“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does,” Hank explained. “Whenever we try something new—it doesn’t matter if it’s writing, woodworking, or even baseball—odds are that we aren’t all that good at it. Most times we struggle. We think about quitting, complaining that it’s too hard. But if we stick at it, if we learn from our mistakes, we get better.” He smiled brightly. “Heck, look at you. Think of how far you’ve come from that first attempt at writing to now, about to be published in the Bulletin. All because you never gave up.”
Gwen knew that Hank was right. It would’ve been easy to quit writing after her first few failed efforts. It was hard, frustrating work, and if she were a different person, she might have put down her pen. Instead, she’d persevered, and today had been one of the best days of her life because of it.
Hank held up the baseball. “Compared to that, what’s hitting this thing?”
Gwen lifted the bat and put it on her shoulder, feeling more determined than ever to smack the ball. Hard.
“One more time, then,” she said confidently.
Hank smiled, clearly pleased with himself for needling her enough that she’d give it another try. He went into his windup and the ball left his hand the same as the dozen times before. Gwen watched it come closer, clutching the bat tightly, her body coiled with anticipation. Once again, she swung as hard as she could, hoping to make contact. But this time, unlike before, she was rewarded. With a sharp crack, the ball rocketed off the thickest part of the barrel, shooting forward as if it had been launched out of a cannon.
And right at Hank.
He moved as quickly as he could, raising his glove to protect himself, but he wasn’t fast enough. The baseball slammed into his shoulder, spinning him sideways before it flew off into the grass. Hank shouted, surely as much from surprise as from pain, and immediately grabbed where it had hit him.
“Hank!” Gwen shouted, running to him.
“Dang, that smarts,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault!”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he told her. “I should’ve known that when you finally got ahold of one, you’d whack it like Hank Greenberg.”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” Hank said with a chuckle.
“Let me take a look at it.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s not like I’m bleeding or anything.”
“I don’t care,” she insisted.
Finally Hank relented, moving his hand away. Gwen tried to peer down the collar of his T-shirt, but when she still couldn’t see, he pulled an arm free and exposed his chest and side. She was momentarily distracted by the pronounced musculature of his body, unlike any she had seen before, but Gwen quickly turned her attention to the ugly redness spreading across his shoulder. It looked extremely painful.
“Does it hurt?” Gwen asked, gingerly putting her fingers to the tender spot, causing Hank to hiss and pull away from her.
“Only when you touch it,” he said, offering a teasing smile.
Gwen found herself drawn forward, unable to resist the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. Trying to steady her racing heart, she stepped close and tenderly placed a hand on his chest, far enough from his bruise so as not to cause him any more pain. This time, Hank didn’t move, his flesh warm to the touch.
“So which did you like better?” he asked, his mouth only inches from her ear.
She looked up into his eyes. Even after touching him, Gwen had continued to move closer, so near that had he been someone else, it would’ve felt uncomfortable.
But not him. Not now.
“Which what?”
“Well, the first game we played wasn’t much of a success,” Hank said. “And up until you hit that ball, this one didn’t seem all that great, either. I was just wondering which one you liked better.”
“This one,” she told him. “It was much better.”
“I’m not so sure,” he answered.
Gwen felt a heaviness in the air, like something inevitable was about to happen. When she spoke, her voice sounded distant to her ears, as if she’d begun to float away, watching herself from afar. “You aren’t?”
Hank shook his head and flashed a mischievous smile. “It’s close. But something’s still missing.”
“What’s that?” she asked, butterflies in her stomach.
“This,” he answered, then leaned down and placed his lips against hers. Even though Gwen had been looking right at him, had seen it coming, his boldness surprised her all the same. But only for a moment. Faster than a few frenzied beats of her heart, she found herself letting go, welcoming it, hungry for what he was offering. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and surrendered to their kiss. Without thinking about what she was doing, Gwen eased into Hank’s embrace and was enveloped by his strong arms. Her hands roamed across his bare skin, over the taut muscles of his stomach, to the soft hair covering his chest, and onto the broad expanse of his back. Kissing Hank Ellis was unexpected. It was completely out of character for her. She couldn’t believe it was happening.
But it was also so very, very wonderful.
She didn’t think about how her parents would react. She didn’t consider what her aunt or Sandy might say. She didn’t even think of Kent.
At that moment, Gwen thought only of herself, of Hank, and especially of the passionate kiss they were sharing, one she didn’t want to end.
And that was just fine with her.
Walking down the sidewalk toward her parents’ home, Gwen felt like she was floating on air. As familiar as her surroundings were, everything seemed different. The moon looked brighter. The calls of the swallows as they swooped through the dusk, filling their bellies with bugs, sounded louder. The smell of Jane Oliver’s flowers, neatly arranged in their beds, was stronger than Gwen remembered. Nothing was the same. Not after what had happened.
Not after that kiss…
Hank had dropped her off a couple of blocks away, not wanting Warren or Meredith to see them together. Sitting in the cab, they’d shared one last kiss. It had been less passionate than the first, only a soft, tender touch of their lips, but still more than enough to cause Gwen’s head to spin. She didn’t regret what she’d done, not in the least, but it raised far more questions than it answered.
