Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2

by Ruth Logan Herne, Allie Pleiter

  Simon nodded. “Then their parents get all freaky and shush them.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. Happened to me the other day at Karl’s. Right in front of Heath...Ms. Browning.”

  That made Simon’s eyes pop. “How do you get into Karl’s?”

  Like any coffee shop anywhere, Karl’s was a favorite high school hangout. It stuck in Max’s gut that Simon considered it off-limits. He leaned in toward the boy. “You ring the bell at the back door and Karl lets you in through the kitchen. Then he gets you the corner table ’cause it’s the only place guys like you and I fit. Anybody he has to move gets a free coffee, so everybody wins. You and I should go sometime. I’ll show you the ropes.”

  Simon looked as if that would make his week, much less his day. “Man, I’d like that.” He looked down, fiddling with one of the gloves. “So you and Ms. Browning, huh?”

  Max was an idiot for thinking it wouldn’t come to this at some point. “Well, I don’t know yet. We’re sort of trying to figure it out.”

  Simon laughed. “What’s to figure out? She’s a girl. She’s pretty.”

  “She’s the school counselor and I’m kind of here in an official capacity. Plus, things are kind of tricky in the dating department for those of us of the wheeled persuasion.” Remembering Luke Sullivan, Max felt compelled to add, “Not impossible, just different.” He gave Simon a companionable nudge to the arm of his chair. “So, who do you like?”

  Simon actually blushed. Max suddenly felt a hundred years old, all mentor-ish and falsely wise. “Well, there’s Bailey.”

  “Oh, from the Ping-Pong Club, right?”

  “Yeah.” Simon angled to face Max and moaned, “Only, it’s like all she can see is the chair, you know?”

  Max put his elbows on his knees, leaning in like a two-man football huddle. “So you gotta show her the great guy in the chair. I won’t lie to you—it’ll take time and some serious charm, but I think you’re up to it.”

  “A guy like you, maybe.”

  “And a guy like you. Don’t count yourself out of the running just because you roll. That’s what I always say.”

  “Are you in the running with Ms. Browning?”

  “I should tell you that such a question is none of your business.” The statement got the “yeah, right” look from Simon that Max would have expected. “But the truth is I’m trying to keep it strictly official with Ms. Browning for reasons that don’t have anything to do with you and me or school.”

  “Like what?” Simon was not going to let him get away with an avoidance like that.

  How could he explain this on a level a fifteen-year-old would understand? Max took the sunglasses off the top of his head and folded them into his shirt pocket just to buy himself time to think. “You, you’ve been in a chair your whole life, right? None of that is new for you. The high school part is new, but not the chair part. Me, I’m still figuring out the chair part. Everything I thought I wanted from life is a bit different now. Some of it’s better, some of it not so much. At first, I thought they were being jerks down at the hospital when they told me not to get into any serious relationships for a year. Now I think maybe that’s not such bad advice.”

  “And you think if you got into it with Ms. Browning, it’d get serious?”

  Well, now, that was pretty perceptive for a fifteen-year-old. It would get serious—fast—if he “got into it” with Heather. And while he’d tell anyone it was to spare Heather any heartbreak, some still-wounded little part of him was out-and-out terrified it’d be his heart lying shredded on the ground when she walked away. “I think that’s a question we won’t get to answer.” Just to change the subject, he pointed at Simon. “Hey, wait a minute. This was supposed to be the hair-raising story of my spinal cord’s untimely demise, not a romance novel. And why don’t you already know this one? Didn’t you read about me in the papers?”

