I leaned away from him, brushing salt in his lap. “I’ve got to work on Saturday … Sorry.” Grabbing my trash, I stumbled out of the room, and when I pushed through the door of the teachers’ bathroom, I still held my lunch sack and half a sandwich. Peanut butter smeared my thumb.
Maria pounced. “Well?”
I slumped against the wall next to the paper-towel holder. “He asked me out.”
“You lucky dog. Where is he taking you?”
“I’m not going.”
She gawked at me as if I’d turned down a million dollars. “The church thing?”
Moving to the sink, I squirted vanilla-mint soap in my palm and washed away the peanut-butter oil. “Forget about it.”
“Forget you turned your nose up at the best-looking bachelor in town?” A tinge of anger colored her words.
“He’s not that good-looking.” I examined my reflection in the mirror, searching for whatever Dodd saw in me.
“You’re weird, Ruthie.”
Her attitude irked me, and if I didn’t get away from her fairly quickly, the volcano churning inside me might blow its top.
But when we exited the bathroom, JohnScott ambushed me. “What was that about?”
I shook my head and hurried toward the office and away from both of them.
JohnScott followed. “Go out with him, little cousin. He’s a great guy.”
Halting in the middle of the hallway, I confronted him face-to-face. “What about Momma?”
He pulled his earlobe. “Yeah, I don’t know.”
I yanked him toward the wall when a flood of students came around the corner from the cafeteria. “The preacher shouldn’t even be interested in me. I’m not his type.”
“How do you know his type?”
“I’m not a church girl, you dufus. Why doesn’t he like Fawn? Or Emily?”
“Fawn has a boyfriend, and I refuse to even make a case for Emily.”
“What about Maria?”
His head lolled. “Maria’s even less of a church girl than you.”
“Well … okay. But Fawn would dump Tyler in a heartbeat if Dodd took a shining to her.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“So why don’t you mention it? Get him off my back.”
“Somehow I don’t think that will make a difference.”
I squeezed my eyes shut to block out my cousin and his senseless rambling. If Maria had been blinded by the probability of romance, JohnScott was handicapped by the possibility of salvation. I didn’t even know him now, and he obviously didn’t know me. If he did, he would recognize I’d rather walk barefoot over a cluster of devil’s-head cactus than go on a single date with Dodd Cunningham.
For a week the preacher continued to seek me out despite my efforts to avoid him. He casually invited me to the Dairy Queen after school one afternoon, which reminded me that he had asked me before. When I thought back, I realized he had been asking me out for a while. Unofficially. Always with a group. How had I been so blind? It made me queasy to think I may have unintentionally encouraged him, and I felt obligated to set things straight even though I dreaded the inevitable conversation.
It happened the day school let out for Thanksgiving break.
As I exited through the side door of the high school, Dodd and several male students came around the corner of the building, traveling in the direction of the weight room. An icy gust whipped my hair around my shoulders, and I pulled my jacket tight and ducked my head.
“Ruthie, wait up.” Dodd jogged after me while the boys made catcalls.
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
As he stepped around me, he motioned for his students to go on. Thank goodness.
I clasped my hair with one hand to keep it out of my eyes. “Yes?”
“I can’t believe it’s already Thanksgiving. It seems like we just moved here yesterday.” He grinned, and his eyes did that crinkle thing.
“Yeah … I guess I’d better be going. It’s awful cold out here.”
“Oh, right.” He glanced at the sky as though he were just noticing the weather. “I’m going to JohnScott’s later with Grady. Some of us are planning a bonfire out in the pasture. Might eat s’mores.” His hand brushed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, but I thought you might come. It ought to be fun.”
At least his strategy had improved. Inviting me to Ansel and Velma’s house increased the odds I’d agree. But I couldn’t. No matter how beautiful his eyes were, no matter how easy he was to talk to, he was still the preacher. “Dodd …” I shook my head. “You and me? It won’t work, you know?”
He blinked into the wind. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t think of you like that. We’re friends.” I tried to sound confident but stammered instead. “Good friends … but nothing more.”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Sure, Ruthie.” He took a few backward steps down the sidewalk. “That’s fine.” He raised his hand. “Have a good Thanksgiving.” Then he disappeared around the corner of the building.
Just like that. It was over. I had finally done it … and I felt like a jerk.
Trudging through the parking lot, I climbed into JohnScott’s truck and flopped across the seat to lie on my back with an arm over my face. Even the dusty farm scent embedded in the seat cushions didn’t comfort me.
I didn’t move. Not when my purse slid to the floorboard. Not when I shivered from the cold. Not when I heard the athletes filter through the parking lot, calling to each other, slamming car doors, driving away.
JohnScott must’ve been the last one out of the weight room. He opened the door of the truck and tossed his briefcase onto the floorboard on top of my purse.
“Little cousin?” he crooned. “You got something on your mind?” He lifted my arm from across my face.
I groaned. Why was this affecting me? I should have felt relieved.
Leaning over to make upside-down eye contact with me, he whispered, “I told him why you keep saying no.”
“You what?” I rolled over and lifted myself up on my elbows, almost knocking JohnScott’s nose with the back of my head.
