The Isaac Project (2 page)

I slid into the driver’s seat, deposited the cake on top of the quilt, and then gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. Where were the keys? Shaking hands glided keys along the ring. Slip. They landed with a taunting thump. An animalistic cry tore from my chest. There went my Mario Andretti getaway.

A tapping sound to my left crept its way into my consciousness. Now what? I sniffed and wiped at my burning eyes. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, but it didn’t look like I would get the luxury of a choice. Taking a shaky breath, I turned and peered into the face that would forever haunt me—dark wavy brown hair, milk-chocolate eyes, and the most kissable lips. Well, someone else thought so too. I sighed and turned the crank, lowering the window. My spine straightened, and I pushed my shoulders back with each revolution.

Love at first sight was a myth, and the way my traitorous heart reacted to the man before me, it seemed one couldn’t fall out of love in a single moment, either.

Seconds ticked by. Why hadn’t he said anything yet? The scene from Ernie’s Feed and Seed played over and over in my mind. Love sifted from my heart and hardened like the ground under the hot desert sun.

James ran his fingers through his hair. A sure sign of discomfort.

Well good. I wasn’t exactly enjoying the moment either.

“Becky, darlin’,” James drawled.

I cringed at the endearment.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t plan on it happening. You have to believe me.” He moved as if to reach out and touch me but then dropped his hand back to his side.

Wow. Common sense. Who knew he’d have some in that thick skull of his.
      “One thing led to another and, well, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Even he knew a lame excuse when he heard one.
      I refused to spout a how-could-you diatribe. To belittle and embarrass myself further with an ugly public scene. This was a small town. The news of James’s betrayal… I shook my head. Wagging tongues would burn ears over this one. Ernie’s wife was at the head of the gossip ladder, and I was sure she didn’t wait a blink of an eye before sharing this juicy tidbit. I didn’t need to add further fuel to the gossiping fires. I had my dignity. What little I could salvage, anyway.

“Good-bye, James,” I clipped. As he stepped away from the truck, I rolled up the window and drove off.
      Had there been any signs to his duplicity? Was I just a blind and naïve fool? I sucked in a breath. Had he ever loved me?

Lady waited, her tail wagging, as I entered the house. Loyalty personified. I should have stuck with dogs instead of men to begin with.

I sat Poppy’s cake on the counter and then sank to my knees and wrapped my arms around Lady’s furry neck. Hot breath panted against my ear, and her quick tongue lashed out in a slobbery kiss. My lips wobbled a small smile. Okay, maybe my
entire
life wasn’t shattered.

Pushing myself back up to my feet, I beelined it to the freezer. Cake wasn’t for another three hours. I needed my favorite ice cream
now
. Ah, Cherry Garcia. Comfort food in all its caloric glory. Large serving spoon and cell phone in hand, I collapsed onto the couch and pulled my knees up close to my chest, hugging them. I swiped the screen and tapped the green icon on the bottom corner. Lisa’s name blipped on the screen. Putting the phone to my ear, I counted the rings.
      “Hello?”
      “Lisa, it’s Becky.” That was all I managed to get out before I lost it again. Good grief. Just when I thought my eyes were finally dry. I’d better get it pulled together before I had to leave for Grandview. This was Poppy’s birthday. He didn’t need all this drama.
      “Are you okay?” The concern in Lisa’s voice was palpable.
      I sniffed and nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah,” I squeaked.
      “I’ll be right over.”

Mittens jumped on the couch beside me, butting my leg with her head, purring for me to pet her. Picking her up, I buried my face in her silky fur.

Animals were so much easier than men. Unconditional love, zero judgment, and most important, they didn’t cheat on me or throw my love back in my face. They were always there for me with a warm lick on my hand or a wag of the tail. Why couldn’t men be more like that? Minus the licking and wagging, of course. Lady came and lay by my feet, and I bent to pat her on the head.
      Ten minutes later Lisa busted through the door, not bothering to knock, as usual.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” She dropped onto the couch next to me and took my hand.

