Stay With Me (19 page)

The screen door creaked, and Rebecca’s dad stepped
out. His gait was stilted and awkward as he moved toward the end of the porch
where Chris had been working.

“How’s your back?” Rebecca gathered up their empty
lemonade glasses and napkins.

“Still hurts like hell, but I need to move around.”
He looked at the boards and then over at Chris, who had opened a paint can and
was stirring the contents with a stick.

“What grit sandpaper did you use on that?”

 Chris nodded toward the garage. “Whatever you had
out there. Looked like a medium grit to me.” Chris scraped the excess paint off
the stick and grabbed the brush he was going to use. “Some of the two-by-fours
underneath were rotted so I replaced them.”

Her dad nodded and rubbed a hand over his lower
back. “Looks like I might have to go back over some things later, but it’ll do
for tomorrow. I appreciate it.”

Rebecca raised her brows and smiled from where she
stood behind her dad. Chris was careful not to change his expression.

“Dad, there’s some wonton soup and a couple egg
rolls if you’d like them. I can warm them up for you.”

“Sounds good, Rebecca. I’m going to try sitting in
my chair for a little bit and watching some TV.”

He turned and hobbled back into the house with
Rebecca behind him. Chris hadn’t exactly won him over, but at least her dad had
been civil. Chris would be able to see he wasn’t an ogre all the time. And
maybe Dad would see what a great guy Chris was - generous, hard-working, and
kind.

Chris was hammering the lid back on the paint can
as she stepped back out on the porch. The paint fumes dissipated in the breeze.
The sun had begun to set, and had he not been finished, he would have had to
rely on artificial light from here on out.

“Done.” He sighed and leaned against the porch
rail.

“You must be beat.”

“I am.” He walked over to where she stood at the
foot of the steps looking over his work. “Do you have your helmet?”

Rebecca turned to him. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, in my car.
Why?”

“What do you say we put things away here, I change
out of this shirt so I don’t smell quite so bad, and I take you home?”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll pick you up in the morning, we’ll go to
church, and then I’ll bring you back here to get your car.”

He had it all worked out. Going to Mass with him
would mean that she couldn’t go to a service at her own church, which made her
a little uncomfortable. It would be a church though, and she remembered how
much Scripture was incorporated into the Mass the last time. Plus, she wondered
if her impression would be different now that she understood things a little
better. She had already traded in the three books Chris had loaned her for some
more, and one of them was all about the Mass. It would be okay.

“All right. Let’s put this stuff away, and I’ll
tell my dad we’re going. You did a good job, by the way. It looks great.” She
moved her gaze from the gleaming porch floor to the sweaty, sawdust-covered,
sexy guy next to her. She wished she could kiss him, but she remembered what
he’d said before. He was right, too. Her dad seeing them kiss would be
counterproductive. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Plenty, including getting your dad to like me.”

 She tilted her head. “Maybe he’ll come around.
Today was a good start.”

“I hope so. I want to make one stop on the way to
your place, okay?”

“Where?”

“Let me surprise you.”

***

Rebecca hadn’t anticipated anything more than a
stop at a frozen yogurt shop. Chris killed the motorcycle’s engine in Harrisburg’s Reservoir Park where the view of the capital city was spectacular from the
overlook even with the haze brought on by the hot summer day. Other than some
sirens off in the distance and a few kids laughing and hollering as they cut
across the parking lot, it was more peaceful than she would have expected.
Rebecca grabbed hold of Chris’s arm and swung her leg over the seat while he
steadied the bike. She dismounted, took a step back and removed her helmet.

He got off the bike only to turn around and swing
his opposite leg over the seat so that he straddled the bike again—backward. He
motioned for her to come back toward him.

“Get back on the bike.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see.” He motioned again. She caught a
slight quirk of his lips that looked a lot like a suppressed grin. “Come on.”

Rebecca did as he asked, and again using his arm
for balance, got back on the bike, now facing Chris.

Inching first his left and then his right foot
forward, he moved closer to her and settled his hands on her waist.

Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he shifted
into a comfortable position. When he spoke, his voice was as smooth and rich as
honey, but his eyes spoke the loudest, so filled with love and desire. “I can’t
ask you to fulfill all my fantasies …yet. But I thought maybe you’d indulge me
just one as thanks for today. You
did
say you owed me one.”

