A Journey by Chance (16 page)

“I don't remember hearing about my great-grandparents. Tell me what they were like?”

Aunt Lottie told them stories about their hard-working ancestors who farmed in the area at the turn of the century. She was up to the time of the Depression and how they lost their land when Gina had to leave.

“I want to hear more later, Aunt Lottie,” she said. “I promised Lauren I'd help her clean their new house. Do you believe they just got possession today and want to paint and recarpet the whole place in two weeks?” She stepped around the table and kissed both of them goodbye. “Thanks, Mom. I love all this newfound family.”

“You're welcome. We'll come by in a bit with Aunt Marsha. Now don't overdo it.”

Gina fluttered her eyelids. “Oh, Mother.”

She grinned. “Hazards of the trade. Goodbye,” she called to her daughter's retreating back.

“Maggie,” Aunt Lottie said, “Reece called this morning. He wanted you to call him. Something about changing his schedule in Chicago so you could come.”

The cocoon slithered down, wrinkling in a pile at her feet. “Oh.” She started to gather the dishes.

“It must be hard having him work out of town so much of the time.”

“It is.”

“It's not like the old days.”

Maggie carried a load to the kitchen, then returned to finish clearing the table.

“Seems like today,” Aunt Lottie continued, “everyone just has too many choices. When Peter made me mad, I knew come nighttime, I'd have to climb into bed next to him. And vice versa. We didn't have anywhere else to go.”

“Uncle Peter made you mad? He was the kindest man I ever knew.”

“He was very kind.” Aunt Lottie chuckled. “Oh, honey, he was a man. Never hung up a towel in his life. Forgot my birthday now and then. Only remembered one anniversary, our fiftieth, and that was because everyone kept talking about it. Smoked too many cigars.” She sighed. “We had our ups and downs, some more serious than others. But every morning and night he hugged me.”

Maggie's throat tightened.

“Now I don't want you to feel funny about pushing those two twin beds together when Reece comes. A married couple needs to be close when they get the chance.”

“Aunt Lottie!”

“I'll just call Alec and have him come over—”

“I will not have my cousin rearranging my bedroom.”

“Well, call him anyway.” She stood slowly, her gnarled hands pushing against the tabletop. “I mean Reece. He said he would be in the office all day.”

“I really don't have time to drive to Chicago. Lauren's band concert is Thursday night. I promised I'd go. Friday we simply must finalize things with the caterers.” Her stomach
muscles tightened. “Besides, he'd be preoccupied with business. He'll be here on Saturday.” Soon enough.

Aunt Lottie shuffled toward the doorway.

Maggie thought she looked pale. “Do you feel okay?”

“Just tired, honey. I'll lie down until Marsha comes. Say a little prayer for you and Reece.”

Maggie bit her lip. She doubted that a little prayer would make up for all those years' worth of missed hugs. It wouldn't even change her mind about not calling him.

When the call came from the zoo, Gina struggled to slip into her professional demeanor. So much had happened in recent months to obliterate it.

She at least managed to relay that she was available to come to Seattle for an interview late next week. Almost numb from an onslaught of conflicting emotions, she didn't know how she felt. After hanging up, she went out to the backyard and sat in the old Adirondack chair. The shady spot kept the hot 86 degrees from being unbearable.

First of all, she needed a job as soon as possible. But did she want to be a veterinarian in a zoo setting again?
That's what I'm trained for, what I'm experienced in, it's my lifelong dream…but can I do it?

Despite the summer heat, a chill went through her.

She could work with other animals. Smaller, domestic types. She could go back home, scour the huge Los Angeles area for a vet office that needed an assistant, learn as she went.

She could go back to school, become a teacher of veterinary medicine. Somehow. Somewhere.

This was avoiding the subject.

What did she think about the job interview? What would they think of her? On the application she had explained the trainer's lack of control, the accident, and subsequent dismissal. She had been honest.

Well, for the most part anyway. She hadn't gone into detail about her complaints. Her ineptness when she returned to work. Her lawsuit.

But surely her complaints were valid. Surely she had the animals' best interests at heart. Surely she would have regained skill and confidence given time. And the lawsuit? Simply a formality. A necessary complication. A legal way to shake up the administration and protect the animals.

Oh, she was still thinking in circles. She needed to talk out loud and get another opinion. Mother was gone, but she was too close to the situation anyway. Lauren was just too plain giddy. Friends back home had drifted away, especially those from work.

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, telling herself to calm down. The heat enveloped her, and she thought of how different the air was here. Unpolluted, and yet so thick it seemed tangible, as if you could grab a fistful of it.

In the stillness she heard that one bird's odd song…like a squeaky swing, back and forth, back and forth.

Brady.

She opened her eyes.

Brady?

It made perfect sense to talk to Brady.