“I had to. You’re killing him.”
“How?” I demanded.
“He’s been nuts about you since the first time he laid eyes on you, but the goof thought I was dating you. Now he’s found the courage to ask you out, and you won’t go. He thought there was something wrong with him.”
“There is. My mother despises him, and his family would never accept me.” I collapsed onto the seat again but immediately sprang back up. “Wait a minute. What did you tell him?”
JohnScott slid behind the wheel and closed the door, blocking the wind. “That the church kicked you out after Uncle Hoby ran off. I didn’t go into detail.”
“You know I don’t appreciate gossip behind my back.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Ruthie.”
I stared at a deep crack in the dashboard where too much sunshine had hardened the vinyl. “Well, how did he not know before? I thought church people discussed those things.”
“I guess not. He seemed shocked.” JohnScott’s bottom lip pulled tight. “And angry.”
I absorbed the information for a moment. “What did he say?”
“He wants to ask the elders about it, but I don’t think he had ever heard of anything like that happening before.”
“The elders?” Weary exhaustion made it hard to breathe. “Well, this is it, then.”
The Cunninghams would find out the truth. They’d leave us alone now. Just like the church leaders, like the Blaylocks, like the rest of the congregation. I cringed when I thought of those men talking about Momma and me, but I wanted to destroy something when I considered they might turn on JohnScott, too.
The fatigue in my chest relaxed, and I focused on the one comforting thou
ght in the entire scenario. “At least Dodd won’t ask me out again.”
It should’ve been a consoling balm, a breath of new air, a cleansing solution to my tumultuous problem. But it was none of those. Because the sinking feeling deep in my stomach weighed me down with despair and drowned me in self-doubt.
Typically my work distracted me from worries, but that night at the United, I could barely concentrate. Thanksgiving shoppers crowding the store didn’t help matters, and after my dinner break, I worked with Luis on carryout because the lot overflowed, and people were parking at the side of the building. I loaded groceries into a customer’s car and was pushing a shopping cart back to the front entrance when Milla and Dodd came around the corner. All three of us jerked to a stop, and Dodd’s eyes found mine.
Milla spoke first. “Ruthie, I hoped to see you, but now that you’re here, I don’t know what to say.”
My thumb fiddled with a piece of loose plastic on the handle of the cart.
She squeezed my arm. “Please find it in your heart to forgive.” Then she lowered her head and drifted to her SUV, leaving Dodd peering down at me. Again.
How many times did I have to do this? Every ounce of emotion had been drained from my body, and I no longer felt anything for this man, good or bad. I merely wanted it to be over. Done with. Back like it was before. I studied my hands, pink from the cold.
“Ruthie?”
His compassionate tone prompted me to look at him, but I forced myself to look without seeing. Without thinking or feeling.
He squinted into my eyes, then down to my mouth, then to my hair hanging in a sloppy braid. “I understand now,” he said softly.
The fact that he cared surprised me. Despising the wetness in the corners of my eyes, I turned away and studied the sand blowing across the side lot. I didn’t look at him again because I knew the tears would come. “I’d better get back to work.”
I set my gaze on the corner of the building where I could escape to my job, but my feet wouldn’t move, wouldn’t cooperate. It was as though my body wouldn’t agree to take me away from this man.
He watched me for an endless time, then put his hand on the small of my back and nudged. The warmth of his hand penetrated my sweatshirt near my waistline. As I walked, he shuffled at my side, glancing at me every few steps.
More than anything in the world, I wanted him to turn around, get in his car, and drive away. I don’t know why I let him lead me. Stupid. I could manage on my own.
As we rounded the corner and came under the bright store lights, I mentally shook myself and took several quick steps away from him, but when a car pulled up beside me, I recoiled.
Momma.
She rolled down her window and called to me. “Don’t forget to bring some Cool Whip, all right?” Then she noticed Dodd, and her eyes narrowed into determined slits. “What are you doing out here with the likes of him?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dodd knew the Turners and Blaylocks had friction between them, but he never imagined anything so broad as to include the entire congregation. He desperately needed guidance, and he’d already put a call in to Charlie Mendoza, asking him to meet him at the church building before the Thanksgiving song service.
In the meantime, Grady was craving details as they hashed it out over the phone. “Tell me Coach Pickett’s exact words.”
“He only said Ruthie and her mother were kicked out of the church.”
“What did he mean by kicked out of the church?”
“I assume they were asked to leave, but he didn’t say that.” Dodd pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s possible the church is practicing First Corinthians, chapter five, by not speaking to Ruthie and her mother.”
“Wait a minute. There’s a Bible verse for ignoring people?”
“It’s meant to be a discipline for those who sin blatantly.”
“What’s that got to do with Ruthie and her mom?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m hoping Charlie can shed some light on the situation.”
Grady hummed. “I hate to say it, but Lynda Turner may have blown this out of proportion. From what I hear, that wouldn’t be surprising.”
A tap on his office door prompted Dodd to end the call as Charlie ducked through the doorway. He smiled warmly and gripped Dodd’s hand. “Hello there, brother.”
