A Journey by Chance (20 page)

She took a deep breath and willed the images away long enough to begin a prayer.
Dear God, I feel like I've lost my way. I can't face this alone. I want to believe You're with me. Help me to know what to do about all of it. Diet, hormones. John. Marsha's caterer. Reece.
She paused.
Reece. Dear God, I don't feel anything anymore.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy and she dozed. A tickle under her nose awoke her. She looked up at her husband. He was sitting on the bed, holding a fragrant, long-stemmed white rose.

“Do I really go for days without saying your name?” He seemed subdued.

She eyed him warily and nodded. When was the last time he had given her a flower?

He studied her face. “I'm sorry. Margaret.” He looked away. “Seeing you lying there at the bottom of the stairs, then listening to the doctor's dire predictions…I don't know.”

She took the rose from him and smelled it.

“Like I said last night, I do want my Margaret back.”

“I'm not sure where she is.”

He paused. “Well, I don't think she's here in Valley Oaks with Maggie. Now, will you promise to make an appointment when you get home to talk about this stuff with your doctor? Please?”

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed. “I think that would be a smart thing to do.”

“Oh, I found a gift shop and bought these to take to Marsha's tonight.” He gestured over his shoulder.

She eyed a large bouquet of flowers in a clear vase on the table behind him. There were more white roses in it.

“Shall we stop at a market and pick up some contribution to dinner? Appetizers? Dessert?”

No words could get around the lump in her throat now. Which had come first? The thought to give her flowers or to give their hostess flowers? She knew the answer. He was always so much more the conscientious guest than attentive husband. When had she started minding?

The friendly middle-aged nurse who had been in and out all day entered, exclaiming, “Flowers! How romantic!”

Maggie blinked back tears.

“Mrs. Philips, you are so lucky! My husband would never in a million years think of that.”

Reece smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I bought them for dinner tonight, for our hostess.”

The nurse looked at Maggie with wide eyes and shook her head. “Men are clueless.” She pushed on Reece's arm. “Move out of my way, bum.
We
are going to take care of your wife, unlike
you
.”

They bantered back and forth, Reece defending himself while the nurse talked about tarring and feathering.

Maggie wished she could join in, wished she could take Reece's cluelessness lightheartedly and tease him about it. The fact was, he didn't know how to make her feel loved anymore. That was it, wasn't it? That was what Marsha was talking about. She needed to feel loved, and he wasn't fulfilling that need.

Well, whose job was it to clue him in? Hers, probably. Would he talk through it? She owed him, at the least, to try again, this time with specifics that he couldn't refute with “It's just this season of your life; get over it.”

The truth was that if they didn't start addressing things on a deeper level, she would soon be beyond caring if he ever
understood. She was tired of hurting. Maybe if things simply ended, the pain would go away.

She needed roses and tender words and time with him. She needed him to accept the fact that Margaret was here, buried somewhere in Maggie's past.

Gina didn't know what triggered this all-encompassing sense of well-being. Here she sat in Brady's country kitchen, at the small round oak table with him, Lauren, Aaron, a Scrabble board, Homer at her feet, and this delightful tranquillity almost oozing from her pores.

She suspected it had a lot to do with her new faith. Once she decided to accept as fact that God's ear was tuned to her very thoughts, talking to Him quickly became a habit. With such a powerful audience, it seemed silly to spend every waking moment fretting over her career. Or lack of one.

But, of course, it also had a lot to do with the one who wrote those wonderful books that showed her the reality of Jesus. The creator of tonight's magnificent meal of smoked turkey and twice-baked potatoes and apple crisp. The vocabulary whiz who speculated at the letters she held and suggested words during her turn. The one who smiled at her now across the table and winked. “An ‘m' would fit nicely here with—”

Lauren smacked her hand against the tabletop and stood. “That's it!” she cried. “We're playing partners, Brady. Trade places with me. If you're going to keep helping Gina, you have to be her partner. Give me some kind of chance here.”

Brady protested his innocence, but did as he was told, sliding his chair close and draping his arm along the back of hers. His shoulder brushing against hers tickled from head to toe.

He was the perfect gentleman. It seemed an old-fashioned term, but she thought it fit him. He was…sensitive to her. Except for that kissing business. He had only kissed her three times. Once on the sidewalk near Aunt Lottie's. Once in the car on the way to dinner, a quick brush of his lips. Once last night.

Last night… The Scrabble letters blurred now as she replayed how after dinner, back at Aunt Lottie's, they had climbed from the car. Brady leaned against it and pulled her to him. She didn't want to awaken from kiss number three. When he released her, she initiated number four.

“Gina,” he had whispered, his lips trailing across her face. “I have to ration these.”

“Ration?” She looked up at him in the dim light from the porch, the back of her head resting in the crook of his arm. “What on earth for?”

