But not by myself, Lord, please. A feeling of desperation overwhelmed her, and she was unable to keep from voicing the thought that had been plaguing her for several days. “He hasn’t even looked at me for two weeks.”
Margaret stopped. “What?”
Sheila chuckled. “Sorry. Guess you haven’t been privy to the conversation between me and myself the last few minutes.”
Margaret smiled, and pointed to a nearby bench. As they sat down, Margaret put her arm around Sheila, and the pain she’d been carrying suddenly rose up and poured out in a torrent. Margaret drew her closer, saying nothing. Several minutes later, Sheila pulled away to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, ignoring the stare of a little boy holding his mother’s hand as they passed them.
They rose together in silence, and headed for Margaret’s car a block away. After a few steps, Margaret stopped Sheila with a touch on the arm. Though she still smiled, her gaze had turned somber.
“Sheila, just remember that many waters cannot quench love. Cling to that.”
Sheila nodded. Lord, thank You for this wise friend. Bless her—
Her prayer was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream, accompanied by the sound of screeching brakes. Sheila felt all the blood drain out of her face as she and Margaret stepped off the sidewalk to peer down the street.
A middle-aged man jumped out of a white Cadillac as a young woman was kneeling in front of the bumper. Sheila began to run toward the scene. Had the woman been hurt? As she approached the car, she was able to make out the whole view.
A little girl lay on the pavement in front of the car.
Sheila lurched to a stop, and felt her stomach flip. No, God, no, this didn’t happen. I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing. But the evidence before her mocked her denial, her worst memory in living color. The past pain she thought had finally grown dull and distant overwhelmed her with its piercing strength.
Whirling around, she began running blindly down the sidewalk, ignoring Margaret’s pleas to stop. She ran until she was out of breath, heaving and sobbing. Looking up, she found herself in front of the café again. Five outdoor tables sat empty, and she plopped into one of the chairs, putting her head down on the cold plastic surface in front of her. A few minutes later, she felt a touch on her arm.
“Sheila, she’s okay. The little girl—she wasn’t even hit. She just became frightened and fell down.”
Sheila lifted her head. “Only because I wasn’t behind the wheel.”
Margaret sat next to her. “What?”
The truth poured out of her in a torrent of words. “Margaret, I’ll understand if you hate me. Just before I graduated from college, I ran over my cousin’s four-year-old daughter. I was backing out of the driveway, and I couldn’t see well behind me. The sun was blinding me. And it was a stick shift, and I still wasn’t used to it, and I hit the gas more than I needed to—”
Sheila broke down again, falling into Margaret’s arms like a baby.
“Oh, Sheila, honey, and you’ve been carrying this around all these years?” Margaret’s voice shook with compassion as she stroked Sheila’s back. “I don’t hate you. And you know God doesn’t hold it against you.”
“No,” Sheila agreed, sniffling, “not God. Only most of my family.” Sheila sucked in a breath and tried to stop crying, to no avail.
When her tears finally subsided and she pulled away from Margaret, her friend asked, “Is that why you moved to Texas? To get away from—all that?”
Sheila nodded. “And it worked. Until Diana showed up in my class. Lighten her hair and her complexion a couple shades, and she could be Lorena’s twin.”
Margaret’s eyes grew wide. “Wow.” She shook her head. “I believe that’s why God had me invite you here this week. You couldn’t be free to serve the Lord without getting that out of your system.”
Sheila sat back. Was it out of her system? She concentrated on the painful memory, making herself see the scene again. It still hurt, but something was different.
The condemnation. The feeling of condemnation was gone.
The revelation brought more tears to her eyes, only this time, they flowed down her cheeks as rivers of joy.
* * *
Sheila hunted Hank down the Monday after Spring Break ended to give him one more chance to at least be open to the whole missionary concept.
What if he says, “Great. Have a nice life”?
Sheila refused to let the thought torment her. I’ll go anyway.
