Love Remains (14 page)

“Don’t sound so thrilled. I thought you were excited about this—about showing Bobby Patterson up.” Flannery pulled out her phone, used her thumb to press a couple of icons on the large screen, then turned it toward Zarah. “This is Tom. He’s one of my authors.”

“Not the one whose agent you were just yelling at, I hope?” The black-and-white head-shot photo showed a thirtysomething man with curly hair, dark-framed glasses, and a pinkie ring on the hand fisted at his chin.

“Of course not. He has a mole on his chin, and he hates it—that’s why he’s covering it up in the picture. And he likes history—he’s written a couple of historicals.” Flannery turned the phone back around to face her. “They didn’t sell very well, but still, he wrote them.”

“And you…you talked to him about me? About going out with me?”

“No, not yet. I wanted to run my list by you before I approached any of them.”

“Wait…what? You have a
list?
I thought this was just one or two guys for one or two dates.” Her pulse throbbed loudly in her ears. As uncomfortable as first dates always were—especially blind dates—the idea of going out on more than just a couple horrified her.

“Zare—do you want to move forward or not?”

She took a long sip of her flavored water before answering. She did, didn’t she? Steeling her nerve, she set the bottle down. “Yes. Bring on the list.”

Chapter 10

S
o, who has any progress to report?” Katrina Breitinger set her triple espresso latte down on the table and slid back into her chair. The regular Thursday morning coffee get-together was the perfect place to plot and plan.

“Progress?” Celeste Evans asked.

“Our pact, remember? To get at least one of each of our grandchildren married and giving us great-grandchildren before…a certain other person in the Keenagers group.” Lindy Patterson leaned forward. “I can’t say there’s been much movement on my front—my grandson has only been back in town for a little more than a week. But he has decided he’s going to rejoin Acklen Avenue Fellowship. He’s already been to a couple of the singles’ events.”

Trina traced the edge of the cardboard sleeve around her cup with her thumb. Yes, Bobby Patterson had indeed been to the singles’ events, much to Zarah’s consternation and dismay. She’d at first thought that Bobby’s coming back to Nashville now, just when she’d made the agreement with her friends to work at getting their grandchildren settled down, had been providential. She’d hoped God had brought him back so that he and Zarah could mend things between them.

With the way Zarah reacted to seeing him, it was obvious she
still held strong feelings for him. Trina just wasn’t certain if there was anything but bitterness and unforgiveness at the root of her granddaughter’s emotions. “My granddaughter is going to be a hard nut to crack.”

“Caylor is open to dating, but she doesn’t get too many offers.” Celeste’s granddaughter lived with her.

“You should start working on her to get her to attend Acklen Avenue,” Lindy suggested. “There are many fine young men in the singles’ group.”

With the way Lindy’s blue eyes twinkled, Trina figured her friend thought of Bobby as a potential match for Celeste’s granddaughter.

“She gave up so much of her independence when she moved in with me five years ago that it seems unfair to ask her to give up what little individuality she has—going to a different church—to come to Acklen Avenue with me, too.”

“What about the young men at her church?” Helen asked.

Celeste shook her head. “It’s too small. She says she prefers it that way, but it makes me wonder how she’s ever going to meet a man. At least there are a few prospects at the college. Not that she’ll admit to it. But I hear a few names mentioned from time to time. Between teaching and the committees she serves on and participating in the drama department’s presentations, it seems like her whole life is wrapped up in that place.”

“Zarah spends most of her time at work, too.” Trina swirled the remaining liquid around in the bottom of the cup. “She loves it, but I worry about how much of her heart and soul she pours into that job—I don’t want her to burn herself out and not have anything left to give when the right man comes along.”

“All my grandson does is work,” Maureen O’Connor chimed in. “I think the only reason he takes the time to go to church is because there are so many prominent people who attend Christ Church—important clients or business contacts.”

“At least he still attends church,” Helen commiserated. “My oldest
grandson no longer goes—and last time he spoke to his parents, he told them he’s involved with a woman considerably older than him. His parents suspect it’s one of the other professors at the art college where he’s an instructor—and this woman thinks religion is for the ignorant and uncultured. They’re worried if the college’s administration finds out that they’re dating, he’ll lose his job. But he wouldn’t listen to them.”

“It’s hard,” Trina joined in, “when a child strays—my heart still aches for my older daughter, as I’ll never know if she returned to the faith she had as a child before she died. But we have to hold firm to God’s promise that once someone is in His hand, He’ll never let them go—no matter how far afield they stray.”

The other women nodded.

“Speaking of far afield”—Lindy tried to inject smiles back into the somber group—”it’s time we scheduled another family get-together. October is always a good time—the men can watch football, and it’ll still be nice enough for all the ladies to sit outside and chat.”

“We’ll need a weekend when there’s an away game for Vanderbilt,” Helen said. “Gerald got season tickets this year.”

“I’ll send y’all an e-mail with possible dates, and we can figure out the weekend with the fewest conflicts for everyone in our families.” Trina winked. “Or at least for a few key grandchildren.”

