Missionary Daddy (7 page)

Swallowing past a lump of anxiety, she gripped the rough wooden counter with both hands and murmured, “I’ve never told anyone except my doctors.”

Eric pushed away from the counter and moved closer, as though his nearness could erase her pain and humiliation. She wanted him to hold her, which was crazy. Instead, he touched her shoulder, but the simple gesture of human contact brought inexplicable comfort.

“You can tell me.”

And so, over the next few minutes, she shared the distorted thinking that had led to an eating disorder, and the demanding career that had kept her trapped for so many years. She told of the hospital stay and the treatment facility, of the ongoing struggle with negative voices inside her head.

By the time she stopped, he was leaning against the counter, ankles crossed, listening intently. His quiet acceptance bolstered her, making the story easier to tell.

“Have you ever wondered why?” he asked.

She hitched a shoulder. Of course she had. Deep inside, she was empty, always striving for a perfection she could not attain, a need to be more than she was. But she didn’t tell him that.

“The therapists have theories. They’ve blamed my unemotional upbringing, my perfectionist tendencies, the need for control. And of course, the pressure of staying ultra-thin in a highly competitive profession. All I know is that food becomes an anorexic’s greatest passion and her deepest fear. We have trouble thinking about anything else.” She gave a self-conscious shake of her head and stared toward the TV program in progress across the way. “I don’t know why I told you this. You must think I’m a total loser.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

She spun toward him, shocked. “Me? Amazing because I can figure fat content and count calories in my head?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Because you haven’t let a serious illness stop you. Because you’re trying to find a way to help Gina so she doesn’t have to go through what you have. You’re a fighter, Sam. I admire fighters.”

“Sorry, I don’t see it. I wish I agreed with you, but I know better. I still have to journal what I eat every single day so I don’t regress. And the negative thoughts never stop. Never.”

“Quit beating yourself up. Look at the good you’re trying to do.”

She made a face. “And failing. Gina won’t listen at all.”

Eric laid a finger next to his mouth and then pointed at her. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come to my Sunday school class and talk about eating disorders? You don’t have to share your personal story, just talk in general about the modeling industry and the pressure to be thin. Tell about the other girls you’ve known who have eating disorders. Gina may not be the only girl battling this.”

“I can almost promise you she’s not.”

Sam bent to pick up a discarded paper cup, thinking about the offer. If someone had talked to her in high school, she might have gotten help sooner. She might even be a whole woman today.

She tossed the cup into a trash bag and dusted her hands. “Do you think they’ll listen?”

“Are you kidding? Haven’t you noticed how Tiffany’s been wearing her hair like yours? They admire you, Sam. They’ll listen because of who you are and the success you’ve had.”

The more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could stop the madness in some other girl’s life. Eric wasn’t inclined to flattery. If he thought she could make a difference, she could.

Excitement began to simmer in her veins. “I’ll do it.”

“Awesome.” Eric slapped her hand in a high five. He looked as excited by the prospect as she felt. “After you speak, I’ll follow up with an applicable lesson from the Bible. Together we’ll be a winning team.”

“The Bible talks about anorexia?”

“Not specifically, but God does talk about our bodies and how we’re to treat them. Psalms says we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Get that, Sam? When God made you, you were already wonderful. He knew you before you were even born and loved you just the way you are.”

For someone who had trouble loving herself most of the time, the idea of a loving God didn’t seem feasible. “I’ve never given God much thought.”

“Maybe you should. He’s pretty awesome.” Eric turned toward the soda fountain and filled two cups. “Here. Drink. It’s hot out here.”

“I’m okay.”

Eric lasered her with a firm look. “Drink it, Miss Harcourt. It’s lemonade. Vitamin C and all that.”

“Pushy, aren’t you?” But she sipped the cold drink anyway. “Can I ask you something? About God, I mean?”

“Absolutely. I have Sociology and divinity degrees. Let me wow you with my deep, insightful knowledge.”

Sam laughed. “Well, Mr. Deep and Insightful, tell me what’s so great about being a Christian. I mean, how is your life different from any other? Did all your problems suddenly disappear when you accepted Christ?”

Eric made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat. “You were in Africa. You already know better than that. Problems don’t go away. The Lord just helps us deal with them. And the Bible is our rule book so we know the right way to handle whatever comes along.” He sipped his drink. When she didn’t say anything, he looked adorably sheepish and asked, “Was that too preachy?”

