Miss Match (32 page)

"Yeah."

"I drive down to get the mail sometimes because it's too long to walk
if it's windy or rainy or hailing or snowing ..."

"I get the point."

I wave my hands. "Even if it's just too sunny, I drive."

"So I guess talking you into a bicycle ride is pretty fruitless."

I tip my head. "What's a bicycle?"

JACK refills my water using both hands. "How're the salads?"

I grin at him. "Great."

"Your cake and ravioli should be out in a few minutes."

"Thanks, JACK," Ryan says.

I check on Ruby again. She grabs JACK's apron as he passes and says
something to him. He nods.

"Bet she asked for the check." Ryan licks his fork after finishing
his salad.

"Check or an anvil." I watch them for a second. "I think Stephen
should get the Golden Globe this year. It's hard for someone that gorgeous to be really disgusting."

JACK sets a black book on the table in front of Stephen. Ruby grabs
her purse.

"Poor Ruby," I say.

Ryan's watching his sister with a look of pity. "She'll need therapy
after this, you realize."

"Not therapy. Maybe counseling. Poor Ruby."

Stephen sets the twenty dollars I gave him on the book and reaches
for her hand, which Ruby shoves into her lap. I watch Nick, who is tense
enough to look like he's on the verge of splitting as well.

"Hannah has not stopped talking to breathe for twenty minutes,"
Ryan says.

I nod knowingly. "She's a superhero. She got bit by a genetically
altered shark a few years back and developed gills. It's why she keeps her hair long."

"Made the swim team, I suppose."

"You'd better believe it. Oh brother. Duck!"

I grab Ryan's head and push it onto the table, hiding behind the
monster plant probably programmed to eat whomever is stalling dinner
near closing time.

"Laurie, I can hold my own head down."

"Sorry." I let go of his curly hair.

"What are we doing?" he whispers.

"Ruby stood up. I didn't want her to see us."

He starts chuckling, eyes sparkling. "You moved from sharks to
duck so fast I figured we were covering marine animals as our dinner
conversation."

"What's your favorite?" I push my salad bowl out of the way so I can
set my chin on the table.

"Sea lions."

"I like otters."

He balances his chin on the table as well and grins at me. "I have to
say one thing for you, Laurie. My brain has to work faster when you're
around."

"Thereby prolonging your mental capabilities." I smile back. "Is she
gone?"

He lifts his head a few inches from the table. "Yeah." He straightens.
"She's gone. Both of them are."

"Nick too?" I sit up, glancing around.

"Yep."

JACK appears and sets a gargantuan hunk of cake in front of me and
a huge plate of ravioli on the table for Ryan.

Ryan grins as I gratefully dig into the cake. "Eat it quickly, Laur, or
we'll be late to Bible study."

We drive onto Nick's street right on time, and Ryan again parks in the
dimmest spot he can find.

I stare at him as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. He finally
notices I haven't taken off my seat belt or moved when he opens
the door.

"You okay, Laurie?

"You parked in the darkest spot possible."

He pokes his head outside and looks around. "There's a streetlight
right there." He points up the street forty miles.

"Yes. Barely glowing."

"Don't start with the murderers again. Come on, get out."

I frown, dubious.

"Get out, Laur. I'll protect you. I promise. Come on. Please? We'll
be late."

I unbuckle my seat belt. "We have to run."

"We'll run."

I open the door, shut it, and bolt up the street. I beat him to the front
door by a good three yards.

"Didn't make the track team either, huh?" I ask him, opening
the door.

He huffs. "You never yelled go."

People crowd the tiny entryway, the entire living room, the kitchen,
the stairs, and probably the garage. The usual dull roar has been replaced
by a four-alarm siren.

Nick needs a bigger house. This is getting ridiculous.

I glimpse a blonde head and a waving hand, figure it's Hannah, and
go that direction.

Slowly.

You know that dream where your house is burning down and you're
running to get out and the floor turns into Jell-O and you are suddenly
moving in slow motion?

Ryan grabs the back of my shirt so he won't get lost, and we slog
through the masses.

I try to count the people, but I lose track after thirty-five.

This is a fire hazard.

"Watch it, Laurie!"

I stop and look down. Hannah is on the floor below me. "Hi,
Hannah."

She yells at me. "I found it works to just sit, and then they have no
choice but to walk around you!"

"What?" Ryan shouts in my ear.

"We need to sit!" I scream back.

I plop down, land halfway on Hannah, and scoot over just as
Ryan sits.

Oof.

I push him off and Hannah leans over. "I'll tell you about it later!"

"Okay!"

Nick climbs onto the kitchen counter and waves his hands.
"EVERYONE FIND A SEAT!"

Ten minutes tick by as people sit on the couch, the stairs, the banister, in the entryway, and in the kitchen.

Nick slides off the counter. "Whew. This is a crowd."

The aforesaid crowd smiles, nods, agrees.

I crane my head looking for Ruby. She is on the far couch, feet
tucked up under her, a kid in a green Adidas shirt and red baseball cap
backwards beside her.

She turns in my direction and catches my gaze.

Any thought of a jolly laugh, backslap, and forgetting about the disastrous blind date is immediately obliterated. I feel the optic nerves in
my eyeballs singe from the look of pure solder-efficient heat.

oy.

I grab the back of my hair and elbow Ryan in the ribs as I rip my
corneas away. Ryan makes a sound and rubs his chest. I blink repeatedly,
making sure I can still see.

Nick makes eye contact next.

I really, really, really wish Ryan had parked closer. The murderers
hiding on this street have names I recognize and a motive.

Ryan watches Nick for a second and then leans over. "I would avoid
going home for a while. They know where you live."

"Well, I can't stay here," I whine softly.

