Daniel.” His host reached out his hand in greeting. “Please come in, Pastor Houston.”

  “I apologize for being so late.”

  “Those things happen.” Daniel led him through a travertine-tiled foyer. “How’s the car working?”

  “Actually, it seems to be running better now. I’m not sure what was wrong with it, but I’ll get it serviced first thing in the morning.” As he followed the man inside, he glanced at the interior of the house, which had been tastefully decorated in shades of beige, brown, and blue. He was too tired to note much more than shutters on the windows.

  An attractive blonde, tall and slender, greeted him at the entrance to the living room, her hair neatly styled, her makeup still fresh. “Pastor Houston, I’m Cassandra. Welcome to our home. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Perhaps a piece of cake?”

  “Thank you, but I’m going to have to pass.” Craig just wanted to get settled in his room and let the couple turn in for the night.

  “We’d planned to put you in our guest house,” she said, “where you’d have more privacy. But I’m afraid it’s being remodeled and isn’t quite ready yet. So I made up the Murphy bed in the office. It has a private bath, so you should be comfortable there.”

  “No problem.” Craig wasn’t fussy,
but in a house like this one, with everything in its place, he suspected the office would be just fine.

  “You’ll be surrounded by Daniel’s collection of baseball memorabilia,” Cassandra added.

  Great. Just what he needed—a reminder of what his life might have been like.

  Nevertheless, Craig managed a smile and a nod.

  “I’ll show you the way,” Daniel said.

  As Craig began to follow his host through the living room, he noticed a large portrait of a teenage girl hung over the fireplace. She was dressed in pearls and a white dress, her hair swept up in some kind of a twist. She resembled Cassandra, only more petite, more delicate. And a few decades younger.

  His steps must have slowed to a snail’s pace because he found the young woman in the picture … remarkable. And not just because she was attractive.

  Daniel, who’d noticed him lagging behind, turned and smiled. “That’s Shana, our daughter.”

  “Pretty girl,” Craig said.

  “Yes, she is.” Cassandra looked at the portrait as though it were a work of art. “She’s a real sweetheart. We’ve really been blessed.”

  “Twice blessed,” Daniel added. “We nearly lost her to leukemia when she was twelve. But thank God she pulled through.”

  “Shana is finishing up her last semester of college in Australia,” Cassandra added. “In May she’ll graduate with a master’s degree in biology.”

  As Daniel led the way to the den, Craig stole one last glance at the girl.

  The artist had captured something in her eyes—a memory? A dream? A Mona Lisa secret of some kind?

  Craig wasn’t an expert, but he suspected a painting like that could make an artist famous.

  Of course, fame wasn’t something he cared to think about, especially at bedtime. It made falling asleep next to impossible.

  Kristy Smith had no idea how many times the telephone had rung before the sound ripped through the night and drew her into a conscious state. Once? Twice?

  She fumbled for the receiver that rested on the nightstand by her bed, hoping she could answer before the sound woke her six-year-old son or her disabled grandmother.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me. Shana.”

  Kristy rose up on an elbow and squinted at the lighted dial on the alarm clock that sat on the bureau. 3:15. Then she cleared her throat, hoping to dislodge the sleep from her voice. “What’s up?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  She blinked a couple of times, then scanned her darkened bedroom. Shana obviously hadn’t considered the time difference when she’d called. It must be important. “Yeah, I was asleep, but that’s okay. Is something wrong?”

  “No, something’s right. I’ve got good news. I’m getting married.”

  As pretty as Shana was, she didn’t date very much. So her announcement came as a surprise.

  Kristy threw back the covers and sat up. “Wow. What did you do? Let an Australian hunk sweep you off your feet?”

  “Actually, he’s a Southern California guy. Guess who it is.”

  Kristy didn’t have a clue. And at three in the morning, she wasn’t up for games.

  Fortunately, her best friend took pity on her sleep-deprived state and answered, “Brad Rensfield.”

  Bits and pieces of the past flickered like a short circuit in Kristy’s sleep-deprived mind—the Rensfield estate, tiki lights, alcohol-laced punch. An unchaperoned party. A fair-haired Romeo who’d completely swept her off her staggering feet.

  He’d told her his name was Matthew, but that was about all she knew of him. Even Brad, who’d introduced them, had somehow forgotten any identifying details afterward.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying her best to blink back her shame while wrapping her mind around the unexpected news.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “I thought Brad was attending law school here in California.”

  “He was. He is.”

  “Then how did you two …?”

  “We’ve kept in touch through e-mail, but about two weeks ago, I noticed a change in … Well, in his tone. And as soon as I’d answer one, I’d get another.”

  So their relationship blossomed over the Internet?

  “Then this weekend, Brad took a break in his studies and flew out to visit.” Shana laughed, the familiar lilt in her voice just as sweet as ever. “We spent a wonderful evening together, and you’ll never guess what happened.”

