Unlikely Praise (13 page)

She pulled the car as close as possible, kicked off her sandals, and rolled up the legs of her khaki slacks. With key in hand, she left the car and darted for the cluster box that stood just past the gated entrance of her condo complex. The area was covered, but it made no difference. Wind-blown drops pelted her from one side, then another. A sudden gusty blast surprised her from behind. She shivered. It was raining
up
the back of her yellow blouse.

The tall stack of retail ads and mail order catalogs did not come easily from the box. She yanked them out, went back in for the grocery store flyers, then clasped the pile against her chest and dove into the car.

She tossed the mail on the seat and reached for her door. The edge of an off-white linen envelope stopped her cold. The words
Turner, O’Hare, and Camp
peeked at her from under a real estate agent’s shiny red postcard. She ripped it open.

Dear Ms. Canaberry...your father has requested we notify you regarding…blah, blah, blah…and the proposed sale of a residence located at...blah, blah, blah...and to further notify you the Texas Department of Criminal Justice has scheduled a release date...

The paper shook in her wet fingers. She was going to be sick.

She grabbed the handle of the open door and leaned out. The shock of cold rain on her neck caused her to gasp for air rather than throw up. She clamped a hand across her mouth and fought another wave of nausea.

A passing car slowed, then sped past as she sat up straight and forced a smile. How could this be? It wasn’t time, and if it was, what would make him think she’d want to know he was free?

The empty envelope caught a breeze and flew off her lap. She couldn’t catch the paper before it landed on a street swamped with rain that had come too fast. A river of water carried it toward the storm drain.

She slammed the door against the wind. Texas rain was like that.

****

Candi pushed the corner of the pillow off her eyes and squinted at the television. Odd she hadn’t noticed before, but the guy on the six o’clock news looked a lot like she thought Wild Bill, the sound guy, had looked twenty years ago. Wonder if anyone else ever noticed that? She’d ask Carol Ann.

Her open Bible slid off her chest as she changed positions on the bed. It had been two hours since she got that letter and lunch was still trying to make a reappearance. She’d read her way through her favorite comforting scriptures. Twice. At one point, she’d been face down on the floor sobbing her guts out. Her ribs hurt and she knew God heard, but the uneasiness in her heart would not go away.

The lawyer obviously knew where she was, which meant her father did, too. She expected that. Anyone could put her name in an Internet search engine and, at the very least, that appalling college photo would appear along with her faculty webpage. Her church information would be right after that. She knew she could be found, but had hoped no one would bother.

She pulled the letter from under the cup of cold orange and spice tea on the nightstand. So her dad had plans to sell the house she grew up in. Probably to pay his legal fees. It didn’t matter. Her fondness for her childhood home died with her mother. Everything after that was tainted and ruined. Her father had seen to that with his criminal activity. And so what if she knew when he got out of prison? It wasn’t as if she’d be waiting there with open arms like some lonely little girl with daddy issues. He could find his own way to where he wanted to be.

Somewhere on the bed, her cell phone burst into a selection from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. She dug in the crumpled linens until she came up with it. The text was from her colleague, Brett, who was the music director at another church in the community.

Found that piece of music you were asking about. We practice tonight at 7:30 if you want to come by the church. If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll put it in an envelope at the front desk.

That made her laugh. The last time Brett left her something at the “front desk” it took her two days to find it. His gargantuan church had more than one front desk and each was devoted to something different. There was a children’s ministry desk, a youth ministry desk, and a members-only desk. Her packet ended up being at the information desk, which made sense, but since that desk was partially obscured by the church’s full service coffee shop and bookstore, she’d missed it completely.

She headed for the shower. If nothing else, a trip to Brett’s stomping ground was a good diversion and an opportunity to network with other musicians. And this time she’d park in the same hemisphere as the music department. She didn’t think the church trolley ran at night.