“James…I…we…”

She tugged me forward and wrapped her arms around me. My inability to speak coherently doubtless gave her a vague picture of the day’s events, but she didn’t push for answers.
      With one arm still around my shoulder, she used the other to take away the half-eaten, half-runny ice cream container from my hand and set it on the glass-top coffee table in front of us. Her hand dug in her purse. She brought out a travel-size box of tissues and pressed it into my hand. The Kleenex absorbed the moisture dripping from my eyes and nose.
      “Want to talk about it?”
      I uncurled from my upright fetal position and flopped back onto the secondhand Goodwill special that, with its plaid design, might have been fashionable in the sixties. “What’s wrong with me?”
      Okay, so that wasn’t really what I’d planned on saying, but I couldn’t keep myself from thinking it. Out loud. There had to be something wrong with me. Wasn’t I pretty enough? Nice enough? Good enough? Smart enough?

What did she have that I didn’t?

My mind turned traitor, taunting me. Stupid. Pathetic. Ugly. Unlovable. Unwanted. I squeezed my eyes tight and shoved the heels of my palms into my sockets. Circles of light danced in my vision as I refocused.

Lisa’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and she shook her head. “How could you even say that?” The words shot out of her mouth. What happened to my soothing and sympathetic friend? She’d transformed, fire in her eyes.
      A long breath puffed out my cheeks. “I don’t know.” I massaged my temples, too tired to think straight.
      “Let me tell you right now, Rebekah Ann Sawyer, you’re an amazing woman. You have a kind heart and a giving spirit. You’re determined, tenacious, and independent, and I admire you for all that you’ve done.” Her arm swept out. “Just look around you. Look at all the people you’re helping. This ranch alone should tell you how wonderful you are. You practically live in a shack because of your generous spirit. And on top of all that, you are beautiful. Both inside and out.” She jabbed the air with her finger as if to punctuate her remark. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you or make you feel any different.”

My head pounded, but I struggled to pay attention to her rant. She was trying to make me feel better, bless her heart. Dutifully, I surveyed my humble dwellings. The kitchen and living room shared the same space without even enough room for a proper dining area. A row of cabinets and outdated olive-green appliances lined one wall of the kitchen, and the sofa and coffee table comprised the living room. A bedroom barely large enough to fit a full-size bed and dresser, and a small bathroom with just enough room to turn around in finished the place off. Lisa was right. It did look more like a shack than a home, but it served its purpose. It gave me a roof over my head, and, really, wasn’t that what a house was for anyway?
      But, like she said, the house was tiny. Fit for one person. Me. Alone. By myself. Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be. My nose started to burn, but I clamped my jaw tight.

I would not cry. Not again. Not over James. Not over any man.

2

Luke

THE SOUND OF country fried potatoes sizzling in a skillet on the stove battled with the hum of the refrigerator as I stuck my head inside. Now where was it? My face split into a grin as I snagged the cool bottle. This was going to be great. I glanced up at the clock hanging above the sink and quickened my step. Not much time left before the two shifts converged and the feeding frenzy started. Six bubbling pancakes cooked on the electric griddle sitting on the dark granite countertop. Stacks of perfectly round flapjacks were keeping warm in the oven. I twisted the lid on the bottle, my nose instantly tickling from the pungent heat. Just a couple of drops would do. I put the cap back on and shoved the bottle toward the back of the fridge. The spatula twirled in my hand. Slide, lift, flip.

Bang!

Baxtor. Our newest rookie—a bit on the scrawny side and in need of some discipline, but overall a good kid. Needed a new car though. His ancient Pinto was in dire need of a new muffler. It coughed and sputtered more than a chain smoker. I glanced at the golden-brown circles on the griddle. Maybe the kid needed more than a new car. Like some welcome-to-the-team pancakes. I mean, we couldn’t let him feel unwelcomed.

The recruit entered, making exaggerated sniffing sounds and rubbing his hands together. “Something sure smells go-od.”

“Get it while it’s hot.” I slid the pancakes onto a plate and handed him the bottle of syrup.

His eyes went wide. “Wow, six?”

I pinched his shoulder. “You need to muscle up.” I nodded to the potatoes and scrambled eggs still in skillets on the stove. “Don’t forget those.”

