Eye of the Beholder (8 page)

“But Doc Tehrani’s a great guy. I can’t tell you how compassionate he was with Jenny. I’ll never be able to thank him enough.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but you can’t trust any Muslims nowadays.”

“Sure I can.” Gordy dumped a few toothpicks on the table and pushed them around with his index finger. “Doc’s an American citizen—a darned good one.”

“Then he shouldn’t have any problem understanding my right to avoid shaking his hand.”

“I’ve never heard you talk like this before.”

“We’re at war, Gordy. And like it or not, the enemy’s Muslim.”

“Come on, the enemy’s the nutcases who push all that jihad stuff. You can’t lump all Muslims in with them.”

“I can when I can’t tell who’s who.”

Ellen Jones lay staring at the ceiling fan going round and round in the dark. For the first time in thirty-three years of marriage, she wondered if Guy had stopped loving her—or if she had stopped loving him. They’d hardly exchanged a civil word in days, and for weeks it had seemed as though he was looking for new reasons to be angry with her.

Ellen felt determination tighten her chest. It would be wrong for her to yield to his petty dislike of her friends and sever ties with them—especially Mina. And especially now.

Lord, surely You didn’t bring these friends into my life for me to abandon them because Guy is more interested in his professional image than his Christian witness?

Ellen didn’t want to disrespect her husband. But her yielding to Guy’s objections would force her to disregard the biblical command to love her neighbor as herself.

Lord, I’m so frustrated. Please help me to do the right thing
.

Guy lay on his side facing Ellen, the only sound the beating of his heart. He opened his eyes and saw hers were open, then quickly clamped his shut. He hoped she was feeling guilty, though he doubted his strong objection to her choice of friends would change anything. Ellen’s stubbornness could outlast a pit bull’s.

He felt justified withholding from her the details of the victory dinner—and what had happened afterwards. So what if he’d let Kinsey use his couch to sleep off the effects of her celebrating? Nothing had happened. And it wasn’t as though he were enmeshed in her life the way Ellen was with her friends.

Guy tried to will away the empty feeling. He couldn’t remember a time when he had kept a secret to spite Ellen. Since that night thirty some years ago when they’d met at the university coffee shop, their hearts had been inexplicably intertwined …

Guy had sat in the corner booth, drinking black coffee and snacking on doughnut holes. He had one eye on the calculus assignment laid out in front of him, and the other on a curly-haired brunette sitting at a nearby table, her face hidden behind a journalism textbook. For some reason, the young coed was a total distraction. The way she twirled her pencil over and over like a baton. Her occasional chuckling at whatever she was reading. And those pretty, long legs crossed at the ankles and neatly folded under her chair.

She unexpectedly lowered the textbook and locked gazes with him, revealing the clearest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “Is there a reason you keep staring at me?”

“Oh, uh, hi. I couldn’t help but notice you’re studying, too, and was wondering if you’d care for a doughnut hole?” He cringed at how stupid that sounded. “I’ll never eat all these.” He slid out of the booth and placed the half-full pastry box on her table. “There you go: brain food. Guaranteed to enhance your learning experience.”

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. With her thumb and index finger, the young lady reached in the box, picked up a chocolate glazed doughnut hole, and popped it into her mouth “Mmm … you’ve hit on my weakness.”

“Then why don’t I get you a coffee to go with it? By the way, I’m Guy Jones.”

Her eyes seemed to search his. “Ellen Madison. All right. Cream, please.”

Guy went to the counter and ordered a coffee with cream and a warm-up for himself, then brought them back to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat across from the woman who’d stolen his concentration and blown his chances of completing his calculus assignment before the sun came up.

Ellen proved to be a good conversationalist—intelligent, thought provoking, succinct. She expressed strong opinions about a variety of issues, yet he sensed her heart was as delicate
as a flower petal. She was passionate about her studies, especially journalism—and quick to tell him she didn’t drink, do drugs, go to wild parties, or feel obligated to kiss a guy just because he asked her out. He fell in love with her before she polished off the box of doughnut holes …

Guy wanted to reach over and pull Ellen into his arms as if that would somehow fill the aching void. Instead, he turned over and faced the wall, wondering if they would ever again understand each other.

 7
 

O
n Friday morning, Gordy Jameson stood at the back door of the crab shack, watching Billy Lewis wash down the umbrella tables on the deck with Clorox water. He smiled and walked outside, nearly bowled over by how thick and hot the air felt.

“Hey, Billy, you about ready to call it a mornin’? It’s miserable out here.”

Billy’s head bobbed, perspiration shimmering on his face and dripping down his temples. “I have no more tables to clean, Mr. G. I will go now.”

“Why don’t you sit a spell, have a cold drink before you head out?”

“Okay. I
like
Sprite.”

Gordy smiled. “I knew that. Sit there under that umbrella and I’ll be right back.”

Gordy went inside, got a couple cans of Sprite out of the refrigerator, then went back outside and sat in the chair next to Billy. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Mr. G.”

