Hidden Scars (14 page)

Chuck grimaced as he lowered himself to the sofa.

“You’re still in a lot of pain, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m getting there.”

“What did the doctor say?”

He shrugged. “I’ll find out Monday. He’s supposed to remove the stitches then. I’ll sure be glad. They’re about to itch me to death. Now this thing,” he moved his casted arm, “is what I’m really ready to part company with. I’m tired of lugging it around, but the doc’s already said it’ll take five to six weeks for the fracture to heal.”

I rubbed my fingertips across the rough, white plaster. “Does your arm hurt much?”

He shook his head. “Not like the ribs.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better. It’s been a long miserable week.” I meant it. I’d grown accustomed to seeing him daily before his accident. We talked on the phone every evening while he recuperated at his mother’s, but it wasn’t the same as seeing with your eyes what words didn’t always tell you.

He lifted my chin and brushed my lips with his. “It’s been hard for both of us.”

I rested my head against his shoulder and waited for the conversation to shift. I didn’t have to wait long.

He kissed the top of my head. “Morgan, why didn’t you tell me about the job?”

I sat up and faced him. “Can I ask you a question first?”

“Sure.” He nodded.

Stay calm.
“Why did you tell Kyle and Patty about being upset with me?”

“What?” He blinked and leaned forward, his hand resting on my knee. “I’m not upset with you.”

“Then why did they make the flimsy excuse about going to the movies? You told me yourself that it would give us a chance to talk. You already made it clear earlier today that you weren’t happy about my job. I believe you said, ‘We’ll talk about it tonight.’ You want to talk, we’ll talk, but I’m not going to be scolded like a child or talked down to. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. I know what the Bible says about the husband being head of the home. I believe it, but I won’t ever allow anyone to mistreat me again. Verbally or physically.”

Chuck’s eyes widened. “Whoa! Where’s this coming from?” He took a deep breath. “First of all, I would
never
deliberately hurt you. Second Kyle and Patty discussed on the way up here about going to the movies. I’m sure they wanted to give us some time alone. We haven’t seen each other for a week.” He studied my face. “Is that why you’ve been so quiet? You thought I’d discussed you and your job with the two of them?”

“Well didn’t you?”

“No.” He reached for my hand. “Morgan, I feel like I’ve been tried and convicted. Not because of what I did, but because of your parents. I’m not the enemy. I’ll never belittle you. I’ll never hit you or try to control you.”

“Then why are you upset, disappointed, or whatever you want to call it, about me getting a job?”

“After we’re married, if you want to work, I’m okay with that. Right now, you’ve got enough with school, your job at the dorm, and us getting married. I think it’s too much.”

More frustrated than angry, I jerked my hand from his. “You see?”

Chuck sighed. “Okay, let’s go about this in a different way. Why don’t you tell me why you wanted a job?”

How could I forget his mother’s words, “He’s too young to think about marriage and take on all these changes and responsibilities?”

“After everything that’s happened—the wreck and all—you’ve got expenses you hadn’t counted on. I wanted to help, and the only way I knew how was to get a job.”

He smiled and recaptured my hand. “And I love you for it. But my insurance will pay for replacing the car. The hospital bill’s covered. There
are no
extra expenses.”

“What about your job?”

“What about it?”

I tugged on the sling cradling his arm. “I don’t know a lot about cracked ribs, but I know you won’t be lifting anything heavy for a while. And you’ve already said Mr. Edward wasn’t happy when he heard you couldn’t start work Monday. What makes you think he’ll wait for your bones to heal? For all we know, he may have hired someone else by now.”

“That’s why I’m here. I talked to Mr. Edwards this afternoon. He has a nephew who wants to learn the trade. He’s willing to give me another week to recover. He’s even willing to hire his nephew to do all the lifting, but only if I train him. I told him I’d be there a week from Monday.”

“What happens then? You’ll train yourself right out of a job.”

Chuck’s eyes sparkled. “You do love to borrow trouble, don’t you, Morgan Selby? I’m not worried about it.” His smile vanished. “But we’ve jumped track. We need to talk about your job and us.” He dipped his chin and peered directly into my eyes. “Do you know I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Before today, have you ever felt I was trying to control you?”

