That Certain Summer (14 page)

Giving her yet another reason to be glad she'd skipped choir practice.

Scott stopped outside the church door and took a deep breath. He was a few minutes late for practice—by design. This way, everyone would be seated and he wouldn't have a chance to let second thoughts deter him from his mission once he stepped inside.

As he grasped the handle of the door, his heart began to thud the way it always did before an important performance. He'd read once that an adrenaline rush was a survival mechanism, designed to heighten the senses and increase alertness so a person was better equipped to deal with danger . . . or a hostile enemy.

And considering the expressions on the faces that swiveled toward him as he entered, the latter was an excellent description of the choir members.

The room fell silent as he approached the piano, and Scott did his best to rein in his pounding pulse. Stress could bring on one of his debilitating headaches, and he didn't need that complication tonight. At least not until after he got through his apology.

Once he set his folder of music on the piano, he faced the silent choir. For the first time, he looked—really looked—at the members as individuals. The emotions they were displaying were as varied as their appearance. Some were hostile. He hadn't misread that as he stepped into the room. But others appeared uncertain. Nervous. Cautious.

He scanned the group for the woman who had left the last rehearsal. Karen, according to his mother. What emotion would he see on her face? But her seat was empty—surprise, surprise.

Summoning up his courage, Scott rested one hand on the piano. “Before we work on music tonight, there are a few things I'd like to say. First, as you know, I'm only the interim music director while Reverend Richards searches for a permanent replacement
for Marilyn. Frankly, I've never thought I was the best choice for the job. I have no experience directing a church choir. I'm used to dealing with professional, trained musicians who spend hours a day practicing and honing their craft. As a result, I have very high standards.

“However, in the past few days I've come to realize that while those expectations might be appropriate for my colleagues, they're far too strict for people who gather once a week on a volunteer basis because they love to sing. I apologize for being too hard on you last week.

“My patience is also being taxed by some health issues, including severe headaches that are a by-product of the concussion I suffered in the accident. I had one of those at the last rehearsal. I'm sorry to say, I took it out on all of you. I apologize for that as well.

“Finally, I realize that in spite of your busy lives, you give up several hours a week to enhance the worship service for the congregation. You don't need to add a difficult choir director to the stresses in your lives.”

Scott cleared his throat. “For all those reasons, I spoke with Reverend Richards a couple of days ago, planning to resign. I didn't feel it was a good fit—but your minister can be quite persuasive, in a very gentle way.” Scott saw a few tentative, knowing smiles. Empathy. That was a positive sign. “Anyway, he encouraged me to stay on for a while. I agreed to think about it, but I felt the decision should be up to you.”

He jammed his left hand into his pocket. He'd have liked to ball it into a fist, but all he could manage was a slight flex of his stiff fingers.

“I want to tell you I'm sorry for causing too much anxiety at rehearsals, and to promise you that in the future I'll do my best to make the experience a pleasant one for you. I ask for your forgiveness for my behavior, and for your patience as I try to learn how to be a church music director. I know I've been difficult to work with, but I'd like a second chance. If things don't
improve, I promise to step aside. Do you think we can give this another try?”

During his speech, the mood in the room had undergone a subtle shift. Scott wouldn't call it friendly. That would be too generous. But willing, perhaps. And more relaxed, as if a collective deep breath had been exhaled. He even saw a number of nods.

It appeared Reverend Richards had been right. The choir was a forgiving group. The members seemed willing to give him another chance.

Except maybe the woman who had walked out. Karen.

“Can I take the silence as a yes?” Scott searched their faces.

A murmur of assent supplied his answer.

As Scott thanked the group, then took his place at the piano, a burden seemed to lift from his shoulders. But his task wasn't finished yet. Nor would it be until that one empty seat was filled again.

And that meant he had one more apology to make.

As Karen deposited two frappuccinos on the table and took her seat, Val appraised her. “I'd say the weight-loss program is continuing to reap benefits.”

“Yep.” Karen lifted her drink in a mock toast. “Thirteen pounds down, twelve to go.”

“That's terrific! And I love your new hairstyle.”

“I do too. Even Michael noticed.”

“Is he still hanging around?” Val wrinkled her nose.

“He comes to see Kristen. On his last visit he even said I was looking good.” She rested her elbow on the table and twirled her straw in her drink. “He also looked at me the way he used to. Like I was attractive. I have to admit, that felt kind of good.”

Val's eyes narrowed. “Uh-oh.”

She stopped twirling. “What does that mean?”

“Are you still susceptible to that—excuse me for being blunt—jerk's compliments? After the way he treated you?”

