Bridge to Haven (41 page)

Joshua watched Dave at the grill. “Smells great.”

Dave gave a sardonic smile. “Never thought you’d see me cooking anything, did you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You managed hot dogs and marshmallows over a campfire. What do you have there? Half a steer?”

“I figured you’d be hungry, and porterhouse steaks are the best. How do you like your meat? My wife likes hers still mooing.” Joshua told him medium. The steaks sizzled as Dave speared them with a long fork and turned them over. “I’ve got some bad news.” Dave took Kathy’s steak away from the heat. “About the job.”

“I’ve been fired before I’ve been hired?”

“The shoot’s been postponed. I told you the business was unpredictable.” A muscle jerked in his cheek. “There may be something else. Kathy’s father wants to do some remodeling.”

Joshua could see the furrow growing in Dave’s brow. “And?”

“He’s a tough man to please. A perfectionist. It’s probably a waste of time to talk to him.”

“A waste of time?”

Dave looked annoyed. “I’m not saying you’re not a good carpenter.” He uttered a short, foul word under his breath and then rushed on. “You’ll understand when you see the house. It’s not like anything you’ve worked on in Haven.”

“Are you worried that my feelings will be hurt, or that I’ll botch a job for your father-in-law?” Joshua laughed. “Don’t worry. If the job’s beyond my abilities, I’ll tell him.”

Kathy came back from breaking up a squabble between their two children. Joshua told her the lemonade was the best he’d ever tasted.

“David planted the trees right after we bought the house.” She pointed out the orange, lime, and lemon trees growing along the
fence beyond the swimming pool, where the two children now splashed and played.

Dave still looked worried. “Have you ever done cabinetry and finish work?”

“I built my dad’s pulpit and the altar, renovated the choir loft, and did the front doors of the church.” He gave Dave an amused smile. “Not that you ever saw them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in church.”

“And you won’t. It’s a waste of Sundays. Kathy’s been talking about it since our visit to Haven.” He gave a snort. “Did you plant that idea in her head?”

“Not that I know of.” Joshua lifted his glass of lemonade. “Maybe God is working on her in hope of getting to you.”

“Yeah. That’ll be the day.” His smile grew derisive. “What would God want with me?”

“Don’t ask me. Ask Him.”

“Always the evangelist.” There was no sting in Dave’s tone this time. “I’m a lost cause.”

Dave had always been stubborn and bullheaded. Now he was driven and ambitious besides. Joshua knew God could use those traits for a good purpose, just as he’d turned Saul of Tarsus from persecutor and killer of Christians into a man who spread the gospel throughout the Roman world.

Now, with television and airplanes, this new guy, Billy Graham, might reach even more of the far corners of the earth.

“DJ! Cassie!” Kathy called. “Time for dinner.” The children clambered from the pool, grabbed towels, and raced to the table. Dave looked exasperated at their squabbling. Kathy noticed and admonished them to settle down. “We have company. Behave!”

Joshua asked if he could say grace. Dave looked irritated, the children curious, but Kathy quickly said, “Please do.”

Joshua told a brief story of one of Dave’s exploits when they were
boys. The children wanted to hear more. Dave told them to be quiet and eat. They could go back in the pool when they finished. Kathy said if they went in too soon, they might get stomach cramps and drown. “With us right here?” Dave countered, annoyed. DJ and Cassie squabbled again. “Knock it off!” Dave thundered. Cassie started to cry. Dave muttered something and got up. He grabbed his empty glass and headed for the house.

Kathy looked embarrassed and worried. “He’s not always like this.” She shooed the children onto the lawn, then headed for the house. DJ did a cannonball into the pool while Cassie stood on her towel, calling out, “Mommy, DJ is in the pool!” Dave came back outside, another drink in his hand, Kathy on his heels. Exasperated, she went to talk with DJ. He balked, but obeyed.

Dave closed the barbecue without cleaning the grill. He wanted to talk about business. Kathy joined them again and Dave stopped talking. She wanted to hear about Haven and what they’d done as boys. Joshua told her about Dave’s most spectacular plays on the football field.

Dave’s silence stretched taut. Kathy glanced at him in concern. “I think I’ll let you two talk.” She rose and called for the children to come inside.

As soon as they were gone, Dave opened up again. “You never really know who your friends are in this town. You never know what anyone is really thinking. Friends can turn into enemies overnight in this business.” The sun went down and he was just getting wound up.

Joshua let him talk for a long time before asking, “You sure this is where you want to be?”

“I’m locked in, Josh. It’s a little late to change my mind.”

“Change course.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re single. You don’t have a wife who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her father is the one who opened the doors. He’s the one that loaned us the down payment for this house. He’d want to string me up if I quit.”

Kathy opened the doors. “DJ and Cassie want a story, David.”

“You read to them! I’ve got to scrape the grill and clean up out here.” He got up and headed for the barbecue, as though to prove his point.

“The barbecue can wait, David.” Kathy sounded annoyed.

“No, it can’t. It’ll be dark soon.”

“It’s already dark, and the kids need to get to bed so they’ll be willing to get up tomorrow for—”

“Who’s stopping you? You’re the mom. Take care of it!”

Joshua rose. “Mind if I tell them a story?”

“Good luck with that,” Dave muttered, scraping the grill. “All they ever do is fight over which book they want. I’m too tired to deal with them.”

Kathy warned Joshua the children were keyed up and might not settle down for him. She ordered them to sit and behave so Daddy’s friend could tell them a story. DJ bounced on the edge of the couch. Cassie pushed him. He shoved her. Kathy made them sit on swivel rockers. DJ rocked; Cassie turned in a circle. Joshua took the challenge. He sat on the sofa and started talking. It took two minutes for the fidgeting to stop and five more to get DJ and Cassie on the sofa with him. Joshua leaned back, an arm around each of them, still talking.

