17

 

 

Karen tucked her music folder into her oversize tote bag, pulled out her keys, and turned to Kristen. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? I’ll only be there twenty minutes, and we could stop at Mr. Frank’s afterward.”

Her daughter drained her glass of milk. “I told you, Mom. I don’t want to go to church on a Saturday.”

She was out of ammunition. Cajoling, guilt, a bribe—nothing had worked.

She’d have to tell her the truth.

Hugging her tote bag to her chest, she took the plunge. “Would you come as a favor? I could use some hon­est feedback.”

Kristen stopped rinsing her glass. “On what?”

“Scott...Mr. Walker...asked me to sing a solo at the benefit.” As her daughter’s mouth dropped open, Karen’s stomach clenched. “I knew it was a mistake. I’ll call and tell him I—”

“No!” Kristen set the glass on the counter, now fully engaged. “I think it’s an awesome idea! I’m just surprised you agreed.”

“I haven’t. Yet. I’ll probably back out. I’m not solo material.”

“Yes, you are! I hear you singing around the house sometimes. You should go for it.”

“I don’t know.” She squeezed the edge of the tote bag. “Can you imag­ine what your grandmother will say?”

Kristen waved away the concern. “She doesn’t like anything anybody does. Nobody can please her. Did you tell Aunt Val about this?”

“No. Only you. And I haven’t sung in front of anyone except Scott. That’s why I wanted you to come today. Having an audience would give me a chance to see how I do with someone else there.”

“You got it. I don’t have to meet my friends until after lunch, and besides—I think it’s very cool you’re going to do this.”

“We’ll see.”

Kristen peppered her with questions as they made the short drive to church, but once they parked and were walking toward the entrance, she broke off the inquisition. “Listen.”

They both stopped. Muted sounds of a simple, classical piano selection floated through the air.

“Isn’t that pretty?” The piece was vaguely familiar, but Karen couldn’t think of the title.

“Yeah.” Kristen picked up the pace again. “Imagine how fabulous Mr. Walker must have played before the accident.”

But as they paused inside the door, Karen saw at once that Scott wasn’t the pianist. He was standing behind Steven, who was giving the music in front of him his rapt attention.

As he finished, she and Kristen gave him an enthusiastic round of applause.

The young man twisted toward them, his complexion reddening.

“Bravo! I heard Scott was giving you lessons, but I had no idea you’d progressed this much.” Karen gave him a thumbs-up as they joined the duo.

“That was awesome,” Kristen echoed.

Steven fiddled with the music on the stand. “It’s just a be­ginner’s piece.”

Scott laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Soon you’ll be passing me up. I never had the natural flair you do for the keyboard.”

As Steven’s flush went another shade darker, Karen rescued him by changing the subject. “I brought Kristen along as a sample audience.”

“Perfect.” Scott flashed her daughter a grin. “I hope you can convince your mom to do the solo. I’m afraid my powers of persua­sion aren’t working very well.”

“I already told her to go for it.”

“Keep pushing from your end.” He gave Kristen a conspirato­rial wink. “Steven, I’ll see you Tuesday. Do you have a ride home?”

“My mom’s going to swing by after she finishes grocery shopping. She should be here soon.”

“In that case, if you two will excuse us, Karen and I have work to do.”

Steven pushed away from the keyboard, and as he and Kristen claimed a corner to chat, Scott focused on her. “I was afraid you’d get cold feet and not show.” His tone was teasing. His eyes weren’t.

She lifted her chin a fraction, trying not to be distracted by the way his jeans hugged his lean hips or the impressive biceps beneath the sleeves of his black golf shirt. “I said I’d come, and I always keep my promises.”

“I believe that.” After letting her absorb that, he set the music on the stand, slid the bench back into position, and took his seat. “Ready?”

“No—but as long as I’m here, I’ll give it a try. Could you...would you sing through it with me once?”

“Sure. Let’s do some scales first, to warm up.”

After running through a few vocal exercises, they launched into the piece—and despite the presence of Kristen and Steven, Karen wasn’t nearly as nervous as she’d been at their first rehearsal.

As the last note died away, Scott gave an approving nod. “Nice. Ready to try it on your own?”

Her nerves spiked, and she peeked at Kristen and Steven. They were involved in an animated conversation, oblivious to the rehearsal.

So much for her audience.

“I guess.”

For the next few minutes, Scott played through the piece several times, and with each rendition, her voice grew stronger and more con­fident. He began to offer suggestions on interpretation and dynamics, and she forgot to be nervous as she concentrated on his instructions.

