Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  Heath: Cannot meet in Fairbury for personal reasons.

  Selby would ask about that.

  The Pizza Palace in Brant’s Corners became the next option. He took it. And that’s just one more to go before I’m done with all these things.

  His new assistant, Jadyn, arrived with the latest numbers on tickets for the gala. Eighty-seven percent sold. “I have thirty names to go.”

  “I’ll buy you a ticket personally if you can get the rest of those sold by the end of today.”

  “Deal. Let’s go with eighty-seven and a half percent.”

  An hour later, she was at ninety. He went to the website and ordered a ticket. With the printed receipt in hand, he carried it out to her desk and laid it atop her list of names. Half had been scratched out. “You’re going to win this. Just a bit of incentive to keep you going.”

  “Guilt, you mean.”

  “Whatever you want to call it. I want that part of my job done. It’s worth it.”

  When she stuck her head in the door at ten to four and said, “Sold out. And I have three people on a wait list.”

  “Call the caterer. See if they can accommodate ten more. If so, call them back and sell the tickets. We can’t lose that money.”

  “I’ll ask about fifty—not request it, but ask for the possibility. Then I’ll see if I can sell them. I think I can send out a newsletter to our donors. So far, only thirty-five percent of regular donors are coming.”

  Numbers flew at him—numbers he couldn’t care less about. The number that did matter was the current 1% attendance. “You did it.”

  “The price is too low. People don’t think it’ll be a class act. Next year, two-fifty a plate. Trust me. It’s been a hundred for twenty years! In five years, you should be up to five hundred a plate. This is a fundraiser. People know that. So let them raise funds with all aspects of the event.”

  Heath stood, stuffed his laptop in his bag and grabbed his coat. “Come with me.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d say Jadyn was nervous. Okay, maybe he didn’t know better. As they stepped into Ann’s office and he pointed to the door, proof arrived. “What’ve I done?”

  Heath shot a questioning look at Michael and received the assistant’s nod. “Proven you need a raise for one. C’mon.”

  Ann looked up, and dismay coated her features. “What? If you tell me—”

  “That Jadyn has sold out all the tickets and has the potential to sell between three and thirty more if the caterer can adapt? Yes. She also has ideas for the future. I think you should hear her out. I’m going to celebrate by leaving early, checking on Tilly and Mosi, and making a trip to Fairbury for a… project I have in mind. I may have to stop by an acquaintance’s house there—”

  “I think you’d have better luck visiting Arnie Holtz’s house. Have fun.”

  “Flowers?”

  “Trees, I think.”

  Jadyn listened to the back and forth, obviously lost. “Should I be able to follow this?”

  A unified, “No” prompted a shrug. “Okay.”

  “I’ll text you the street in a bit.”

  That’s all he needed. “On my way. I have an audiobook to pick up. He’s got stationery, too. I need large sticky notes.”

  She pulled out index card sized ones—hot pink. “Like these?”

  Only a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah. I’ll do it. They’ll be easier to see.”

  “Watch for my text. You might have an errand that’ll take you right there, but you want to be… discreet.”

  Don’t let her see me. Got it.

  At every stop light, Heath worked on his notes. One for her car, one for the church. One for Bookends… if he could find a book to stick it into that wouldn’t sell before she could get in there. The Confectionary, The Fox. The Grind. The Pettler.

  Once on the highway, he prayed. Ann’s text came just as the turnoff for the rest stop loomed ahead. Impatient, Heath pulled off, read it, zipped back a, “thanks” and shot back out onto the highway. The empty road tempted him to fudge a bit on the speed limit, but conscience stopped him. Mostly.

  In Fairbury, he stopped first at The Confectionary and bought the requested half dozen cheesecake stuffed strawberries. While the teenager behind the counter wrapped them in a box that resembled a deviled egg carousel and tied them with a ribbon, he stuck the sticky note with a sketch of a steaming cup of coffee to a flier taped to the door. In minutes, he was back out the door and on his way to Dogwood Lane.

  Once there, he zipped Ann the requested text message.

