Her Secret, His Son

by Linda Wisdom

  “I wanted to think they said something about Mom,” Tim whispered, shaking his head to deny what his mind had already figured out. “That really makes me a jerk.”

  “No, just the man of the family protecting his womenfolk,” Jess said. “It’s a male instinct, but one you have to learn to temper at times.”

  By then Tim had regained his old cockiness. “I thought you were going to teach me how to work that out,” he challenged. “Or is that what you’re doing now? Playing basketball doesn’t do anything.”

  “Except to show me you’re a much better player,” he admitted Wryly. “I will show you, as soon as I feel you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to learn.” Jess eyed him as he bounced the ball on the driveway several times before throwing it toward the basket. He grimaced when he missed. “Who knows? That time could be coming very soon.”

  Tim’s curiosity was now aroused, but Jess wasn’t about to indulge him just yet. For the next half hour they concentrated on just throwing baskets and finding out a bit more about each other.

  SARA WAS RELIEVED TIM’S MOOD was better after this session. She was especially surprised when he offered to help her with the dishes. Afterward he mumbled he had homework and went to his bedroom.

  “You better take that boy’s temperature ‘cause he’s got to be sick,” Jackson announced when Sara walked into the den.

  “Maybe he’s beginning to learn,” she replied, curling up on the couch and picking up a book she had been meaning to read. “Why aren’t you on your way to your poker game? Usually you’re the first one there.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why? You going to have company here or something?”

  “Just my regular weekly orgy,” she said airily, opening her book. “And you know how they hate to start late.”

  “This town should be so lucky,” Jackson muttered, slowly rising from his chair.

  “Don’t have too wild a night,” he advised sarcastically. “It’s your turn to open the station in the morning.”

  “Don’t fleece the guys too much,” she called after him.

  After the house was quiet again, she mentally tossed a coin to decide whether to call Jess or just to wait and hope he’d call her, but before the imaginary coin finished its spin in the air, the phone rang.

  “What a sweet man, now I don’t have to appear too aggressive by calling him.” She ran for the phone only to have it be one of Tim’s friends. “Tim, telephone and make it short!”

  “Can I take it in your bedroom?”

  “Yes, as long as you keep it short, as in no more than ten minutes.” So much for hoping it was Jess. She returned to her book.

  It wasn’t until two hours later when Sara finally emerged from her reading that she discovered Tim still on the phone and ordered him off by calmly placing her finger on the button and disconnecting the caller.

  “This is a great deal longer than ten minutes,” she informed him. “I dread to ask how much homework you have left to do.”

  He smirked. “It’s all done.”

  “This is a first,” Sara mumbled.

  “Mom, I’m fifteen, not a kid anymore,” Tim pointed out. She peered closely at his face. “I can’t handle this,” she practically wailed. “I see at least three hairs on your chin. Before we know it you’ll be shaving every morning.”

  His eyes lit up, and he dashed into her bathroom. “Hey, this is great!” He appeared in the doorway. “Say, Mom, is it okay if I buy a razor tomorrow?”

  Sara visualized three additional gray hairs on her head to equal the three hairs on Tim’s chin. She was right; she wasn’t ready to handle this at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sara groaned when she looked outside to watch her first customer of the day pull up alongside the pumps. She knew the pale blue nineteen fifty-two Chevrolet as well as she did the owner. She was aware the car’s engine was kept in mint condition thanks to a mechanic in Charlotte-heaven forbid that the car had to enter this gas station for anything other than sustenance-and its body kept shiny with a weekly wash and wax. She saw the gray-haired driver sitting behind the wheel, looking as majestic as Queen Victoria and with a will of iron that would equal the hull of a battleship. Sara stood up and walked out of the office.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Masterson.” She smiled at the somberly dressed woman, who barely looked at her.

  “Fill it up, please.” For all these years Sara couldn’t remember the older woman ever calling her by name.

