Tender Vow (10 page)

“Any. Can’t have
any
,” Rachel corrected her. “And you’re right. He’s not nearly as grown up as you. Speaking of which, did you pick up your toys, like Mommy asked you to?”

“O’course I did,” Meagan said between chews.

Just as Rachel was turning to unravel a piece of paper toweling to wipe away the smudge of chocolate on Meagan’s chin, the phone rang.

“I’ll get it!” Meagan screeched, stepping up on tiptoe and snatching the phone.

“Hello?” she said, still munching. Rachel winced, hoping whoever was on the other end could understand her child’s muddled greeting.

Her stomach did a strange little flip when Meagan squealed, “Uncle Jay!”

They talked for a few minutes, Meagan giggling every few seconds, apparently finding her uncle’s words entertaining. “Mommy baked cookies,” she announced. “Uh-huh.… Yeah.… When are you gonna come see us again?… Okay.… Yeah, she’s standin’ by me.… Aw-right. Bye.”

With hardly a moment to gather her composure, Rachel cleared her throat and took the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hi, Rach. Just calling to check on you. How are things?”

“Everything is fine, thanks,” she said, quelling her silly nerves. This was her brother-in-law, for crying out loud. Forget that his voice sounded like velvet. “How are you?”

“Great. Getting ready to head down to Candace’s parents’ house for the weekend. It’s her mom’s birthday.”

“Oh. Well.” She swallowed a stony lump. “Have a wonderful time.” How utterly ridiculous for her to experience a pang of jealousy!

“They live in a small town south of Chicago. The leaves are starting to turn, so it should be a pretty drive.”

“Absolutely. The leaves are actually starting to fall up here. I’ll be raking soon.”

“Need help with that?”

“No,” she answered in haste. “We can manage fine. My dad promised to lend a hand, and I can always hire some of the teens from church, if need be.”

“You shouldn’t have to hire anybody. I’ll try to come up one of these days.”

“Don’t bother, really. We’re fine.”

“Rachel, I promised to lend a hand, remember? And besides, I still have some Cinderella sort of movie to watch with Meaggie.”

“And I told her she could watch it with you at Grandma Evans’s house the next time you visit them.”

An awkward pause ensued. “We’ll see.” More silence. “How’s the little man doing?”

“He’s napping right now, but…well, I should go wake him so he’ll go to bed at his usual time tonight. Thanks for calling, though, Jase. It was thoughtful of you.”

“You’re welcome. You sure you’re doing okay?”

“I’m doing better, thanks.” And the sooner she hung up, the better off she’d be. “You have a safe trip.”

“We will. And you call me if you need anything. You have my cell number, right?”

“You wrote it on my calendar, remember?”

“Yeah, just making sure. I’m praying for you and the kids.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

After another minute of small talk, Rachel placed the phone back in its cradle and refocused on the here and now. Meagan had skipped away, singing some little ditty at the top of her lungs and waking Johnny, who was whimpering. Rachel shook off the foolish notion that her brother-in-law faintly attracted her as she hit the light switch by the door, walked out of her spotless kitchen, and headed upstairs to check on the “little man.”

***

Jason hadn’t really felt like taking time off to visit Candace’s family, what with his looming deadlines at the Wilcox house, but he’d avoided the trip one time too many, and doing so again would probably make him unpopular with the Peterson family. Still, going there never failed to put him on edge, and this particular visit was no exception, as subtle hints about their impending engagement dropped like flies all weekend.

“Remember Jenny Morris?” Candace’s mother, Muriel, asked at the dinner table on Saturday night. “She’s getting married this fall. Isn’t that lovely?”

“I heard that. She texted me,” Candace replied, wiping her pert little chin with her napkin and taking care to tangle her foot around Jason’s ankle while she talked. “Apparently, she’s found herself a lawyer.”

“Mmm-hmm, and a successful one, too. Claire tells me he owns a yacht,” Muriel said.

