by Rebekah Lyn
“Mae said you worked late last night.” Lizzie said without meeting his gaze.
“I finished around nine. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would to varnish.” He stepped toward her to hand off his half of the cloth. Their fingers touched and she felt a tingling sensation again.
“I noticed a few spots in the master bedroom that could use some work also,” Ian continued. “I can get them cleaned up next week if you want.”
“I appreciate it.” She laid the folded cloth on a chair and picked up another one. Ian reached for an end, repeating the process.
“I used some boards from your closets out here so it would all look the same age. I can use newer wood in the bedroom. It should be more covered up in there so it won’t matter if it matches.”
Lizzie dropped the folded cloth onto the chair, fidgeting nervously with the corners. The silence stretched on as she searched for the right words. Ian shifted his weight and turned to leave.
“I guess I’ll get going. I was in the area so I thought I would stop by to check on the floors.”
“Ian wait,” she called as he crossed the threshold. He paused and looked back over his shoulder.
She took a tentative step toward him. “I do appreciate your help. I’m sorry if it hasn’t seemed that way.”
Ian stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets. Lizzie did not raise her eyes, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid he might see her shame. It had been a long time since she’d felt this vulnerable.
“Like I said, I’m happy to help.”
She felt his eyes trained on her. Her hair was a mess; paint flecked her face, arms, and clothes. She reached up and tried to tug her fingers through the tangled locks, wincing as the hair pulled against her scalp.
The sound of a car pulling into the drive came as a welcome distraction. Her gaze flicked past Ian and recognized Jeffrey’s truck. Ian turned and stepped onto the porch. Lizzie was surprised when Jeffrey stopped in the middle of the walkway. His glance moved from Ian to Lizzie.
“Come on in, I was just leaving,” Ian said, his voice cold. Crossing the porch in two strides, he passed Jeffrey on the walkway and slipped into his car. Jeffrey hesitated a moment longer before entering the house.
“What was that about?” Lizzie asked.
“He doesn’t approve of the way I live my life,” Jeffrey replied with a shrug. His gaze moved to the floor. “Looks great.”
“It does.” She watched him circle the room, waiting for him to speak.
“You did all the painting today?”
“Well, this room I did last weekend, but I had a painting party today and got the rest done.” She noticed he seemed distracted. “How are you doing? Did you find out what caused the accident?”
Jeffrey froze, his gaze glued to the floor. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Can’t or don’t want to?” she pressed. He glared at her.
“Can’t,” he bit out. “The lawyers told me not to talk to anyone.”
“I get that, but do you want to talk about how you’re dealing with it?”
“I’m fine. I didn’t know the guys that well.”
“You don’t have to know someone well to be affected by their death.”
“I guess.”
“Times like these can reawaken past grief. Have you been thinking about Camylle more since it happened?”
Jeffrey didn’t answer right away. “I’m over Camylle. Why can’t you and Ian understand that?”
“I’ve been there. I know how dark it gets.”
“Don’t act like you know what I’m going through. You don’t.”
Lizzie expected him to storm out, but he remained motionless. “You might be surprised,” she whispered.
Jeffrey met her gaze, a questioning look in his eyes. She took a deep breath and moved toward the chairs where she sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He hesitated before sitting on the edge, reminding Lizzie of a bobcat ready to spring.
“It was about a year after my parents died. I’d been living in a kind of haze until one day I woke up and realized this was my new normal; that I would never be able to talk to my mom again. Suddenly I was angry, angry at the drunk driver, angry at the paramedics, angry at God.” She noticed Jeffrey stiffen even more at the mention of God.
“I know you don’t believe in God, but hear me out, please.” She paused to steady her nerves. “Before the accident I believed in God. I’d given my life to Christ and thought I had a strong faith. That all changed when I woke up to my pain. I had pushed all my friends away during those first months of grief so I went out and made new friends, friends who were completely different; they were a partying crowd. I learned Tequila made me forget the hole in my heart; it also loosened all my inhibitions.
“It wasn’t long before I was in a relationship with one of these guys and my principles went out the window.” Lizzie licked her lips, wishing she had another bottle of water. Jeffrey reclined into the chair listening intently.
“I gave myself to this man knowing he didn’t care about me. This went on for eight or nine months, but the whole time I had this underlying feeling of guilt. When I was sober, I was ashamed to look at myself in the mirror. After a while this guy started seeing another girl and I was pushed to the sidelines. It took more alcohol to dull my senses. I started having less fun going to the clubs. Gradually I stopped going altogether.
“There I was, alone, sober, and ashamed of the person I had become. I decided I needed to change. My lease was almost up so I found a new apartment. I got back in touch with some of my old friends, but what changed things, was getting back into church.” Lizzie paused to gauge Jeffrey’s reaction. He still reclined in the chair obviously interested in what she was saying.
“I’ll admit, the though of going back to church terrified me. That’s when I met Ron and Emma and they soon became like second parents. I won’t lie to you, though. There are still times when I wish I could crawl up in a bottle and forget everything.” She swallowed, unable to go on.
