Just to See You Smile (16 page)

“I didn't know it until you asked what you could do.”

He wiped away the tears clinging to her eyelashes. “Hey,” he teased, “did you know Peter and Celeste and all three of their kids are coming tonight, too?”

It brought a smile to her face. “Did you know Val and all three of her kids are coming?”

He smiled back, hoping they were using disposable tableware for
everything
.

Before going back downstairs to her guests, Anne stopped in the bathroom to wash her face.

“Dear Father, I'm sorry. I'd rather just curl up with Alec than be with friends tonight.”

She checked her reflection and noticed her ponytail was askew. She gave herself a halfhearted smile, thinking how she missed her husband. She pulled out the band and brushed her dark hair. How long had she worn it this way? It was shoulder length in their wedding pictures. Maybe it'd be fun to chop it off. At the least, it'd be practical. Shampooing and drying time would be cut in half. She could use that time to snuggle with Alec…or kiss Amy goodbye…or listen when Drew surprised her with conversation…or do some room mother thing for Mandy…or wait for Britte after a game so she wouldn't be alone in the parking lot…or read a book…

She'd better shave her head and go bald.

“Anyway, Lord, help!”

Hurrying down the staircase she spotted Britte and Joel in the living room and halted. They stood near the fresh Christmas tree, beside the piano, holding cups of eggnog, singing and laughing through Mandy's halting rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” encouraging the little girl to keep going. And…their shoulders were touching.

Anne burst into laughter.

God's clear answer for help took her by surprise.

Britte accepted a bowl from Anne. They were in her large kitchen, unloading copious dishes from the oven and refrigerator. Celeste and Val were in the dining room, arranging items on the buffet table. The men were out in the living room; the nine children were scattered about the house.

“You look pitiful, honey.” Anne gave her a gentle smile. “But you probably didn't need to hear that.”

“Again.”

“Hey,
I
hadn't said it yet.” On the telephone Thursday, Anne had tearfully said everything else, from blaming herself for not being there to threatening to sue whoever was responsible. “I can't believe you went to school on Thursday.”

Britte cocked her head.

“Well, yes, I can. Why would a little assault disrupt your schedule?” Anne shut the refrigerator and, after a glance over Britte's shoulder, conspicuously raised her brows.

Britte set the bowl down on the counter. It was their first chance to talk alone, and she knew what the raised brows asked.
What's going on between you and Joel?
Britte held out her hands, palms up. “You got me!”

Anne giggled. “Give me details.”

“There aren't any! It's just something that—that's
there
.”

“Well, this certainly makes the evening intriguing! Alec didn't tell me he had invited him. You know I would have told you.”

“I know.” Britte smiled.

Anne hugged her. “I told you he's a good one.”

“Annie, don't go making long-range plans, okay?”

“I'll try not to.” Her jaw dropped. “Whoops. I fussed at Alec, and he promised to monopolize Joel all night. You may have to rescue the guy because Alec will not catch on.” Her eyes strayed toward the family room.

Britte looked over her shoulder. Joel was entering from the dining room, Alec on his heels, spreading his arms in a helpless gesture, throwing an apologetic look her direction.

Anne murmured, “Then again, our principal is perfectly capable of standing on his own two feet.”

Late that evening, while the children wound down in the family room, the adults gathered in the Suttons' living room in front of a crackling fire. Britte sat on the carpet, her legs curled underneath her long skirt. Her back to the fireplace, she leaned sideways against a wing chair, comfortably close to Joel, who sat in it.

She looked around the cozy seating arrangement. Alec sat in another wing chair on the other side of the fireplace; Anne was on the floor near him. Celeste and Peter sat on the love seat facing the fireplace. A square coffee table was in the center. Only a dim lamp, the Christmas tree lights, and the fire lit the room.

Val had gone home. The evening had been packed with laughter, music, food, and games, but it had clearly been a struggle for the suddenly single mother. Britte felt that her own ordeal was hardly worth mentioning in comparison, but the others were eager to hear what had happened since the Wednesday night attack.

Joel touched Britte's shoulder now and spoke to the others. “Cal came to the office on Thursday. Lynnie gave
him a complete list of team members, parents, addresses, and phone numbers.”

Peter rumbled. He was their pastor, a barrel-chested, redheaded 45-year-old who sometimes spoke eloquently without saying a word.

His wife Celeste, so small and fine-featured beside him, asked in her lilting voice, “What is it, Peter?”

“This is going to upset a lot of people,” he replied. “They will feel they're being unfairly singled out.”

Britte's heart sank. “I'm not even going to press charges.”

Alec said, “But Cal has to do his job, Britte. Did he talk to everyone already?”

Cal had stopped by Britte's house yesterday. She had already told the story to Joel. “Most everyone. A couple of families left town for the holidays.”

“Any suspects?”

“No.” She didn't look back at Joel. He knew Gordon Hughes had been unavailable. “It's probably just a student who was mad about something. I mean, it's no secret that I make kids mad now and then.”

Peter looked from Joel to Alec. “Are the high school students talking about it yet?”

Joel replied, “No. Hopefully, it's only a matter of time before they start.”

Alec propped an ankle across his other leg. “I talked with Drew. I think he was being straight when he said he hadn't heard anything. And for the record, Britte, he's not mad.” He grinned. “Anymore.”

She smiled. “I know. He's like a little brother to me, and his friends know that.”

Anne said, “The feeling's mutual. If he finds out who's responsible, there'll be another fight.”

Joel put a hand on top of her head. “Which you are not going to break up.”

“Yes, General.” She caught Alec's confused expression and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Anne didn't let it go. “Britte!” Amazing how the woman could chastise with one syllable.

Joel chuckled. “It's a promotion, Anne. I keep telling her I only made it to staff sergeant.”

