After All These Years (26 page)

Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You sound like Brady's book.”

“Really?”

“Haven't you read them?”

“
I
have. Have
you
?”

“Started the first one this week.”

“And?”

He shrugged a shoulder and gave her a small smile. “Now there's a guy too good to be true.”

“But He's God!”

“But…it's fiction and unbelievable and yet supposedly true. I was hoping we could talk about it over dinner.”

Still on her knees, Isabel wrapped him in her arms. As if struck by lightning, she propelled herself backwards and landed on the floor with a loud thump. “Ouch!” She crinkled her nose. “Sorry. I forgot we're not hugging.”

He didn't laugh, only gazed at her as if in amazement. “How do you do that? Hug me as if I'm not the pariah you know I am?”

She started to nonchalantly lift a shoulder when it flashed through her mind that she did not hug him of her own accord. It was Jesus in her hugging him…forgiving him. “It's called forgiveness.”

“I think I could use some more of it.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “And I promise it's got nothing to do with kissing.”

“Well, if you promise.” She let him pull her to her feet and take her into his arms. As she slipped her arms around him and heard his heart beat in the ear she pressed against him, she began to pray in earnest for his soul.

A mental fog settled in early Sunday morning. Isabel awoke startled, a subconscious thought bursting into the conscious: She was in love with Tony Ward.

No, she loved Tony.

More precisely, she had never stopped loving him.

Which was why she hated him.

That was when the fog crept in.

Last evening with him felt like a distant memory. Instead of a movie and pizza, they had driven into Rockville and eaten at a homey Mexican restaurant where they sat for almost three hours before the conversation flagged.

Tony pondered minute details of Brady's book. The fictional account of someone meeting Jesus—in this case a sister of Peter's and a blind man—was the catalyst for debate. It was exhilarating and exhausting, satisfying and disconcerting. Tony argued and he belittled. Isabel defended and challenged and finally ended with a question, “Yes, but what if it's all true?”

Not replying, he stared at her, those deep-set blue eyes intensely somber, threatening to unravel her.

Thankfully, the conversation didn't turn personal as it had earlier in her house. Yet they lingered, as if not wanting to part, at last concluding that they could still catch a late showing of the movie. The remainder of the evening was casual. As lifelong friends might do, they laughed, shoulders brushing, heads bent together, fingers touching in the popcorn bag. She dabbed butter from his chin. He grasped her hand, pulling her at a run through the cold night air to his car. At her front door they shared a brief hug.

“Tony, do you have to use it?” The unsettling question of his story and Brady had remained just below the surface all evening.

“I don't know.” He hugged her again, her neck in the crook of his arm as he kissed the top of her head. “I'm writing tomorrow, all day, just me and my laptop in my little Valley Oaks furnished apartment. Then I'm heading home. Mind if I stop by your girls' meeting on my way out of town?”

“More research?”

“Mmm…”

“Truth.”

“Probably, but I really want to say goodbye.”

“Gina will be there.”

His breath frosted the air. “Well…good. That's good. If she'll listen, I can tell her goodbye, too. And she can tell me good riddance.”

Isabel giggled into his shoulder. “You can stop by for a
minute
. The girls will enjoy ogling the city slicker.”

“You're sure?”

Isabel kicked off the covers now. No, she wasn't sure, but when his arms were around her she would agree to just about anything.

Still? After all these years?

She made a strangled noise of frustration and padded down the hall. Her usual Sunday routine was out of the question. First off, she'd better give Gina a heads-up call. Then she would go into East Rockville, sit in a pew between her
mamá
and
papá
at the church she had grown up in, hear the word of God in her native language, and try to put some order to the disarray that had become her life.

While shaving Sunday morning, Cal considered the advantages of a goatee. Tammy had nixed the idea of growing one. He hadn't even bothered to mention that as fall turned to winter, his goatee sprouted into a full-fledged beard. It was his annual custom, now past due to begin.

He arrived at church with 30 seconds to spare and hurried up a side aisle as the organist played the opening bars of a song. He slipped midway into a pew, grabbing a hymnal from its bracket. Beside him, a black-haired woman turned and smiled. It was Lia…with short hair!

She grinned, pointed at her head, and nodded.

He blinked. “What'd you do?”

She only sang, holding up her hymnal to show him the page number.

Turning his attention to the music, he gave her sidelong glances. By some standards her hair wouldn't be considered short, but compared to yesterday's ponytail swishing to her waist, this was short. Parted on the left, it hung thick and straight to just beneath her chin, a shiny swoop of jet black that set off her dark eyes and accented her creamy skin. Except for subtle eyeliner and glossy lipstick, she wore no makeup. Not that the smooth porcelain needed it. Not that Tammy's pretty face needed it either, but that didn't stop her from caking it on.