And that was exactly why she wasn't going to call him. It shouldn't make perfect sense that a new acquaintance was the person closest to her heart.

She shouldn't be noticing how good-looking he was, how soothing his voice was, how comfortable it was to bury her face in his shoulder. She shouldn't be wanting to roam through his beautiful acreage or putter around his rustic kitchen.

Oh, for goodness sake, she shouldn't be missing the man after three days.

Maybe it was his books. She had finished the first one and started another that he had given her. His portrayal of Jesus taught her why He was God, and it warmed her heart. There were practical lessons in seeing life from God's point of view, but this warming trend that flowed toward Brady made no sense whatsoever. But he had been the one to help her understand what a relationship with God meant. Of course she would be grateful to him for that.

It just didn't help that he was so…her type.

She sighed.

What would he say? He would say pray about it.

“Dear Father, please help me sort this out. About the job, I mean.” She paused in her murmured prayer. “Okay, about Brady, too. Friendship is one thing, but I suppose You know what I'm feeling.” She winced. “Attracted. And I'm sure You know perfectly well I am not interested in that sort of relationship right now, especially not in Valley Oaks! Amen.”

Aunt Lottie poked her head out the back door. “Are you all right, honey?”

Gina nodded. She loved how she called her honey. You just knew the woman would do anything for you. Like listen.

In the dining room, Gina rejoined Aunt Lottie at the round oak table where they had been crocheting when the telephone had rung. That is, Aunt Lottie had been crocheting, often stopping to guide Gina's fingers in the intricate pattern of the piece that covered the table.

The women had spent many hours in recent days doing this. It was a pleasant diversion that made Gina feel as if a corner of the early 1900s still existed. In that corner loud music had been replaced with the rhythmic ticking of a
cuckoo clock. Instead of frantically searching for a job, she was getting to know her great-aunt. Rather than mall shopping for a wedding gift, she was creating a unique one.

She flexed her fingers. Well, if not wedding gift, perhaps first anniversary. “I wish I would have known how to do this a few months ago while I was in the hospital.”

“I'm just so sorry about that, honey, and about your job.”

“I know. That phone call was for an interview. In Seattle. And I'm not sure what I think about it. Since I've been talking to God more—”

“And knowing He's listening.”

“Yes. I'm wondering how I'm supposed to pray about this?”

“I don't think there's a right and wrong way to pray. Prayer is just talking to God. Tell Him what you need. He knows it anyway, but He wants you to ask. Otherwise, when the need is filled, you might forget He did it.”

“But how do I know whether or not this is the right job?”

“Did they offer it to you?” Her blue eyes sparkled in her round face.

“Well, no. I have to go for the interview next week in Seattle.”

“Then there's nothing to worry about.”

“But I don't know if I want this job.”

Aunt Lottie smiled. “Of course not. You haven't been there yet. This reminds me of the car story. You can sit in a car and turn the steering wheel all you want, but it's not going to go anywhere until you turn on the engine and step on the gas pedal. Life is like the car and you're the driver, but God does the steering. And He can't steer unless you get moving.”

“So I should just go for the interview and see what happens?”

She nodded, her fluffy white curls catching the sunlight shining through the window. “Step on that gas pedal and
don't worry about any of it. Just do whatever He puts before you. Right now you're healing, I think.”

Tears sprang to Gina's eyes. “Mm-hmm.”

“And all you really had to do was get ready for a wedding and spend some time with an old lady. Now you have the possibility of getting a job. So it would seem this is something good from God to investigate.”

“I guess it's one of those windows you mentioned before?”

“See? He opened it right up. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Don't be gone too long. I'm getting used to having you here.”

Gina hugged her great-aunt, thinking how she was getting used to being here.

Thursday night most of Valley Oaks turned out for the weekly summer band concert and monthly ice cream social in the town square. The three women took Aunt Lottie's car because the three blocks was farther than the 90-year-old cared to walk.

Gina scanned the area that was quickly becoming packed with people. She wondered if Lauren was there yet, but in reality she knew she wasn't looking for her cousin. She wanted to see a blond man, taller than the rest of the crowd and wearing a white T-shirt and jeans.

Her heart sank. Maybe he didn't come to these things.

In the shelter, a group of men churned ice cream makers. Women arranged cakes and pies on the tables. Children played on nearby playground equipment. Park benches were arranged in rows in front of the band shell. As the local band teacher, Lauren would conduct the group of musicians, a mixture of teenagers and adults.

While Aunt Lottie and Mother settled in at a picnic table, Gina stood in line to buy desserts. She peered over her shoulder, hoping and yet willing herself to stop such nonsense. A casual friendship did not warrant this eagerness, this grin that threatened to erupt if she caught sight of Brady.

Balancing three plastic bowls of soft vanilla ice cream and chocolate cake, spoons, and napkins in her hands, Gina spotted him near the end of a line and veered that direction. His back was to her, and he was talking with some people who didn't look familiar.

