Splitting Harriet

by Tamara Leigh

  “Well, I got to grow up in a godly home where I never had to question whether I was loved. Of course, I did question it—loudly—but it was mostly to lay a guilt trip on my parents.” Regret washes over me. “And it worked. I hurt them.”

  Anna stares at me.

  Oh, I hope I didn’t just plant a seed. “But back to the good things. Outside of my parents and my brother, I had a huge family—my church family—who covered me with prayer. Of course, they did stick their noses in my business, but I now realize it was because I was precious to them.”

  “Not all of them.”

  Then she’s heard about the split First Grace barely sidestepped. I tumble back twelve years to the discord, gossip, and hurtful words hurled at my father that, ultimately, splattered his wife and children. “Things happen, Anna. Things change. God made us individuals with different wants and needs, and sometimes we have to move apart before we can stand together.” Wow! Don’t I sound philosophical? I roll my eyes. “If that makes sense.”

  “Not really.”

  I feel a flush of embarrassment, which reverses itself when I’m struck by the humor of it—humor I’ll take any day over painful memories. I chuckle.

  Anna regards me as if I’m an alien life form, then starts to grin. Unfortunately, her face turns serious again. “Miss Harri?”

  “Yes?”

  She drags her teeth across her bottom lip. “The old people. Some are all right, but others aren’t happy with the changes my father’s making. Like… Bea Dawson.”

  I draw a deep breath. “Change is never easy, and not just for the older folks. It’s been hard for me too.”

  She shifts around to face me. “Yeah, but you didn’t send a nasty letter to my father…”

  Oh no. “Was it Bea who sent the letter?”

  Her mouth turns down. “Yeah. She accused him of driving out the old people and said he’s not half the pastor your father was. That he’s only in it for the money.”

  The money? “How did you get ahold of the letter?” No way her father would have shown it to her.

  Guilt flushes her cheeks. “I found it in his desk. And, no, I shouldn’t have been going through it, but when I overheard him and Mom talking about it, I had to see it.”

  I sigh. “You’re more like me than you know, Anna Pinscher.”

  “You did it too?”

  “Yes, except Bea’s letter to my father was one of support when he stood his ground despite the pressure for a contemporary form of worship. Unfortunately, there were some hurt and angry members. So I guess that’s what I meant when I said that sometimes we have to move apart in order to stand together—find other churches that better meet our needs if we’re to remain united in our belief that Jesus is our Savior.”

  Anna considers me with such intensity that I feel like an algebra problem infested with negative exponents. Her mouth curves slightly. “That’s kind of deep.”

  Another chuckle escapes me. “And that’s my cue that I’m out of my league. So tell me how you and Mr. Butterby ended up talking about smoking.”

  She drops her chin, losing the smile that was so close to appearing.

  “Did he catch you doing something you shouldn’t, Anna?”

  When she pries a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her light jacket, my heart sinks.

  Lord, she’s only thirteen. At least I was sixteen.

  She turns the pack in her hands. “When he showed up, I was sitting here wondering what would happen if Mom walked out and found me smoking.” She glances at me. “What would she do?”

  “Love you.”

  “What?!”

  I’m almost as surprised by the words that glided over my tongue. “Not that there wouldn’t be consequences, but she’d love you. Just like God loves you.”

  Anna returns her gaze to the cigarettes. “She definitely would have been angry.”

  “I’m guessing you wanted her to find you smoking.”

  She flips her hair back. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, if you wanted to get away with it, I doubt you’d do it where you’re bound to be caught, whether by your mom or a church member. Then there’s the matter of the bracelet you took from the store.”

  She glowers. “What about it?”

  “I think you took it with the intention of being caught—that you recognized Miss Maria and knew she would page your mom rather than call security. That way, you could get your mom’s attention without long-reaching consequences.”

  Anna’s defiance falters and shoulders slump. “How’d you know?”

  “Did something similar a few times myself.”