"I'd stay the night with Hannah."

"I was thinking somewhere in Brazil."

"Stephen, take it away," Nick says, the ice in his voice tempered
but not in his gaze as he stares at his friend. He sends me another lifethreatening look as he sits on the arm of the couch, next to Ruby.

I hope the teaching tonight is on the merits of forgiveness.

Stephen looks around, slipping his guitar pick in his mouth as he
tunes the strings. "Hwey, evewybodwy," he says around the plastic disk.

He spits the pick out and smiles. "I was looking over the songs I'd
chosen for this week and thought the verse on the top of the song sheets
really fits the theme."

Stephen starts strumming softly while the song sheets make their
way around the room.

Ryan takes one look at the reference and starts hacking.

Water wells in my eyes, but I can't tell if it is from the damage to my
optic nerve or from the continued realization that our sovereign God has
a sense of humor.

Colossians 3:13.

"`Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have
against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you,"' he reads, gently
raking the pick down the strings in the rhythm to the first song.

I drop my head, covering my face, my shoulders shuddering as I suck
in my breath, silently laughing.

Hannah makes a weird wheezing noise next to me, and I can feel
Ryan shaking.

I peek at Nick and Ruby.

Ruby has a hand over her eyes, and Nick mashes his lips together,
trying to cover the smile.

Stephen pauses playing when he finishes reading.

Right then is when Nick bursts.

He snorts loudly. Then he grins, leans forward on his knees, and cries
he laughs so hard.

Everyone else in the room stares at him like he finally stacked his last
French fry and lost the ketchup.

Ruby keeps her hands over her face, her body trembling, leaning into
Nick, which is dangerous because he's about to fall off the couch and
land on the three people squished on the floor below him.

Stephen grins at all five of us and then starts the first song.

When Nick gets up to teach, he's collected himself.

He teaches for twenty minutes, and the moment he says the final

"amen," the siren-talking starts again and I know one of Nick's neighbors

is going to call the cops.

"Hey, see that girl?" Hannah points through the throng to a shorthaired redhead. "I heard her talking beforehand. She just got engaged."

I nod. "Goody."

"Guess who her fiance is?"

"Brad Pitt?" I suggest.

Hannah ignores me. "Her UPS delivery man. That paints a picture, doesn't it? Want to know how he proposed?"

"He didn't ship her the ring, did he?" I look at Hannah. "Oh good
grief, he did."

She's laughing. "Hysterical, isn't it?"

"That's just plain corny."

She grins at Ryan. "Think you'll propose with a hard hat?"

"Better." He smiles broadly. "I'm planning on the ring being made
from a nail."

I make a face. "Yuck."

"Not a used nail," he says.

"It would rust! Your wife would end up with an orange ring finger."

"Yeah," Hannah joins in. "And then she'd get lead poisoning."

"Or something worse," I say. "And then you'd have mutated
children."

Ryan sighs. "One more fantasy down the drain."

"There's chocolate in the kitchen, Honey." I pat his shoulder. "That
might help."

"On my way." He stands with difficulty and squeezes in the general
direction of the kitchen.

I look at Hannah. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything to Ryan."

"You know exactly who I mean."

She smiles coyly. "A good girl never tells her secrets."

"Hannah, a good girl doesn't have secrets."

She starts shaking her head. "Not true! Sleeping Beauty had a secret,
and she was good."

"Sleeping Beauty didn't know she had a secret." I twirl a chunk of
hair around my finger. "I wonder if she ever went near a spinning wheel
again?"

"I don't know, Laurie. But if I had to guess, I would bet she didn't end up with a career as a cloth maker."

I frown. "Quilter, right?"

"I think the term would be a weaver. Or maybe a textile creator?"

A pair of hose-clad legs stops in front of me. "Hello, girls."

I grimace at Hannah and then smile sweetly to Ruby. "Hi."

"Hey, Ruby." Hannah also wears an innocent expression, blue eyes
Bambi-like.

Ruby crosses her arms over her chest and taps one heel. "And what
do you have to say?"

I tip my head at her. "Are people who use spinning wheels called
weavers or spinners or textile persons?"

She closes her eyes. "Don't know why I bother." She turns to leave.
"And they are called textile manufacturers."

I step through the newly cleaned glass door of The Brandon Knox
Photography Studio at exactly 8:57 and smile brightly at Ruby, who leans
up against the desk with a What-Have-You-to-Say-for-Yourself? look on
her pretty face. She's doing a new thing with her eye makeup-a little
eyeliner, mascara, and some shimmery shadow that really set off her
brown eyes.

"Good morning, Ruby Fair." I set a tray filled with coffee cups on
the desk and shed my coat. I hand her one of the cups.

"Unbelievable. You are completely unbelievable, Lauren Holbrook."

"I don't know why. I gave you the black coffee, right?" I check the
other two.

"This is to pacify me." She waves the coffee in my face.

"Why in the world would I give someone caffeine to pacify them?
If I were trying to pacify you, I would have given you something sweet."
I lay my backpack on the desk and pull out a paper sack from Merson's.
"Chocolate-covered strawberry?"

She sips the coffee, rolling her eyes. "Fine. You owe me."

I concede with a nod. "I know."

"More than just a strawberry and a cup of coffee. Even though this is a really good cup of coffee."

"It's Shawn's."

She turns the cup around in her hands. "It says Merson's on here."

"One and the same." I hand her the paper sack. "Two strawberries."

She takes a bite out of one, then sets both the coffee and the straw berry on the desk, rubbing her hands together businesslike. "Now that
I'm calmer, we can discuss your payment."

I sit meekly in one of the chairs. "Twenty dollars a week for the next
six weeks?"

"Honey, that doesn't even scratch the surface."