“Not at all. I was thinking about what you said. My family has changed so much since they became believers. They’ve tried to explain how they feel but I don’t get it.”

“Come to church with me. Give God a try. He won’t let you down.”

“What if I let Him down?” She could hardly believe they were having this conversation. A week ago, Eric had treated her like a pariah, but something had changed today.

“He’ll forgive you. I know that from personal experience. Christians aren’t perfect. We’re just saved, with a ticket to heaven, bought with a price.”

“Bought with a price? I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“The price was God’s son. You were worth God’s only son. Which makes you a real special lady, Samantha Harcourt.”

She’d been called
special
before in modeling circles, but from Eric the words weren’t flattery. They were real.

Could Eric and her family be right? The whole God thing seemed to be working for them. Could a relationship with God be the missing ingredient in her own life? At this point in her restless, dissatisfied existence, Samantha was willing to check out every option.

At that moment, Kelly and Ross Van Zandt came up, and Sam turned her attention to them. As Eric fixed their hot dogs, he told them about Sam’s fund-raising efforts, calling the idea brilliant. Basking in his praise and their congratulations, she filled the soft drinks.

After a minute of chitchat, the couple ambled away, and Sam’s attention was drawn to Kelly’s gently rounded belly. She touched her own very flat one. What would it be like to carry a child beneath her heart? A child that was half her and half the man she loved?

Her gaze flickered to Eric, but she caught the thought and tossed it away.

In between filling soft-drink orders for a smattering of customers and a few more requests for photos, she and Eric talked some more. Talked the way Sam had longed to do since meeting Eric again.

He was witty and kind and surprisingly wise for such a young guy. Chocolate-brown eyes and a handsome face didn’t hurt, either. The attraction she’d felt for him in Africa was back with a vengeance. And Sam wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

E
ric counted out change for a ten dollar bill, pleased to see the cash box stuffed with money from their efforts so far. They could order school supplies for a lot of needy African kids after today.

Sam, dangly earrings glinting in the sunlight, smiled for another photograph with two teenage girls. Her laughter drifted over him as sweet as her perfume.

Today’s picnic had changed everything. Sam wasn’t some snobbish celebrity taking pity on the peons as he’d thought. She was real. A woman with hurts and sorrows like everyone else. She was just better at hiding them than most. A woman Eric had totally misread.

“Lord, forgive me,” he mumbled. He’d been a jerk, a judgmental fool who’d looked on the outside instead of getting to know Sam as a person.

And now that he’d awakened to that truth, he wanted to know her better. As stunned and saddened as he’d been by her anorexia story, he’d been deeply impressed, too. She was strong, whether she knew it or not, a woman doing the best she could.

He didn’t know a lot about eating disorders but he planned to research, and if he could help Sam in any way, he’d do it. She needed God’s help a lot more than his, though, and he’d pray that she would come to understand how much the Lord cared about her. At least she had promised to come to church and talk to his Sunday school class. That was a start for both Sam and the kids.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Sam said as she slid back into the booth.

“I was thinking about you,” he admitted and was rewarded by the spark of interest in her face.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He left it there, knowing she heard compliments all the time. Anything he said would sound like flattery.

She nodded toward the left side of the rambling green maze. “Isn’t that Douglas Matthews coming this way?”

“They must be finished filming the show.”

“Rumor says the networks are after him to go syndicated. That would be a big feather for Chestnut Grove.”

“I heard that, but I’m not much on talk shows. Too busy,” Eric said. And tall, good-looking guys didn’t do a thing for him. The women, however, seemed to go crazy for Doug’s blue eyes and genial charm.

“It’s a good show, mainly because of Douglas’s personality. He really knows how to work an audience and get the best out of his guests.”

“Do you know him?”

“Not at all.”

“Looks like you’re about to be introduced.”

The talk show host, impeccably dressed and looking cool even in the August heat, approached the concession stand.

“Hello, Samantha, I’m Douglas Matthews.” He extended a hand; a diamond ring winked in the sunlight. “Doug, of course.” His smile was as bright and perfect as Sam’s.

Sam shook his hand before turning to Eric. “This is Eric Pellegrino. He’s the assistant director at Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency.”

Doug’s smile faltered a little bit. “A pleasure, Eric.”

He gave a quick nod in Eric’s direction and then returned his charm to Samantha.

“Would you like a soda or something?” Sam asked politely.

