Focused Page 22

  “I just wanted to let you know something. There’s nothing going on between Avery and me. Never really was.”

  “Really?” Christina felt the egg sizzling on her face. She had just assumed, again. When would she learn to stop doing that? “I . . I . . .”

  “Yeah, I know.” He plopped onto the bed, silent for a moment tracing the suitcase stitches with the edge of his thumb. Then he admitted, “It’s not like I didn’t try. Actually thought we were headed down the right path. But she brought it to a screeching halt a few nights ago. She told me it had to do with something in the Bible about yoking.”

  “Yes, I know that passage.”

  “I didn’t, which I guess was the problem. She politely explained I’m not enough of a practicing Christian for her tastes.” A short chuckle did little to cover the hurt in his voice.

  The blood poured out of Christina’s heart for him. She rushed over, sat beside him and grasped his hand. Another rejection. His wife, Mary Ellen, Avery, and in a way, herself. “I’m so sorry.” The words forced through her throat, clogged with sadness for her friend.

  “Yeah. Well, the lady’s wise. Besides, she is fifteen years younger than us. The thought of raising kids again, I don’t know.” Bud shook it off and winked.

  Christina laughed. “Well, there is that.”

  * * *

  Down the hall, Jeff sat in his recliner with Precious purring on his lap. His eyes were on the weatherman’s recap of the week’s stats, but his fuming ears were tuned into the laughter coming from the guest room. He wanted his wife’s attention, otherwise how else could he give her his? Maybe tonight it would be just the two of them. A cozy dinner of the delicious beef stew he smelled simmering in the crock pot. It could win ribbons if she ever entered it into a cook-off. He breathed in the aroma filtering into the den. His stomach growled in recognition and anticipation.

  No, his day didn’t go fine. But how could he tell his wife about all the interruptions caused by her best friend? The ones that almost made him late to the bid table and lose the job he had worked on the last fourteen days, calculating the pitch sale of his career. The pity party was in full swing so he let himself stay a while. Precious, however, noticed the added pressure to his petting. She leapt from his lap in search of one of the couch’s throw pillows.

  “Desert me, too?” He hissed. Fine.

  * * *

  Christina sauntered into the den shaking her head. “Ya know what Bud just told me?” she asked as she plopped on the couch, legs tucked under her.

  Jeff mumbled a non-interested response, eyes fixed to the sports clip about the local high school’s baseball loss of four to one. Christina turned to watch it as well. No sense carrying on a conversation with a mute stump. She picked up her mending basket, and settled in for a half hour of hem repair before dishing out the stew that had been simmering in the crock pot all day.

  “Bud? You eating with us or do you have plans?” She yelled back down the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the stump shift in the recliner and the green glow of volume scale on the TV screen increase in level.

  “Staying,” came the response back down the hall to her couch perch. “Been smelling your stew all day. My stomach’s been growling for two hours.”

  She swore she saw Jeff’s eyes roll upwards. Hers narrowed. Fine, huh? I don’t think so.

  Chapter 42 What A Crock

  Dinner was a silent affair, except for the sound of male slurping and Fat Cat’s ID tag dinging against the bowl when Jeff offered him the dredges. The vet specifically said no more table food for the overweight feline. Christina suspected Jeff did it just to get her goat, but she swallowed back the comments with her last piece of cornbread. The chiding could wait until Bud left the room.

  As she got up to clear the dishes, Bud reached to pull out her chair for her. Jeff, her gallant knight in shining armor husband who should have made the gesture, kept his eyes on Fat Cat and patted his head before retrieving the now sparkling bowl. The animal took two steps and then settled in for a marathon bath, just to show his gratitude, no doubt. Jeff made cooing sounds.

  Christina couldn’t stand it. She clunked the dishes in the sink and dashed down the hall to the master bedroom, slammed the door, and fell into a hump over her dressing table. Tears peppered her prayers for patience, understanding and control. Tears for Bud and his perpetual broken heart, for Josh who no longer lived in that room, for Jeff and his job and the pressures and the load he carried, and for herself and the days that were no more.

  Days before Josh graduated from high school when they shared in all of his activities and went to church together and seemed happy. Days when her mom and dad were alive, shivering in the bleachers with them watching Josh’s soccer team score another goal. Days when Jeff stealthily slipped his hands over hers in public and his eyes twinkled with love. Maybe he was trying to recapture that feeling. Reignite the spark in lemongrass bubbles. She wanted that, too. Could they? Not with Bud in their face. Two more days. Did she feel glad, or sad, or both?

  She shoved her fist into her mouth to stifle the sobs emitting from her throat. She didn’t want Jeff or Bud, or even the cats, to know. Deep breaths. Expand the lungs and let in God’s peace. She grabbed the last tissue from the box and blew her nose, then dabbed her eyes to remove the mascara smudges. The stew threatened to re-emerge in her throat in place of the sobs, so Christina got up and began to pace the room.

  A barely audible tap on the door caught her off guard. She dashed into the bathroom and turned on the spigot before calling out, “Yes?”

  “Don’t mean to bother you. Just letting you know I am heading out for a bit.” Bud’s voice echoed into the bedroom.

