Jaded (3 page)

“So they've seen him?”

“I doubt it.” I slid onto the seat next to him. “You can't believe everything you hear at the United.”

He studied me. “There's something wrong. What's up?”

I could never hide my feelings from JohnScott and seldom had reason to try. Resting my head against the back window, I let the tension drain from my body. “Grady Cunningham's brother is the new preacher at the church.”

JohnScott's nose wrinkled as if he smelled a stinkbug, but the expression slipped away so quickly, I wondered if I'd imagined it. “You sure?”

“They were talking to Fawn Blaylock.” I rubbed my thumb against the worn vinyl of the seat, snagging my nail on a spot of exposed stuffing.

JohnScott studied his fist where it rested on the stick shift. He stayed that way for several seconds before shoving the truck into gear with a thud. “Well, little cousin, I guess this means your wedding's off.”

Chapter Four

Dodd shifted his weight, trying to find a position that would prevent his shoulder blades from grating against the wooden pew. He had preached on the topic of fellowship, an easy segue into the luncheon planned after the worship service, and he felt good about his first sermon. The congregation seemed responsive—not too many yawns—but Dodd knew it would take a while to prove himself. Not only was he unknown to these people, but he was young. Very young. While he joined the congregation in singing “Shall We Gather at the River?” Dodd observed the people sitting around him.

Fawn Blaylock sat across the aisle with her boyfriend, Tyler Cruz, who lived in the neighboring town of Snyder. Dodd liked Fawn, but he couldn't quite figure her out. She hadn't mentioned her boyfriend in two days, and Dodd was startled when Tyler showed up at services that morning, but that wasn't the only thing that surprised him about Fawn. Every so often, the girl would throw out a comment about someone, not necessarily disrespectful, but close.

His glance fell on Emily Sanders, Fawn's shadow, perched on the pew in front of him. Every few minutes, the girl looked over her shoulder. Dodd couldn't tell if she was looking at him or Grady or both. Hopefully Grady, since Emily was in high school.

Two middle school boys rustled in the corner, but Dodd couldn't remember their names. From the looks of it, they whispered about Grady's and his clothing. Dodd checked Grady's tie for breakfast cereal, then took a survey of the males around him, discovering the appropriate attire for the Trapp congregation consisted of button-down shirts, starched Wranglers, and polished boots.

Down the aisle from him, Neil Blaylock and his wife sat like statues. In fact, most of the congregants lent a serious tone to their worship. Dodd wished he could've heard the previous minister once or twice, just to know what the church was used to, but no matter, he'd preach where the Lord led him. Dodd smiled. He had been curious about the Trapp elders hiring him without ever hearing him preach, but now he marveled at himself accepting the job without asking if the pews were cushioned.

Twenty minutes later, two eight-foot-long tables laden with casserole dishes occupied the front sidewalk, and Charlie Mendoza stood nearby, preparing to address the congregation with the other two elders. The night before at the Blaylocks' cookout, Dodd had gotten to know all of them better as Charlie supplied a running narrative, boasting that all three men had been members of the congregation since the cradle-roll class. Dodd went home that night knowing more about the church leaders than some of his own cousins.

Eighty-three-year-old Lee Roy Goodnight, the oldest of the three, had been an elder for thirty-five years. According to Charlie, his health might be failing, but not his heart or mind. Lee Roy grasped a cane with one wrinkled hand and raised the other to get everyone's attention. As conversations tapered, Dodd strained to hear the man's raspy voice. “We welcome Dodd Cunningham to our fellowship today, along with his mother, Milla, and brother, Grady. Dodd, you have a pair of big shoes to fill, but after such a fine sermon, I'd say the Trapp congregation is blessed to have you in our pulpit.” His speech seemed to tire him, and he wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth handkerchief.

Neil Blaylock spoke next, standing straight with one thumb hooked through a loop near his silver belt buckle. “I've gotten to know Dodd over the past few days, and I'm impressed with the man.” He grinned, white teeth against tan skin. “He may be young, but that's to our advantage, because we can raise him like we want.”

The congregation tittered, but Charlie's voice carried over them. “Dodd's daddy and I attended college together, and I can vouch he comes from good people. Don't take my word for it, though. Get to know him. I'd say the man can take care of himself. Amen?”

He received a chorus of responses, giving Dodd yet another reason to like him.

“Since we all agree the new preacher is a dandy,” Charlie said, “let's get down to business and pray for the cooking.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Dear Lord, we thank You for this food, and we ask that You would bless it. In Jesus's name. Amen.”

