by Judy Duarte
“I’m sorry to object,” Kristy said, her voice stern yet maternal. “But this is Shana’s day, and her wishes need to be honored. If Brad were here, I’m sure he’d agree.”
Silence hovered over the table, and Craig wanted to say something, to nod in agreement. But who was he to get involved? George had been the Delacourts’ pastor for years and would undoubtedly be performing the ceremony. Craig was merely a houseguest and one who really shouldn’t even be at this dinner tonight.
Cassandra cleared her throat. “Like I said, Darla, I’ll be talking to Shana. She’s a reasonable young woman, so I’m sure she’ll concede.”
“She won’t give in on this,” Kristy said.
The silence was almost crippling, and the conversation didn’t start up again until the waiter began serving individual chocolate soufflés. And at that point, the wedding discussion ended completely.
When the dessert plates were being picked up and the waiter was asking if anyone wanted more coffee, Kristy said, “I hate to be rude, but I really need to get home and relieve my sitter. Thank you so much for a lovely dinner, Mrs. Delacourt. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.” Cassandra prepared to stand. “I’m sorry you have to go, Kristy, but I understand. You have a lot of responsibility for a woman your age. Let me walk you to the door.”
“That’s not necessary, Cassandra.” Craig pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “I’ll do it so you can stay with your other guests.”
“Thank you, Pastor.” Cassandra settled back into her seat.
Still, the conversation remained mute until Craig and Kristy left the room.
He escorted her to the door, but rather than stand on the porch and watch her go, he followed her out to her car. “I admired you for making a point and standing your ground. I imagine those women can be formidable in an argument.”
Polite but venomous, he thought.
“I had no choice. It’s what Shana asked me to do. And that’s the only reason I agreed to come here tonight.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“So is she.”
They stood beside Kristy’s car, yet neither of them made a move.
The stars overhead seemed especially bright, but even the magic of the night didn’t hold a candle to the beautiful woman standing next to him.
“I really do have to go,” she said.
He knew she did. And he needed to let her. But he couldn’t seem to say goodnight until she finally did.
“Drive carefully,” he added.
“I will.” She opened the driver’s door, and as she slid behind the wheel, the hem of her dress lifted and provided him a shadowed glimpse of a shapely thigh.
A glimpse he had no business taking.
As he watched her start the car and drive away, he made no attempt to return to the house.
Things aren’t always what they seem around here, Jesse had told him on his first night in Fairbrook. He suspected the man had been right. So who was Kristy Smith? Who was she really?
Chapter 11
On Saturday evening, at the end of her shift, Kristy changed out of her Irish work garb and removed her purse from the locker. Then she headed for the kitchen and the pub’s rear exit.
She’d left her son and grandmother with Renee again, and even though she’d called a couple of times to check on them, she was still eager to get home.
Apparently, while she’d been at the Delacourts’ for dinner last night, things had gone well. Jason had sung Renee’s praises, and while Gram had more or less humphed and shrugged about the girl, she hadn’t actually complained. So after Kristy had paid Renee, she asked her to return the next day.
A smile had lit the girl’s face and put a spark in her eyes that made her almost look pretty. Kristy suspected that a professional haircut, a splash of makeup, and a new outfit would make a world of difference in her waiflike appearance.
After Renee had left, and while Kristy was putting Gram to bed, she’d asked, “So what did you think of her? Will she work out for us when Barbara moves?”
“She was all right, I suppose. But I didn’t see much of her until right before you got home.”
When Kristy went to get a glass of water before bed, she’d realized why. Renee had scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom, something Kristy hadn’t found the time or the energy to do lately, especially on nights she got home late and wanted to spend some time with Jason before bedtime.
As she exited the pub, she had to make her way around Bart Osgood, the dishwasher, who was sitting on the back steps, taking a smoke break.
A cigarette that was more ash than tobacco bobbled in the lanky, long-haired man’s mouth when he spoke. “You headin’ home now?”
“Finally.” She unzipped her purse to remove the car keys. “I would have been out of here fifteen minutes earlier, but Sandra was late again. They keep giving her a split shift, which gives her an opportunity to be late twice in one day.”
Kristy scanned the rear parking lot where she’d left her vehicle, relieved to see that it was still there, although she doubted anyone would ever steal it.
But a few years ago, she’d had a recurring dream in which Gram had gifted her with a shiny red sports car that had not only been her pride and joy, but had made her the envy of the town. She’d taken it to the mall one day, and while she was inside shopping, a guy hot-wired the engine and took it for a joy ride. She came out just in time to see him speed away.
She’d opened her mouth to yell for him to stop, but no sound came out. And as she tried to give chase, her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
On the walk home, she’d spotted the car smashed against a tree, the thief nowhere in sight.
“At least the insurance will take care of the damage or replace your vehicle,” a bystander had said. But she soon learned that Gram had forgotten to send in the payment and the policy had been canceled.
