Stuck in the Middle (21 page)

When the congregation filed out of the auditorium, Joan followed along. She dropped her check into a bucket held by an usher at the door and smiled distractedly at the man’s thanks. She paused only a moment before turning to the left and following the crowd past a bookstore and into a large café that looked like a Starbucks, only more crowded.

Clusters of smiling people stood scattered around the room, the sound of their chatter nearly drowning out the hiss of an espresso machine operated by two young women behind the counter. The smell of rich coffee, tinted with hazelnut, teased Joan’s nostrils. Moments later Mr. and Mrs. Sachs arrived, escorted by the pastor. A lively group of people immediately surrounded Mrs. Sachs. Joan backed up against a far wall, watching. She’d love an opportunity to talk to Mary Alice Sachs, to find out if her passion was as evident up close as it was when she spoke in front of a group. If only there weren’t so many people milling around.

Maybe she could get a latte and wait for the crowd to thin. But the line at the counter was huge, and with only those two teenagers working, it would probably take forever.

She glanced at her watch. Nearly nine o’clock. She should probably just leave. She turned, her hand fumbling inside her purse for her car keys, and nearly ran into someone standing beside her.

“A little intimidating, isn’t it?”

Joan looked up into the dark liquid eyes of Robert Sachs. His rich baritone held the hint of a chuckle. “The crowd, I mean. A lot different from your church over in Danville.”

He recognized her? Inside her purse, keys jingled as her fingers made contact. “Yes, it is.”

Large white teeth gleamed in his brown face as he smiled down at her. It was an infectious smile, and Joan’s nervousness began to fade as she returned it. “I’m surprised you recognized me. We didn’t meet when you were at my church.”

“I never forget a pretty lady. You sat in the front on the right side of the sanctuary, beside an older woman.”

“My grandmother.” Joan’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. What an amazing memory! “I’m sorry we didn’t stay to speak with you after the service. We had relatives coming for dinner.”

“No apology necessary.” He stuck out a hand. Joan switched the keys to her left and allowed him to engulf hers in a warm grasp. “Robert Sachs.”

“Joan Sanderson.”

He pumped her hand once before releasing it. “Nice to meet you, Miss Sanderson. I’m curious. Why did you come all the way up here to hear Mary Alice say the same thing all over again?”

Joan avoided his eyes, instead watching his wife who was the center of an animated conversation on the other side of the room. After a moment she shrugged a shoulder. “She’s a very good speaker.”

“That’s why she does all the talking. I’m great with a hammer, but put me in front of a crowd and I freeze solid.”

Joan smiled at his candid reply. “I’m sure I’d be the same.”

She didn’t look at him but watched Mrs. Sachs as she gestured with her hands to illustrate a point. After a moment, her gaze swept the room and came to rest on her husband. She beckoned him over with a quick wave.

Mr. Sachs smiled down at her. “I think I’m being summoned. It was nice to meet you, Miss Sanderson.”

“You too.” He stepped away, and Joan saw her chance for answers to her questions slipping away with him. She raised her voice and spoke to his back. “Uh, Mr. Sachs?”

He turned, his brows arched politely. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t pour out her questions to this man, this stranger. But she had to say something to let him know the torment she was going through.

“I just wondered why God hasn’t ever delivered chocolate ice cream to me.”

What an idiotic question. She felt like a complete imbecile and wanted to slink into a corner and hide her face.

But Mr. Sachs didn’t act as though it was a foolish question at all. One eyebrow rose as laughter twinkled in his eyes. “Have you ever asked him?”

“Uh . . . well, no.”

A wide grin split his face. “Maybe you should.”

He left Joan standing against the wall. She stared after him as he joined the group of people gathered around his wife.

Just ask? Cold fear clutched at Joan with an icy grip. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t ask God for anything. What if he said no? What if instead of ice cream, the helicopter that came to her house delivered something disgusting, like five pounds of frozen spinach?