Dodd barely had time to bow his head before the prayer ended. “That's my kind of blessing,” he mumbled. As he stood in the churchyard, the herbaceous scent of lasagna caused his stomach to protest, and he stepped toward Lee Roy as the line dwindled. “I'm overwhelmed by the church's response, Lee Roy.”

The older man waved a gnarled hand. “You won't find a better group of people on the whole of God's green earth.”

“I believe you're right.” Dodd stepped to Lee Roy's other side to avoid a red-ant bed.

“And don't worry, you'll pick up on how we do things here. You're young and adaptable.”

Dodd hesitated. “Anything in particular?”

“It's a fact we read from the King James here in Trapp.” He leaned heavily on his cane, and Dodd noticed the old man had stirred the ants into a maelstrom. “If it was good enough for Paul, it's good enough for us.” Lee Roy chuckled at his own cleverness.

“I like the NIV myself,” Dodd said, steering Lee Roy to a safer location. “But sometimes I pull out the King James or the Revised Standard for comparison.”

Lee Roy blinked twice. “We use the King James.”

“Um … yes, sir.”

A whiff of yeast washed between them as Emily Sanders appeared at his elbow, pulling apart a roll. She bit off a minuscule section.

Lee Roy nodded at Dodd, frowned at Emily, then hobbled away.

“Aren't you eating?” Emily swung from side to side as she nibbled.

“I was just getting in line.” When Emily followed, he did his best to make small talk. “So, have Fawn and Tyler been dating long?”

“Forever. They're perfect together. Everybody says so. Dad calls them two peas in a pod, them having so much in common. Or their families, that is. Mom says Byron Cruz is as powerful in Scurry County as Neil Blaylock is here in Garza County.” Her speech accelerated. “Sometimes I wonder at them ever getting married. Not that they are, but can you imagine? It would be like thunder and lightning, or firecrackers and sparklers, or … or … Prince William and Kate.” She smiled dreamily before she gasped, possibly realizing her show of emotion had gone overboard. “I'll go save you a seat.” She scampered away.

Dodd picked up a paper plate and fanned himself as he loosened his tie. The unofficial dress code might not be a bad idea after all. As he loaded his plate with lasagna, green-bean casserole, and fried chicken, Emily's mother—an older, plumper version of Emily—positioned herself across the table, filling her own plate with seconds.

“I see you've taken notice of my sweet Emily,” she said.

Dodd reached for a deviled egg, opting to keep his mouth shut.

“She's a good student, mostly As and Bs, and she can cook better than I could at that age. I don't know where she gets it.” The woman paused long enough to heap a spoonful of mashed potatoes on her plate. “She's been helping with the toddler's Sunday school class for two years now, babysitting for four.”

Dodd hesitated at the napkins and worked one out from under the glass casserole lid that prevented the stack from blowing to New Mexico. “I'm sure you're proud of your daughter, Mrs. Sanders.”

“She'll make a fine wife.” The woman hit a serving spoon firmly against a dish to release a blob of macaroni and cheese. “She'll be graduating this year. Been thinking of going on to college, but she'd rather just settle down with a strong Christian man and birth a houseful of little ones.”

Dodd's paper plate wobbled. “I'll be working at the high school, Mrs. Sanders. I don't think it's appropriate—”

“Excellent sermon this morning, Brother Cunningham.” She grinned knowingly as she sailed away from him.

Dodd reached for a plastic fork and stabbed it into his lasagna. Trapp, Texas, with all its quirks, was going to take some getting used to, but he was determined to make the best of it. He chuckled, thinking he'd be more at home on Mars, but people were the same no matter what planet they called home, so he didn't doubt he could do the Lord's work. He lifted his chin and walked confidently toward Charlie Mendoza and Neil Blaylock.

 

“I'm expected to use the King James Version,” Dodd said as he backed his mother's SUV out of the parking space. “I don't mind, of course.” He scratched his head. “Apparently the NIV isn't allowed.”

“Neither are slacks,” his mother said.

“Wranglers and boots,” added Grady from the backseat. “We may need to go shopping.”

She clucked her tongue. “I'd hate to commit a social blunder so soon.”

Grady thrust his head over the front seat. “Like preaching from the NIV in your first sermon? Talk about a bad impression.”

Milla thumped him, but Grady stayed where he was, resting his elbows on the back of her seat.

“Mom, did you hear? Dodd's dating Emily Sanders.”

Dodd groaned. His brother's words were meant to tease, but anxiety washed across him in waves.