For a dream that hadn’t been scary, Kristy found it freaky and unsettling, especially because she’d had it over and over. She’d tried to laugh it off when she’d told Shana about it later, but Shana had recently had a lecture in a psych class on dream analysis and had given Kristy her interpretation of what that dream had meant.
“That car represents the future you’d mapped out for yourself, and someone stole it from you.”
That made sense, Kristy had supposed, but she didn’t buy into psychobabble. If you asked her, dreams were the result of an imagination at play while the body slept. Besides, she had to take some personal responsibility for messing up her life.
Yet she still felt compelled to worry that someone might steal the only wheels she had available to her now.
She’d no more than grabbed the handrail and taken a step around Bart when someone or something moaned.
“Oh, for crying out loud. Would you look at that?” Bart lifted his index finger, the tip of which was missing, and pointed toward the Dumpster. “There’s a drunk sleeping it off over there.”
Kristy glanced in that direction, squinting to get a better look. It was difficult to see at night, especially with that flickering bulb in the streetlight, but she spotted the man, and he was wearing a royal blue jacket that looked a lot like the one she’d given Jesse.
Bart stood, dropped his cigarette butt onto the concrete step, and ground it out with the sole of his shoe. “Hey, you! Get on out of here or I’ll call the cops.”
The homeless man lifted his head slightly, then slumped back against the dark green trash receptacle.
Was he drunk?
Or was he sick ?
Kristy placed her hand on Bart’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of this. You go on in and get back to work.”
“I’m not going to leave you out here alone.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure he’s harmless.” Kristy made her way to the Dumpster. As she got close enough to make out the man’s features, she realized it was Jesse all right. At least, she thought it was. One eye was swollen shut, and the blood that was smeared
on his face had matted his hair and beard. “What happened to you?”
“A couple of guys down by the bowling alley were giving me a hard time.”
She furrowed her brow, wondering why he was downplaying what “the guys” had done to him. “‘Giving you a hard time’ sounds as though they were only razzing you, but it was more than that. You were in a fight.”
“That’s not exactly true. Those two fellows wanted a fight, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t swing back, and I think that only made them angrier.”
“They hit you, and you didn’t fight back?”
He shrugged. “I don’t believe in it. Never have.”
Kristy dropped to one knee and reached for his wrist, checking his pulse. She’d taken a first aid class at the YMCA after Jason was born, but a sudden lack of confidence made her realize she was due for a refresher course.
His pulse rate was slow—too slow, she guessed.
“Come on. I’ll drive you to the hospital.” She would call the house along the way and tell Renee that she was going to be later than she’d thought.
But when she reached out to help Jesse up, he slowly shook his head. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
“Why not?”
“No money. No insurance. No need.” He offered her a wistful grin. “I’ll heal in a day or so.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
She doubted that anyone had worried about him in a long time, and she couldn’t help doing so now. Jesse was too kind and too gentle for his own good. “I’m sorry, but I’m a mother, so worrying has become ingrained in me.”
He didn’t answer, leaving them at a bit of an impasse.
“Okay,” she said, “I won’t force you to go to the ER, even though I think that’s where you need to go. But come home with me. I’ve got a spare bed you can sleep in tonight. Then we’ll talk about whether you need to see a doctor tomorrow.”
He seemed to ponder her words for a moment before slowly getting to his feet by using the side of the Dumpster to steady himself. She helped him to the car, then got in herself and started the engine.
She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake by taking him with her to spend the night. To be honest, while she truly believed Jesse was harmless, she was a bit uneasy about bringing a stranger into the house.
The only way for her to reconcile her action with common sense would be to put on a pot of coffee and stay up all night to keep an eye on things. So she made a decision to do just that.
She parked the car in the driveway, then helped him into the house.
Renee, who was sitting on the sofa watching television, gasped when they entered. “Oh, my gosh. What happened to you?”
“A couple of guys beat him up,” Kristy whispered. “Where’s Jason?”
“He’s in bed. I checked him a few minutes ago, and he’s asleep.”
Good. Kristy didn’t want to have to explain all of this to her son now, although she certainly would have, if he’d been awake. But then again, maybe there was a lesson here, a lesson that would help him to grow up compassionate and able to sympathize with the downtrodden.
“And what about Gram?” she asked Renee. “Is she asleep, too?”
“I helped her get into bed about an hour ago. Her back was aching, and she wanted some ibuprofen. I hope it was okay for me to let her have some.”
“Of course, that’s fine. Thanks.”
Kristy led Jesse to the guest bathroom and gave him a towel. Then she went upstairs to her grandfather’s old bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes for him.
Leaving Jesse to shower, she returned to the living room to pay Renee and to ask how the evening had gone.
“It was all right. I don’t think Mrs. Smith likes me too much, but I’m okay with that.”
“She doesn’t seem to like anyone these days.” Kristy reached into her purse and pulled out her tip money, counting out forty dollars.
“Do you need me again tomorrow?” Renee asked.
