Stay With Me (9 page)

It was Friday, and like every Friday, Chris
abstained from meat. It wasn’t Lent, so he wasn’t bound by that sacrifice, he
could choose another, but no meat on Fridays had become an ingrained habit for
him over the past couple of years. He didn’t have another second to dwell on it
since her dad announced it was time for grace.

Chris shifted in his seat as Rebecca released his
hand under the table, and he bowed his head in prayer.

“Dear Lord,” her dad began, “Bless this meal and
those who eat it. Amen.”

Short and sweet. Chris refrained from making the
sign of the cross as he was apt to do.

“Chris,” her dad said as he reached for the steak
platter, “I hope you like sirloin. A friend of mine had promised me Alaskan
salmon, but he wasn’t able to bring them by this week. Maybe another time.”

Her dad stabbed the top steak with a fork. He and
Rebecca had talked about whether he should tell her father he was Catholic or
save that particular detail for later. They had decided that unless it came up
they would avoid the topic. For now. But here they were about thirty seconds
into the meal, and it had come up.

“Thank you, sir, I do like sirloin, and those look
delicious, but I’m—”

“Fasting.” Rebecca sounded breathless as the word
erupted from her lips. “Chris fasts on Fridays, Dad.”

That caught her dad’s attention, and he stopped and
studied Chris with a look almost of admiration. “Really? Well, while I find
that commendable, I think you can dispense with that this evening.”

Chris’s instinct was to say that he didn’t have the
authority to do that, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t Lent, therefore it
wasn’t an obligation. He could and should dispense with it tonight for the sake
of harmony. He opened his mouth to say that he’d love a steak when Rebecca,
looking anxious and wary blurted out, “Chris is Roman Catholic.”

Geez, did she have to add the “Roman?” It made him
sound un-American.

Her dad had set the steak on Chris’s dish and was
in the process of dropping one of the juicy cuts onto his own. It fell to his
plate with a thwack, and he looked between the two of them, a steak knife in
one hand and a two-tined fork in the other. He smiled, a saccharine smile that
left his lower lip twitching.

He glared at Chris. “Rebecca said you were a
Christian.”

“I am, sir. Catholic Christian.”

Her dad let out a little “humph,” and began to cut
his steak. That set the tone for the entire meal. Rebecca tried to introduce a
topic of conversation, Chris tried to find common ground with her father, and
her dad responded with a panoply of disgusted noises.

After her dad gave a final swipe to his mouth with
the linen napkin, he pushed his plate forward and gave them each a forced
smile. Chris was almost finished as well, so he set his hands on the napkin in
his lap.

“So, Chris, what is it that you do for a living?”

Finally, an opportunity to salvage things. With the
news he had accepted a new job this morning, Chris sat straighter in his chair.
He cast a quick glance at Rebecca, glad that he could finally share his good
news with her. He turned back to her dad and watched as he rattled the ice
cubes in his glass before taking a long drink of his—water.

All at once it hit him. This wasn’t going to be his
saving grace; it would be more like the nail in his coffin as far as her dad
was concerned. There was no avoiding it now, and he was eager to share it with
Rebecca anyway. He’d just dive in.

“Well, my degree is in chemistry, sir, but I’ve
been having a hard time finding something that suited me. In the meantime, I’ve
been working at Rieser’s Market, restocking and stuff.”

Her dad looked into the bottom of his now-empty
glass, not impressed.

“I went on an interview last week though, and this
morning they offered me a position, and I accepted it.” Rebecca’s dad had
looked up now, anticipating the big announcement.

Chris reached for Rebecca’s hand under the table
again and holding onto it, let their hands rest on his thigh. He pushed the
chair back a little bit so he could angle himself towards her. The smile on her
lips and in her eyes gave him the confidence to continue.

“They wanted a chemist. Starting in two weeks, I’ll
be the yeast manager for Gateway Brewery.”

He’d always be grateful to Rebecca for her
reaction. She had to have known what her dad would think of him working at a
brewery, but she didn’t temper her response. She released his hand and threw
her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek.

“Chris, it’s perfect. I mean, I don’t know the
first thing about yeast management, but you’ll get to use your education, it’s
close by, and it’s probably a cool place to work.”