“Grady, leave your brother alone. He has enough on his mind without worrying about an immature girl.” Milla snapped her sun visor down and found him in the mirror. “By the way, aren't you glad you'll know a few people on the first day at your new school?”

“It will help.” The leather of the seat cushion made a shushing sound as Grady slouched back.

Dodd welcomed the change in topic. “We met a football player at the grocery store the other night. Luis is in ninth grade, so he won't be in Grady's classes, but at least he'll be another familiar face.”

“The girl's the one I want in my classes,” Grady said, “but she's out of school. What was her name?”

Ruthie.
The woman had scrubbed that cash register as though it were infested with anthrax. And as she worked, her dark hair swung just above her waist. Dodd cleared his throat. “Ruth, I think.”

“That's not right,” Grady said. “I remember thinking it wasn't quite biblical.” He snapped his fingers. “Ruthie. Almost biblical, but not quite.” He quieted as they made a right turn at the town's lone traffic light. “She seemed a little prickly.”

Prickly
might not be the best word to describe Ruthie, but as Dodd parked the SUV in front of the little pink house, he entertained more appropriate adjectives. Like
captivating
. He grabbed his Bible from the console and slammed the door, realizing the best word to describe her was
gorgeous
, in an unaware, small-town way.

His mother and Grady went in the house, but Dodd sat on the stoop and rested his Bible on the cool cement next to him. He needed to sort things out. His mother and Grady? Top priorities. The church? Equally important. His new job? Paramount. But women? He'd been so consumed with responsibilities lately, he hadn't had time to consider the opposite sex. Too many people were depending on him.

But as he remembered Ruthie lifting her hair off her slender neck and tilting her head from side to side, he decided it wouldn't hurt to get to know her. Even though she hadn't been at church that morning, she still might be a believer. And if he didn't do something just for himself, the pressure of his responsibilities would buckle him.

He reached for his Bible. Tomorrow afternoon he'd go by the United, and with a little luck, he might run into Ruthie again.

Chapter Five

“Morning, little cousin. Ever see the ex-convict?”

The scent of hazelnut coffee filled the high school office as JohnScott set his travel mug on my desk. “Not a sign of him all weekend.” Swiveling in my office chair, I reached for the mug, knocking my name plaque to the floor.

Ruthie Turner—attendance clerk.

Darn that faux-wood block. Not only did it represent my shallow attempt to enter the business world, but it also served as proof I still resided in Trapp, still worked two jobs, and still lived at home. As JohnScott returned the plastic reminder to my desk, I sipped from his mug and told myself to be proud I had a name plaque at all.

He shuffled to his teacher mailbox and sifted through its contents. “Maybe Clyde Felton doesn't eat food.”

“Maybe he came in the store on my off hours.”

“Maybe he's an alien, brain-sucking zombie.”

I smiled at my cousin. He was the first person I saw every morning. The hall lights would flicker, one at a time, and I would know he had entered the building, unlocking the doors and getting the air running in the gym before coming by the office to check on me. He treated me like a child, but I didn't mind. He was six years older and had been checking on me since elementary school. In fact, the hardest years of my life came when JohnScott attended college, and I still thanked the Lord he hadn't gone farther than Lubbock.

JohnScott inclined his head toward the door behind my desk and raised an eyebrow.

“He's early today.”

Surprisingly, the principal had arrived before either of us and shut himself in his office. Judging by the muffled drone coming from under his door, I assumed he was already on the phone.

JohnScott sat on the corner of my desk and crossed his arms “Did I miss any news this weekend?”

“Not really. I think Friday's megagossip event exhausted the merry citizens.”

“Might be a blessing.”

I waved an interoffice memo. “The school board finally hired a math teacher to replace Mr. Rodriguez.”

“About time. School started two weeks ago.” He reached for a pen and clicked it with his thumb. “That substitute was a sweet lady, but she didn't know the first thing about calculus or trig. So who'd they hire? The woman from Sweetwater?”

“Doesn't say, but I figure either her or Wilmer's oldest son.”

JohnScott clicked the pen repeatedly until I swatted him in annoyance, and then he tossed it back on the desk. “Neither of them will do a lick to increase our test scores, but they're better than nothing. By the way, you saw the Cunningham boy Friday night. He could replace Tinker, right?”

At the mention of the name Cunningham, dread settled over me like a swarm of gnats. “Like I would know.”

“Well, he's obviously athletic. Even if he's never played ball before, I could train him to run.”

“Oh, he's played before.”

JohnScott raised his palms. “You were saying?”

I dug through my desk drawer, searching for a nail file and wishing we could talk about something else. Even though I had told JohnScott about Dodd being the preacher, I never got around to telling him about our conversation. Or my sappy smile. It was simply too humiliating, even for JohnScott.

