Focused

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  He never mentioned his covert conversation with Harriet. It started to irk her so, as she placed the diploma decorations in the next center piece, she asked in a matter of fact tone,

  “Any progress with the stage?”

  Jeff stopped. “Huh? Oh that. The Sunday school teachers were thinking of a little end of school skit. But they are having a hard time getting it together. No stage.” He deposited more ribbon at her feet.

  Just then Bud came in the room. His aftershave arrived first. “See y’all later,” he said as he adjusted his tie. He waltzed out whistling.

  Jeff turned to Christina. “Bud in a tie twice in two weeks? That’s an oxymoron. Mary Ellen again?”

  “I guess. He didn’t exactly ask my permission.”

  Jeff shrugged.

  “Lord help them if either one of them gets hurt…” Christina’s tone had a warning in it.

  “Let’s pray for them, okay?” He grabbed her hand and closed his eyes.

  Christina was taken back at this sudden pious act. She felt the warmth through his squeeze, and God’s presence, too. Maybe he had taken that sermon to pray more often together seriously. Could that be the catalyst for this change she noticed? Or is this all just . . . staged?

  Jeff was glad the subject had drifted away from the stage. He didn’t want her to have an inkling of what he was planning. He hated to lie. That really bugged him. Their marriage was supposed to be based on trust.

  Still, he’d noticed an edge in Christina’s voice about Bud’s activities. It hinted of jealousy. Maybe the trust was not as solid as it had once been. One thing for sure. His Texas hospitality was wearing thin when it came to this old friend of his wife’s. Could his marriage with Christina stay intact until his plans were firmed or should he spruce up his grandfather’s dueling pistols?

  Chapter 36 A Good Man

  The master plan was to generically decorate the Parish Hall in between services, and then after the services started, hang the children’s contributions, put out the centerpieces and bring out the cakes. That way, Father Rick wouldn’t be the wiser. The school colors were primary colors anyway, pretty common colors for any occasion. A secret offering request had been sent out over the internet to parishioners who had e-mail addresses. More than five hundred dollars had been mailed in and confiscated by Jean who always sorted the mail. She converted it into gift cards to Value Mart to be put inside each Bible.

  It all went off without a hitch and Father Rick, Mary and the other parents were blown away with gratitude. Gideon was appropriately embarrassed, but less so than if the limelight shown solely on him. The Bibles and the unexpected gift cards inside of them humbled the other graduates as well.

  The senior warden, head of the church elders, came up to Christina. “Great idea. The congregation swelled by twenty-eight visitors today, twenty of who were relatives of the graduates.”

  “ Many of them commented about how wonderful the sermon was and how warm the congregation seemed to be. Five even said they would be back to worship with us again,” Jeff added with pride. He volunteered to usher that day and spoke to many on their way into the service and out.

  “Score one for evangelism,” Father Rick said as he passed by. Christina saw him wink.

  “Does he know?” she asked the warden.

  “Father knows best,” he shrugged and walked away.

  Christina rolled her eyes. That described what they were at St. Martin’s. Family. What family could ever keep a secret?

  All in all, only two ladies grumbled that their grandchildren never got gift cards or a reception when they graduated. But they were the types who were likely to find fault in the Second Coming if they were still alive when it happened. Christina didn’t let it get to her. Or, at least she tried and fairly succeeded at the attempt. Peering through her new specs, she chose to be pleased with her and her friends’ efforts and refused to let anyone rain on the parade.

  Josh came, and he didn’t appear bent out of shape. Especially since the cakes were from Bonnie’s. He ate three slices. Christina envied him because it wouldn’t put a pound on him. Just like his dad. He definitely hadn’t inherited her metabolism.

  “Mom, y’all ought to do this every year,” he commented, pointing his fork to the last few bites of cake. “This was really nice. Ashley, Paul and Marla all said so.” Josh referred to some of the juniors who would be graduating next year. Christina inwardly moaned. It seemed just yesterday she served them milk and cookies in Vacation Bible School.

