01_The Best Gift (6 page)

“Of course.” She stepped back, instantly contrite, and ushered him in. “Let me take your coat.”

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to her.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared down a hall, and Blake took a moment to look over the tiny apartment. He didn’t live extravagantly, but her living room, dining area and kitchen could easily fit into his great room, with space left over. And her decor—eclectic was probably the kindest word to describe it. Nothing seemed to match. Yet, oddly enough, it all blended. There was a slight Middle Eastern feel to the room, but he couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe it was the artwork that hung on the walls, or the patterns in the fabrics. But he had to admit it was pleasant. And comfortable. And homey—which was not a word he could use for his own house. It might be bigger, and the furniture might match, but even after two years it didn’t feel like a home.

A wife and children might help. And they were certainly in his plans. Had been for some time, in fact. He just hadn’t met the right woman yet. But he knew exactly who he was looking for. June Cleaver. He wanted a homemaker—in the best sense of the word. A woman who made her family a priority, who might work outside the home but never forgot that home was what counted most. Someone who understood the importance of settling down, building a life in one place, becoming part of a community. He was not interested in returning to the vagabond, gypsy lifestyle he’d once known.

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

Blake turned as A.J. reentered the room. Speaking of gypsies, she kind of looked like one tonight. She was wearing something…different. So what else was new? he thought wryly. The full-length garment was made of a shimmery, patterned fabric in shades of green, purple and royal blue. It was nipped in at the waist with a wide belt, and swirled gracefully around her legs as she walked. It wasn’t exactly his idea of dine-at-home attire. But it did look…festive. And suddenly he felt under-dressed.

“I didn’t have time to change,” he said, half-apologetic, half-defensive.

She gazed at him. He’d obviously come directly from the shop, though it was clear he’d taken time to freshen up. His clean-shaven jaw showed no evidence of afternoon shadow.

A.J. shrugged. “No need. It’s just a casual evening.”

“You don’t look casual.”

She grinned. “I probably look weird to you.”

He felt his neck grow warm. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I’ve worked with you practically every day for almost two months, Blake.” He noted that she was careful to use his preferred name. “I quickly realized that you’re a pretty conventional guy.”

“You mean stuffy.”

“I didn’t say that,” she parroted his words back to him.

“I’ve worked with you for almost two months, too. I think I have a pretty good idea what your opinion is of me,” he countered.

“Really? You might be surprised.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No? Okay, try this on for size. I think you are an extraordinarily capable and bright guy. I have no doubt Aunt Jo would have been in bankruptcy long ago without your help. Your attention to detail is fantastic, and you’re absolutely one hundred percent reliable. You don’t like change, but in our current situation that’s probably a plus. Since I know you’ll question anything I propose, I think things through even more carefully than I otherwise might. You’re very disciplined and regimented, which are good things in moderation. But if you’ll pardon one editorial comment, you might enjoy life a little more if you added a dash of spontaneity. So how did I do?”

Blake stared at the woman across from him. She’d pretty much nailed him. And been diplomatic in the process. She’d complimented his good points, and even put a positive spin on the qualities she clearly didn’t admire.

“Not bad,” he acknowledged grudgingly.

“Come on, Blake, admit it. I was right on the money,” she teased. “Now it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me how you see me.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to play this game.”

“Too late. I took my turn. Now it’s yours. And then I’ll tell you how close you came.”

Blake felt cornered. But it was clear A.J. wasn’t going to let him off the hook. She’d settled into a corner of the couch, tucked her leg under her, and looked prepared to wait as long as it took for him to take his turn.

“You aren’t…what I expected,” he hedged.

She shook her head. “Not good enough. Try again.”

“You’re…different.”

“Different how?”

He raked his fingers through his hair and jammed his other hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Look, I’m no good at this let-it-all-hang-out kind of thing.”

She considered him for a moment. “Okay, then let me give it a try, and you can tell me if what I
think
you think is actually true. How’s that?”

Did he even have a choice?

“At first, you thought I was going to be some airhead without any business sense. The M.B.A. surprised you. And made you a little more comfortable. But you still consider me somewhat of an intruder, and you feel like I’ve invaded your turf. Although you haven’t liked the changes I’ve made, you’ve had to admit that they’ve paid off—for the most part. Which bothers you. You think I have weird taste. And I most certainly do not fit your image of the ideal woman. How’s that?”

She was good. He’d give her that. “Close.”

She rolled her eyes. “For a man who deals with the written word, you sure don’t communicate much. Which might be a problem if you ever do find that ideal woman.”

He glared at her. How had the conversation suddenly taken such a personal turn? “How do you know I haven’t?” he retorted.

