Just to See You Smile (28 page)

“Joel, this is wonderful.” Britte closed her eyes and inhaled the scents wafting from the forkful of fettuccine Alfredo she held up. “Mmm. Cheese and garlic. Salmon with some kind of honey-mustard sauce. French bread. Salad. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“That fiancée I mentioned? She was studying to become a chef.” He shrugged. “I kind of got hooked on the process when I helped Marti practice.”

“Is she a chef now?”

“I have no idea.” Soft jazz music filled the quiet space. He eyed her over a bite of salmon. Did he detect a waver of disbelief? “Really. It was a long time ago. Remember? I'm much older than you. Lots of water under the bridge. It's like that Bible verse about old things passing away and everything becoming new.”

She smiled. “I keep forgetting how
old
you are.”

And he kept forgetting how young she was, how naïve.

“Joel, what's your family like?”

“Typical middle-class, hardworking. Churchgoing, but not Christ-centered like yours. I'm guessing you were a little girl when you met Jesus?”

“Nine.”

“Then you're ages ahead of me in that department. I was 30 years old.”

“How did it happen?”

Now the junk would come out. He saw the compassion in her eyes and knew she was indeed eons older in a spiritual
sense. Could they ever truly meet on a level playing field? “Britte, it's not a fairy-tale story like yours.”

“I did not grow up in a castle!” Her tone was indignant. “My parents made mistakes. And I haven't been perfect!”

He couldn't help but laugh. “That's a relative term. What's the worst thing you've ever done? Cut class? Gotten a speeding ticket?”

“You know that's not the point. There are no degrees of badness. In God's eyes, if we're angry with a brother we're as guilty as if we've committed murder. But if we have faith in Christ, He sees us as perfect. And one time I had two speeding tickets within a year.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“I'm shocked.”

“I thought you would be.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You don't have to tell me about the worst thing you've ever done.”

He met her blue gaze. “You are one of a kind, Britte Olafsson. For years I've been successfully avoiding feeling too much. Jesus has given me work to do. And like a general, I can disengage the grayness of feelings and deal in the black and white. One, two, three, get it done. Now, every time I look at you, emotions just sort of…explode. Part of me wants to run away so I don't have to deal with them. I don't really know
how
to deal with them.”

A momentary pain registered in her eyes. “Jesus dealt with them. He laughed. He cried.”

“Yeah, but He was perfect.”

“Maybe we could do it together.”

He took her hand still covering his, brought it to his lips, and kissed the palm. Already he had said so much more than he intended, revealed the tip of that unfathomable iceberg
of emotions.
Lord, give me the strength to deal with them when the meltdown comes.

Britte sat on the couch. This time Joel had chosen the recliner, a large one that suited his long frame. The footrest was down. He crossed his legs, ankle to knee, and sipped coffee. They had switched to decaf. The music still played softly. Blinds were shut against the cold night. She could hear the wind howling.

Since kissing her hand, Joel had kept his distance, even while they cleaned the kitchen together. She sensed he was ill at ease after opening up to her. Had he ever discussed emotions before? She doubted it. From what little he had revealed of his family, she deduced that he came from a tradition of stoic, military males. Of course, she had almost guessed that from her own observations. No wonder he had migraines.

He was telling her about becoming a teacher. “That's genetic, too, from my mother's side. She taught for 30 years before retiring. She'd still be teaching if Dad hadn't retired as a mechanic and wanted them to spend more time together. She still volunteers. In the Marines, I liked every aspect of teaching, of bringing order to the chaos of untrained minds. After the service, I went to college. Then I taught high school history for four years. Once I saw how chaotic secondary school environments could be, I went to work on my master's in administration.”

“Let me guess. You became a principal to bring order to the bigger picture.”

He grinned. “Do you know how ridiculous a general looks in a puny classroom?”

She laughed. “Well, you have done a tremendous job of bringing order to Valley Oaks High. You've got my vote.”

“Your vote doesn't count.”

A vague sense of disquiet threaded itself through her chest. “Joel, they'll renew your contract after all the good you've accomplished. It's so obvious what you've done.” They
had
to renew it.

“Some people don't like knowing we've got big-city-type problems at the school.” He shrugged. “If we don't highlight them by attempting to remedy them, then they don't exist. You look like you're going to pop.”

“I might.” Her face felt warm with anger.

He smiled. “Don't worry about it, Miss O. Want some more coffee?”

“No, thanks.” They looked at one another for a moment, and then she prompted, “And so after the Marines you became a Christian?”

“Not immediately. Britte.” He set his cup on the end table and looked at her again. “I was dishonorably discharged.”

“What does that mean?”

“Forfeiture of veteran's benefits. I had a good lawyer; he got the confinement sentence reduced to six months.”

“
Confinement?
As in jail?”

