Jaded

by Varina Denman

  “Oh, that. No choice but to stand it.” I shrugged. “That’s just how things are.”

  He scrutinized the store, focusing on the cash register, the fluorescent lights overhead, the signs hanging from chains above each aisle. Then his gaze returned to me, and the corners of his mouth lifted. “I’d better get used to it, then.”

  “You might as well.”

  A car horn honked, and Dodd glanced toward the parking lot. “That’s Grady.” He took a step but turned back, the executive tone returning to his voice. “It was good to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  When he got to the door, he looked back yet again.

  I had never been a fan of flirting, but suddenly it seemed like an opportunity I shouldn’t pass up. I smiled and tilted my head.

  He reached for the door handle but missed. Chuckling, he glanced at me one last time before sheepishly putting a shoulder against the glass and walking effortlessly through the doorway.

  Warmth slid from my scalp to my shoulders, as though chocolate pudding were being spooned onto the top of my head.

  I crept to the window to spy on Dodd from behind the Coke machine, absentmindedly wiping fingerprints off the selection buttons with the towel still clenched in my hand.

  Grady stood at the passenger side of the ugliest car I had ever seen—an old navy El Camino that wanted to be a truck but couldn’t quite make it out of the car category. Luis had his foot on the hood, leaning an elbow on his knee. It might have been a suave position for him if the hood hadn’t been so high.

  Dodd, on the other hand, walked to the driver’s side as he gulped his Dr Pepper with fluid movements, reminding me of a graceful buck JohnScott and I had admired from a deer blind the fall before. The animal poised so close, we could see muscles rippling in his shoulders, until I frightened him away with an explosive sneeze.

  Luis and both of the Cunninghams turned as Fawn Blaylock’s Mustang sped into the otherwise-empty parking lot and pulled into the space next to the truck wannabe, right in front of my hiding place.

  I groaned. Fawn hadn’t truly spoken to me in thirteen years. Not since Momma and I left the church. Even though the church members still ignored me whenever they’d see me in town, I had enjoyed a two-year respite from Fawn while she was away at college. Her untimely arrival sucked the joy from whatever daydreams I might have entertained about Dodd Cunningham.

  She flounced her blonde curls and perched on the hood of the El Camino, leaning toward Dodd as he spoke. I couldn’t make out their words because of the hum of the Coke machine, but I heard the lilt of their voices.

  Why was Fawn flirting? She had a boyfriend.

  Dodd capped his empty bottle and tossed it in the back of the car. He smiled at Fawn but glanced up the street while she chattered. Grady took a few sips of his Gatorade and nodded. Luis seemed to be the only one playing up to her. She paused, then bubbled laughter as though she were telling a joke, and just as she came to the punch line, the Coke machine shut off, and I was able to hear her last word. Tramp. She flicked her hand toward the store, and all three males looked through the window. Directly at me.

  I ducked behind the machine as anger struck like a rattlesnake. It was one thing for Fawn to treat me like pond scum when it was just her and me, but she had no business talking about me to strangers. Reaching behind the Coke machine, I slammed light switches one after another while two images flashed across my mind. Dodd Cunningham leaning against the counter smiling at me. And Dodd Cunningham standing by his El Camino peering at me doubtfully. I could have ripped every blonde strand from Fawn’s arrogant head right then, but as I walked to the back of the store, I realized my anger wouldn’t change her one bit. Fawn was a Blaylock, and that was that.

  By the time the store surrendered to darkness and I slumped into the break room, my anger once again lay coiled in hibernation.

  “Those guys are great,” Luis said as he shuffled into the room smelling like a third grader after recess. “I told Grady he can hang out with me and my friends on Monday.”

  The thought of Grady Cunningham and Luis Vega hanging out together should have evoked an automatic eye roll, but his statement barely registered with me. “Did you see JohnScott out there?” I asked.

  “Parking lot’s deserted.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Fawn and I shot the breeze for a while after the Cunninghams took off.”