  Heath: Here

  A reply came thirty seconds later.

  Ann: Go.

  Despite Ann’s assurance that she would ensure Jordan was otherwise occupied, Heath didn’t relax until a middle-aged man answered. “Can I help you?”

  “A gift from Jordan’s mother. Congratulations.” What for, Heath didn’t know, but he jogged back down the steps, nearly slipped on ice by her car door, and paused just long enough to stick the note to her window.

  Heath’s eyes caught the raised lock and smiled. It’s Fairbury. No one locks their car here.

  A moment later, he’d stuck the note to the inside of the window, tucked down into the track in case the cold made it fall off.

  Then the fun began. Heath picked up his audiobook at Bookends—and left a note by a James Herriot “Treasury.” One note at The Grind and another stuck to the inside of the ticket booth at The Fox. The woman in The Pettler helped him hide one in there, and the last went on the inside of the mini marquee by the door of First Church.

  And if it’s not too much to ask, Lord… please let her have time tonight. I’d give anything to get to see some of this.

  Once he’d choked back whatever emotions lingered, Arnie managed to get the house picked up. He then sat in his chair, hands in his lap like a girl waiting for her first date to show up. Any attempt to joke fizzled as Arnie turned and blinked at her. “Did you say something?”

  “Nothing important. Want to watch the news while we wait? He said he’d stop and clean up, so it could be a bit.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with honest labor. Sweat and dirt are byproducts of industry.”

  Jordan tried a bit of diplomacy. “He wants to make a good impression. He’s like the new kid at school just hoping one of the popular kids will notice him.”

  “That’s how I feel. Like when I waited for Barbara to come downstairs on our first date. Her mother grinning at her father. Him glaring at me. My insides almost took off and left me behind. Took halfway through a romantic movie for me to get over it and have nervous innards because I was with a gorgeous girl.”

  She squeezed his shoulders before moving to take a seat on the couch. Time to be casual… relaxed. One of us needs to be. Jordan tried to prop her feet up on the coffee table, but the lace and crystal just wouldn’t allow it. They stared at her with disapproval dripping from each thread in the lace and dangling teardrop on the candy dish that should never have made it past the design board.

  “He’ll want to hear your Barbara stories—Helen, too. But you knew his mother. No one else does.”

  “Barbara had a little sister. Forgot about Joyce. I wonder if she’s still around.”

  “I’ll start a search…”

  Five minutes in, Arnie stood and began pacing. Jordan asked a few questions to distract him—several that wouldn’t be helpful, even—but it didn’t work. Ten minutes after that, he stopped. Froze.

  “Is he here?”

  “Don’t see anyone.” His eyes pierced right through her. “Would I be disloyal to Helen if I put away her pretties? I don’t see how any son of mine will be comfortable in a house full of lace and things.”

  Jordan jumped up and began removing every bit of lace from the room—including the valance and side panels of the picture window. Between each thing, she glanced out, and dove for the next. “What about that candy dish.”

  “Don’t suppose you could drop it… on the driveway?” Only when
Arnie shook his head and groused that if he did, Floyd might slip and get hurt did she realize he meant it.

  “How about I put it away in case it’s actually worth something. Some of those older pieces are.”

  “It was Helen’s grandmother’s—Victorian.”

  She’d just replaced the sconces after finding a perfect outline of them where the wallpaper had faded around them when she saw a truck pull up. The man sat out there, watching the house but not moving. Jordan couldn’t take it.

  “I’m going out. This has to be hard for him, too. Just wait here, okay?”

  “Got it. Should I put coffee on? We didn’t get dessert made.”

  “Once you guys are comfortable, I’ll start something or dash down to the bakery.” Arnie’s panicked look amended that thought. “On the other hand, maybe we won’t have room for it.”

  Arnie nodded at that one. “Or the appetite.” He glanced around the room. “Looks a sight better in here. I hope she understands.”

