Still Waters (6 page)

“Remorse?”

“Yes. I could tell from speaking with him that Tom regretted what he had done. If he had any idea the dog would be hurt, I think he would have fought the other kids to keep it from happening.”

“I’m not so sure of that. This isn’t the first time Tom’s made a poor decision, and there aren’t many people in this town who are willing to forget that.”

“There should be. We’ve been called to forgive as Christ forgave us. Besides, someone needs to help the Bishops. Things have been hard for them lately.”

“It doesn’t have to be you, Tiffany. Not when it might mean putting yourself in danger.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger in giving Tom a job.”

“I hope not. But be careful. I’ve seen things like this go bad before.”

Jake spoke quietly, a shadow darkening his eyes, and Tiffany wondered what had put it there. She resisted the urge to ask him, telling herself she didn’t know him well enough to pry. “I’ll be careful. But like I said, I think Tom will be fine. He just needs someone to believe in him.”

Jake was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he watched Tiffany. “You and your house make a good match.”

Puzzled by the turn in conversation, Tiffany brushed at a stray curl and commanded her sluggish brain to respond. “How’s that?”

“Both of you are interesting and unbelievably unique.”

Tiffany wasn’t sure Jake’s words were a compliment, but at least he hadn’t said they were both old and decrepit. “Thanks. I guess.”

Jake laughed quietly, the sound deep and mellow. “See, that’s what I mean. Most women wouldn’t thank a man for comparing them to a house.”

Tiffany smiled and leaned back against an oversize pillow. The long day, the comfort of Jake’s presence and the effects of the medication she’d taken made Tiffany feel drowsy and warm. Her eyes drifted closed and she forced them back open.

“You’re exhausted. I’d better go.” Jake stood and Tiffany followed suit, forcing her aching body up from the couch.

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Are you sure you should be walking anywhere?”

“I’m much better. The headache is down to a dull throb.”

Jake nodded and led the way out the door and into the hall. “Nice collection of quilts.”

“Thank you. My mother and grandmother are both quilters. Some of these are theirs. Others I bought at flea markets and garage sales.”

“Do you quilt?”

“When I can find time. Which isn’t often enough. That quilt,” Tiffany gestured to a quilt done in shades of blue and yellow, “is one of mine.”

Jake stepped closer, examining the pattern. “This is my favorite. It looks like a bursting star.”

“You’re close. It’s a broken star pattern.”

“Looks pretty complicated.”

“It wasn’t one of the easiest quilts I’ve made but I enjoyed doing it.”

“Your love of the craft shows. The work is detailed and exact. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.”

Jake continued studying the quilt for a moment before he turned away. “I’d better leave you to your rest.”

“Thanks again.”

“No problem. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Jake pulled open the front door and stepped out into the night. “Tiffany?”

Something about the way Jake said her name sent Tiffany’s heart skittering in her chest. “Yes?”

“I’m pretty sure Tom is going to take the job you offered him. If he does and you have any trouble, give the station a ring. I’m on vacation for a week, but they know how to reach me. Tell the dispatcher I want to be called.”

“All right.”

Without another word, Jake walked down the porch steps, climbed into his truck and drove away.

Tiffany watched as the taillights of the Chevy disappeared. Then she closed the front door and leaned against its heavy wood. With Jake gone the house seemed silent and lonely, the cream-colored hallway with its bright quilts too empty. There should be children upstairs giggling and whispering secrets to one another, and toys scattered across the floors. Instead there was silence and a neatness that came from living alone.

Dating Brian had put Tiffany’s dream of marriage and a family within her reach, and she knew that if she backed down, if she allowed their relationship to continue, she could have all the things she wanted so desperately.

But at what cost?

She deserved to be more than an inconvenience, more than a trophy displayed or put aside with equal measure. She deserved to be waited for and worried about, not left alone.

As if sensing Tiffany’s mood, Bandit lumbered out of the living room and nudged her hand. “All right, boy. Enough of these morbid thoughts. Ready for some dinner?”

The big dog thumped his tail, woofing a response, and Tiffany made her way into the kitchen and to the mudroom behind it. She wanted to let go of her worries, wanted to let God take care of filling her life, but what if doing that meant living alone? What if it meant never getting married, never having children, never being anything but Tiffany Anderson, computer whiz?