He inhaled a deep breath, then forcefully blew it out. “I get lost just looking in your eyes. That doesn't begin to describe what happens when I kiss you. Do you know what I'm saying?” He straightened then, placing his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her to arm's length. “It's a little early in our relationship to be struggling with this, but…” His voice trailed off.

Gina swallowed. Maybe he was being sensitive to her in this.

She smiled now as he whispered in her ear about what letters to place on the Scrabble board.

“Brady!” Lauren laughed. “You're partners. You don't have to whisper.”

Aaron elbowed her. “I think he likes whispering in her ear.” He leaned toward her. “As a matter of fact I think I like whispering in yours.”

Lauren giggled uncontrollably as her fiancé nuzzled her ear.

Gina turned to Brady with a smile. “Feel like an intruder?”

“Mmm,” he replied, his face somber. He touched a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail and wrapped it around his finger.

Her smile faded. “What's your ration for today?”

“Just used them all up.” Abruptly, he stood. “I'm going to change the music.” He headed toward the adjacent living room where the stereo was located.

Lauren had selected the music that flowed through speakers in the kitchen. She pulled away from Aaron. “Brady!” she called. “Don't change that one. It's what we played at the concert.”

Aaron grinned, then started humming. When a low, breathy female voice started singing, he missed a beat, but quickly caught up with her. “
Where does your journey lead from here?”
he sang out in a strong baritone. “
O'er mountains not scaled, 'cross oceans still wild?”

The speaker went silent and Aaron hummed a few bars a cappella. “Da de dum
‘I have but one request of you, dear.'
Da da—”

“Your hand in mine,”
Lauren joined in,
“I'll walk alongside.”
They laughed through a few more da dums. When a sudden blast of orchestral music drowned them, they stood and sang out loudly,
“'Til life's journey is complete, counting each moment with you as eternity held fast.”

One request? To walk alongside 'til life's journey is complete?

The stereo volume decreased, and Brady came back into the kitchen. Gina caught him glancing her direction, before quickly averting his eyes. He meandered toward the coffeepot. The tips of his ears were red. She couldn't resist. “Brady,
now
do you remember the words?”

Aaron asked, “What do you mean? He knows the words. We all sat around here, listening to his old music, choosing songs for the wedding.”

“We almost chose that one.” Lauren twisted her head to look back at Brady. “Didn't we?”

His neck was flushed now.

Gina smiled. “At the band concert, he sang the first two lines to me, then said he couldn't remember any more of the words.”

Aaron laughed. “As in
‘I have but one request of you, dear'
?”

The three of them howled with laughter as Brady stood at the counter, obviously flustered and at a loss for words. He seemed to have a problem knowing what to do with his hands, shoving them into the back pockets of his khakis, then pulling them out and crossing his arms over his chest. At last he sputtered, “I didn't think they were appropriate.”

“I should hope not, mister.” Gina picked up her coffee mug and walked over to him.
“‘What are you doing the rest of your life?'
It sounds like a marriage proposal. May I have some coffee?”

“The first part was appropriate.” He still looked rattled. His forehead was creased, and he combed his fingers through his short blond hair. “I mean, you're trying to figure out what to do with your future. The rest of your life.”

“Mm-hmm.” She was amused at Brady's discomfort. She nudged him aside and reached for the coffee carafe. “Do you want some?”

“The remainder of the song was just too irrational to even mention.”

“Absolutely.” Gina bit her lip to keep from bursting into laughter again. He sounded so sincere. She picked up her mug and turned. “That's probably why you jumped up so quickly to turn it off. You know how annoyed I get at irrational, illogical sentiments.”

“Yeah.” He looked toward the refrigerator, then back at her. His tan had deepened. He recrossed his arms. “I don't imagine you'd respond favorably to an irrational proposal.”

She shook her head, then sipped coffee.

He cleared his throat. “But what exactly would a rational, logical proposal sound like?”

“Well, first of all the one offering it would have to be a really, really good friend. Then it would probably be a mutual decision. Either one of us might say, ‘We function so well together. Maybe we should make it permanent. What do you think?'”

His eyes widened. “That's rational. It's also totally without passion.”

“There's passion,” she argued. “It's just…subtle.”

“Do you take after your dad? You sound like a no-nonsense businessman. Person.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, well, it works. I don't suppose you could relate to a woman in that way. You'd be too busy sending flowers.”
And kissing
.

“Gina.” He leaned in, stretched his arms around either side of her, and rested his hands against the countertop behind her. Aaron and Lauren were forgotten. “Has anyone ever sent you flowers?” His discomfort seemed to be lessening.

While hers increased. “Sure.”

“I mean, sent you flowers.”

She frowned at him, aware of her heartbeat against the coffee mug she clutched between them.

“Dozens and dozens of roses,” he clarified.

“Why would someone do that? It's too extravagant for something that will soon be put in the trash.”

