“Did you say Mr. Hanson?”
A large, smiling man nodded and held out a calloused hand. “That’s right.”
“Hello, nice to meet you.” I shook his hand, and this time my smile and words were genuine. “Do you own a hardware store?”
I could have bitten my tongue off. What a question! Even standing in the cool shade, I felt my face grow warm.
The man raised thick eyebrows. “Why, yes, I do—”
“You see, I thought I remembered seeing a Hanson’s Hardware in town—and I just thought maybe—” having already embarrassed myself by interrupting, I hurried on and made things worse—“I just thought maybe you owned it.”
It was a lame explanation—who goes around making connections like that? The man looked amused, but appeared flattered that I’d noticed his store. “That’s right. Hanson’s Hardware’s been in the family for years.”
I began calculating. This man could be thirty-five, maybe forty—certainly not old enough to be the Mr. Hanson who had employed Christopher Renton. “So did your father run it before you?”
“Sure did. But Dad doesn’t get around very much anymore. Bad back, you see.”
“Oh,” I said stupidly. My mind wasn’t working fast enough to come up with any clever ways of finding out what I wanted to know. Maybe because I was so hungry. My stomach growled.
“As a matter of fact, I guess we’d better be getting back to him.” Mr. Hanson turned to a wiry woman standing beside him, whom I supposed was his wife, and said, as if my noisy stomach had reminded him, “Dad’ll be wanting his blueberry pancakes. We’d better be going.” He took her arm and they began to move away. Thank goodness, because my stomach growled again.
“So long,” Mr. Hanson turned to call back over his shoulder, loud enough for everyone—even the dead in their graves—to hear. “Come visit the store anytime. Nice to meet a young lady who’s interested in hardware!”
I flushed. This was a good time to leave.
Quickly, before others could introduce themselves, I turned to my uncle, who seemed quite content, cleverly avoiding the crowd by leaning against the other side of the tree. “Let’s go now,” I whispered urgently.
“Why? Don’t you want to make some more friends? It’s kind of nice here in this shade. Cool and relaxing, don’t you think?”
Before I could answer, another voice piped up. “Did I hear right?” I turned and saw a girl about my age, with a smooth, unfreckled complexion and shiny black hair, standing near me. I thought of Snow White. “Are you really interested in hardware?” She laughed, showing even white teeth. I couldn’t imagine her ever having to wear braces; I bet her teeth just grew in perfectly straight like that. She didn’t wait for an answer. “What a weird thing for Mr. Hanson to say! Anyway, my name’s Anna. Anna Larkwood.”
“Robin Finley.”
There. End of introductions. I turned back to my uncle and entreated him with the first thing that jumped to mind. “I’ll make blueberry pancakes if we leave right now.”
We left.
Walking away, I suddenly remembered Justin, and for some reason I turned my head. My eyes searched through the few straggling people, and I saw Snow White had moved off to the shade of a pine tree and was now talking to a tall, dark-haired young man. Justin. Though I was too far away to hear what they were saying, I could imagine them talking about “rude Robin Finley.” I told myself I didn’t care, but I felt a slight pang anyway. At that moment, Justin looked up and caught me watching him. I swung my eyes away.
“Wait a second, Robin!” I heard footsteps running to catch up to me, and my heartbeat quickened to match their pace. “What are you doing today?”
“Uh—I don’t know—I don’t have any plans, but—” My mind floundered for some excuse, because suddenly I remembered I did have plans, important ones: the diary. But I couldn’t tell him that.
“Good. How about we meet at the park?” He glanced at the sun. “Say one o’clock?”
“Really, I—”
“Come on, Robin.” He smiled. “I think the ducks miss us.”
He really wants me to, I thought. He’s asking me even with my uncle right here. I couldn’t help feeling pleased. Well, the diary could wait. An afternoon in the park wouldn’t take all day, and it sounded, well, kind of fun. Relaxing. And with the weather so nice, I’d like to spend time outside.