Except for brief glimpses of him across the room at faculty meetings, Sheila had seen very little of Hank the past few weeks. When he looked up from his desk after she knocked on the door frame, he looked surprised and, for some reason, guilty.
Their conversation was short and sour.
“I’m leaving for Zimbabwe as soon as school gets out.”
“For how long?”
“I’m putting in my resignation from the district after Spring Break.”
She could have cut the tension in the room with a chainsaw. For several long seconds Hank looked away, down, out the window, anywhere but at her. When he finally did look at her again, he gave her a tight smile that did not reach his eyes. “I wish you all the best.”
He might as well have thrown a harpoon through her. She considered arguing, pleading, even telling him she thought she loved him. But his set jaw relayed the message loud and clear: he had nothing more to say. In fact, he abruptly turned his head down toward the papers on his desk, dismissing her.
But she couldn’t give up. Not just yet. “Hank, won’t you even—”
“Look, it wouldn’t work.” He glanced back at her, eyes full of regret. “I can’t do it. Now, would you please leave and stop making it so hard on both of us?”
A surge of anger rushed through her, and she had to fight the temptation to spew out any number of caustic replies. She pivoted on her heel and made a beeline for the stairway, eyes burning. She wasn’t sure if she was angry at his refusal to reconsider, or the way he had spoken to her. He had never been anything but gentle toward her before, and his rudeness had caught her by surprise. He hadn’t even given any indication of wanting to continue a friendship with her, or asked for her contact information in Africa.
As she grabbed the stair railing, she made a decision. She would never fall for a man again. She couldn’t stand the pain.
* * *
Hank had to restrain himself from running after her. He knew he’d hurt her deeply, but he didn’t see an easier way to make a clean break from Sheila. The horrible irony of the whole thing was that she now felt about him the way he’d hoped she would a couple months earlier. He knew she must. Why else would she be coming to his door after he’d avoided her for a month? Only now, he regretted ever getting involved with her. For his sake as well as hers.
Besides, after what happened during the past week, he’d grown more convinced that Sheila was not “the one.”
He’d spent most of Spring Break with Barbara.
CHAPTER 17
The pain was becoming sharper, more unbearable every day. Miguel didn’t have a lot of time left, and he knew he had to act fast. His only problem was, how was he to get her to go out with him? As far as he knew, she was still seeing that other teacher, and even if she wasn’t, the cultural and economic differences separated them like a valley in the Grand Canyon.
The other thing was his sister. He’d told Rosa that he liked Sheila Carson—very much—and when he asked her if she thought there was any chance of the teacher going on a date with him, Rosa had replied, “About as much chance as the devil being elected Pope.”
Nevertheless, there he was, trudging down the sidewalk in the early spring drizzle. His boss was likely going to yell at him for being late, but he didn’t care. He needed to do what he needed to do. Rounding the corner, the half-a-century-old brick building suddenly loomed ahead of him. He stopped. He stared. Was he crazy? Sheila Carson was most certainly going to reject him. Ninety-nine percent chan
ce, he reasoned, giving himself better odds than his sister had.
But there was that one percent. He took a deep breath. I have to try. Teeth gritted in determination, he continued his path toward the school.
* * *
Sheila liked to get to school early. Even if she had prepared for the day the afternoon prior, she felt more together and centered if she was able to spend about a half an hour in her room before picking up her kids. Except to let Margaret in to chat and pray with her, she resented any intrusion on her time, so when someone knocked on her door at 7:40, she ignored it.
For about five seconds. Then the knock was suddenly insistent and demanding, almost pounding. She would have continued to ignore it, except that she always left her window shades halfway up, and a parent could have peeked in and discovered she was in her room. If so, they likely wouldn’t give up.
Sighing in exasperation, she dropped the marker in her hand and went to the door and opened it. She stepped back in surprise when she saw who it was, then smiled.
“Rosa, how nice to see you! Please come in.” Since helping Diana’s aunt return to Fort Worth last year, Sheila had only seen her on sporadic occasions to pick up Diana, who usually went home with a neighbor.