  It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but I didn’t mention that to Luis. Instead, I grilled him for information. “So, Grady’s brother? He’s in college or something?”

  Luis sighed dramatically. “Dodd’s twenty-six, Ruthie.”

  JohnScott’s age.

  I weighed the possibility of the man living with his parents, but the image didn’t fit. More likely he came to help the family move in, with the intention of returning to his job as CEO in a Fort Worth high-rise.

  But maybe he was staying in Trapp.

  I chewed a hangnail. What if he came in the store every evening, leaned against the register, and smiled at me?

  As the ice machine dumped its load with a clatter, I reached for my purse. “So Fawn just met them?”

  “Yeah, but she already heard about them from her dad and the church.”

  The muscles in my neck tightened. “What do you mean?”

  “Duh, Ruthie.” He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Dodd’s the new preacher.”

  I turned away as my skin prickled, starting at my elbows and pulsing all the way down to the soles of my feet. Probably it was goose bumps, but it felt more like hives, or pox, or tangible dread. How could that man be the new preacher? It was impossible. I stared at the bulletin board, pretending to study next week’s work schedule and willing my voice not to quiver. “You mean their dad’s the new preacher.”

  “No, Ruthie, the dad kicked off a year ago. It’s them and their mom.” He reached past me to hang his box cutter on a hook.

  The image of Dodd Cunningham behind a pulpit didn’t compute, and instead, I pictured him leaning on the check-writing ledge. He had seemed so sincere when he asked, “How do you stand it?”

  Suddenly my brain connected the dots.

  Dodd was the preacher, so of course he had heard about my history with the church. All about Daddy and Momma’s scandal. All about how everybody down at the church shunned us. He knew. That’s what he meant.

  I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach. The goose bumps tickling across my skin melted into a heated tension that made me short-winded. I didn’t know whether to be irritated or furious, but I was definitely suspicious.

  Lapsing into reflex mode, I moved through darkened aisles to the front of the store as Luis went in search of the manager to ask what needed to be done out back. My mind clouded in a dust storm of anger and humiliation, but I relaxed when I saw JohnScott outside the entrance. My cousin leaned out the window of his truck, studying a playbook under the purring glow of the store lights. I pushed through the doorway as though pushing through a wall of quicksand.

  “You see him?” JohnScott queried while I locked up.

  For a split second I wondered if he somehow heard I made a bumbling idiot of myself in front of Dodd Cunningham, but then I realized he was only fishing for information about our town’s recently returned rapist.

  “Clyde Felton? No, but all the women say he’s huge and scary.” I picked up two stray cash-register receipts and a sticky soft-drink can from the sidewalk and tossed them in the trash barrel before opening the truck door.

  “So they’ve seen him?”

  “I doubt it.” I slid onto the seat next to him. “You can’t believe everything you hear at the United.”

  He studied me. “There’s something wrong. What’s up?”

  I could never hide my feelings from JohnScott and seldom had reason to try. Resting my head against the back window, I let the
tension drain from my body. “Grady Cunningham’s brother is the new preacher at the church.”

  JohnScott’s nose wrinkled as if he smelled a stinkbug, but the expression slipped away so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined it. “You sure?”

  “They were talking to Fawn Blaylock.” I rubbed my thumb against the worn vinyl of the seat, snagging my nail on a spot of exposed stuffing.

  JohnScott studied his fist where it rested on the stick shift. He stayed that way for several seconds before shoving the truck into gear with a thud. “Well, little cousin, I guess this means your wedding’s off.”

  Chapter Four

  Dodd shifted his weight, trying to find a position that would prevent his shoulder blades from grating against the wooden pew. He had preached on the topic of fellowship, an easy segue into the luncheon planned after the worship service, and he felt good about his first sermon. The congregation seemed responsive—not too many yawns—but Dodd knew it would take a while to prove himself. Not only was he unknown to these people, but he was young. Very young. While he joined the congregation in singing “Shall We Gather at the River?” Dodd observed the people sitting around him.

