Calculated Risk (6 page)

After dragging her suitcase off the bed and finishing her nightly routine, she plugged the cell into her charger next to a vase of yellow roses on the bedside table. Were they real? She touched a petal. It was moist and alive and gave off a faint rose scent. How sweet of Ellie.

See, life had its little blessings. Wouldn't it be appropriate to list them in preparation for Thanksgiving tomorrow as she drifted off to sleep?

She crawled into bed and folded her hands over her midriff. Of course, she was thankful for Mom and Daddy. Her stomach clenched. The dreaded call would come tomorrow. After she related the news about Jason, Daddy would load her with pointers on how to get Jason back.
You finally got yourself a real man. Don't let him get away, Cis.

For the hundredth time posing the questions—without Daddy's help—was she too overbearing, too talkative, too flighty? Was that why Jason and his predecessor, whose name she wouldn't even think, dumped her?

Lord, please transform me into someone a man can love for a lifetime. I want to make You and Daddy proud.

Yes. That's what she wanted. To change. The next man—her forever love—would cherish her for eternity. She snuggled into her pillow. This was the perfect weekend, away from family and friends, to work on her character flaws and become the new Cisney. Composed, serene, and quiet.

 

****

 

Cisney woke refreshed and hungry. She stretched her arms high above her head, her smile spreading. The first day of her new self was here.

She took a shower and chose the skirt and sweater from the three outfits she'd laid across the bed. The royal blue cashmere sweater and gray wool skirt were dressier than the slacks outfit but more casual than the red dress.

Ready for the day, she gripped the drape rods and whooshed them apart. A huge body of water lay in Nick's backyard. She closed her gaping mouth, but it fell open again. The LeCrones lived on an honest-to-goodness lake. She sank into one of the armchairs situated for viewing the stunning scene from the large circular window. Why hadn't Nick told her? It was gorgeous.

Traces of the early morning mist wafted over the water. Autumn reds, oranges, and yellows, still evident among the deep greens of the firs and pines, graced the areas surrounding the homes that looked like miniature dollhouses on the far shore.

She leaned closer to the window and looked from one side to the other to gauge the span of the lake. It rounded bends in either direction without ending. Was the boundless lake a sign that great new possibilities were opening up for her?

She dropped her gaze to the lawn between the house and the boathouse, where Nick sat on a bench, reading. She raised her fist to rap on the window, and then stopped, doubting he would hear her from up so close to heaven.

She unplugged her cell. Wait until Angela heard that Nick the Actuary had a Steinway and lived on an enormous lake. She selected her friend from favorites and stood at the window, where the ceiling reached its highest point. While Angela's phone rang, Cisney watched Nick.

“Hi, Cisney,” Angela said. “Sorry, I can't come rescue you from boredom. I'm forced to ski on ten inches of new powder!”

Cisney pictured Angela's auburn mass of natural curls bouncing in her excitement. “Thanks for wishing you could, though. What is it, seven o'clock there?”

“Yeah. First lift goes up at eight.”

“Only you could be skiing in Colorado a week before your wedding. I'm surprised your mom let you go.”

“You know Mom. She wants to do it all. She'd say the vows too, if I let her. Enough about me. How are you?”

“Amazingly, it's not that bad here. Nick is uncommunicative Nick. I had to open my drapes this morning to find out his parents live on a mammoth lake. It's breathtaking.”

“I'm glad it hasn't been a total washout. Did you know Nick isn't on Facebook?”

“Why did you look for him there?”

“I wanted to see if he might be boyfriend material for you.” Sheepishness tinged Angela's voice. “So shoot me. I think he's good looking, in a serious sort of way. I'm sorry he's the same old drag outside of work that he is inside.”

“Actually, he's cooler away from work—even has a sense of humor.” Why was she defending Nick? Especially after his grumpy behavior during the unexpected concert last night. No matter. Today, she'd let nothing stand in the way of creating her new image. “Oh, I played ‘Flight of the Bumblebee' on their Steinway. Not just any Steinway, but a grand. It's a dream.”

