Head Over Heels (4 page)

Marielle vowed she would never go through that again. Maybe one day she might be able to take a chance and open her heart, but when she did, it wouldn't be to a man who was driven to work until he nearly dropped, but to someone who could be content with what God had given him.

As she watched Russ boot up the computer after he had everything connected, she noted that
especially
included a man so obsessed with work that he was back on the job without taking sufficient time to recuperate after a three-story fall.

But for now, Russ was an answer to one particular prayer. The center needed more computers. She'd had such success with her outreach ministry in the commu
nity that she had doubled the anticipated number of regular attendees in her ragtag group. God had provided for her needs, so she would do whatever was necessary to help the teens who needed it.

One of the boys smacked Russ on the back as the prompt showing that the first program had been successfully installed flashed on the screen. The pain of the impact showed clearly on Russ's face.

Marielle cringed on his behalf. Instead of working, Russ should have been in bed. Resting. Healing.

His priorities were all wrong. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that he wasn't here because of a burning need to help the underprivileged teens. He was only here because his boss had told him to come, and as a step toward getting a new computer for himself faster.

She wasn't impressed.

A male voice broke into her thoughts. “Have you seen all these programs?”

She spun around to see Jason, her most promising member, sitting on the floor picking through the boxes.

Jason held up one of the program CDs. “Look at this graphics program! Most people have to take a course for it. And we're getting it for free!”

“Course?” Marielle said. “What kind of course?”

Jason stood. “A couple of the kids in my physics class are taking it at night. It's four weeks, and it's too expensive for my mom to pay for.” He glanced over at Russ. “Will he be able to teach this to us?”

“I think he's going to teach it to me tomorrow, and then I'm going to teach it to all of you.”

Jason blinked. “You're kidding. Right?”

Marielle watched Russ push the chair back and stand.

“That's it for tonight,” he said. “But I'll be back tomorrow to show you how to work some of these programs.”

Jason edged closer to Marielle. “It's taking Josh and Sara four weeks to learn that one.”

Marielle gulped. “I'm sure it won't take me that long.” She hoped…

M
arielle pulled into the church parking lot earlier than usual, but she was still too late. Another vehicle was parked in the otherwise empty lot. A shiny new SUV, something far more expensive than any of the other cars that would have been parked in this neighborhood.

She parked beside it, noting, as she got out and walked past, the blinking red security light, as well as the locking bar mechanism bolted to the steering wheel.

She almost felt like giving it a shove, just to see what happened. Almost.

Russ stood waiting for her at the basement door.

“You could have gone in through the front. I told Pastor Tom you were coming and what you looked like.”

“That's okay. I didn't want to start until some of the kids were here anyway.”

Marielle lowered her voice in case one of them came up behind her. “Don't
ever
call them kids. They're at that sensitive point where they're too old to
be kids, but not old enough to be young adults. Some of them have to make life-changing decisions, right now or soon, and I'm trying to guide them to make the right ones. I can't do anything to jeopardize what they're doing here.”

She wondered if it was her imagination, but she thought he cringed at her censure.

“I'm sorry. You're right.”

She sighed. “I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Let's go inside.”

She began the process of unlocking the door while he stood behind her.

“I thought you said the pastor was here.”

“He is here,” she replied. “Sometimes his wife drops him off when she needs the car.”

She couldn't help but sneak a glance at him over her shoulder. Just as she had suspected, he was checking out the old building.

What he saw wasn't exactly pristine. The building had probably been impressive in its day, but now it was badly in need of repair. The church board had decided the pastor needed the money to live on more than they needed the building to look nice. The old stone front definitely could stand to be sandblasted, which they couldn't afford. But because of a couple of volunteers, the brightly colored stained-glass windows on either side of the steeple were always washed and bright.

Yet still some of those beautiful windows needed work. A few of the glass pieces were scratched from vandals throwing stones, and the sills and edges were showing deterioration due to weather over the years.

The mechanism used to ring the old bell inside the tower hadn't been functional for years, but because so many of the nearby residents didn't attend church, the community had blocked all efforts the church board made to city council for funding to restore it as a heritage site.

The cement steps in the front had been chipped and broken in places, but that had been relatively easy for members of the congregation to repair, although the new cement didn't match the original color or texture. The most important thing, though, was that the steps were safe. They were the only part of the building that met current earthquake standards. Still, Marielle thought the building looked stately, and respected it for its history.

