Stay calm. Be professional, she coached herself, as gallons of adrenaline pumped through her veins. “We met before, remember? In the—”
Miguel spouted off a string of Spanish profanities and took a menacing step in her direction. “I’m not an idiot! Of course I remember. So now you think because you helped her get back here, you’re her mother or something?”
The pain in his eyes revealed that his problem lay much deeper than Sheila’s babysitting his daughter for a weekend. She could think of nothing to say that might allay that pain. She kept her tone subdued. “I think no such thing.”
Sheila began to back away as he took another two steps in her direction, then relief flooded over her when she saw Hank’s form fill the doorway.
“Unless you’re planning to shake her hand and thank her for giving up her weekend for your daughter,” Hank said in Spanish, his voice edged with warning, “you’d better back away and count to ten.”
Miguel turned his glare on Hank. “It’s you.” His voice remained hard, but he did take several steps backward. “I suppose you were part of this whole thing, too?”
“Actually,” Hank said, entering the room with slow, relaxed movements, “I tried to talk Miss Carson out of it. But you know women. They want to do what they want to do.”
Miguel turned fully around to face Hank. “Just like my sister Rosa, yes. I know exactly what you mean.”
Sheila watched in amazement as Hank had Miguel laughing and joking within two minutes. As was his habit when he came into Sheila’s room, Hank sat on top of a table—and still was taller than Diana’s father—and at one point even slugged him playfully on the arm. Sheila had heard of negotiators, police officers whose main job was to defuse dangerous situations, like talking someone down from a ten-story window. She wondered if Hank had missed his calling.
“Your Spanish isn’t bad,” Miguel said after about five minutes of conversation in his native tongue. “Where did you learn it?”
A shadow passed over Hank’s features, and Sheila heard this master charmer stammer for the first time. “I, uh, just picked it up, growing up in Texas.”
He’s lying. Why is he lying? Would he lie to her if she asked him the same question? The idea bothered her. She’d begun to feel closer to him than to her friends at church, coming to believe than he was a man of integrity.
Hypocrite. The familiar voice of condemnation was so clear, it was nearly audible. And she couldn’t argue against it. If Hank was hiding something, she was the last person on earth to judge him for it. As of yet she had to tell anyone outside of her family about the accident four years ago. Moreover, whenever anyone asked about her family, she danced around the subject. If Hank was being deceptive, Sheila was doubly guilty.
Miguel finally apologized to Sheila for scaring her, asking her to not influence his daughter with her beliefs about God.
Too late, Sheila thought as she smiled and shook his hand. His hand lingered in hers a little too long, as he studied her face with an unreadable expression, something between wonder and determination.
Hank had noticed. “What was that all about?” he asked after Miguel left.
“I have no idea.” Sheila hoped he wasn’t attracted to her. All she needed was for a man—let alone a non-Christian—to pursue her. He was handsome enough, even more so when he was smiling, but. . . .Sheila turned to Hank, and saw he was frowning ever so slightly. She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s perfectly harmless.”
“He just got out of jail for a DWI,” Hank pointed out, “and he looked anything but harmless when I first came in.”
“But he loves his little girl.” To Sheila, that was the overriding proof that Miguel had enough good in him not to be a serious threat.
Hank shook his head. “Enough to abandon her at Christmas.”
Sheila was growing uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. Why was Hank so insistent that Miguel was some dangerous criminal? “Can we change the subject? I always try to leave the school in a good mood. It makes it easier to come back the next day.”
“Sorry.” Hank smiled. “How ‘bout we start over?” He walked out the door and reentered. “Hey, Miss—uh, Sheila—how’d your day go? I see you’re about to take off. Was wondering if you’d do me the honor of accompanying me to a concert at my church.”
Sheila took an involuntary step back. Accompany him. To a concert. Was he asking her out on a date? If so, she would have to decline. She’d decided to shy away from anything but platonic relationships with men, and she would stick to her decision. Even though her heart was racing. Even though everything in her was screaming at her to say yes.
