A Scarlet Cord (9 page)

Outside, he opened the passenger door of his Taurus for her, and she slid into the seat. As he backed out of the drive, he glanced up through the windshield, taking in the view of her house. “Nice place you have.”

“Thank you.” The tidy Tudor cottage stood proudly on a landscaped hill, and Melanie was happy to accept the compliment. “Dana Landon helped us find it. Landon Realty … I gave you her card,” she reminded.

“Oh, sure.” Joel nodded.

“We really do love the house. Not too much yard to mow, but plenty of room for Jerica to play. Mostly I love the neighborhood. We know everybody, and I never worry about Jerica playing outside.”

“And don’t tell me,” Joel said, “I bet you never lock your doors.”

She smiled, remembering how she’d teased him about being a city boy. “Well, we do lock ourselves in at night, but if I just run to the grocery store or go for a walk … nope.”

“I still can’t get over that.”

“A little different than where you come from, huh?”

“A lot different than where I come from. Where do you want to eat?”

“Oh … well … do you like Mexican food?”

“Love it,” he said, patting his belly.

“How about Pedro’s?”

“Sounds good to me. Just tell me how to get there.”

She navigated for him, and within minutes they parked in front of the popular restaurant on the south edge of town.

They were greeted by a perky Britney Spears wannabe. “How many tonight?”

“Two, please,” Joel told her.

“Name, please?”

“Um … LaSalle,” Joel said, spelling the name for her.

Melanie thought it a bit odd that he’d given her name instead of his own, but her curiosity was squelched when a waiter bearing menus approached the hostess’s stand. He led them to a cozy corner booth, and soon they were snacking on chips and salsa. Raucous music scratched from the speakers overhead, and the flickering candles in the otherwise dark room made her feel bold before him.

“So, Mr. Ellington, do you always work this fast when you move to a new town?” She laughed lightly, but she was only partly joking. He’d been in Silver Creek less than a month, and he’d certainly wasted no time in asking her for a date.

He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to stick there. Her face grew warm at the realization that perhaps Joel didn’t see this evening as a date at all.

But after a minute he looked at her, and she caught a spark of mischief in his green eyes. “Melanie, would you believe me if I told you that I have not had a date in almost two years?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer, but—relieved that he did indeed count this as a date—she opted to stay with the teasing tone. “I’m not sure I buy that,” she said. “The words ‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’ tripped just a little too easily off your tongue.”

A slow grin curved the corners of his mouth. “That’s because I rehearsed about fifty times before I asked you.”

“Really? You rehearsed?”

“I told you … I’m seriously out of practice.”

“Then why me?” she risked.

“Why did I ask you out?” He seemed taken aback by her question.

She nodded.

“Hmmm …” He rested a hand on his chin. “Well, let’s see … You were easy to talk to. I liked what you said in Mike’s class that Sunday—about grief.”

Melanie struggled to think what she’d said.

“It surprised me to hear you make light of your grief,” he said. “Even though you’re right—everyone will experience grief at some point in their life. But I knew that you … that you’d lost your husband. That’s a pretty big one.”

“It’s been four years, Joel. I’ve worked through a lot. I don’t see any reason to pout about something I can’t change. And I’m
not the
only one who’s known pain. I … I guess I’ve tried to move on …” She
pushed away the sudden vision of her closet, bulging with her dead husband’s shirts.

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Joel said.

“I still have my moments—pity parties, my brother calls them—but they’re fewer and much farther between now. Time really does heal all wounds,” she said.

“No. I’m not sure I believe that.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

His abruptness startled her. “You … you know something about those wounds.”

He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not first date material.” Words that hinted at heartache, but he smiled when he said them.

The waitress came to refill their drinks, and they fell silent. But the silence didn’t feel so uncomfortable now.

Absently, he ran a tapered finger over the scar on his cheek.

When the waitress left, Melanie traced a finger along her own cheek in the same spot where Joel’s finger still rested lightly on his scar. “Mind if I ask what happened?”

“Also not first date material.”

“Oh?” She might have been stung by the rebuff, but he brought his hand from his face and put it lightly over hers across the table. He gave her a smile that melted her heart. “So how about a second date?”

“Bet you didn’t rehearse that one,” she said, smiling.

“Is that a yes?”

“Okay,” she said simply.

Joel awoke on the morning of March 15 to the ringing of the telephone. He groped at the phone on the nightstand, clearing his throat. “Yes? Hello.”

“Hey, little brother! Happy birthday!”

“Tim. Good morning. You forget I’m an hour behind you these days.” He sat up on the side of the bed and squinted at the clock radio: 6:00 A.M. “Hey, it’s early even for you. What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” his brother said. “I’ve got a long day of meetings at the central office. I was afraid it might be too late to call when I got in tonight. Just didn’t want you to think I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

“Your birthday. Di
d you
forget?”

Joel gave a humorless laugh. “I’m just not awake yet, I guess. Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”

“Everything going okay out there?”