  Kristy could certainly connect the dots, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  “We stayed up all night talking,” Shana said. “And then we watched the sunrise together. And that’s when he proposed. It was so sweet, so romantic, that I couldn’t help but accept. We’ve set the date for August twenty-fourth.”

  Kristy found it difficult to focus, let alone speak. But what was there to say? I think you should slow down?

  She couldn’t do that. Shana and Brad were totally suited for each other. They were both golden children destined for a fairy-tale life. Yet a wave of uneasiness turned her thoughts on edge.

  Maybe it was because Brad hadn’t been very helpful seven years ago when she’d told him she needed to find the mysterious Matthew, that she needed to talk to him. “I hardly know the guy,” he’d said. “He was a friend of a friend.”

  She’d asked all the other guys who’d been at the party, trying to find out who’d brought him. But none of them gave Matthew up. She’d even asked the few girls who’d been there, but since she and Matthew had immediately hit it off and left the group, the girls hardly remembered even seeing him. So she’d gone back to Brad and swallowed her pride.

  “I’m pregnant,” she’d admitted. “It happened that night at the party.”

  “That’s too bad. Having a kid will really mess up your life.”

  At sixteen? And with a disabled grandmother to take care of? He’d had that right.

  Since he hadn’t been able to provide her with any contact information, he’d offered to spring for an abortion.

  At the time, she’d seriously considered the offer. She’d been pedaling as fast as she could to keep up with her school-work and to take care of Gram. But something about his gesture had rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe because it was too much like him hiring a cleanup crew to come onto the Rensfield estate after the last drunk teenager had gone home so he could hide the evidence of the party before his parents arrived.

  But this wasn’t about Kristy.

  It was about Shana.

  “Brad loves me,” Shana added. “Can you believe it?”

  Yes. Brad was bright, relatively good-looking, although not what you’d call handsome. And he was the heir to the Rensfield department-store chains. All in all, he was every woman’s dream, every parent’s sigh of relief.

  Yet Kristy couldn’t shake her skepticism. Something just didn’t feel right, but at three in the morning, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it might be.

  It certainly wasn’t jealousy. She neither liked nor disliked Brad. Nor had she ever dated him, even though he’d come on to her a few times.

  Kristy had been searching for a prince among teens back then, and Brad, who’d been making notches on his bedposts, clearly hadn’t been what she’d been looking for.

  But there was more to it than that.

  His attitude toward problem solving, she supposed.

  But that didn’t seem like a good enough reason to dash Shana’s hopes and dreams.

  Maybe the engagement was a good thing. Maybe Brad had grown up and realized that, besides being born rich and raised with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, Shana was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  “That’s great news,” Kristy finally managed to say.

  “Off and on since eighth grade, I’ve had a crush on him—you know that. And it seems he’d had one on me, too.”

  Maybe so, but Kristy had never noticed Brad giving Shana the time of day while they were in high school. He’d actively pursued the girls more likely to
put out.

  And that was another thing. Talking all night long didn’t seem to be part of Brad’s MO. What had triggered his romantic and noble turnaround?

  “This still seems like a big surprise to me,” Kristy said.

  Shana’s breath caught, as if she was going to say something else, then she slowly let it go. “Well, let’s just say Brad and I have a history.”

  In all their late-night, lay-your-heart-on-the-line chats, Brad’s name had never really come up. Sure, there was the junior high crush, but they’d never really discussed him after that.

  Apparently, the two best friends hadn’t been entirely open with each other.

  Still, Kristy wouldn’t rain on Shana’s parade. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

  “Thanks. But my biggest reason for calling you was to ask if you’d be my maid of honor.”

  She had to be kidding. How was that for luck? Just when the whispers had finally died down.

  Kristy’s first inclination was to say, “No way,” but friends like Shana Delacourt came along only once in a lifetime. And a true friend would be more supportive.

  Yet they also looked out for each other.

  Kristy’s fingers tightened around the receiver as though she could mentally send her reservations about taking such an active—and prominent—role in the ceremony over the telephone line. “Are you sure you want me to be that involved?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. I love you. You’re my best friend. So how about it? Will you be my maid of honor?”

  The Delacourt/Rensfield nuptials were bound to be Fair-brook’s equivalent of a royal wedding and surely the social event of the season. If Kristy agreed to stand up with her …

  But how could she not?

  “So what do you say?” Shana asked. “I can’t imagine having anyone else.”

  Kristy opened her mouth, yet it took a beat for the words to finally come out. “Okay, but promise me something. If you ever, for any reason, have a change of heart and want someone else to slip into my place, you’ll let me know.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because …” Gosh, Shana could be so naïve. Kristy let out a wobbly sigh and tried to figure out how to explain to someone who probably wouldn’t get it. Someone who hadn’t had to face public humiliation and whispers that weren’t always the quiet, behind-her-back kind.