by Gail Sattler
After listening to her rant and rave, they did apologize. But that wasn’t enough for Chantelle. She didn’t leave their table until they agreed that, after their dinners, Chantelle would call a cab, and they would come back later for their cars, when they were in better shape to drive. Still, she didn’t quit. In the end, one of them ended up saying he would think about going to church on Sunday.
They even left a large tip.
She hadn’t even thought about it. She jumped right in and hit the problem head-on, without planning or forethought, and won. When she needed to be strong, she was. But, for now, the warrior was a child, sleeping like a baby.
The pastor began to wind down his overlong prayer, so Mark thought it best that he wake Chantelle before everyone started moving. He planted his left hand firmly on her shoulder and shuffled slightly sideways. Very gently, he brushed Chantelle’s cheek with the fingers of his right hand, taking his chances that she wouldn’t do something to embarrass them both. “Chantelle,” he whispered. “Wake up. Don’t move.”
Her eyes flickered open, and her head bobbed up so fast he wondered if she might have given herself whiplash. She inhaled sharply.
“Shhh. . . ,” he whispered. “You fell asleep. The sermon is over. Everyone is praying.”
Her eyes crossed slightly and her head swayed. The second her eyes focused on his face, she stiffened. “Mark? Oh, no,” she whimpered. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Shhh. . .”
The congregation mumbled an “amen” in unison, and the pastor’s voice rang out with the most volume and voice inflection Mark had heard in the past forty-seven minutes. “Everyone, please stand and we’ll sing our closing song.”
Mark let his arm drop as Chantelle stood.
The words to the song appeared on the screen, and the worship team began to play. Fortunately, he knew the song, so he sang along; but he didn’t pay attention to the words as they came out of his mouth. Instead, he listened to Chantelle beside him. He hadn’t noticed in the earlier part of the service, but except for a few notes that she missed, she had a lovely voice.
“Go in the peace of Christ!”
Numbly, he turned to Chantelle. She opened her mouth, but he didn’t want to hear that she intended to drop him off at his parents’ house and not see him again until Monday, back at the diner.
He rammed his hands in his pockets. “Can I take you out for lunch?”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth snapped shut. She reached down, picked up her purse, fumbled with it, and then popped a mint into her mouth. “I don’t know. I can’t think straight. I think I should just call it a day and go home. After I drop you off, of course.”
“No!” Mark paused, cleared his throat, and lowered his voice. “I mean, I have an idea. Instead of going to a restaurant, why don’t we go back to my parents’ house, make a couple of sandwiches, and go sit in the park and enjoy the sunshine?”
Her brows knotted, and her whole face pinched as if she thought he were crazy for making such a suggestion. “Are you serious?”
He broke out into a full smile. He’d said the first thing that came into his head that didn’t involve going to a restaurant. Now that the words were said, the appeal of sitting quietly in the park with Chantelle increased exponentially. “Yes. I think it would be great to just sit and take it easy for a couple of hours and not have to think about anything except grass stains.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
“Come on. I think we need the break.”
Her eyes widened, and she stared up at him. He watched the interplay of thought flitter across her face, from surprise to disbelief, slowly changing into a charming, pretty smile. “You know, I think that’s a great idea.”
He smiled back. “Let’s get going, then.”
Eleven
Halfway to Mark’s parents’ house, Chantelle finally realized what she was doing. She decided she really was too tired to function properly.
If Mark had not been driving her car, she wouldn’t have believed what they were about to do or that she’d agreed to it.
As if she hadn’t seen enough of the man in the past ten days, now she was going to spend the rest of her only free day with him, too. Worst of all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so embarrassed. She hadn’t been aware of falling asleep, but she sure remembered waking up.
Once again, she had found herself wrapped in Mark’s arms. Only this time, it wasn’t a good-night “We did great today” hug in the privacy of the middle of the night, hidden behind her car. They were in church, in broad daylight, in a crowd of people. People she knew.
She wrestled with her feelings for Mark. In fleeting moments, when she allowed herself to dwell on her honest emotions, she longed to think of him as more than just a friend. Still, she knew the chances of a future relationship with him were next to nil. He would be leaving soon; and if she weren’t careful, he’d be leaving her behind to nurse a broken heart.
At the diner, they were constantly doing battle. In fun, of course, although there had been a time or two when she’d been so angry with him she could barely look in his direction. She took great consolation knowing that sometimes she got on his nerves, too. He won most of the time, but whenever she saw that she was getting her way, she pushed the point just a little more, just so he would know that she was right.
Today, though, there was no competition, no differences of opinion over the way something should be done. No employees phoning in sick, setting them both off in a tizzy, and no little “accidents” to clean up. It was their day off. Sunday. The Lord’s day. They weren’t supposed to be thinking of work. Yet, at the same time, she had put two and two together. They’d once discussed how he used to work through entire weekends, which included Sundays.
Suddenly, Chantelle felt her heart stop. Her whole body went cold at the realization of why Mark wanted to be alone with her.