“Let’s do it once more, and try to apply all the suggestions we’ve talked about.” Scott flipped back to the first page.

As he began to play, Karen let the music filter into her soul as her mind processed and implemented all of his suggestions.

The last notes died away and the church went silent—until the sound of clapping filled it. Karen swung around to find Kristen and Steven beaming at her.

“Way to go, Mom! I had no idea you could sing like that!” Kristen bounded over.

“Me neither, Mrs. Butler.” Steven wheeled up behind her daugh­ter. “You should sing solos more often.”

The accolades of the young people were gratifying, but she val­ued Scott’s opinion more.

Summoning up her courage, she looked at him.

His warm smile was more than eloquent, but his words were the icing on the cake.

“I second that.”

Karen was saved from having to respond by the arrival of Martha Ramsey, but as they all exchanged a few pleasantries, the glow deep within her continued to radiate warmth.

Only after Martha and Steven disappeared out the door and Kristen spoke to her did she float back down to earth. “Are we still going to Mr. Frank’s?”

“What’s Mr. Frank’s?” Scott closed the cover over the piano keys.

“You’ve been in Washington all summer and you haven’t been to Mr. Frank’s?” Kristen gaped at him.

“No. What is it?”

“Just the best frozen custard in the world! Mom, he should come with us.”

Her heart stumbled. “I’ve already taken up far too much of his morning. We’ve been here forty minutes.”

“Actually, my plans for the rest of the day are flexible.” Scott leaned against the piano and slid his hands in his pockets.

“Awesome! Come on.” Kristen took her mother’s hand and hauled her toward the door.

“Give me a minute to lock up and I’ll follow you. Karen—are you on board with this?”

“Of course she is.” Kristen gave another tug on her arm. “Everybody goes to Mr. Frank’s. It’s not like a date or anything.”

Karen sent Kristen a narrow-eyed glare. Leave it to her daughter to throw in a loaded word.

Kristen ignored her.

Doing her best not to appear flustered, she answered Scott’s question herself. “You’re welcome to join us. Mr. Frank’s is defi­nitely worth a trip.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you in the lot.”

She waited until they were outside to confront Kristen. “What was with the date reference?”

Her daughter feigned innocence. “I’m sorry. Did I embarrass you?”

“This has nothing to do with being embarrassed.” Not much, anyway. “You know I don’t date, and I don’t want Scott to think I do.”

“Why do you care what he thinks?”

She hit the automatic car lock on her key chain. “Because.”

“Because you like him?”

“I’m not discussing this.” She slid into the car.

Kristen joined her a moment later, watching Scott as he exited. “Man, he is one hot dude, even if he’s old.”

Old?

Karen sized up Scott’s lean, muscular physique as he strode toward his car.

Hardly.

Rather than respond, however, she put the car in gear and changed the subject. “You and Steven seemed to hit it off.”

“Yeah.” Kristen clicked her seat belt into place. “I never talked to him much at school. He was older, and the big football hero and all. Out of my league, you know? But he’s cool. He thinks about stuff most kids don’t. Heavy stuff. Like, about life and what’s important.” She paused, and Karen took a quick peek at her. Kristen’s ex­pression was pensive.

“Being stuck in that chair has to be really hard—but he says he figures God must have some purpose better than football in store for him. That’s an awesome attitude.” Kristen hesitated, playing with the buckle on her seat belt. “He asked me to go to a movie with him.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I told him you don’t let me date.”

“I’d let you go with Steven. He’s a trustworthy kid.”

Kristen scowled at her. “And Gary isn’t?”

Uh-oh. Careful, careful.

“That’s different. I’ve known the Ramseys my whole life, and all of them have solid values. I don’t know Gary very well.” But enough to suspect he had questionable morals, at best. “Do you want to go with him?”

Thankfully, her daughter let the subject of Gary drop.

“Part of me does, but...I mean, I don’t know how to relate to a guy who...who’s in a wheelchair.”

“He’s the same guy he’s always been in every way that counts, and I’m sure he’d like to be treated the same.”

“But, like, who’s supposed to get the popcorn? Usually guys do that. And how would we get there? He can’t drive. And what if he has to, you know, go to the bathroom? I mean, it’s kind of awkward.”

“That’s true—especially for him. He’s had to learn to live under all new rules. But you know what? People cope. They figure it out. They adjust—often through trial and error. The important thing is to keep trying and not to treat every challenge as if it’s life or death. If an awkward situation comes up, talk it through. You’ll be amazed how a simple conversation can smooth everything out.”

“Does that mean you think I should go?”