He had alluded to a future with her, and the only
context for her fulfilling his every fantasy would be in marriage. All the air
left her lungs in a whoosh.

His brow creased. “Nothing kinky. I promise.” He
gave her a reassuring smile and his right hand combed through her hair, which
was all knotted from their ride. Holding the back of her head, he lowered his
lips to hers. He tasted like the strawberry lemonade she had served him. His
kiss was all sweetness and hinted at a promise he hadn’t yet made but she was
now fairly certain he wanted to. One that would keep her encircled in his arms
forever.

She gripped the sides of his cotton shirt and
pulled him closer although it didn’t feel nearly close enough. Why on earth had
she ever been nervous about kissing him like this? It was a foretaste of
heaven.

His hand let go of her waist and slid up her side
until it moved dangerously close to a place it shouldn’t be. What could have
been a clumsy grope was a gentle and loving touch, and she hated the fact that
she had to squelch it. Without breaking the connection to his lips, she laid
her hand atop his and slid it across her tee shirt where she flattened it, sure
that he could feel the pounding of her heart.

He ended the kiss, but neither one of them moved
their hands folded over her heart. 

“Thank you,” he said, his breathing ragged and
irregular. “Now I don’t have to imagine it; I can remember it.”

Rebecca smiled. “My pleasure.”

“I hope so.” Chris grabbed her around the waist and
tickled her until she fell against him laughing. “Okay. Let’s get you home.”

16

Say Goodbye

Usually Chris waited until Rebecca got into her car
or her apartment before he left, but this afternoon he had to hurry. They were
already cutting things close between 10:30 a.m. Mass in Harrisburg and his 1:00
p.m. tee time with Alan in Gettysburg. Factor in the ten minutes they’d spent
saying goodbye, otherwise known as kissing, in a private spot on the edge of
the battlefield boundaries, and Rebecca knew he had to go if he didn’t want to
keep Alan waiting.

 Her experience at Mass had been positive this time
around. Part of that she attributed to the fact that she knew better what to
expect. It also helped that she now had an inkling what was going on. She was
more at ease with Chris now, too, and felt comfortable whispering a question to
him when she had trouble following along.

She unlocked and opened the back door of her car
and laid her helmet on the floor. After closing the rear door, she lifted the
handle on the front door, then decided she ought to check on her dad. Chris
didn’t like her spending time alone with him, but he was her dad after all, and
the least she could do was check in on him to see if his back had improved this
morning.

The car door clicked shut and, hoisting her purse
onto her shoulder, she turned up the walk to her dad’s house. Chris’s job on
the porch floor looked good even in the daylight, although she noticed a small
spot where the boards met the wall that could use a little dab of paint. It had
been a long day for him yesterday, and while he didn’t complain, she could tell
by the way he moved in church that the work he’d done had left him sore.

Rebecca knocked on her dad’s door, then opened it
and called to him. When he didn’t answer right away she went in.

“Dad? You upstairs?”

“I’m right here,” her dad said as he descended the
stairs, taking each one like a man twenty years his senior so as not to jar his
back. “Chris isn’t with you?”

“No. He had to meet his brother for a game of
golf.”

Her dad walked to his favorite leather chair and
sat with a groan.

The smell of bacon lingered in the air.

“I guess you managed breakfast okay?”

“Yes. Bacon and eggs.”

 “Good. Do you need anything, Dad? Otherwise, I’m
going to get home. I haven’t done any laundry yet this weekend, and I need to
run to the grocery store.”

“One thing. Can you put the cast iron skillet back
in the drawer under the oven? I can’t bend while holding something that heavy.”

“Sure.” Rebecca tossed her purse onto the coffee
table in front of her dad and went into the kitchen to put away the heavy pan
for him. When she returned to the living room a couple of minutes later, her
dad held a small booklet in one hand that he smacked against his other hand.
She recognized it right away.

After Mass, while Chris talked to someone he knew
from work, she had browsed the rack of pamphlets at the rear of the church. She
picked up one with a picture of a statue of Jesus’ mother on the front
entitled, “Mary, Our Mother.” What she thought of as the Catholic Church’s
preoccupation with Mary confounded her. Chris said it was simply honoring
Jesus’ mother. She thought maybe the booklet would help her understand why
Catholics placed her in such high esteem. She took the pamphlet and stuffed it
in her purse to read later. It must have slid out of the open pouch when she
tossed it onto the table.