“Purchased by her old man was what I heard,” Gene, Candace’s father, interjected in his habitually gruff tone, whether that was intentional or not. “An early wedding present. Humph. Craig Morris has enough dough to fill the Grand Canyon. I saw him in the cigar room at the club yesterday, and the arrogant so-and-so couldn’t stop bragging about his latest investments.” Gene shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth before continuing. “If you ask me, the girl’s marrying for money. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you.” He tossed his wife a coy look and chuckled low. “After all, that’s what your mother did.”

“Oh, Daddy.”

“Gene, for heaven’s sake,” Muriel scoffed, patting her powdered forehead with the back of her hand. “Don’t be so rude.”

The conversation continued, though the topic didn’t stray from Candace’s many friends who were about to either get married, have children, or get divorced and then remarry. Jason couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t all a ploy to awaken him to the fact that while most of Candace’s friends had made it to the altar at least once and were already working on families, Candace had yet to get to square one: fitting a flashy diamond on her left ring finger.

Seeming oblivious to the women’s agenda, Gene, a successful investment banker, tried engaging Jason in a business discussion to which he had little to contribute. Meanwhile, Candace’s older brother, Ralph, a serious-minded accountant, and his pretty young wife, Loraine, were in their own little world, busy trying to keep their two-year-old daughter, Rosette, entertained at the table.

Amid the banter, Jason glanced around the Peterson home and thought about how little his parents had in common with the Petersons, and how very uncomfortable he felt in the presence of Candace’s parents.

Lord, I’ve changed. Or, rather, You’ve changed me. Show me where I belong.

“You were rather quiet this weekend,” Candace muttered on Sunday during the drive back home. “Can’t you be a little more talkative?” They’d been riding along in silence for the last twenty miles. Jason had found it blissful, actually.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I guess I didn’t find the conversations all that stimulating.”

He glanced at her in time to see her china-doll face wrinkle at the forehead and her arms fold in a pouty, indignant manner. “And you couldn’t have tried to make them more interesting? You might have talked with my brother; the two of you hardly know each other.”

“Your brother and his wife seemed pretty preoccupied with your niece, and I didn’t see him attempting to make conversation with me.”

Candace unfolded her arms and clasped her hands in her lap. “Rosette is adorable, isn’t she?” she asked, her voice brighter. Apparently, she didn’t want to address the subject of her standoffish brother.

“Yeah, she’s a cutie.”

“I hope to have a daughter someday. A son would be nice, too, of course. Do you have a preference?”

“What?” Jason wriggled in his seat and pulled his collar away from his neck.

“I’m talking about having children. Would you rather have a son or daughter first? We’ve never actually discussed that.”

“Candace, I—sheesh, do we have to talk about kids just now?” He lowered the window a crack.

“Don’t put the window down. It’s so chilly today, not to mention cloudy and dreary.”

After putting the window up again, he pressed his back against the seat, stretched out his legs as far as space would allow, and cracked the knuckles of each hand in turn while holding the steering wheel with the other.

As if to ease the tension she’d stirred, Candace said, “Mom loved that painting we gave her. I think she’ll put it over her sofa, even though Daddy will object. Mom’s trying to make some subtle changes from traditional to more contemporary, but Daddy’s so stubborn. You have to go slow with him.”

No kidding. “She seemed to like it fine,” Jason said. Frankly, he’d had little to do with the selection or purchase of the modern painting, other than to throw in a couple hundred bucks to help pay for it—so they could say it came from both of them, Candace had insisted.

“You didn’t like it, did you?”

He sent her a hasty smile before setting his eyes back on the steadily moving traffic up ahead. “The main thing was that your mom liked it.”

She reached across the seat and grabbed his right hand, pulling it to her lap. He granted her another look. She really looked lovely; there was no denying it. He squeezed her dainty fingers, and she gave him a gleaming, straight-toothed smile. “We were meant for each other, you know.”

What could he say to that? When she’d come to ski school the winter they’d started dating—later confessing she’d enrolled in his class solely for the tutelage of the handsome instructor—he’d fallen quickly for her. Besides her undeniable beauty, he’d admired her spunk, her friendly personality, her cute, dimpled chin, and her head of seductive, dark hair that spiraled around her slender shoulders like a waterfall.