  Christina grabbed a hand towel and patted her face. Looking past his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror she grinned. “Have fun.” Then she turned away and pretended to place the towel back on the rack just so, dawdling until he got the message and left.

  It worked. The boot steps headed out of the room and clumped down the hall, muffled by the two throw rugs. A few minutes later, they resumed down the hall then were silenced by the carpet in the den. She waited until she heard the male grumbles, some form of hospitable acknowledgement of each other’s presence, then the front door close. The elephant on her chest left the room as well.

  Shivering away in residual emotion, Christina went back to the kitchen through the formal living room and dining room, purposely avoiding the mute stump that would be sitting in the recliner in the den. To her surprise, the stump was bent over a sink of suds, sponging out the crock pot. Atonement flooded her heart.

  Jeff looked up from his task, his expression veiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Thanks for doing that.” She edged over to the sink and placed her palm on the small of his back. His muscles responded.

  “No problem. You okay? Did you get sick or something? Flu bug’s going around. . .”

  “Jeff, I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. It is because I fed Fat Cat?”

  Christina laughed. How clueless men were. “No. Yes, maybe.”

  The look on Jeff’s face confirmed she had only muddied the waters further.

  “Bud and Avery broke up.”

  Jeff stopped drying the crock-pot lid. His eyes clouded over. “So?”

  That was not the direction she wanted this conversation to go. “Why am I constantly focusing on Bud and not him?”

  Jeff turned to her with his mouth open. “I have been wondering the same thing, if I’m the ‘him’ you’re talking about.”

  She realized she’d expressed that last thought out loud. God opened her mouth and forced her thoughts out into the room.

  He turned past her, brushed her shoulder and placed the crock pot back in the pantry.

  Christina groaned. It was going to be a very long night. The stew had not been the only thing simmering a while. Well, she had prayed for patience. She pushed her glasses back up on the upper rim of her nose, slipped her arms around her husband�
��s waist and nestled her head into his backbone.

  “Talk time?” His voice vibrated through his back into her ear.

  “Lemongrass?” she whispered, rising on tiptoes to kiss his neck.

  “Sure, until we resolve this once and for all or prune up, whichever comes first.” He tossed the dish towel towards the sink, grabbed her hand and led the way.

  * * *

  Bud stopped off at the Git-N-Go for a Lone Star Long Neck. Just one. Just enough to whet his whistle and shove the hurt back into his gut where it belonged. He understood Avery’s objections. The brown glass bottle neck laced between his fingers emphasized their differences. She was a teetotaler, born and bred. He hadn’t seen the inside of a church building in fifteen years until he’d come to stay with the Willises. Whoever said opposites attract was dead wrong.

  Bud leaned against the door of his truck and twisted off the bottle cap. The first cold swig slid down his throat, numbing the lump lodged under his Adam’s Apple. Much better.

  Oil and water. That’s what we are. She was just being friendly in that good Christian wanna-help-the-downtrodden kinda way. Just like Christina. He had, once again, misread the signals. Now he wondered if he should save face and turn down her brother’s job offer.

  But what good would that do? He’d signed a lease. He needed a job to pay the rent. Besides, he’d be good at it and there was nothing for him in Houston, or the Hill Country. Maybe if the new leaf turned over, Avery would see things differently.

  He humphed. Never mind. That couldn’t be his motivation. Perhaps a few months of women-less nights was the medicine he needed to cure this perpetual heartache.

  Downing the last of the brew, he tossed it in the trash barrel on the side of the convenience store. The seat springs greeted his rear end with their usual squeak as he climbed into the truck’s cab.

  “I’ll just stay away from all of them. Mary Ellen, Avery, Christina. . . and Jeff. Allensville is a good size town. We won’t have to run into each other all the time,” Bud said out loud in resolve.

  He thumped the dashboard of his truck in resolution. New life. New place. New job. Maybe he’d even scope out that little Bible Church down the road from the apartments. New habits.

  He had to admit church going folk seemed accepting and friendly. At least they had been at St. Martin’s. Might be the same down the way. He could make some good friends, the right sort of people to hang out with after work instead of heading for dingy pool halls and bars.

  Driving to the hardware store for paint and supplies, he admitted to himself he’d miss Christina’s cooking, especially that stew. He put a crock pot on his mental shopping list.

  Maybe it would be okay to call her in a week or so after he got moved in, just for the recipe.

  Chapter 43 Stop a Clock

  Truth be told, Christina was relieved that nothing developed between Bud and Mary Ellen, or Bud and Avery, or Bud and anyone else in a skirt within a fifty mile radius. She didn’t particularly relish the thought of every unattached woman she knew drooling over her old beau. It left her rather uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure Harriet had been immune to the old Owens charm even though she carried a Medicare card in her wallet.

  The next morning Bud met her in the kitchen. He looked at her then tilted his head towards the hall. “Everything okay?”

  Christina turned her back to him and stirred her coffee. “Hmmm? Yes, just fine.”

  “It didn’t seem that way last night…” His sentence was cut short by the sound of Jeff’s boots coming down the hall. Bud leaned against the bar and uttered a simple “Morning.”