Am I falling for Hank Ellis?
If she was, what sort of future could there be between them, especially given how everyone in town, including her family, felt about him?
Have I been unfaithful to Kent?
But even as Gwen bounded up the steps to home, she knew that none of these issues would be easily resolved. It would take time. Maybe after dinner, she’d enjoy a long soak in the bathtub and turn things over in her head. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe she could call Sandy and confide what had happened, just like she’d done when they were younger. Opening the front door, she hoped that she could soon find a—
“What the hell were you thinkin’?”
Gwen recoiled, nearly stepping back out the door. Her father had been waiting for her in the foyer and was irate. His face was an angry shade of red, sweat dotted his forehead and cheeks, and his hands were clenched at his sides. Her mother stood behind him at the foot of the staircase, frowning.
“Dad…what…what are you talking about?” she stammered.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Warren snapped. “Let me guess: if I asked, you spent the day walkin’ ’round town, sightseein’ and talkin’ with old friends.”
Gwen heard her father’s sarcasm and understood that something had happened to make him doubt her earlier story. Thinking quickly, she decided to opt for an abridged version of the truth, omitting her afternoon with Hank. “I went to see Sid Keaton down at the Bulletin,” she explained, hoping that her accomplishment might defuse the tense situation. “You won’t believe it, but he’s going to—”
“Don’t lie to me!” her father shouted. He wasn’t in the mood to listen. �
�You were out with that bastard Hank Ellis! Maggie Cavanaugh saw you in his truck with her own two eyes, so there ain’t no use denyin’ it!”
Gwen’s stomach dropped. It was like Hank had told her: whenever he went to town, someone was watching. In this case, that someone had seen them together and thought that the only responsible thing to do was tell her father. She’d even considered this possibility herself, just after calling Hank, but had dismissed it. Now it had come back to bite her.
She was caught.
“You’re right. I spent the afternoon with him,” she admitted, her tone defiant; she wanted it to be clear that she felt no guilt.
“Oh, Gwendolyn,” Meredith said, finally finding her voice. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him? Why didn’t you listen?”
Before Gwen could answer, her father interjected. “Use your head, Gwennie,” Warren told her. “You keep messin’ around, you’re gonna ruin things between you and Kent. I can guarantee you he ain’t gonna be happy ’bout his bride-to-be goin’ out with some other fella.”
“We only want what’s best for you, sweetheart,” her mother added. “That’s why we sent you to Worthington. That’s why we were overjoyed when you met a successful young man like Kent. You’re better than Buckton now. Don’t allow some meaningless dalliance to ruin all you’ve worked for.”
“The last thing you need is to be spendin’ time with a piece of trash!” her father declared, folding his arms across his chest, acting as if he’d settled the matter.
Anger flared inside Gwen. At that moment, she wanted to defend both herself and Hank, to tell her parents that they didn’t know the first thing about him, to argue that they had completely misjudged him. But deep down, Gwen knew that it was pointless. Her parents had already made up their minds. To them, Hank could never redeem himself. He would always be to blame for what happened to Pete, and not even saving their daughter’s life could change that. There was no use in saying another word.
So instead, she turned and headed out the door.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” her father asked incredulously.
Gwen turned and stared first at him, then at her mother. It was already too late to go back.
“Anywhere but here.” Then she left.
Chapter Sixteen
OUT ON THE SIDEWALK, Gwen stopped. The sun had sunk beneath the treetops, speeding toward the horizon. She heard the sound of kids laughing as they enjoyed their last play of the day before it was off to supper, a bath, and finally to bed. Ahead, an approaching car turned on its headlights, staving off the approaching dark. Everything was just as it should be.
But for Gwen, all was in turmoil.
She wondered what was happening back at the house. Likely her mother wanted to come after her, to try to talk some sense into her daughter, to make things right. But Gwen was just as certain that her father wouldn’t allow it. Warren would insist on making a point. He would want his stubborn child to realize she was wrong and come home with her tail between her legs. The more Gwen thought about it, the more he resembled Kent, always convinced that he was right.
So where was she going to go?
Her first instinct was to call Hank. The thought of being with him again, especially after what they’d just shared, was enticing. Yet deep down, Gwen knew that it was the wrong decision. Like it or not, many of her newfound problems revolved around Hank. If she was going to sort out her feelings for him, he couldn’t be around.
Next, Gwen considered Sandy. The two of them had always been there for each other, through thick and thin. Gwen had no doubt that Sandy would listen. Her friend would be honest, and based on what she had said the last time they’d talked, she was willing to give Hank a fair shake. But then Gwen thought about her friend’s pregnancy. She couldn’t barge in on Sandy and her husband now. They had more important things to deal with.
But if I can’t go to Hank or Sandy, then who else is left?
Gwen looked back up the sidewalk in the direction she’d come. Darkness was falling fast. She had to make a decision.
I can’t go home! I just can’t!
That’s when the solution struck her. There was somewhere else to go. Somewhere she wouldn’t be turned away. Somewhere there would be a sympathetic ear. Somewhere she might even find an answer or two.
