Authors: Gayle Roper
“Ron’s the husband?”
Dori pictured Ron and smiled. “He’s a great guy, a big bear of a man like Pop. He and Meg have been married for thirty-one years.”
“Do their kids work at Small Treasures too?”
“I think they did when they were in high school or college—stock boy type of stuff—but they’re all established in their own careers now. Ronny is a teacher, Chaz is a CPA, and Randy, the baby, is a musician, a starving one to hear his father talk.”
“And they’re all married?”
“Randy’s not. Someday if he ever matures, he’ll make some woman a fine husband, but not now. He’s definitely not ready.”
Like another person I know
, she could have said but didn’t. It wouldn’t help anything.
Trev turned into the motel parking lot, and Dori felt the tension revive, at least as far as she was concerned. Trev looked the picture of cool unconcern, which somehow irked her. He should be feeling as awkward as she. It was only right.
Honey had reserved them a lovely deluxe room with a king-size bed that dominated the room and rasped on Dori’s already strained nerves. It might as well have had a note leaning against the pillows that read, “Reconciliation starts here.”
She walked to the window and stared at the parking lot and Dumpster. A stray buff-colored cat jumped to the edge of the Dumpster and sat, studying its contents. She shivered at the thought of the animal out in the cold fending for himself. Where did he sleep so he didn’t freeze to death? If he jumped into the Dumpster, how did he get out?
“Are you all right?” Trev asked from behind her.
She turned, surprised. “What made you think I wasn’t?”
“You were shivering.”
She pointed out the window. “A stray cat. I was shivering for him living outside in this weather.”
“Ah.” He looked out the window, then down at her. “Speaking of cold, we need to get you a warm coat.”
She raised a hand. “No, it’s all right. I won’t be here Ion—”
Trev smiled sympathetically. “Six months, Dori. And since it’s only January, three of those months are guaranteed to be pretty cold.”
She spoke without thinking. “You know, if Pop were here right now, I’d happily sock him in the nose, even if he is sick.” Appalled at what she heard herself say, she clamped a hand to her mouth. “That sounded so awful!”
“I know exactly what you mean, so don’t feel bad.”
He hated this as much as she did? Somehow that made her feel both comforted and affronted.
Trev indicated the room’s door. “Come on. Let’s go get your coat.”
She followed him out, only too happy to leave the confines of the room. They drove to the Exton Mall and bought her a coat, a black parka lined in red and filled with so much down that she felt like the eight ball in a game of pool. She didn’t care. It would keep her warm.
On their way to the cash register they passed a sale table holding gloves and hats. Immediately Dori was taken with a red felt beret. She grabbed it and tried it on, pulling it so it draped more on the right side of her head. She looked around for a mirror but saw none.
“It looks wonderful,” Trev said, watching her with a smile.
She looked at him skeptically.
“It does,” he insisted. “It looks good with that hairdo of yours, and the red perks up the coat. Get it.”
Deciding that for nine dollars she could afford to believe him, she rooted on the table until she found a pair of red leather, fleece-lined gloves, another nine dollars. When she went back outside, she might have felt like a checkerboard, but she was wonderfully toasty for the first time since she’d gotten off the plane.
They drove back to the hospital and spent the afternoon and early evening with Honey and Phil. Pop returned from surgery around dinnertime.
“He’s going to be fine,” Dr. Rosen said, nodding his white head in satisfaction.
Looking at the sleeping Pop, still much too pale, Dori hoped and prayed Dr. Rosen was right. Even she knew heart attacks were tricky things.
Honey pulled up a chair beside the bed and took Pop’s hand. She rubbed her thumb back and forth over the age spots and ridged veins. Once she leaned over and pressed her forehead to his hand. Her lips moved in soundless prayer. Another time she lifted Pop’s hand and held his palm against her cheek.
As she watched, Dori’s eyes blurred with tears. That was the kind of love she wanted, dreamed of, yearned for. Trying to hide her tears, she turned to the window and stared blindly out.
She felt an arm drop over her shoulders and looked up in surprise, ready to step away. But it was Phil, and she let him draw her close, resting her head on his chest.
