by Arlene James
“Oh, Garth,” she said, and Dale’s hackles instantly rose.
He tried not to listen to the conversation, something about the lobby furniture, and watched her for signs of physical instability instead. After a few minutes, she began to sag. Then her crutch slipped away, clattering down the steps. Of course, she made a grab for it, wincing when her bad foot touched the step and nearly toppling over in the process. Dale had had enough.
Without a word, he swept her up into his arms again. She gave out a tiny squeak and glared at him, but went on with the conversation doggedly.
“You’re arguing with the wrong person,” she told her boss. “Dexter is the one who has to be made to see reason.”
The tinny sound of Garth’s raised voice made Dale want to hurl the phone to the marble floor below. Fortunately, his hands were full at the moment. Still, he took the stairs two at a time and got to the top as quickly as possible. When he reached the door to her room, he managed the knob himself and simply carried her inside, where he plopped her down on the brocade sofa, her back to the arm as before. She was still trying to reason with Anderton.
“Dexter claims that he can make up the cost. I’ve looked at the numbers myself, and—”
Something came over Dale. Something primal and male and irresistible. He reached down and snatched the phone out of her hand, lifting it to his own ear.
“Has Petra told you about her accident?” he demanded, ignoring her gasp of outrage.
Utter silence followed, then, “What accident? And who is this?”
“Give me that!” Petra hissed, making a swipe at the phone.
Dale stepped back out of her reach, saying, “She took a fall yesterday and sprained an ankle bad enough to be on crutches now. And you know who this is.”
He could almost hear Garth Anderton’s blood boiling, but to the man’s credit, he didn’t let his temper get the better of him. “Is she all right?”
“Bruised, sore, exhausted and in some pain, but she’ll mend, especially if she stays out of the office for a few days, which she seems disinclined to do. I physically removed her from the premises earlier.”
Anderton steamed for a moment, then Dale heard a gulp. He couldn’t help enjoying the other man’s predicament. That’s what he got for planting that kiss on her in such a public place.
“Tell her I’ll call Dexter and get this issue settled,” Anderton finally ground out.
“Will do,” Dale replied cheerily before shutting off the call.
He offered the phone to Petra, and she nearly took his hand off when she grabbed it away from him.
“How dare you?” she seethed. “You had no right to—”
“Someone had to tell him that you’ve injured yourself, and you obviously weren’t going to,” he growled back at her, beginning to see that he’d overstepped. Badly.
“That’s my business! Not yours!”
The fact that she was entirely correct made it all the worse. He sighed. “I know, I know, but I couldn’t just stand by and let you pretend that everything is okay.”
“I’ll pretend if I want!” she snapped. “I’ve worked too hard and too long to get this far and now you’re messing it all up for me!”
He suddenly felt lower than a snake. “Right. Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”
“You don’t know how many ways I’ve tried, how many paths I’ve taken,” she went on in a shaky voice, “and this is the first thing that has panned out, my first real chance at…” Tears spilled from her eyes, each one a tiny dagger into his heart. “S-success,” she gasped before clapping a hand over her quivering lips.
His heart dropped like stone, as did the rest of him. He found himself sitting on the corner of the coffee table just behind him and reaching for her. To his vast relief, she let him take her hands.
“Hey, now,” he said, soothingly. “Garth won’t blame you. I commandeered your phone and poked my nose into your business. He’s bound to realize that, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll make sure he understands.”
She shook her head and choked out, “No, thank you. You’ve done quite enough.”
“Pet, I’m sorry,” he said urgently. “I didn’t think. I—”
“What did you call me?” she demanded, suddenly spearing him with her amber gaze.
He blinked at her, uncertain. “I, um…”
“My grandfather used to call me Pet,” she said softly.
Dale realized suddenly that he’d been calling her that in his head for some time now. He swallowed and searched for something innocuous to say. “You were fond of your grandfather?”
“He used to pat my head and call me his little Pet and tell me that he loved me,” she said, sniffing.
“That’s nice,” Dale said lamely.
“He told me how my name meant ‘rock’ in Greek and that it is the rock of faith upon which the church is built.”
“Yes.”
“And he said it was a name that would make me strong,” she rattled on shakily, “and I’ve tried so hard to be, but I—I’ve failed so often already, and I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t work out!”
Dale leaned forward and gathered her into his arms, his heart breaking for her. “Here, now, sweetheart,” he crooned. “You’re as strong a woman as I’ve ever known. You’re just tired and hurting right now. That’s all this is.”
“I am tired,” she said on a little gasp. “I’m tired of failing! If I can just get this project in on schedule and budget…”
Dale felt his chest tighten. “You will,” he promised. “I’ll help you.”
“You already have,” she told him, drawing away with a sniff. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“I’m sorry I stuck my nose into your business,” he said. “I didn’t realize how important this job is to you.”
“It’s my chance,” she told him, her hands curling into fists, “my one chance to finally make it.”