“It’s no big deal if you don’t want to,” Hank added, obviously sensing her hesitation. “It’s just that a bunch of us from the singles group at our church are going together to get the group rate. I thought you might want to get in on the deal.”
So it wasn’t a date. Not really. Just an invitation to a group function. Still, the thumping in her chest did not diminish. “Who’s playing?” Sheila asked, although it didn’t matter. She’d take any excuse to be around Hank. Because he was fun to be around, and caring. A good friend. Not because—
“Selah.”
“Wow. I love them.” She willed her pulse to slow down. Breathe. “Okay, when?”
* * *
Two hours later, Hank realized that he’d been terrified that Sheila might have said no. He sat on his couch, alternately flipping T. V. channels and taking generous bites from the submarine sandwich he’d picked up on the way home to eat, second-guessing his decision to ask her out in the first place. For a moment he was certain that she was going to turn him down. She looked confused, even distressed, after he invited her, as if he’d asked her to go to Antarctica to live. He didn’t know what the big deal was. They’d spent a weekend together alone in a car, for heaven’s sake, and since then they’d developed a rather rapid friendship. And friends hung out together, went places together, so it seemed like the right thing to do, inviting Sheila to the Selah concert.
She’d almost said no. He could see it in her eyes. So he rephrased the invitation, and felt tremendous relief when she agreed to go.
And until this moment, had not thought of Barbara the entire day. Now, her face flashed before his eyes, and he wondered if he should feel guilty. He didn’t, then started wondering if he should feel guilty about not feeling guilty.
But he couldn’t even feel guilty about that. And why should he? He and Barbara had parted as friends on Christmas Eve, promising to keep in touch, and neither had called or written to the other since.
What was that Pastor Bill had said? Take one day at a time, and walk by faith. The peace he had about the whole thing was some kind of indication that he’d taken the step the Lord had wanted him to, right?
He stuffed the last two inches of sandwich in his mouth and got up to rinse off his plate. He’d actually been afraid of Sheila rejecting him. Unbelievable. I must be truly smitten. He smiled to himself, remembering the rocky start they’d had to their relationship in the hallway of the school. Yes, he’d been attracted to her, but after that incident, he’d lost any hope for them having a future.
But now. . .
Lord, let Your will be done.
Is My will what you really want?
The gentle question nevertheless felt like a million pinpricks on his soul as he walked into the living room. “Of course it is, Father.” Hank answered aloud, knowing that his own voice would keep him from hearing anything further from the other One. And keep him from wondering if he was telling God an outright lie.
He sank into his recliner, picked up the remote and turned up the volume on the television, knowing it would drown out every thought, serving to numb his pain. He must have dozed off, because he suddenly jolted upright in his chair and heard the telephone ringing.
Please, don’t let it be Sheila. Don’t let her be calling to say she’s changed her mind. “Hello?”
&n
bsp; “Hi, Hank. It’s Barbara.” She sounded depressed.
Hank swallowed. Was God trying to play with him? “Hey, Barb, what’s up?”
“You mean, what’s down.” Yep. She definitely was not happy. “The lawyer I was working for. . .he got an offer. As partner in a large firm in Houston.”
Hank understood. “And they don’t need any more paralegals.”
“Bingo.” She sighed. “Even if they did, I could never stand living in Houston. I’m a small town girl at heart, you know?”
“But you grew up in Austin.”
“Always the funny guy, aren’t you?” Her tone became somewhat lighter. “You know that I spent the first thirteen years of my life in Fredericksburg. And Austin isn’t exactly the size of Houston.”
A thought crossed his mind. “How about Forth Worth?”
“Still too big. Anyway, I called because I need prayer.”
Hank heaved a dramatic sigh. “Okay, okay, even though you just broke my heart.”
Barbara laughed. “You’ll be over it in a minute.”