Where they were now entering, however, wasn't so regal. Like the rest of the humble neighborhood, the back of the church, where no one of importance usually ventured, wasn't kept up. The windows were too high to be reached with ease—except by a special extended ladder—so they weren't washed, and no one cared about the lower windows leading to the basement. The original back door had been made of wood, but many years before Marielle started to attend that church, vandals had damaged it beyond repair. Now a stark metal door, layered with different colors of paint to cover graffiti, took its place.

Just as Marielle pushed the big door open, Russ turned and looked at her car. “Are you going to get that roof fixed soon? I'd like to take care of it.”

“I don't have time during the week. It will have to
wait until the weekend. One of the parents of one of my boys works at an auto body shop. He said he'll give me a good deal.”

“Okay.”

Once inside, Marielle locked her purse inside her desk and joined Russ at his former computer. “What do you have to do to it today?”

He turned in the chair in which he had seated himself, and she noticed that he winced with the movement.

“Not a lot. Today I'll install the rest of the programs I brought, and then I'll show you and everyone else how to use them.”

“I thought I should let you know, I don't think I'm as good with computers as your boss thinks I am. My being here has more to do with my availability and willingness to do the job than my programming skills.”

“Apparently, I'll be back tomorrow, but if you need more help we could get together on the weekend and I can give you a better tutorial.”

She had plans for the weekend with a girlfriend, but Marielle was almost sure that Lorraine wouldn't mind. Lorraine understood what she was doing with the teen outreach program, even if she didn't have time to participate herself. “That's a great idea, thanks.”

Right on schedule, the teens began to arrive, starting with Jason, who was always the first. Marielle waited for fifteen minutes, and when all her core group was accounted for, Russ began installing the first program, showing everyone where to find the tutorials and help files.

This time, instead of standing back, Marielle stayed close by, also watching and learning. She wasn't confident that she would be of much help if anyone needed anything, but she wanted to do her best when the time came.

“Hello? Russ? Are you in here?”

All heads turned toward the door to watch Russ's boss enter.

“Grant? What are you doing here?”

Grant smiled. “I wanted to see the place, so I decided this would be a good time to bring a few more computers.”

“Now? You brought them already?”

Grant made eye contact with some of the bigger boys. “Yup. Four more are in my car. Who is going to help carry them inside?”

The teens made a beeline for the exit. The boys dashed outside after Grant; the girls stopped at the doorway to watch, whispered among themselves, then walked outside, too.

Which left Marielle and Russ alone in the room.

Russ ran his fingers through his hair as he stared at the empty doorway. “I didn't expect this. I guess I won't be installing the programs today.” He turned back to her. “The trouble is that I don't know what's been done and if they're ready.”

The boys appeared through the door one by one, like a row of ants, each carrying either a monitor or a tower, the girls each carrying a keyboard and a mouse or bundles of cables. Grant brought up the rear, empty-handed. “That's it for today,” he said. “Let's get started getting everything hooked up.”

Marielle, Russ, Grant, and the teens began the job of connecting the cables and positioning the computers on the desks.

“Do I assume that my computer as well as these other ones have now been replaced at the office?” Russ asked as he untangled cable.

Grant nodded as he tightened a connection. “Yes. We got half today, the other half will be coming Monday. But don't try to sneak in tomorrow. There's nothing urgent happening at the office anyway. Jessie finally called in sick yesterday afternoon, and today she didn't show up.”

Russ crossed his arms over his chest, taking in a deep breath when he pressed his arms against his ribs, confirming to Marielle, as if she needed it, that Russ really wasn't in any shape to be going back to work.

“That's odd,” Russ said. He turned to Marielle. “Jessie works for us on contract, so she doesn't get paid for sick time. She tends to come to work when she's sick, even if she should have stayed in bed.” He turned back to Grant. “Jessie must be really sick to stay home. Did she say what was wrong?”

“Actually, no. Yesterday she left a message on my voice mail, and she spoke really quickly. I tried calling her back, but I got
her
voice mail. I had expected her to call again today if she wasn't going to be in….” Grant shrugged. “It's not like her not to check in. I tried calling her again after the tech called, but I got her voice mail again. Monday we'll be busy setting up the second set of new computers. That means you don't have to be there. I'm not sure about Jessie. We'll have to wait for her to call me back.”

Russ didn't respond, but as Marielle watched, his face paled.