  Jeff returned the same greeting. He leaned over and brushed the air close to his wife’s cheek with his lips. “I may be late tonight. Bob wants to go over this bid step by step. Don’t worry. I’ll grab food on the way home.”

  “Okay. Sure, hon. Have a good day.” She patted his side.

  “I’ll try.” He half-turned to his guest. “I suspect you’ll be long gone before I get back, so, good to have you.” The look in his eyes conveyed a territorial message enveloped in the Texas hospitality.

  There was a nod and a slightly raised coffee cup as a reply. Christina didn’t know whether to laugh at them or swat them both with the dishtowel. She watched Jeff exit through the back door.

  “If my being here has caused you two any grief, I am sorry,” Bud said after the door closed.

  “It’s nothing to do with you, Bud. Jeff’s been under a lot of pressure with this promotion he got a while back. We’ll get through it.”

  “You better. You two have the real thing, you know. Don’t blow it.”

  She was about to say how could they after all these years, but bit her tongue before she spoke. Instead she mumbled that she wouldn’t and headed down the hall to brush her teeth. She stopped halfway and then came back. “Bud, are you leaving today?”

  “I need to, Chris. For all of our sakes.”

  “Why?” His response confused her.

  “Let’s just say I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. Three’s a crowd and I have crowded you two long enough. I called the landlord last night. He’s letting me in early free of charge if I agree to paint the walls.”

  Christina smiled at her old friend. “Seems your mother’s country wisdom has rubbed off on you finally.”She swore he stuck out his tongue at her before he winked. “How’d Jeff know?”

  “He was up when I got in last night, after I dropped off the paint at the new place and taped off the walls.”

  “What time was that? I didn’t hear you come in?”

  Bud shrugged and jammed his hands in his jean pockets. “Midnight, I guess, thereabouts.”

  “And Jeff was up, you say? He came to bed with me when . . .” She clamped her lips together. Too much information.

  Bud took his hands out of his pockets. He scratched tiny splatters of paint off his knuckles. He looked like a little boy all alone in a huge cruel world.

  “Keep in touch, alright?” She swallowed down the emotions with a gulp. His steps moved quietly towards her.

  “Oh, heck, Chris. I will, I promise.” His voice softened as he pulled her to him. His touch was that of a friend. It felt warm and welcomed. She held on tight. He nestled his face in her hair, his breath warm on her neck.

  The back door opened.

  “I forgot my…” Jeff’s voice stopped cold. Without saying another word, he flipped open his cell phone and speed dialed his office.

  “Midge? Tell Bob I just had something come up at home that needs my attention. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

  The next few seconds were shrouded in embarrassment, misunderstanding and not quite knowing what to say. Finally Bud took the high road.

  “Look, man. We were just saying goodbye. It wasn’t…”

  Jeff stared at a spot on the floor and scratched his head with his cell phone. “Go pack, Bud. I need to talk to my wife.”

  Christina exploded. “No! You do not, Jeff Willis. Go to work. That’s where I am headed. And when you want to act like an adult instead of a jealous hormonal teenager, let me know. Till then, I do NOT want to talk about it. Bud, goodbye. Good luck. “ She grabbed her purse and slammed the door, knocking the clock off the wall.

  The two men stared at the door then both dove for the clock, and missed. It smashed on the floor. The plastic face popped off. The batteries flew out and rolled under the cupboards. The two men watched it all helplessly. Suddenly Jeff burst out laughing. Bud stepped back and knitted his brows. “What?”

  “Her anger could stop a clock.” Jeff sputtered out.

  Bud reared back his head and guffawed. The iciness melted into male companionship.

  Jeff grabbed the dishtowel and wiped his eyes.”Sorry, man.”

  “Hey, if that had been me, I’d have decked me.” Bud shook his head. “I mean .. oh, hell’s bells. You know.”

  “Yeah.” Jeff motioned his head towards the garage door. “But how do I calm her down?”

  Bud
raised his hands in surrender and headed down the hall. “I’ll set the burglar alarm when I leave.”

  “Okay.” Jeff leaned to watch Bud exit, “But remember, I’m counting the silverware when I get home.” A slight chuckle revealed his jest.

  Bud’s tongue in cheek expletive and reference to a physical impossibility didn’t bear repeating.

  Jeff laughed. He had to admit he liked the guy. Maybe they could all be friends from now on. They did have something in common, namely Christina. But Jeff definitely remained the Alpha Male in that circle. Bud represented no threat as long as he made sure he respected and loved his wife. In fact, he should thank the guy for reminding him he could always have competition if he took her for granted. Seems he had been doing so for way too long. After all, his bride had kept herself up pretty well over the years. When had he stopped noticing?

  Speaking of, first things first. He needed to patch things up with her fast. Otherwise, the surprise would fall flat and all his plans would be for naught. He grabbed his cell phone, searched for the number. There. West Ave Florists. What had Bob said? Cover the bases, man.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Angela plopped a bouquet of peppermint carnations in a glass vase on Christina’s desk. “What’s the occasion this time? Another non-fight?”