  She nodded and unscrewed the gas cap. While the gas pumped away, Sara washed the windows and asked if she would like the oil checked.

  “No, thank you, my mechanic takes care of that.” “Of course,” Sara murmured, moving away when the gas pump clicked off. “That will be $I6.72.” She accepted the twenty dollar bill and hurriedly made change.

  “I understand Pastor Larkin is trying to rehabilitate your son,” Mrs. Masterson commented.

  Sara held back her surprise that she had actually initiated a conversation. “He’s counseling him, yes. I’m grateful to him for that.”

  The older woman looked at her with eyes cold as ice. “Just don’t be too grateful. One mistake is about all this town could take.”

  She felt as if her face had been slapped and wasn’t about to stand for it. “Mrs. Masterson, for years you have put myself and my son down for something that is really none of your business,” she said tautly. “And, surprisingly, I’ve taken it, but no more. It’s probably narrow-minded people like you who have caused Tim to feel so much anger. Now I don’t expect to be invited to your Thursday-afternoon teas or the Wednesday morning Ladies’ Club, but I would like to be treated like a human being and not something the cat dragged in. If that can’t be accomplished, then I suggest you find another source for your gas. Such as your precious mechanic!” With that she stalked away, head held high and back straight.

  “Just don’t drag that nice man down to your level, young woman,” Mrs. Masterson called after her. “He has no idea what kind of person you really are.”

  Sara was tempted to tell the woman a few choice tidbits about the nice pastor. She spun around. “Neither do you,” she stated quietly, standing her ground. “You never cared to find out, did you?”

  Mrs. Masterson stared at her for several moments before turning back to turn on the engine, which purred to immediate life.

  Sara remained in her spot, watching the aged car slowly drive away. She felt the tension creeping up her spine and knew she would probably have a headache for the rest of the day because of a confrontation she didn’t need. At the same time she felt freer than she had in years. For the longest time she had always been just a bit in awe of the town’s social leader and never would have dared to stand up to her. Yet she had, and she was still in one piece! Laughing, she threw her fist up in the air in triumph.

  “If you want the town to think you’ve gone off your rocker, you’re doin’ it the right way,” Jackson said from behind.

  “Why not?” she giggled, spinning around. “Jackson, I did it!”

  “Did what?” He looked at her suspiciously. “Have you been in the whiskey?”

  “No, but I did tell Mrs. Masterson off,” she stated with a broad grin.

  Now Jackson stared at her even harder. “You told Cora where to go?”

  She grimaced at him. “I didn’t go that far. But I did tell her to mind her own business where Tim and I were concerned.”

  Jackson chuckled. “Glory be, you finally got some backbone where that woman’s concerned. Just remember that she has a memory like an elephant and can strike back like a snake when least expected.”

  “Then let her. I’m tired of all her veiled threats and innuendos,” she complained. “And when she brought Jess into it, I decided I’d had enough.”

  “The truth is gonna come out sooner or later, Sara,” he warned. “And you’ll have to be strong enough to stand up to even more malice than you knew when you were pregnant.”


  It seemed her happiness was destined to be short-lived. “It would ruin Jess’s career,” she whispered.

  “Then I say you ought to talk this out with him.” She nodded. Her first inclination was to call him, but fear that Mrs. Harris might be the one to pick up the phone stopped her. No, she had to be more careful now. Jackson was right, she would have to handle herself more carefully when around Jess.

  Luckily she didn’t have to wait too long. Jess pulled into the gas station later that morning.

  “You can wait on this customer, darlin’,” Jackson drawled with a broad grin.

  Pasting a calm expression on her face, Sara walked out to the pumps. “Good morning, Reverend,” she greeted him, watching him start the pump. “My, you’re well trained. This station has remained pretty much full serve during these liberated times.”