  Fawn Blaylock sat across the aisle with her boyfriend, Tyler Cruz, who lived in the neighboring town of Snyder. Dodd liked Fawn, but he couldn’t quite figure her out. She hadn’t mentioned her boyfriend in two days, and Dodd was startled when Tyler showed up at services that morning, but that wasn’t the only thing that surprised him about Fawn. Every so often, the girl would throw out a comment about someone, not necessarily disrespectful, but close.

  His glance fell on Emily Sanders, Fawn’s shadow, perched on the pew in front of him. Every few minutes, the girl looked over her shoulder. Dodd couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or Grady or both. Hopefully Grady, since Emily was in high school.

  Two middle school boys rustled in the corner, but Dodd couldn’t remember their names. From the looks of it, they whispered about Grady’s and his clothing. Dodd checked Grady’s tie for breakfast cereal, then took a survey of the males around him, discovering the appropriate attire for the Trapp congregation consisted of button-down shirts, starched Wranglers, and polished boots.

  Down the aisle from him, Neil Blaylock and his wife sat like statues. In fact, most of the congregants lent a serious tone to their worship. Dodd wished he could’ve heard the previous minister once or twice, just to know what the church was used to, but no matter, he’d preach where the Lord led him. Dodd smiled. He had been curious about the Trapp elders hiring him without ever hearing him preach, but now he marveled at himself accepting the job without asking if the pews were cushioned.

  Twenty minutes later, two eight-foot-long tables laden with casserole dishes occupied the front sidewalk, and Charlie Mendoza stood nearby, preparing to address the congregation with the other two elders. The night before at the Blaylocks’ cookout, Dodd had gotten to know all of them better as Charlie supplied a running narrative, boasting that all three men had been members of the congregation since the cradle-roll class. Dodd went home that night knowing more about the church leaders than some of his own cousins.

  Eighty-three-year-old Lee Roy Goodnight, the oldest of the three, had been an elder for thirty-five years. According to Charlie, his health might be failing, but not his heart or mind. Lee Roy grasped a cane with one wrinkled hand and raised the other to get everyone’s attention. As conversations tapered, Dodd strained to hear the man’s raspy voice. “We welcome Dodd Cunningham to our fellowship today, along with his mother, Milla, and brother, Grady. Dodd, you have a pair of big shoes to fill, but after such a fine sermon, I’d say the Trapp congregation is blessed to have you in our pulpit.” His speech seemed to tire him, and he wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth handkerchief.

  Neil Blaylock spoke next, standing straight with one thumb hooked through a loop near his silver belt buckle. “I’ve gotten to know Dodd over the past few days, and I’m impressed with the man.” He grinned, white teeth against tan skin. “He may be young, but that’s to our advantage, because we can raise him like we want.”

  The congregation tittered, but Charlie’s voice carried over them. “Dodd’s daddy and I attended college together, and I can vouch he comes from good people. Don’t take my word for it, though. Get to know him. I’d say the man can take care of himself. Amen?”

  He received a chorus of responses, giving Dodd yet another reason to like him.

  “Since we all agree the new preacher is a dandy,” Charlie said, “let’s get down to business and pray for the cooking.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Dear Lord, we thank You for this food, and we ask that You would bless it. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

  Dodd barely had time to bow his head before the prayer ended. “That’s my kind of blessing,” he mumbled. As he stood in the churchyard, the herbaceous scent of lasagna caused his stomach to protest, and he stepped toward Lee Roy as the line dwindled. “I’m overwhelmed by the church’s response, Lee Roy.”

  The older man waved a gnarled hand. “You won’t find a better group of people on the whole of God’s green earth.”

  “I believe you’re right.” Dodd stepped to Lee Roy’s other side to avoid a red-ant bed.

  “And don’t worry, you’ll pick up on how we do things here. You’re young and adaptable.”

  Dodd hesitated. “Anything in particular?”

  “It’s a fact we read from the King James here in Trapp.” He leaned heavily on his cane, and Dodd noticed the old man had stirred the ants into a maelstrom. “If it was good enough for Paul, it’s good enough for us.” Lee Roy chuckled at his own cleverness.