“No.”

He put his hand behind my neck and pulled my head to his shoulder. “I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you uncomfortable, but I’m glad you told me. We can’t work things out if we don’t talk about ’em.”

We sat in silence, relief washing over me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

“We’re okay, Morgan. Fill me in on this job of yours.”

I jolted upright, grinning to share my day. “I love it. The people. The hours.” I giggled, wondering what he’d think about my closet/office. “The pay. It’s more than cleaning shelves, which is what you saw me doing. Mr. Perkins, my boss, hired me mainly to do light bookkeeping. A skill. A chance to gain experience that means something.”

Chuck tipped my face toward his. “What did Mr. Perkins say when you told him you’d need some time off next month to get married?”

I bit my lip. “I didn’t tell him.”

Chuck’s eyebrows pinched together. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think we’d still be getting married next month.” My gaze shifted to my hands resting in my lap. “I figured it would take time to sort things out, and I didn’t want you to feel like, because we set the date, we had to get married.”

“Morgan, nothing’s changed. We’re getting married next month…Unless you’re having second thoughts.”

“Are you kidding? No.”

“Then you’ve got to tell him. And don’t be surprised if he gets upset.”

“Maybe it’ll help when I tell him I’ll be available to work extra hours starting January… if that’s all right with you?”

Chuck stood. “I know you’ve got to be hungry. I’m starving. Why don’t you see what kind of meat pies Patty bought and turn the oven on. I’ll be in there in a minute to help.”

“But we haven’t finished discussing my job.”

“We can continue our talk in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He walked down the hallway.

A little disappointed, I went into the kitchen, removed a metal ice tray and tonight’s supper from the refrigerator freezer. The instructions on the boxes indicated the pies should be cooked at 375 degrees. With the stove set, I got on my knees and rambled through the cabinets to find a baking sheet.

Chuck caught me off guard as I stood at the sink washing my hands. He kissed the back of my neck, sending shivers up and down my spine.

“You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He stuck a small piece of paper under my nose, too close for me to read.

“What does it say?”

He drew away and waited for me to finish drying my hands before handing it to me.

“Five-hundred dollars? Chuck, why did you write me a check for five-hundred dollars?”

“I want you to find a bank and open us an account. You’ll need someplace to deposit your payroll check.” He braced his hip against the counter. “If you still have a job after Monday.”

“I don’t need that much money.”

“You’ll be opening
us
an account. It’s no longer about you or me; it’s about the two of us. I don’t believe in married couples having two accounts, his and hers. I don’t think it’s healthy. When I come back Monday, I’ll bring the paperwork for you to sign on the accounts at the Bank of Greer. When we get married, we become one in every aspect. You’ve made it clear why you took the job at the drug store, and I’m okay with it. But in the future, we’ll make all our decisions together. We’ll talk it out. Okay?”

“Okay.” I threw my arms around his neck. “No more surprises.”

“Well, now I didn’t say that. Sometimes surprises are a good thing.”

I stepped back to better see him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Somebody I know has a birthday in a few days, and I may have a surprise or two up my sleeve.”

“What?” I demanded.

He rubbed his nose against mine. “Now you know I can’t tell you; you’ll just have to wait.”

As Mr. Franklin’s voice began to fade, my eyelids drooped. I fought to stay awake during his music composition lecture, but the stuffy room, combined with a lack of sleep, caused me to give in to my body’s beckoning. Then chairs scraping across the floor jarred me awake. I wiped moisture from a corner of my mouth. My face burned hot at the instructor’s disapproving glare. I picked up my books and trailed behind several students, hoping he wouldn’t say anything.

Outside, the morning cold had given way to a November Indian summer. White, purple, and red chrysanthemums, along with a colorful starburst of dahlias, dotted the grounds. If not for the bare trees and the musty scent of decaying leaves, it would be easy to forget winter’s approach.

“Hey, Morgan, you headed to the cafeteria?”