The thought depressed Tiffany, but she knew she’d rather that than accept a relationship based more on convenience than affection. With a sigh, she poured food into Bandit’s bowl and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The clock read nine-thirty. Church would be over. Brian finished his work with the youth. No doubt he’d call and apologize.

And when he did, Tiffany would be ready to tell him exactly what she thought, how she felt, and why he didn’t need to call her again.

Teacup in hand, she sat at the kitchen table and waited for the phone to ring.

A
week later, Tiffany sat in her turret room office eyeing the silent telephone. Seven days had passed and she was still waiting for Brian to call. Not because she wanted to speak to him, but because she wanted closure, a firm and final end to the relationship. Sure,
she
could call
him,
but to what end? Obviously Brian had moved on.

Tiffany rolled her shoulders against the tension there and glanced out the window. She could see Tom, bent over the porch railing, carefully sanding away old paint. The sound of sandpaper brushing softly against wood drifted through the window, easing the silence of the empty house. It was nice to have someone around. Even if that someone was a rather closemouthed teenager.

Closemouthed, but efficient and hardworking.

Tiffany smiled, and stood to gather some papers. She didn’t regret hiring Tom. He worked with an eye to detail
and tackled the job with determination. Though the porch was large, stretching across the front of the house and around both sides, Tom had set a grueling pace for himself and didn’t seem at all daunted by hot weather or layer after layer of stubborn paint. No doubt he’d accomplished more in the five days he’d been working for her than she could have in two months.

The sweet scent of lilac and honeysuckle drifted on the air, inviting Tiffany to enjoy the day. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time. With a sigh of regret, she grabbed a stack of work orders from her in box, placed them in her briefcase, rebraided her hair, and stepped to the window.

“Tom?”

“Yes?” Tom stepped closer, paint flecks clinging to his clothes and a layer of dust coating his dark hair.

“I’ve got a couple of network jobs today. I doubt I’ll be done before five.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need a ride home?” Not quite seventeen, Tom had a driver’s license but no car. His father dropped him off in the morning but often didn’t finish his truck deliveries until late in the evening.

“I think so.”

“Okay. If I’m running late I’ll give you a call. There’s soda in the fridge. You know where the snacks are, so help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Tom scuffed a worn sneaker against the porch floor and looked uncomfortable. Like his father, he was a man of few words and even fewer smiles.

Tiffany figured it was going to take a lot longer than a week for him to warm up to her. In the meantime, she’d just keep feeding him. Though Tom rarely ate the snacks Tiffany purchased, he had yet to turn down the lunches or dinners
she prepared. Tiffany didn’t know how long it had been since he’d eaten a home-cooked meal, but the first time she’d offered him dinner he had eaten with such gusto that Tiffany began making him meals every day. If nothing else, he would leave her employ with some meat on his bones. Smiling at the thought, Tiffany grabbed her purse and briefcase and headed out the door.

It was past five when she returned home. The heat of the day had yet to give way to evening coolness, and hours of driving in an unairconditioned car had zapped Tiffany’s energy and turned her crisp linen suit into a sticky mass of wrinkles. Luckily she’d stopped on the way home and bought a chicken sandwich and some fries for Tom. She didn’t have the energy to cook. Or to eat, for that matter.

A featherlight breeze blew against her skin as she stepped from the car, evaporating some of the moisture from her face and loosening tendrils of hair that clung in sticky clumps to her neck. The sound of Tiffany’s return brought Bandit lumbering around the corner of the house. A few flecks of paint clung to his black fur and he panted heavily as he approached.

Concerned, Tiffany leaned down and patted the dog’s head. “What’s wrong, boy? You haven’t been outside all day, have you?”

She glanced around, hoping to find Tom. It wasn’t like him to leave Bandit outside in the heat. “Tom?”

The trim and railing on the front and sides of the porch had been stripped of paint and Tiffany could see Tom had finished his work for the day. As usual he had carefully cleaned up his supplies, the ladder leaning against a side wall the only sign he’d been working.

Uneasy, Tiffany made her way to the backyard, calling Tom again as she walked. The backyard was as silent and
empty as the front. She glanced around, noting a bucket and a coil of hose sitting near the mudroom door. These disturbed her more than the emptiness of the yard. Tom never left supplies out.