  “I second that motion.” Jean came up behind him. “I think this should be an annual event, or the juniors will be really upset with us.”

  “Traditions get started easily in this Church, don’t they?” Josh quipped.

  “Oh, yeah,” The two women said in union, then laughed.

  Par for the course, Christina stayed along with a few faithful others to clean up after everyone had left. She was pleasantly surprised to see Jeff out of the corner of her eye folding the tables and helping to put the stackable chairs back on their carriers to be hauled off to the storeroom. Later as she swept, she noticed him gathering up the trash to walk to the dumpster behind the parking lot. Of course, so did Bud. The two passed back and forth as ships in the night, nodding slightly, beads of sweat forming on brows. Could it be a contest? For whose benefit? Hers or Mary Ellen’s? Come to think of it. Where was Mary Ellen? Had she left?

  “Jeff sure is being helpful today,” Betty stated without malice or jealousy that her husband, Thomas, had left to watch the Rangers game on TV.

  Christina knew that the two loved each other more than newlyweds, even after thirty-five years. She often marveled at and a little envied their closeness. Betty once told her it was because they decided their marriage was worth the effort, plain and simple. And she admitted it had not always been that way.

  “He sure is.” Harriet winked as she came over to take the last of the punch cups away. “What’s gotten into ol’ Jeff anyway? Letting you get a maid. Acting all charming. Maybe I should have an old beau move in for a while and make Ralph jealous.”

  Christina laughed. Harriet was a widow. Ralph was her Boston terrier she mothered to death. “And to think now he’s planning…..” Harriet stopped and bit her lip when Betty shushed her.

  Christina didn’t catch the blunder. Lost in her own thoughts, she nodded, wiping her brow. “I have married a good man,” she simply said… and meant it.

  * * *

  Christina went to the Ladies’ room. There stood Mary Ellen, huddled in tears.

  “Oh, Mary Ellen. I thought you’d left. . . honey, what’s wrong?” She rushed to her young friend’s side.

  Mary Ellen blew her nose then gulped. “Bud and I. We called it quits.”

  “When?” The cold splash hit Christina’s spine and inched up into her tear ducts, for both of them.

  “Just now. He was so sweet about it. Said he was still in transition and didn’t want to get serious over anyone. ‘The burns are too fresh,’ that’s what he said.”

  “Oh?” Christina replied. Too fresh? Or did he have two fresh eyes for her maid? And why did the green-eyed monster rear its ugly head in her? Was it because he seemed to be ignoring her while noticing every other woman she knew? Christina took a cleansing breath. This wasn’t about her, or Bud. Her friend was crying.

  “And how do you feel?” Christina wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulder and drew her near to her side for comfort.

  Mary Ellen let loose a wimpy laugh. “Does it sound strange to say, relieved?”

  “No, not if that’s how you feel. Tell me why.”

  The younger of the two turned and dabbed her eyes, leaning into the mirror to repair the runny mascara blotches. “He came on so strong. I was afraid I was rebounding. I mean the ink is still wet on the divorce papers.” She stopped and spun around. “Have people talked?”

  “Not within my earshot. But then of course they wouldn’t. But I have felt stares. I figured they’re talking about
me letting him stay in my house under my husband’s nose.”

  Mary Ellen bobbed her head up and down. “Perhaps we both have been targeted. Anyway, Bud got a little too close on our last date, if you get my drift. He scared me. Maybe I turned him off?”

  Christina’s skin crawled. It reminded her of what happened to her all those years ago in his truck. Time hadn’t changed the man, it seemed. She hugged her friend. “God knows best. Give it time. If it is meant to be, you two will pick it up again.”

  She couldn’t help but think of Avery. Was she the real reason Bud backed away? The feminine blood in her began to quietly boil into soft ball stage, just like in her mother’s recipe for fudge. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. She had to admit she felt relieved he was no longer dating one of her friends, especially if he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Maybe Mary Ellen eventually would, too.

  Christina left Mary Ellen to regain her composure, but in truth, she needed to regain hers. She wanted to whack Bud. Why? For hurting her friend? For being a cad? Or for looking another direction than her own? Whatever the reason, Christina knew she had to swallow it back down before Jeff came back from taking out the trash.