  The boy smirked. “Well, I looked you up on the internet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So you know the basics. I let the cameras on Wide Wild World get to me and I got stupid. I rappelled down that cliff face a lot faster than I ought to have ’cause I wanted to look cool. I took a lot less care than was smart ’cause I thought I was invincible. The show used gear they weren’t supposed to—stuff that hadn’t finished going through the testing phases—and the people who ought to have been paying attention weren’t. There was a lot of finger-pointing afterward—lots of it by me, to be honest—but none of that matters much now. Plenty of blame to go around, if you know what I’m saying, but my spine didn’t really care who whacked it against that scaffold.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  It was the question everyone always asked, which he found funny, since the result of his injury was that he could no longer feel. “Probably. I don’t remember the actual fall or any of the next day. I’ve seen the fall—they had it on tape, since it was TV—but I’ve only watched it once.” That had been a mistake. His doctors had advised against it, but he’d found he couldn’t resist once he knew the tape existed. Still, Max would have rather not had that image of his flopping, twisting body burned into his memory like that. It was one of the few things in life he truly regretted. “Not really something I want to relive, you know. But once I was awake and aware of the world again, did it hurt? Not in the way you’d think. Not the ‘ouch’ kind of pain.” He thumped a fist to his heart. “Pain comes in more ways than one, huh?”

  “Yeah. I get that.” Commiseration darkened Simon’s features, and his eyes flicked down to the gloves for a moment. “Do you think about it? A lot, I mean?”

  “My accident?” Max got the sense that wasn’t Simon’s real question.

  “No, just...do you think...about...like what it would be like if it never happened?”

  Simon wasn’t asking how; Simon was asking why. Big stuff. Max wished Heather were there, thinking she was better positioned to answer those kinds of questions. Then again, who better than he? He shifted uncomfortably under the unsettling notion that Simon hadn’t come into his life by accident. “All the time, buddy. All the time.”

  Simon looked relieved. Max remembered the firestorm of doubts that plagued any teenager, and his heart twisted for the kid.

  “The thing is, everybody thinks like that. Sure, yours and my what-ifs are a little bigger and more dramatic, but every single person wonders why things happen the way they did. Alex wonders why his company crashed the way it did. Melba Bradens wonders why her dad got so sick. JJ wonders why some people died over in Afghanistan and others came away fine.” He felt way out of his depth when the notion came to him to add, “It’s why people go to church. To figure that stuff out.”

  “I haven’t seen you in church other than the funeral. Do you go?”

  JJ would be snickering right now if she were there. Just the other night she’d tried the ploy of “Simon is looking up to you” to get him back to church. Max hedged. “Not as much as I should.”

  Simon took on a mischievous smile. “Our youth group has a Friends Night next week. You should come.”

  Max was glad to have a way to dodge that one. “Do I look like a high school student to you?”

  Simon’s smile turned smug. “It’s not for students. We’re supposed to bring an adult we admire.” The kid’s eyes fairly proclaimed, Back out of that one—I dare you.

  Nailed. JJ would howl with laughter when he told her. “You’ll be sorry when I steal all your dates.”

  “Ha! Not a chance.” A car horn sounded from the parking lot. “Mom’s here. I’ll text you the info.”

  “Show her the gloves,” Max called as Simon wheeled toward the opening van door. “And the website I told you about.”

  Simon gave Max a thumbs-up as he spun his chair onto the van ramp. The kid had the most irresistible smile. Who k
new the scrawny little nerd would get to him like that?

  * * *

  Heather’s heart did an unsettling little flip when Max’s number came up on her desk phone. They’d both stuck strictly to email since that afternoon at the ice rink, although he’d taken to suggesting several ideas for Simon and forwarding articles he’d found at work. Did he realize how invested he’d become in Simon?

  Did he have any idea how much his investment charmed her? Heather had tried so hard not to like Max Jones, and he’d managed to tear down every objection she had. More than once in her prayer journal, Max’s name had been written down under the things for which she gave thanks.

  She smiled as she held the receiver to her ear. “Hi there, Max.”

  “You’ve gotta help me. I don’t know how to get out of this one.”

  The possible circumstances of Max Jones in trouble was a pretty wide world. “Out of what?”

  “Youth group.”