“I can’t today, Sarah. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

Lunch would be a Coke and a candy bar at best. I needed a thirty-minute nap. Thoughts of my feather pillow quickened my pace. I counted my steps back to the dorm, up the stairs, and into my room…and then stopped dead still. A brown, paper-wrapped package lay on the middle of my bed. I easily recognized the penmanship—Mom’s.

I wanted to toss it aside. Just seeing her handwriting made me cringe. Instead, I plopped down, tore the wrapping from the box, and lifted the lid. A beautiful royal blue dress with a white collar nestled beneath layers of tissue paper. Light caught the elegant embroidered print edging the white cuffs. Nothing near as nice hung in my closet. My hands trembled as I reached for the sealed envelope that had fallen to the floor. I quoted my version of the verse hanging on the mirror, “I trust You, God, and I will no longer fear what man can do to me.” In spite of my words, my hands continued to shake. The tremors had become a part of me, as though my body had been mis-wired. I opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Morgan,

Long before your father told you to get out of this house, you made your feelings perfectly clear. You never once came home for a visit. We felt that by closing the door to you, you would come to your senses. I’ve decided you don’t have any. We’ve allowed you to get away with too much, and your behavior is now out of control and unacceptable. From now on, you will do as you are told, starting by coming home during Thanksgiving break. You will spend the entire time here. You might as well know you’ll not be returning to Midway next semester. You will get a job and live here. If someday you prove yourself worthy, we’ll talk about college then. We’ll discuss this and more when you get home.

I’ve asked Richard Webster and he has graciously agreed to pick you up from school on the 27
^th
. He’s going out of his way to be courteous, and I expect the same from you.

I’ve noticed many girls wearing dresses so short it leaves little to the imagination. I have no reason to doubt that, without my supervision, you’ve jacked every hemline up to whatever the school will allow. I’ve sent this dress, and I expect to see you in it without the hem altered. We will not tolerate you tramping around with your behind hung out while you’re at home. You’ll not embarrass this family further.

Happy Birthday,

Mother

I wadded the letter and threw it against the wall. Waves of nausea hit. I raced to the garbage can and vomited. Hot, angry tears dripped from my chin along with this morning’s breakfast.

Long after the tears dried, anger remained. I cleaned the soiled wastebasket, washed my face and hands, and brushed my teeth. Then shoved the dress back into the box, stormed down the hall, and deposited it on Ann’s bed. A gift given without love was
not
worth keeping. Using pen and paper from her desk, I placed a brief note on top of the box.

To Ann,

Enjoy!

She and I were the same size, and I knew she would indeed enjoy having a new dress.

I rolled over and looked at the clock, 2:07 a.m. “Happy eighteenth birthday,” I whispered. I’d made it. With the covers tightly gathered around me, I allowed myself to drift back into the comfort of sleep.

I glanced at Chuck with a smile that stretched so wide my cheeks were beginning to hurt. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“You’ll see.” A twinkle of mischief appeared in his eye. “We’re almost there.”

Chuck drove his new candy-apple red Mercury Cougar so slowly, I didn’t think we’d ever get anywhere. But then I saw it: Bella’s. The restaurant with all the charm of years gone by, the place where he’d asked me to marry him. “Oh, Chuck. I love this place.”

“I thought you might.” He turned into the parking lot and shut off the motor, before lifting my chin toward his. “Happy birthday, Morgan.”

Chuck pressed his lips against mine then sighed as he pulled back and gazed into my eyes. “You ready to celebrate?”

I snuggled close, savoring the moment. “With you? Anytime.”

Everything was the way I’d remembered. Irish linen tablecloths and napkins. Beautiful china and crystal. Warm candlelight and rock fireplace. The crackle of wood burning. Flames licked at the logs and cast dancing shadows around the dimly lit room. An ambience of romance. What a wonderful birthday.

The air carried the aroma of fresh bread, garlic, baked fish, and clam chowder—my favorites. My stomach rumbled.

The hostess led us to a secluded corner table and handed us menus. The waiter soon arrived and took our orders. Afterward, Chuck reached across the table and rubbed the top of my left hand. “I have a surprise for you.”