Just to See You Smile (21 page)

Late Saturday night after the reception, Britte and Isabel sat on the carpet amidst pillows in front of the fireplace in Britte's living room. The gas log emitted more glow than heat, but it added a cozy ambience along with the Christmas tree's twinkle lights. They wore flannel pajamas and munched from a large bowl of popcorn.

“Oh, Britte.” Isabel's caramel eyes and auburn hair shone in the soft light. “It was so great seeing everyone. I miss living here. Sort of.” She winked.

“Sort of. I take it Tony has something to do with the ‘sort of' remark?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” She laughed. “It's so kind of your parents to let him stay at the farm.”

“It's so kind of him not to mind. With Lia's parents and Chloe staying at your old house and Cal's mom at his place, there wasn't much of a choice. There's enough space for you out there, too, you know, but I'm glad you're here instead.”

“Of course you are.” Isabel raised an arm, bending it at the elbow and placing a fist against her forehead. “I'm well known for my bodyguard prowess.”

Britte laughed. “Thank goodness Cal took care of that need before he left town.”

“Good old Cal, the cop. I never would have imagined him romantic enough to plan a honeymoon in Hawaii.”

“I was impressed. It was as good as Brady's surprise Caribbean cruise.”

“Do you think they did their planning together?”

“You know they did, Isabel. Those two talk about everything. So which honeymoon would you prefer?”

“Mmm, I'd probably choose Mexico.” Isabel smiled. “Tony would like that.”

“Is it serious, then?”

“It's…progressing. Beautifully progressing, step-by-step. He's growing in his faith. We see each other about three times a week. He's attentive, but not pushy. In a way, we picked up where we left off in college, but in another way everything between us is brand new.”

Britte's throat felt dry. “I'm happy for you. And envious.” Isabel reached over and patted her arm. “But we know how to be single, right, Britte?”

“Right. Jesus is with me, and no human could replace Him or love me like He does. He keeps me from being
unbearably lonesome. I think I'm feeling the envy because of all the wedding stuff and— Oh, I don't want to go there.”

“Joel Kingsley.” It was a statement.

Britte stared at her.

“It showed.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

“It couldn't have. He wasn't even at the reception.”

“Things were sizzling in the receiving line.”

“No way.”

Isabel smiled apologetically. “'Fraid so. And I know it's not my imagination, else you wouldn't be blushing right now. So, 'fess up. What have I missed in five short weeks?”

“Adrenaline and Christmas magic.”

“Huh?”

“Isabel, I think it's
my
imagination. I mean, I thought something clicked between us. I finally admitted that I was— had been—attracted to him.” She relayed the details of the confrontation in Joel's office, of being together Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. “It was probably just because we spent so much time together. We were both alone. I needed a knight in shining armor. He was available. He kissed me Christmas night, outside in one of those wondrous snowfalls. We kissed a few times.” She stretched out on her back, on the floor, and groaned loudly. “And now he's out of town. Legitimate excuse, but the timing isn't.”

“Fire-breathing coach wants her man
right
now.”

“Isabel!”

“Well, my goodness, Britte. It sounds as if things just started developing about a
week
ago. Give it some time.”

“I saw it in his face. Things aren't going anywhere. There's something else going on in his life.”

“Tell me about him.”

Britte sat up. “He's whipped the school back into shape. The community at large still isn't sure about him. He steps on toes, but he gets results. I don't think there's marijuana exchanging hands in the rest room anymore.”

Isabel wrinkled her nose. “I keep hoping Valley Oaks is innocent. Wasn't Joel in the military?”

“Marines, for eight years. He's lived all over the world. He doesn't talk much about it.” They exchanged a look. “He's old enough for Desert Storm.”

“Bingo.”

“What do you mean?”

“My oldest brother was there, with the army. He doesn't sleep well. And he doesn't talk much about it.”

Britte felt suddenly tired, as if the plug had just been pulled on her reservoir of energy. “Well, it doesn't matter. He's like the other principals. He won't be around long.”

“But it does matter. You care about him, don't you?”

She fingered the necklace chain and smiled softly. “I admire him. I wish he would stay. And…at some point in every conversation with him, I'm at a loss for words.”

Isabel howled with laughter. “That never happens!”

“Exactly.”

“Then don't give up so easily. If he's lived all over the world, he's probably got some great ideas for a honeymoon destination!”

Anne eyed Alec over the large menu. He was fidgeting like a six-year-old. But then, that was Alec's way whenever his meticulously planned agenda was disrupted. He thought she'd been teasing about New Year's Eve dinner out, just the two of them, before chaperoning the church youth lock-in at the Community Center. Now, admitting that his discomfort might not go away, she wondered if she should have pushed for the date. After all the energy poured into prepping the kids—laundry, packing, timetable—and calling a long list of restaurants, she wasn't so sure she wanted to be there either.