“Brady!” she interrupted, the unbidden grin spreading across her face.

He turned only half way around from his group to greet her. “Oh, hi.” He eyed the bowls. “Hope you left some ice cream for the rest of us.”

“There's plenty. Would you believe I've never eaten homemade ice cream in my life?”

“That's what growing up in California can do for you.” He glanced at his group that scooted forward in the line a few inches.

“Brady, guess what!”

“Mm.” He shrugged and shook his head. “What?”

“The zoo in Seattle called me yesterday! And now I'm trying to figure out how to fit God into this decision-making equation. I need to talk to you.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Your ice cream's melting. Maybe sometime later?”

She heard the hesitation in his voice, noted the sporadic eye contact. Enthusiasm fizzling, she consciously kept her smile in place and backed away. “Yeah, okay. Later.”

Gina hurried through the crowd toward Mother and Aunt Lottie, pondering the obvious change in Brady's demeanor. He wasn't the least bit friendly. She decided he must be preoccupied with something.

As the evening progressed, she found herself preoccupied…with Brady. While eating and visiting with Aunt Lottie's friends and moving to the benches in front of the band shell, she kept one eye on him. From a distance with other people he appeared his usual self, smiling and laughing with others, tilting his head in that way of his to catch some shorter person's words.

She tried to shake it, but couldn't. Was he ignoring her? Maybe her mother intimidated him. Maybe he didn't want to meet her. Gina had certainly had difficulty meeting his
parents. It seemed even more likely that he would avoid hers. And yet…that didn't sound like the Brady she knew.

Knew? She didn't know him. This emotional tie between them was her imagination, sprung from a couple of special moments. A couple of special moments did not make a friendship you could count on. Was she still that naïve to trust, of all men, a virtual stranger?

And besides, he had a life and friends before she came to town. Of course he would be active with them in this type of setting. He wasn't required to introduce her.

Why didn't he at least stop by to say hello to Aunt Lottie?

Gina pushed aside thoughts of Brady and gave her attention to Lauren up front welcoming everyone. How her flighty cousin could focus on conducting musicians would have been a puzzle if she didn't know the perfectionist side of her. Now she turned her back on the audience, and Gina noticed her rigid spine and the blonde curls brushed just so. She held the small baton aloft, and the crowd and band alike stilled for one long moment. As the first notes of a Sousa march blared forth, Gina felt a sense of pride flow through her. This was her cousin at work, and it was a beautiful sight.

At intermission, Maggie said Aunt Lottie was ready to go home and she would take her. Wanting to hear the entire concert, Gina said it would be an easy walk for her and told them goodbye. As she watched them stroll slowly along the tree-lined sidewalk in the twilight, it crossed her mind that Brady could come over now if he had a mind to.

She noticed him on the other side of the benches, standing and talking.
Oh, well.

Waiting for the concert to resume, she looked for the first twinkling of evening stars and listened to the strangers all around her chatting. The band shell glowed under its arch of bright lights, creating an unrealistic aura and adding to Gina's feeling of not belonging.

Which was fine with her, of course. Actually she didn't belong anywhere these days, and so it should come as no surprise that of the two people she knew in this place, one was in the program and the other was…preoccupied. Or choosing to ignore her. Where were all her other cousins and the wedding party members she had met?

Oh, it didn't matter. It was just Valley Oaks, a temporary stop on the way to a new life. Her future plans had begun to take shape yesterday with the scheduling of an interview. Aunt Lottie's advice made sense. She would just get the car going, so to speak, and let God do the steering. She didn't need Brady Olafsson's opinion. Nor his company, for goodness sake.

Gina's temper seldom flared. It usually did a slow burn, giving her time to notice the danger signals and figure out what was going on and plan logically what course of action to take. Now she couldn't hear the music. The luscious ice cream and cake had rolled into an uncomfortable lump. Her neck felt hot. Typical signals.

What was it? Brady did not owe her friendliness. Good grief, a couple of weeks ago his sappy friendliness offended her.

No, it wasn't Brady. It was Gina herself. It was her reaction to this man. What was she doing, feeling hope and expectation in regards to him? And of all things,
trusting
him?

She was just vulnerable, which was perfectly understandable considering the eight months she'd just been through. She'd get a new life, far from Podunk—

“They're playing your song.” Brady's mouth was at her ear.

Gina jumped in her seat.

“Let's dance.” He pulled her to her feet and off to a nearby grassy area where a few couples swayed to the slow music. Before she could protest, his right arm was around
her waist, his left hand holding her right. His face was in shadow. “Recognize it?” he asked softly.

Gina stumbled and gritted her teeth, stopping the curse before it crossed her tongue. Stupid leg.