  “Really?”

  “I thought that my initial attempts at rebellion would show my father how deeply I was affected by the actions of those I believed had betrayed us. That he would leave First Grace.” I sigh. “But he listened to God in spite of the pain his immature daughter caused him and the rest of his family.”

  She hooks the hair out of her eyes and behind an ear. “You think I’m being immature?”

  You don’t want to lose her now, Harri. “Thirteen. Hmm. No, I think you’re hurt and confused and need someone to understand.”

  “You.”

  “Not necessarily, but I am a PK who has been where you are and done worse, so I suppose I qualify. It’s up to you whether you make use of my so-called expertise.”

  “Then you’re okay with talking to me?”

  I smile. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “I know my mom asked you to talk to me that night you came to our house.”

  “She did, and I admit that it wasn’t something I wanted to do, but that was because I was afraid of dredging up old memories—living them again through you.”

  “You’re not afraid anymore?”

  I draw a breath of the balmy night air. “Actually, I am afraid, but I believe this is God’s will. Besides, I think it’s also helping me.”

  Anna considers me, then rises. “Can I come visit you in the park?”

  Wow. “Anytime.”

  She extends the pack of cigarettes. “I opened it but didn’t smoke any. Would you get rid of them for me?”

  I reach forward, only to falter at the possibility that once more holding a pack will lead me into temptation…that my nicotine craving will return…that I’ll light up just one… And here I sit without any Jelly Bellys to avert disaster.

  “Miss Harri?”

  “Uh… yeah.” I curl my fingers around the pack but feel nothing. It’s just a small box, the contents of which don’t affect me beyond the paranoid workings of my mind.

  “I’d better get back before Mom comes looking for me.” Anna walks away but turns at the double doors. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She steps inside, and as she heads toward the gymnasium, her mother appears.

  I jerk my hand behind me, flip up my top, and shove the cigarettes in my back pocket. Thus, when Leah peers past her daughter through the doors, all evidence of Anna’s attempt to let her mother know how unhappy she is, is gone.

  Leah gives a wave, and I wave back. She and Anna walk away, and I lean back against the bench. You did it, Harri. You got to her. And maybe made a difference.

  I feel as if a rope I didn’t know was around my chest has loosened. I look to where the endless night sky moves me in a way I imagine it moved Maddox that night on my porch when he talked about how big God is. “Happy, Lord?”

  When I return to the gym, Jack is helping Bea into her sweater, and on her cheeks is a becoming flush of color. The others from our quilting circle gather their supplies as they throw knowing looks Jack and Bea’s way. Though some of the younger ladies have also begun to collect their supplies, quite a few are still jabbering and crop, crop, cropping. Among them moves Leah, who thanks them for attending the event. Behind her trails Anna—an improvement over the length of the gymnasium she kept earlier between her and her mother.

  With a flush of well-being, I smile. Maybe thi
s PK did make a difference.

  “Bad habit.”

  I focus on the man who crosses to where I sit in my resin chair in the glow of my porch light. “What?”

  A smile beneath that long nose of his, Maddox halts and looks at my hands.

  I follow his gaze, and a noise escapes me when I see the cigarettes.

  “So was it me who drove you to smoke again?”

  “No! I wasn’t smoking.”

  He leans to within inches of my face and sniffs. “Hmm. You don’t smell of smoke. In fact, you smell pretty good.”

  So does he—I strain back. “Do you mind?!”

  He straightens and his eyes settle on my mouth. “It’s a good thing I showed up.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep you from lighting up and ruining that nice mouth of yours—wrinkles, you know.”

  I wish he wouldn’t stare at me like that. It makes me buzz. And we’re not even touching.

  “And, of course, to keep you from falling back into those old ways.”

  “For your information, the cigarettes aren’t mine. They’re…” I avert my eyes. “They belong to a friend.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, she asked me to toss them out, and I forgot.”

  “Then this friend was using the cigarettes as a prop?”