But something had driven her to force the issue of spending time alone together. Some innate sense said that healthy marriages required maintenance. Theirs was past due for an overhaul.

“Pasta will put me to sleep,” Alec grumped.

“So have the antipasto salad.” She winked at him. The Italian Village in Rockville was the only place that could squeeze them in before ten o'clock. Well, not counting the Rib House in Valley Oaks. The choice had come down to cozy booths or an open room of tables peopled with acquaintances.

“Their ravioli is pretty good. Maybe I can grab some court time with one of the other dads and run it off.” After placing their orders, he pulled out his pocket calendar.

“Alec, this is supposed to be a date. As in
romance
.”

“But we only have an hour, and then we have to spend the night with a bunch of teenagers.”

“So? Isn't a little romance better than none?”

He smiled, his cinnamon eyes crinkling. “How about a little practical catch-up talk about our life? Isn't that romantic?”

She glanced around the dining room, fighting the sense that she was sinking in mire.

“Once I go back to the office on Tuesday and we're both working full-time—”

“I'm part-time. The holidays are over. No more Saturdays for me, and I can be home soon after the girls get there.”

“Then there's basketball.”

“Only four more weeks. Well, not counting assisting Britte at regionals.”

“You'll go beyond that tournament, don't you think?”

“Probably.” She did not want to talk about Britte and basketball tonight.

The waiter slid salads before them.

“Anne, your financial contribution is really helping.”

“It must be. I didn't hear you complaining about the prices here.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I'm sorry I get so overdone about money.”

“I'm glad I can help, but the house is a pit.”

“I don't even notice it.”

“So you're saying that when I kept things neat and orderly, it didn't matter?”

He squinted, a sheepish look crossing his face. “No. I just didn't want to lay a guilt trip on you. Truthfully? The house is a pit, and the schedules are driving me bananas. I don't know how you did it all.”

“Thank you.”

“Annie, I always appreciated what you did, even though I didn't always tell you.”

“I know, but it's good to hear it now and then. Well, the tough stuff hasn't even started yet. There are some school holidays coming up. Martin Luther King Jr. Day, teachers institute, Lincoln's birthday, Casimir Pulaski Day, etcetera. I don't like the thought of leaving the kids alone.”

He eyed the calendar laying open on the table beside his salad plate. “The first one looks like Monday, the fifteenth. I'll take that day off. I'm sure the office can get along without me, considering my duties haven't changed for January. Or February, for that matter.”

She heard the disappointment in his voice. “Alec, are you going to be all right with work?”

“You mean, will I be obnoxious and vocal about this grudge I have?”

She smiled. “That's putting it succinctly.”

“I'll be civil. No, I want to be more than civil, more than just grin and bear it. I have to believe that God has a reason for this.”

“We know He does. Maybe it's me working.”

“But that's temporary. Won't the lady with the baby be back after six weeks?”

“Eight. But you know how new mommies are. I think she's able to stay home, like I was. She may choose that.” She smiled. “She brought the baby in on Friday. She loves being at home, I could tell.”

“Just like you did, huh? Once we get over this financial hump, we shouldn't need your paycheck. Things will even out again. I'll get that car for Drew next week. He'll be getting a job after the season; he can help out with gas and insurance.”

“Alec, I like working.”

“Maybe Lia could have you come in more often at the pharmacy.”

Anne shook her head. “Her new assistant runs circles around what Dot used to do. And Chelsea Chandler is there every day. What I'm saying is, I
like
working at the art store.”

“But you liked being at home.”

“I did, but now I've smelled the paints again. Alec, you pushed me into this—”

“I pushed you? You went and applied for a job. It was a mutual decision.”

“Well, so to speak, mister. According to you, our future was pretty bleak. I thought we could get by, but I trusted your judgment over mine because I don't pay too close attention to our finances. We both know you're smarter than I am in that area. The point is, honey, I'm glad it happened.” She smiled. “I want to paint again. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shook his head slightly. “I keep looking for Annie, but this stranger keeps popping up.”

“And? Do you like her?”

“I don't know her.”

“Do you like my hair?”

“I, uh, I'm getting used to it.”

“Mandy is so much like you.”

“How's that?”

“If it's not written in her little calendar, it's not supposed to happen.” She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Alec, write this down. Your wife is sprouting wings.”