The mudroom door was unlocked, the room cool. As Tiffany moved toward the kitchen, Bandit squeezed by and stood on his hind legs, lapping up drops of moisture from the utility sink.

“You have been out a while, haven’t you?” As she spoke, Tiffany filled Bandit’s water bowl and scooped out some kibble for him to eat.

“Tom?”

“We’re in here.”

Brian’s voice was an unexpected, and not entirely welcome, surprise. No doubt he wanted to discuss their relationship in person. Though why he hadn’t called ahead, Tiffany didn’t know. Sighing, she attempted to brush wrinkles from her skirt as she made her way to the living room.

Brian stood beside the love seat, hovering over Tom like a malevolent scarecrow guarding a field of corn. Tom, sullen and angry, sat hunched over his knees, staring at the floor. He looked up when Tiffany entered the room but glanced away when she smiled in his direction.

“Hi, guys. I hope you haven’t been talking about me.” Tiffany’s attempt at humor fell flat. Tom continued to stare at the floor, while Brian eyed him with contempt.

“I didn’t notice your car out front, Brian. I’m surprised to see you.”

Brian’s attention shifted to Tiffany, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. “I jogged from the diner. I wanted to drop off the Sunday school materials for next week. I didn’t get a chance to pick them up last Sunday since I worked my shift at the clinic.”

“That was nice, but—”

“When I arrived, Tom was fooling around in your office.”

Tiffany’s gaze darted to Tom. His body was taut, his cheeks tinged red with anger or embarrassment. The rebellious turn of his lips made it difficult to tell which. “Is that true, Tom?”

Brian spoke before Tom could answer. “Of course it’s true. I caught him going through some of your papers. He’d knocked a few things off your desk while he was at it.”

“I did not.” Tom’s voice was sullen and defensive.

“Oh, come on. I came in the house, heard noise in the office and found you rifling through Tiffany’s desk.”

“I wasn’t going through her papers—”

“You were!”

Tom jumped up, fists clenched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you calling me stupid, boy?”

“Don’t call me boy.” Tom stepped toward Brian, violence in every line of his body.

“Wait!” Tiffany’s near shout cut through the argument, silencing the feuding pair. “Why don’t we all sit down and try to cool off?”

Brian shrugged and sat in a chair as Tom lowered himself back onto the love seat. Tiffany sat down next to him. “Now, Tom, why don’t you explain what happened?”

“I made a mistake and was cleaning up after it. I’m sorry.”

Brian shot Tiffany an I-told-you-so look, before picking up a magazine and leafing through it. Though he pretended indifference, Tiffany could see the tense set of his shoulders and the white-knuckled grip he had on the magazine.

Trying to ignore him, she turned her attention back to Tom. “What do you mean, you made a mistake?”

The angry flush on Tom’s cheeks deepened and his
glance slid from Tiffany to the floor. “I was working on the side of the porch near your office, finishing up the trim. I thought if I sprayed everything down today it would dry and I could start painting tomorrow. I put all the stripping stuff away and got out the hose. I was just washing everything down, but Bandit came out and he was barking at the hose, chasing the water and stuff.” Tom paused and Tiffany nodded encouragement.

“Well, I got kind of carried away and I didn’t realize the window was open and I sprayed right into your office. So I ran inside to see what got wet. I was drying some of your papers when
he
walked in.”

There was little doubt who
he
was. Brian looked up from the magazine he’d been leafing through and caught the tail end of Tom’s withering look.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. You didn’t tell me you were cleaning up a mess in there.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Well, you could have volunteered the information. Not that I’m sure I believe you. The fact is—”

“Tom,” Tiffany cut in, staving off another argument, “I brought a chicken sandwich and some fries for you. They’re on the kitchen counter. Why don’t you go eat? I’ll drive you home as soon as Dr. McMath and I finish talking.”

Relief smoothed the anger from Tom’s face and he leaped to his feet, half running from the room. Tiffany listened as his footsteps pounded softly on the oak floor of the hallway. Only when the thud of the door announced his entrance into the kitchen did Tiffany turn to Brian.

With his brown eyes hard and angry, and his mouth set in a grim line, he seemed almost a stranger. His words, when he spoke, were clipped and to the point. “I told you this was a mistake.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Tiffany, let’s be realistic for a minute, okay? Tom is trouble.”