Uncle Joe knew she needed the job desperately. From him, she could take a little charity and more than a little forgiveness for her latest accident of the day. But Mark saw things from a different perspective. While he knew how much she needed the job, Mark’s primary concern was the financial well-being of the diner. And, going a step farther, he had to account for the extra expenses she incurred.
As the week wore on, the more tired she got, the clumsier she became. To her utter embarrassment, she seemed to drop things or trip even more than usual, often when Mark was watching.
Suddenly, she knew why Mark wanted to go to the park where they could be alone, away from the other people at the diner. Mark wanted to have “a talk” about everything she’d broken. Maybe he would suggest taking it out of her salary, although it wouldn’t be a deterrent. It would only make her more self-conscious and make matters worse.
“What kind of sandwich would you like? Mom always keeps her kitchen well stocked, and I’m sure we can come up with just about any kind of sandwich combination you want.”
The sound of Mark’s voice made her realize that she’d been staring out the window since they’d left church, which was probably very rude.
“I don’t know. Anything except seafood. I’m allergic.”
When he stopped the car at a red light, he turned to look at her. “I figure if we know ahead of time what we want, we’ll work more efficiently and be out of my mom’s kitchen and headed toward the park in record time. I want a ham on rye, no mustard, with cheese and lettuce.”
Chantelle stifled a chuckle. It shouldn’t have surprised her that, even on his one day off, he was still as efficient as ever. Chantelle made a mental note to learn from his example.
“How ’bout if I make us a thermos of coffee, too? I haven’t had enough sleep. I didn’t get a chance to take a nap this morning.”
Chantelle gritted her teeth. As if she weren’t embarrassed enough, she didn’t need reminded of her latest stupid escapade.
They raced through their lunch preparations and were almost at the park when Chantelle realized that
it would only have taken them a minute out of their way to run into her apartment for a blanket to sit on. Now, it was too late. They had arrived.
Mark led her to a semisecluded spot under a large tree at the edge of the playing field.
“I thought this would be more private than in the picnic area. Is this okay with you?”
Chantelle forced herself to smile. At least he was considerate enough to talk to her away from people so no one would see her tears. “Yes, it’s fine.”
“Let’s have a seat. I’m starving.”
Chantelle kicked off her sandals, lowered herself to the grass, and tucked her legs underneath herself. Mark sat cross-legged facing her.
She knew she was in trouble because he was looking at her funny.
She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she pulled the sandwiches out of the bag. Mark poured their coffee. When they were ready to eat, Chantelle folded her hands in her lap and waited. As expected, he shuffled nervously and remained silent.
“I’ve noticed this before. Why don’t you say grace before you eat? Don’t you believe in God?”
He toyed with his sandwich wrapper, not looking at her. “Of course I do.”
“Then why don’t you pray? I’m sorry for being so blunt about it, but I noticed you avoided saying prayers with the staff, too. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he mumbled as he lifted a corner of his sandwich and peeked inside. “I’m just not good at saying prayers out loud.”
She doubted that was the whole story. Every time they’d prayed together, he never looked comfortable, aloud or silent.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Then I’ll pray for both of us.”
Mark bowed his head. Chantelle thanked God for the food before them, as well as for the smooth operation of the diner until Jack and Uncle Joe returned. She ended with thanking God for Uncle Joe’s life and a prayer for his quick recovery.
They began to eat, but Chantelle couldn’t let it go. “I say a prayer for Uncle Joe every day. I pray for you, too.”
Mark nearly choked on his sandwich. She wanted to reach over and pat him on the back, but she’d been told that, even though it was a natural reaction, it was the wrong thing to do.
“If you must know, I no longer believe in prayer.”
“How can you say that?”
“Over the past few years, I really haven’t had time to go to church much, and I also got out of the habit of praying regularly. And you know what? It didn’t make a difference.”
Chantelle couldn’t believe her ears. “But God wants to hear our prayers. He doesn’t always answer them right away or necessarily in the way we want, but He does listen.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that. When I started to pray again, instead of getting better, things got worse. I’ve given up on prayer. God does what He wants to do anyway. Let’s just change the subject, okay? I need to lease a car for a few months, and I need you to suggest somewhere I can go. Nothing extravagant, just something so I won’t have to depend on everyone around me for a ride all the time.”
He’d changed the subject so quickly, Chantelle couldn’t think properly. “I don’t mind giving you a ride.”
“I know you don’t, and I’m very grateful for your willingness to let me borrow your car or pick me up. But starting tomorrow, I won’t have to spend so much time in the office. That will free up someone else in the kitchen, and hopefully we can shuffle some of the part-timers and cut down on both our hours. I really do need my own transportation. I also have to get some stuff shipped here. I’ll have to make a few phone calls tonight and see what I can arrange.”
They ate the remainder of their sandwiches in silence. When they finished, they packed up the wrappers and tucked everything back into the bag. Even though they were free to talk, unless Chantelle prompted Mark, he didn’t say anything. Regardless of what was being said at the time, his words about no longer believing in prayer echoed through her head, as well as his words that his life was getting worse instead of better.