But that was then, and this was now. Somehow, things had changed—slowly, yes, but irreversibly. It had begun, really, with John’s death, which had sobered him significantly, and then his decision to live with purpose and put his out-of-whack priorities in proper order: Christ first, family/Candace second, work third, and so on. He’d hoped she’d follow suit—pursue his same passions, at least show more interest in matters of the Lord. But she hadn’t, except to attend church with him and feign interest in spiritual growth.

At one time, he would have pulled her as close as possible and kissed her silly, even while driving. His eyes would have wandered to her shapely legs and soft, rounded hips as they molded perfectly into the black leather seat of his Jeep Cherokee.

But not today.

No; today, his thoughts wandered to his condo, his to-do list for the week, and his conversation with Rachel a few days ago. Was he insane? When he should have been thinking about the woman beside him, the one for whom he’d purchased a diamond ring one year ago, he was concerned instead with a petite blonde some hundred or so miles north, one with a cherubic oval face and two adorable children.

She was his brother’s wife, for Pete’s sake!

God, what is happening to me?

“He who has ears to hear, let him hear!”

The familiar statement from the Gospels got his attention.

I’m listening, God.

“If you love Me, keep My commandments.”

Lord, what are You trying to tell me?

He waited for a jarring epiphany, yet nothing but contemplative silence followed. That, and the sound of his Jeep tires hitting the seam in the asphalt with a
blip-blip
sound every five seconds.

Late summer turned to autumn, and with it came a rush of vibrant colors—oranges, reds, and golds. Some leaves clung as if with their final breaths to their life-giving branches; others relented by drifting to the ground in blankets of brownish hues. Brisk air dictated that schoolchildren bundle up in wool jackets and scarves while waiting for buses at dawn, their chirpy voices carrying on the hollow breezes. Jeans and slacks took the place of shorts, while shoes replaced open-toed sandals. Air conditioners and underground sprinklers ceased to operate when fall rains lambasted Fairmount, as if making up for lost time. Rivers threatened to flood as water levels rose to all-time highs, utterly mocking the arid summer that had just come and gone.

Rachel worked in the yard when the weather and her kids’ nap schedules permitted, which wasn’t often enough, considering the rate at which the fallen leaves accumulated. If John were alive, he’d have a fit; he was always one to use the leaf blower every night after work, all season long, and to rake every ounce of debris from the shrubs, as well, right down to the roots. Unfortunately, Rachel had never shared his passion for maintaining an immaculate yard.

Friends and family members came over to help, but, no matter how many bags accumulated at the curbside, every new morning brought another field of crisp, freshly fallen leaves to rake. To top matters off, it seemed that the draping, hundred-year-old oak at the end of the driveway would wait stubbornly until the last minute to shed its orange-brown hue.

The never-ending task was a delight to Meagan alone, who loved bundling up from head to toe, running around the yard, and diving into the neatly raked piles of damp leaves. Once, even Rachel tossed aside her inhibitions and dove in with her, undoing all her hard work but earning yelps of pleasure from both Meagan and Johnny, who watched from his baby swing.

On a Saturday in late October, Rachel had just put a sleepy-eyed Johnny down for his nap when the doorbell rang. Thankfully, the gong didn’t deter him from closing his eyes.

“Somebody’s here!” Meagan shouted from her room. Seconds later, Rachel heard her bound down the stairs like an excited pup.

“Check who it is before you open the door!” she called down to her, stepping out into the hall and quietly shutting the nursery door behind her. Ever since Jason had ordered her to keep the house locked up tight, she’d complied, for the most part.

She hadn’t talked to him since just before he and Candace had set off to visit her parents some weeks ago, so it came as a jolting surprise to hear Meagan screech, “Uncle Jay, you came! Are we gonna watch
Cinderella
today? What took you so long to come back?”

“Hey, there, my little sugar plum fairy! How are you doing?” came the familiar low, mellow voice. Rachel peeked over the banister just as Jason bent to sweep up his niece in his arms and swing her around. He was dressed in a leather bomber jacket and fitted jeans, his dark hair tousled, as usual, and she couldn’t help but stare a moment longer than necessary.

“Good,” Meagan said, cupping his chiseled cheeks with both hands and giving him a once-over when he stopped twirling. “I almost forgot what you looked like.”