Rosa walked in, flashing a nervous smile. “Thank you. I know you’re busy. I won’t be long.”
She shifted her legs and glanced away, and Sheila grew suspicious. Was she about to ask her for money or something?
She immediately felt a twinge in her gut. Sorry, Lord. If that’s what Rosa wanted, Sheila would give it to her with a cheerful attitude and not worry about it.
Finally Rosa’s gaze settled back on her. “I. . .I have a strange favor to ask.”
“What is it?” The little she’d talked with Rosa, Sheila knew her to be a bold, straightforward person. Now, she seemed hesitant, almost afraid to speak her mind.
“I know you’re a Christian woman, and Christians don’t go out to clubs and such, but—” her next words came out in a flurry— “a new Latino club just opened and there’s a great band playing there this Friday and I’d really like to go except that Eddie—that’s my boss—don’t like for his girls to go out alone in case someone recognizes them and tries to—well, you know—and I don’t have a date so I was wondering if you’d come with me you don’t have to drink or nothing and if we leave early enough the smoke won’t bother you at all.”
Sheila stared at her as she stopped to take several panting breaths. Was this woman for real? Sheila’d never been in a club in her life, and she was a teacher, for goodness sake. What if someone found out about it? The very thought of going into a nightclub made her uncomfortable. She would never—
Go.
What?
Go with her.
Every once in a while, Sheila wanted to accuse God of being insane. This was one of those times. But she knew it was His voice, and that she had to obey it.
Rosa misunderstood the long, pregnant pause. “Of course you don’t want to go. It was crazy of me to ask—”
“I’ll go.”
The crestfallen look on Rosa’s face lifted. “Really?”
Sheila didn’t have time to answer, because another knock came at the door. She and Rosa looked at each other. Now what? She opened the door. If she had been surprised to see Rosa standing there, she reeled at the sight of Diana’s father.
“Buenos días—Rosa, what are you doing here?”
Rosa shot him a look that Sheila couldn’t read, then told her, “I’ll pick up Diana today, and give you details later, okay? Miguel, come outside. We need to talk about something.”
Sheila watched in amusement as Rosa ignored her brother’s sputtered protests, pulling him outside the room by the hand and closing the door behind her. Sheila waited for Miguel to come back, and when he didn’t, felt utterly relieved. The bell rang, and when she left to get her class, neither of the Manriquezes were anywhere to be found.
* * *
“I got you a date with Miss Carson.”
Miguel blinked. “What?” He huddled with his sister under the umbrella that she had thought to bring.
“Okay, not really a date, but let’s just say she’ll be your captive audience, how’s that?”
As she explained what she’d just done, Miguel shook his head in wonder. “But I thought you—”
“I know, the devil elected Pope. I still think you won’t get anywhere with her. But at least you’ll get to talk to her.” She nodded at the formidable building behind them. “About other things besides Diana, I mean.”
What irony. The very reason he hoped to get closer to Sheila Carson was for Diana’s sake. But Rosa didn’t know that, hopefully would never find it out. Not until he had been gone awhile, anyway.
Miguel scowled. “But I was about to—”
“Make a complete fool of yourself.” Rosa laughed. “Do you really think she’d have gone if you had asked her?”
Miguel wished that he could honestly say yes. That he believed Miss Carson would have looked past. . .everything and agreed to go out with him.
“The devil and the Pope,” he muttered, trying to ignore the searing pain that tore into his side.
* * *
He’d felt guilty about it. And that annoyed the fire out of him.
Even if he and Sheila had not had that missionary rift between them, it wasn’t like they were in some sort of exclusive relationship. He was a free man. He could see whoever he wanted.
Still, every day that Hank had spent with Barbara during Spring Break, he’d had to expend at least some mental energy in pushing back condemning thoughts that told him he was somehow being disloyal to Sheila.