“Haven’t what?”

“Found the ideal woman.”

She shrugged. “Just a guess.”

Before he could respond, she made a move to stand, but for a moment she seemed to have trouble getting the leg she’d tucked under her to cooperate. When she finally got to her feet, she winced slightly and took a moment to steady herself on the back of the couch.

Blake frowned. It wasn’t like her to be so awkward. Even though she was tall, she always moved with a lithe grace. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. I know better than to sit like that. It was my own fault. So, can I get you that drink now?”

What was her own fault? That she had to struggle to stand? And why had she struggled? The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, recalling how he’d balked when she’d gotten personal. She would have every right to do the same. After all, they were only business associates. Short-term, at that. So he let it pass.

“A white soda, if you have it.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He watched as she made the short trip to the kitchen, noting that her gait didn’t seem quite normal. But she was clearly doing her best to hide it.

Blake knew he should just put her personal problem out of his mind. He needed to worry about making it through this evening with his parents, not about A.J.’s physical difficulties. She was an independent woman, clearly capable of taking care of herself. She didn’t need his concern. In fact, she might even resent it.

But as Blake looked around the cozy third-floor apartment and recalled the three sets of stairs he’d had to climb to reach her door, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was having trouble negotiating them. Especially juggling bags of groceries. Or a basket of laundry. And if she was, was there anyone she could call on for help?

Blake didn’t think so. Her two sisters were far away. And though she’d made many acquaintances since arriving in St. Louis, those were all new friendships. Not the sort of long-established relationships where one felt comfortable asking for favors. And she’d never mentioned a boyfriend—or even a close female friend—that she’d left behind in Chicago.

So maybe he and A.J. did have something in common after all. Though their philosophies of life might be radically different, and they might disagree on pretty much everything, it seemed they shared one trait.

They were both alone.

“A.J.
, this is fabulous!” Carl helped himself to a second serving of the main dish.

“Thank you. But I’m glad I didn’t know your background this afternoon. I would have been too intimidated to invite you.”

“You can cook for me any day. And I’m hoping I can wrangle this recipe out of you. It would be a perfect dish to feature in one of our cooking demonstrations.”

“I’ll be happy to share it. After all, I wouldn’t have it if someone hadn’t shared it with me. But tell me more about your store. How long have you had it?”

“It seems like forever, but actually it’s only been fifteen years. It took us quite a while to find our niche, but better late than never, I guess,” Jan chimed in with a laugh. “We’d always had an interest in good food, so opening a natural food shop just seemed…well, natural.”

“My grandfather was a chef, so I already had a lot of training in food prep,” Carl added. “But I went to culinary school while Jan got her credentials as a dietitian. Then the whole thing just took off. Besides running the shop, Jan does seminars on the principles of healthy eating and I do the hands-on cooking demonstrations that put those principles into action. It’s a lot of fun.”

“And a lot of work,” Jan added. “Especially since we opened a second shop a few months ago.”

“You have two shops now?” Blake spoke for the first time since they’d gathered at the table. His tone was incredulous.

“We’re as amazed as you are,” Carl affirmed. “We got into this business because we thought we’d enjoy it. We never expected to make a lot of money. But we’ve been successful far beyond our wildest dreams.”

“The only trouble with success is that it eats into your flexibility and freedom,” Jan said with a sigh, helping herself to a second slice of homemade whole grain bread. “We used to love to take road trips. But this is the first time in years that we’ve been able to get away for any length of time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, A.J. saw Blake reach for a second helping of the entrée to supplement the meager first serving he’d taken. When she’d presented the unusual vegetarian dish, she could see the wariness on his face. You’d think she’d been asking him to eat worms, she thought wryly. The man’s eating habits were obviously not adventurous. He was clearly as cautious with food as he was with people. And maybe with life.

“So tell us where you got this recipe, A.J.,” Jan encouraged.

“In Afghanistan.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“You’ve been to Afghanistan?” Blake shot her a startled look.

She nodded. “I lived there for almost three years.”

“Good grief! And we thought
we’d
lived in some exotic places,” Jan said.

“What were you doing there?” Carl asked.

A.J. hesitated. “It’s kind of a long story. And maybe not the best dinner conversation.”

“We’d really like to hear it, A.J. And we have all evening,” Jan assured her.

A.J. looked at the faces around the table. Jan and Carl seemed genuinely interested. Blake seemed a bit stunned.

“Well, I can give you the highlights,” she agreed.

And for the next hour, as they finished every last bite of the main dish and put a good dent in the Middle Eastern honey-based puff-pastry dessert that followed, she regaled them with tales of her time in Afghanistan as they plied her with questions.