Jeffrey leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So what do you do now, when you want a drink?”
His words was so soft she had to strain to hear him. She gave him a weak smile. “You aren’t going to like my answer.”
He nodded, waiting for her to proceed.
“I pray. If that doesn’t help, then I call one of my friends from church. There are a handful of people who know my story. They pray with me and provide encouragement. You don’t have to be alone.”
Jeffrey gave a sad chuckle. “I can’t tell you how many times Ian has told me that, but he never got it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Can you believe he told me he was happy she was dead?” Jeffrey stood and paced. Lizzie took a moment to contemplate this statement.
“Is that how he said it?” she asked, remaining in her seat.
“Maybe not those exact words, but that’s what he meant.”
“Do you think maybe he meant he was happy she wasn’t suffering anymore?” She watched him cross the room to the front window.
“Do you believe in any kind of life after death?” She knew she was starting down a slippery slope with him.
“You mean do I believe in heaven and hell? No, I believe you die and you’re stuck in the ground to rot,” he said, still looking out the window.
“Well, I suppose in a sense that’s partly true, our physical bodies do rot, but that isn’t what makes us who we are. I believe it’s our spirit that makes us each unique. It was Camylle’s spirit you were in love with. Don’t you want to believe her spirit is in a place where there is no pain, no suffering?”
Jeffrey turned to face her. “What good does it do to believe her spirit is in a better place? She’s still gone.”
“I know you aren’t that selfish.” Lizzie stood and walked toward him. She stopped just steps away and made him look her in the eye. “You’ve given up your time to help me, someone you don’t even know. That’s not something a sel
fish person would do. Would you truly be happy if Camylle was still alive but suffering?”
Jeffrey shook his head and turned back to the window. She waited, sensing he needed time to digest her words. The sun had dipped below the city skyline, fading into evening, casting the house into shadow. A pair of black birds cawed at each other in a nearby tree.
“Ian told me Camylle believed in heaven and he would see her there. Do you believe that?” Jeffrey asked, his voice hard.
“I do. I believe all who have accepted Christ into their lives will be reunited one day for all eternity.” She said a silent prayer that God would open Jeffrey’s heart and provide him comfort.
“If you believe that then why did you get so angry after your parents died?” Jeffrey whirled to face her.
“Because I’m only human,” she replied, lips trembling. “Just because I believe in and trust God, doesn’t mean I don’t still miss my parents. I lost sight of that hope, but when I got back in church, I saw life through new eyes, and appreciated things much more. We were made to crave relationship, to love others, and it hurts when we lose those that we love, but we don’t have to lose hope.”
“I don’t know.” Jeffrey stepped around her and sank into a chair.
“Just take some time, think about it, and know you can call me anytime to talk about it.” She didn’t want to push him and decided now might be a good time to change the subject. “You want to see the rest of the house?”
He nodded, stood, and followed her down the hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The evening sky was brushed a deep purple as Jeffrey drove away. The car slipped through light traffic, past old homes and new businesses. He paid no heed to where he was going, his thoughts drifting to Camylle.
The tennis match had been an upset, with a young girl, unheard of before this tournament, taking down the champion. A handful of spectators remained on the sidelines, gathered around the triumphant young woman. She wiped her heart-shaped face on a white towel before leaning in to hug a woman and man in their late forties.
“Thank you, I’m so glad you could be here today,” she said as she pulled away and turned to the young man with them. She jumped into his arms and kissed him passionately.
“I’m so proud of you, Camylle,” Jeffrey whispered.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she replied. She turned to a tall man with weathered brown skin who tapped her on the shoulder.
“Richard,” she squealed. “I would like you to meet my fiancé, Jeffrey, and his parents, Jacquelyn and Edward Robbins.” Camylle introduced the family surrounding her.
“I’ve heard a lot about you folks. It’s wonderful Camylle has such a supportive group of people,” Richard greeted them.
“From what I hear she is lucky to have an agent like you,” Jeffrey said. “You’ve worked with some very talented athletes.”
“I’ve been fortunate,” Richard conceded. “I can tell you this one has a bright future ahead.”
Camylle beamed, her pale eyes sparkling. Jeffrey wrapped an arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. “We’re going to dinner this evening to celebrate her victory, why don’t you join us?”
“I don’t want to intrude on a family affair,” Richard said.
“No, you must come,” Camylle pressed.
Richard gave her an embarrassed smile, “Well, okay, if you insist. I can’t start upsetting my new star.”
“We’ll see you at eight then, at Houston’s,” Jeffrey said.
A rapping sound startled Jeffrey back to the present. He gazed out the windshield and realized he was stopped in a residential neighborhood. He turned to the passenger window and found a pair of hands cupping a familiar face pressed against the dark glass. He looked beyond the woman to the house, a brick behemoth with pristine white columns flanking a carved oak door. He pushed a button to let the window slide down.
“Mom,” he said flatly.