Within an hour, she’d donned her jeans, a white camisole, and a pink hooded sweatshirt. Misty rain dotted her windshield as the last of the raging storm rumbled out of town. She dodged the puddles of high water it left behind and maneuvered down the winding driveway in to Brett’s church. She read the collection of signs along the way and decided to simply circle the massive cluster of buildings until she spotted Brett’s car. But it wasn’t
his
car she saw first. Instead, she rounded a corner and found the Del Rio Destroyer parked under a flickering street light near a back entrance. Brett’s car just happened to be three spots away.

She slowed to a stop while she thought about it. Shade had said he could not meet about the new youth service on Mondays because of a previous commitment. Brett’s massive worship team practiced on Mondays. So... could Shade be
cheating
on Cornerstone Fellowship with a bigger church that had better sound equipment?

“Now, you sound like a lunatic,” she mumbled to herself.

She lifted her foot off the brake and coasted into a spot nearby. There had to be an explanation. Even a newbie like Shade knew it was generally accepted that you only ministered at one church at a time. Especially since he’d recently been tapped to help out with the new youth service. Unless he really wasn’t on board at all and was looking for something better.

She reined her imagination in again. “Stop it. Just stop it.”

She got out. There was one surefire way to find out if Shade was cheating on her. She’d walk right into Brett’s practice and see. And if he was there, well, she’d flat pass out for a minute before she got up and knocked them both senseless.

Strains of music floated towards her as she made her way into the building.

Brett’s team did not have to meet in the sanctuary. Their ample rehearsal hall had everything they needed to create a full sound without having to take up the main worship area or move one piece of equipment. His music closet was something to see, too. It wasn’t an actual
closet
like hers at all. It was one whole room devoted to music and storage.

And there were built-in cabinets.

Brett met her with a warm hug as she approached. “Good to see you,” he said. “I have that envelope for you.” He looked at two different stacks and eventually pulled it out from under his Bible. “I put a couple more things in there you might like.”

“I appreciate it.” She scanned the room. No sign of Shade.

“So,” he continued. “You doin’ OK?”

“I’m fine,” she replied and eyed two more musicians who came in the side door. “Just fighting the urge to break that commandment about coveting your neighbor’s stuff.”

He laughed. “Your turn’s coming. I understand construction at Cornerstone is a done deal. Did you get a say in how you wanted your space designed?”

“Oh, I made myself heard, but what I get remains to be seen. I know they’re trying to get everyone what they asked for.” She glanced over her shoulder to get a look at two passers-by. “What’s happening over here? Any new musicians?”

He pinned her with a warning gaze. “You’re not gettin’ any of my people, Canaberry.”

And, buddy, you’re not gettin’ any of mine...

“No worries, Brett,” she said and smiled, “but
I
have a new guy. Lead guitar player. You’ll meet him next time we all get together and swap music and ideas. When are we going to do that again, anyway?”

“I’ll check my calendar,” he assured her. “We’re about to start. You wanna hang around?”

No, she didn’t, because one thing would lead to another and after practice Brett would ask her if she wanted to go have coffee, and then he would ask her out, and she’d have to say no again. He was a nice enough guy, but seriously,
Brett
? No.

“Can’t tonight, Brett, but thanks.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be in touch.”

She rushed back to the double glass doors. Shade’s truck was still there. Now she was being just plain ridiculous. He clearly wasn’t there for practice, and it wasn’t any of her business why else he might be there. Perhaps he was taking a class or had a painting job. She should get in her car and go home.

She headed down the hall to peek in doors instead.

Floor by floor and room by room, she cruised the halls and interrupted everything from a Boy Scout meeting to the Golden Needles Quilting Bee. On the top floor of the Christian education wing, there were muted voices and light coming from a room at the end of the hall. A large coffee urn sat on a card table just outside the door. It hissed and bubbled at regular intervals as she crept by to sneak a quick look inside. A group of men and women sat in a lopsided oval. Many had their backs to her. The silhouette of one looked familiar. Very familiar.

“Who’s next?”