“So what’re you and Lisa up to these days?”

“We are hav-ing a Bible study with El-len.”

“That’s right. I almost forgot. How’s it goin’?”

“Good. I like El-len. She does not care if we are slow.”

“So you learnin’ anything?”

“Oh, yes. We are learn-ing how to love our neigh-bor.”

Gordy was thinking Billy and Lisa already had that one
nailed down. “Which reminds me, I heard the Hamiltons had you over for lunch.”

Billy’s smile revealed a row of crooked teeth. “We ate cheese bur-gers and sang songs with Sar-ah Beth.”

“Aw, that’s great, Billy. I know you were real fond of that little girl. The Hamiltons are nice people. I’m glad they decided not to prosecute.”

Billy stared at him blankly. “I do not know that word.”

“I’m glad they believe you weren’t tryin’ to hurt Sarah Beth.”

Billy nodded. “I am glad, too.”

The back door opened and Pam Townsend stepped outside. “Hey, fellas. We need to get those tables set for lunch.”

Gordy tipped the can and downed the last of his Sprite. “That’s our cue to scat. See you in the mornin’, Billy.”

“I will do an ex-cel-lent job.”

Gordy stood, a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “You always do.”

Billy left, and Gordy slid his arm around Pam’s waist and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Did you paper clip the dessert specials to the menus?”

“Yes. I’m going to feel really foolish if, after all this, everyone orders Key lime pie.”

Gordy smiled. “Good news travels fast. I have a feelin’ you’re gonna be busier than you wanna be. Let me get outta your way so you can have the girls set the deck for lunch.”

“As humid as it is, I doubt many customers will want to sit out here. I sure hope the weather cools off before the wedding.”

“Don’t worry, darlin’, there’s always a nice breeze on the beach. Come on, let’s get inside where it’s comfortable.”

Gordy opened the back door and followed Pam inside just as Guy Jones walked in the front door with his son.

“Well, look who’s here,” Gordy said, extending his hand. “Ellen was in the other night and said you won a big case and were out with your partners celebrating.”

Guy gripped Gordy’s hand. “Yeah, biggest case I’ve ever won. You’ve met my son, Owen.”

Gordy nodded. “Nice to see you again. You guys are the first customers of the day. Pick your spot.”

“I’d like to sit at that back table,” Guy said, nodding toward the window.

“Great. Come right this way.”

Gordy seated them and handed each a menu. “The clam chowder’s on me—to celebrate your big win.”

“Thanks,” Guy said. “That’s generous of you, as
always.”

Gordy winked. “My pleasure. Somebody will be right with you to take your order.”

Guy picked up the menu and began to scan the selections, realizing he wasn’t hungry.

“You look tired,” Owen said.

“I haven’t slept well the past couple nights.”

“I guess you and Mom are as concerned about this terrorist thing as Hailey and I.”

“I am.” Guy looked over the top of the menu and lowered his voice. “Your mother, on the other hand, is rallying around that Muslim friend of hers. Never mind that the woman’s husband was questioned by the FBI.”

“You’re kidding?” Owen’s eyes were round and questioning.

“I wish I were. After the Coast Guard seized that boat, the FBI picked up Dr. Tehrani at his office. Your mother’s convinced herself he’s not involved. She’s gone over to their house a couple of times to
comfort
the guy’s wife.”

“She shouldn’t get in the middle of this.”

Guy lifted his eyebrows. “She doesn’t listen to me. I told her from the beginning making friends with that woman would come back to haunt her.”

Owen picked up his spoon and tapped it lightly on the table. “Dad, I’m worried about you two.”

“So am I. All of a sudden, your mother’s friends are more important to her than I am. It’s driving a wedge between us.” Guy let out a sigh of exasperation. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”

“That’s all right. I’m not blind.”

“Did you know she missed my victory dinner?”

“Yeah, she didn’t get your message in time.”

“Because she didn’t bother to check. You can’t imagine how embarrassed and empty I felt not having her there. I told everyone she was home negotiating a book deal.”

“You lied?”

Guy nodded. “When I go back on Monday, I’ll tell them it fell through. It sounded better than admitting my wife was inaccessible and didn’t return any of my messages.”

“In all fairness to Mom, she’s out of the habit of checking her cell phone for messages now that she’s not working for the newspaper. Don’t you usually call her at home in the evenings?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Don’t get upset, I’m not taking her side. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on. Maybe she’s wrapped up in her friends because she’s lonely.”

“She wouldn’t be lonely if she’d focus on writing another novel.”

“You can’t know that. Mom likes to be where the action is. Maybe she’s not cut out for that much alone time.”

“Your mother’s an intelligent, creative, articulate wordsmith. She needs to be writing. If she needs people contact, she should join a writer’s group.”

The waitress walked up to the table and set a glass of ice water in front of each of them. “You ready to place your order?”

“Yes, I’ll have the special,” Guy said. “Blue cheese on the salad. Just water to drink.”