A Heart to Heal (24 page)

Roscoe leaned back in his chair. He looked at Shayla with sad eyes. “It's not about Atlanta.”

Frowning, Shayla looked at the paper. It was a print out of an article on a blog site. There was a picture of her standing next to Tyrell Crawford at the art show. They were smiling at each other before the beach house picture. A large caption read “Atlanta Home-wrecker Sets Eyes on Politician's Son.” Her eyes scanned the paper, not really ingesting the words but getting the gist. Someone at the party made broad assumptions that her quick conversation with the artist was about more than his work. References to the fact that he never smiles so “warmly” with others, or laughs out loud combined with the fact that she had a history of seeking out married men automatically put them together.

She looked up from the paper at Devin. “You don't believe this?”

Martha spoke up. “It doesn't matter what we believe. What matters is the perception of the church. We can't have you heading up our festival if you're going to be seeing a married man.”

Shayla glared at the woman. “I'm not seeing a married man.”

Martha snorted and turned up her nose. “But you have.”

Reverend Jenkins held up a hand. “That's enough, Martha.” He walked over to Shayla. “Is there anything between you and this man?”

Shayla met the Reverend's stare dead on. “No. That was the first time I met him.”

Martha walked over and practically bumped the reverend out of her way with her massive hips. “But you went there to see him. My daughter is friends with your cousin Kia, and she told us both that you were going there specifically to see Tyrell.”

Shayla rolled her eyes. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like a teenager with your ‘he said, she said'.”

Devin walked over to Shayla's side. “Let's calm down. Shayla said she didn't go to the art show to seek him out and I believe her. This
blog
doesn't give any specifics or details of anything, just smiling and rumors about Shayla's past. We don't have to kick her off the committee.”

Martha huffed. “I'd expect you to say that. She's got her hooks in you, too.”

Once again Reverend Jenkins held up a hand. “That's enough, Martha.”

Martha opened her mouth to speak when the door to the church basement opened again. Shayla bit back a groan when her mom came through the door. There was no reason for Marcella to be here except to check in and make sure Shayla wasn't causing any more problems.

Marcella's smile was stiff as she greeted everyone before walking over to stand between Shayla and Devin. “I didn't mean to interrupt your meeting, but Shayla got a package today and I couldn't wait to tell her.”

“Mom, this couldn't wait until I got home?”

Marcella shook her head. “Not when you hear who it's from.” She looked to the rest of the group with barely concealed excitement. “Tyrell Crawford sent her a painting today. It's beautiful, a beach scene. Can you believe it? My daughter got a gift from a famous artist.”

Martha smirked while Reverend Jenkins cringed. Shayla's breathing stuttered as ringing started in her ears. This couldn't be happening.

Martha snatched the article out of Shayla's hands and shoved it at Marcella. “I can believe it. Was it this one?”

Marcella looked at the paper. Her smile froze. “This exact one.” She looked at Shayla. “So he is the man you spent the night with on Saturday.”

If her mom would have kicked her in the gut she wouldn't have hurt her more. Marcella's eyes were accusing as they looked at Shayla, but delight was also there.

Devin stepped forward. “This has gone too far.”

Shayla's eyes widened. She didn't want, or need, him to step in and rescue her reputation. As if learning she spent the night with Devin would make anything better. They'd already made up their mind about her. Long before the story about her and Tyrell came out.

“It has gone too far,” she said. Relief washed over Devin's face. She looked away. “I wasn't with Tyrell on Saturday, and it's nobody's business who I was with. Did you ever once stop to think that I was alone on Saturday night? That I would want to get out of this damn town away from the gossip, lies, and accusations.”

“If that were true, why did he send you that painting?” Martha asked. Her mom nodded.

“Shayla,” Devin started but she held up a finger to cut him off.

