Still Life in Shadows (8 page)

“Come on, Kiki.”

“No!” She crossed her arms against her chest, her hands slapping against her shoulders. “I have to work here.”

“Kiki, don’t be difficult. Put on your listening ears and come on.”

“Quit trying to sound like Mama!”

Mari looked at Gideon, her face begging for help.

Gideon felt he was operating in slow motion.
Mama?
Had Kiki said that word in reference to someone else? Someone other than Mari?

As Kiki continued making noise with the tools and Mari’s face showed despair, Gideon stepped out of his own fog and moved toward the child.

When he approached her, Kiki got up, the wrench still in her hand, and leaned against the wall of the garage. With her chin jutted out, she clamped her lips together and squeezed her eyes closed.

“Kiki.” He swallowed the urge to shout. Certainly, the girl wouldn’t throw a tantrum and hit him with the tool, would she? He was grateful when Mari stood by his side. Trying to speak softly, he said, “When you come back, we’ll have …” He paused as Mari looked at him. Have what? What did the kid like? “Chocolate,” he said. There, that was a safe bet; who didn’t like chocolate?

“Chocolate gives me gas.” She spoke quickly and then let her lips seal into a tight bow.

Noting his shocked expression, Mari smiled.

Gideon’s tension eased. He thought again and came up with, “Popsicles. How about those orange ones?”

“You mean Creamsicles?”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

Kiki’s arms released from their stance of protest. Her breathing resumed, and as her mouth relaxed she said, “Okay, let’s go.” She handed the wrench to Gideon, a sign of surrender.

He saw gratitude in Mari’s eyes as Kiki made her way to Mari’s parked car. The girl pulled open the door and plopped into the passenger seat, folding her arms across her chest again. Gideon watched the two drive off, the brakes of the Toyota squealing before Mari merged onto Main Street.

Like an early morning mist, the realization of his naïveté settled onto him. He’d made a mistake thinking that Mari was Kiki’s mother. He was just like his father—always jumping to conclusions. Always assuming the worst about a situation and acting before really thinking about it.

Back inside his office, he let the stupid feeling subside and began to think about possibilities. A date? Dinner somewhere nice was what he’d like to do on a first date. Would Mari go for that?

Ormond rattled his paper and called out that the Clemson Tigers beat Duke yesterday. “I love it when any team beats Duke,” he said. “Any team.” He went on to say he’d watched the game on TV and wondered if Gideon had happened to catch it.

Gideon, still contemplating about Mari, walked over to the older man’s desk. “You know I don’t watch sports.”

“You’re missing out.” Ormond grinned at a photo of Clemson fans with orange paws painted on their cheeks, cheering over the victory.

Gideon gave a weak smile, his thoughts far from any excited sports fans. He respected Ormond and decided that seeking his advice about a woman couldn’t hurt. Ormond had been happily married for forty-nine years. “Uh … well …”

“Something on your mind?” Ormond turned the page, folded the paper, and ran a palm over the comics.

“Yeah … I was … Do you think …?”

“All the time.” Ormond chuckled.

Gideon studied his fingertips, picking at dirt underneath both
thumbnails. “Do you think I should ask her out?”

“You should take her to the music festival in Gatlinburg.”

He’d been there once with a girl back when he was still in his twenties. The evening they’d gone had been cool, and under a canopy they’d listened to a jazz band. He couldn’t recall any of the names of the tunes, but he did remember how Sandy, the girl, told him she wasn’t ready to seriously date him or anyone. As the band took a break, she gave the infamous line about just being friends. Gideon was sad to hear that she wasn’t interested in him, but agreed that if she needed time to “find herself,” that was best. Two weeks later, he’d heard Sandy was dating a doctor from Hendersonville.

Ormond lifted his gaze from the paper to look at Gideon. “Or the Oktoberfest,” he said.

“When is that?”

“It runs through the month of October. Does she like bratwurst?”

“I don’t know.” Gideon didn’t think he’d ever seen Mari eat anything. He knew she made pies early in the morning before Another Cup opened for business. Did she ever sample the ones she made? He felt a bit foolish for not knowing more about her culinary tastes.

“Well, she has to like strudel,” Ormond said as he lowered the paper onto his desk. “Everyone loves that.”

“What about dinner at that Italian place?”

“Does she like Italian food?”

Ormond was certainly full of questions this afternoon. Gideon felt like he was playing a game of Twenty Questions. “I don’t know much about her.” He realized this was probably one of the truest statements he’d made. What did he really know about Mari? Up until a few moments ago, he’d had her pegged as either an unwed mother or a divorcee with a child.

Ormond took a sip from his coffee cup then resumed his paper reading. “You know,” he said, “she’s new to the area. She could probably use a friend.”

Gideon liked the sound of Ormond’s words. He busied himself
with an inventory check of the storage room, making notes on his clipboard, and thinking of how he could ask Mari for a date.

When he walked past Ormond’s desk, the old man stood to stretch his legs. “So all that advice I gave you about divorce isn’t necessary anymore?”

“What?”

“You thought she was divorced, didn’t you? Thought an Amish man couldn’t date a divorced woman?”

There was no pretending with Ormond. He must have known when Gideon asked about the Bible and divorce, that he’d had Mari in mind. “Did you know she was single when I asked you all those questions?”

Ormond adjusted his glasses and sat back down. “I guess I just felt I should wait until you figured it all out. I knew Mari and Kiki were sisters all along.” Then he laughed as if he’d just given the punch line of one of his favorite jokes.