That was all true of course, but the fact that it
provided a larger income with benefits was foremost in his mind. A man that
wanted to court a woman properly and was thinking seriously for the first time
that he wanted to be a husband and father someday needed stability and income.
He needed something he could offer Rebecca aside from a ride on the back of his
Harley.

Her dad’s chair scraped against the wood floor, and
they turned to see him push away from the table. “Sometimes I wonder what it is
I’ve done that the women in my life are hell- bent on making me suffer.”

The smile on Rebecca’s face disintegrated and the
color drained from her face.

Chris didn’t know where the words came from or how
to stop them, but he laid them out on the table as Rebecca’s father gathered
his plate and turned toward the kitchen.

“Augustine said that suffering is not a punishment,
but that God is a physician and suffering is his medicine for salvation.”

Rebecca’s dad stopped and slowly turned back to
them. “Thank you, Mr….”

“Reynolds,” Chris supplied.

“Thank you, Mr. Reynolds, but I prefer not to take
my religious instruction from a papist. Especially one that works in a
brewery.”

With that he left the room, and in a minute his
feet climbed the creaky stairs.

“Well, I guess I’ll clean up,” Rebecca said.

He heard it in her unsteady voice and saw it in her
watery eyes. She was trying to hold back tears. He grabbed onto her arm as she
stood.

“Rebecca, it’s okay. I tried, but somewhere through
the course of the meal I realized I can’t be something I’m not, even if it
means I don’t gain your father’s approval. I’m Catholic now, and I don’t
foresee that ever changing. And I’m excited about my job. Very excited. Not
because it’s a brewery, but because it’s work. And it’s a bigger salary with
benefits. It’ll open up new doors for me. And for us.”

She finally looked at him, her eyes moist and
almost sable. “I’m happy for you Chris, truly. The tears are just…I’m just
sorry. He was so unkind to you.”

Chris stood, too, and began helping her clear the
table. “It’s okay. I’d like your dad to like me, but I’m more concerned about
earning your affection, trust, and respect than his.”

Rebecca smiled. “Well, your odds of success are
definitely better with me.”

Chris motioned toward the front door. “I noticed a
porch swing out there. Maybe after we clear the table we could sit outside?
It’s a nice evening.”

“I haven’t sat on that swing in ages. It sounds
nice.”

***

Rebecca relaxed for the first time that evening as
she sat on the porch swing and touched her toes to the floor to steady it for
Chris. He sat beside her and rested his arm on the seat behind her as he pushed
off. They swung in silence for a couple of minutes. Rebecca noted how quiet the
neighborhood had become. When she and Abby were little there had been a dozen
kids running up and down the sidewalks, cutting through yards, and skipping
rope at this time of day.

She turned to face Chris. “Your face looks a lot
better. The bruising’s almost gone.”

He rubbed a hand over his cheek and lip. “Yeah. It
should be gone by Monday. I hope.”

She nodded in agreement. “So, why didn’t you tell
me about your interview?”

“I didn’t know if I had any chance of getting the
job.”

They swung in silence for a few more beats.

Rebecca twisted her hands in her lap. “You
fascinate me.” 

Chris leaned away so he could see her face. “How
so?”

“You quote Augustine, and you make an awesome
campfire. You carry a rosary in your pocket, and you’re going to work at a
brewery. You’re a virgin, and you ride a Harley.”

They swung back and forth two more times.

“I never said I was a virgin.”

Rebecca’s cheeks heated instantaneously, and she
started to stammer something she realized must be incoherent before Chris’s
hand squeezed her shoulder.

She looked over at him and her cheeks cooled. She
had come to recognize the look in his eyes when he was messing with her.

He smiled. “But your assumption is correct.”

She smacked his arm with her hand, and he shrunk away
from her, rubbing his bicep. “Ow!”

“You deserve it. You’re terrible.”

He laughed. “So, none of those things you mentioned
are mutually exclusive.”

“No, but they are unusual combinations. I think
it’s part of what makes you so attractive. You’re not afraid to be exactly who
you are. You’ll follow the truth wherever it leads you.”

The teasing vanished from his eyes. “I think that’s
the nicest compliment anyone’s ever given me.”

Rebecca stared at her hands as she twisted them in
her lap. “Well, it’s just pointing out the obvious. You’re infinitely more
interesting than I am. I’ll admit I can’t quite figure out why you want to hang
out with me.”