I located an emery board. “I don't know anything about football or Tinker or replacements, but I heard Grady Cunningham tell Luis Vega he played in junior high but hadn't decided if he wanted to play for us or not.”

“In that case, he will.” JohnScott took a swig of coffee. “What can I bribe him with?”

I focused on a fingernail, running the file lightly across a rough spot. “You could offer him a free haircut. Both he and the preacher are shaggy.”

“Yeah, that's the city. It'll wear off.”

The principal, closeted in his office behind me, burst into laughter, causing me to wonder who was on the phone with him so early in the morning.

JohnScott moved to the other side of the counter, leaned on his elbows, and scrutinized me. “What do you want on your homecoming mum? The usual bells and whistles?”

My hands fell to my lap. The homecoming game would be the hoopla of the football season, and every female under thirty would be wearing a huge white flower bedecked with glitter, beads, and braided ribbon. “I told you I don't want one. It's a high school thing.”

“No, it's not. The college girls have them too.”

“I'm not a college girl.”

“Well, Mom's made you a mum every year since you were thirteen. She's not stopping now.”

“She didn't my sophomore year. I had a date.”

“I wouldn't count that kid as a date, and his flower barely classified as a mum, but whatever you say.”

Behind me, the office door opened, but I didn't turn around. I was too busy frowning at JohnScott.

Nelson Andrews, our gray-haired principal, breezed past my desk. “Ruthie, I apologize for the short notice, but could you get our new math teacher the necessary forms for insurance and what have you?” Nelson greeted JohnScott with a brief “Coach” before turning to face me. But he looked over my head to his office door behind my back. “Mr. Cunningham, this is Ruthie Turner. She keeps our attendance records, organizes employee files, and performs a million other tasks. She'll get you fixed up.”

What did he say?

The principal gazed at me expectantly, and when I didn't react, he motioned to his office door. “Ruthie, like I said, this is our new math teacher.”

Ice water flooded my veins as I rotated my chair.

Sure enough, Dodd Cunningham stood in the doorway behind me, dressed in khakis and a black polo. From his expression, I'd say he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“Hi.” I felt small and insignificant.

“Hello again.” He spoke in his CEO tone, but a bothersome smile played at his lips. It disappeared when he looked at Nelson. “We've met.”

“Oh, right … the United,” the principal said. “Anyway, this is JohnScott Pickett, history teacher slash football coach. Couldn't survive without him.”

JohnScott stepped forward and extended his hand while Dodd said, “Dodd Cunningham. Good to meet you.”

As the three men talked, I calmed my racing nerves. So the new preacher would be working at the high school. No big deal. I could handle this.

Slipping to the filing cabinet where the employee documents were kept, I considered the preacher's actions on Friday night. I still couldn't make sense of him talking to me, and I speculated on his motives. Probably he was simply being nosy, probing my sinful heart out of curiosity and making fun of me in the process. That was only a half step beyond the treatment I normally received from the local Christians. Still, the thought made me as furious as Uncle Ansel's Angus bull.

Retrieving the forms from a file folder, I slid the drawer closed with a clank, drawing Dodd's attention. He smiled at me before returning his gaze to the principal.

Nelson tapped the counter with a knuckle. “By the way, Coach, the jerseys came in, but I think they're wrong again.” He reached for the door. “The shipment's in the library. Let's take a look before I notify the Booster Club. They're likely to throw a hissy fit.”

“Can hardly blame them.” JohnScott followed the principal but winked at me, wordlessly conveying,
We'll talk later, little cousin
. Then he called over his shoulder, “Welcome to Trapp High School, Dodd.”

“Thank you.” The preacher studied the door as it closed behind JohnScott, then looked at me curiously. “Miss Turner, is it?”

Nobody called me Miss Turner except the kindergartners down at the elementary school, but I didn't bother explaining. It didn't feel right for him to call me Ruthie anyway. Too familiar. I held a document toward him. “Here's the form to sign up for medical, dental, and vision.”

He took the paper from me, not looking at it. “Does the district offer life-insurance coverage?” His eyes twinkled.

I lifted another paper. “Life insurance and accidental death.”

He studied the page before lifting his gaze. “Those two always seem backward.” He chuckled. “If life insurance pays when you die, shouldn't it be called death insurance?”

I'd heard that one before.

“And accidental death? That's death insurance for when I
accidentally
die. As though life insurance only pays if I die on purpose, which of course, is the one time it wouldn't pay.” He narrowed his eyes. “Doesn't make sense, really.”