“I thought that was you. It’s so good to see you.” The woman was ebullient; her smile reminded him of a child on Christmas morning opening the doll she has been asking for all year. Jeffrey noticed crinkles around her eyes, faint lines on her forehead, and threads of silver in her black hair. She wore a pair of cream slacks, a tailored blue blouse, and a strand of pearls. She was always wearing those pearls.
“Jeffrey,” her voice had grown concerned. “Why don’t you come inside?”
He was tempted to step on the accelerator, leaving this place behind as fast as possible, but then Lizzie’s words echoed in his mind. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a family.” He could see the pain in her eyes and remembered the remorse he had felt for putting it there. He turned off the ignition and nodded at his mother.
The house smelled of fresh apple pie. Jeffrey heard men in jovial conversation and guessed his father was entertaining business associates in the library. He trailed his mother through the house toward the voices, his gait slowing with each step. Ten feet from the door, he stopped at a small table. A vase of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table with two large framed photographs on either side.
The first photo was of his parents on their wedding day. But it was the other photo that pierced his heart. It had been taken at dinner the night Camylle had her first big win. They stood in front of Lake Killarney with a golden sunset blazing behind them. The lighting gave Camylle an angelic glow. Jeffrey picked up the frame and traced her face with his fingertips.
Jacquelyn paused at the library doorway and watched him. She waited quietly until he set the picture down and turned to face her. She offered an encouraging smile and beckoned him to follow her into the library, but Jeffrey remained motionless.
The men in the library continued their conversation unaware of the surprise visitor. Jeffrey tried to understand their words over the pounding in his ears. His heart was racing and he felt moisture developing along his hairline. Why was he here? Why hadn’t he driven away when he realized where he was? What could he possibly say to his parents? The thoughts raced through his brain making him dizzy. He laid a hand on the table to steady himself. The floral arrangement wobbled, threatening to slip onto the floor.
Jacquelyn was at her son’s side in an instant, supporting him with an arm around his waist. She led him into the kitchen, settled him into a chair, and brought him a glass of water.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Jeffrey choked out. His hands shook as he reached for the water. Jacquelyn took a seat across the table watching him drain the glass. He could tell she was struggling to hold her tongue and felt a twinge of guilt. He tried to smile at her but his lips seemed paralyzed.
“How have you been sweetheart?” Jacquelyn asked.
“I’m fine.” His gaze darted around the room recognizing little had changed since he was last here.
“We heard you’re the project manager for that new condo and retail space on Orange Avenue. We’re so proud of you.” Her voice came out in a tinny pitch betraying her strain to remain calm.
Jeffrey fidgeted before noticing his mother’s hands were tightly clasped in her lap. He placed his palms on the table and met his mother’s gaze.
“I haven’t forgiven you guys.” Jeffrey glared at his mother. She slumped, but her smile did not fade.
“I hope you know how sorry we are for the things we did. We should have let you make your own decisions. When you’re a parent you will understand how hard it is to watch your child suffer.”
Jeffrey looked away at this last comment, anger rising within him. “The chances of me ever being a parent are pretty slim.”
Jacquelyn reached across the table for her son. “I know you don’t think you will ever love again, but you have your whole life ahead of you. Would Camylle have wanted you to be alone forever?”
Jeffrey pushed his chair back, the force causing it to crash to the floor. Just as he turned toward the front door, the group of men emerged from the library, his father in the lead.
“Jeffrey?” his fathe
r called in surprise. Jeffrey hesitated a moment, enough time for Edward to reach his son. His eyes were hard, but he pulled Jeffrey into an embrace and turned to his friends.
“Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my son.” Edward introduced each man, but Jeffrey didn’t hear their names. They all smiled and offered handshakes that he took instinctively.
“I was walking these men out, why don’t you have a seat in the den and we can catch up.” Edward gave him a firm push down the hall and escorted his guests to the door.
Jeffrey took slow, plodding steps down the plush hallway to the den. The room, with forest green walls lined with photos of his family and numerous celebrities, looked just as he remembered it. He walked past the overstuffed leather chairs sitting at either end of the room with a plump couch upholstered in an English hunting lodge print set between them, to the wet bar in the far corner of the room.
He poured a glass of his father’s most expensive scotch and wandered around the room, pausing by a massive oak desk. He moved to the floor to ceiling windows and pulled back one of the thick burgundy damask drapes. Finishing the drink, he set the glass on the desk. A look at his watch showed ten minutes had passed since his father had herded him into the room. His restlessness receded into a gripping tension. Moving toward the door, he heard his parents arguing. He slipped out of the den and moved toward the voices, his footsteps silenced by the deep carpet.
“You are not going to go in there and attack him, Edward.”
“The boy can’t abandon his family, his responsibilities, and expect to waltz in to open arms,” Edward countered.
“He didn’t waltz in here. I don’t think he had any intention of coming. I will not let you jeopardize any possible relationship we may be able to have with him.”
Jeffrey paused in the shadows short of the living room where his parents stood glaring at each other. He judged the distance to the front door, speculating if he could escape, without his parents noticing, by sprinting across the open area. He took a tentative step then dashed for the door.
