by Tamara Leigh
Mrs. Feterall shakes her head. “You keep making it the way you make it. I’ve come to appreciate the taste of food and have decided I’m not going back to the shakers. Better for my health too.”
I make a face. “Well, you might want to think twice about Gloria’s chicken salad, then.”
She winks. “Everything in moderation.”
They start to turn to the chicken salad, but Mrs. Feterall pauses and glances between Maddox and me. “You’re a good-looking couple.”
Maddox chuckles. “Enjoy the picnic, Mr. and Mrs. Feterall.” He nods to where the line starts, and we set off. “So you got held up at the café again?”
He’s not the only one putting in long hours. “Gloria and I had to finalize the details for the jamboree. It’s less than a week away.”
“My fault, then.”
As we settle in line behind a family of five, I scowl. “That’s right. If you hadn’t suggested the jamboree, I wouldn’t have been late.”
“Sorry about that.”
I’m not. Though I was against the idea, the older folks are buzzing with excitement. And even Bea signed up for dance lessons. Of course, I’m sure that was prompted by Jack, who was the first to sign up.
“Actually, I think it’s going to be a good thing, not only for the café, but the older folks. If we pull it off, it’ll be worth all the extra work.”
Maddox studies me as we inch forward. “You put in a lot of time at the café.”
Must tread carefully. “Well, Gloria is getting up there in years, and it’s harder for her to keep things running, so I help out where I can.”
Maddox hands me a plate. “I imagine she’s starting to think about retirement.”
Our fingers brush as I accept the plate, which I blame for what pops out of my mouth. “As a matter of fact, she… is.”
“Really?”
The interest in his voice gives me another jolt. Of course, maybe this is the perfect opening to reveal my plans for the future. And if your plans fall through? They won’t. After all, nearly everything’s in place. Still…
“So what does she intend to do with the café?” Maddox lowers a hot dog bun to my plate. “Pass it on to family?”
“No. None of her immediate family are interested in running it.”
He tongs a hot dog into my bun. “Meaning she’ll probably sell it?”
“Yes.” Desperate to change the subject, I follow the haze of smoke to its source. “Look! Stephano’s working the grill.” Ugh. Poor change of subject. Remembering Stephano’s blank expression when I turned down his dinner invitation several days ago, I frown. Though it appeared he was putting on a brave face when I told him that Maddox and I had gone “exclusive,” I don’t think it had much to do with any real feelings he has for me.
“So he is.” Maddox pauses in the middle of spooning slaw. “Nice apron.”
I eye the lobster on the bib. Probably not the best choice to wear to a burger and weenie roast.
“Shade?” Maddox asks as we exit the line.
I peer at him past the strand of hair that’s come free of my ponytail. “Definitely.”
He takes my arm and guides me past a group of boys huddled around a collection of trading cards. As we pass the grills, a gathering beyond Stephano and his fellow burger flippers catches my eye. The rebel youths. And among their ranks are other teenagers, including Anna. Anna, who dropped by my mobile home several days ago. While Leah was off with Anna’s brother, Pastor Paul “dragged” his daughter to church with him. Thus, with “nothing better to do,” she appeared on my doorstep. And we talked. Well, mostly I talked, but she seemed interested and indicated that she didn’t want to go down the path I’d gone down. So what is she doing with those rebels?
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Maddox asks.
I snap my head around. “Yes!”
His face darkens. “Then you’d prefer that I don’t hold your arm?”
That he didn’t…? I shake my head. “Why do you say that?”
“You’ve gone all tense.”
“Oh. It’s not you.” At least, not much. While it’s now common knowledge that Maddox and I are dating, I’m still uncomfortable. “It’s…” I look at the youths.
“Ah.”
“Maybe I should go over and—”
“Leah’s keeping an eye on her.” Maddox nods at a group of ladies, and sure enough, Leah’s watching her daughter.
He halts in the shade beneath an aged Bradford pear tree, and I look down. “Your blanket?”
He sets his plate on the woolen plaid. “I come prepared.”
“I’m grateful.” I steal another glance at Anna and the rebels as Maddox helps me sit, then settles beside me.
He sinks his fork into his slaw. “So dual services begin tomorrow. Heard any more rumblings—other than from Bea?”
Everyone knows where Bea stands. Plain and simple, she doesn’t like it. If Jack hadn’t refused to join forces with her, I’m certain she would quit the church altogether.
“Though some of the older folks are a bit uneasy, mostly it’s having a choice that’s hard for them.” I consider my charred, wrinkled hot dog. “One of our ladies won’t go to the early service unless her friend will, but her friend won’t because her husband is pushing for the late service because that’s when their children will be attending.”
“It’ll work out, Harri.”
“I know.” I take a bite of the dog and am surprised at how juicy it is—so surprised that I’m aiming for another bite before I realize I’m being watched. “What?”
Maddox grins. “You said, ‘I know.’”
I flush. “I did.”
“Then you’re starting to trust the direction First Grace is heading?”