Peter asked, “What's Cal doing next?”

Yawning, Britte set her cup of decaf mocha on the coffee table. “He'll probably hang out at the girls games now, too, rather than just the boys. At least I've gained a fan. If you'll all excuse me, I need to go home. Cal will be proud of me because I'm going to ask for an escort. Any offers?”

Joel's voice rose above Peter's and Alec's, and she gladly accepted.

“I feel like such a wimp.” Britte walked around Joel and locked the kitchen door they had just entered from the attached garage. “Here you are, standing in my kitchen, and I'm locking up. I can't even come home alone, and I've left a light on in every room in the house. There is something wrong with this picture.”

No
, Joel thought,
everything is right with it
. He had caught himself more than once in the past few days nearly thanking God for Britte's dilemma. That didn't seem an appropriate response and yet, without the impetus of the assault, would they have grown so close so quickly? “Under the circumstances, you're simply being cautious, as you should be.”

She held out a hand. It was visibly shaking. “That's not caution; it's being a chicken.”

“Yellow-bellied, lily-livered coward.”

“Exactly.” Her entire bruised face scrunched into a frown.

“Britte, you believe in Jesus, right? That He's with you all the time?” It had been evident tonight in conversations with the Suttons and Eatons that her faith was an integral part of her life.

She nodded.

“He's supposed to be in charge, not you.”

“I don't want to be in charge.”

“Then stop worrying about the need to be escorted home. That's just the way it is for now. You'll get through it and be your sassy self again in no time.”

She crossed her arms, evidently balking at his reprimand.

“Shall I look around?”

“Please.”

He smiled. “That wasn't too hard, was it?”

“You're pushing it, Mr. Kingsley. When I get sassy again, you'd better watch out.”

He raised his shoulders to his ears and exaggerated a shudder.

She gave him a half smile and shrugged out of her coat. Her long blonde hair hung in loose waves. It was brushed off of her forehead, and he saw the creases there smooth out at last. Her squinched eyes opened enough for the blue to shine.

The whole effect sent him spinning. Literally. He circled the kitchen, unzipping his jacket but not removing it. “Everything looks in order here, Miss O. Nice place, by the way.”

“Thanks. The dining room is through here.”

He followed her into the next room. An oak table and buffet shone under an old-fashioned crystal chandelier.

“This was my great-aunt's house. My dad and uncles inherited it, so I was able to buy it from them. I talked them into selling me everything in this room, too. I remember sitting at the table with Aunt Mabel when I was a kid. She was
a kindergarten teacher, and I helped her cut and paste things. I loved being here.”

“Is that when you decided to become a teacher?”

“That was it.” She grinned.

He followed her into the living room. A mathematician's orderly hand was evident everywhere. Nothing was out of place. There was even a neatly decorated Christmas tree in front of the window. “You have a tree!”

“Of course. Don't you?”

“Uh, no. Seems somewhat pointless to go through the motions for myself.”

“So you don't have children?”

The question broke new ground for them. He glanced at her sideways and circled the room. “No. Do you?”

“You would have known by now if
I
did. Do you have a wife?”

“No. Do you have a husband?”

“No. Do you have an ex of some sort?”

He halted his circling and studied two abstract paintings on a wall. “Probably of some sort, but not as in wife. How about you?”

“Uh, fiancé. There was one— Do you have— Never mind.”

“Do I have a current of some sort?” He turned and looked at her. “No. Do you?”

“Basketball.”

Smiling, he gave her a moment. “Any more questions?”

“That about covers it.”

“I agree.” So…they were both available. Whatever that meant. “Do you want me to check the bedrooms?”

“No! I mean—” She shook her head and gazed at the ceiling.

“Speechless again?”

“This is getting way too awkward. Why don't you go down to the basement while I finish up here?”

“If I'm not back in five minutes, call Cal.”

She strode past him toward a short hallway.

Chuckling, he returned to the kitchen and went down the basement stairs. Maybe it was a sugar rush from all the wonderful food he had eaten tonight. Maybe it was a high from the evening's honest-to-goodness fellowship, something he hadn't encountered since he first became a Christian. Maybe it was just those blue eyes connecting with him. Whatever, he hadn't felt like this— Wrong. He hadn't
felt,
period, in a long, long time.

He explored the basement, an unfinished, concrete-walled L-shape beneath the house. Neat-as-a-pin laundry room and storage shelves. He checked the small windows up near the ceiling.
Lord, keep her safe and help us find who's responsible for the attack.

A few minutes later he met Britte in the living room. She stood in front of the tree. “This is so ridiculous. I can't do this every time I come home after dark!”

“Then we should help Cal find the guy. Even if you don't press charges, at least that way we can monitor things. How can you not go after whoever is causing this havoc in your life?”

“Because Jesus loves me and forgives me. If I can't do the same to my enemy, then Jesus hasn't made one iota of a difference. But…maybe I should press charges to get him off the streets.”

The power of her words knocked the wind from him. “Still, that's incredible faith to even want to forgive him.”

“Well, this is an easy situation to understand. Forgive your enemies. It's the subtle, day-to-day kinds of things I don't often catch the first time around. Would you like some coffee or something?”

In days gone by, he would have asked for the something. But this was a new day, and he wasn't quite sure of how to go about that request. The rules of engagement hadn't been explained. “No, thanks.” He zipped up his jacket. “It's late. You should probably get some rest.”

At the front door she rushed the words, “Are you sitting home alone tomorrow?”

“That's the plan.”

“Would you, um, like to, um— Oh! Probably not!”

“Will you be there?”

She nodded.

“Probably yes, then.”

She bit her lower lip.

He shrugged, smiled, and opened the door. “I'll call for directions.”