Even though they didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, she didn’t want him to be unhappy. As his friend, she wanted to know what had caused him to stop praying in the first place. From there, she could work her way forward to see what in his life he thought was so bad that he didn’t want to pray anymore.
One thing she did know about him was that he tended not to talk a lot. She had no doubt he would consider her questions prying, but then again, she was prying. Still, there was so much about him she wanted to know.
So, she questioned him, and he answered. In the process, she found out a lot that Uncle Joe hadn’t told her.
Mark had a well-paying job—if he still had his job when he got home—although he apparently worked very hard and very long hours.
He lived in a fairly new apartment in a high-rise tower. He had no struggles with his landlord or neighbors. The rent was reasonable, and he never had to worry about not paying on time.
His family was fine, even though they were admittedly far away. Still, he was so busy with his job that he didn’t have time to miss them, except for holidays. He seemed to solve that problem by working through most holidays.
He seemed to be in good health. He was slim, but not too skinny. He didn’t get much exercise, but he did take the stairs instead of the elevator once a day at work, so he wasn’t completely out of shape.
She even garnered the courage to ask if a woman had broken his heart. The answer was negative. His last “serious” relationship was with a woman at his office, but they broke up when he became her supervisor.
She asked every question she could think of but came up with no real hardship or heartbreak in his life to explain his attitude. When she finally ran out of questions, he flopped down flat on his back, linked his fingers behind his head, and stared up at the tree above them. Since she had nothing better to do and since she wasn’t getting anywhere talking to him, Chantelle did the same, just making sure to position herself carefully so as to preserve her modesty since she was wearing a skirt.
Together they watched the squirrels scampering and jumping from branch to branch until Mark’s cell phone rang.
Mark answered the call lying on his back. He mumbled a few affirmatives, rolled to his side to face Chantelle, and propped himself up on one elbow. “Ellen invited us for dinner. She says they want to thank us for jumping in and taking over, but I think Joe wants to ask us how things are going. Wanna go?”
Chantelle’s heart sank. She hadn’t done it on purpose, but by talking about everything except the diner all afternoon, she’d unintentionally distracted Mark from the reason he wanted to spend the afternoon together in the first place. Now that the diner found its way back into their conversation, it was time to hear the bad news.
She gulped and forced herself to smile. “Sure. It will be nice to have a home-made meal for a change, especially when I don’t have to cook it.”
He nodded and confirmed arrangements, then flipped the phone shut. “I know what you mean. I eat a lot of takeout. I love a good home-cooked meal.”
He hopped to his feet, bent at the waist, and reached down to Chantelle. “Come on. I’ll help you up.”
All she could do was stare up at him as he smiled and flexed his hand. After spending hours lounging on the grass together, allowing him to help her up seemed to hint at something she couldn’t figure out. But, since she was apparently the only one affected, she reached out toward him.
Mark linked his fingers through hers, covered her hand with his other hand, and pulled her to her feet.
When she was standing, he didn’t let go, forcing her to stand closer to him than she wanted to be.
She tipped her head back and looked up into his eyes. Way up. Since she was barefoot and he still wore his shoes, the height difference was now a full twelve inches.
He ran his thumb over her wrist. With the other hand, he gave a small squeeze. “Thanks for doin
g this. I can’t remember the last time I’ve completely wasted a day. It felt good. By the way, it’s your turn to drive.”
All Chantelle could do was nod. She waited, standing in one spot, for him to let go.
He didn’t. He only smiled down at her.
After a couple of minutes of silence, he finally spoke. “Aren’t you going to put your shoes back on?”
“Not if you won’t let go of my hand.”
“Oh.” He gave a rather lame laugh. “Sorry.” He released his grip barely enough for Chantelle to slide her hand out of his.
She started to bend down to stick a finger under the strap of her sandal so she could slip her foot in, but froze. She was not in the privacy of her home. She was in the middle of the park, where it mattered how she bent over when wearing a skirt.
Standing in one spot, she tucked her toes into her sandal; but when she stepped down, instead of her foot sliding in, she squished the back of her sandal with her heel.
She needed to sit down or lean against a wall.
Or a tree. Chantelle turned around. The nearby trees were certainly sturdy enough, but all were surrounded by sticks and growths of bushes and other twiggy clumps and lumpy pieces of mulch. She wasn’t walking barefoot through that.
Anything solid would have done, except the only thing big and solid nearby was Mark.
Recently she’d heard him in Jack’s office, muttering about desperate times calling for desperate measures.
She was desperate.
“Don’t move,” she mumbled. Chantelle raised her hand, splayed one palm on his shoulder, and leaned on him. He tensed as she supported herself against his weight, but otherwise, he was as sturdy as she thought he would be.
As quickly as she could, she raised her foot and swished a finger behind her heel to lift the strap to the right place. Once she was successful, she turned and repeated the process for the other foot. The moment both feet were back firmly on the ground, she began to straighten. Suddenly, Mark’s hand covered hers.
He grinned, showing those adorable crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes to their full potential. “Glad to be of service.”