I shrug. “I guess. Most of the older members seem to be adjusting, and the younger ones are in favor of the changes. As for drawing in the unchurched…” Another glance at the rebel youths. “We certainly are. I suppose the only questions we need to answer are, will this change make a difference in our members’ relationship with God? and will it speak to those who don’t know Him—do more than just draw them in for a free meal?”
Maddox lays a hand on my arm. “Give it time.”
I consider his tanned fingers and realize I trust him. Despite our rocky start and the roller-coaster ride of the past few months, his intentions are good. First Grace is better for having known him. As am I. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Doing what’s right for all of us. When you came, I thought you wouldn’t care about our older members’ needs. That you’d put numbers ahead of a bunch of old folks, especially those living out their last years in a mobile home park. I was wrong.”
Maddox momentarily looks down. “You do know, Harri, that my work here isn’t finished? That there will be more changes? More programs put in place?”
I nod. “Can’t say I’m thrilled, but I suppose it’s inevitable, and in the end it will be best for all.”
He starts to say something but presses his lips together. When he speaks, it’s with a rough edge. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be comfortable with what still needs to be done, but I assure you that it’s necessary and that I’ll do my best to watch out for the older folks.”
My lids narrow. “So serious. As cooperative as I’ve been these past months—even if grudgingly so—are you expecting me to stir up trouble?”
I’m disappointed, and a little alarmed, when he doesn’t immediately reject the possibility. “Let’s just say that I have a special interest in avoiding your displeasure.”
Curiosity roused, I poke at my Hot Smoky Chicken Salad. “So Maddox McCray is a little slippery after all.”
He doesn’t respond but begins to stack his burger with lettuce and tomato.
Over the next ten minutes, I mull over what he and his vision team have in store for First Grace. Three Sunday services? More musical instruments? Separate worship for youth? A recreation center—
No. Talk
of enlarging the sanctuary is stretching it as it is. There isn’t room for a recreation center.
I set aside my plate and venture another glance at the rebel youths. But they’re gone. Heart ping-ponging, I snap my head around.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t see Anna.”
“Look, Harri—”
“No. Really. I don’t see her. Or the rebels.” I scoot to my feet.
“There’s Anna.” As Maddox rises, he juts his chin toward the church. “Heading toward the playground.”
She is, absent her church friends, but hardly lacking company. I scan the grounds. Though the progress of the pastor’s daughter amid the darkly clad youths turns some heads, there’s no sign of Leah. “Maddox, I have to—”
“I’ll go with you.”
Side by side, we stroll toward the playground. Halfway there, Leah intercepts us. “Have you seen—”
Maddox nods toward the playground. “Harri and I thought we’d take a walk in that direction.”
Gratitude transforms her face. “I had to go to the car to get Lucas his football, and when I came back…”
I smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on her.”
Shortly, we step to the sidewalk. Feigning interest in the little ones on the playground equipment, I keep Anna and the rebels in my peripheral vision. They haven’t entered the fenced area, but their presence at the far end causes a stir among the supervising parents. Fortunately, not enough to make them grab their children and head for the safety of the pack.
Aware of the stares from the youths, I draw alongside Maddox at the fence. “We’ve been sighted.”
He doesn’t respond. Wondering at his curved mouth, I follow his gaze to where a little girl is flying high on the swing her dad pushes. Eyes wide, round cheeks flushed little-girl pink, she calls, “Higher, Daddy, higher!”
That sweet voice grabs my heart. Those are the same words I cried out to my father when I was of a similar age. Years later, he’d found me on a swing in the park smoking a cigarette. Dad didn’t rant or try to snatch it away. He gently lowered to the swing beside mine, and when he finally spoke, he recalled when I was little and he’d launched me in the air and I’d cried, “Higher, Daddy, higher!” That day, he looked past the smoke I blew out and said, “It’s God you should be speaking those words to now, Harriet. All you have to do is ask, and He will take you higher.”
The pain etched in his face caused my hard shell to soften, and for a moment I’d longed to crawl into his lap. But instead, I’d ground my cigarette beneath a boot and walked away. A month later, I graduated from high school—barely—and the day after, left home for good—
Make that bad, as the next two years saw me at my worst.
“Are you trying to bend steel, Harri?”
Realizing I’m gripping the top rail of the fence so hard that my knuckles are white, I lower my hands. “Just remembering a rebel moment.”
“When was the last time you were on a swing?”
“Actually, that’s the moment I was remembering.”
“Then not a good one.” He smiles. “We could replace it.” He nods at the swing set. “I’ll push.”
“Are you kidding?”
He props an elbow on the fence’s rail. “No.”
“Well, thanks for the offer, but I’m twenty-eight years old and the director of women’s ministry.”
“So?”
I put a hand on my hip. “In the words of a man who once knew better—bad timing.”
He laughs. “All right, but when the timing is right, count yourself in for a little swing time.”
I smile, but only for a moment. Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I step nearer to him. “We have company.”
“Hey!” calls the darkly clad young man. “The preacher’s daughter here says that’s your bike.”
Maddox follows his nod to the motorcycle where it stands to the left of the bicycle rack where I parked. “Would you like to take a look?”
The youth bobs his head, causing his bangs to obscure his eyes. “Yeah, man.”