  Jess leaned against the rear fender of his truck, his arms crossed in front of his chest, too busy enjoying the view before him to reply. Sara in faded jeans and a formfitting, pale green T-shirt was a feast to his eyes. Suddenly another picture flashed before his eyes. Sara, with short curlier hair, wearing nothing more than a smile. A smile directed at him. And just as quickly the picture was gone. He straightened up, searching his mind for something, anything to say.

  “You’ll be at the Marcys’ anniversary party Friday night, won’t you?”

  Her eyes looked shadowed with something he would have sworn was pain. “No, I won’t be.”

  “You weren’t invited, were you?” he guessed correctly.

  “They’re very close friends of Mrs. Masterson.” She managed a smile. “I’m used to it, Jess. And actually only a small faction of the town feels this way. If there had been more people who felt about me so strongly. I definitely would not have stayed.”

  “Then I’d like you to go to the party with me.”

  Sara’s eyes widened with shock. “No, Jess. If you want to take someone with you, choose anyone but me.”

  He shook his head as he pulled the nozzle out of the gas tank. “I’ve chosen who I want to take, and it’s you.”

  “You’re still new here, you don’t understand….”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He glanced at the pump and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

  “I’m not going,” she protested, but he was beyond hearing. “The time has come for you to face them all, Sara.” He handed her the money and walked around to the driver’s door.

  “Time for what? Jess!” She took several steps forward, but he had already started the engine and driven off. “Damn you!” she cried. “Bad luck to cuss out a preacher,” Jackson called out from the garage. “He’s crazy.”

  “Crazy about you, I’d say.”

  “He wants me to go with him to the Marcys’ party.” She turned to the older man for the empathy she knew she would receive.

  “Maybe it’s time.”

  Sara was about ready to grind her teeth. “What is all this talk about it being time?” she demanded. “First Jess, and now you. Don’t you realize what will happen if he shows up there with me?”

  “I don’t expect the roof will fall in if you show up.” He chuckled. “‘Course Cora might have a conniption fit. I’d sure like to see that.”

  “Maybe Jess could tell them that he’s trying to reform me, and he thought getting me out among ‘good’ people would help.” She tried a weak attempt at humor.

  “Like Sadie Thompson.”

  “That’s a very old story. Besides, she seduced the preacher.”

  She could see a wicked twinkle in his eye and silently swore she should have seen it coming. “This time around let him seduce you. He did it once, he can do it again.”

  “I don’t think Dear Abby will have any competition from you,” she said drily.

  “Huh, what does she know?” he snorted. “I’ve written that woman a lot of letters over the years giving her good advice, and I haven’t seen one printed.”

  “Probably a good reason why she never did,” Sara murmured under her breath.

  “I heard that!”

  “I know,” she sang out.

  Sara spent the afternoon catching up on her housework and doing her grocery shopping, not one of her favorite chores. As she walked through the store, she met several women she knew and liked and just as many she wasn’t overly fond of.

  “Martha, are you going to the Marcys’ party?” one woman called over to a friend, pointedly ignoring Sara, who was standing nearby.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” She also snubbed Sara. “What are you going to wear?” From there the conversation turned to the pink silk versus the yellow jumpsuit.

  By the time Sara left the store, she was ready to spit nails.

  “Fine. If that’s the way they want to be, I can fight back just as hard,” she muttered, practically tossing the bags into the trunk of her car.

  Sara was still in a bad mood when Tim arrived home from his job at the hardware store. Guessing it wouldn’t be a good idea to tease her out of it after she snapped at him for closing the door too hard when he came in, he retreated to his room to do his homework. Even during dinner she answered in monosyllables and glared at Jackson who cackled every now and then.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Tim whispered to Jackson when Sara left them to do the dishes.

  “She’s learning about life, my boy.”

  Now feeling even more confused, Tim retreated to the den and listened to pots and pans rattle in the kitchen and an occasional muttered curse.