The swing came to a stop as Chris’s feet dragged
over the wooden plank floor, and she looked at him in question.

“I’m not coordinated enough to kiss you and swing
at the same time. Something had to go.”

He slid nearer to her on the swing and pulled her
close to him with the arm that still rested behind her. His other hand moved
over her hands in her lap before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to
hers. How many times had he kissed her like this? Twice the night of Alan’s
wedding, once after their camping trip. Was it possible she’d get used to it
and her heart wouldn’t feel like it was going to explode out of her chest every
time his lips touched hers? She hoped not.

Chris pulled away only enough to speak. “Is there a
twelve-step program for this?”

Rebecca placed another light kiss to his lips.
“What?”

“Your kisses are addictive.”

She smiled. “I don’t want you to get help. Ever.”

His hand massaged the back of her head and his
fingers pulled slowly through her hair. “That means I might be hanging around
for a while.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Do you need a promise?”

The screen door flew open with such force it
slammed against the wall, and her dad emerged. He had changed into his
workpants and a matching shirt with the local gas company emblem emblazoned
over his left pocket. Rebecca shifted away from Chris in the swing and his arm
lifted from behind her as her dad adjusted his fat leather belt around his
waist.

“Rebecca, I’ve been called out on an emergency.
Lock up before you go.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Mr. Reynolds, I assume you’ll be going.”

Chris straightened in the swing. “Yes, sir. As soon
as I help Rebecca with the dishes.”

His gaze lingered on Chris as if he was trying to
decide whether or not to believe him, and then he hurried down the steps and to
his car.

She watched him go, and then turned back to Chris.
Her heart did that little flutter thing. Dinner had been a bust, but the
evening wasn’t.

9

Broken Things

Chris couldn’t limit his dates with Rebecca to the
weekends anymore. He didn’t care what his schedule looked like; he had to see
her midweek. He’d only be working at Rieser’s Market another week anyway, and
then he’d enjoy normal working hours except for some special events here and
there.

He spotted Rebecca right away. She leaned against
the parking garage railing overlooking the amusement park. A long ponytail hung
almost halfway down her back, and she wore a white, knee-length skirt that
flared around her in the breeze. The roller coaster noise and the accompanying
screams reached a crescendo, so when he’d coasted his motorcycle into a parking
spot on the opposite side of the garage, she hadn’t noticed.

It was like someone had tethered helium balloons to
his limbs, and he could glide across the lot to her. Just seeing her made his
spirits rise. He smiled as he thought how he could have a little fun with her.

He walked up behind her noiselessly. Then he
reached forward and tugged her ponytail before wrapping his arms around her
waist. He opened his mouth to say, “Surprise,” when she let out a
blood-curdling scream. Her elbows simultaneously jabbed into his midsection.

“Rebecca, Rebecca, it’s me. It’s me—Chris.” Finally,
he was able to grasp her wrists and get her turned around. “See? It’s just me.”

She breathed heavily for a few seconds as the
terror in her eyes faded. “Chris, you scared me.”

“No kidding.” Were they taking nominations for the
understatement of the century?

A large, muscular guy in a ribbed, white, tank
shirt approached from off to their right. “Excuse me, miss. Are you okay?”

Rebecca wrapped her arms around her waist. “Yes.
I’m fine.”

The man looked back across the lot to a woman
standing alongside a stroller holding the hand of a preschool-aged boy. He
turned back to Rebecca. “Do you know this man?”

“Yes. He’s…a friend.” She laid a hand on Chris’s
arm. “He just scared me coming up behind me like that is all.”

“All right then,” he said before giving Chris a
once over and then heading back to his family.

The tension in Rebecca’s face eased, and color
flooded back into her cheeks. She moved her hand from his arm to his side. “I
didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Chris shook his head. “Nah. The new bruises will just
blend in with the others.”

Rebecca jerked her hand away as if she still might
be hurting him. “Oh, my gosh. Your ribs. I’m so sorry, Chris.”

“Just kidding. I’m good. If I had known it would
upset you like that, I never would’ve snuck up on you.” He took her hand and
held it. “Are
you
okay?”

Rebecca nodded. “Fine. You didn’t do anything
wrong. I overreacted.”

Eager to distance them from that awkward scene,
Chris asked, “Are you still up for dinner?”