A.J. told them of her work in two small villages and at a clinic. Of the kindness of the people, despite their abject poverty. Of hardships almost beyond comprehension. Of the lack of warmth and shelter and food. Of malnutrition and starvation. She described one young child, eighteen months old, who was just twenty-seven inches long and weighed only eleven pounds when she was brought to the clinic.

“She was starving to death,” A.J. said, her voice slightly unsteady. “She was the youngest of six children. Their parents had both died, and their grandmother took care of them. They lived with dozens of other families in the skeleton of a bombed-out building. The grandmother did her best, but she had to rely on begging to put food on the table, and she wasn’t always successful.

“If she had waited two more days to bring Zohra to the clinic, the little girl would have died. But even though her grandmother got her there in time, we were understaffed and had very limited resources. So in order for Zohra to have any chance at all, her grandmother needed to stay and give her routine care, like bathing and feeding. But there were five other children to take care of, too.

“We put a call in to Good Samaritan, and they were able to provide enough funding to cover Zohra’s hospital stay and pay someone to stay with the other children while Zohra’s grandmother cared for her at the clinic. That story had a happy ending…but so many others didn’t.”

A.J. grew silent, and Blake saw her struggling to control the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. For some strange reason, he wanted to reach for her hand. Comfort her. Enfold those delicate fingers protectively in his. Which made no sense. They were co-workers. Nothing more. So he stifled the impulse and kept his hands in his lap.

His mother was less restrained. She reached over and laid her hand on A.J.’s. “That is an incredible story,” she said in a hushed voice. “How did you deal with it, day after day?”

A.J. drew a deep breath and gave her a shaky smile. “Not every day was that emotional. It was very hard work under very primitive conditions, but the people had a great capacity for joy even in the face of tragedy and sorrow. And they were so grateful for our support. Most of the artwork you see in my apartment was given to me as thank-you gifts. It was an incredibly rewarding experience.”

“But weren’t you ever frightened? Afghanistan isn’t the safest place,” Jan said.

“No. I really wasn’t. I’d prayed a lot about the decision before I went, and by the time I actually got on the plane, I knew with absolute conviction that that was where God wanted me to be at that point in my life. So I just put my trust in Him.”

“I take it Good Samaritan is a Christian organization?”

A.J. turned to Carl. “Yes. But not blatantly so. By that I mean that we didn’t focus on converting anyone to Christianity. We answered questions, of course, if people asked. And they knew we were Christian. But our witness to our faith was more through actions than words.”

“Which is the way it should be,” Carl affirmed. “Wasn’t it Francis of Assisi who told people to spread the Gospel, and to use words only if all else failed?”

Blake stared at his father. “Since when have you been interested in religion?”

Carl glanced at Jan. “We’ve been going to church for a number of years, Blake. Another thing we discovered a little later in life.”

“That’s one of our regrets, actually,” Jan said. “God wasn’t part of our lives when you were growing up. We didn’t give you much of a foundation for faith.”

While Blake was trying to digest this news, Jan turned back to A.J. “So what made you leave? Did you eventually burn out?”

“No. I got a pretty serious intestinal parasite that just wouldn’t respond to treatment. So I had to come back for medical care. It actually took months to get rid of the pesky thing. At that point Good Samaritan was reluctant to send me back because they were afraid my health had been compromised. I was fine, and the doctors all gave me a good report, but the organization preferred I stay in the States and work out of its Chicago headquarters. That’s where I was before I came to St. Louis.”

Carl shook his head. “That’s an amazing story. It kind of puts our adventures to shame, doesn’t it, Jan?”

She nodded. “I admire you, A.J. What you did was so selfless. You got right into the thick of it, took an active role in trying to make the world a better place. Even in our activist days, we just attended rallies, marched and asked people to sign petitions.”

“That’s more than a lot of people do,” A.J. reassured her. “In fact, we’re sort of engaging in that kind of battle right now with the bookshop.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Carl asked.

After A.J. explained the situation, Jan leaned forward, an expression of concern on her face. “Is there anything we can do to help? Jo worked so hard to keep the character of the neighborhood intact, and to revitalize the area. So have all the merchants. I’d hate for that to change.”

“I appreciate the offer. But everyone’s very committed to telling our story and supporting our cause. I think we’ve done everything we can so far. We’ll turn out in force at the Board of Aldermen meeting in a couple of weeks. And if that doesn’t work…well, we can always take more dramatic measures. One of the merchants has a contact in the media.”