“Lord,” Hank said, “Barbara needs a job. You said that You meet all her needs according to Your riches in glory by Christ Jesus. So I thank You for doing it. Thank You for opening doors for her. And thank You,” he added, a grin spreading over his face, “that the doors are all in Fort Worth.” Do I really mean that?
“You’re a funny guy.”
“I know.”
Although suddenly, he was back to knowing nothing again.
CHAPTER 13
If Sheila had not been a native Minnesotan, she would have taken her class inside the classroom right after lunch, like the other Kindergarten teachers. But coming from a place where kids played outside when the temperature was zero degrees Fahrenheit, Sheila figured her students could endure ten minutes of forty-five degree weather. Besides, they hadn’t had recess in three days because of the cold January rain. Everyone, including the teacher, needed to spend some time in the sunshine.
She pulled her hat further down over her ears and thrust her hands into her long winter coat pockets, bracing herself against the chilly wind that ricocheted off the brick wall behind her, ran the length of the playground, then circled back.
Maybe just five minutes. She shivered.
Most of the kids were engaged in a game of monster tag to Sheila’s right, so a slight movement to her left caught her eye. Diana was pacing back and forth, casting furtive glances in Sheila’s direction, as though trying to decide whether to approach her or not.
Finally, Diana made her way toward Sheila, leaning forward to brace herself against a sudden gust.
“I have to tell you something.” Determination shone in her chocolate eyes as she brushed a piece of hair away from her face.
Intrigued, Sheila squatted down to face her at eye level. If Diana had something to say, it was probably of some import. Unlike most Kindergarteners, she somehow knew that finding a bug or seeing that latest movie or going to a party at Chuck E Cheez was information that held no interest for grownups. Whatever Diana had on her mind was most likely beyond her age level of maturity. “What is it?”
“Papá likes you.”
The words seemed to hang in the air like icicles. What kind of “like” did Diana mean, and how on earth would she know?
Sheila decided to blow it off. “That’s nice, sweetie.” She expected the girl to run off and play, now that she’d unburdened herself, but instead, Diana stood as firm as she could against the wind.
Forehead creased in worry, she asked, “Should I tell him that you already like somebody else? Then he’ll stop liking you.”
Somebody else? Who—
“You mean Mr. Johnson?” Sheila had to suppress the urge to laugh. Before her stood a six-year-old, deeply concerned about Sheila’s love life. But Diana looked as serious as a heart attack as she nodded, and the last thing Sheila wanted to do was to hurt her feelings. “Mr. Johnson and I are good friends, that’s all.”
Diana’s face brightened. “Does that mean you’ll marry Papá?”
Had Miguel actually mentioned marriage and me in the same sentence? No. Diana was like other children her age in one sense, that she had an overactive imagination. She hoped. “No, mija, I’m not going to marry him.”
Diana’s smile faded. “Would you have dinner with him? You know, like novios?”
Now Sheila was beginning to get angry. Was Miguel using his daughter to get to her? Would he stoop so low?
“Tell your father,” Sheila replied, struggling to maintain a professional demeanor, “that I do not want to have dinner with him.”
Diana shrugged, crestfallen. “Okay.”
At that moment, another child rushed up to them. “You’re it!” she cried, tagging Diana.
“Roa-oarrr!” Diana responded, chasing after a laughing and screaming group of children.
Sheila decided on her original ten minutes of recess. She needed a few minutes to get herself together.
* * *
That evening Sheila found herself inside of a Black-Eyed Pea restaurant, searching for Hank. He had told her that he and several people from his church would have dinner there before the 8:00 concert, and that she was welcome to join them. She finally spotted him seated with about ten other people at the back of the restaurant.
As she approached, Hank saw her and smiled, waving her over.
“We’re just about ready to order,” he said, gesturing to an empty chair across from him. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”
Still reeling from her encounter with Diana earlier in the day, she almost had. “Well, here I am,” she replied, glad she had come after all. She really needed to get out more often.
