After All These Years (3 page)

Tony sat in Brady Olafsson's large country kitchen, digesting the best home-cooked meal he had eaten in years. Maybe in his entire life. His mother was an artist who never had been much of a cook. His dad's place was in his law office. No time for role reversal and domestic chores in that relationship.

The couple here was intriguing. It was Brady who had cooked dinner while Gina changed her clothes after her day with the animals. He watched them now as the author loaded the dishwasher and the girlfriend scooped warm cobbler onto plates. The aroma of cinnamon and apples filled the room.

“Tony.” She glanced at him now. “You'll have ice cream, won't you?”

“You bet.”

They made an attractive pair, both tall and slender. Brady resembled a lanky, brooding model for western wear. Gina was the quintessence of a California chick. Not the blonde, brainless brand, but the one glowing with health and natural beauty sans makeup, lit up by a 1,000-watt smile. He hadn't quite figured out their relationship yet, but long before he saw Brady greet her with a kiss that almost embarrassed even him, Tony sensed she wasn't available. An air about her had kept him from crossing an invisible line into flirting with intent.

Maybe he'd look up what's-her-name. Man, he had pulled “Izzy” out of some deep subconscious pocket. Now there was a looker. That thick, chin-length layered hair with its subtle copper highlights…that petite figure…heart-shaped face…the wispy suggestion of a Hispanic accent… She assaulted his senses like a Marine beach landing.

Brady slid into the chair across the oak table from him. “You're welcome to spend the night here, Tony. I've got plenty of room.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that, but I've already checked into the Rockville Holiday. I want to transcribe the tape, and then I'll probably write half the night away.”

“I know that syndrome.” He grinned.

Gina served them the cobbler, vanilla ice cream melting around the edges. “Odds are that neither one of you will stay awake after this.”

“Mmm, probably not.” Tony scooped up a large spoonful. “Mind if we keep talking, though?” They had primarily chatted up until now, covering life's basics.

“Not at all. What's your premise exactly? Maybe I can gear my answers toward that.”

Tony fiddled with the tape recorder. If he told them the real reason behind his article, they'd kick him out in two seconds flat. He pressed the play button. “Christian artists are making a significant impact on society today. I'm localizing it, just talking with Midwestern artists.”

“What sort of impact? Negative or positive?”

His rehearsed evasion came easily. “Well, for example, you're big business. What would you say is the impact of your books?”

Gina laid a hand on Brady's. “Mind if I jump in, Tony? I know lives are being changed for the better. Readers enter into a world of fiction and come face-to-face with the reality of Jesus Christ.”

“You sound like Brady's number one fan.”

“No, just speaking from experience. I wasn't a Christian before I read his books.”

“Really? Perfect. Mind if I interview you, too?”

“Not at all, but not tonight.” She stood. “I'm bushed and I'm going home.”

That answered one question. They didn't live together.

“Tony.” Brady looked at him. “Are you a Christian?”

“Agnostic.”

Gina sat back down. “Have you read Brady's books?”

“Not yet. They're all stacked and waiting on the nightstand even as we speak. This is my ‘delve into Brady Olafsson' week.”

The author spread his arms. “My life is an open book.”

Gina groaned and stood again. “Now I'm going.”

“I'll walk you out, sweetheart.” Brady slipped his hand around hers.

“Nice meeting you, Tony,” she said. “Hey, you could interview Isabel. She's sort of in the Christian entertainment business.”

“How so?”

“She works at the Christian radio station. She knows a lot about the music world.”

“Could make a good sidebar. Thanks.”

Brady said, “You might give her a few days, though. She just returned from Mexico where her grandmother died. They were pretty close. Excuse me, I'll be right back. Gotta kiss my girl goodnight.”

“Don't blame you. Nice meeting you too, Gina.”

“Goodnight.” They left.

Mexico!
That was it! Isabel Mend…Izzy…Izzy Mendoza. Grandmother… That last spring break of college… Leon, Mexico.

Images burst from an old memory. Desert. Relentless hot sun. Poverty. Children racing about, laughing. Cool dark bars. Tequila.

He whistled a note of disbelief. Izzy. How could he have forgotten?

Calhoun Huntington slipped into a back pew of the Valley Oaks Community Church alongside those parents who insisted on keeping their squalling babies and overactive toddlers in the sanctuary during the service. He didn't want to add his own disruption to the music now by walking toward the front. He should have come earlier.

He rubbed his tired eyes. What he should have done was leave Tammy's earlier last night. Last night? Try this morning. At least he'd arrived home in time for a quick shower. He scratched his jaw. No shave though. Oh, well. Brady kept telling him Jesus wasn't interested in appearance. He just wanted his heart.

An open hymnal touched his knee. Cal glanced down at the kid sitting next to him and nodded his thanks.

Tammy didn't understand this hunger of his, this craving to sing and be taught by Pastor Eaton. Church wasn't that important to her. But she had been a Christian longer and seemed to know more than he did. She didn't care for any of the churches where she lived in Twin Prairie, the county seat 23 miles west of town. And that distance, she said, made his church too inconvenient. Distance or lack of sleep made no difference to him. He had been coming regularly for almost three years now. Tammy had only been around for a couple of months.