He deftly maneuvered them into another position, tightening his grasp of her waist, enabling her to regain her balance. “Sorry. Too fast.” He was charming her again, taking the attention from her injury. He began singing. “Where does your journey lead from here? Down roads unseen, midst stars flung wide?” He hummed a few bars. “I forget the rest. Do you know it?”

She shook her head, so close to his shoulder. He surrounded her, holding at bay the confusion that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Hmm, nice rendition with the trumpets. It's your song.” He hummed again. “You know, because you're trying to figure out what to do next.” He began to sing, “Where does your journey lead from here? Da-dum-dee-dum-dee-dum-dum…”

Why couldn't she respond lightheartedly? Dance with him, joke with him, chat with him? Why this tightness in her chest, this dizziness at his peppermint-scented breath on her cheek?

“So you got a phone call?” he prompted.

It was a little late to pick up that conversation. She didn't have time for this crazy mixture of comfort and anger. He didn't owe her anything, and she certainly didn't owe him anything. She stopped in her tracks and pulled his hand from her waist. “It's past my bedtime.” With that she turned and strode down the darkened sidewalk in the direction of Aunt Lottie's street.

Exits were simple in Podunk. No crowds to push through, no handbag to go fetch, no traffic to struggle against heading toward the freeway. It was going to be easy to leave the place.

“Where does your journey lead from here? I have but one request of you dear: that, your hand in mine, I'll walk alongside 'til life's journey is complete.”

Brady hadn't forgotten the words. He just refused to say them out loud. Even now as he watched her go, he struggled against them as they reverberated in his mind.

More devastating was that uneven gait of hers that tugged at his heart.

Lord, this can't be from You. I don't want this! I am doing just fine. We are doing just fine, You and me. Working, minding my own business, helping out in the community, singing at church.

What is this?!
It was a cry that pounded in his throat.

She was at the corner of the park now, under the street lamp, stepping down from the curb.

He had avoided her, hung close to others, but still she came to him, that smile lighting up her face, excited about news, wanting to tell him, eager to know where God fit in.

And he had snubbed her.

I have neither the time nor the energy for this!
He continued the argument with himself and with his God.

He had watched her before the concert. He should have gone over to meet her mother. A rational, polite human being would have done that. He even chose to ignore Lottie, a dear old friend.

When they left, Gina sat alone, her face a mask. And then that song had started. The old tune caught his attention.
Where does your journey lead from here, Angelina Philips?

He owed her that much, to ask her what her news was, to listen to her plans, to pray for her. Guilt flooded him for snubbing her tonight, for not calling her all week. Before he
could talk himself out of it, he slipped to her side, pulled her from the bench.

“Down roads unseen, midst stars flung wide?”

The damage had been done. She was stiff in his arms, her voice cold.

Now, down the street, she disappeared from view, swallowed in the darkness.

“I have but one request of you, dear.”

No, I have several.
He hurled his staccato thoughts against the music.
That you go back to California immediately. That you never again turn your beautiful smile in my direction. That you ask someone else about your newfound faith. That you take your endearing mixture of vulnerability and independence and just let me be!

Would he always regret not going after her?

“Counting each moment with you as eternity held fast.”

God, I don't want this!

It was as if God pummeled a chisel into that one corner of his heart, that part that had turned to stone over the years. In one final blow He snapped it off now, leaving a gaping wound.

A searing pain ripped through Brady's chest. Love shouldn't hurt like this, but he knew that's what it was. His heart relentlessly pumped it through the wound, and he knew there was only one relief. He had to give it away.

He ran.

She could not have walked the entire distance yet. Could she have? He had to reach her before she went into the house.

He flew along the park's sidewalk, over the curb and across the quiet street, between parked cars and down another sidewalk.
End of the block, end of the block, end of the block.
His feet pounded out his only thought.

He swerved at the block's last front yard, ran through the grass and jumped a hedge, narrowly missing a tricycle. He was on Lottie's street.

Where was she?
Where was she?!

There! Just beyond the street light.

“Gina!” he shouted as he raced toward her. “Gina!” Three more houses.

She turned and spotted him, but didn't stop until at last he reached her side, breathless. They were almost to Lottie's front yard.

“Gina.” He stared at her face, unreadable in the shadows.

She gave her head a slight shake.

What could he say? He gulped a deep breath, then crooked his elbow toward her.

“I've told you,” she clipped her words, “that I don't need an escort.”

“But I do,” he whispered the plea. “I do, Angelina.”

She just stood there.

He waited, his arm still bent in hope. He had no choice. There was nothing else to say, nothing else to do. Would she let him love her? The moments ticked by. Only his labored breathing broke the silence. His arm tired.

Slowly she took half a step toward him, then seemed to hesitate, her head bowed.

Brady closed his eyes, blocking her hair from view, lest he reach out to touch it. At last he felt her hand, strong, soft against his elbow…cool fingers slipping along the inside of his forearm.