In Dodd’s mind, Charlie represented the typical Trapp resident—laid back, friendly, and honest to the core. He wore freshly starched Wranglers and a crisp plaid shirt, and Dodd could see the faint dent in his hair where his rancher’s cap had recently rested. His strong Old Spice aftershave battled to overpower the comfortable scent of the outdoors, and Dodd couldn’t keep from grinning. “Charlie, thank you for coming.”
The older man eased into a chair, which moaned as his weight distributed over the leather. “What can I do for you?”
Dodd straightened a stack of papers on his desk. There was no delicate way to broach the subject, so he went right to the crux of the problem. “It’s come to my attention that Lynda Turner was removed from the church several years ago.”
“Sure enough, she was,” Charlie said. “That’s been nigh on ten years back. Maybe more. Why do you ask?” His forthright acknowledgment pinched Dodd’s stomach. He had expected regret. Or possibly shame.
“Her nephew is a friend of mine. You know JohnScott Pickett?”
Charlie laughed deeply. “Sure, I know JohnScott. The boy sported diapers a few days ago, and now he fancies himself the head coach.”
Dodd wondered if the elder was taking the conversation seriously.
“Did you know he was baptized?”
“You don’t say.” Charlie frowned. “Now that’s a surprise to me.”
Dodd reached for a pen and doodled parallel lines in the corner of his Sunday sermon notes. “Do you suppose JohnScott would be welcome here? In spite of his aunt?”
“Well, now … I don’t see why he wouldn’t be. Is he thinking on visiting?”
“Not that I know of.” Dodd tossed the pen aside. “What caused the excommunication, anyway?”
“Goodness, Dodd. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it an excommunication.”
“So what happened?”
Charlie rose from his chair, seeming to move in slow motion because of his height. He stepped to the window and gingerly rotated the rod to open the blinds. “Brother, there’s not much to tell. Gerald Blaylock handled that mess. Neil’s daddy? One of the wisest men I’ve been blessed to know. Pity when he passed. Anyhow, he felt it prudent to avoid gossip, so he took care of the details.” He peered at Dodd, hesitating before adding, “You’ve heard about Hoby and Lynda Turner’s separation?”
“Some.” Dodd massaged his tight neck muscles. “The church disfellowshipped the whole family?”
Charlie turned, and his eyes filled with compassion, concern, and something else … wisdom. It was then that Dodd knew the man was more than he seemed. “Now, Dodd, keep in mind a lot happened back then we don’t know about.”
“You’re right, and I’m trying to make sense of it. You said JohnScott would be welcome here … but would the Turners?”
Charlie’s expression grew distant as he gazed at the bookshelf. “There’s been a lot of water under the bridge.” He sat down, rubbing his chin with a knuckle before settling his sober eyes back on Dodd. “Some of the congregants are set in their ways, if you know what I mean.” He squinted. “Has Lynda indicated she’d like to come back to the church?”
Hopelessness pushed a sigh from deep in Dodd’s abdomen. “Not at all.”
“Well, you’ve got to consider the flock. Dredging up issues from the past could cause a passel of new problems.”
Charlie had valid concerns, and Dodd had no idea how to address them. “I don’t want to cause problems, but I don’t think it’s right to have friction between the congregat
ion and the Turners.” Dodd ran his palms over his face. “Charlie, I’m frustrated. And confused.”
Charlie leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. He spoke low, his voice taking on a paternal tone. “I can tell you are, but let’s keep this in perspective. From your point of view, it’s a fresh wound, but remember, it happened a long time ago, and the Turners may not appreciate having the bandage ripped off.” He rose, and Dodd did the same. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to Neil and Lee Roy and see what they know about it. But I’ll tell you one thing for sure. No matter what, I’ll be praying for the Turners and JohnScott.”
Dodd clasped Charlie’s hand, partly in thanks and partly in desperation, but even though he hadn’t gotten many answers, Dodd felt more at peace with the situation knowing Charlie was praying about it too.
Twenty minutes later, church members began arriving for the song service, and since he had the evening off from preaching duties, Dodd chose to sit with his mother instead of at the front. While Milla leaned forward, listening to a conversation in the next pew between Neil Blaylock’s wife and Pamela Sanders, Dodd marveled at the normalcy of their conversation. Even though Ruthie’s pain invaded his thoughts so thoroughly that his vision blurred, idle chatter carried on as though nothing had happened.
“How are your plans for the fund-raiser?” Pamela asked.
“The silent auction will be amazing this year.” Neil’s wife held a small mirror in front of her face, moving it here and there to check her reflection from different angles. “The garage is already full of donations, and Neil gave me the front barn for overflow.”
Milla placed a hand on the back of the pew. “What’s this fundraiser for?”
“Volunteer fire department.” She snapped her mirror closed. “Every year in December, we make a day of it. There’s a parade, a silent auction, and all kinds of food and crafts.”
Pamela giggled. “Later that night, after they announce the amount of money raised, they’ll have fireworks at the stadium.”
Fireworks for the fire department? Irony drifted through Dodd’s clouded mind, but he pushed it away. Were these people so concerned with menial details, they couldn’t see the pain of those around them?
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