The sound of a chair scraping back brought Dori’s attention to Honey who stood and looked at her.
“Go back to your motel, Dori, and get some sleep. You’ve got to be absolutely worn out.”
“No, I’m all right,” Dori insisted even though her brain felt mushy with fatigue. “I don’t want to leave you and Pop.”
And I don’t want to go back to the motel.
“Take her, Trev.” Honey’s tone brooked no argument. “Get her dinner and a good night’s sleep.”
Trev nodded and picked her new coat off the wide windowsill and held it out to her. When Phil gave her a gentle push in Trev’s direction, she knew she hadn’t the ghost of a chance to escape. She went with as much dignity as she could muster, given her circumstances, the red rims around her eyes, and the dark circles under them.
They went to Cracker Barrel for dinner and managed to make innocuous conversation. “Movie?” Trev suggested when they finished.
Dori jumped at the idea. Anything to keep from returning to that room with that huge bed. But inevitably, unavoidably, they had to go back. Once in the room, the first thing Trev did was call Phil for the latest on Pop while Dori flicked on the TV Noise, news, other people in the charged atmosphere.
When he hung up, Trev stood quietly for a moment, and Dori
almost thought he was praying. “What?” Fear made her voice tight. “Is Pop worse?”
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “If anything, he’s better. Much better. He’ll be going home tomorrow.”
“What? How can that be? Twelve hours ago he looked like he was dying! He acted like he was dying.”
“They determined that the bleeding was from a tear in his stomach near the place it joins the esophagus. They cauterized it, and the bleeding has stopped. They decided he was also suffering from a massive attack of indigestion.”
“Indigestion?” Her life had been turned upside down by an upset stomach?
“The indigestion mimicked a heart attack. Apparently it made him vomit rather violently, and that in turn made the stomach tear.”
Dori didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Phil said Pop had a message for us.”
“Well, I have a message for him!” Indigestion indeed!
Trev gave her a sympathetic look. “Pop says we’re to remember that a promise is a promise.”
All the air whooshed from her lungs at the old man’s gall. She stared at Trev, words piling upon each other in her throat but no sound emerging—which was probably a good thing considering what was running through her mind.
“We did give our word.” Trev looked calm, controlled, and much too handsome.
She scowled. “Under false circumstances.”
They stared at each other for several silent moments. Dori had no idea what Trev was thinking, but if he was half as confused as she was, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t make sense anyway.
So Pop wasn’t dying. That was a good thing. When he had asked for their promise, he’d thought he was. Hadn’t he? Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed as she thought back to her visit. It hadn’t struck her at the time, but now she realized he hadn’t been in a coronary unit, nor had he worn a heart monitor. In retrospect she was willing to bet that the doctor she’d assumed was a cardiologist was in fact a gastroenterologist.
“He knew!” she shouted. “Trev, he knew. They both knew!”
“That he wasn’t dying of a heart attack?” Trev nodded. “Probably.”
“He tricked us. I can’t believe it.” She flopped down on the side of the bed, mind racing, emotions rioting. She no longer knew which end was up, which person was trustworthy, which choice was right.
Trev hunkered down in front of her and took her hands in his. He turned his brilliant eyes on her, eyes she’d always thought the most beautiful she’d ever seen, though of course she never told him. Guys didn’t like hearing they had beautiful anythings.
“Dori, we can’t make any decisions tonight. I know I’m worn to a frazzle, physically and emotionally, and you are too. We might too easily say things we’ll regret. Let’s get a good night’s sleep and see how we feel about things tomorrow.”
She looked into the face of this man she had once loved so deeply and nodded. “You’re right. I am so exhausted I can barely stand, let alone think straight.” She looked down at their joined hands. “Tomorrow.”
He gave her hands a slight squeeze. “Good girl. And Father God, we ask you to direct our thinking. Help us see beyond our anger and resentment at being manipulated.”
Dori started and stared at Trev’s now bowed head. He was praying! Right here, just like that, he was praying. Out loud!
“Help us make wise choices, ones that in the long run will honor You. For that is our heart’s desire, Lord. To honor You.”
Oh, yeah?