Karen's face warmed. “It surprised me too. I mean, I don't have any feelings for him anymore.”

“Hmm.” Val tapped a polished nail on the surface of the small round table. “I think I know what the problem is. You need some romance in your life.”

Karen coughed as her mouthful of frappuccino went down the wrong way. “You can't be serious!”

“One hundred percent. You need a new guy in your life.”

“Sorry. Not in the market.” With a resolute shake of her head, Karen took a cautious sip through her straw.

“Why not?”

“Believe it or not, Kristen and I just had a similar conversation. As I told her, we might be divorced but I did take vows before God. I can't discount those.”

“Michael has.”

“That's his issue, not mine. Besides, there aren't exactly a lot of guys tripping over themselves trying to date me. And I don't need male attention to make my life complete.”

“If that's true, why did Michael's compliment turn your head?”

“I don't know.”

“I do. Male attention is nice. Having a man in your life can be a positive thing.”

“I've had a man in my life, thank you very much. I'll pass.”

“I'm talking about a man who treats you right. Respects you. Cherishes you. You deserve that, Karen.” Val studied her. “Look, I understand and respect your feelings about the sanctity of marriage. But even the Catholic church, which frowns on divorce and remarriage, grants annulments in cases where one of the partners never intended to abide by their vows. Do you really think Michael ever took his vow of fidelity seriously?”

Karen frowned. Val might have a point. Maybe he'd never
intended to remain faithful. And if he hadn't, did that kind of deceit undermine their vows?

Possibly.

“I can see from your expression that I got you thinking.”

As Karen poked at the whipped cream with her straw, it began to deflate. “I'll admit you've offered a perspective worth considering.” Then she turned the tables. “But you're single too. What about romance in your life? And marriage?”

A mask dropped over Val's face. “That's different.”

“Why?”

“I'm not wife material.”

“Baloney.” Karen sent her a teasing look. “And I suspect a certain physical therapist would agree with me.”

The sides of the cardboard cup in Val's hand flexed under the sudden pressure of her fingers. “What are you talking about?”

“Your friend David was mighty disappointed the day I took Mom to physical therapy. He came out to talk to you and got me instead. I wonder what he did with that second cup of coffee he was holding?”

“You always did have an overactive imagination.” A pink tint suffused Val's face.

“Uh-uh.
You
had the imagination. I was always the sensible, straightforward, analytical one. And I know what I saw. His disappointment went way beyond mere friendliness. He likes you—a lot. I think you've been holding out on me.”

Val shook her head and spoke in a flat voice. “Trust me, Karen. There is nothing between David and me, and there never will be.” She glanced at her watch. “Are you ready to tackle the grocery store?” She stood and turned toward the door.

Obviously, that subject was closed.

But why?

Despite her curiosity, Karen left the question unasked. Why jeopardize their developing relationship?

“All set. Listen . . . I'm sorry if I overstepped. I was just kidding around.”

Her sister's smile seemed forced. “No problem. I have thick skin, remember? I'll pitch that for you.” She took Karen's cup and walked away.

Although she tried to restore the prior easy give-and-take with small talk during the rest of their shopping trip, the strain between them didn't diminish much. Not until they were preparing to head home did Val start to relax.

And then her mood took another sudden turn.

As Val leaned forward to put the key in the ignition, she angled toward the passenger seat. “Let me know if you'd like that recipe for . . .”

All at once she froze, and the color drained from her face.

Alarm bells ringing in her mind, Karen checked out the activity beside her. A man stood on the other side of the car next to them, strapping a toddler into a car seat as an older child climbed into the backseat on their side. There was nothing unusual about the domestic scene.

She refocused on her sister. “What is it? What's wrong?”

Instead of responding, Val averted her face, put the car in gear, and backed out. “Nothing.”

That was a lie.

For the second time that morning, something had disturbed Val. A lot, based on the tremors in her sister's hands. She looked so shaken that Karen almost offered to drive. But making a big deal out of the situation might do more harm than good.

Unwilling to take that risk, Karen remained silent as she tried to make sense of what had happened. Val wasn't easy to rattle, so whatever was going on was significant. Yet for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what the problem was.

As they pulled away, she studied the car next to the spot they'd vacated. It was just some guy with his two kids. What in the world about that scenario could freak out her always-in-control sister?

Karen had no answer.

And a quick glance at her sister told her Val had no intention of providing one.

In the darkness of the early morning hours, Val reached to the back of her bureau drawer and carefully withdrew the familiar cardboard tube. Cradling it in her hands, she sank onto the side of the bed.