“Tom is diligent, polite and eager to do a good job at the work I’ve given him. I don’t see how that equates to trouble.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re blinded by your soft heart.”

Tiffany bristled at the comment but Brian didn’t seem to notice. Placing the magazine on the floor, he stood and began pacing the room. “Look, why don’t you just admit you’re in over your head? Tom was going through your desk, probably looking for something to steal. I saw him with my own eyes.”

“I believe his explanation.”

Brian shook his head at Tiffany’s words, pausing his pacing long enough to glare at Bandit who had entered the room and curled up on the throw rug. “You believe anything a person tells you.”

“I’m getting a little tired of these veiled criticisms, Brian.”

“I’m not criticizing. I’m warning.”

“I’m a grown woman. I don’t think your warnings are necessary.”

“Well, I don’t think the little snit you’ve been in lately is necessary, either.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This whole idea that you’re breaking up with me. Over what? Being left at the diner?”

Tiffany felt anger burning bright and hot. “Was I ever the woman of your dreams, Brian?”

“Dreams? What are you talking about?”

“Was I the woman of your dreams? When you envisioned a lifetime spent with someone—building a home, having children—was I the one you saw?”

“Of course. We were talking marriage. Who else would
I have pictured spending my life with?” Brian stopped pacing and looked at Tiffany, exasperation at her questions obvious in the frown that marred his brow.

“Maybe because your dream woman is what you think I can be. Not what I am.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“There is one. Which me did you want to spend your life with? The me who is slender, in shape, has perfect hair, perfect nails? The one who never argues and always says the right thing. Or the real me? The one who isn’t perfect and never will be.”

Brian ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I don’t have time for it right now.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Look, we’ll talk about it later.” Brian turned and moved toward the door, impatience written in every movement.

Tiffany swallowed against the lump in her throat and said what she knew she had to. “There isn’t going to be a later.”

The words stopped him and he turned to face Tiffany again, his eyes reflecting disbelief. “So, you were serious. You really want to end what we have.”

Tiffany nodded, struggling to hold back tears.

“Why?”

“Because we don’t
have
anything. I’m not sure we ever did. We’re not right for each other, Brian. I’ll never be first in your life and I can’t accept being less.”

“God is first in my life. You know that.”

“God is first in my life, too, but after Him, it’s been you. For a year I’ve tried to line my life up so you could be part of it. What have you done to fit me into yours?”

“That isn’t fair. I have responsibilities. I can’t just drop what I’m doing every time you get yourself into some foolish situation.”

The words hurt. Tiffany had wanted denials. Instead she’d been spoon-fed another criticism. “Like I said, we’re not right for each other.”

For a moment she thought Brian would argue; almost hoped he would. A nod of his head revealed his intentions before his words cut the silence. “Maybe you’re right.”

Without another word, Brian strode from the room and out of her life. Tiffany watched him leave, all her dreams scrambling into line behind him.

Jake pressed on the gas pedal and tried not to speed as he closed in on Lakeview. With less than three miles to go, he could hardly wait to unpack his bags and settle back in. Though his four-day sojourn to Maryland had been pleasant, visiting William’s widow had been difficult, their reunion bittersweet. A grim reminder that Will was no longer around to laugh, joke and argue with.

Jake had spent too much time remembering his friend. Remembering the way Will had lent support during Jake’s divorce seven years ago. And how, two years later, he’d stood beside Jake at Sheila’s funeral. Those had been hard times for Jake. Times when guilt had eaten at his gut and made him question his worth as a person.

Will had been a steadfast rock during the most turbulent times of Jake’s life. His enthusiasm for life and his love for God a shining example of Christianity. It was that more than anything that had led Jake to the Lord. Two years ago he’d become Will’s brother in Christ.

And now Will was gone. Cut down by a gang member’s bullet.

Jake’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched against anger, pain and frustration. God help
him, he couldn’t forgive or forget what the fifteen-year-old kid had done. Despite the fact that he knew he needed to.

Will’s wife had seen the hard edge of Jake’s pain. She’d prayed with him and for him, her own pain a sweeter, softer version of what Jake felt. There was no anger in her. Only acceptance.