She turned to Reverend Jenkins. “I'll finalize the loose ends I was working on for the festival, but I won't come to anymore meetings. I won't let rumors ruin everything.” He frowned and she looked away. “Thank you for letting me help,” she gripped the heart charm around her neck and rushed out.

Devin followed his dad home after the festival meeting. It wasn't really a meeting after Shayla left. Instead everyone took sides about whether or not to believe she was alone that night. He'd opened his mouth to say he'd spent the night with Shayla too many times, but what would that fix? They wanted her in some man's bed so they could throw their poisonous gossip darts. The Reverend had finally gotten tired of the escapade and cancelled the rest of the meeting. Saying he'd pray for everyone's soul that night.

Roscoe sat on his front porch and Devin folded his large frame beside him.

“You were with her on Saturday, weren't you?” Roscoe asked.

Devin sighed, no need to deny it to his dad. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“And make them hate her more for luring me away from her cousin?”

Roscoe rubbed his face. “I never should have pushed that.”

Devin turned toward his dad. “Why did you? I thought you wanted me with Shayla.”

“I do, but you two were working hard at staying apart. I thought forcing you on a date with Kia would show both of you how wrong you were. I didn't know she'd storm out on you, that you'd get in a fight with Tony.”

“Tony deserved to be hit.”

“If you hit him for what I think you did, then I agree with you.”

Devin's eyes widened. Roscoe frowned and looked away. “I overheard him one day, years ago, bragging about what he did to Shayla. If that's why you hit him, then good job.”

“Why didn't you tell me you knew everything?”

“Shayla had left town, you were determined to forget her, it was better to leave it alone.”

Devin turned to watch the sun set behind the trees. The beauty of it was lost on him, his mind on Shayla.

“How does she get wrapped up in these messes?”

Roscoe placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Because people want her wrapped up in these messes. Everyone needs someone to be their morality scapegoat. It makes them feel better if they can look at another person and think that person's life is more screwed up than theirs.”

“If we were together, is that how it would be?” Devin said mostly to himself. “Everyone waiting for her to mess up and prove that she's a screw up.”

“No. Everyone would see how much you both love each other.”

Devin's head whipped around toward his dad. “Who said anything about love?”

Roscoe shook his head and squeezed his shoulder. “Son, it's as clear to me as the nose on your face. You've gotta decide if it's strong enough to face the constant attacks that'll come if you pursue it.”

His dad stood and went into the house. Devin turned back to the trees, but the sun was no longer visible, the sky a mixture of reds and oranges reflecting off the pine trees. He let his dad's advice sink in. He didn't give a damn about what anyone thought of his feelings for Shayla, but she did. He wasn't afraid of withstanding the attacks. But Shayla was.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he read a text from Shayla.
Midnight
. He gripped the phone in his hand. Regret for treating her like a booty call ate away at his insides. She didn't deserve his anger. He'd agreed to keep their relationship a secret and couldn't behave like a petulant child whenever she reminded him of that.

Loosening his grip, he started to text back that he'd meet her, but stopped. He had rounds at the hospital tomorrow. And his first appointment was scheduled for seven forty-five. As much as he wanted to spend the night with her, he couldn't afford to.

He dialed her number. His heart rate picked up speed when her silky voice answered.

“I'm sorry for inviting you to the hotel like that. It won't happen again.”

“There's nothing between me and Tyrell.” Her voice was firm. It wasn't necessary, he believed her.

“I know. But why the painting?”

She sighed. “It was just a gift, Devin.”

Her tone was defensive which irritated him. His confidence wavered. If there was nothing between them, she had no reason to get defensive. But, there was no need to pick a fight.

“I can't meet you tonight.”

“Because of the painting?”

“No, because I have to work tomorrow. I can't spend the night in a hotel room.”

“You know what, fine. Call me when you're ready for my
services
.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Shayla, come on. You know it's not like that. Besides, you're the one who wants a secret relationship.”

“I'm through talking to you. Goodbye.”