But I sensed my uncle tense beside me. I hesitated, then thought, I will go, just to show him I won’t be put off by his paranoid concerns. Because that’s all they are. Then for some reason, I thought of Snow White. My eyes darted to her slender form and I saw her watching us. “Okay,” I agreed.
Apparently satisfied, Justin left, and he didn’t head in Snow White’s direction. My uncle and I continued up the sidewalk in silence until we were almost to the house. Then he spoke, as if it had taken him that long to find the words. “So you are going to see that young man, after all?”
“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?” See, I’m being reasonable, I thought. Now let’s see if you can give me a reasonable answer.
“I’d feel better if you stayed away.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“Is there some reason you have to see him?”
“Why do I need a reason? He’s a friend. You said yourself you wanted me to have friends.”
“I do.”
“Okay,” I stopped walking, “I get it. You want me to have friends, but you don’t want me to have friends. That makes a lot of sense!” I exploded.
“I want you to have the right friends.” We were at the mailbox now, and my uncle pulled out the Sunday paper. “How about Anna? She was trying to be friendly, but you brushed her off.”
“Oh, I’m sure Snow White can go find . . . Cinderella to play with or something. She doesn’t need me.” Snow White? Cinderella? How’d I let that fairy tale stuff slip out? It certainly did nothing to help my image of maturity. “Here you go again, trying to tell me what friends to have. There’s nothing wrong with Justin. He’s Catholic, too, so what can you possibly have against him?”
“I’m only warning you to be careful—”
“Careful!” I flung up my arms. “Careful of what, for goodness’ sake?”
“Calm down, Robin.” My uncle tucked the paper under his arm and headed for the front door. The fact that he didn’t get easily worked up was a characteristic I found immensely annoying. “All I’m saying is don’t let him fool you. You haven’t known him very long.” My uncle unlocked the door. “Think about it. Don’t you find it somewhat . . . odd, the way this Mr. Landers keeps showing up? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re smarter than this, Robin, and you’ve noticed, too. Don’t fall for it.”
“Fall for what?”
“His charm.”
I could have laughed if I weren’t so distraught. Charm? Philip had charm. Not Justin. Justin and his blunt comments. Then I began to wonder, was my uncle afraid I might be falling for Justin . . . romantically? No. That was absurd. He knew I was dating Philip.
“Oh, come on,” I said roughly, because suddenly I needed to convince myself as much as my uncle that this was nonsense, for he had planted a dangerous doubt. “So I see him sometimes—that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he likes me. Is that so unbelievable?” Suddenly I wanted to cry—with fear, loneliness, pure frustration, and every other emotion that existed. The only thing stopping me was that I knew I’d never forgive myself if I broke down in front of my uncle. “Anyway,” I managed to say, “it’s easy to run into the same people often. This is a small town.”
“Not that small,” my uncle said.
Chapter Seventeen
Darn that old man Hanson and his Sunday pancakes, I thought.
It was his fault that I had made my impulsive offer. After reaching the house, not only did I have to search fifteen minutes before finding a blueberry pancake recipe, but I also discovered we had no blueberries.
“Well, you did promise blueberry pancakes,” my uncl
e said, not glancing up from the Sunday paper when I informed him.
So, rather than wound my pride, I set my teeth and ran to the nearest store. I wanted to run. It gave me a chance to work off some tension.
Now here I stood, in a green apron over a spattering frying pan, attempting to flip blueberry pancakes without breaking them into an oozing mess. I wasn’t doing very well.
But although they were shaped more like lily pads than pancakes, they did taste good. Especially to me, because after not having eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, I was famished.
Later, rinsing the dishes, I began to regret my rash promise to meet Justin. I wanted to get back to the diary. Every time I remembered it, sitting up in my room, waiting for me, my yearning for it became stronger . . . almost as if I could hear it calling me. I shuddered and turned off the faucet. Maybe it was a good thing I was going out.