Introductions were made, orders were taken, and conversation flowed steadily around the table. When the piping hot food arrived, the combination of aromas—spices, hot rolls, meat, fresh vegetables—made Sheila’s stomach grumble. She hadn’t realized she was that hungry. She enjoyed the fellowship as she ate. As the meal progressed, she gradually realized she had grown tired of spending most of her evenings and her dinners alone. Maybe she should seek out more companionship. Or was God sending her a signal to get ready for something more?
Numerous times, she caught Hank looking her way, even when he was talking to someone else. He’s probably just checking to make sure I’m comfortable. Or maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see.
Then he looked her way again, and gave her a smile that warmed her clear to her toes. No, she wasn’t just seeing things. And as the evening went on, the feeling of pleasure grew until she felt like she could take off and fly.
Maybe Diana was right. Maybe she did like Hank. More than a friend.
They sat next to each other at the concert, and Sheila couldn’t tell if the ecstatic feelings she was experiencing were from being near Hank or from the presence of God. She’d felt the same way several years ago when the preacher had prayed for her and she fell to the floor.
Lord Jesus, help me. She forced the thoughts aside. She’d come to enjoy the music, not try to plan her future. With a bit of struggling, she managed to maintain her focus on the singers for the rest of the time. When the concert ended, it was past her bedtime, and she was surprised to find that she didn’t feel the least bit tired.
“That was so beautiful,” one of the ladies from Hank’s church said to her as they walked out. “Does anybody else have a let-down feeling, now that it’s over?”
“Amen, sister,” another of the women said.
Sheila said nothing. Inside, she felt like she was soaring, and had to resist the urge to link her arm in Hank’s, who walked beside her.
“Walk you to your car?” he asked, as the others went their separate ways.
“Sure.” The parking lot was full of people mingling, and many of the cars had their brake lights on, waiting for the pedestrians to pass by. Sheila’s excitement suddenly became a knot of dread in her stomach.
They had almost reached her car
when she noticed a toddler walking several feet in front of his parents. They should watch him better. Look at all the cars. She wanted to warn the young couple, to run and snatch up the boy herself.
Then, she froze in horror. At the same moment a van began to back up, the little boy walked into its path. “Watch out!” she screamed, but stood paralyzed to the spot.
But the man heard her, ran toward his son, and caught him up in his arms. The driver of the van apparently saw him, since he abruptly stopped.
In a horrible, wrenching instant of time, another scene flashed before her eyes. It, too, had to do with a small child and a car. Except that she was the driver. And she didn’t stop.
The scene disintegrated like a ball of dust, and Sheila jolted back to the present. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God,” she moaned, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. She was vaguely aware of the driver stepping out of the van to apologize and ask if everybody was all right.
She was slightly more aware of the comforting arm that settled on her shoulders.
“It’s okay, Sheila. Nobody was hurt.”
Not this time. “But. . .it. . .scared me,” she sputtered, trying to control the intense desire to break down. She was overreacting, she knew, and she didn’t want Hank to see it, to question her.
Hank turned her to face him and gazed at her with compassion. “This really upset you.”
Sheila swallowed down a wave of nausea. “I’m okay. Really.” She forced a smile. “I had an exhausting day at school, I’m tired, and—well, I guess I don’t handle frights well when I’m feeling dead on my feet.”
There you go, lying again.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Will you please leave so I don’t have to lie to you anymore? “I’ll see you Monday, okay?”
After Hank walked away, Sheila let herself into her car, laid her head on the steering wheel, and bawled her eyes out. And although the parking lot seemed clear of people by the time she had calmed down, she waited until every car around her had gone. Then she got out of her car, walked all the way around it, and scrutinized the area, making sure there were no little bodies within several yards. The only people she saw were a handful of adults on the other side of the lot. Only then did she get back in her car, turn the key, and pull out of her parking spot.