Now he hoped he didn’t end up dashed on the rocks.
When Hank pushed open the door of the diner, its bell chimed. Gwen stepped inside. Lafferty’s Diner was a Buckton institution. A countertop ran most of its length, with swivel seats to sit on, a cash register at one end, and the kitchen behind. Booths lined the other side of the restaurant. Large windows filled the room with light. The pleasant aromas of burgers, bacon, coffee, and other smells mingled. At nearly noon, the diner was busy, full of customers.
And every one was staring at them.
Gwen saw many faces she recognized. Alice Merkel, one of her mother’s bridge partners, paused midbite. She noticed Nils Crabtree, whose son she had sat behind almost all the way through middle school, gawking over his companion’s shoulder. She even saw Eleanor Burch, the organist at the Methodist church, a woman who had babysat Gwen long ago, turn toward her sister, Violet, and start whispering in hushed tones. No one smiled or waved. Most of them frowned, their disapproval obvious.
And Gwen knew why.
It was because of who she was with. It was because of Hank.
“There’s a booth in the back,” he said pleasantly enough, so used to the stares that he either no longer noticed, or, more likely, chose to ignore them.
Walking across the diner, Gwen felt as if she was being judged with every step. But by the time she slid into her side of the booth, the one that faced toward the entrance, she had resolved to follow Hank’s example, determined not to let the unwanted scrutiny get to her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Oddly enough, yes. It probably doesn’t hurt that I’m hungry enough to eat a horse,” Hank said, picking up the menu.
Gwen stared at him. She still couldn’t believe that he had been at her house, willing to knock on the door and face her parents’ disapproval, all because he’d wanted to see her again. The whole walk home from her aunt’s, Gwen had thought about him, wondering what he was doing at that moment. Nearing home, recognizing his truck parked against the curb, and then seeing him on the porch, she had gotten her answer. While being with Hank brought its share of troubles, it was worth it. No matter what anyone else thought, he made her happy.
“Do you know what you want?” he asked, closing the menu.
She shook her head. “I can’t remember what I used to order.”
“Get the meat loaf,” he said. “That was always Pete’s favorite.”
Just then, the waitress appeared. She set a couple of glasses of water down so roughly that some sloshed onto the table, but she made no move to wipe it up. Silverware, fortunately wrapped in a napkin, was tossed down as well.
“What can I get for ya,” she said curtly, chewing a piece of gum so hard it seemed as if she was angry at it.
While they ordered—Gwen took Hank’s suggestion—the waitress didn’t offer more than an occasional grunt. She didn’t tell them about the lunch specials, comment on the weather, or make any other idle chitchat. She walked away still scratching what they’d wanted on her notepad.
All of which made Gwen plenty annoyed.
But before she could talk to Hank about it, he said, “Excuse me for a second. I’m going to use the restroom,” then got up and left.
Sitting in the booth, Gwen could see the disgust, even outright hostility on the faces of the other diners as Hank moved among them. A few looked back at her, appearing shocked, even a bit disappointed that she was with him. Gwen had always been one of Buckton’s favorite daughters, but now she realized that she was being judged guilty for sharing Hank’s company. When they had eaten ice cream in his truck, someone had seen them together and decided to tell her father. There was no way Warren wouldn’t hear about this. When Gwen had first suggested to Hank that they get a bite to eat, she’d believed that it no longer mattered.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Shortly after Hank entered the restroom, their waitress returned to the table. She surprised Gwen by leaning close. When she spoke, her voice was low, barely more than a whisper. “This might be hard for you to hear,” she began, pausing to look back over her shoulder, “but that fella you’re with is a murderer.”
Gwen felt as if someone had slugged her in the stomach. She wanted to argue, to shout how wrong the woman was, to demand that she apologize to Hank, but no words would come out of her open mouth.
“He got drunk and drove his car off the road, killin’ his brother,” the waitress continued. “When the cops found him, he was walkin’ ’round in the road, screamin’ at the stars, covered in blood and stinkin’ of booze.”
Looking at the woman, Gwen realized that she didn’t recognize her. She must be new to Buckton, or at least she’d arrived after Gwen had left for Worthington. The waitress believed that she was acting out of kindness, warning a stranger away from someone she thought to be dangerous. But to Gwen, she was spreading rumors about a good man, albeit one who had made a sad, terrible mistake, and dragging what was left of his reputation through the mud.
“He’s not like that,” Gwen began, her voice rising. “You don’t—”
“Is everything all right?”
Gwen glanced up to see Hank looking at her with a concerned expression; while they’d been talking, he had returned from the restroom. His sudden arrival spooked the waitress, who quickly hurried away without another word. Hank shook his head as he slid back into the booth.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
Gwen knew that she couldn’t tell him the truth. Though it pained her to realize that he was right, that many in Buckton considered him to be nothing more than a criminal, a killer, she knew what a big step it had been for him to take her out to lunch, to show his face in public. She wouldn’t kick his legs out from under him now, not when he’d only just managed to stand.
“Nothing,” she lied. “She had a question about our order.”
“I hope they get it straightened out quick,” he said with a wink, “otherwise I’ll go back there and start cooking it myself.”