Except for one thing. Though I would never admit it, what my uncle had said set me worrying again. Because I knew there was truth in it. Justin had turned up “conveniently” a suspicious number of times. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I decided I couldn’t let it get to me. I’d promised to meet Justin at the park and I wasn’t going to back out now. Besides, this was my chance to finally return his jacket. Maybe even sever contact with him once and for all. Not that I would, but the possibility helped me justify my going. And I could always use the time in the park to draw. Thinking this, I grabbed his jacket and my pencil and sketchpad before leaving the house.
The sun shone brilliantly, sending down golden rays to saturate my skin; this and a refreshing breeze helped me relax. I inhaled deeply as I walked, trying to absorb and savor each scent of spring. If I paused to listen, I could hear bees humming as they collected nectar. I waved to a little girl blowing bubbles in her front yard, and she giggled and waved back.
I was surprised to hear laughter and screaming as I approached the park. I’d taken for granted that it would be as peaceful as last time. But of course it wouldn’t be because this was the weekend. Not just any weekend, but Memorial Day weekend, a holiday made for being outside. Children and adults alike would be taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and time off of school and work to have fun and picnics in the park.
With mixed feelings, I searched nervously through the unfamiliar people, searching for Justin, and I wondered why I was nervous. The moment I spotted his tall figure standing beside the pond, he turned. His eyes found me almost instantly.
“Noisy today, isn’t it?” he called.
“I was surprised to see you at church this morning,” I said, cutting right to my concerns. Joining him, I held out the jacket.
He took it, draped it over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises, so don’t be surprised . . . if I surprise you sometimes.”
I laughed, thinking, You say the weirdest things. I looked down at our reflections, dim in the water, his so tall, mine so short. If only I could clear this apprehension that was shrouding me, maybe I could enjoy Justin’s company. I’d gladly continue defending him to my uncle if I had some support. He had to help me. All I wanted was some justification for his strange behavior. Thinking this, I decided to casually swing the conversation in the direction of Justin’s supposedly coincidental arrivals.
“I wanted to thank you again for bringing me home yesterday. I was lucky you came by just when you did—”
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know how you happened to come by at just the right moment—”
“I think we had this conversation already.” Was he starting to sound irritated? “I just happened to be driving by and was happy to give you a lift.”
He’d just happened to be driving by. Okay . . . why did I have to be suspicious of that? Because my uncle wouldn’t believe it. Did I believe it? But where was the sense in thinking Justin was shadowing me, as my uncle had implied? My uncle was going to think what he wanted no matter what I told him. So why bother? Justin had done nothing wrong. So he’d given me a ride and taken me home. So we’d waited out the storm in the basement. Nothing had happened.
“Yes . . . well, thank you.”
“Hey, what’s with all this thankfulness, anyway? Once is enough.” Justin’s voice turned gruff. “As long as it’s sincere.”
“It is.”
Justin peered out over the water. “I guess our ducks aren’t going to visit us today. Ungrateful little things.” I glanced at him, wondering at his change to “our” ducks from what had previously been “my.”
“Want to go for a walk?” he asked.
“Sure.” Was this why he had asked me here? To walk? I didn’t know if it was Justin’s intention or not, but he seemed to make everything into a mystery. Then I shrugged, not wanting to worry anymore.
With each step, I tried to kick my doubts away. There was nothing to be afraid of. At least not here when we were out in the open surrounded by people. My head hurt from constant over-analyzing. I sighed, thinking, Maybe I need to get my head examined.
“Something wrong?” Justin asked.
“No.” I waited for him to prod, but he didn’t. So after a respectable pause—during which we passed a young couple sitting on a blanket on the grass, oblivious to everyone but each other—I went on. “Life can be so frustrating.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I was surprised by the cynical edge to Justin’s voice.
This time when we crossed the bridge, I was careful to act normal. I focused on a tree on the opposite bank and didn’t let my expression change. I hoped Justin noticed, for he was probably remembering my reaction from last time, and I wanted him to know I had overcome that, that I was stronger than my emotions.
Not far from the bridge I spotted a water fountain. Feeling thirsty, I walked over for a drink.