“Actually, I stopped by to ask you a question. I’ll get right to the point. I’d like you to be on my show.”

Sam blinked twice. “Me? Why?”

The talk-show host laughed, his pearly whites stunning. His fingers found Sam’s again and squeezed. Eric felt an inappropriate surge of jealousy.

“You’re Samantha Harcourt, the biggest thing to come out of Chestnut Grove. Your fans would love to see you on my show. You can talk about your career, the famous people you’ve worked with, where you’re going next, anything you like. We can even do a segment on your beautiful home. Fans love to hear the inside scoop on how the stars live. Come on, what do you say?”

Eric, who felt about as necessary to this conversation as a raincoat in the desert, watched Sam for her reaction. Would she jump at the offer of more attention, of more opportunity for the world to admire her?

Interestingly enough, Sam didn’t answer right away. As if the decision was far harder than the one she’d made a few minutes ago, she gnawed prettily at her lower lip.

Eric had a hard time not staring. Sam had a beautiful mouth, one he’d almost kissed once upon a time.

He shook his head, dispelling the crazy thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Doug. I’ll have to say no this time. I’m on hiatus right now, and the last thing I want is more publicity with everything that’s going on in my family.”

Doug’s golden smile faded. The blue eyes that had sparkled with friendliness narrowed. “Oh, come on. I’d consider it a personal favor. I’ll call your agent, if you insist, though being a hometown girl and all…” He leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “Look, Sam, this really
would
be a personal favor. The National networks are looking at my show. Having you on would be a coup.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

He straightened and whipped out a business card. “Don’t say no. Say maybe. Talk to your agent if you must. Have him give me a call.”

With an air of confidence that grated on Eric’s nerves, Matthews lifted Sam’s hand, turned it over, laid the card in her palm and closed her fingers over it one by one. “Better yet,
you
give me a call.”

With a wink, he strutted off toward the maze.

Eric ground his back teeth together. Although Eric was pretty sure the guy was married, Douglas behaved like a Casanova. Before he could think better of it, Eric imitated the talk-show host in a silly voice. “Give me a call, Sam. You know you want me.”

Sam burst out laughing and thumped his shoulder. “You’re a nut. A nice nut, but still a little goofy.”

“Are you going on his show?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. I would feel stupid appearing on TV in my own hometown to talk about myself. Kind of pretentious, don’t you think?”

Boy, had he ever misjudged this woman. “And here I was thinking you’d love the attention.”

“Sometimes I do,” she admitted. “But right now, I’m not sure what I want. The people in this town have known me since I was a baby and yet they treat me differently because of my career. I’m still just plain Samantha Harcourt who wore braces in junior high and got a D in American History.”

Eric stifled a laugh. She would never be “just plain” anything. “How could you get a D in American History when you live this close to so much of it? Jamestown, Williamsburg, Yorktown. Virginia’s the birthplace of America.”

She rolled her glorious eyes. “You sound like my history teacher. Today, history is interesting. Back then, it was—” she stuck a finger into her check and twisted “—bo-ring.”

They were both still chuckling when Nikki and Billy approached the stand. Nikki, black kohl eyeliner melting in the heat, looked like a raccoon. Eric thought he’d probably better not tell her that.

“Someone over at the dunk tank wants Eric to come take a turn,” Nikki said.

“Me? In the tank?” One of the kids, he figured, but which one?

Nikki’s lips kicked up in an ornery grin. “Yes, sir. We’ll take over here if you’ll go there.”

“What can I say?” He leaped over the board frame onto the soft grass. “Anything for a good cause.”

He had already started in that direction when he heard Sam call, “Hold up there, mister. I’m coming, too.”

When she was at his side, he said, “You couldn’t resist seeing me dunked, could you?”

“Nope.”

She hummed a little tune and behaved in such a suspicious manner, he asked, “What are you up to?”

By now they were at the dunk tank. She stuck her hands in her back pockets and rocked back on her heels, laughing.

“I’m the one paying to see you dunked.”

Sam watched Eric climb into the dunk tank and take his place on the swing. She’d been a little nervous when she, Gina and Jeremy had cooked up the scheme, but Eric hadn’t disappointed them. Good sport that he was, he challenged them all to come and get him.

Sam took a turn first, aiming the ball at a metal paddle that would release the swing and send Eric plunging into a pool of cold water. The first throw missed by a mile.

“Come on, Sam. You throw like a girl,” Eric taunted.