“No, I’m off.” Kristy wasn’t sure what Barbara’s week would look like, whether she’d be available or not. And she didn’t want to completely cut the woman out if she needed the work. “Why don’t you give me your telephone number, Renee. That way I can call you and let you know when I need you again.”
“I don’t actually have a telephone right now, but I’m planning to get one soon.”
“How can I get ahold of you?”
“You could, uh … leave a message for me at the soup kitchen, I guess. I’m there every day—except if you need me to work for you. Then I can come here instead.”
“All right.” Kristy walked Renee to the door, and when she’d left, she locked up the house. Then she went into the kitchen to open a can of soup and fix a sandwich for Jesse to eat. She waited there until the old pipes rumbled in the walls, letting her know the water had been shut off.
She gave him a few more minutes, then met him in the hallway and invited him into the kitchen.
“Bless your heart,” he said, as he limped to the table and took a seat before a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bologna sandwich. “This looks wonderful.”
The food might, but Jesse was still a mess. His hair was wet, but clean. And the wounds on his face had stopped bleeding. But that eye looked nasty.
“You’re going to have a shiner,” she told him.
“It could have been worse.” Jesse pointed to his good eye and attempted a smile. “At least I can still see out of this one.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Apparently, you’re an optimist.”
“An eternal one.” He smiled again, this one more success ful than the last. “And you’re a natural born healer. You’ll make a great doctor.”
Kristy’s heart tightened. For a moment, she wondered if he’d talked to someone, if he’d known she’d once harbored thoughts of attending medical school. But she shrugged off his comment as a coincidence.
“What was it you told me about going to the hospital?” She tossed him a wry grin. “No money, no insurance, no need? Well, the same can be said about me going to college.”
And like him, she was healing, too, although not nearly as quickly as he would.
“It’s not too late,” he said, taking a bite of the bologna sandwich.
“Too late for what?”
“A medical degree.”
Yeah, right. She took a seat across from him. “When I was in high school and my grandmother was still able to paint and had a regular income, I had plans to apply for scholarships and attend one of the state universities, but I made a huge mistake one day. And here I am.” She tried to smile, but her lips failed to fully comply.
“Dreams aren’t lost, Kristy. Sometimes they’re merely postponed. Or they take another direction.”
He was an eternal optimist, she realized. And a pacifist who’d rather take a beating than stand up for himself. He was also homeless and unable to even provide himself with the basic necessities.
She ought to tell him he was full of crap, but before she could open her mouth, her eyes began to sting, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She swiped it away with the back of her hand, only to find another one taking its place.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
Emotion clogged her throat, and she feared the words wouldn’t form, so she nodded.
“God doesn’t give a person a dream without also giving the power to make it come true. But that doesn’t mean it won’t take a great deal of work on your part. The determination and follow-through has to come from the heart and the gut.”
She’d known med school would be tough, both to get accepted and to maintain a scholarship. At one time, she thought she’d had the heart and guts to pull it off, but that was before she’d ended up as sole support of the family.
He ate in silence for a bit, then looked up, his face marred by the brutality of the men who’d repeatedly struck a man who’d refu
sed to fight back. “You know, sometimes the unexpected happens. Dreams get dashed. But in those cases, it’s best to have a backup plan.”
“A backup plan?” she asked.
“A wise man once told me that the essence of mental health is knowing that you have options. And you have several, Kristy.”
“Like what?” She couldn’t see many. “Like whether I want a sandwich made out of white or whole wheat or rye? I’m afraid my life is mapped out, and there aren’t many alternatives that I can see.”
“The trees often block you from seeing the vastness of a forest.”
“That’s not the exact quote,” she said, “but I know what you mean.”
“Well, then how’s this for another analogy? Your life was once mapped out for you, and you’d planned to hit the road at a good clip, sailing along in a little red sports car. But you blew a tire. Hit a tree. Fortunately, you survived, a bit battered by the blow. And you brush yourself off and head home.”
The little red sports car reference caused goose bumps to skitter along her arms, but she shook them off and continued to listen, unsure of where he was going with his pep talk.
“But you didn’t lose the map, Kristy. You merely lost your mode of transportation.”
“Okay. But now I’ve got some extra travelers.”
He nodded. “So maybe a solid, dependable minivan might be more appropriate.”
She chuffed. “Maybe so. But no money, no insurance, no need. Remember?”
“Are you sure about that?”
Yeah. Unfortunately, she was absolutely convinced.
When he finished eating, she took him upstairs to her grandfather’s room and told him to “sleep tight.” Then she returned to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee and waited for it to brew. She poured herself a mug and carried it into the living room, where she sat on the recliner, determined to settle in for the night.
As sometimes happened in this particular room and in this particular seat, her gaze was drawn to the picture over the mantel, to the little red-haired girl who sat in a field of dandelions, her wishes and possibilities legion.
Kristy would have loved to claim Jesse’s optimism, but she’d blown her chance to ever see her dream come true.