Alec drove them home from Rockville while Anne snoozed. She had eaten a plateful of fettuccine Alfredo as well as tiramisu. At least that side of her was familiar, grabbing the
moment and squeezing everything she could from it. If the two of them were having dinner at a restaurant on New Year's Eve, then by golly it was a special one and should be treated as such, no matter what the next moment was scheduled to bring, according to the calendar.

Her calendar remarks annoyed him. It was her polite way of telling him to deal with it. He didn't like to be told to deal with it. He'd rather negotiate.

Take her working, for example. Shouldn't they decide together whether or not, say next month, it'd be best if she cut back her work hours? Evidently she wasn't planning on quitting the art store. He didn't know how long he could put up with unmatched socks, a coffee pot hidden behind stacks of dirty dishes, routinely running out of bread and milk and laundered shorts. And all this while he and the kids were on vacation!

He'd seen other wives sprout wings. They were the divorced women in his office, the ones with fancy haircuts who couldn't care less if hubby's socks were folded together according to style and color.

This wasn't what God intended for them, was it?

Joel pulled his car alongside a snowbank-covered curb on Second Avenue, braked, and turned off the headlights. Britte's house was just across the street. Her curtains were drawn against the night, but lamplight shown through from her living room window.

He reminded himself of a lovesick teenager sitting there outside a girl's home with the engine running, undecided about his next move. It was after eight o'clock, Monday night. On his way home from Chicago, he had entered Valley Oaks and turned right instead of left, which put him at Britte's instead of his condo.

It had been a rough two days with his aunt and uncle… and Sam. Sam more so than his family.

Sam was 62, but his sparse gray hair and hunched back gave him the appearance of at least 70 years. He was a husband, a father and grandfather, an ex-Marine, a Vietnam vet. In his spare time he hung out at the VA Hospital. His “Volunteer” name tag gave him the necessary official capacity. Twenty minutes after meeting the guy, the white slash of a scar down his right cheek faded from view, as did his deformed shoulders. In their imperfect place Jesus appeared, dispensing grace and mercy, wisdom and forgiveness.

Yesterday Joel had complained to him about the recurring headaches and sleeplessness.

“What's her name?” he had asked.

“I told you about Nicky.”

“It's more, Joel. I know you. You're always protecting that heart of yours.”

“Britte. Britte Olafsson.”

The old man had smiled.

“And it's Jesus who has my heart. That's what you taught me.”

“Aw, son, that doesn't mean you disengage your emotions. I've told you that time and time again.”

“Engaging means headaches, and so on and so forth.”

“What's your point?”

“I can't function that way. I can't do the work He's given me to do.”

Sam had studied his face for long moments, his expression unreadable. “This Britte may be the only way you'll get rid of the headaches and so on and so forth.” He reached over and patted Joel's cheek. “I can't tell you how. When it's time, you'll know. Come on. Let's go do my rounds.”

When it's time, I'll know what?

Joel watched her house as if it would give him an answer, but he reminded himself that he knew better.

“Lord, I feel something for this girl. This woman. I don't know what to do with it. I know, though, what I can't do with it. I can't function at 100 percent. That aside, she's a hometown girl. I don't know how long I'll be here. There's no future in a relationship, not that we can even pursue one in the first place. It'd be another community black mark against me if I took her to dinner. And so I guess I'm asking that You'd help me…distance myself. And get back to work.”

He should get out and knock on her door and nip it in the bud right now, tonight. But they would be in her house and he would look into those blue eyes and maybe he would change his mind. If he went through with it, there was a chance she would be upset and explode like some emotional
land mine. He would lose the night. He couldn't afford to lose another one.

No, tomorrow was better. At school. She'd be less likely to get distraught in public. He wouldn't be tempted to hold her, to kiss her.

There. It was settled. He turned on his headlights and pushed the gearshift into drive.

Christmas break had been abnormally short due to some school-year schedule changes. On Tuesday, the first day back, Britte wasn't sure she was ready. She walked across the commons, attaché bag in hand, unzipping her jacket and pretending her two bites of cereal weren't rumbling in her stomach. It was early, but not her usual early. Other teachers were in the building. Through the glass walls of the office, she could see Lynnie…and Joel.

Britte had struggled this morning. Correction. The struggle began yesterday as she put away Christmas things and prepared to return to routine life. About 2 A.M. the realization struck her that she was afraid. That's all there was to it. Fear was not her style, and it certainly wasn't her Lord's style.

At least she had fallen asleep after that. Recognizing the problem, admitting it, and praying about it was half the battle. The other half, of course, was walking into the school.

Joel spotted her now. He raised a hand in greeting, all the while conversing with Lynnie.