Why they came back to him full force that drizzly, chilly morning, he had no idea. He slammed the car door shut and half ran to the school entrance to avoid getting wet. As usual, he’d arrived just in time to pick up his class and escort them to his classroom before the tardy bell rang. As usual, he hadn’t organized his materials for the day, and began to rummage through the stacks on his desk for teacher manuals and worksheets while the students read silently.
But not like usual, he took twenty instead of ten minutes to get everything ready, because he kept wondering how his vacation would have been different if he had been with Sheila instead of Barbara. At one point, he grew so exasperated with his lack of control over his mind that he let out an audible groan that set his class to giggling.
“Are you okay, Mr. Johnson?” the most serious girl in his class asked with sincere concern.
“Just fine,” he replied, forcing a grin. The girl went back to her reading, and he went back to his ruminating self-torment. Like scenes flashing in a slideshow, he saw himself having lunch with Barbara at the most popular tamale restaurant in town, taking in a movie, visiting the zoo, and watching the daily cattle roundup downtown. He couldn’t say that he’d been dating her that week, since Barbara had clearly stated her purpose for coming up: “I want to do some more catching up, and see if we can’t reestablish what we had before,” meaning a close friendship. However, neither could he deny the romantic feelings he began to have toward her sometime Wednesday afternoon.
They’d been laughing over a cup of cappuccino, so this time, Hank didn’t have to wonder if he was just sympathizing over female grief. This time, he felt no confusion over his emotions. But if the feelings had been mutual, she had given no signals. Which surprised him, given the tone of her last letter, which hinted at wanting more than just friendship.
He bumped a stack of ungraded papers with his elbow and sent them flying to the floor. More snickers arose from faces hidden behind book covers as the serious girl and another conscientious student rushed to the front to pick up the mess.
Then another scene flashed across his mind, only this time it was live-action.
“I’m going to ask you a crazy question,” Barbara said while they sipped an iced tea at the Log Cabin Village on Friday afternoon, “and pray it doesn’t make you mad.”
Hank
jerked his head up. He was a live-and-let-live kind of cowboy, rarely taking offense at anything, and Barbara knew that better than anybody. He grinned at her. “Must be a tough one.”
Barbara sipped her tea, giving him a sideways glance. “It’s not exactly your favorite topic of discussion. But I promise it’s the last I’ll ever mention it.”
The plane crash. That had to be what she meant. He almost shut her down at that point, but a small voice inside told him to hear her out. His grin faded. “Okay, then. Shoot.”
“Remember the envelope?”
The envelope. The envelope? “You mean the one I found on the floor of. . .the plane?”
“Yes.” Barbara bit her lip, eyebrows knit together in worry.
“What about it?”
“Do you still have it?”
“Who cares?”
“Hank.” Barbara’s fearful gaze became a glare. “It belonged to somebody.”
A half dozen sarcastic retorts flashed through Hank’s mind, but he kept them to himself. He knew she wouldn’t have even brought up the subject if it didn’t hold some importance to her, and he wasn’t about to belittle it.
He shrugged. “I think my parents have it somewhere.”
Barbara took a deep breath, and her expression softened. “After our lunch together on Christmas Eve, for some reason that memory came out of the blue. I ignored it for a while, but it kept popping up in my mind like a weed. When it finally occurred to me to pray about it, I really feel like the Lord was telling me that you needed to find it.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “There. I said it. Now you can do whatever you want with it.”
Hank had not responded, although now, as he watched the two girls neatly stack the papers onto his desk, he recalled how he’d wanted to respond.
He would never do anything about it. Why pour salt on an open wound? And why on earth would I need to find the envelope at this late date?
He lay the question aside as he flipped to the math lesson for later that afternoon. He didn’t have time to deal with it. He had a class to teach.
CHAPTER 18
The cloud of smoke hanging in the night club assaulted Sheila’s nose as soon as she walked in the door. And this isn’t supposed to bother me? Sheila took a shallow breath. She should have known better. Rosa was used to cigarette smoke, and probably didn’t even notice it during the later hours when a club would become packed.