He stood, dropping her hands. She clasped them in her lap, missing the warmth of his grip and mad at herself because she did. “Do you often do that?”
He looked at her. “What?”
“Pray at the drop of a hat?”
He looked thoughtful. “I hope so.”
“Huh.” She got to her feet and went to the window again. It was dark outside, though the lights in the parking lot shone brightly on the Dumpster. Dori wondered in passing where the buff-colored cat had gone. “I guess that proves you’re a pastor.”
“Um. I suppose it’s as good a marker as any.”
She watched his reflection in the window as he studied her,
unaware she could see him too. He looked sad, thoughtful. Yearning?
It’s just your imagination, the distortion of the reflection
.
She pulled her eyes from him back to the night beyond the window, but her thoughts stayed on him, his prayer, his comment. She slid a finger through a line of condensate along the bottom edge of the window sash.
“It’s hard to get used to you praying.” She turned to him. “All I remember is you teasing me about my naiveté when I trusted Christ back in high school. And now here you are, a seminary grad and all.” She gave a wan smile. “Wonders never cease.”
“You can thank yourself for my believing. When you left, I was so devastated that I turned to God.” On those words he grabbed his duffel and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She stared openmouthed after him.
Devastated? Trev? Sure Phil had said his brother had come close to failing out, and maybe she almost believed him. But for Trev himself to say he was devastated? That couldn’t be.
She
was the one who had been devastated.
Again the thought flashed that the pain that had driven Trev to God had driven her from Him. What that said about each of them she didn’t want to contemplate.
She grabbed her cell phone. She had to talk to Meg. Meg would sympathize. Meg would understand how trapped she felt. Meg would tell her to come home.
She did not find the sympathy she expected.
“But six months, Meg! And he tricked us.”
“Good for him.”
“What?” Dori felt betrayed. She had been so sure Meg would understand.
“Listen, my girl, and listen closely to Mama Meg. For six years you’ve held resentment and hurt in your arms like they were precious friends.”
Dori made a protesting sound, but Meg continued as if she hadn’t heard. “It’s well worth six months to rid yourself of these pernicious cancers. They are robbing you of life. You’ve got to let go and forgive.”
“But, Meg—”
“No buts, Dori Trevelyan. Stay. Please, stay.”
When Trev came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing a T-shirt and jeans, she was still sitting on the bed, staring into space, trying to come to terms with Meg’s perfidy.
Without a word, she collected her things and went into the warm, steamy room fragrant from his shower. She looked at herself in the mirror over the sink and saw blue-black smudges under her eyes, a pallor that equaled Pop’s, and a pinched, angry look around her mouth. She sighed. She’d be lucky if Trev wanted to keep her, looking the way she did. She turned away and rummaged for her toiletry items.
Though they’d brought all her luggage to the room, she’d only needed to open her small carry-on. Because she’d been afraid of losing the bigger case, it landing in Timbuktu while she landed in Philly she’d packed enough for a couple of days in the smaller bag. The only thing she would normally have needed out of the large bag was her pajamas, but there was no way on earth she was wearing them tonight. Those little shorts and that skimpy top would send entirely the wrong message, even if they were just a washed out, tired pink cotton knit, not a slinky silk.
Tonight she was sleeping in her jeans. Maybe tomorrow night too, and every night into the foreseeable future.
When she came back into the bedroom, Trev was leaning against the headboard, pillows stuffed behind him, reading a Bible, its navy leather binding creased and worn. He looked up and smiled at her. “I was just getting ready to pray for Pop. Want to pray with me?”
No! I don’t pray anymore, not even for Pop
. “Sure,” she forced out. “That’s a good idea.”
He shifted over a bit and patted the bed beside him. She glanced at him, then down at the bed, then back at him.
He held up a hand, palm out. “I’m only asking you to pray with me, nothing more. I won’t ask anything more. I promise.”
Her face burning because he had read her so easily, she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. She folded her hands primly in her lap and bowed her head.
Nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked cautiously over her shoulder at him.
Trev was studying her with an inscrutable look on his face. “I won’t hurt you, Dori. I would never do anything to hurt you.”