Okay. Back to routine in
that
department…the Joel-mystery department. Maybe Christmas didn't happen.

She walked with a purposeful step down the hallway toward her classroom. Ethan suddenly appeared at the
intersection with the other hall. For a split moment, her breath stopped, and then it rushed back into her lungs.

“Hey, Britte. Welcome back.”

She swallowed. “Thanks. How was Colorado?”

He fell into step beside her. “Great. Super skiing. How was the wedding?”

“Great. Beautiful. Tearful. Fun.” She unlocked her classroom door and hesitated. The last time she was inside, she couldn't string three words together.

Ethan reached around her and pulled open the door. “Welcome back,” he repeated.

She went inside and turned on the lights.

“You doing okay?”

She chuckled weakly. “Yes and no. Cal thinks Jordan's little brother was responsible. He's a freshman.”

“You're kidding.”

She shook her head and dropped her things onto her desk. “Your face looks fine. Changing subjects, how'd the tournament go?”

“Not so good. Two-three.” She picked up a sheet of paper and began reading notes that the substitute teacher had written for her.

“Hey, Britte.”

She looked up. “What?”

“Things will get better. Okay?”

“Sure.” She didn't bother to tell him the rest of the story.

There was a knock on the open door. She turned and saw Joel standing there.

“Morning, Britte. Ethan. Just checking in. You all right, Miss O?”

“I'll be a lot better once people stop asking me that.”

The men exchanged a look, and Ethan said, “Sounds like she's back to normal.”

“That it does. See you later.” He ducked back out into the hall.

Had that man really kissed her eight days ago? Maybe there wasn't any rest of the story to tell.

He owed her an explanation. Of some sort.

Joel walked across the commons, Britte's coaching voice nearly at full volume even through the closed gym doors. He discreetly opened one wide enough to slip inside and sat on the nearest bleacher.

Her back to him, she gathered the panting girls around her, like a hen with her chicks. They all sat on the floor, Britte along with them. He couldn't decipher what she was saying in low tones. The back of her red T-shirt was dark, damp with perspiration. She must have scrimmaged with the team. Earlier he had noticed Anne leave with her sophomores, evidently cutting her practice short in order to get to the evening's boys game on time in another town.

Britte dismissed the girls now, turned, and spotted him. She didn't hurry over.

The girls trailed out past him, calling greetings. When the door closed on the last one, he joined Britte halfway down the stretch of bleachers where she was changing her shoes, one athletic pair for another.

“Rough practice?”

She glanced up. “You know it. First day of the new year is rough on all of us. I'm surprised the boys have a game tonight.” She stood and pulled on her jacket.

“Glitch in the scheduling system. How did your day go?”

“It went.” She blinked and her expression softened in a subtle way. “Sorry. Fire-breathing coach converts to civil
teacher. The day went well. It's good to be back. How was your weekend? Any word on your cousin?”

“No, which is good news. If he'd been hurt or captured, we would have heard, but try telling that to his mother.”

“I can't imagine. Did you put your mother through that?”

“All the Kingsley women have been put through that. Joining the Marines is genetic. My dad served, my younger brother served. My uncle, Nicky's dad, was in 'Nam. My grandfather was in World War II. Another cousin in Bosnia.”

“And you? Besides living all over the world?”

His eight-year stint had taken him to U.S. embassies in Latin America and Europe. And… “The Persian Gulf.”

“During Desert Storm?”

He nodded.

“I'm sorry.”

He forced himself to meet those eyes now brimming with compassion. “It's life. Are you going to the game?”

“Of course. You? Of course you are. You're wearing your royal blue shirt and ‘new' yellow tie.”

“Gotta keep stacking up those way-cool points with the kids.”

“Oh, you're set there, Mr. Kingsley.”

Unfortunately, the student population didn't vote on renewing contracts. “Walk you to your car?”

A brief smile played at her lips. “Thanks.”

They left the gym and headed across the commons. “Britte, if you were a guy, I'd just casually suggest we ride together to the game.”

“Likewise if you were a woman.”

They were treading softly, trying to avoid tripping the land mine. He followed her through the doors to the parking lot. “Too many eyes are watching right now. I don't think it's going to work.”

She pointed her key chain at the car and popped the locks. “Oh, I agree. Too many eyes, too many what-ifs. Unnecessary complications.”

He opened the car door for her.

She threw in her attaché and slid behind the wheel. “Thank you, Mr. Knight.”

“You're welcome. Princess.”

She gave him a thumbs-up as he shut the door.

Oblivious to the cold, he watched her drive away. Good. No explosion. They'd reached an agreement on their nonrelationship without tripping any land mines.