“It’s up to you, honey. Go if you enjoy being with Steven—but don’t go out of pity. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”

“Yeah. I’ll have to think about it.”

Kristen lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive, but she perked up after they pulled into the parking lot at Mr. Frank’s a few minutes later. Hopping out of the car, she waved Scott into a spot farther down. The place was already crowded at eleven in the morning.

“I can vouch for the chocolate chip concrete, but they’re all awesome,” Kristen told Scott as he joined them.

“I’ll go with your recommendation. Karen, what will you have?”

He reached for his wallet, but she held out a hand to restrain him. “Uh-uh. Your first visit is our treat. Why don’t you see if you can find us a seat? Although the prospects don’t look promising.” She scanned the scene. The few scattered benches were already oc­cupied.

“I’ll do my best.”

By the time Karen and Kristen inched through the order line, Kristen had greeted several friends who’d also paid an early visit to the popular spot.

“Can I go talk to Erin while we eat, Mom?”

“Yes, but we’re not staying long. I have to do some weed­ing before I go grocery shopping with Val.”

“Wave at me when you’re ready to leave.”

As Kristen went to visit with Erin, Karen stepped away from the counter and searched the throng for Scott. To her surprise, he’d found a vacant bench.

She struck off in his direction, surveying the crowd as she closed the distance between them. “I can’t believe you found a seat. This place is always packed.”

“I could attribute my luck to positive karma, but you’d soon discover the truth.” He crooked a thumb toward the empty section of the bench beside him. A third of it was covered with tree sap.

Ten feet above them, Karen located the source. A large branch had broken off the pine tree behind the bench.

“I tried to clean it off, but all I got for my trouble was sticky fingers. We’ll have to share this end.”

Karen gave the bench a dubious scan. Two months and twenty-two pounds ago, it would have been impossible to fit in the spot reserved for her. Now, she could—but not unless she got cozy with Scott.

He held out his hand and raised his eyebrows. “Do I get to sample that before it melts?”

“Sorry.” Karen thrust the cup of custard toward him.

He took it from her…hesitated…moved over as much as he could without falling off the edge. “Join me?”

Wonderful. He’d picked up on her nervousness.

Telling herself to stop acting like an adolescent, Karen perched on the bench, keeping as much distance between them as pos­sible. But unless she wanted to go home with tree sap all over her slacks, she had to sit too close for comfort. Close enough to smell the distinctive musky scent of his aftershave. To see the speck of chocolate that clung to his lips after he took a bite of his custard. To notice the tiny flecks of gold in his dark brown irises.

“This is amazing.” He took another bite, but his attention was on her, not the custard. “I’ll endorse Kristen’s recommendation any day.”

Was he talking about the custard flavor—or her daughter’s sug­gestion that he join them?

Hard to tell, but for safety’s sake, she’d assume it was the former.

“She’s an expert on Mr. Frank’s. Her dad and I used to bring her here, and the two of them come once in a while during their father-daughter outings.”

Frowning, she poked at her custard. That was stretching the truth. Michael had rarely accompanied them on their trips to Mr. Frank’s. Was mentioning her ex some sort of a subliminal defensive measure? An attempt to keep Scott at arm’s length while she figured out what role—if any—romance was destined to play in her future?

“My mom told me you were divorced. I’m sorry.”

She spooned up a bite of custard, hoping the creamy treat would work its usual soothing, comfort-food magic. But as the sweet confection melted on her tongue, it left a bitter aftertaste instead.

The silence lengthened, and Scott spoke again. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“It’s okay. Separation and divorce are very sad—and very hard, even after eighteen months. I appreciate your empathy.” She watched the custard dissolving in her cup.

“Is there any chance you two could get back together?”

“No.”

“I suppose there are some hurts that can’t be overcome.”

His gentle, empathetic tone soothed her—and encouraged con­fidences. Somehow she sensed that this man could be trusted with secrets, that he would respond with understanding and kindness.

Dare she open up a bit about her divorce? About Michael’s infidelity?

Brow furrowed, she swirled the tip of her spoon through her custard. Strange. Those subjects had always been too painful—and demeaning—to discuss in depth with anyone. Yet for whatever reason, she wanted to tell this man more. To explain how devas­tated she had been by her husband’s betrayal. To be affirmed in her refusal to agree to a reconciliation.

Why would he want to hear all that garbage, though? He might run the other direction if she opened up.

However, she’d taken other risks lately—and been rewarded.

Should she continue…and hope her winning streak held?

 

* * *

 

How should he proceed?