“What’s this?”

She hoped that her dad wouldn’t make too much out
of it, so she tried to convey an air of nonchalance. “Oh, I picked that up in
the back of church. I thought maybe it would help me understand why Catholics
think Jesus’ mother is so important.”

Her dad winced as he leaned forward in his chair
and rubbed his hand over his face. His voice took on a tension she hadn’t heard
in it before. “Rebecca, I have to admit that Chris seems like a decent young
man despite my reservations about him. I
am
grateful for what he did
yesterday—but, and this is a big but, I cannot abide with you attending that
heathen church with him. I’m sorry to say this, but I will never, ever accept
him nor give my blessing should things become more serious between you two.”

“Dad, I’m trying to understand what he believes,
that’s all.”

“Rebecca, I see how he looks at you. I remember
that feeling. Your mother and I were in love once—back in the beginning. Trust
me when I tell you it would be easier for both of you if you ended it now. You
are unequally yoked. There is nowhere for the relationship to go. Whatever you
think you have in common, you’re wrong. It’s not enough. You’re a physical
temptation to him and nothing more. Better to end it now.”

She walked to the window and stared blankly at the
street. Why hadn’t she just gone home? She didn’t want to hear his ridiculous
opinion. A physical temptation and nothing more? What did her dad know about
what they had in common?

“Rebecca, honey.” He waited until she looked at him
again. “All I want is your happiness. I know you girls think I’m a cruel, old
man, but it breaks my heart to say these things.”

Maybe if he had made the slightest effort to get to
know Chris as a person that would mean something to her, but he had prejudged
him, plain and simple. Lost in her thoughts and the battle to restrain her
tears, Rebecca hadn’t noticed her dad heave himself out of his chair and over
to the end table. He opened a drawer and pulled out several small pamphlets. He
flipped through them, assessing whether they were the right ones, then took
them to the coffee table and pushed them into Rebecca’s purse.

“Read those if you want the truth,” he barked.
Then, taking the pamphlet about Mary, he opened it up and ripped it down the
center, letting the pieces fall on the floor. “Then end it, Rebecca, before
it’s too late.”

***

Something was bothering Rebecca, but so far she
hadn’t said what. For the past few days she’d seemed reticent. She talked to
Chris, laughed with him, even flirted with him, but her heart wasn’t engaged.
This evening as they’d walked around City Island, past the mini golf, the
baseball field, and the kids’ train, she’d been unusually quiet, her mind
elsewhere.

She walked toward him from the restroom, drying her
hands on her shorts the whole way. He admired her top, a sort of frilly blouse
that was cut to fit a woman’s body. Now that he thought about it, she’d been
wearing more of that kind of thing lately. Her clothes were still modest, but
they were more fashionable and accentuated her curves more than the subdued, shapeless
clothes she had worn when they first met.

“Yuck. This weather and public restrooms don’t
mix.” She was right. They had endured a week-long streak of hot and humid days.
That’s why he had suggested they stop and have a snow cone before leaving. Rebecca
ordered a blue raspberry, and Chris chose root beer.

Only one picnic table was vacant—the one closest to
the trash. They sat at the end farthest from the offensive container. Chris
finished his snow cone first and dropped the paper wrapper into the can.
Several bees buzzed around the receptacle. He swatted at one as it tried to
land on his forearm. The persistent bug circled around and came back,
determined to land. Chris swatted again and twisted away from the can. He
slammed right into Rebecca as she threw away her cone and napkins.

“Ouch!”

“I’m sorry. It’s that darn bee. I’m trying to get
away from it.”

“Yeah, well, I think it stung me.” She held her
hand over her upper arm.

“Are you allergic?”

“No, but it sure hurts.”

“Let me see.” He lifted her hand revealing a red,
swollen blotch. “The stinger’s stuck. Hold still.” He pinched the stinger,
pulled it out, and showed it to her. “Nasty little thing.”

“You’re telling me. I never had one hurt like
this.”

Chris’s eyes darted left and right as he looked for
something to ease her pain. “I’ll get a little ice from the snow cone vendor.”
In a couple of minutes, he had a small cup of shaved ice to put over her sting.

“I just remembered I’ve got some kind of sting
wipes in my purse. Abby gave me some to keep on hand for when I’m out with
Ricky and Emma. It’s in the inside pocket of my purse. Can you get it?”