More likely, nothing would happen at all. She’d be left wondering if that was God’s way of saying no, or if he was just ignoring her. As usual.

~ 14 ~

“Hop in, boy.” Ken held the door open, but Trigger extended his neck to stare suspiciously into the car and didn’t budge.

“We’re not going to the vet. Come on, get in.”

Trigger looked up at him, obviously understanding Ken’s request and considering whether or not to obey. His head drooped, and he turned to slink back to the safety of the house.

Ken held the leash in a firm grip when the dog reached the end of it. “You’re not a dog. You’re a gigantic chicken.” He bent over and scooped the timid pup into his arms, and then deposited him without ceremony into the passenger seat. Trigger, apparently realizing that he had no choice in the matter, managed to reduce his size to half by curling into a tight ball while Ken slid behind the wheel and fastened his seat belt.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going far,” he told the miserable animal.

Hot afternoon air blew into the car as Ken drove to the apartment complex where Mike lived. His bag in the backseat contained the equipment he needed to remove the boy’s stitches, in case his mother hadn’t already done so. He just hoped the kid remembered their agreement to meet today.

He pulled into the parking lot between the last two brick buildings. No sight of the group he saw last week, but there was one skinny boy sitting on the big rock that bordered the playground. When the Probe glided to a stop in a nearby parking space, the boy jumped down and walked toward the car, favoring his left foot. Ken did a double take. It was Mike, but his shaggy hair had been shorn, leaving a uniformed quarter-inch of fuzz all over his head.

“Hey, Mike,” he called through the open window. “I didn’t recognize you.”

The kid ran a hand over his head. “Yeah, my granny said I couldn’t start school looking like a beatnik, whatever that means.”

Ken turned the key, and when the engine stopped, Trigger uncurled and hopped into Ken’s lap to press a wet nose into his neck.

Mike’s eyes grew round as he caught sight of him. “Hey! You got a dog.”

Ken opened the car door. “Yeah, he’s my roommate. His name’s Trigger.”

Trigger leaped out of the car and immediately jumped up to plant his paws on Mike’s chest. Ken gave a stern “Down!” command, but the boy, with a delighted laugh, was already raking his hands roughly through the dog’s neck and back fur, so Trigger ignored him. Shaking his head, Ken got out of the car. Karen’s visit seemed to have put their obedience training back a few steps.

He retrieved his bag from the backseat. “How are those stitches doing?”

Mike shrugged. “Okay. They don’t itch anymore.”

“That’s a good sign. You been keeping them clean?”

He nodded as Trigger jumped down and began investigating the grass in front of the car, his leash trailing behind him.

“Is it okay for him to check out the place, or should I put him in the car?”

“He’s alright. Nobody here cares.”

Looking around at the trash-covered ground and the broken-down playground equipment, Ken could believe it.

“So are we going to go to your place to take the stitches out?”

The boy’s expression grew troubled, and he avoided Ken’s eyes. “Uh, my mom’s asleep, and she won’t like it if we wake her up.”

Figured. Though he wanted to get a look inside their apartment, he doubted if the kid’s mother would welcome his visit, especially after the way she yelled at him in the emergency room. Did Mike even tell her that he was coming today? He didn’t want to ask.

“No problem. We can do it out here. Hop up on the hood and take your shoe off.”

While Mike did as directed, Ken opened his bag and pulled out an alcohol swab. Trigger, interested in the procedure, stood on his hind legs with his front paws on the bumper and watched as Ken gently wiped the wound. Not as clean as he would have liked, but a close inspection showed no sign of infection and the incision appeared to be healing nicely.

He tore open the disposable suture removal kit he’d grabbed from the hospital supply closet before leaving work, and took out the small scissors and a pair of sterile tweezers. “You’re going to feel me tugging. It might be uncomfortable, but it won’t hurt.”