“I don’t understand how that can be. If this doesn’t work out the way you hope, you can always try something else.”
“But that’s what I’ve been doing,” she protested, “and in my family, that’s not how it works.”
Truly baffled, he let his hands drop to his knees. “You’ll have to explain that.”
She made a face. “You probably know that both of my parents are doctors.”
He hadn’t known, and he shook his head. “Go on.”
“And there’s Asher,” she went on, “a lawyer, a very good one.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Dale said. His family had trusted Asher Chatam to handle their legal affairs for several years now.
“And Phillip,” Petra went on. “That’s my other brother, with his grand adventures, mountain climbing and such. We can’t even find him half the time.”
Dale frowned. “Sounds dangerous,” he said. Not to mention thoughtless, possibly even selfish.
“But it’s his passion!” Petra exclaimed. “That’s the point. In my family, everyone has a passion, a calling, a career. Even Dallas, the baby of the family, knew she wanted to be a teacher before she graduated high school. But me…” Petra sighed and looked down. “I’ve just never known where I belonged. In this whole family of overachievers, I’m the one failure.”
“Now that’s silly,” Dale told her.
“No, it’s not,” she insisted. “Everyone has a career but me.”
“Maybe you’re not meant to have a career,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t make you a failure. My mom has never worked outside our home, and my sister did only briefly.”
Petra didn’t seem to even hear him. “I’ve prayed and prayed about what to do with my life,” she confessed raggedly, “and when I found this, I thought…well, this is my
chance.”
“Listen,” he argued gently, “if this doesn’t work out, that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. You don’t have to have some stellar or glamorous career to be a success. You’re only a failure if you let someone else’s definition of success keep you from finding your real heart’s desire. Once your find that and you lay it at God’s feet, He’ll help you do and be all that is necessary.”
“That’s exactly what I am doing,” she stated firmly. Then she gave him a false smile, adding, “I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have things to do. Thank you for bringing me home. I’ll send Chester for my car later, so you won’t have to worry about providing me with transportation anymore.”
“I don’t mind,” he began, but she cut him off.
“I am sooo tired,” she said, slumping back on the couch. “As soon as you’re out the door, I’m going to have a nap.”
He rose at once, knowing that he couldn’t do anything then but go. Several heartbeats passed before his feet obeyed his mind, however.
“Take care of yourself,” he murmured, moving away. His last sight of her before he pulled the door closed troubled him. She looked so lovely and wounded and alone. That was exactly how he felt as he padded down the stairs.
Alone.
Chapter Eight
Petra stayed home from church that evening. She felt guilty about it; she’d gone to work that morning, after all, but she couldn’t seem to face the prospect of midweek services. Dale would be there, and she couldn’t see him again. Not yet. Never before had she confessed her misgivings to another soul, and she wished mightily that she hadn’t done so this time. She’d just been so tired and achy that she’d lost her temper when he’d informed Garth of her injury. Then one thing had led to another, and suddenly she’d been pouring out her heart to him. Now she was more confused than ever, and the things he’d said kept running through her mind.
“Maybe you’re not meant to have a career. That doesn’t make you a failure.”
What did it make her, then? She couldn’t find a label for a woman who’d held a succession of mid-level jobs in varying fields.
The aunts looked in on her before they left, carrying away the barely touched dinner tray that Hilda had sent up and generally fussing over her as if they had nothing better to do, while she knew perfectly well that the whole house was abuzz with preparations for the wedding.
“Now, you just rest, dear,” Odelia said, patting her hand.
“And call downstairs if you need anything,” Magnolia added.
“We’ll say a prayer for you tonight,” Hypatia told her as she followed the other two from the room.
Petra sighed. She hoped they’d pray for her miserable, messed-up life in addition to her miserable, aching ankle. She hoped they’d ask God to send her instructions and plans addressed specifically to her and preferably carved in stone, thank you very much. She couldn’t stop thinking about Dale and about what he’d said to her that afternoon.
“You don’t have to have some stellar or glamorous career to be a success.”
But how could that be? From infancy, her parents had drummed into her the importance of having a goal, a plan. They believed that God called everyone to something, and He seemed to have done just that with her brothers and sister. Why not her?
“You’re only a failure if you let someone else’s definition of success keep you from finding your real heart’s desire.”
But that was the problem. She didn’t have a “real heart’s desire.” She only had Anderton Hotels.
Petra wanted to believe that Anderton Hotels was her calling, but how could she be certain? Confused and weary—everything was twice as difficult with crutches and a sore ankle—she struggled into nightclothes and lay upon the bed, her gaze caught by the freshly laundered shirt hanging from a hook on the bathroom door. She swallowed a couple of analgesics and prepared herself for sleep, but she found herself praying, instead, on all sorts of topics: Odelia and Kent, Asher and Ellie, her brother Phillip out in Seattle, her sister Dallas, things at the hotel, her career, her parents, Walt Bowen, Garth, politics, world peace…everything except what truly troubled her.