“Get him, Sam,” someone behind her called. A glance back told her they were drawing a crowd. Good. More money for kids.

She wound up and tried again, coming woefully short. The catcalls from Eric increased. “I knew you couldn’t do it. Sissy girl.”

“I still have one more throw.” With fierce determination, she blocked out his voice and aimed at the lever.

“You can’t hit me. You can’t hit me,” Eric taunted just as she released the ball.

Clang!
The lever released. Startled, Eric threw his hands into the air and plunged into the pool.

He came up sputtering. Sam didn’t know who laughed more, her or Eric. Making all kinds of nonsensical threats, he climbed back onto the seat, ready to go again.

Sam accepted the back slaps and congratulations of the teenagers and a growing group of onlookers. She stepped aside to let the next person have a turn while she took over the ticket sales.

After about an hour, the line thinned out. “Dunking me is getting boring,” Eric said as he stepped out of the tank and reached for a towel. “We need a new victim to recharge the crowd.” He shot Sam a knowing look.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “Not me.”

He grabbed her arm, holding on while he shook his head like a shaggy dog and sprinkled her with water. “Why not? Afraid you’ll melt?”

Sam squealed. The cold water was startling in this August heat.

“Come on, Sam,” Jeremy urged. “Think of those little kids in Africa. If anyone can draw a crowd, it’s you.” He jerked a pair of eyebrows at her. “What’s the matter? You chicken?”

“Me? Chicken? Not on your life, buddy boy.” She poked at him with one finger, then slipped off her sandals, handed her bracelets to Gina and headed toward the enclosure.

Eric, drying his hair with a towel, looked up, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” And then before she could change her mind, she hopped onto the seat and thought about the kids in Africa.

Later that evening, when the picnic ended and the cleanup crew swarmed the grounds, Eric’s body ached but his spirit was full. The long, exhausting day had been even more successful than he’d imagined. He glanced at his cochair. Somehow, Sam still looked beautiful, though she had to be as weary as anyone. When he’d helped her out of the dunk tank and draped a towel around her shoulders, he’d been close enough to see the fatigue behind the laughter.

He still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Not only had she worked in the tank longer than anyone, she’d figured a way to wrangle more money out of the customers. He had to admit he was impressed. The beautiful model who was paid to look good hadn’t been a bit fazed as she took plunge after plunge into the cold pool and came up drenched.

“Today was fun.” He clinked the lid closed on the stuffed cash box in preparation for turning the proceeds in to Andrew’s staff inside the house. “Exhausting but fun.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Her hair had dried by now and hung straight and flat against her head. She fluffed it with her fingertips. “I must look hideous.”

“You look gorgeous,” he said easily.

Cash box swinging between them, they fell in step toward the house. Security lights had taken the place of the sun, and the trees cast shadows across the lawn. The cleanup crews would need several days to put the plantation back to its usual manicured perfection.

“Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“You got one anyway. You’d look good no matter what.” He grinned and flexed his shoulders. “Like me. We just can’t help ourselves.”

She laughed and shook her head. “When we first started this project, I thought the two of us would never laugh together. But we’ve done plenty of that today.”

They deposited the cash box and signed out with the other volunteers before heading toward the parking area. The teenagers had long since abandoned ship. Other volunteers still milled the grounds or the parking lot, but most were also gone.

“When we started this project, I was a jerk,” Eric admitted. “I owe you an apology.” She didn’t press him for details and he was glad. “Forgive me?”

“I’m just glad we’re friends again.”

Yeah, friends. He could do that. He could be friends with Samantha until she went back to Chicago and her own kind of people.

When they reached her car, he opened the door for her. She didn’t get in. Instead, she stood in the opening, facing him.

Eric rested a forearm on the top edge of the car door. “I could pick you up tomorrow for church,” he said. “Afterwards, we could have lunch.”

Sam smoothed the hair back from her forehead. “I’d like that.”

She didn’t get inside her sports car and Eric was glad. He was equally reluctant to end their day. Not since Africa had he felt this content or had this much fun.

That night outside the orphanage, he’d almost kissed her, but he hadn’t known then that hers was one of the best known faces in the country. He was probably crazy for even thinking such a thing, but he wanted to kiss her now even more. Not because she was Samantha Harcourt, the successful model, but because she was Sam, the awesome woman.

He moved in, felt the warmth of her breath against his cheek, saw her lips part the tiniest bit.

Then someone called his name.