Missing Your Smile (14 page)

“Which kind do you want? We have several selections.”

“Oh, my goodness! Just the regular, old-fashioned kind. I never can get used to these newfangled flavors.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“A little cream, dear, but no sugar.”

Susan prepared the coffee for the woman and set it on the table where the woman had seated herself.

“You have a good day now,” Susan said. “And I hope you like the turnover.”

“I'm sure I will.” The lady smiled. “I think I'll come back here more often.”

“I hope you do!” Susan said, hearing the door open behind her. As she turned to head back to the counter, she heard a familiar voice.

“Good morning, Miss Hostetler.” It was Mr. Moran.

Susan continued her way behind the counter where she felt more comfortable.

“Good morning.” Susan tried to sound natural. “What can I do for you?”

“I was expecting the usual,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“It's been a while,” Susan said. “I think I've forgotten.”

“True,” he said. “I like the apple fritters. I'll take one of those and a large coffee. Is Laura in this morning?”

“She's in the office. I can call her, if you wish.”

Susan noticed then that Mr. Moran had a stern look on his face—as if something was wrong.
What can it be?
she wondered.

“No, don't bother her,” he said. “I'm just concerned. There's been another missing woman from around here. Have you seen the paper this morning?”

“No! I haven't opened the paper. Surely not here in Asbury Park again?” she gasped. “That's awful. Who could be doing this horrible thing?”

“I'm sure the police wish they knew, not to mention the young woman's parents.”

Susan forced herself to reach for his apple fritter, her hand shaking. She knew she must trust
Da Hah
, but this was not
gut
news at all.

“Was it close by?” she asked, nearly dropping the fritter.

“At Monmouth Mall. That's where the woman was seen last. I'm sorry to bring you the news, but I'm quite concerned.”

“We must pray for the family,” Susan said, handing him his order.

“Yes, that would be a good idea. And for yourself. You are careful, I hope?”

“
Yah
. Laura reminds me often.”

“It's bad when things like this start to happen. Often they aren't over with for quite some time.”

He handed her a ten. Taking his change, he still looked distracted. Suddenly he asked, “Are you busy over the lunch hour?”

“I don't know,” Susan said. “We usually are.”

“I could come by and take you over to the diner to eat. I don't have much time, but it would give you a break from here.”

“You…take me out to eat? I…I…I've never done that before.”

“What? You don't always eat at home on the farm, do you?” he asked with a laugh.

“That's not what I meant…I meant…”

He laughed again. “Yes, I know what you meant. I'm sorry, I was just teasing you. How about if I stop by a few minutes after one? If you can get away, we'll walk over to the diner. I can have you back in no time. Surely Laura can handle things for a little while.”

He is asking me out to eat? What does that mean in the
Englisha
world? Is it something friendly? Obviously…but how friendly? Friendly as in a smile at a hymn singing, or friendly as in taking a girl home in a buggy, or friendly as in a goodnight kiss? Certainly not that!
she decided. “I don't know,” Susan replied. “We're usually busy over the lunch hour. I'd better stay here. But thank you.” Her neck felt warm…burning, the sensation spreading fast. This was awful, absolutely
awful
.

“Maybe some other time then.” He started to turn but hesitated. “Let me know if you change your mind. I'm working outside the office at a client's place until eleven. But between then and say quarter to twelve you could call me at the office. Laura has the number. Oh, and do pray for the family of the missing women. I will too.” With that, he turned and was gone.

“That was a nice man,” the older lady said, getting up from the table. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” Susan said quickly.
An
Englisha
boyfriend? Why, the world would stop turning if an Amish girl ever had an
Englisha
boyfriend
. But hadn't she come here to look for love?
Yah
, but not this.
Then what am I looking for?
Thoughts raced through her head. It was so confusing and mixed up.
If only Thomas hadn't gone and messed everything up!

“You have a good day,” the lady was saying. “And I will also pray about that kidnapper that's loose on our streets. Heaven knows he won't bother old ladies like me, but I can still pray.”

“Thank you,” Susan whispered as the lady left. It was
gut
that people were praying. That at least felt a little bit like home.

“Not busy yet?” Laura asked, coming out of the back and surveying the empty shop. “Did I hear Duane's voice?”

Susan kept her eyes on the window. “He was here. He told me there's another woman missing. This time from the Monmouth Mall, where we were the other night.”

Laura opened the newspaper and read the story while Susan silently struggled with her thoughts. Why did she feel like she was missing something regarding the lunch invitation? How could so many conflicting emotions be racing around inside her at the same time?

“God help us all,” Laura said, as she read. “I sure hope the police find this man soon.”

Susan cleared her throat. “What an awful experience for the woman and her family to go through.”

“Yes, it is,” Laura said. “I wonder if it's safe for you to stay alone at the apartment anymore. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you while you're here. How would I explain it to Bonnie, let alone your parents?”