  “She wants you comfortable. I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s true. My Helen was a first-class hostess. Okay…”

  That bit of relaxing is all it took for her. Jordan bolted from the house, sans jacket, and shivered down the steps to the street. Floyd took one look at her and jumped from the truck—right on schedule. “What are you doing out here with a coat?”

  “I thought you might need help carrying something in.”

  He eyed her as he came around to the passenger side. “You thought I might need help coming in. You’re right. I feel six.”

  “That’s what I told him. Arnie said the same thing—feeling like the new kid and hoping the others like him.” She weighed the wisdom of oversharing and went for it. “Look, he broke down when he found out you really are his son. If you’re not sure about this…”

  A resolute expression overtook the apprehensive one. “I’m sure. Introduce me to my—to…”

  “Arnie’s fine. He doesn’t expect to be anything else.”

  Two bags from Olive Garden—the guy had smart taste. At the door, Arnie took everything from both of them and scurried to the kitchen. Floyd shot her a look, but she just led him through the house. “He’s nervous, too. Remember that. He’s so hopeful but doesn’t want to show it.”

  They found Arnie in the kitchen, gripping the counter. “Arnie? Floyd’s here.”

  “I can go…”

  “No!” Arnie whipped around, tears in his eyes. Jordan imagined that it was like staring at a face that could have been a slightly-malfunctioning Dorian Gray-like mirror. The words blurted out as he stood there, shaking. “I wanted you. I have to tell you that.” The tears rolled down his cheeks in torrents. “I wanted you, but they didn’t give me a say.”

  Jordan stepped back in time for Floyd to move closer. He reached out to touch Arnie’s arm—or maybe it was to shake the man’s hand. She couldn’t tell. One minute they stood suspended, reaching out, inches separating them. The next, they clung to each other.

  Whew. That’s a relief.

  Somewhere in the middle of lasagna and breadsticks Floyd set down his fork and sagged against the back of his chair. “If I’m going to be a part of your life, I need something else to call you. My mom will find a way to convince the Lord to send her back to give me a thrashing if I call you Arnie and I can’t do Mr. Holtz. I just can’t.”

  Arnie’s silence grew awkward… horrible. Jordan tried to stay out of it, but the longer Arnie took to control his emotions, the less confident Floyd became. She stepped in. “Were you looking for a father-slash-dad alternative, or something more nick-namey—like ‘Captain’ from Dead Poets Society?”

  “Well, I’d thought something family like, but not if—”

  Arnie broke in. “I called my dad Pops when I got older. Thought I was too old and manly for ‘papa.’”

  “Pops is nice. Would you be comfortable with that? I’m not sure how comfortable papa would be for me…”

  “No need, Floyd. It was a Holtz thing—right up until I got too big for my britches in high school. Then I went fifty years without ever saying papa… until his funeral. By then, pride didn’t matter as much as it had a month or even a week before.”

  Just as she and Floyd got ready to go, Arnie hugged them both. “Thank you for this.” To Floyd, he added, “For looking. I’ve wondered about you so many times. I’m glad to know you had a good life—one that included God.”

  “I worried about that,” Floyd admitted. “—about your faith. So glad to know you have it—faith in Jesus, I mean.”

  “That’s Helen’s doing. Not sure I’d ever have seen it without her.”

  Floyd grinned. “I can’t wait to hear about her. I’ll need a name for her, too. Think about that, okay?”

  The minute the door closed behind Floyd, Jordan stepped closer to Arnie. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good… real good. Thanks, Jordie. If you hadn’t met him—checked him out—I’d still be wondering. Then again,” he teased, “you got some cherry pie out of it, didn’t you?”

  “Cherry pie?” Something about that sent off warning bells, but she couldn’t figure out what. “I met him for breakfast, remember?”

  “That’s right. But I know you had cherry recently…” His confused look concerned her, but something else niggled—something she couldn’t pinpoint. “Well, I’ll go. Just call if you need something.”

  She hadn’t backed out of the drive before two messages pinged back to back. Arnie’s came first.

  Arnie: Floyd wants to bring over photo albums tomorrow. I’ll see him as a little fellow. Thanks again.