  That sounded like a good story. Heather leaned back in her chair, wrapping the handset’s cord around her finger. “I’ll need more details than that to offer assistance.” The Williamses went to GFCC just like she did, so she could guess what all this was about. She was even an adviser to the youth group. Still, she wanted to hear Max’s explanation.

  “Evidently there’s this thing at church where kids bring friends. Adult friends. Simon sort of invited me.”

  Heather felt herself smile. “Congratulations. It’s a big honor to be invited to Friends Night at GFCC.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “This isn’t really my thing. I don’t...you know...go to church.”

  He really was worked up about it. “JJ said you used to.”

  “I also used to drink chocolate milk, but I don’t do that anymore since my voice changed.” Another pause. “I don’t want to let Simon think I’m something I’m not.”

  “It’s Friends Night, Max, not Deep Spiritual Advisers night. There isn’t a test at the end. There’s cake, if I remember correctly.” After a second, she softened her voice to add, “You should go.”

  No reply.

  “It’d be good for both of you.” Heather sat up to lean on her desk. “You still believe in God, don’t you?” Because that sounded like such a loaded question, she added, “You haven’t gone off and joined some kind of creepy cult that lures in impressionable young men in wheelchairs?”

  The tone of his voice changed. “Well, yeah. I mean the God part, not the creepy-cult part. I just... Look, I don’t think I’m the churchy Friends Night type. I’ll look...dumb. They probably all wear sweater vests and do crosswords and knitting.”

  She was sure Max was kidding. Mostly. “Max, your sister and brother-in-law go to that church. I go to that church. All three of us have been invited to Friends Night at one time or another, and there’s not a crossword or a sweater vest among us. Although there is some knitting—which reminds me, can you meet me at the church on Tuesday at ten? There’s someone I’d like you to meet. And she’s definitely not whatever it is you think ‘church ladies’ are like.”

  “That sounds like institutionalist propaganda to me.” The edge was finally gone from his voice.

  “I’ll buy you pie afterward. At Karl’s. If you survive the trauma, that is. I’m pretty sure one of the kids invited Violet to Friends Night, so now after this you’ll know someone else.”

  “And if I hate it?”

  No one in Gordon Falls hated Violet Sharpton. It wasn’t humanly possible. “If you hate it—which you won’t—I’ll help you get out of Friends Night with Simon. Deal?”

  “Ms. Browning, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “And you drive a minivan with a flame paint job.” It was fun to banter with him. She hadn’t felt this playful in a long time.

  “Don’t you call my wicked-cool Honda a minivan.”

  “Goodbye, Max.”

  “So long, counselor. Keep those teen herds of raging hormones in line.”

  He signed off, and she laughed. She was beginning to really enjoy the continual surprise that was Max Jones.

  Chapter Ten

  Max didn’t make it to the church until ten-fifteen. He wasn’t in a rush to meet whoever it was Heather thought he ought to meet. Just outside the church door, Max tried one last stalling tactic. “This is a dumb idea.”

  Heather and Melba Bradens—Heather had evidently brought reinforcements so he’d be outnumbered—crossed their hands over their chests like a pair of clucking mothers. “No, it’s not. It’s sweet,” Heather said.

  “It’d be fun for the knitters to meet you. And besides, I’ve had a lousy eight days, so you have to humor me.” Melba yanked the door open. “Griever’s choice.” She walked through the doors.

  Max looked at Heather. “Did she really just say ‘griever’s choice’?”

  Heather cocked her head to one side. “Just humor her, okay? The way I hear it, you used to be the kind of guy who rushed into a room full of women.”

  “Ladies’ night on Rush Street is one thing. The old ladies’ church knitting circle is quite another.”

  “Melba’s invited JJ and me to join,” Heather teased. “We’re not old ladies.”

  JJ had mentioned something about learning to knit. Max had visions of chunky ski hats in scary colors and scarves that itched. Still, he had to admit the black-with-flames prayer-blanket thing this group had made him was pretty cool. Regardless, Max was sure he was rolling into one of the most regrettable hours of his life.