Gwen forced herself to smile, even though, after what had just happened, she’d completely lost her appetite.
Once they’d finished lunch, and after Gwen had somehow managed to hold her tongue as Hank left the tip for their waitress, they headed for home. Between the contentedness that came from eating a good meal and the refreshing breeze that blew in through her window, to say nothing of Hank’s company, Gwen was happy. Still, she knew that this was the calm before the storm. While neither of her parents had been home when Hank had first come calling, her mother would surely have returned by now.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire…
“Do you want to drop me off at the end of the block?” Gwen asked, suggesting the same, safer choice they’d made the night before.
But Hank shook his head. “I’m tired of hiding,” he said, then chuckled. “We survived the diner, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” she answered, though it had been harder than he knew.
As the distance to her parents’ house grew smaller and smaller, Gwen slipped a hand into Hank’s. No matter what was about to happen, Gwen wanted him to know that she wouldn’t abandon him, that because of the way he made her feel, they would face their troubles together. As if he’d read her thoughts, Hank looked at her, smiled, and gave her hand a soft squeeze.
The next thing Gwen knew, they had pulled up to the curb.
She took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “But if I sit here too long, I’ll talk myself into driving away, and to hell with that.” Hank turned to her, a grin spreading across his handsome face. “I’m a lot of things, but a coward isn’t one of them.”
Stepping out of the truck, Gwen felt buoyed by Hank’s strength. She was beginning to believe that together they could convince her parents to see him in a different light, to give him an honest chance to prove their assumptions wrong. But by the time her door swung shut behind her, all of that confidence had vanished. That
was because three people were headed down the walk toward them.
Her mother. Her father.
And Kent.
Chapter Eighteen
THE FIRST TIME Gwen saw Kent had been at one of her Worthington girlfriends’ parties. Crossing the dance floor, coming toward her with a drink in hand, he’d been nothing but smiles. Once, when they sailed on Lake Michigan, she’d told him that his eyes sparkled like the summer sun; though Kent had laughed, he hadn’t contradicted her. In a courtroom, he always presented a friendly face to the jury, cracking the occasional joke, acting as if he’d known them for years. A huge part of Kent’s incredible success was that he charmed everyone he met.
But now he looked far from friendly. Kent was frightening.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Why are you with him?”
Normally prim, proper, and so composed that many of his fellow attorneys thought he had ice water running in his veins, Kent was a disheveled mess. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl, his complexion red. His tie was unknotted, his expensive clothes wrinkled, as if he had slept in them. Sweat soaked his brow, ran down his cheeks, and darkened the collar of his shirt.
Gwen had never seen him in such a state.
“I’ve been worried sick!” he said. “And it seems for good reason!”
“’Cause she’s been runnin’ around with this troublemaker,” her father added, shooting a withering look Hank’s way.
“Here I was, working day and night back in Chicago, trying to build a future for the two of us, thinking you wanted the same thing. Was I wrong?”
Back and forth the two of them went, as if they were a duo, like actors on a stage. They were relentless, not giving Gwen a chance to protest, verbally assaulting her with their accusations. She hazarded a glance at her mother; while Meredith had yet to join in the badgering, she hadn’t spoken in her daughter’s defense, either.
“The last time we talked you hung up on me!” Kent continued.
“There was a fire and I wanted—” was all she managed before he interrupted.
“I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I assumed there must have been a reason that you never called back, likely that you were having a good time with your friends and family.” He looked hard at her, his expression darkening. “But then your father telephoned and told me what you’d been doing. I knew I had no choice but to get on the first train back to Buckton and show you what a terrible mistake you’re making.”
Gwen realized that the reason her parents hadn’t been home when Hank knocked was because they’d been at the depot picking up Kent. It hurt her that they had gone behind her back, acting as if she’d behaved badly, as if she had been out of control.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she answered, her voice defiant.
“He’s a murderer!” Kent insisted, waving a hand at Hank, who, with his muscular arms folded across his chest, still hadn’t said a word.
“You don’t know the first thing about him!”
“He might not,” her father interjected, “but I sure as heck do.” Warren put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “I know I must sound like a scratched record, but he ain’t good for you, Gwennie. You got some mixed-up thoughts runnin’ around in your head. You’re confused and he’s takin’ advantage.”
Gwen shook herself free, clearly surprising her father. “He saved my life!” she argued. “Have you forgotten that?”
“The rottenest of apples rises to the top of the bushel from time to time. But no one’s ignorin’ what he did. He got his share of thanks for it.”
“All he got from you were ridiculous accusations that he’d had something to do with what had happened to me,” Gwen argued, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Then you threw him out of the house!”
“She’s right,” Meredith agreed, finally speaking. “We were all scared out of our wits, but Hank wasn’t treated right.”
“And as for you,” Gwen said, turning her ire toward Kent. “You thanked Hank for rescuing me by offering him money?!”
Kent’s reaction wasn’t to deny her accusation, or even to reluctantly acknowledge that it was true, but rather to turn and glare at Hank for ratting him out, like he’d violated some rule, as if they were members of a club.
Hank remained silent, responding with a stare.