Maddox strides forward. “Name’s Maddox. Yours?”
“Drew.” The youth accepts Maddox’s handshake, and soon the two stand over the motorcycle—and Anna and her rebel friends are advancing on me.
“Bike lady!”
Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to You. ’Cause what I’d really like to say wouldn’t be acceptable at all.
They halt before me. “Uh, Miss Harri, this is Hannah.” Anna touches the shoulder of the stout girl who earlier thanked me for the eats. “We have some classes together. And this is her sister, Becca. She’s two years ahead of us.”
The latter drops her chin to once more give me an eyeful of the interior of her mouth. “Remember me?”
I unclench my hands. “Of course. Nice tongue piercing.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Still…” I put my head to the side. “That one hurt.”
“How would you know?”
Lord, I’m the last one who should be witnessing to rebellious teenagers, but I’ll try.
“Believe me, I’ve had my share of piercings.”
She snorts. “Ears don’t count.”
I glance at Hannah, then Anna, both of whom are following the exchange. “Do bellies count? Or is that now considered passé?”
Becca looks me up and down. “You have a belly piercing?”
“Not anymore.”
She narrows her lids at me. “Belly piercing is all right, but tongue and labret piercings”—she jabs the as-yet-unpierced flesh beneath her bottom lip—“is where it’s at.”
“And tattoos.” Anna takes a step forward. “Becca’s thinking about getting one, Miss Harri.”
In Anna’s eyes is something like pleading. Does she want me to discourage her friend from handing herself over to the needle? I return my regard to the older girl. “A tattoo, hmm?”
“First I have to come up with the money. It’s not cheap, you know.”
Feeling caught up in a strange game of one-upmanship, I nod. “I know, but wait until you have to come up with the money to have it removed. Now that’s not cheap.” I push up my three-quarter-length sleeve to reveal the crown of thorns. “See this? Beaucoup bucks to get rid of it. And it’s only one of two that I have.”
Eyes riveted on the thorns branded into my flesh, the girl sighs. “Cool.”
Hardly a winning response. “When I was younger, it was cool. Now…”
Becca sneers. “Let me guess. They won’t let you show it, you working here at the church and all.”
“Actually, I choose not to show it.”
“Why?”
“Because of what it reminds me of. But maybe you’ll be different. Maybe ten… twenty years from now, you’ll still like yours. Maybe your memories will be better than mine.” With a glance at Anna, who’s nibbling her lip, I lower the sleeve.
“I am never getting a tattoo,” the stout Hannah declares.
Big sister throws her a look of exasperation. “As if Mom would let you.”
“Well, she won’t let you, either.”
Becca sticks out her tongue. “I got this, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but wait till she finds out.” Hannah folds her arms over her chest.
Becca swings away. “Drew! Let’s get out of here.”
The young man, hunkered beside Maddox near the chrome muffler, turns, and there’s no mistaking his disappointment. “Okay, Bec.”
I consider Hannah as her sister scoots away. “Do you need a ride home?”
“No, my sister and her boyfriend were just dropping me off. I’m spending the night with Anna and”—she offers a sheepish smile—“going to church with her tomorrow.”
Anna smiles. “Mom and Dad said she could.”
“That’s great. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Hannah.”
She nods, then turns to Anna. “Let’s check out the dessert ta
ble.”
Anna catches my eye as she steps past and mouths, “Thanks.”
A few moments later, Maddox returns to my side. “A bit lost, but Drew’s a nice kid. How’d you do?”
Staring at him, I’m struck by a longing to be pulled into his arms—right here with the sun beating on our heads. But the timing is still wrong, so I slide my hand into his and savor the threading of our fingers. “Only God knows.”
A quarter hour later, Maddox jogs off to join a game of touch football.
“Doing all right, Harri?”
I turn to Stephano, who once more looks his stylish self in the absence of the lobster apron. “Yes. You?”
“Could be better, but nothing a game of football can’t cure.” He juts his chin toward the field. “I’d better get out there.” He takes a step away but looks over his shoulder. “I should warn you that there are more changes coming. Bigger than the move to contemporary worship and the transition to dual services.”
Remembering my earlier talk with Maddox, I incline my head. “I know.”
He searches my face. “No, I don’t believe you do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He raises a hand and sets off.
And I’m left to ponder his words. In the end, I remind myself of Maddox’s assurance that what has yet to be done is necessary and he’ll look out for the older folks. I trust him. He’ll do what’s right.
Harri’s Log: • Day of jamboree
• 30 days until new season of The Coroner (should be more excited…)
• 16 days until Jelly Belly replenishment (binged over upcoming jamboree)
• 138 days until the completion of Bible #8 (considering joining the young women’s Bible study that Oona agreed to help organize)
• 152 days until the café changes hands!
Maddox! What are you doing here?”
He halts with a hand on the door and gazes at me where I braked my bike in front of the café. “Harri.”
“Don’t tell me, another late lunch?” Actually, very late. It’s approaching five, and his meetings with the vision team don’t usually run that long.
“No.” His gaze wavers, causing unease to brush the edge of my consciousness—at least until I clue in.