The boy nodded and leaned slightly away, his eyelids narrowing as he braced himself. Ken snipped all the stitches first, then pulled them out one at a time. Mike drew a hissing breath twice, but made no other sound.

“Okay,” Ken said a minute later, “that’s the last of them.”

He sat up straight. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be.” Ken wiped the incision with another alcohol swab and covered it with a bandage. He pressed a handful of extra bandages into the boy’s hand. “Keep it clean and covered for another week or so, and be careful about running or jumping. But it should be fine.”

“’Kay.” He slid down off the car, landing with extreme care on his uninjured foot, shoved the bandages into a pocket, and then gave Trigger’s head a brisk rub.

Ken watched Mike from the corner of his eye as he replaced the instruments in his bag. “Want to make a dog very happy?”

Mike looked up, interest brightening his features. “Sure.”

Ken leaned through the open window to toss his medical bag into the backseat and pull out a tennis ball. The moment Trigger saw it, he started bouncing in circles on the pavement and managed to get his leash wrapped around a hind leg. Mike laughed at his antics.

“Come here, mutt, before you hurt yourself.”

Ken unclipped the leash, then showed Trigger the ball before throwing it into the grassy field between the buildings. Trigger raced after it and managed to catch it on the second bounce.

“Hey, he caught it.” Mike laughed, and shouted, “Way to go, Trigger.”

When the proud dog bounded back to them, the ball in his mouth, Ken pointed toward the boy. “Give it to Mike.”

Trigger hesitated a moment, looking from one to the other, then dropped the ball on the ground between them. Laughing, Mike picked it up and threw it.

“Wow,” Ken said, watching the ball sail through the air toward the playground. “Do you play baseball?”

Mike scuffed a toe. “Nah.”

“You should. You’ve got a good arm.”

The kid’s shoulders straightened, and his chin rose. Trigger raced back, but hovered uncertainly between the two of them and wouldn’t release the ball. Mike had to pry it out of his mouth.

“We’re still working on that.” Ken shook his head as the kid sent the ball flying again. “He seems to understand that he has to bring it back so we’ll throw it some more, but once he gets here he doesn’t want to let go.”

The third time, the dog took the ball straight to Mike. Obviously pleased, the boy ruffled the fur on his back before tossing it again. He rubbed his hand on his pants, a look of distaste coloring his features. “It’s slimy.”

“Yeah. I hate that part.” Ken watched as Trigger interrupted his return trip to sniff at a patch of grass. “So your grandmother cut your hair, huh?”

A dirty hand unconsciously rubbed across the fuzz again. “Yeah. My mom didn’t like it, either. She said she was gonna do it, but Granny beat her to it.”

“Does your granny live in Danville?”

He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

“So school starts soon?”

“Next week.” He scowled as though delivering bad news.

“Don’t you like school?”

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on Trigger. Ken leaned against the Probe. Kids hated it when adults asked them about school.

“So where are your buddies today?”

Another shrug. “They’re around.”

Okay, so the kid decided to clam up all of a sudden. Obviously he didn’t like being interrogated.

No other topics came to mind. Ken remained silent, watching the boy and the dog. No more questions. Sometimes all that was necessary was for someone to show an interest. He’d done that just by being here. Maybe that was enough for now.

Joan picked up a platter with two leftover chunks of meat from the center of the table and passed it to Gram across the kitchen counter.

Gram frowned at it. “It was too dry.”

Behind Joan, Mom swept the empty mashed potato bowl off the table and took it to the sink. “Nonsense, Mother. Everything was delicious.”

“It was better yesterday.”

Joan ignored the flash of guilt she felt at the resentful glance Gram gave her. Allie had made plans for supper with friends, so Gram spent the evening alone with a Dutch oven full of Salisbury steak.

“It must have been terrific then,” Joan said, “because it was great tonight. Put one of those in a container for me and I’ll take it to work for lunch tomorrow. Rosa will be so jealous.”