Heavens to Betsy (23 page)

“Betz?”

“Yeah?”

I’m all delicious expectation.

Suddenly he frowns. “No. Not here. Come with me.”

His arms fall away, and he reaches for my hand. I comply without question when he leads me out of the ballroom. He looks around, then tows me down a hallway. I have no idea where David’s going, and clearly neither does he. Is there not one private nook or cranny in the entire hotel? We go through a door that turns out to be a fabulous art deco men’s room. I laugh. David spins me around and retraces our steps. Two more false starts provide no convenient hideaways for a not-so-innocent tryst.

“David.”

“No. Don’t say anything. Not yet.” Frustration draws his shoulders ramrod straight.

“But, David—”

“What?”

He turns on me, his eyes all chocolate and sexy.

“That way.” I keep myself from smiling as I point to the lobby. “There’s an enclosed veranda on the other side.”

“Oh. Okay.” And he’s off again, towing me like I’m a barge bound for the harbor. Why does intimacy turn perfectly normal men into imbeciles? And why doesn’t a modern girl like me object to the contemporary equivalent of being dragged off to a cave?

We step through the doorway into a long, window-lined veranda. Potted trees dot the length of the room. We head for a semisecluded corner. But once we’re there, icy fear reclaims the length of my spine. We should have stayed on the dance floor where we could drift along in dreamy ambiguity.

David lets go of my arm but slips his fingers through mine. There’s a settee against the wall, and he nods toward it. “Sit down.”

“Betsy, there’s something I need to say.”

“Okay.” Well, I’ve improved my vocabulary from one-syllable words to two.

“I didn’t plan this.”

“I know.” I can’t say,
neither did L

“We’ve been friends a long time.”

“Yeah.”

I wait for him to finish whatever he’s trying to say. He looks up, looks over my shoulder, and finally exhales heavily. “We have to do this, don’t we?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss.”

The giddiness slides right out of me and pools at my feet. He looks as if he’s preparing to eat rancid insects on
Fear Factor.
“No, David. We don’t.” Shame burns my cheeks. Well, I brought this on myself, didn’t I? Now he feels obligated. I don’t want obligation. I want attraction. Passion. Conflagration. Not stoic resignation.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, David?” I try to keep walking, but he stops. Since our hands are superglued together, I have to stop also. I turn to face him.

“I meant it like this.”

And he kisses me.

He kisses me with desperation, resignation, and, yes, passion. He kisses me as if he can’t live any longer if he doesn’t. And I kiss him back the same way, as if every part of me has to be involved. Heart, mind, soul. I can’t believe there’s not steam rising off both of us. Or maybe there is and the hotel sprinkler system will kick in any moment now.

Then suddenly David’s lips aren’t moving against mine anymore. I can’t feel his arms around me. The sense of aloneness douses me as effectively as any sprinkler.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. I know from the contrite expression on David’s face that Cinderella’s clock has struck midnight.

“This isn’t fair to you,” he says.

“I’m not particularly concerned about justice right now.”

“You should be.” He runs his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. So much for the young Sean Connery look. “I swore I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t take advantage of your grieving.”

“My grieving?”

“Over Velva. You’re vulnerable right now, Betz.”

“What makes you think you’re taking advantage? What makes you think I didn’t want you to kiss me?”

David looks me in the eye. “You’re not one for a casual fling. You’ve never been interested in me before. Plus you’re not the type to
go for a guy with a girlfriend. I know you’re hurting, Betz, but this isn’t the answer. And our friendship matters too much to mess around with it like this.”

“What if I’m not messing around?”

This seems to stump him. Confusion etches the corner of his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Men are so clueless. That’s why God made Eve, so Adam would have someone to tell him what he wanted and when he wanted it. Okay, so the apple thing didn’t work out so well, but you get my point.

“What if I want you, David?”

I can’t believe it. I finally said it. Okay, I didn’t say it as much as ask it, but still. I think this is a breakthrough. I just wish breakthroughs didn’t have to be fraught with such a sense of impending doom.

“I don’t think you know what you want right now, Betz.” He sounds sad, which gives me hope, but he also sounds definite, which shakes the ground beneath my feet.

“You think I don’t know what I want?”

“When have you ever?”

He lifts a hand as if to apologize for the harshness of his words, but he doesn’t stop saying them. “You thought a small church would satisfy you, but when it got tough, you didn’t fight. You ran. Then you thought being an associate was your call to ministry, but it turns out that’s not it either. Now you agree to this interim thing, and you’re throwing yourself at me. You’re flailing, Betz.”

Perspiration explodes on my forehead and under my arms. “I am not flailing! And for your information, I’m done with my so-called career in ministry. I’m quitting at the end of the summer.”

“To go to law school.”

“Law school?” He rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“No, David, I am not kidding. I’ve been accepted at Vanderbilt.”