“I'm fine,” Susan said. “I can't afford any other place. I come from the country. I'm strong and resourceful.”

“You could stay at our place until this blows over. We have a spare bedroom upstairs.”

“But I'm not family. And I couldn't. Really, I couldn't.”

“Don't look so distressed,” Laura said. “You're almost family.”

“Oh, that's a sweet thing for you to say,” Susan said as tears formed in her eyes. The door opened behind her, and she covered her face. She couldn't be caught crying in front of customers.

Laura squeezed her hand under the counter.

“He asked me to lunch,” Susan whispered, keeping her eyes focused on the kitchen.

“Who?”

“Mr. Moran.”

“Duane?”

“
Yah
. I told him I couldn't. That I had to help in the shop because I really do, and I don't mind.”

“We'll see about that,” Laura whispered back.

Susan dried her eyes and turned to greet the young man who had walked up. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

Behind him the door had opened again, and two others came in. Clearly the morning rush was starting.

T
wo customers remained in the bakery, a woman and a man separated by two tables and lost in their own worlds. Outside the street traffic had slowed down, and the bell over the door had been silent for ten minutes.

“So let's have this out about Duane,” Laura said, pinning Susan in her place behind the counter with a sharp look.

“I don't want to go,” Susan said, her face resolute.

“What exactly did Duane ask? Perhaps we should start there.”

Susan was silent for a moment, thinking back over those few moments. “Well, he said that if I could leave over the lunch hour, he'd take me to the diner across the street. And that it wouldn't take very long.”

“And you said what?”

“That we're usually busy over the lunch hour, and that I couldn't go.”

“Is that all?”

Susan shrugged before continuing, “He said if I changed my mind I should call him between eleven and twelve. That you know his phone number.”

“Yes, I do. And I think you should call him and go,” Laura said. “That is, unless you really don't want to. I don't want to force you into something you don't want to do.”

Susan's eyes grew wide. “What does it mean in the
Englisha
world when a man asks you out to the diner over the lunch hour?” she asked. “How serious is that?”

“You poor thing.” Laura patted Susan on the hand. “I guess you wouldn't know. It's not serious at all. Just indicates an interest—a start perhaps, but nothing really. You don't have to worry. And Duane is an outstanding young man. He doesn't come to our church, but he does go. I can't remember where. I'm sure that's important to you.”

“It is,” Susan said. “I suppose he has the bishop's approval on his life.”

Laura looked startled for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You do have a sense of humor. It's kind of sudden at times, but it's there nonetheless.”

Susan looked puzzled but continued the conversation. “I just don't know. Mr. Moran is kind of nice, but it's so sudden.”

“That's understandable, dear. But don't expect Duane to give up easily—not if I know him.”

Susan took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I'll go then.”
Is this a mistake?
she wondered. She did want to go, but she also didn't want to go. What a mess to be in. And it was so strange. That was the problem, no doubt. The strangeness of everything. Surely life would get easier, when things weren't so odd. And she simply couldn't stay cooped up in the apartment for the rest of her life. Thomas was in the past, and life must move on. This must be part of moving on.

Laura had a big smile on her face. “I think that's the right choice, dear. You just take it slow and easy. I know Duane won't push things. If he does, you come tell me, and I'll have a talk with him.”

“You sound so serious,” Susan said. “Like a lot of things are going to happen between us.”

“I guess I do.” Laura shook her head. “And that's really wrong of me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push.”

“It's okay,” Susan said. She glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Mr. Moran said to call between eleven and twelve. Will you do that for me? See if he still wants to…to take me out?”

“I could, but why don't you call him, dear? It would give you practice with our world. If the man invites you to lunch and told you to call him at his office, then you have the right to. Remember now, you don't have to feel intimidated at all.”

“
Me
call
him
? He's a tax person. And the building he works in—it's all glittery and glitzy.”

Laura laughed. “He's also a man, Susan. Just remember that. A man—and a good one. Don't be afraid of our
Englisha
ways.”

The door opened, and Susan glanced again at the clock. Could she really do this? Call Mr. Moran? The thought was freezing her throat like homemade ice cream did when swallowed too quickly. Even the sweetness of the thought didn't take away the fear.

Susan busied herself with the customer, but kept an eye on the clock, noting the time advancing. With each tick her stomach twisted into a larger and larger knot. There was still time to back out. She didn't have to make the call. But she wanted to. That was the problem. Hopefully another customer would come through the door soon and keep her attention off the clock. But really, she was making way too big a deal out of this. It was nothing, really. It was like a smile between a girl and boy back at the Amish Sunday night hymn singing. They could be friends or just like each other's company.

The door opened and she waited on the young couple who entered, watching them as they chose a table. They laughed softly over the murmur of each other's words. Perhaps he had asked her out today, to meet him at Laura's bakery for a few quick moments. If he had, it seemed to be working fine. Susan glanced at the clock again. It was past eleven. She took a deep breath and walked back to Laura's office.