Chapter 11

L
et me guess—you were up all night working on this.” Dennis Forrester looked up from the packet of paper in front of him on his desk.

Zarah stopped rubbing her neck. “No…not all night.” Just until 4:45 this morning. Then she’d sent it to print and collapsed into the bed for an hour and a half.

“What time did you come in this morning?”

“Not until about seven thirty.”

“Oh, you were late, then.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Dr. Forrester.” She rolled her head from side to side. “Would you rather I just threw something together at the last minute and do an incomplete job?” She tried to put a teasing lilt into her voice, but she was just too tired to be successful. Besides, they had this conversation every quarter when she put in a little extra time to get the senate committee report written.

“In case I don’t say it often enough, I do appreciate all the time and effort you put into your job. I receive more positive comments from the council members and the senators on your thoroughness and the accessibility of the information you provide in your reports. Not to mention the photos, charts, graphs, and maps.”

She pressed her lips together in the closest approximation of a
smile she could muster. “Thanks.”

“I got a call from the head of the senate committee this morning. There’s been a little bit of a shake-up and some reassignments going on, and he wanted to let me know that there’s a new member on the committee. So you may want to be prepared to get a little more detail in your report than usual and to answer some basic, fundamental questions that everyone else on the committee already knows.” Dennis looked through a few more pages, turning the stapled stack sideways to look at one of the maps.

Zarah resisted the urge to rub her forehead. A new senator on the committee always meant a spate of questions about things the senator could have learned for himself—or herself—just by going back and reading past reports. It almost always meant the meeting would last twice as long. She might need to rearrange her schedule for next Thursday.

Dennis muttered to himself as he continued reviewing the report. As expected, when he got about three-fourths of the way through it, he stilled, reread the page several times, and then looked up at Zarah.

“Are you certain you have enough evidence to back up your claim on the historical significance of the riverfront property?”

“The specimens coming in from the field are promising. I haven’t been able to be as hands-on with discovery as I would like, but from what the team has shown me, I’m very optimistic.” Every time she thought about the archaeologist and students out researching the riverfront site for evidence of the earthen-work fort that was rumored to have been there during the Civil War, she wondered how she ever allowed Dennis to talk her into taking the position of assistant director—which meant no fieldwork, little lab work, and enough paperwork to choke a humpback whale.

Sometimes she thought she’d give just about anything to go back to being simply one of the several researchers who worked for the commission. Of course, having been the assistant director for almost three years now had brought her to the attention of other
organizations—like the National Archives in Washington DC. She still wasn’t quite certain what she wanted to do about the message the director of research had left on her cell phone yesterday, asking her to call him back about a position there. While she didn’t really want to leave Nashville, she couldn’t shake the idea that this out-of-the-blue job opportunity might be God’s way of putting her in a position to reconcile with her father and stepmother.

“Well, if you’re ready to take the heat on the riverfront property, go for it. It’s your baby.” Dennis flipped through the final few pages of the report and then set it aside. “How do you feel about taking a trip to Washington in a couple weeks?”

Fear coiled in Zarah’s stomach. Had Dennis somehow heard that the archives wanted her to come in and interview for a job? “Washington DC? What for?”

“John from the American History Museum called. Someone died and bequeathed them a ton of family photos and documents. Apparently the family is from Nashville, and the bequest includes a lot of Middle Tennessee Civil War items that aren’t dated or marked in any way. They aren’t certain of the historical connections or significance of most of it. He asked if I could send you up for a week to sort through it all and see if there’s anything significant they could use in a Civil War display they’re planning.”

Excitement and interest replaced the fear in Zarah’s belly. “I’d love to go. Is there any possibility that we might be able to get what they don’t want?”

Dennis grinned at her. “I knew you would ask that, so I asked John. Once you sort through it and discover what’s there, if there’s anything you think would be beneficial to the commission, John and the museum’s legal department will work with the family to find out if they will allow the items to be transferred.”

Excited anticipation over the idea of getting her hands onto documents and photos unseen by historians before now replaced her earlier disappointment over not being able to spend time in the field.
And while she was up there, she could arrange a trip to the National Archives as well as try to see her father and stepmother. With a few weeks’ notice, surely they would at least be able to schedule to get together for dinner or something.

“I can already see your wheels turning, Dr. Mitchell. Just remember, the museum has first dibs on everything in that collection.”

Zarah laughed. “But what’s important to us might not be important to them.”

“And who knows, the letters might contain references to your great-great-great-grandfather that could fill in some gaps in your research for your book.” Dennis’s brown eyes twinkled.

“I am not writing a book.” Zarah emphasized each word. “It’s just a paper, and it’s only for my own benefit and entertainment.”

Dennis raised his thick, dark eyebrows. “Really? How many pages is this paper?”

Zarah rolled her eyes. “About 150 pages—single-spaced.”

“And if one of your students turned in a 150-page, single-spaced paper, would you accept it as a
paper?”
Dennis chuckled. “When you get ready to try to have your book published, let me know. I have some connections.”