“Media coverage is always good,” Carl said with a nod. “Don’t be afraid to use it. But you’ll need to have an event of some kind to catch their interest—a protest march or something.”

A.J. risked a sidelong glance at Blake. The look of distaste on his face was almost comical. “We’ll keep that in mind,” she told Carl.

“Well, if you need us to do anything, let us know. We used to get involved in these kinds of things all the time.”

“I will. Now, would anyone like more coffee?”

Carl glanced at his watch regretfully. “I’d love some, but if we’re going to get an early start tomorrow, we ought to call it a night.”

“A.J., we can’t thank you enough for this wonderful evening,” Jan said warmly.

“It was truly my pleasure.”

She retrieved their coats, then followed them to the door. Blake stood slightly apart, his hands in his pockets.

“Drive safely,” A.J. said.

“We will.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Carl held his hand out to Blake. “Take care, son.”

Blake stepped forward and took it. “You, too.”

Jan moved toward him and held out her arms. He hesitated, then returned her hug awkwardly. “Will you stay in touch?” There was a wistful quality in her voice that tugged at A.J.’s heart.

“Of course.”

When she turned back to A.J., her eyes looked damp and her smile was a little too bright. “Thank you again for a lovely meal.”

Impulsively A.J. stepped forward and gave each of them a hug. “You’re very welcome. Please stop by any time you’re in St. Louis.”

She waved them off at the door, then turned. She’d also retrieved Blake’s coat, expecting him to follow closely on the heels of his parents. But he was still standing in the same place, a frown marring his brow. She hesitated a moment, but when he made no move to leave, she closed the door.

“Can I offer you something else, Blake?”

“No.” Actually, that was a lie. She
could
offer him something—answers. Starting with how she had managed to create a better rapport with his parents in the first thirty minutes of their visit than he had in thirty years of life.

“Well, go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to blow out the candles on the table and put away the perishables. Then I’ll join you.”

When A.J. returned, cradling a mug of tea, Blake had claimed one of the side chairs. She sat at right angles to him on the couch, but he noted that she was careful not to tuck her leg under her this time. She’d mentioned the intestinal parasite. But had she been injured in some other way in Afghanistan that she hadn’t shared? Or was the leg injury more recent?

“Your parents are great, Blake,” she said, forcing him to refocus his thoughts.

“I’m glad you think so.”

She looked at him curiously. “Obviously you don’t.”

“I didn’t exactly have an ideal childhood.”

“By ideal do you mean typical? Or perfect?”

“It was neither.”

“Tell me about it.”

He shrugged. “You’ve met my parents. And you’re good at that mind-reading game you were playing earlier. I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

Thoughtfully she took a sip of her tea. “I have a feeling your parents might have been hippies in their younger days.”

“Give the lady a gold star.”

At his sarcastic tone she tilted her head and looked at him. When she spoke, there was no censure in her tone. “Is that a bad thing? Were they into the drugs-and-free-sex scene?”

“No. But they were always fighting for some cause. Attending rallies, going on marches, the whole nine yards. Or they were trying out alternative lifestyles. We even spent one summer in a commune. You know how most people think of a certain place when they hear the word home? I don’t. We were never in one place long enough.”

“I guess I’ve always thought of home not so much as a place, but as simply being with the people you love,” A.J. said mildly, without reproach.

“That’s easy to say if you weren’t the one uprooted every few months.” There was bitterness in his voice now. And anger, simmering just below the surface. As if it had been there a long time. “I was in a new school practically every year—sometimes twice a year. I was never in one place long enough to make friends. To join the Boy Scouts. To play on a soccer team. It’s a pretty lonely life for a kid.”

And for the adult that kid became, she thought. The effects of his isolated childhood were clearly evident in the man across from her.

“But your parents seem to love you,” she pointed out.

He sighed. “They do, in their own way. But I think I was very unplanned, and they just decided early on that my arrival wasn’t going to put a crimp in their lifestyle. So they dragged me all over the country with them. They picked up odd jobs wherever they went, but it was always hit or miss. They had an easy-come, easy-go attitude that seemed to suit them. I was always the one who worried about whether we’d have enough food on the table. Or a place to spend the night. Even as a little kid.”

“Did you? Have enough food, and a place to spend the night, I mean.”

He thought about the time they’d almost gone to a homeless shelter, but at the last minute his dad had found work. “Yes. But it was always feast or famine, depending on whether my parents were working. I never knew where our next meal was coming from. Or where I’d be sleeping. And I hated that.”

Which explained a lot, A.J. thought. Now she better understood Blake’s dislike of change, his need for predictability. “So how did you meet Aunt Jo?”