  Sara would have preferred to ignore Friday night’s event, but she wasn’t allowed to. Tess called her every morning to remind her to wear her aqua dress, and each time Sara politely hung up on her. Jess called once to talk about Tim and remind her what time he’d pick her up. As for Jackson, he just made the suggestion that she might want to make appointments to have her hair done, get a manicure and whatever else a woman might do before a party. She ignored him.

  “What is all this about some party you’re going to?” Tim asked her Friday afternoon when he came home after his appointment with Jess and found Sara in her bedroom hanging her dress up on the door.

  She drew a deep breath. “Reverend Larkin asked me to attend a party with him,” she said quietly.

  He looked as if he didn’t quite believe her. “The preacher asked you out on a date?”

  “It’s not a date per se. He just asked me to attend a party with him,” Sara repeated, not sounding like she was looking forward to it.

  “Where?”

  She hesitated. “The Marcys’.”

  Tim laughed harshly. He was well aware of the so-called social barriers. “The Marcys’? Come on, Mom, we both know they don’t think too much of us. Why would you want to go there?”

  “Yes, well, maybe Reverend Larkin feels that it’s time for me to confront them so they understand I’m every bit as good as they are,” she said, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

  “Does he think it’s going to do any good?” His tone implied he didn’t think so.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” she explained, knowing she was committed to attend the party.

  “I hope not. But, Mom, dating the preacher?” Tim shook his head, clearly not thinking that was such a good idea, either.

  “It is not a date,” Sara protested, wishing she could get him off the subject.

  Tim stared at her. “When a guy asks you to attend a party with him and he comes to pick you up, it’s a date.”

  “All right, Tim, it’s a date. I’m not going to argue with you tonight.” Sara pulled her robe out of the closet. “Now if you don’t mind, I want to take a bath and get ready.”

  “You always said you like showers better.”

  She tipped her head back, her eyes closed. “Tim, you are trying to pick a fight with me for some reason, and I’m not going to allow you to,” she said in a low voice. “Jackson said he would take you out for dinner and a movie.”

  “To keep me out of the way?” />
  “Whatever way you want to look at it.” Sara literally pushed him out of her room and closed the door after him.

  After taking a moment to compose herself, she ran her bathwater and sprinkled scented oil in it. After twisting her hair on top of her head, she forced herself to relax in the warm, bubbly water. Her stomach was churning, but she refused to give in to an attack of nerves at this late date. The aqua dress, along with the white, beaded choker she chose to wear, accented her eyes. The more she looked in the mirror, the more convinced she became the reflection couldn’t be the Sara Murdock she saw every morning when she washed her face.

  Her eyes looked bluer, her skin glowed, her rose-glossed lips parted with expectation, and the soft waves of her hair lovingly framed her face. She transferred her personal items into a small, white, leather purse that matched the strappy high-heeled sandals she wore.

  When she walked into the den, Jackson looked up and wolf whistled at her.

  “That’s the way you should look,” he told her, then looked at Tim. “Right?”

  The boy barely glanced up at her. “Yeah.”

  Sara walked over to him, using her thumb and forefinger to lift his chin. “I’m the same person, Tim,” she said quietly. “I’m beginning to think that everyone is right, it is time for me to get out and face the rest of my personal demons; I think Reverend Larkin understands some of my problem, and he wants to help me overcome it.”

  “That’s probably not all he wants to help you with,” he muttered.

  Sara’s body jerked with shock at his crude remark. For a moment she was sorely tempted to tell him exactly how much she didn’t appreciate it, but knew that would only alienate him further.

  “I hope you’ll be polite to the pastor when he arrives,” she said instead.

  “Why? Will he put me in jail if I don’t?” He jumped out of his chair and ran out.

  “We’re leaving in five minutes,” Jackson called after him, then lowered his voice. “He’s hurting, Sara.”

  “He was fine until he heard who I was going out with,” she sighed.

  “I’ll talk to him,” he told her. “You haven’t gone out with a man for a long time now, and I think he feels threatened.”