As Karen watched the custard melt in her cup, Scott de­bated that question. She struck him as a very private person who might resent personal questions. Yet he wanted to know what had happened. Wanted to know what kind of idiot would dump such a strong, caring woman for a fling with a coed.

And Karen was strong, whether she realized it or not. Based on everything his mother had relayed, she’d borne the burden of Margaret’s demands for years, gone back to work after her husband walked out on her, and was raising her teenage daughter alone. That took guts. Grit. Determination.

This was another woman who took the lemons life dealt her and made lemonade.

He was still struggling to come up with a diplomatic approach to ferret out some information when she surprised him with a tenta­tive, quiet overture.

“My husband and I weren’t an ideal match from the beginning.”

He latched on to the opening. “How so?”

She ran her plastic spoon round and round the custard, watch­ing as it left soft trails in its wake. “He was older than me, and I was flattered by his attention. You’ve met Val. Imagine what it was like growing up in her shadow. She was the popular and pretty sister. The boys never noticed me. So Michael’s attention stroked my ego, and my acquiescence stoked his. But that wasn’t sufficient to sustain a marriage. Especially after he…strayed. More than once, as I learned not long ago.”

Her plastic spoon snapped in two with a loud crack, and she set the almost untouched custard on the bench beside her, folding her hands in her lap.

Scott studied her profile. The sun highlighted the soft auburn strands of her hair as they curved over her high cheekbones. Yet the harsh noonday light was also merciless, drawing attention to the shadows beneath her eyes and the creases at their corners—evidence of long-term stress and fatigue and tension more than age, he suspected.

Out of the blue, an overpowering urge to punch out the man who’d hurt her swept over him.

He frowned. How weird was that, considering he was usually repulsed by violence?

She slanted him a look, reminding him he owed her a response.

“It’s hard to forgive a betrayal like that.”

The faint parallel grooves on her forehead deepened. “I have to admit I’ve got more work to do on that. He’s told me he’s sorry—and suggested we give it another try.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll get to forgiveness eventually, but that doesn’t mean I have to put myself back into a bad situation. I’d rather live alone than return to a relationship where I’m not an equal partner.”

“Does that mean you’ve ruled out marrying again?” Scott toyed with his own spoon, watching her.

“I don’t know. I’ve always believed the vows we took were for life, despite what Michael did—but I’ve been doing some praying about it lately. I’ll see where that leads.”

“I doubt God wants you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

“Some people stay single.” She studied him. “You’ve never mar­ried, have you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind.” And he didn’t. Odd, given his reticence on the subject of his personal life with anyone but family. “No, I’ve never married. I was on the road too much. The constant travel got old, but I was willing to make the sacrifice for my music. Yet now that I’ve been away from it, I don’t know if I could ever go back to that nomadic existence.”

“What will you do instead?”

“I wish I knew that answer.” Lifting his left hand, he tried to flex the fingers. “It all depends on this.”

“Have you seen any improvement?”

“Negligible.”

“Well, despite that liability, you’re doing a wonderful job as music director—and you’ve already demonstrated you can teach music.”

“But the saxophone was my main instrument, and performance was my passion.”

“Those both may still be in your future. Be patient.”

“Reverend Richards gave me the same advice—but patience isn’t my strong suit.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty patient these days with a very me­diocre choir. One member in particular.”

He wanted no doubt in her mind on that score, and he gave her his full attention as he responded. “In that instance, I don’t find it at all difficult to be patient.”

“Hey, Mom, I have to get home and change.”

As Kristen joined them, Karen moistened her lips and twisted her wrist. “I had no idea we’d been here so long. We have to get going.”

Kristen examined Scott’s empty cup. “Did you like the custard?”

“It was incredible. I think I’ll be visiting Mr. Frank’s on a regular basis.”

“So you’re glad you came with us?”

“Absolutely.” His gaze flickered to Karen, and an endearing blush crept across her cheeks.

“Cool. Come on, Mom.” Without waiting for a response, Kristen hurried toward the car.

“Duty calls.” Karen rose.

“Yeah. For me too. I’m going to stop by the Y, look over the gym. I’ll see you tomorrow at the service.” He plucked the custard cup from her fingers. “I’ll get rid of these.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Scott remained where he was as she set off for her car. Waited as she backed out. Waved as she disappeared from sight down the road.

But as he slid into his own car and buckled his seat belt, a certain auburn-haired soprano lingered in his thoughts.

And that was dangerous.

Because a woman with unresolved issues about her marital sta­tus who was fast making inroads on his heart could be a recipe for disaster.