She didn’t see who asked the question or who consequently raised a hand.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” the volunteer said and cleared his throat. “I’m Shade and I am an alcoholic.”

Candi stifled a gasp as the others responded.

“Hi, Shade.”

****

Shade took a minute to refill his stainless steel coffee cup and say hey to a couple people before he left the meeting. Attendance had been light this evening, but the die-hard regulars were there and nearly everyone reported a successful week. That was a blessing made sweeter because he was able to share the news he’d finally met Rachel and that his sobriety had put her back in his life.

The last of the rain slid off the overhang at the west entrance and dripped into the fading puddles on the sidewalk. The worst of the downpour was over. That was good news for his truck. If the bad-tempered monster got so much as a hint of moisture under the hood, it launched itself into a whole new series of mechanical quirks and issues. The bad news was that he still had to get the thing home and dried out tonight.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and spotted Candi’s car under a street lamp several yards down the parking lot.

The information didn’t register at first, but then, whoa.
That’s Candi’s car under a street lamp several yards down the parking lot.

Uh...what a coincidence?

Bright light bounced off her shiny, wet silver roof and caused a glare. He couldn’t clearly see inside, but spotted a series of jerky movements. She was definitely in there. Car trouble?

He took a sip from his steaming cup and trekked toward her passenger side door. She had to have seen him coming, yet she didn’t respond or roll down a window.

He opened the door and leaned in. “Candi?”

The leather seat squeaked as she crossed her arms and glanced at him with a grin. “You’d feel pretty stupid right now if you’d opened that door and it wasn’t me.”

“I knew it was you.” He rested his arm against the wet door frame. “You OK?”

“Fine.”

“Car OK?”

“It’s fine.”

He looked around as if to somehow make sense of why she was sitting in the near-empty lot. “What are you doing here?”

The leather squeaked again. “I came here to pick up some music and I saw your truck. I went looking for you.”

“Oh,” he replied. That made sense. Then it hit him. “
Ohhhhh
.”

So much for the progress they’d made. He’d already sensed she had issues with his appearance. Finding him at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting had probably finished her off.

She looked up at him. Scattered beams of light illuminated her perfect skin and sea-green eyes. She pushed a lock of chestnut hair away from her face and secured it behind her ear. Another came loose and fell across her forehead. She brushed it away. “Can you get in a minute?”

“Uh...sure.” He slid in and closed the door. “Nice car.”

“Thanks.” She twisted to face him and tugged the sleeves of her hoodie down to trap them in her hands.

He fumbled with the controls on the side of the seat until he found the one that moved it backward. “You could have come in, you know.”

“Come in where?”

“To the meeting.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” She flinched when she said it.

He couldn’t stop his expression of disappointment.

“No, it’s not like that,” she rushed to add. “I’m just sorry I invaded your privacy. First I thought you were cheating on me with Brett, then I thought you might be working, so I was going to find you and say hello but—”

“
What
?” His voice squeaked like an adolescent boy. He tried again. “What?” He set his coffee in the cup holder. “You’re not making any sense.”

“I am so making sense.”

“On
this
planet?”

Anger flashed in her eyes, but what did she have to be mad about? He wondered if he should push it. She glared at him. Oh, yeah, he was gonna push it.

“C’mon, Candi, you caught me at an A.A. meeting and went ballistic. But rather than just deal with it, you sit in your car like a control-freak-stalker and think of ways to make me squirm. You can’t even form a whole coherent sentence.” He picked up his cup. “If you want to talk, I’m an open book. Otherwise, I need to see about possibly pushing my truck home. I don’t have time for games.” He shoved open the door and got out. “And who is Brett?” He slammed it before she could answer.

He headed for his truck. What had he been thinking? He liked Candi more every day. Especially the Candi from the pond. But though it was clear she could handle worms, catfish, and tadpoles, it was painfully obvious she couldn’t handle tattoos, ponytails, and A.A. meetings.