Heavy footfalls sounded behind me, and two more guys came in through the door. I spooned eggs onto my plate and grabbed a couple of pancakes before sliding onto the bench seat beside the long roughhewn table. Out of the corner of my eye I looked at Baxtor’s plate. Still piled high with pancakes. Dan and Pete dropped onto the bench, and I passed them the ketchup and syrup.

A hand slapped the table, and five heads swiveled. Red-faced and bug-eyed, Baxtor’s hand covered his mouth while his jaw still worked. He swallowed, eyes glistening. “Water,” he croaked.

Laughter erupted around the table, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Baxtor received hard smacks on the back. Chuckling, I stood and grabbed a cup from the cabinet and the milk from the fridge. Milk would cut the heat better than water.

“Hot sauce in the pancakes, Luke? Classic. Better than the ashes Dan put in my brownies when I first started,” Pete said as I poured the milk.

I walked back to the table.

Baxtor snatched the cup from my hand and gulped it down, white rivulets streaming from the corners of his mouth.

“Welcome to Station Five.” I cuffed his shoulder.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His forehead glistened as he turned toward me, his wide smile showing crooked teeth. He’d do. It was a hard job, but he’d do.

Dishes started to pile in the sink as everyone finished breakfast. Gathering my gear, I followed the crew into the apparatus bay. Instead of staying for roll call and assignment duty, I continued out of the fire station and into my Jeep to head home.

My eyelids grew heavy as I drove along Highway 31. Every blink felt like sandpaper rubbing against my sockets. I pressed the heel of my palm to one of my eyes. Visine would help, but then again, so would a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

My body would never fully adjust to having its sleep interrupted. And no matter the reason for the call, as soon as the tones dropped, adrenaline punched my veins. Every time. Great for getting me up in a flash, but when it was all over, it left me drained.

I arrived at the complex and trudged up three flights of stairs to the place I called home sweet home. I fished my keys out of my pants pocket and then unlocked the door. Dumping my gear just inside the entrance, I stumbled the fifteen feet to my bed and collapsed. Moments like this made me glad I lived in a studio apartment rather than a large house.

It might be a guy thing, a firefighter thing, or something simply unique to me, but I literally fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Some people needed to watch TV or read a book to unwind after a shift, but that’d never been the case with me.

Six hours of sleep and a hot shower later, I felt human again. Good thing. I was going to need all the strength I had to get through the next hour if I couldn’t avoid Marty’s mom.

The image of Joseph in front of Potiphar’s wife played out before me whenever I stood in the same room as Colleen Stabler. I could run into a burning building without a second thought, but being in close proximity to that woman made me more nervous than…well…honestly, I didn’t know what to compare it to. Let’s just say it was as if I was in the Savannah and a hungry lioness was crouched down behind tall grass ready to pounce on some unsuspecting prey. And I was the prey.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive. In fact, the exact opposite was true—and she flaunted it. But I wasn’t looking for what Ms. Stabler was offering. Unfortunately the
offering
was getting  more forceful every time I saw her.

Thankfully Marty was outside shooting hoops when I pulled up to his house.

“Hey, squirt,” I said as I shut the Jeep’s door. Marty seemed to be alone, and I let out a sigh of relief that his mom wasn’t in sight.

“Hi, Mr. Luke.”

I signaled the gangly eleven-year-old to pass the ball, and dribbled it a few times against the concrete driveway. The ball soared out of my hands for a nothing-but-net three-point shot.

“Nice one.” Marty grinned as he rebounded the ball. I caught him around the neck in the crook of my elbow and rasped my knuckles back and forth on his head. Ah, the classic noogie.

“Hey! What’s that for?” He protested while rubbing the top of his head when I released him. He tried to look offended, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

I grinned and braced myself. Three…two…one.

Sure enough, the pipsqueak launched himself at me, and we tumbled to the ground. Squeals of delight and half-hearted protests burst from Marty, interrupting the quietude of the suburban cul-de-sac.

“All right, go get your homework.” At least some of his pent-up energy had been spent. “We’ll work out here today.”

He trotted into the house, and the screen door slapped shut behind him. Moments later he reappeared toting his backpack. He plopped down cross-legged beside me and took out a thick textbook with an abacus on the cover. Opening it to the right page, he handed it to me.