He crosses his arms, his tux jacket tightening over his shoulders. Those shoulders I’ve been clinging to all night. “When were you planning to tell me?”

I duck my head the merest fraction. “When the time was right.”

“As in ‘right’ before school starts? I can’t believe you kept something like this from me.”

“I knew you’d just judge me.”

“No, you knew I’d tell you the truth. What I’m telling you now. You have no idea what you want. You have no idea what God wants for you. You’re latching on to whatever is handy, hoping it will make you happy. I’m not willing to be the guy who’s handy, Betz. We’ve known each other too long for that. You matter too much to me.”

How can a guy telling you how much you matter to him make your heart break like mine is doing right now? I’m glad I’m wearing red so the blood won’t show, because this hurts too much not to be an actual, physical wound.

“You don’t want me.” The words taste as bitter as they sound.

“Not like this. No.”

“You’d rather have that airhead bimbo, Cali.”

“At least she wants to be with me because she wants to be with me. Not because she’s using me to hide from something.”

“Oh, quit being such a grownup.”

“But that’s what we are now, Betz. We’re grownups. The time for playing games is over.”

“I want to go home.”

“Fine. I’ll have them bring the car around.”

I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “No. Not with you. I’ll get a cab.”

“Aw, Betz, don’t be stupid. I’ll drive you home.”

But I can’t be near him anymore. I might possibly make it to the front door of the hotel and into a taxi without collapsing, but if I have to stay with David another moment, I’ll lose any shred of dignity I have left. I shove my way past him.

“Betsy. Don’t. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

But it does. I have to run for cover like a fox with the hounds on her scent. David
knows.
He knows how I feel, and it’s not enough.

But it’s never been enough. I’ve never been enough. Not for my dad, who wanted another lawyer in the family. Not for my mom, who doesn’t understand why I can’t land a man. Not for my first church that valued gender over competency, and not for Church of the Shepherd, where they put appearances before substance.

And definitely not for David, who wants me to be more like LaRonda. Decisive. Focused. Powerful.

The Bible is full of scriptures about fools, and as I hurry through the lobby toward the front door, I feel like every one of them. No makeover can cover up the truth. I am not enough, and I never will be.

So far there’s no action around the offering box. I brought a salad from home to munch on while I keep my vigil, and the lettuce tastes like the spaghetti sauce I stored in the container last week. Like the rest of my life, my lunch is haunted by my past.

Or perhaps more to the point, my past has decided to take up residence in my present. Normally I can keep those ghosts at bay, but Velva’s death and David’s rejection, like my own personal kryptonite, have weakened my superpowers.

Someone looms in the doorway of my office, and I catch my breath, thinking it might be David. But it’s Cali, of all people.

“Hi, Betsy.” Her face is longer than one of Dr. Black’s sermons.

“Hey, Cali.” I mangle a greeting through a mouthful of romaine, then pause to swallow. “This is a surprise.”

She drags herself into the room and drapes herself across a chair. “I needed to talk to someone about David. Someone who knows him.
Do you mind?” She peers at me through a tangle of streaked blonde hair like a cuddly animal hiding from a vicious predator.

“Now?” I peep at my PC monitor. Still no movement in the sacristy. “Um … it’s not that great a time.”

She looks morosely at my ancient Tupperware. “You’re just eating, right? Go ahead. It won’t bother me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement on the monitor, but it’s gone before I can see who it is. Cali is clearly not going anywhere until we’ve had our chat. I’ve heard of multitasking, but this is ridiculous.

“What’s on your mind?” It’s a question I’ve uttered countless times to the person seated on the other side of my desk, but I’ve never wanted to avoid the person’s answer more than I do now.

“David broke up with me.”

My fork stops halfway to my mouth. The lettuce plops onto my desktop.

“When?”

“Yesterday. We went bowling after lunch. He broke my heart in the middle of the seventh frame.”

“He broke up with you?” My brain can’t move past that fact.

“Right before he picked up the spare.”

Why didn’t he tell me last night? Another blur of movement on the monitor catches my eye, and I casually swing my head to the side as if I’m shaking my head no in disbelief. Again, I’m too late to see who it is.

“I knew the age difference would be a problem,” Cali mourns, “but he won’t even try to work it out.”

“What did he say?” Why am I asking for details? It’s like my love
life is a terrible car wreck that I can’t help rubbernecking. Cali assumes the lotus position in the chair as if she’s settling in for an extended meditation session. I wonder if she’s going to break out into Tibetan throat singing at any moment. Fortunately, she doesn’t.

“He said it wasn’t working. How could it not have been working? It was working for me.”

What can I say to that? I look at her, really look at her, and see myself or any other young woman at twenty-three. She’s naive, no matter how worldly she may appear. Her lack of experience isn’t her fault, and the only way to gain the perspective she’ll have in five years is by getting her heart stomped on. Repeatedly.