  “Something like that.”

  He nods. “As for why I’m out so late, I was doing the same as you—looking at the stars. At least, until you strolled past.”

  Then he was sitting outside when I walked down Red Sea Lane fifteen minutes ago. Nervousness flies all over me at the possibility I might have done something unladylike. The miniquesadillas we served at the event were pretty spicy, and they have been troubling my stomach—enough that I decided not to go in for Jelly Bellys and risk losing them with the quesadillas.

  “How did the event go?” Maddox leans back against my little porch.

  “Very well.” So relieved at the change of topic. “All the ladies seemed to enjoy themselves. Of course, a lot of that’s owing to Oona Baldwin.” Hey! I didn’t say that with grudging. Though Oona’s past attempts to make herself useful have been more an annoyance than a help, this time I was grateful. And surprised at how easily she moved between coordinating child care and assisting with the event.

  “I understand she has previous experience in women’s ministry.”

  I nod. “When I leave First Grace, she’d be the perfect—” Oops

  “When you leave?” He straightens.

  “Well, I don’t plan on working there forever, you know.”

  “I suppose not.” He frowns. “What do you plan on, Harri?”

  Buying Gloria’s Morning Café and living happily ever after among the regulars—feeling safe, accepted, my future assured. Not that I’m ready to share that with him. After all, I may be this close and getting closer with every paycheck, but it’s only a dream until I have the deed in hand. “One never knows where the path may lead. Take, for instance, your path to First Grace.” That ought to get him off the topic of my future. “Did you ever see yourself earning a living as a church consultant?”

  “Actually, it crossed my mind, but this isn’t about me.” He comes near and gazes down on me with an intensity that makes me want to melt into my resin chair. “It’s about you and your plans.”

  Why this feeling we’re once more on the topic of Stephano? Why this need to set Maddox straight? And why does he have to look so “mmm mmm good” in the moonlight?

  “If you’re asking if I have plans to marry and have children, the answer is yes.”

  When his intense look falters, I stand. Fortunately, he takes a step back. Not so fortunately, the two feet separating us is more than capable of conducting electricity.

  “But they’re not immediate plans,” I clarify. “And they’re dependent on who God sends my way.”

  “And how will you know the man God sends your way?”

  With the attraction between us on the verge of blowing a fuse, I back up. No sooner does my calf hit the resin chair than my rear heads south. If Maddox hadn’t grabbed my arm, I would have landed hard on my chair, which would have been far better than where I do end up—mere inches between us rather than feet.

  His head descends, and he asks in a rumbly voice, “What if I’m that man?”

  Oh… my… What if he is?

  His mouth on mine is light, something more than a caress, something less than a lip lock. Just right. As is the hand that leaves my shoulder and brushes the lobe of my ear as it slides into my hair. It’s been a long time since—

  Actually, I don’t remember anything quite like this. This is more. Waaaay more.

  In case you didn’t notice, Harri, that’s a red flag! You are kissing Motorcycle Man. In the dark. Fifty feet from your bedroom.

  Before I can disengage, Maddox pulls back and drops his hands from me. “Still bad timing,” he mutters on a breath that makes him sound winded.

  “Yeah.” Was that my voice—all weak and shaky? Of course, my mouth doesn’t quite feel my own. I trace the top lip, then the bottom. Kind of thick. And tingly.

  Maddox retreats farther and grips the back of his neck. “But at least we’ve established that you’re wasting your time with Stephano.”

  My hand freezes at my mouth. “Is that what you were trying to do?”

  He lowers his hand. “Just an observation.”

  “Well, I don’t agree with it.” Actually, I do. The reality is that this tattooed former rebel is more up my alley than Stephano. I like the way Maddox carries himself, how comfortable he is with his past, the ease with which he speaks of his relationship with the Lord, his penchant for the stars, the way he talks to me (when he isn’t antagonizing me), and the way he kisses. But that doesn’t give him the right to make up my mind about him!