Gwen walked quickly.
The sooner she got there, the better.
By the time Gwen neared her destination, it was almost dark. While the sun continued to shine from beneath the horizon, leaving only a faint smudge of color in the western sky, the streetlights had already come on, illuminating the sidewalks under her feet. Finally, rounding one last corner, she was there.
Her aunt Samantha’s house was built in a newer, bungalow style. In almost every way, it resembled her neighbors’, just another in a row, as if they’d all been made with a cookie cutter. But Samantha wasn’t the type of person who liked to conform. She stood out, and so did her house.
For one thing, it was lit up like a Christmas tree. Colorful strings of lights had been wrapped around each porch column and most of the windows. From where Gwen stood, it looked as if every inside bulb was on, too. Plastic animals were arranged around the yard, and a flock of pink flamingos gathered at the base of the walk. There was an antique record player up on the porch, so old that it had a hand crank; Samantha liked to lounge in a chair, listening to music. She did this loudly, causing no small number of complaints to the police. When she was a girl, every visit Gwen had made to her aunt’s had been an adventure. No two had seemed the same. Samantha had always been the most confident, strongest woman her niece had ever known.
If there was ever a time I needed her advice, this would be it…
Before Gwen had finished knocking, the front door was whipped open and her aunt stood there, smiling. Oddly enough, Samantha was wearing an elaborate black dress. She had chosen to accessorize it with a floppy yellow summer hat and a necklace of fake red pearls. She was also barefoot.
“Just who I was expecting,” Samantha announced.
Gwen was taken aback. “You were?”
“Of course! What kind of aunt would I be if I didn’t know when my favorite—if only—niece was about to drop by for a visit?” With a sheepish grin, Samantha added, “Or maybe I knew you were coming because your father called and asked if I’d seen you lately.”
“He called you?” Gwen asked, her eyes wide. “What did he say?”
Her aunt shrugged. “Not much, really. But I didn’t spend all those years as his little sister without learning how to read him like a book. I’d have had to be deaf not to understand he was angry with you.”
“He is,” Gwen admitted, remembering the look on her father’s face when she’d opened the front door. “Are you going to tell him that I’m here?”
Samantha laughed loudly, as if her niece had told a hilarious joke. “Absolutely not! If he can’t keep better track of his only child, that’s his problem,” she declared with a wink. “Now, come inside. No need to gossip out on the porch. We can do that from the comfort of the couch.”
The interior of Samantha’s house was just as bright and eclectic as the outside. Towers of books were stacked here and there, some of them precariously close to toppling. Shoes spilled out of a closet, some plain while others were outrageously colored, a few with ridiculously high heels. A portrait of an old woman, someone Gwen didn’t recognize, hung upside down on the wall. Pushing aside a feathered boa, Gwen made a place for herself on the sofa.
“Do you want something to drink?” her aunt asked.
Gwen shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Samantha shrugged. “Your loss.” After pouring herself a glass of what looked like bourbon, she took a seat opposite her niece, throwing her legs over the chair’s arm, and said, “All right, then. Spill it.”
And that’s exactly what Gwen did.
She started all the way back at the afternoon she and Kent had arrived in Buckton, touched on her surprise at the a
nnouncement of their engagement, and then related every important thing that had happened since, including her and Hank’s kiss. Feeling the need to be honest, she left nothing out.
“And now I’m here,” she finished.
The whole time Gwen had talked, her aunt hadn’t said a word, steadily drinking from her glass until it was now nearly empty. “Let me get this straight,” Samantha finally said. “You’re going to throw away everything you’ve got going with Kent for some small-town fling?”
Gwen’s jaw dropped and her heart sank. She never would’ve imagined that her aunt could speak to her in such a way. “It’s not like that,” she argued, defending herself, a touch of anger in her voice. “Whatever Hank and I have together, it most certainly is more than you’re making it out to be.”
Samantha shrugged. “Kent’s got plenty of money,” she observed. “Heck, that getup he had on for dinner the other night probably costs more than my whole wardrobe. A fella like that could make a gal’s life mighty easy. You’re gonna give that up for a guy who makes chairs?”
“I’m not with Kent because of his bank account,” Gwen answered. “All I want is someone I can love and who will love me back. I don’t give a damn about clothes, jewelry, or whatever other luxuries people think are important.” Still rattled by the way her aunt had spoken to her, she added, “I thought you knew me better than that.”
Samantha paused, draining the last of her whiskey. “You’ve been gone so long that I just assumed you were a city girl now,” she said. “After all, how could Buckton hold a candle to Chicago? I figured you’d changed.”
Gwen stared at her aunt, her heart pounding, incredulous. She’d been a fool to think she would find comfort here. Somehow, it was even worse than with her parents. She was going to have to go elsewhere for a solution to her problems, because she definitely wasn’t going to find one here.
But when Gwen stood, intending to march out the door, Samantha rose with her. Her aunt smiled sweetly and asked, “What are you doing, kiddo?”
“I’m leaving,” she answered curtly. “I am not going to sit here and listen to you talk to me this way. It’s not fair! It’s not—”
Sunday Kind of Love Page 16