“Of course.” Her tone sounded less confident than
her words.

The hostess seated them on the terrace of the
restaurant and bar under a large orange umbrella. The waitress brought them two
tall glasses of water with a small dish of lemon wedges. Chris smiled at the
short-haired, middle-aged woman.

 “Can I get you something from the bar?” she asked.

 “Do you have any Gateway beers on tap?”

She named a summer lager and an India Pale Ale.

 “I’ll try the summer lager. I start work there
soon, so I’d better get familiar with their product.” He smiled across the
table at Rebecca.

Her breathing rate and color appeared normal. She
leaned forward and asked, “Do you think a glass of wine would help settle my
nerves?” Her voice sounded calm.

“I don’t think it would hurt.”

Her hair was still secured in that long ponytail
with a few wisps grazing her neck. Beautiful.

“Would you pick something for me?”

He looked back at the waitress. “What kind of red
wine do you have?”

“We have a pinot noir, a merlot, a shiraz, and a cabernet sauvignon.”

“A glass of merlot, please.”

The waitress left, giving them a few minutes to
look at the dinner selections. In less than a minute, Rebecca laid down her
menu.

“Whatever they’re grilling smells fantastic. I
think I’ll have the mushroom burger.”

Chris made his choice and set his menu down as
well. A large truck rumbled past. In the opposite direction, a train whistle
sounded, momentarily forestalling conversation.

“So, do you want to talk about why my sneaking up
on you freaked you out like that?”

Rebecca leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Not really,
but I guess you deserve an explanation.”

He waited for her to begin.

“There’s not much to it. Just a bad memory.” She
fiddled with her napkin and pressed it into her lap as the waitress brought
their drinks.

They placed their orders, and Chris watched as she
sipped her wine. “Do you like it?”

“I do.” She took another sip, and he waited for her
to pick up the conversation where they had left off.

“Anyway, the summer camp—Bible camp—that I went to
in high school—”

“The one where you met someone Catholic?”

She giggled. “Yes. I didn’t connect the dots for
you. That someone was John. Father John. I don’t know if I can get used to
calling him ‘Father.’ I think he’ll always be John to me.”

“We could call him ‘First Kiss John.” She was so
easy to tease.

“Ha. Anyway, there was a guy there. Older than both
of us. He just…he came on really strong.”

Her pause didn’t inspire confidence in her story.
“What do you mean by ‘he came on really strong’?”

“He came up behind me like that and caught me off
guard.”

That couldn’t be all. “And?”

“And he had me sort of trapped, and I got scared.
That’s it.”

He’d have to take her at her word. He sensed that
was all he was going to get on that matter.

“If we’re done discussing my neuroses, can I ask
you a question?”

Chris tasted his beer. It was good; not too hoppy.
“Shoot.”

Rebecca pushed a loose strand of hair behind her
ear. “Well, at Alan’s wedding, Megan said you were shy—at least in high school,
and I don’t think you have a shy bone in your body, so was she out-of-her-mind
drunk or have you changed?”

This must have been part of the uncomfortable
conversation with Megan he had walked in on when he came out of the restroom.
“She said that, huh?”

“Among other things.” She gave him a little teasing
smile, as if Megan had shared some other secrets about him with her. Maybe she
had, but considering he had no real personal history with Megan, it couldn’t be
too bad.

“She was drunk all right, but she was right about
me being shy. I guess from about the time I started school, I remember trying
to avoid attention. I was the kid who knew the answers but never raised his
hand. When I got to be twelve or thirteen it kind of spread to my social life,
too. I didn’t speak unless spoken to, and when it came to girls—forget it. I
couldn’t even string two or three words together.”

Her eyes never left his as she twisted her wine
glass on its napkin. “Why?”

“Good question. I’ve thought a lot about that, and
the best I can come up with is the typical story of a boy who lived in his big
brother’s shadow. There were only the two of us, so comparisons were
inevitable. Alan was larger than life. He was good at everything. Not great,
but good enough to be noticed. He’s a people person, an extrovert. And girls—to
this day I don’t know what his secret was, but girls were drawn to him like
flies to honey.  So, by being shy, I took myself out of the equation. There was
no comparison. No competition.”