  A slight chill hung over the house the next few days. The same chill that had been present since she asked about Mary Ellen in front of Avery. This time it was mutual.

  One day Bud came into kitchen. He eyed Christina as he poured some coffee. “You off to work?” He had his back to her. The clink-clunk of the spoon in the mug sounded louder and faster than usual.

  “Yes. In a while. Jeff just left.”

  “I know. Gotta moment?” He swaggered to the bistro table and flipped the chair around, straddling it. His hand motioned to the chair opposite him.

  Christina felt immediately back in high school, this time in the principal’s office. “Bud,” she started, then stopped and sat down. Here goes nothing.

  The steel blues penetrated her soul, cold and sharply focused. She continued. “I’m sorry. Who you see is your business. Not mine. I’ve acted like a duffus.”

  He shifted in the seat and flexed his back muscles. She could see them ripple through his T-shirt. It reminded her of James Dean. She told herself to stop it.

  “Yeah. You have. I just want to know why?”

  “I don’t know, really.”

  He leaned into her space. “I don’t believe that, Chris.” The blue ice melted and softness emerged in his eyes.

  “Bud, I should go.”

  She went to get up, but he grabbed her forearm. “Should I?”

  Her veins steeled. “Should you what?” She stared a hole into his hand, willing it to release her. He finally obliged.

  “Go.” He sat back and crossed his arms over the chair. His eyes never left her face.

  “If you think you should.” Stupid response. Why can’t I say yes, get out of here, out of my life, my friend’s life, my maid’s life?

  “I made a huge blunder once in a truck. The one you puked in. Almost made the same one again during the flood. At least I thought that’s the message you broadcasted. Yes, or no?”

  “No. I mean yes. Bud, I love my husband,” she stammered and looked away.

  “He’s a good man, Chris.”

  She whimpered, “I know.” She plopped back in the chair, eyes welling. “We’ve had a rough time of it, lately. Dad passing, then Mom, Josh growing up…”

  He reached for her hand. “I know. You told me. Not that I couldn’t see it for myself. Seems I keep coming around to patch your broken heart. Too bad you can never patch mine.”

  “Bud, that’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t, my girl.” He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. He inched his face towards hers, then stopped as if an invisible hand came between them. His thumb landed on her wedding band.

  Christina took a breath. Bud stood up. “You better get to work.”

  She nodded.

  “Right.” He rubbed his hand through his hair and began to walk away. Then he turned back to her. His eyes gleamed with mischief. “By the way, is that Avery’s number on the fridge door?”

  She resisted the urge to throw the frying pan at his head. None of her business, that’s what she’d said. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. On the way to the garage she pointed to the pink paper stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.

  “Yes. The first is the agency’s. The second is her cell.”

  It took every bit of control not to slam the door behind her.

  Chapter 37 Aftershave and Lemongrass

  Avery wished Christina had forewarned her that they had a guest in the house. Not that it really mattered. What was one more pair of sheets? She always cleaned the hall bath anyway even if it looked as if it had barely been used. Still, it unnerved her a bit. Never someone who liked surprises, the cleaning woman preferred her ducks in a row, tidy, neat, organized. That was why she got along so well with her employer. She knew her style and could keep up with it.

  But having someone else in the house when she was used to her own pace, her own pattern disturbed the woman. What was she supposed to do? Tiptoe around him? Not clean his room? Avery chided herself. She was a professional. Personal items meant nothing to her anymore than a naked body meant something to a physician. Part of the trade. In her business, you saw a bit of everything. None of your bee’s wax. Just keep cleaning. That’s the job. Where has this mysterious disappearing guest gone off to anyway? As she scooted down the hall, she glimpsed through the living room blinds. Yep, his truck still sat at the curb.