“A lovely lake and a grand piano. I'd say things are looking up.”

“Looking down is more like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They put me in an attic room that affords me an awesome view. Anyway, I originally called you because I needed you as my accountability partner.”

“Ah, ha. Another challenge. I have one for you, too. I'm going to ski down a black diamond trail before we leave, if it kills me.”

Cisney laughed. “It probably will.”

“The pun's been good for several laughs around here. Tom complains he doesn't want a fiancée with a broken back. He wants to know how I'll be able to wait on him with a damaged spine after we're married. But making it to the bottom of a black diamond is my challenge. What's yours?”

“I have to maintain a fifteen-minute dialog with Nick, with no pauses over a minute, or I have to start the clock again.”

“I'm talking black diamond, here, and you're talking fifteen minutes of conversation? If you want a notch on your challenge belt, make it a half hour.”

“I've sort of lost interest—”

A guffaw sounded in the background of Angela's phone.

Every cell in Cisney's body went rigid. “That laugh! I'd recognize it anywhere.”

 

 

 

4

 

Cisney pressed her cell against her ear. “What's Jason doing there with you?” She grasped the top of one of the armchairs to steady her trembling legs.

“Making breakfast.” Angela's voice squeaked. “Aw, Cis, I'm sorry. He sort of invited himself along at the last minute.”

“Is
she
there with him?”

“She's a beautiful doormat, nothing like you at—”

“I can't talk anymore.” Cisney dropped her cell. It landed on the cushion of the armchair. How could Jason betray her using her friends?

She dug her fingers into her hair and paced the length of the window. Her lungs labored to pull in air, and her chest ached. Did the rat know her friends were planning a skiing trip before he dumped her? Did he get rid of her so he could take Miss Beautiful Doormat skiing instead of her?

Cisney punched her fists upward. Her knuckles scuffed the inclining ceiling. Rubbing her chaffed skin, she dropped into an armchair and rocked. Her forehead knocked on the cold window glass with each forward sway. This was not happening. This couldn't be happening.

Below where Nick sat reading by the lake, he turned a page of his book. How could he be so nonchalant down there when she'd been stabbed in the back up here?

She threw herself backwards against the chair.
I can't do this—can't go downstairs and play gracious guest
.
I need to go home.

Yes. Home. By herself. She shot to her feet and looked for a phone book in the drawer of the bedside table. It housed a Bible and a small box of tissues. She pitched the Bible on the bed and peered behind the box. Nothing. She snatched several tissues and wiped at the tears drenching her face. The trunk at the end of the bed held only photo albums.

Stop! Why are you looking for a phone book?
She grabbed her phone, identified her current location on Maps, and bought an online Greyhound Bus ticket leaving from Statesville, a city about twenty minutes away. In the direction of home.

 

****

 

Nick looked up from his Bible and out over the lake. A great blue heron flew overhead. He'd missed his quiet times by the lake.
Lord, You have comforted me today.

Since Dana had called off their relationship, God had faithfully directed him to Scriptures that furthered his healing. What a merciful God. His Lord had not only taken care of his sins for eternity, but He cared about his daily scrapes.

Nick ran his finger over the Scripture in Second Corinthians…
Who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

Was he ready to move forward?
Lord, did you guide Dana to call me last week? Please lead me away from Option A if it's not Your will for us to work together.

No thoughts or Scriptures spoke to what he should do about Option A. God's focus today seemed to be on comfort and not on guidance for employment options. He'd just let the job situation play out and stay alert for God's nudges.

The heron landed near the shore by the boathouse. What a perfect day to paddle around in the rowboat, or maybe take out the canoe for some exercise. His huffing and puffing up the stairs last night, carrying Cisney's complete wardrobe, proved he needed to get into some kind of workout routine.

Was the sleeping beauty up yet? Would she enjoy going out on the lake? No need to entertain her—the family would line up for her attention as soon as she came downstairs—but he'd like to take her out and show her the lake.