The music came to an end. As they sat, Lia palmed the bottom edge of her hair, patting it, and whispered, “So what do you think?”

Cal wasn't good at faking compliments. Her long hair had been the most appealing thing about her. One of the most, anyway. Involuntarily, he winced.

She laughed quietly and leaned toward him, stretching to whisper in his ear, “It's good to have an honest friend.”

Cal was like the gum he chewed. Lia couldn't unstick the thought of him. This had been going on for a while, not just since Friday night when they nearly kissed, but especially so since Friday night. Whatever that had been!

Turning toward him now, she squinted against the sunlight as they walked toward her car. “I've moved the back room key from the desk drawer and hidden it in the laundry detergent. I usually use the one I keep on this ring with all my other keys.”

“And where do you keep that ring?”

“With me. When the store's open, it's in a drawer behind the counter. If I'm home, it's usually in my handbag, upstairs.”

“Will you tell Chloe where you hid the key?”

“Cal, she lives there with me. In an emergency, she may need to use it.”

“Kids talk.”

“She won't if I tell her not to.”

“You give her an awful lot of responsibility for a—How old is she?”

“Nine. Nine year olds are capable of extraordinary responsibility. She's better than I am on the cash register.”

He grunted a monosyllabic reply. “Did she tell you if Chelsea had friends over Thursday night while she was babysitting?”

“I asked. She said no one came. They did art projects all evening.” She didn't mention that Chloe had already been in bed a while when she arrived home from the book club. In her opinion, casting shadows of doubt over Chelsea wasn't necessary. Lia opened her trunk, removed a large manila envelope, and handed it to him. “Here are the copies of invoices and everything.” Closing the lid, she scanned the parking lot, watching for Chloe.

“Thanks. Try not to worry.”

“Are you kidding? I feel like I need an armed guard just to walk upstairs to the apartment!”

He squeezed her elbow. “Hey, I'll figure it out.” It was his larger-than-life cop tone. “And remember Philippians 4:6 and 7. Be anxious for nothing, Miss Impressively Independent.”

It worked. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Have you talked with Chloe's dad again?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She pressed her lips together and then exhaled loudly. “Scratch the unfortunately. Why, yes,” she attempted a cheery lilt, “I have talked with him and the conversation went rather well. I'm letting her visit him next weekend.”

He gave her a thumbs-up sign. “Way to go.”

“I sure hope so. Will you stop staring at my hair?”

“Oh, uh, sorry. It just takes some getting used to.”

“Well, get used to it when I can't see you. You're giving me a complex.”

He crossed his arms and made an exaggerated show of studying her from every angle. “Why did you do it?”

“Why not?”

“It looked great the way it was.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you tell me.”

“Never thought about it.”

“Typical male. Don't know what you want until it's long gone.”

“Typical female, always changing to keep up with the latest fashion.” Something flickered in his eyes.

Unintentionally, the bantering had turned flirtatious. The scales they had kept so delicately balanced tipped, and the momentum pushed her comeback off the tip of her tongue. “Accuse me of paying attention to fashion, will you? No way now am I telling you why I did it, Deputy Huntington.”

“Have it your way. We're not supposed to be friends anyway, right?” The early spring green of his eyes reflected the noon sunshine, his cheeks folding like an accordion behind his big grin.

She looked away, speechless at the surprising jab of hurt.
Well, you asked for it
, she chided herself,
playing with fire. And yes, you did tell him you shouldn't be friends…for Tammy's sake.

He cleared his throat. “Here comes Chloe. Well, thanks for the papers. I'll study them and hopefully come up with a simple explanation for the missing drugs.”

She nodded and gave him a tight smile. “Bye.”

“See you.” He threw her one last puzzled look and left.

Lia watched him stride away, his broad teddy bear shoulders draped in a white shirt with thin, subtle green stripes, its long sleeves rolled up his forearms. His thick, bristly, light brown hair was cut neatly across the back of his square neck.

Strike two. Their easygoing relationship had just turned serious.

Strike one had been his tendency to avoid Chloe. Fear of little kids. Lia had seen it often enough.

Not that she was pitching to him in the first place, but she should pray for a strike three. She was enjoying his company way too much and even missing him. Actually wondering
what that kiss would have felt like. Ridiculous! After all these years of guarding her time and her heart, of protecting her space with Chloe, she wasn't going to throw it away and lose herself to a man as her sister had done…just because a pair of green eyes danced in the noon sunlight, warming her like the first hints of spring.

Come to think of it, there already was a strike three. Tammy. He was crazy about—if not wholeheartedly devoted to—a beautiful woman.

Good. No reason for Lia to complicate her own life by encouraging his friendship…or whatever the correct term was.
May he buy his toothpaste elsewhere!