“Sure.” He handed her the ice, and they sat back
down at the table. He rummaged through her purse pushing aside tissues, lip
gloss, and her change purse until he found the little packet labeled “Sting
Relief Wipe.” He tore open the packaging with his teeth, unfolded the wipe and
handed it to Rebecca.

She laid it over her sting and sighed. “Feels
better already. Thank you.”

Chris couldn’t get over how much it bothered him
when she hurt. Could he sign up for a whole lifetime of this? Absolutely, he
could. It was crazy, but to get to be with her all the time would be worth it.

Now that she was feeling better, he started to
gather the contents of her purse and put them back inside. He grabbed a handful
of small pamphlets. They were plain on the back, and he flipped them over to
see the covers. The one on top was called, “Are Roman Catholics Christians?”
and had a picture of a rosary. The one beneath was called “Why is Mary Crying?”
and showed a weeping statue. The third and final one was called “The Death
Cookie” and featured what looked like a small, round wafer with skull and
crossbones imprinted on it. He flipped through this last one, his gaze running
over the black and white comic strip images. His eyes caught on words here and
there: “idolatry,” “religious con job,” “hocus pocus.”

A sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach.

Rebecca held the wipe to her arm, but her face was
ashen. “I-I, uh—”

“Where did you get these?”

Her eyes grew watery and her lower lip quivered. He
hoped she wouldn’t cry. He was angry, and if she were going to go all weepy on
him, they wouldn’t be able to have this conversation. And they needed to have
this conversation.

“My dad. When you dropped me off at my car on
Sunday, I stopped in to make sure he was okay. I didn’t stay long, maybe ten
minutes. He said he was grateful for what you had done for him, but he could
never approve of my being with you, and he shoved those into my purse.”

He sensed there was probably a little more to the
story than that. “Have you read them?”

She nodded. “Yes. I read them the next day. I
thought I should know why he’s so against us.”

“Me, you mean. He’s against me.” He held the tracts
up, waving them. “Do you believe this stuff? Do you think this is what I
believe—that priests, that Father John, has magical powers and that we bow down
and worship little wafers? Is this what you saw when you came to Mass with me?
What you read in the books I lent you? You knelt with me on Sunday, Rebecca, I
thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

She lifted her hand from her arm and transferred
the wipe to the other hand. Palm up, she reached her free hand out across the
table, waiting for him to take it.

He hesitated, but then couldn’t resist.

“Chris, those pamphlets are hateful. You have to
know I don’t feel that way about you. Or Father John. I wanted to know what my
dad thought. I’ll admit I don’t understand it all yet, what you believe and how
you worship, but believe me when I tell you I liked being at Mass with you on
Sunday. I felt, I don’t know, at home. I started to see a rhythm to what was
going on.”

She seemed sincere. Thank God she held the tears at
bay.

“Why did you keep these?”

“I don’t know. I…I guess my gut tells me that stuff
isn’t true, but I’m not sure how to refute it. I don’t know everything you do.
And I….”

She was having trouble getting this part out. This
must have been what had been bothering her these last few days. “You what?

She let out a breath. “I have doubts, okay? Isn’t
there maybe a grain of truth in there?” She gestured toward the tract still in
his hand.

He threw them on the table with more force than was
necessary and let go of her hand.

“So you think these are right? They’re crude and
mean-spirited maybe, but they’re right? Do you think your dad’s right about me,
too? About us?”

Now the tears fell, and it
was
his fault. In
his anger and defensiveness, he’d made her cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know
anything.” She wiped her eyes and glanced about, obviously conscious they were
in a public place.

Clambering to his feet, he blew out a breath. He’d
handled this poorly. “Rebecca, there’s nothing wrong with you having questions.
I went through all kinds of doubts when I was trying to figure out where I
belonged, spiritually-speaking. I’m not threatened by you looking at these. I
think they’re trash, and it doesn’t do much for my opinion of your dad, but I
guess you owe him at least as much consideration as you do me.”

He moved to her side of the table and straddled the
bench, facing her. He pulled her towards him. “I love you,” he whispered
against her hair. “I only wish you had brought these to me instead of me
finding them like this. It caught me off guard. I felt like I was being
ambushed. I’m sorry I got defensive.”