The song ended. Cal yawned and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, tuning out Tammy's voice and the annoying
squiggler beside him. There was something more important going on here. He opened up his Bible along with the pastor.

After the service, Cal found his old friend Brady outside on the sidewalk. “Yo, Brade.” He noticed Gina standing at a distance with others. Most of the congregation mingled outdoors in the late-August morning sunshine.

“Cal. You look like you were rode hard and put away wet, bud. Third shift?”

“You might say that.”

“Ah, Tammy date night.”

Cal tilted his head toward the parking lot. “Who's the city slicker with Miss California?”

“Reporter from Chi-town. It shows, doesn't it?”

“Yeah. It's the way his clothes hang. Silk. Tammy had me in Rockville one day, trying on clothes like that. Didn't have the same effect.”

Brady laughed. “With a neck size of 20, I think you're talking custom-tailoring.”

“That's what Tammy said. So what's he up to? Visiting you or the famous vet?”

“Me. Gina won't give any interviews. Part of the settlement agreement. If she doesn't talk about the elephant abuse she witnessed, the zoo folks won't blacklist her. Come on over and I'll introduce you.”

As they maneuvered through groups of people, Gina caught Cal's eye and smiled. In his opinion, she was one classy lady, a good match for his friend. “Olafsson, when are you going to put a ring on that gal's finger?”

“Soon, but don't tell anyone.”

He laughed as they neared Gina. “Like nobody suspects it.”

“Hi, Cal!” She gave him a hug. “Suspects what?”

“That you're the prettiest woman in Valley Oaks.”

“Better not let Tammy hear you say that, mister.”

“No problem. She's the prettiest woman in Twin Prairie.” He held his hand out to the stranger. “Cal Huntington.”

“Tony Ward,
Chicago Tribune.
Nice to meet you. I take it you're a friend of Brady's?”

He nodded. “Ever since we put on our first helmet and set of shoulder pads. Anything you need to know about him, ask me.”

“Thanks.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pad and pen. “I'll probably take you up on that. What do you do for a living?”

“Jacob County deputy sheriff.” The guy wrote it down. Cal knew he had better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than talk to this note taker. “I live here in town. Name's in the book. Gotta run now, though. Nice meeting you. Bye, Gina.” He averted his face and raised his brows at Brady.

His friend wasn't slow on the uptake. “I'll walk you to your truck. Be right back, Tony.”

When they were out of hearing distance, Cal murmured, “His eyes aren't right.”

“All reporters look like that.”

He snorted. “Shifty-eyed?”

“Gina says they're missing something. You can't connect with them.”

“Be careful with him, bud.”

“I know what's missing, Cal. I'm just praying for the man.”

“Yeah. That, too. See you around.” He clapped Brady's shoulder and climbed into his pickup.

Cal always felt the urge to run interference, to protect his friend. A few years back, Brady's fiancée, Nicole, ran out on
him. She had damaged him in a basic sort of way, leaving him almost…fragile. Cal complained his friend had lost his quarterback nerve. Brady described it as meekness, a realization that Christ was taking care of him, and not to worry. Cal worried. He didn't feel the need to tell Brady that he had thoroughly investigated Gina a few months ago, even before she made the national news.

Now he'd run a check on Tony Ward. Brown hair, blue eyes, 5' 11”, 160, early 30s. Silk.

Cal pulled his own notepad from the glove compartment.

Lia Neuman parked her car in the alley parallel to the old brick building and cut the engine. The wipers thumped to a halt. The last notes of a praise song dissipated in the rain's staccato beat. She turned toward the passenger seat. “Welcome home, Chloe.”

The little girl stirred, her face scrunched against a pillow propped against the door. A gentle snore escaped her mouth.

Lia closed her own eyes for a moment and breathed a prayer of thanks. They were finally home…home in Valley Oaks where home felt as it should…safe, even here in a dark alley at 11:30
P.M
. in the midst of a torrential downpour. She should have left Chicago earlier in the evening, but things got complicated telling her parents goodbye and dealing with Chloe's hesitation to leave the only home she'd ever known. And then the rain began, slowing their journey to a snail's crawl.

But they had made it. Tomorrow she'd begin sorting out those complications, most of which should simply cease to exist because she was here and not there. Chloe was all hers. The pharmacy was all hers. Well, except for the small-business
loan and her parents' money, which they insisted was an early inheritance rather than funds to be paid back.

She loved her new situation. Escaping the big-city environs and living in a town like Valley Oaks was a longtime dream come true. She was a pharmacist and now her own boss, the proprietor of a well-established business. The apartment above the shop meant she didn't have to leave home and Chloe in order to work. The small back room served as a private entrance off the alley. It held the stairwell to the apartment and tripled as a cramped laundry room, office, and storage space. The pharmacy itself was a manageable size with plenty of shelves to expand the gift selection.

Everything she needed or wanted was right here within this corner portion of a turn-of-the-century brick building. God was good.

Not bothering with the umbrella now, Lia got out and hurried around the car. She unlocked the store's back door, opened it, and flicked on the ceiling light, thinking that Chloe's hesitancy would change in the morning. When she saw her new bedroom set and the special case to hold her stuffed animal collection, she'd feel better about this move. The child was only nine, but at times projected an uncanny resemblance to a 17-year-old's attitude.