  “I like the NIV myself,” Dodd said, steering Lee Roy to a safer location. “But sometimes I pull out the King James or the Revised Standard for comparison.”

  Lee Roy blinked twice. “We use the King James.”

  “Um … yes, sir.”

  A whiff of yeast washed between them as Emily Sanders appeared at his elbow, pulling apart a roll. She bit off a minuscule section.

  Lee Roy nodded at Dodd, frowned at Emily, then hobbled away.

  “Aren’t you eating?” Emily swung from side to side as she nibbled.

  “I was just getting in line.” When Emily followed, he did his best to make small talk. “So, have Fawn and Tyler been dating long?”

  “Forever. They’re perfect together. Everybody says so. Dad calls them two peas in a pod, them having so much in common. Or their families, that is. Mom says Byron Cruz is as powerful in Scurry County as Neil Blaylock is here in Garza County.” Her speech accelerated. “Sometimes I wonder at them ever getting married. Not that they are, but can you imagine? It would be like thunder and lightning, or firecrackers and sparklers, or … or … Prince William and Kate.” She smiled dreamily before she gasped, possibly realizing her show of emotion had gone overboard. “I’ll go save you a seat.” She scampered away.

  Dodd picked up a paper plate and fanned himself as he loosened his tie. The unofficial dress code might not be a bad idea after all. As he loaded his plate with lasagna, green-bean casserole, and fried chicken, Emily’s mother—an older, plumper version of Emily—positioned herself across the table, filling her own plate with seconds.

  “I see you’ve taken notice of my sweet Emily,” she said.

  Dodd reached for a deviled egg, opting to keep his mouth shut.

  “She’s a good student, mostly As and Bs, and she can cook better than I could at that age. I don’t know where she gets it.” The woman paused long enough to heap a spoonful of mashed potatoes on her plate. “She’s been helping with the toddler’s Sunday school class for two years now, babysitting for four.”

  Dodd hesitated at the napkins and worked one out from under the glass casserole lid that prevented the stack from blowing to New Mexico. “I’m sure you’re proud of your daughter, Mrs. Sanders.”

  “She’ll make a fine wife.” The
woman hit a serving spoon firmly against a dish to release a blob of macaroni and cheese. “She’ll be graduating this year. Been thinking of going on to college, but she’d rather just settle down with a strong Christian man and birth a houseful of little ones.”

  Dodd’s paper plate wobbled. “I’ll be working at the high school, Mrs. Sanders. I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

  “Excellent sermon this morning, Brother Cunningham.” She grinned knowingly as she sailed away from him.

  Dodd reached for a plastic fork and stabbed it into his lasagna. Trapp, Texas, with all its quirks, was going to take some getting used to, but he was determined to make the best of it. He chuckled, thinking he’d be more at home on Mars, but people were the same no matter what planet they called home, so he didn’t doubt he could do the Lord’s work. He lifted his chin and walked confidently toward Charlie Mendoza and Neil Blaylock.

  “I’m expected to use the King James Version,” Dodd said as he backed his mother’s SUV out of the parking space. “I don’t mind, of course.” He scratched his head. “Apparently the NIV isn’t allowed.”

  “Neither are slacks,” his mother said.

  “Wranglers and boots,” added Grady from the backseat. “We may need to go shopping.”

  She clucked her tongue. “I’d hate to commit a social blunder so soon.”

  Grady thrust his head over the front seat. “Like preaching from the NIV in your first sermon? Talk about a bad impression.”

  Milla thumped him, but Grady stayed where he was, resting his elbows on the back of her seat.

  “Mom, did you hear? Dodd’s dating Emily Sanders.”

  Dodd groaned. His brother’s words were meant to tease, but anxiety washed across him in waves.

  “Grady, leave your brother alone. He has enough on his mind without worrying about an immature girl.” Milla snapped her sun visor down and found him in the mirror. “By the way, aren’t you glad you’ll know a few people on the first day at your new school?”