He looked up at the round window of her room. The curtains were open. She must be up. He'd finish reading the Second Corinthians passage, and then—she passed by the window. He removed his glasses. Was she dancing, or practicing karate moves?

 

****

 

Cisney threw her phone onto the bed and shot her fists above her head. “Give me strength! And a ride to the bus station.” Images of Jason and his new girlfriend in trendy ski outfits snuggling on the ski lift broke into her mind. “Lord, why is Jason torturing me?”

She wanted to throw something. A pillow wouldn't satisfy. She beat her thighs and shook her head. That helped. Didn't she have the right to act like a mad mongrel in the privacy of her room?

A picture of Jason introducing what's-her-name to Cisney's friends snapped into her head. What was this? A slideshow of “Jason Betrays Cisney”? “Oohh! Why can't the creep just disappear from my life?”

Cisney stomped to the bathroom, ducking her head where the ceiling slanted. Why didn't Daddy see what a jerk his choice for her future was? In one sweep, she collected her toiletries, returned to the room, and then flung them into her suitcase. Couldn't Jason be content with knocking her down, without trampling her face into the muck?

Nick had better agree to take her to the bus station. Cisney didn't care how long she had to wait on a sticky bench surrounded by candy wrappers. In this state, she had to get out of here now, before people in holiday moods started being thankful. She slammed the suitcase closed, wrestled it to the floor, and strode to the door.

Wham!

She staggered backwards from the sloped ceiling, her hands going to her forehead. The back of her legs connected with the upright suitcase. She lost her balance and sat on it. The suitcase rolled back. She slid off and landed hard on the carpeted floor. Stunned, she sat a moment, and then made sure nothing hurt unreasonably, other than the bump surely forming on her forehead.

Calm down before you kill yourself.

She needed to get to Nick while he was still alone
.

In double-time, she crawled to the landing outside her dwarfed door, stood, and listened for sounds of movement on the second floor. Handling nice people was out of the question. Detecting silence, she crept down two flights of stairs. When she reached the foyer, words drifted from the kitchen and intermingled with the conversation emitting from the living room. She stealthily made a tight turn around the staircase newel and headed down the hallway toward the back of the house.

When she reached a butler's pantry, which opened into both the dining room and the kitchen, she scooted past, but not before making out Nancy's voice coming from the kitchen.

“Did you see Cisney's pearl engagement ring? They're engaged! Did she think because her gem is a pearl we'd be fooled?”

“I hope you're right,” Ellie's voice said. “She's perfect for Nick.”

Cisney clamped her hands to her head and dug her fingers into her hair. Pain shot to the pulsing lump on her forehead. Huffing a cry through her bared teeth, she scurried from the chatter of the gullible women. What next? Could anything else go wrong?

She escaped through the mudroom door, trudged toward the lake across the trimmed lawn—her two-inch heels aerating the grass—and planted herself in front of Nick. She dropped her gaze to the book on his lap. He was reading the Bible? Nick read the Bible?

S
tay focused.

He looked up. His dimpled smile formed, and then disappeared. He studied her with sober concern.

She paced the lawn in front of him and flapped her hands. He probably thought she looked like an agitated duck. She clasped her hands in front of her. “I know this is a bad time, right on Thanksgiving Day, but I have to go home.”

He removed his glasses and stared at her. Good, he didn't interrupt her with an inane question like, “Who died?”

Her face crumpled and tears overruled her will. “I can't do this. I don't want to pretend in front of your wonderful family that everything is all right. I don't want a notch on my challenge belt by getting you to dialog for fifteen minutes. I just want to go home. I want to be alone.” She curbed an escaped wail. “I'm sorry, I don't mean for this to sound as if it's about you. It's about Jason.” She stopped and faced him. “He—he is with all my—my friends in Colorado.” She punctuated her words with chops from her open hands, hiccupping between phrases. “They are
my
friends. I—I—I introduced him to them, and now he's wheedled his way in on their ski trip and brought along his new girlfriend.”