After she hung up, he stared at the blank screen of his phone. Damn, foolish woman. Why did everything that involved Shayla Monroe have to be so complicated?

“Those are all of my questions. Do you have any for me?” Bentley Prill set down his pen and smiled at Shayla.

She forced herself not to collapse her shoulders in relief. She'd been nervous throughout the interview. She clenched and unclenched an ink pen in her hand to keep from tapping it against the table during the interview. Surprisingly, he hadn't brought up anything about her abrupt departure from her previous job. While she was relieved it hadn't come up, a part of her was afraid it could still bite her in the ass later. She tried to think of all the good post interview questions she should ask, but the only thing screaming within her head was how had he not heard about her scandal.

Bentley tented his fingers in front of him and stared at her with friendly grey eyes behind wire framed glasses. The lines around his eyes and mouth, along with the grey hair, were the only thing that hinted he was in his sixties. The bicycle hanging in his office showed that his trim figure was due to exercise and his mind was as witty as half of the people her age.

“You look as if you're trying to figure out if you should say something,” he said.

Shayla nodded slowly. “I am, but I'm not sure if it'll help or hurt my chances.”

Bentley laughed lightly and leaned back in his chair. “Right now, there's not much you could do to hurt this interview. I'm very impressed, I've seen your work and it's notable.”

She frowned. If he was familiar with her work, then he had to be familiar with her history. She silently hoped her next question didn't turn out to be a huge mistake. “You know about my previous work, so you must know why I left.”

His smile left as he pulled the glasses off his face. Shayla's stomach clenched. She never should have brought it up.

“I know why you left, and personally, I don't understand why you didn't fight to stay. I know Mark Reed. He and his wife have been playing this little jealousy game with each other for years. I can't believe he would take it out of his private life and make it public just to win a senate seat.”

Shayla couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. She hadn't told anyone that Mark and his wife laughed about planning the entire affair so the media would feel sorry for them.

The public loves a victim. The story of an older man lured by a younger woman but admitting it and asking for forgiveness from his faithful wife won votes. They started attending church together, and visiting a marriage counselor between television appearances on daytime talk shows about how they were learning to reconnect and save their marriage. By throwing the blame on Shayla, they'd become the sweetheart couple of Georgia politics that other married people could relate too.

“How did you know that?”

Bentley's lips twisted into a cynical smile. “A few years ago I saw Mark at some function in Atlanta. He'd had too much to drink and let it slip that he might try that type of scheme before running for senate, but wasn't sure because it was a big risk. When I saw the headlines, I knew that he'd decided it was worth the risk.” Bentley sat forward and looked her in the eye. “I'm not offering you this job out of pity. I truly am impressed with your work and your interview. But I did ask you for an interview because I felt bad about what happened. No one deserves to be used as a pawn.”

“I didn't think anyone would believe the story,” she said stunned.

Bentley shrugged. “They wouldn't. I wouldn't, if I hadn't heard it myself.”

Slowly the rest of Bentley's words made it through the fog in Shayla's brain. “You're offering me the job?”

He held his hand across the table. “Can you start on Monday?”

Shayla grinned from ear to ear. “I'll be here at seven.” She took his hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

Laughing, Bentley said. “I'll be here at eight.”

It was all a blur as Bentley led her out of the office and introduced her to some of the staff on her way out. The office was in a refurbished home in downtown Columbia. Again, it wasn't the limelight that came with working in downtown Atlanta, but it was light years away from the close-at-eight downtown of Helena.

Her good luck continued when she found a parking spot near the front of Starbucks in the Vista. After such a great afternoon, a caramel macchiato was just what she deserved. Her smile lasted through the wait in line. She would have to find an apartment in Columbia soon. Luckily, her lease with Mr. Porter was month to month — something they'd both eagerly agreed upon — so the sooner she moved here the better they'd both be. It would also give her and Devin a place to meet away from the prying eyes of the town. And not a sleazy hotel.