  I move forward. “In future, keep your observations to yourself.” I skirt past him, bound up the stairs, and let myself into my mobile home.

  The instant before I flip the light switch, I catch the glow of Dumplin’s eyes in the far corner. Sure enough, my mother’s cat is resting on the bookshelf beside my collection of Bibles, plump paws tucked in.

  Feeling a need to cuddle something warm and soft and loving (I fantasize), I eye him. Will he allow it? I cross the room. “Hey, Dumplin’.”

  He blinks.

  “How about some company?”

  He yawns.

  As I reach for him, I realize I’m still holding the cigarettes, and that they in no way resemble the ones Anna handed over. I toss the pulverized pack to the table and pull Dumplin’ into my arms, only to be surprised by the sound of his little motor.

  “Ah,” I croon. “Maybe you should hang out with the Word more often.”

  He purrs louder.

  I sigh. “Me too.” I grab my pink Bible, and the three of us—me, Dumplin’, and God—spend an hour together.

  Harri’s Log: • Day of Doo-Dah (Why did I agree to keep him for Tyler?)

  • 6 days until the next The Coroner rerun (Lisa hosting)

  • 10 days until Jelly Belly replenishment (getting low; must ration)

  • 163 days until the completion of Bible #8

  He kissed you again?”

  I make a sweep of the restaurant to be certain no one is listening. It’s that dead time between ten and eleven, only three of the tables are occupied, and the customers are either engaged in conversation or have their noses in newspapers.

  I meet Lisa’s gaze. “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Last Friday night.”

  “Last Friday? As in last night’s Friday, or eight days ago Friday?”

  “Eight days ago Friday.”

  “And you didn’t mention it when we got together Saturday?”

  Hence, the problem with friends. “I wasn’t comfortable talking about it then. It’s unnerving—you know, having both Maddox and Stephano pursue me. I don’t like it.”

  She feigns a faint against the drink station’s count
er. “Let me get this straight. Unlike some of us, you have two eligible bachelors hot on your trail. And you have a problem with that?”

  “I’m not ready for this.”

  She blows a raspberry. “Excuse me! How old are you?”

  “You know how old I am.”

  “Yes, but do you?”

  I give her “the eye.”

  She sighs. “Okay, repeat after me: ‘I am twenty-eight years old.’”

  Why did I confide in her? Everything was going fine—talk of last night’s rerun and chitchat. Chitchat that got out of hand when Lisa mused over Maddox’s continuing absence from the café and Stephano’s establishment of a favorite table. When she concluded that it must mean things are getting serious between Stephano and me, I set her straight. Unfortunately, I didn’t choose my words wisely.

  “Say it, Harri: ‘I am twenty-eight years old.’”

  I grit my teeth. “Twenty-eight years old.”

  “I am an adult.”

  “Adult.”

  “I am allowed to have fun.”

  I narrow my lids at her.

  Her shoulders drop. “Within reason.”

  “Fun within reason.”

  “I’m allowed to enjoy the company of men.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Say it!”

  “I’m allowed to enjoy the company of men—within reason.”

  “Har…ri?”

  Lisa’s lashes flutter at the sound of Melody’s voice, but before I can turn to the young woman, she says, “Mad ox is back.”

  He sure is, and he’s standing behind Melody with a smile that disturbs me to my toes. Not that I haven’t seen him in the week since we kissed, but I’ve avoided anything more than eye contact—nothing at all below the nose.

  I prop up the corners of my mouth. “Maddox. Wanting a late breakfast?”

  “Actually, just coffee.”

  I peer past him to the hostess stand, but Gloria’s nowhere in sight. That leaves me the task of seating him, which is good, because I can fob him off on Lisa. But no sooner do I step forward than she bustles past.

  “I’d be happy to seat you. Is the Dogwood table all right?”

  I feel my eyes pop wide. “Uh, maybe the Honeysuckle—”