Rebecca took it all in, but didn’t say a word.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She pushed her glass forward on the
table and rested her hands in her lap. “I’m just trying to square that with the
outgoing, confident man I’m looking at now.”

The waitress brought their meals and after saying
grace and enjoying a few bites of their food, Rebecca picked up the
conversation.

“What happened? How did you go from that to this?
There must have been some catalyst.”

“There was.” He finished chewing and took another
drink of his beer. “My college roommate and I were polar opposites. I don’t
know how we got matched up, but we couldn’t have been more different. We got
along okay, but we had nothing in common. He reminded me of Alan in some ways,
but he had a mean streak. You didn’t want to cross him.

“So, one Friday night he didn’t come home. It
wasn’t the first time. I figured he met a girl, and frankly, better her place
than mine. But the next morning, one of his friends dropped by and told me he’d
been killed. I figured he’d been driving drunk or he overdosed or something. .
.” He shook his head. “Total freak accident.”

Rebecca set her sandwich down. “What happened?”

“He was driving home and whether he was under the
influence or not, I never heard, but it didn’t matter. Just as he was about to
pass over a sewer cover in the road, it burst off and flew right through his
windshield.”

Rebecca’s hand clamped over her mouth. “Oh, my
gosh. I’m so sorry. Even if you weren’t close…that’s horrible.”

Chris sat very still, recalling the days following
his roommate’s death. “It was harder on his friends and family, but it really
made me think about life and how nothing’s guaranteed. Here today, gone
tomorrow. I decided I wanted to live my life and find meaning in it, not just
watch it whizz by from the sidelines.”

“And that’s it? You were able to change your
personality like that?”

“It was more of a gradual process. I had to keep
pushing myself beyond my comfort zone, but eventually it came naturally, and I
started to feel more like me than I ever had, if that makes any sense.”

Chris lifted his burger again, and Rebecca finished
off her wine.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt free
to be me.” Her downcast eyes and fragile tone made Chris’s heart ache.

“Why not?”

Rebecca pushed the remainder of her burger around
the plate then peered up at him. “Could we save that for another time?”

“Sure. I guess the conversation got kind of heavy.”

“That’s my fault. You were trying to play with me,
and I went all loco on you.”

“Please don’t apologize, Rebecca.” He reached
across the table and grasped her fingers. “I want to have fun with you, but I
want to get to know you, too. Even your heartaches and your problems.”

She smiled, and they finished their meal in
silence.

Everyone suffered in this life, Rebecca included.
Chris knew that, but if he could, he would take up every one of her crosses for
her. He just wondered how many there were.

***

By Saturday evening, Chris longed for a low-key
date alone with Rebecca. That wasn’t on the agenda. He stared out the car
window at a two-story, brick, Tudor-style home as Rebecca gathered her keys and
cell phone and dropped them into her purse.

“Is your dad coming tonight?”

“No.”

He felt a little guilty at the amount of relief
that one word generated. If he was going to keep seeing Rebecca, he’d have to
find a way to coexist with her father, but not tonight.

“Abby will complain that he doesn’t care enough to
come to his own granddaughter’s party, but she set the date before she ever
asked him which weekends he was working.” They exited the car, and she
continued. “She resents that he doesn’t make a big fuss over her kids but refuses
to see how much he dotes on them. I called him last night, and all he talked
about was Ricky starting baseball, Emma singing the ABC song, and Ian rolling
over.”

He had to give Rebecca credit. It would be easy to
paint her dad as evil incarnate, but like everyone else he, too, was surely a
mixture of good and bad, virtue and vice.

“So, what does one do at a birthday party for a
three-year-old?” Chris asked as they walked from her car to her sister’s house.

“Well, Emma loves Dora the Explorer, so I’m guessing
there will be Dora balloons and a Dora piñata. There’s going to be a couple
girls from her tumbling class and their moms. Not a big deal. Just pizza, cake,
and ice cream. Nothing you can’t handle.”

She shot him a saucy grin, and all he could think
of was what he’d really like to handle. He needed to rein himself in; he was
going to a toddler’s birthday party.

Chris glanced at the various toys scattered around
the yard as evidence that children lived there. Fingerprints smeared the storm
door about six inches lower than the door handle.

Rebecca shifted the large present she’d been
carrying, wrapped of course in Dora the Explorer paper, and knocked on her
sister’s front door.