“I was court-martialed for disobeying orders. It's a dishonor that doesn't go away. The school board knows all about it and decided to hire me in spite of it.” He gave her a wry smile. “Other than that, my record was spotless. So to speak. Another relative term.”

“
Did
you disobey orders?”

“Oh, definitely. I was leading a four-man recon team in Kuwait. There were other teams out. Iraqis had been spotted. It was our job to figure out exactly where they were. My team split up. When all was said and done…” His voiced trailed off. She suspected his thoughts skimmed details,
reliving, eliminating what he didn't want to tell her. “One of my guys was wounded. His partner couldn't get him through alone. I was ordered to pull out.” He gave her a tight smile. “We don't leave anyone behind. My partner and I were in a good position to get the other two out. I informed my CO of my decision, told him not to send the chopper. It was getting near dawn. The timing was wrong. The chopper came. A Marine on board was killed picking us up.” His face went blank.

“Joel?”

He blinked.

“I'm sorry.”

He nodded.

“If he hadn't died, would they have given you a medal for saving the other two?”

His chuckle was a dry rumble. “You sound like my dad. Bottom line, I disobeyed orders. Automatic discharge with dishonor.”

In spite of the circumstances,
she wanted to add, but knew that he would not hide behind excuses. Britte set the empty mug she had been clutching on the end table, sickened at the thought of what he had lived through. “Does that make you feel betrayed?”

“Now you sound like Sam, asking questions about my feelings.” His stare and set jaw challenged her.

“I think,” she offered softly, “this is how we deal with your emotions together.”

“You really want to tackle that?”

“Yes. It's called friendship, Joel. I can't have a relationship without being friends. I can't do the man-woman thing without a friendship. Do you want to tackle
that?
”

He propped his elbow on the chair arm and stuck his chin in his hand, quietly studying her for a moment. “You mean get rid of my politically incorrect biases?”

She raised her brows. “If that's what it takes.”

“You drive a hard bargain, lady. Kingsley Marines don't laugh much, and they sure don't cry.”

“All things are possible through Christ.”

He rubbed his chin, the struggle evident on his face. At last he said, “No, I don't feel betrayed. Not anymore. The Corps was my life from the time I could walk. I'd do it all over again. But the aftermath was…ugly. Marti bailed out. I was over the edge, aimless for about a year. Sam's a 'Nam vet. He found me outside the VA hospital, drunk, feeling betrayed. He volunteers at the hospital, but he couldn't get me inside for treatment. He took me home, later kept tabs on me, got me through the rough spots, got me into college in Chicago. All the time talking about Jesus.
He
didn't really sink in for a few years. Not until I saw, truly saw, all that order He brought into this chaotic world. Britte, don't cry.”

She wiped at her eyes.

“It all turned out for the best, Princess. It all turned out for the best.”

Joel watched her trying to compose herself. He gripped the arms of the chair, refusing to comfort her…refusing to give in to the anguish rumbling through his chest like an armored tank. She could cry for the both of them.

“Joel, how can you keep all of that inside of you?”

He couldn't, not without repercussions. There was a tell-tale thumping in the back of his head.

“Joel.” Her voice was a little shaky. “Are you getting a headache?”

“No,” he lied.

She was beside him, pushing his hands from his head, pressing her fingertips against his temples. And then she was kissing his forehead, his cheeks, her tears falling on his face. Her face blurred before him, and then he knew.

The iceberg was melting.

Alec did his best to bolster the kids' festive mood around the dinner table, but each tasteless bite he took intensified the ache in his stomach. His efforts lagged.

The girls took it in stride that Mom wasn't driving on the ice; she'd come home when the storm quit. No big deal. Mom always took care of herself. They saw no reason not to go ahead and eat on the good china in the dining room and use linen napkins. Mom wouldn't mind. She liked special occasions.

Drew laughed with his little sisters. Recovered from his near brush with the need of a tow truck for the second time in one season, he probably was elated as well at the fact that his mother was safe, wherever she was. He would remember the accident; he had been nine at the time.

Elation didn't describe anything near the emotions tearing through Alec. He was disappointed, angry, relieved, upset, frustrated, defeated, seething. The overriding one? He was really ticked off at Anne, the weather, Charlie Manning, and probably God. He wanted to break something.

To divert his attention, he interrupted the discussion about what the kids planned to do if school were canceled tomorrow. “Hey, gang, won't Mom feel bad,” he hoped she would feel extremely bad, “that we had her favorite without her?”

Drew held a taco in front of his mouth. “Favorite? Tacos aren't her favorite.” He took a bite.

“Sure they are.”

He shook his head and mumbled around his mouthful, “They're mine and Mandy's.”

Alec glanced at the girls. They shrugged. “So, Andrew, what is her favorite?”

“Salmon.”

“We never have salmon.”

“Because you three don't like it. Whenever there's salmon on a menu, that's what she orders. And when you're out of town, that's what she fixes for herself. It's not bad, actually.”