When Dave came in through the French doors, he looked surprised. Kathy was sitting in one of the swivel rockers and listening. Cassie was asleep, curled up against Joshua’s side with her thumb in her mouth, but DJ was wide-awake, listening. Dave took a seat, looking more perplexed than relieved. When Joshua finished, Kathy stood and scooped up Cassie in her arms and told DJ to head for bed. DJ followed and then stopped in the doorway. “Are you going to be here tomorrow morning?”

“Yep.” Joshua smiled. “Your mom and dad said I could stay until I can find a place of my own.”

“I don’t think I’d like to spend three days inside a whale.”

Joshua grinned. “Me either.”

“You said it was true.”

“It is. I have another true story to tell you about a boy who killed a giant with a sling and a stone.”

Dave looked half-amused, half-annoyed, as DJ trundled off to bed. “Bible stories. I should’ve guessed.”

Joshua laughed. “Would you like to hear one? I could tell you about Gideon and the Midianites. He felt persecuted and outnumbered, too. Actually, come to think of it, he was, but then again—”

“Spare me.”

Kathy returned from tucking in the children. “You’d make a wonderful father, Joshua.”

Dave gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Beware, Josh. Anytime a woman meets a bachelor, no matter how content he is with his life, she won’t be happy until she sees him roped and branded.” His tone wasn’t light.

Kathy stiffened. “I’ve been told married men live longer than bachelors.”

“Unless they work for their father-in-law.”

Kathy’s mouth opened in hurt surprise.

Swift regret filled Dave’s expression before he shut down. He got up. “I’m going to bed.” Joshua stood and thanked them both for dinner and the use of their guest room. Dave waved it off and turned to his wife, who remained in her chair, head down. “I have to get to the office early.” His tone was quiet, bland. “You’d better write out directions so Josh can find your father’s house.”

“I’ll give him the Thomas map. That way you’ll know I didn’t mislead him.”

Dave didn’t say anything as he headed for the hallway. He stopped and looked back at Joshua. “Be there a little before ten. If you’re even one minute late, you might as well turn around and come on home.”

“That’s not fair, Dave.” Kathy looked close to tears. “You talk as though my father is unreasonable.”

“Try working for him.”

“Maybe if you’d try to understand what he’s going through . . .”

“Good night!” Dave disappeared down the hall.

Kathy glanced at Joshua. “He’s been waiting for you to come. He said you’re the only friend he trusts.” She looked crushed. “And he’s wrong about my father. My mom died two years ago and . . .” Her expression beseeched him. “I hope you’ll make up your own mind when you meet him tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Joshua sat on the edge of the double bed in the guest room, head bowed. He’d always known the job was a secondary reason for coming south. He’d really come to find Abra. Now it seemed he had four more reasons for being here.

Abra wasn’t the only lamb lost in the wilderness.

Abra came out into the sunshine, Franklin at her side, talking. She was too tired to pay attention. The day had gone well, the dance sequences all finished. Ben Hastings, the star of
Ladies and Gents
, was a professional hoofer and a perfectionist. He had taught her to tap-dance on set, drilling her harder than Franklin ever had in acting. She knew the steps so well, she danced them in her sleep. Today had been the last and most difficult and evocative dance he’d choreographed, and she’d kept up with him right to the last step.

The director called, “Cut!” and came out of his seat, he was so excited. “That was better than Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers!” Ben grabbed and hugged her tight and called her a trouper. She should have felt triumphant. Instead, she’d felt relief it was over, finally over. She’d fought tears, desperate to escape. She wanted to get out of the studio and breathe fresh air. She wanted to be away from the lights and the cameras that followed her every move. How many little mistakes would show up on the big screen? What would the critics say?
What would the audience feel? She felt like a fraud, always playing a part, always being someone other than herself. The problem was she didn’t know herself anymore, what she wanted, where she belonged. She became whatever persona Franklin wanted, what the script and director demanded.

What had become of Abra?

Franklin’s hand tightened at her elbow. Perhaps he sensed she wasn’t really listening. He always wanted her undivided attention. “I’m sending you to the salon for a pedicure.” He never asked, and she didn’t have the strength or courage to tell him she wanted to go back to the apartment and sleep for a week. “We’re going to a party tonight. Billy Wilder will be there. Rumor has it he’s going to do a courtroom drama. I want you polished and ready.” She wondered if she could stand—let alone walk—in a pair of heels after the day she’d had. Franklin kissed her cheek and opened the back door of the limo. “You did well today. I’m proud of you.”

“Proud enough to give me an evening off?”

“Don’t be cute.”

The driver slid into the front seat and gave her a quick smile and greeting before starting the Cadillac. When he asked her a question, she answered politely, then asked him to turn on the radio. He took the hint. She didn’t want to talk. Unfortunately, the station he chose was playing “The Great Pretender” by the Platters. Sighing, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the seat. Would there ever be a time when she didn’t have to pretend? Was there anything in her life right now that was real?

She still felt queasy whenever a camera started to roll, knowing the director was watching every move she made, every expression on her face, listening to every word and nuance she spoke, always looking for a flaw, a mistake that would mean more rehearsing and another take, and then another.

Franklin was keeping his word. He was getting her bigger and
better parts. He’d warned her from the start that it would be hard work. She learned her lines. She knew her marks. She listened and did exactly what the director told her to do. She found it easier to play the parts in a movie than to be Lena Scott. She had to remember to play that part no matter where she was, especially in the apartment when only Franklin’s eyes were on her. Whenever Abra slipped through, Franklin gave her that look.
You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Lena Scott now. Don’t forget.
How long before the role became natural and she, Abra, ceased to exist? And would it matter to anyone if she did?