She leaned toward him. “Russ? What's wrong?”

He lowered his head and pressed his fingers into his temples. “I thought I was over this headache, but I can't seem to shake it.”

Grant stood, hovering as Russ remained seated. “Which is another reason you need to take some time off. I did a little research yesterday, and recurring headaches is a common side effect of a serious concussion. Consider yourself off for a week on medical leave. The accident happened on Monday, so you're off the rest of the week.”

“But—”

Grant raised one hand to prevent Russ from arguing. “I mean it. I've been watching you work your tail off every day, and I don't know offhand how much vacation time I owe you, all I know is that it's a lot. You say you can't remember what happened, but I wonder if part of the reason you feel like that is that you're overstressed. I don't want you coming in to the office until next week, and until then I want you to only spend a couple of hours a day here
if
you feel up to it, and that's it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take my son to a ball game tonight. You can handle it from here, right?”

Grant apparently didn't expect a response, because he didn't wait for one. Marielle wanted to call out after him that his expectations could have been one of the reasons Russ was overworked and overstressed, but she remained silent. It wasn't any of her business.

Russ leaned to one side, reached into his pocket and
pulled out a couple of white pills. “Where can I get some water? The doctor said to take these if the headache came back, and wow, has it ever come back.”

“There's a fountain over there, by the washrooms.”

Russ stood, then sank back into the chair. “I can't take these. I have to drive home later.” He returned the pills to his pocket, then returned his attention to the computer as he began the process of putting it back together. The tightness in his face showed how he was trying to fight the pain.

“You don't have to do this. It can wait until tomorrow.”

He winced as he lowered himself to his hands and knees. “I'd rather do it now and get it over with,” he said as he crawled under the desk. She heard a sharp intake of breath as he leaned all the way to the back to connect the keyboard to the tower. “Besides, I'd rather not drive in traffic with a headache like this. It will pass.”

He backed out slowly, then returned to the chair. His face was even paler than it had been earlier.

“Would you like to lie down for a few minutes? I'm not exactly sure what to do with the program, but I can follow the prompts and call if something happens.”

“I'm fine,” he said, although the way his hands were shaking told her otherwise.

“You still don't remember what happened that day, do you?”

He stopped his work and turned to her. “No, I don't. I just keep seeing Jessie's face, almost like in a fog, not clear but I know it's her. Everything else is blank. I remember sitting at my desk, and getting up for some reason that keeps evading me, and then the next thing
I remember is waking up in the hospital with the nurses and a doctor hovering over me. The doctor told me that holes in a person's memory sometimes happen and just to give it time, but that's easier said than done. It bothers me.”

“I can only imagine.” As much as she didn't think too highly of his overwork ethics, she didn't want him to suffer. Memories of his face and his expression as he lay on the hood of her car still haunted her. A number of days had passed already, and she knew he was fine—or at least better than the alternative.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “I don't even know why I'm telling you this.”

Marielle smiled. “I think it's because I have an honest face.” Aside from the fact that she liked helping people, all her life, people had found her easy to talk to, which made a difference in her work as a volunteer counselor—especially with the youths. They trusted her because she did her best, without being pushy, to help the youths take a straight path as they chose the direction they would go into adulthood. Russ was an adult, but regardless of how she personally felt about someone who was a chronic workaholic, he was there in front of her. If he needed someone in a difficult time, she would do the same for him as she would for anyone else.

“Yes, you do,” he said, smiling, as he reached for a loose mouse.

“If you want, I can pray with you about it. I believe in miracles, and I believe that you being here is a miracle in itself.”

“No thanks,” he muttered. “I've used up my quota of miracles.”

Marielle's breath caught. “Surely you don't believe that.”

He held out one hand. “Can you pass me that cable over there?”

She stared at him, and when nothing more was said, she handed him the cable. He couldn't have been more clear about not wanting to talk—or pray—if he'd slammed a door in her face.

He made his way down the row of computers, one by one, reinstalling operating systems. Each time he left a chair, one of the youths slid in to finish off the process or report on the progress.

As he worked, he chatted pleasantly with all the youths, although it was quickly apparent that the boys were interested in the computers, and most of the girls were interested in Russ.

Six o'clock came before Marielle even realized it. “That was the fastest three hours I've ever spent here,” she said, looking up at the clock on the wall.

“Is that how long you run the drop-in? Three hours every day?”