With a sinking feeling, I realized he was still strangely conversational.
What a twist.
After thirteen years of despising the way church people ignored me, I now wished one of them would. I thrust another paper at him. “Here's the form for cancer coverage.”

“Ah, cancer.” His voice suddenly returned to business, but he didn't take the paper.

Oh great.
His dad probably died from cancer. That would explain the insurance jokes. I shuffled the form to the bottom of the pile. “And here's a form to have your paycheck automatically deposited into your checking account, but only if you bank here in town.”

He nodded.

“Have you opened an account downtown?” I felt obliged to draw him out of his shadowy mood even if I didn't like him. “You'll actually get your money a day earlier that way.”

“I'll add it to the top of my to-do list. Right along with getting extra keys made and purchasing adequate window coverings.”

I smiled to myself when I thought about the current window coverings in the parsonage. Apparently Old Man Dunbar and his wife saw no reason to bother with privacy in their living areas. Maybe they thought it gave their house a welcoming glow, but anytime I walked past at nighttime, I would see them in there, leaning back in matching recliners or hobbling around in bathrobes. Once I even saw them kissing, which was not as titillating as it sounds, since they were already in their eighties.

“Window coverings?” I said. “Walmart over in Lubbock carries vinyl miniblinds for five bucks a pop.”

“I like that price tag.” He perched on the corner of my desk I habitually kept cleared for JohnScott. “In the meantime, we're using Grady's old Buzz Lightyear sheets from his preschool days. To think Mom almost threw them out before the move.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That would only take care of two windows. Tell the truth. Whose sheets are covering the others?”

He leaned his head back. “All right, I confess. My Ninja Turtle sheets might be on the kitchen windows.”

“All right, then.”

He crossed his arms and peered down at me, but said nothing. Then he briefly inspected the items on my desk before glancing at the computer screen, all the while smiling like Curious George.

Oh my goodness.
He was doing it again. Watching me. Studying me. Talking to me until my defenses were down. And I had fallen for it again.

I bent over the bottom drawer of my desk, letting my hair fall around my face. “Here's a folder for your forms.” I said it curtly, refusing to return his invasive smile. “And I've included a pamphlet that explains the details of the insurance coverage.” I held the folder toward him, but when it trembled in my hand, I tossed it quickly on the desk next to his hip. “There's also a website. And you can sign up online if you don't want to fill out the papers.”

“Thank you.” He said the words cautiously as though sensing my mood change, then stood and distanced himself from my desk.

“That should be everything, Mr. Cunningham.” I lifted a corner of my mouth, not able to muster a complete smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” I focused on my computer screen, but he didn't move.

“Um … Miss Turner?”

The way he said
Miss Turner
grated on my nerves. “What is it?”

“I apologize, but I haven't the slightest idea where my classroom is.”

Shame immediately replaced my tension. Of course he wouldn't know his way around the school, and it was my job to make him feel welcome. “It's on the left, past the teachers' lounge.”

His eyes laughed. “And where might the teachers' lounge be?”

I glanced at the wall clock and stood, giving in. “Sounds like you need the ten-cent tour.”

He opened the door, then followed me into the hall, where I stood in front of the trophy cases. Only a few minutes remained before the bell, so I would have to make this quick. “The library is on the left halfway down the side hall.” I pointed. “Past the library, all the way to the end, is the gym. The students gather there before the first bell rings, and teachers take turns monitoring them each morning. I'll add you to the rotation.”

He nodded. “What's the high school enrollment?”

“Around two hundred.” I motioned toward the gym again. “If you go out that door, you'll be headed toward the ag barn and the baseball field. Beyond that is the middle school and elementary.” I paused as JohnScott and Nelson came out the library door and turned toward the gym. “Any questions?”

Dodd watched the two men. “Nothing to speak of. So what's down the front hall?”

He followed me a quarter of the way down the hall as I jangled my keys to unlock a door. “Teachers' lounge.” When he nodded, I closed the door and motioned to a nook just past the doorway. “Vending machines.”

“Score,” he said under his breath.

“Like soft drinks, do you?” I opened his classroom door.

“If you cut me, I'd bleed Dr Pepper.” He scanned the room before walking to the teacher's desk. He pulled open a side drawer, found it empty, and inserted his benefits folder. Next he opened the middle drawer and discovered a lesson-plan book. “Right where Mr. Andrews said it would be.” He laid the book in the middle of the desk and gave it three soft pats before returning to my side. “I feel like I've got my security blanket now. So what else is down this hallway?”