G
ideon woke before the sun sprinted up into the sky. He felt the relief from days ago wash over him anew as he thought of the connection between Mari and Kiki. Sisters. He could deal with that. He knew he was old-fashioned, but the chains of his childhood belief system were not weak. He’d left his home, his church, and culture. He wore English clothes and owned a truck. But there was something about women he’d been taught from his mother’s knee. “A good girl is not quick to give of herself, and a good girl stays married. No matter what.” That standard had stayed with him.

Looking back over his years under his parents’ roof, he wondered if his mother had to remind herself of the last part of her mantra for the sake of her own sanity.
A good girl stays married.
Had she wanted to stray from her husband, the man who was beast-like as he demanded respect and yet could not give it, shouted orders, and listened to no reason?

Gideon dismissed those thoughts as he spread apple butter on multigrain toast. He poured a glass of apple cider from a jug he’d bought
from Henry’s wife. Mebane made her own apple cider and asked Henry to sell it when he went on his daily patrols around town.

Gideon tried a smile as he thought of Henry’s wife, a short woman with a round face and porcelain complexion who held a fierce love of the mountains where she was raised and learned the skill of making the best apple cider. She’d taught their daughter, Ashlyn, to cook as well. That young woman’s specialty was bread she steamed in cans in a pot of hot water. She often dropped off samples at the garage for her fiancé Luke and anyone else willing to give it a try. Gideon had been a guest at Mebane and Henry’s many times, and their home was always cozy with love and respect abounding. Henry valued his wife’s opinion on most topics—except for recycling. He couldn’t see the need to take the time to wash out empty jars and bottles before placing them inside the bin. But even with his inability to match her views on the need to cleanse the cans and jars first, he admired her for going the extra mile. Gideon felt that his father could take some lessons from this English family. With Father, it was his way. Period. There was never any room for discussion.

Gideon pushed thoughts of his father aside as though they were empty oil bottles ready to be recycled. He wanted to dwell only on happy thoughts this morning. He sought to be smiling and lighthearted when he went to Another Cup for his tea and pie. Today was going to be the day. He spent extra care as he shaved and tossed on one more splash of cologne before heading out for his walk to work. As he walked out under a murky sky, a lone catbird meowed from a desolate maple tree, reminding him that winter was just around the corner. To the east, a few crows cackled and then got lost in the distance as a hawk spread her wings, circling for some tidbit on the nearby ground.

He had to admit that he continued to feel a little imprudent for assuming that Mari was Kiki’s mother. Since Mari looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six, and Kiki was thirteen, that would have meant Mari had been awfully young when she’d conceived Kiki. She would have been barely a teen. He shuddered to think of how his great-great-grandmother on his mother’s side had had her first child at thirteen.
She went on to have eight more after that. Story had it that one of her sons had found her body in a cornfield. She’d died of a massive stroke at the age of thirty-seven.

At the shop, he greeted Ormond and later Luke. By nine, he tried to hold in his frustration that Amos was nowhere in sight. He asked Luke if he’d heard anything about the young man’s whereabouts. Luke looked up from under the hood of a 1998 Camaro and said he had not seen Amos since yesterday.

When the boy ambled in to work twenty minutes later, Gideon glared. “You are to be here at eight when we open,” he said.

Amos rolled the long pants legs up so that they no longer dragged. Scratching his chin, he said, “I overslept.”

“Do you need an alarm clock?”

“A what?”

Slowly, with emphasis. “A clock with an alarm that goes off to wake you up in the morning.”

“I have a cell phone that beeps when I set it.”

Gideon was impressed that the kid had found the alarm on his phone. “Be here at eight tomorrow,” he stressed and then told him to help Luke with the pastor of Second Presbyterian’s car that had just arrived for a tune-up. He was tired of reprimanding Amos. Days ago he’d headed over to his apartment to remind him of the contract. “You signed it, you need to keep to it. You are getting free rent by working for me for a month.”

The boy had stared up at him and then sat on the wicker chair in his living room, looking weary from just breathing.

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

Gideon had left the apartment after that, uncertain as to what to do. He’d helped others who were only passing through on their way to someplace else, realizing that Twin Branches and the Russell Brothers Auto Shop was not to their liking. But those boys and girls were clear about what they wanted. Like Luke’s sister, Rebecca, and others who
had connections in Raleigh or Atlanta, they each desired to experience what a larger town had to offer. He was fine with that; they didn’t have to feel obligated to stay in these mountains. But none of them had been as lazy and ungrateful as Amos was proving to be.

Again, Gideon needed to rid himself of ill thoughts today. He was about to head over to the tearoom to see Mari. He wanted to feel courageous and brave. Suave and warm would help, too. He was going to ask her out. He studied his hair in the restroom mirror. His curly locks had a tendency to look forlorn if he didn’t keep them in check. He took off his cap and swiped a hand over them so he didn’t have hat hair. He smiled into the mirror. Even though he’d spent a majority of the morning working under the hood of a Honda, he could still smell his aftershave.

Briskly, he walked to Another Cup, hope expanding in his chest. He couldn’t recall when he’d ever felt this ready and eager to ask a woman out on a date. As he entered the shop, he smiled.

Since it was past one o’clock, the heavy lunch crowd was gone. Only the three tables by the large window were occupied. Still smiling, he sat at the counter. When Della took his order, he asked where Mari was.

“She’s in her office in the back, I think.”

He ordered his usual green tea and roast beef sandwich, asking for extra horseradish on the side. He ate, relishing each bite. Before finishing the sandwich, he pointed to a slice of blackberry pie that sat under a glass dome to the left of the counter.

Della’s bosom heaved as she laughed. “You are the most pie-eating man I know.”

“Guess I’ve always had a severe sweet tooth.”

“Sugar,” she said, “so do I. My downfall is those chocolate-covered pretzels and a good chick flick on the Lifetime Movie Network.”