“No, not a water fountain. It’s called a bubbler,” Justin insisted.
Weird Wisconsiners, I thought, taking long, gulping swallows. I closed my eyes as the water bubbled up cold and refreshing into my mouth.
I was still carrying my drawing things tucked under one arm. I wondered if I’d get a chance to use them, or if Justin and I would simply continue walking all afternoon long. I wouldn’t care if we did. It was pleasant, walking and not talking, yet not feeling uncomfortable in the silence. I wondered how we could walk so easily together, Justin’s legs being so much longer than mine, but our pace was perfect.
“You know,” Justin spoke up when we reached the far side of the pond, “I get the feeling your uncle doesn’t like me much.”
A smile cracked my face. “Really? Whatever gave you that idea?” My voice hardened. “He judges people without knowing them. He doesn’t trust you.”
“Don’t blame him,” Justin said, and he leaned down to pick up a stone. I watched him rub his thumb over its smooth black surface. “Maybe he’s just watching out for you.” He whipped back his arm and let the stone fly. I watched it skip over the water’s surface, counting five times before it disappeared. “That isn’t so bad, you know, having someone who cares enough to watch out for you.”
Whose side are you on, anyway? I wondered, picking up my own stone. “I can take care of myself.” I threw my stone. Without skipping once, it plunked to the bottom of the pond.
“I noticed.”
Not funny, I thought. But I didn’t say anything out loud.
We loitered along until we came to a soft grassy bank bordered by large bushes that hid everyone else from our view. But for the raucous laughter and yelling, I could almost forget the people and think we were alone. “I fish here sometimes,” Justin said, “but not as often as I’d like. I’m usually so busy.”
“Chasing hot stories?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“That’s right.” Justin grinned and stretched out on the bank, looking up at the sky. “This crazy town keeps me on my toes.”
Still standing, I looked down at him lying so relaxed in the grass, and suddenly I saw him in a different way. Surrounded by delicate purple
clover and dappled in shadow, he looked gentle, even vulnerable.
“Do you catch much?” I asked, not really knowing why. “Fishing, I mean.” I sat beside him on the bank and began weaving my fingers into the thickly matted clover and grass.
“Not usually, but some days I get lucky.”
I wondered why he hadn’t gone fishing today. It would have been a perfect chance. I decided to ask.
“Today? Oh, I guess I didn’t really think of it.” He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at me, his brown eyes the color of maple syrup. “That, or I thought of something else I’d rather do.”
I plucked a few pieces of grass and examined them, pretending not to have heard him. The question returned. Why had he wanted to see me so urgently today? In my fingers, the grass mashed to a pulp, wetting my fingertips with green liquid. The pungent plant smell rose to my nostrils.
“Besides, tomorrow’s Memorial Day. I’ll get a chance to go fishing then, maybe. After the parade and everything. Hey,” he sat up suddenly, “you’ve never seen how this little town celebrates Memorial Day, have you?” I shook my head. “You’re going to watch the parade tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“I—hadn’t really thought about it.” My mind grappled for excuses.
“You should.” He smiled a lopsided smile. “It would be unpatriotic not to.”
He lay back down, and again I looked at him lying so at ease among the grass, the pond stretching out behind him and his dark hair ruffling in the breeze, his tan face and strong features, that distinctive nose. A slight smile came to my lips. I thought of how I was almost eighteen, and how I was planning to go back to California; and I realized there were some things I’d miss about Wisconsin, about Lorens.
I recognized this as a warning signal. The sooner I left, the better.
But the smile remained, lingering on my lips. I couldn’t leave without having anything to remember Justin by. Not that I would ever forget him.
“What are you thinking?” Justin asked.
I met his eyes. “I was thinking . . . that I’d like to draw your portrait.” I looked down and fumbled to open my sketchpad. “I’d like the practice, if you don’t mind sitting, that is. I’ll try not to take too long.”
Past Suspicion (Christian Romantic Suspense) Page 18