Alec stared at his son as the boy stuffed another huge bite into his mouth.
Salmon?

Mandy reached over and patted Alec's arm while glaring at her brother. “Yeah, well, smarty-pants, we baked her favorite dessert. Chocolate cake.”

Drew's laughter turned into a minor choking episode.

Alec gave up all pretense of eating and waited. What else didn't he know about Anne?

Drew gulped water. “Amy, what's Mom got stocked in the freezer downstairs? Those cartons we're not supposed to touch?”

“Ice cream. Praline.”

He gave her a thumbs-up sign. “Mandy, what does Grammy bake for Mom's birthday
every
year?”

“Pecan pie!” She met her brother's high five across the table.

Alec frowned. “I knew that.”

“She doesn't like chocolate, Dad.”

Alec knew that too. He'd just…forgotten.

I wonder if Charlie Manning knows?

Anne spun around the motel room and giggled. Sleet pelted against the window, but her children were safe at
home with their father. She was warm and cozy. And there, under a ceiling light, stood an easel with a blank canvas.

On the way through the parking lot, she had stopped at her car and retrieved warm-up pants, sweat shirt, socks, and athletic shoes. After telling Charlie goodbye and checking into the room, she had immediately filled the bathtub and slipped out of her sweater and slacks. She soaked in the steamy water until the tensions melted away. The thought struck her that the working woman did indeed have time for a bath. Her only regret was she didn't carry bubble bath in her gym bag. Next time she'd be prepared.

At that she had smiled, and then she began to imagine what she would paint.

She went to the phone. Alec would be anxious by now and wondering if they had made it to Charlie's house. On second thought, she should use the cell and not add charges to the room bill. She dug it out of her purse and pressed her home number. The phone at the other end rang and rang. She counted 15 rings and started over again. When the same thing happened, she realized that the phone lines were probably down.

Not uncommon, which was why they had two cell phones. She punched in the number of Alec's and reached his voice mail.

“Hey, mister. I can't get through to the house phone. I suppose it's the storm. I'm at the Stratford Inn next to the store, in room 212. Charlie insists on paying for it. He said he wouldn't want
his
wife staying with another man. And guess what?” She giggled. “I've got an easel and canvas and paints! Right here in the room! I'm going to
paint
. If I can't be home with you all, this is my second choice. Just me and the paints. Call me. I'll keep the cell phone turned on. I love you.”

Anne stared at the blank canvas. “Oh, Father, thank You.”

“Daaad!” Amy whined, stretching the one syllable down the hallway and into the den.

Alec had been staring at the computer screen, pretending to work, pretending his stomach wasn't churning, pretending the image of Anne cooking with that tall artist in that tall artist's kitchen wasn't rerunning in his mind's eye.

He swiveled his head around. “What, Amy?” His tone was sharp.

His daughter didn't seem to notice. “The phone's not working!” she wailed.

Alec yanked the desk phone from its cradle. There was no dial tone. He rubbed his forehead. “It happens, honey. The ice storm—”

“It's not fair!”

No, it's not!
he wanted to scream.
Your mother can't get through! She's hanging out with another man. I don't even know if she tried to call!

“Dad. Can I use your cell phone just this one time? We won't talk long, I promise!”

Cell phone! Where was the cell phone? “Drew!” Alec shouted and rushed out the door and into the family room where his son sat on the couch. “Drew, what'd you do with the cell?”

A sheepish look crossed his face and he jumped up. “It's still in the car. I'll get it.”

“
I'll
get it!” Better to expend his energy going out to the barn rather than throttling the kid.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I know I'm not supposed to—”

Alec shut the kitchen door on his words, walked across the porch, and out the door. He stepped gingerly down the steps, although he had already sprinkled rock salt on them.
The sleet stung his face and felt as if it would penetrate his sweatshirt.

That other night came back to him with a fury. The sheriff had called.
There's been an accident… Your wife will be all right, but she's in shock, bruised. The ambulance is transporting her to the hospital, just to be sure.
Someone witnessed her car leaving the highway and notified the sheriff's office. She wasn't exposed long to the cold. Still, it had taken awhile to extricate her from the crumpled car that had rolled, coming to rest on its side…

Alec entered the barn and flipped on the lights. The two dogs bounded from their warm straw beds, tails wagging. He patted them cursorily and went to Drew's car. After several moments spent checking on top of the seats, below the seats, the floor, the glove box, and the door pockets, he mentally reviewed what being grounded would mean to Drew a second time around in one season.

As he backed out of the car, the small silver phone caught his eye. It was in the backseat. The backseat?!

He retrieved it and turned it on. Nothing happened. Dead battery.

Alec ran his hand across his face. “Okay, Lord. I quit.
You
know where she is.
You
know what she's doing.
You
take care of her. Please. Keep her,” he took a deep breath, “keep her from driving home in this.”