“He would do it because you have the same effect on him as dozens of flowers. To him you are as beautiful as exquisitely shaped roses, orchids, daisies, and tulips. You brighten
every room you enter like a dazzling burst of fragrant, colorful beauty. You influence everything about his life for the better.” Brady moved still closer and tilted his head closer to hers. “Too irrational for you?”

“Totally.”

“You're all red, Angelina,” he whispered.

“You changed the subject. So why did you jump up so quickly to change the music?”

“Now you're changing the subject.”

Gina tore her eyes from his turquoise gaze and stared down at the steaming coffee in her mug.

“I changed the music because,” he breathed against her hair, “in the park I wanted to sing all the words to you. And that is way too irrational, even for me.”

“Yoo-hoo!” It was a loud female voice followed by the solid thump of the front door closing in the other room. “Are you home?”

Brady straightened and crossed the kitchen just as a woman hurried through the doorway.

She threw her arms wide and cried, “Brady!” She rushed to him. Her arms encircled his neck, and she pulled his face toward hers.

The kiss lasted long enough for Gina to exchange a questioning look with Lauren and to see Aaron frown. It lasted long enough for her to observe that the stranger was tall, probably 5'11" or so, with willowy with straight blonde hair. She wore a knee-length sleeveless black dress. It lasted long enough for an air of awkwardness to settle on the gathering. Gina moved back toward the table and stood beside her cousin.

“Kim.” Brady unhooked her arms from his neck. “You're back.”

She tapped his nose with her finger. “You are observant, dear boy.”

Lauren cleared her throat. “Hello, Kim.”

She will have blue eyes, Gina predicted.

The stranger turned large blue eyes their direction. Her nose was delicate, the tip turned slightly upward. She smiled. Her teeth were very straight. “You've got company! Aaron, right?” She stepped toward them and shook his hand. “And—?”

Brady offered, “You remember Lauren, his fiancée. And this is…Lauren's cousin.” He glanced at Gina. “From California. This is Kim Severson.”

He had forgotten her name. Gina shook the woman's hand, not bothering to fill in the blank. Not that she had much of a chance. Kim chattered nonstop, scurrying back to the doorway where she retrieved a paper bag overflowing with sticks of French bread.

“I've brought dinner. Oh, but only for two.” She pouted.

“It's nine o'clock,” Brady said.

“In Spain the evening is just getting started at nine o'clock.”

Between Brady's words tumbling over Kim's, Gina gathered that Kim was a junior college Spanish teacher and had just returned after spending the second semester in Spain with a group of students.

“I got so homesick for you, Brady. I wanted to surprise you. Have you all eaten? We could run back to the store, get some more chicken. They're still open. I was so surprised to see they've extended their hours.”

Her strings of sentences wrapped around the four of them like tentacles, holding them all at attention. Somehow Lauren managed to extricate herself, stepping to Brady and giving him a quick hug, thanking him for dinner, firmly stating they were leaving. Aaron followed suit with a handshake. Gina added her thanks and a polite “nice meeting you” as she moved toward the door.

Brady and Kim followed them outside, she holding his arm. Spotlights shone from the garage on the drive. The surrounding woods were dark. They quickly climbed into Aaron's car and left.

In the back seat Gina shook her head, not sure what to make of the last ten minutes. Except for the sound of Lauren's heavy breathing, they rode in silence out to the highway.

“Aaron!” Lauren exclaimed finally, “what is she doing here? I thought that was over!”

“Lauren, I don't know anything. What are you so steamed about?”

“How can he do that to Gina?”

“Do what?”

“Act like he cares about her and then have Kim waltz in behaving as if they're engaged or something.”

“He's not responsible for Kim's behavior.”

“Well, he could have stopped it. This is so embarrassing.”

“For whom?”

“Hey, you two,” Gina interrupted. “Don't worry about it. So Brady was involved with Kim. Or is.
Que sera sera
. It's not like we were anything but friends for the time being. It's not like,” she paused, swallowed the catch in her throat, “not like it was going anywhere.”

“It was rude,” Lauren said. “Any sensible, just-friend friend would have seen he was occupied and said good night. Any idiot could have told her he was occupied; he'd call her another day. She walked in as if she lived there. They just dated last fall. I think we saw them at a party last summer.”

“Laur,” Gina pleaded, “give Cupid a rest. Please. Just take me home.”

They rode in silence. Inexplicable emotions churned in Gina. She couldn't think straight. There was literally a physical ache in her chest.
How could he kiss someone else in that same way? What was last night all about? I need a job—

“Gina,” Lauren broke into her thoughts. “It's early. If you don't want to face your folks and Aunt Lottie, come with us to the house. We can watch Aaron paint or something. Okay? Okay, Aaron?”

Her folks?

Aaron's eyes sought hers in the rearview mirror. “Good idea. Come with us. Give yourself some time to get over the, uh, rather abrupt end to the evening. What do you say?”

She didn't want to face her folks. What would she say?
You were right. He is an Olafsson.
But he wasn't, not in that disparaging way. Was he?