  Floyd’s was a simple request for her to call when she could. She tapped his name and waited for the connection. “You okay, Floyd?”

  “Better than okay. How do I feel like I’ve known him forever? Have you ever seen him flick his thumb back and forth when he’s thinking?”

  “All the time.” Then she understood. “You do that, too.”

  “Yep. Saw it tonight and it nearly made me lose it. I never had those things with my parents. Most of their mannerisms were theirs. I had a couple of adopted friends who picked up some, but I never seemed to. Had my own.”

  Jordan had to admit it would be a good feeling. “He’s excited about the pictures. Thanks for doing that for him.”

  “I want to bring my wife, my boys—Eliana, our granddaughter. Can you see him holding her? He never got to hold me.”

  She heard the squeal of tires, and her breath caught before she managed to blurt out. “Floyd? Are you okay?”

  A second or two that felt like micro-eternities passed before his choked voice reached her. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to be content with a good life with parents so wonderful that I wasn’t really curious about my biological parents. Now I can’t imagine life without a man I’ve only seen once. It’s a bit…”

  “Overwhelming?”

  “Yes.”

  She promised to pray and signed off. Imagine how Arnie feels…

  Two reschedules of the date with Selena put Daphne ahead with coffee and donuts just three blocks from his apartment. Heath walked. A woman appeared from around the corner just after he did and walked toward him. About the time he reached the donut shop door, he recognized her. Daphne.

  Did he wait there? Go in? Walk to meet her? Heath chose the latter. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Daphne? I’m Heath Karras.”

  “Is that Middle Eastern?”

  “No… Greek.” No Minotaur talks. No animals. Tell her you like her coat—or her smile, if she ever does it.

  As if jerked by invisible puppet strings, Daphne’s mouth formed a brief smile. “Like my name. Greek for some kind of… something. I can’t remember what.”

  “She was a Naiad—the daughter of Peneus.”

  “Who’s he?”

  They’d reached the donut shop door, and before Heath could reach for it, Daphne jerked it open and gestured him inside. Call him old-fashioned, but it rankled. There wasn�
��t anything to do but focus on her question and not let it get to him. “Um… either a river god or it’s a she who was a nymph. There are lots of stories.” A sag of relief brought only guilt. I should not be so proud of yammering about Greek gods instead of God’s creation. There’s something wrong in that.

  “Oh.”

  They’d ordered before he asked what she meant.

  “Just… I don’t know. I think that’s why I can’t remember. I wanted it to be something cooler than a stupid water thing.

  “Well, it’s a lovely name. Mom wanted to name me Daphne if I was a girl, but then when I was born, she liked Heath, so poor Selby got an English place name, too—from the words willow and farm or settlement.” He couldn’t repress a grin. A whole conversation and I haven’t mentioned a single animal.

  “Wait… Selby? Not Shelby?”

  “No… the first. It’s similar. That one means hut and farm.”

  She reached for the donut they offered her, but her eyes didn’t move from his face. “Wow. You really know like… a lot of useless information. Is there a degree in trivia? Is that what you studied?”

  The words came as a jolt, but Heath couldn’t deflect. He just shook his head and blurted out, “No. Zoology. I’m a mammologist.” When her eyes lit up, and she turned to grab the donut the employee held suspended in air, Heath shot a plea heavenward as well as a telekinetic attempt to stop her. Don’t ask. Don’t… please don’t…

  “So, you know all kinds of animal stuff, too, don’t you? What’s your favorite thing you’ve learned about animals?”

  “I—” He swallowed hard and accepted his little paper bag loaded with a nice maple bar. Their coffees appeared a moment later. “Um—”

  “Come on. Just one factoid.”

  He tried for something sweet… even somewhat romantic but not over the top. Dragonflies. That’ll work. The moment they sat in the hard, laminate booths, he wrapped his hands around the coffee cup and gave his least offensive animal fact—one he still found interesting. “The tails of dragonflies and damselflies create a heart shape when they mate. Kind of cool, don’t you think?”