  She couldn’t help watching for him as she floated in and out of the rooms, dusting, humming various tunes from the previous night’s Bible meeting. Finally, she sensed him standing there at the entrance to the den. She saw his shadow and caught a whiff of his aftershave. The same whiff that had been on the sheets she had just taken off the guest bed and on the towels in the hamper, now swishing in the washer taking on the scent of Christina’s detergent instead. She liked that aftershave. A woodsy and musky smell. Very male. Her husband had never worn cologne or aftershave. She tried not to acknowledge how much it heightened her senses.

  “I know that tune,” came a low drawl. “It’s a hymn or something, right?” The shadow shifted as the sunshine through the slider highlighted his shape.

  “Uh, huh. ‘It is Well with My Soul’.”

  “Oh.” The shadow moved towards the bookcase she cleaned. “You like it that much?”

  “I…what?” She stopped, duster in mid air and turned to face what had been in her peripheral vision. He came into focus, smiling. Something caught in her chest. She chose to ignore it.

  “You said it made your soul, something. Made it well?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his response, a squeaky snort. Not exactly feminine. Not the willowy tee-hee that accompanied fluttering eyelids. But then, she had never been a flutterer. And why on earth would she start now?

  Avery looked at Bud, afraid her reply would wound him. Instead he laughed, too. Another plus. The guy was sure enough of himself to snicker at his own blunder. But then again, it wasn’t like she was tallying up his qualities. Hearing him made her laugh even harder. It was contagious.

  After a moment or so, they both sat down on the sofa and took a breath. Avery wiped her eyes with the back of her apron. Her sides ached. Her laughter muscles were definitely out of shape. Been a while, a long while.

  “You have a great laugh.” Bud slipped his arm casually onto the back of the leather. It didn’t strike her as a forward pass, more like an innocent interception, as if he included her in his huddle of fun.

  Avery shoved aside the offhanded compliment, letting it fall softly to the floor to be vacuumed up later. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Let me explain. ‘It Is Well With My Soul’ is the name of the hymn.” She tried to keep her response in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s one of my favorites. Whatcha might call a golden oldie.”

  The laughing grin reduced to a thin line. �
�Oh. Gotcha.” The egg began to show on his face.

  Avery didn’t know what to say next. The woodsy musk lingered before dissipating into the lemon oil on the duster she wrung through her hands. The two sat in silence. It began to feel a bit awkward.

  Then, a slap on the rawhide couch jolted her. With that he got up, the whoosh barely audible as the cushion rose beneath her. The guest raised his hand to his forehead, tipping an invisible Stetson. “Let ya get back to your work, ma’am.” With a slight bow he turned on his boot heels.

  Avery’s heart turned over. Off in the utility room, the washer’s motor thunked as it shifted into the spin cycle. “I’ve got some time.”

  Did I really say that? Avery fiddled with the strips of paper cloth in the disposable duster. Blue, striped, blue. It reminded her of picking daisy petals when she was ten with a crush on Timmy who lived two blocks over. She set the thing in her lap.

  The footsteps sounded back and the cushion shifted. “Good. Me, too. What shall we talk about?”

  Avery willed the rising warmth to not make it to her cheeks, but she knew it had. Those deep twinkling blue eyes melted into her resolve, smooth, swiftly, barely leaving a mark. And she a widow with two children. What would he think of that? Sitting there so casually, so sure of his maleness. He knew he had an easy-going style. He also knew how to fine tune it to the beat of her heart. How dare he?

  The familiar iron clad wall suddenly rose, daring him to knock it back down. Avery shifted to meet his baby blues square on.”I could tell you about my kids?”

  Bud’s face didn’t change expression. Maybe he knows, she thought. Perhaps Christina told him all about me, even though she didn’t tell me all about him. She looked down at his tanned hands. A slight whitish ring of skin appeared on the left ring finger. Tell tale sign of divorce. Her heart bled for him.

  “Great and I’ll tell you about mine.” He shifted his weight, pulled the wallet from his back jean pocket and repositioned a bit closer to her. He opened it, licked his finger and flipped through opaque plastic sleeves. “Mind you,” he added, “they are a little out of date. My ex-wife isn’t too great about sending me new ones.”