  “Ladies, I want you to meet Max Jones.”

  A chorus of hellos greeted him from a circle of women—remarkably, not all of them old and quite a few he recognized—sitting in the church parlor and knitting.

  “Max Jones. Hot Wheels—isn’t that what they call you?” A sparkly-eyed older woman he vaguely recognized aimed a pointy stick at him. “I knit your prayer shawl, honey. Had fun with it, too. Only I don’t suppose you call it a shawl, now, do you?”

  “I don’t call it much of anything,” he replied, liking her immediately despite his earlier resistance. “Except maybe warm and fuzzy.”

  “Violet did an amazing job, didn’t she?”

  “Warm and fuzzy but black with flames,” she boasted. “That was a pretty tall order.” He wheeled over and offered her a handshake, pleased when she didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Violet Sharpton. I’m afraid I don’t have a nifty nickname like yourself, but Violet’s done me right all these years, so I can’t complain.” Violet winked at Melba. “You weren’t kidding. He really is a looker.”

  Max withdrew his hand and decided maybe this was a dumb idea after all. “Thanks. I mean for the blanket thing. It matches my car and everything.”

  “Hard to miss that car,” said a slightly younger woman Max remembered seeing around the firehouse. “Chad’s made a few jokes about needing to douse it.” The remark told him that must be Jeannie Owens, the fire marshal’s wife, who ran the candy shop. More than a few baskets of her sweets had ended up in his hospital room.

  “I’m rather surprised you came back to Gordon Falls, son.” The oldest of the group eyed him over her glasses. “Kind of quiet for the likes of you, isn’t it?”

  “JJ and Alex are here. My job is nearby. There wasn’t a reason to leave.” Max dared a quick look at Heather. “Besides, the people are nice.”

  His quick glance did not go unnoticed. The old lady darted her eyes back and forth between Heather and Max, making a host of assumptions that showed on her face. “So they are.”

  “Stop it, Marge,” Violet chimed in, swatting the assuming lady’s hand. She returned her attention to Max, still boasting a knowing smile. “Marge and I got free coffee off of you two coming into Karl’s the other day.” She turned to the group. “Did you know Karl gi
ves you a free drink if he has to move you so Max can have the corner table?”

  Another woman looked up from her knitting. “Why don’t we all go over to Karl’s after this, sit in the corner table and then Max can come in? We’ll all get free coffee.”

  Jeannie Owens laughed. “That’s our Tina. Always looking for a bargain.”

  These weren’t like any old knitting ladies in rocking chairs Max had ever met. “I don’t think it works that way. Since I owe you, however, how about I bring you a pie one of these days? A payment for the blanket.”

  “Oh, we don’t accept payment,” Marge said. “And I saw in a magazine that it can be called a ‘throw.’” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, that means it’s a ‘flame throw.’ Isn’t there something called a flame throw?”

  Jeannie, who had barely stopped, erupted into laughter again. “That’s a flamethrower, Marge. If you had a teenage son with a video-game system, you’d know these kinds of things.”

  Violet nudged Marge in the elbow. “There is a handsome man offering to bring us pie and you’re discouraging him? Did you take your pills this morning?”

  “You here to learn to knit?” Tina looked a bit too pleased at the prospect.

  Thankfully, Melba stepped in. “I just wanted to make sure you got to meet Max and he got to meet you.” She looked at Max. “We don’t always get to meet the recipients of our prayer shawls, and you have to admit, yours was pretty special.”

  “JJ loves hers,” Max felt compelled to offer. “My mom, too. It was a really nice thing to do.”

  “You’re a really nice young man for saying so,” Violet said. “If you’d like to learn, come in anytime. Melba taught most of us, so we like beginners.”

  Max didn’t think his image could withstand the addition of yarn and needles. “I think I’ll stick to bringing you pie.”

  “Maybe we can start up a club at the high school,” Heather offered.