“Yeah, everything’s going good. Really good, I think.”

“I’m glad. You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Thanks again, Tim … for calling.”

“Well, I knew you couldn’t exactly celebrate today, but I … I didn’t want you to think nobody remembered.”

“That means a lot, man.” The lump that lodged in his throat embarrassed him. He ran a hand through his hair. “You have a good day.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

He hung up the phone, turned off the alarm clock, and staggered into the bathroom. This was always a tough day. His birthday. Not the one that was on his driver’s license or his résumé or his social security card. But the anniversary of the day he was born, nevertheless. He’d learned to blow out the candles and eat the cakes that came his way every tenth of May, but both dates were ones he’d just as soon see stricken from the calendar. He couldn’t celebrate either without some guilt.

It seemed that a part of his true self died a little bit every time he perpetuated the deception. And though he had little choice in the matter, he hated the lies his circumstances compelled him to sustain. He hated them with everything that was in him.

A second date turned into a third and then a fourth and fifth, and by the end of April it seemed to Melanie as though Joel had always been a part of her life.

One evening as they drove home from a concert in St. Louis, Joel asked, “What was your marriage like, Mel?”

She looked over at him, surprised that he’d brought up the subject. “Well … we were only married two and a half years before Rick got sick. And then he died a year later. But we had a happy marriage. Very happy, I’d say. It was sometimes hard living so close to his parents—working with Jerry and all … That was what we argued about when we argued. But we always worked things out. And I think Jerry and Erika kind of backed off after the first year. I don’t know if Rick talked to them or if they just figured it out themselves, but things were much better toward the end. And then, when he got sick—and especially after he died—I was grateful to have his parents nearby.”

Joel reached across the seat and captured her hand. She felt sympathy and understanding in his touch, and she went on, “Sometimes—after he was gone, when Jerica was still tiny—I felt so utterly alone. I just didn’t see how I could raise her on my own. It seemed impossible.”

“You’ve done a beautiful job.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “The truth is, I haven’t had to do it alone. The Lord has been with me every step of the way, and he’s filled our lives with wonderful people. It’s been amazing really—” She stopped abruptly, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She’d never shared her feelings about Rick so openly with Joel before. It felt a little strange … talking to him about the man she’d loved, the man whose child she’d borne. Now, watching his profile in the intermittent light from passing cars, her heart overflowed with an emotion that felt achingly familiar. She’d almost forgotten. This was how she’d felt when she looked at Rick. Could she already be in love
with this man she’d known for such a short time? Or was it just that he somehow seemed to understand the grief she’d faced in her life? She didn’t want to make the same mistake she’d made with Jeff Franzen. But she was certain she’d never felt this way about Jeff.

Joel turned to her, concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and squeezed his hand, her throat full. “You talk for a while. I’ve been doing all the talking.”

“No, please. I want to hear it—all of it.”

“Are you always such a great listener, Mr. Ellington? I feel like you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He didn’t answer right way. Then, with a sigh, as though he’d suddenly made a decision, he said, “I do understand a little, Melanie, because of … because of what I’ve been through myself.”

She waited, and when he remained silent, she said, “Tell me about your family, Joel. Please. You hardly ever talk about yourself.”

He waved her off. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Tell me about your parents. It must have been hard to lose them.”

He hesitated, as though deciding how much to say. Finally, he looked away, and his voice grew quiet. “I was eighteen when Mom and Dad were killed. Tim, my brother, was away at college, but I was still living at home. It was my senior year in high school.” He recited the facts as though he were detached from them.

She put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Joel! I had no idea they died while you were still at home … still so young. I’m so sorry.” Why hadn’t he mentioned before how young he’d been when he lost his parents? Surely this had been one of the defining events of his life.

Letting go of her hand, he gripped the steering wheel. He gave her a sidelong glance, then turned his eyes back to the road and began to talk. It was as though an ice floe had melted in the spring thaw and now the icy river waters underneath—the stories of his past—gushed forth unrestrained.

“They were flying home from Africa … coming back from a
short-term missions trip,” he told her. “It was something they did every year for as long as I can remember. Sometimes they went to the Philippines, but usually it was somewhere in Africa. But they … they always came back. I just took it for granted that they’d always be back. Even after all this time, I still sometimes can’t believe it happened,” he said, his voice low. “It never crossed my mind to worry that they wouldn’t return. Tim told me once that he did worry … that every time they left, he was terrified they’d never come home again.”

Joel shook his head and gave a small laugh that was incongruous with the anger that had crept into his voice. “I don’t know which was worse: Tim’s worst fears coming true or my incredible shock because I never once gave it a thought.”

“That must have been terrible, Joel. Were you just … on your own after that? I mean, did you stay in your home or …?”

“Tim quit school and came back home. The term was almost up, and I was headed off to college the next year, but it … it was never the same. Home, I mean.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t. It must have been awful.”

“It wasn’t easy. We sold the house a couple years later. Neither one of us could stand to be in it without Mom and Dad there.”