Yet somehow she heard, if not an answer, then at least a suggestion concerning her dilemma. Maybe it was time to talk to someone who just might understand, someone whose judgment she trusted implicitly. So when Hypatia came in to check on her before bed, as Petra had somehow known she would, Petra was ready.
* * *
“Can we talk?” Petra asked. “I’m so confused.”
“Of course, dear,” Hypatia answered, drawing an armchair to the side of the bed. She wasn’t surprised. She had known that something serious was afoot from the moment she’d caught sight of Dale Bowen’s troubled expression as he’d stalked across the foyer that afternoon, oblivious to everything and everyone around him. “What is bothering you?”
Petra explained haltingly but in great detail what was on her mind.
Hypatia listened attentively, secretly surprised by what she heard. Gathering her thoughts, she bowed her head for a moment’s silent prayer and began to try to alleviate her niece’s confusion.
“Strictly speaking, dear, I suppose they are all right—Dale and your parents.”
“But how can that be?” Petra protested.
“Well, I believe that God does call us all to serve Him, sometimes with one overarching purpose, sometimes with many purposes and in many ways. I believe that the mother whose singular focus is keeping her home and caring for her family is as called as the preacher who fills the pulpit on Sunday or the doctor who treats the ill.” Hypatia smiled with self-deprecating humor. “Or the old maid who doles out her dollars and sits on committees.”
Petra gasped. “Oh! I didn’t mean to imply that you or the other aunties are any less…” She bit her lip, the words trailing off.
Hypatia patted her hand. “I know you didn’t. I also know that your mother has never understood my sisters and I. Partly, I suppose, it’s a generational thing. Far fewer careers were open to women when I was your age, but I don’t think it would have mattered.”
She could tell by the look on Petra’s face that she didn’t understand, so Hypatia settled in to try to explain, sitting on the side of the bed.
“I’ve never had any need to earn a living, but once I realized I wouldn’t marry, I expected that God would call me into the mission field in some way. I dreaded it, frankly,” Hypatia admitted sheepishly, “and as the years slipped by I began to fear that I wasn’t listening as well as I should have been. Eventually, however, I realized that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.”
“Why didn’t you marry?” Petra asked softly.
Hypatia shrugged. “I just wasn’t interested. I don’t know why, but I could never see myself as someone’s wife or mother. I’ve been quite content as a daughter, sister and aunt.”
“I’ve heard people say that perhaps the time is past when people ought to be thinking of marriage and children,” Petra ventured uncertainly.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Hypatia disagreed. “I dare say that in some quarters marriage has lost its cachet. So many people seem to find it passé, old-fashioned, unnecessary, and that has not, in my opinion, been good for our society.”
“Yes,” Petra agreed, “but obviously marriage isn’t for everyone. I mean, it’s difficult to have a career and raise a family, too.”
“Difficult—but not impossible,” Hypatia said. “Just look at your own parents.”
“Well, that’s what I mean,” Petra told her. “You don’t know how often as a child I wished my mother would just come home.”
Hypatia chuckled. “I’m sure all children feel that way at one time or another, but I can’t criticize either of your parents, Petr
a. Just look how well you and your siblings turned out!”
Petra frowned. “But I haven’t really accomplished anything yet.”
Shocked, Hypatia blinked at her. “How can you say that? You’re a lovely young woman, and you’ve had some wonderful jobs.”
“Yes, but those jobs went nowhere.”
“Where did they have to go?” Hypatia asked, confused. Petra just stared at her. Hypatia patted her hand again. “You’re young yet. Give yourself a chance to see what God is doing in your life.”
Petra sighed. “I just want to know where I belong, what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“We all want that, dear, even when we don’t realize that’s what we’re after.”
“I guess,” Petra muttered.
“Now can I ask you something?” Hypatia ventured.
“Of course.”
“Is everything all right with you and Dale?”
Petra started. “Me and Dale? Why would you ask that?”
“Well, I couldn’t help noticing how concerned he’s been for you, and he seemed rather troubled this afternoon. I just wondered…” She shrugged, confiding gently, “I heard about Mr. Anderton and that kiss, you know, and I couldn’t help thinking that Dale must have been…hurt.”
“No!” Petra said. Then her brow furrowed. “Do you think so?”
“He seems to like you,” Hypatia offered obliquely. “Of course, so does Mr. Anderton.”
Petra didn’t seem to be listening any longer. She sat up in bed, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them, her gaze targeted on something across the room. Hypatia followed her line of sight, smiling when she saw Dale’s shirt hanging from a hook on the back of the bathroom door.
“I’ll let you rest now,” Hypatia told her, rising to go. She paused to suggest, “You know, you might want to study the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs. It might give you a little insight.”
“Oh?” Petra muttered absently.
“I think it would be very helpful,” Hypatia told her, bending to place a kiss on her niece’s pale head.