“How else was I supposed to express my gratitude?” Kent asked Gwen.
“Not by pulling out your billfold,” she argued. “You may find this hard to believe, but there are people who do things out of a genuine desire to help, not because they want a pile of money stacked in their hand.”
Gwen could see that she was irritating Kent, but she didn’t regret any of her words. He needed to understand that what he and her father had done, treating Hank so poorly, was wrong.
But Kent wouldn’t, or possibly couldn’t, understand.
“Let’s go inside and talk about this,” he said.
“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. Gwen knew that Kent wanted to get her away from Hank. If she accepted his offer, Hank wouldn’t be allowed to follow. Once again, he’d be left outside.
This time, she wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
“Come on, Gwen,” Kent persisted, reaching for her arm.
“If there’s something you want to say to me,” she replied, stepping back to avoid his touch, “then say it right here, right now.”
Kent leaned close and lowered his voice. “Come on, honey,” he said sweetly, obviously hoping that the sugar in his voice would help make her see reason. “This isn’t any way to act. A woman who’s engaged to be married shouldn’t—”
“Stop it!” Gwen shouted at him, her frustration finally boiling over. “I’ve told you again and again, ever since you announced that we were engaged, that I never agreed to it. You didn’t even propose! Don’t you dare act otherwise!”
“Gwennie, you’re bein’ ridiculous,” her father said. “Your mother and I have always wanted what was best for you. Trust me, that’s marryin’ Kent. Why would you risk all you’ve got for some two-bit woodcarver?”
“Hey, now,” Hank said, finally roused to speak.
“Shut your mouth!” Warren barked, not letting him say more. “Ever since you butted into her life, all you’ve done is mess it up!”
“Stop blaming him!” Gwen shouted, surprising herself by so blatantly standing up to her father. “Hank isn’t forcing me to do anything. It’s my choice to spend time with him!”
To Gwen’s ears, her words sounded innocent enough, but from the way Kent reacted, it was as if she’d admitted to kissing Hank.
“How dare you?” he demanded. “Have you no respect? No decency?”
Gwen stepped back. Kent was irate, his eyes wild, nothing like the man who up until then had been sharing her life.
But he wasn’t irate with her. He was yelling at Hank.
“What kind of man are you?” Kent continued. He stepped toward Hank and began to jab a finger into Hank’s chest, over and over, as hard as he could. “Too ignorant to know better? Is that your excuse for meddling with another’s girl?”
Once again, Hank stayed silent, letting Kent vent his rage. His hands were balled into fists, but they never left his sides. He watched the other man with flat, almost impassive eyes, refusing to let any of Kent’s insults get to him.
But his indifference only fueled Kent’s anger. “Are you the kind of man who gets his kicks from manipulating innocent girls?”
Hank shook his head. “Gwen’s a woman. She can think for herself.”
Kent replied with a humorless chuckle. Then, without warning, he shoved his hands into the bigger man’s chest, forcing Hank to stumble backward, though he remained on his feet. “Stay away from her.”
“Stop it, Kent!” Gwen shouted, but he wasn’t listening.
What happened next felt as if it occurred in slow motion, and even though Gwen saw it coming, she was helpless to stop it.
Without
another hateful word, Kent punched Hank in the face. Though Kent was hardly an experienced brawler, Hank’s head snapped to the side. The blow sounded powerful, bone hitting bone. The shock of it was enough to make Gwen gasp. Her parents were equally dumbfounded, watching in disbelief.
Hank put his fingers against his mouth; when he drew them back, they were red with blood.
“I understand why you’re mad,” he said, lifting his gaze from his crimson-stained fingers to Kent, “but that’s the last time you put your hands on me. Try it again and I won’t be the one bleeding.”
Though Hank’s threat was meant to dissuade Kent from more violence, he reacted like he’d been laughed at, as if his manhood had been questioned or he’d been outright challenged to throw another punch.
“We’ll just see about that,” Kent spat as he reared back, his fist cocked.
But before he could throw it, Gwen stepped between the two men, her hands raised. “That’s enough!” she shouted.
Kent didn’t seem dissuaded. “Get out of the way, Gwen,” he said, moving steadily forward, as if he meant to walk right through her.
Thankfully, in the end, her father proved to be the voice of reason. Calmly but firmly, he grabbed Kent by the arm and pulled him away. The lawyer struggled to break free of the baker’s grip, but Warren was too strong. “Take a stool, Joe Louis,” he said. “I agree with what you’re aimin’ to do, but fightin’ ain’t the way to go about it.”
Gwen’s heart raced. She could hardly believe what had happened. Kent had come back from Chicago. He’d punched Hank. Everything was a mess.
“I should go,” Hank told her out of earshot of the others.
She looked and saw blood smeared across his chin, as well as a bruise already flowering where Kent’s blow had landed.
“Don’t let him chase you away,” Gwen told him.
Hank chuckled, low and short. “It isn’t on account of him,” he said, nodding toward Kent. “If it came to a fight, it wouldn’t take long to show Mr. Fancy-Pants the error of his ways.” He paused. “But I shouldn’t be here, for your sake.”
Sunday Kind of Love Page 18
