Weep In The Night (5 page)

At the flip of the switch, the saw stopped, and he removed his safety glasses. The last of the order lay stacked behind him, but he needed a break. He swung his arms back and forth to relieve the knot between his shoulder blades and then moved his head side to side and rubbed his neck.

Greg hauled a cart loaded with sheets of particleboard and stopped by the workbench. “How's it going?”

Bowen hiked one shoulder. “OK, I guess. And you?”

“Haven't slowed down all day. And the orders keep coming. I'd better deliver this load before I'm paged again. See ya.”

As Greg maneuvered the cart, Bowen slapped sawdust off his apron and blue jeans.
I'm not OK. Not really.
His job—his real job—required him to lie, so why did words from a man behind a pulpit affect him so much?

In his real life he was a good person. A caring son and brother, an honest worker. He snapped the safety glasses on and picked up another length of wood. So why couldn't he focus on finding Sadie Malone?

The saw whined, and Bowen slid the wood in place. “I won't go back again. I can find out all I need without going to church.” Smothered by the buzz of the saw, no one heard his words, but with the sentiment expressed, the tight band across his chest relaxed.

After the order had been cut, stacked, and labeled, Bowen headed to the break room. With any luck, Debra would be there, too. But she never showed. He ate his sandwiches in record time and then hurried to the garden center. Debra worked one of the registers where customers five deep waited in line. No chance to talk to her, so he leaned against a display of paving stones and watched her instead.

Frown lines creased her brow even when she offered each customer a smile. What troubled her? When the last customer paid for his bags of potting soil and flats of yellow flowers, Bowen sidled over and stood by her counter.

“Busy day, huh?”

Debra's head jerked up with the frown still etched on her forehead. “It's been nonstop ever since I clocked in.”

“Had lunch yet?”

“I took my break about an hour ago.”

Bowen studied her face. “What's up?”

Her shoulders slumped, and a heavy sigh escaped. With a quick scan of the area, she locked her register and glanced towards the woman at the other station. “Glenna. I'm closing for now. I need to check on supplies in back. Call me if you get busy.” With a nod from Glenna, Debra motioned for Bowen to follow her.

They skirted rows of plants and headed down the last aisle where Debra straightened bags of potting soil and mulch.

Bowen replaced a fifty-pound bag of soil on the stack. “So, you gonna tell me what's bugging you?”

“It's nothing big.” Debra slowed and shoved her hands in her apron pocket. “Something happened at church today after you left.”

He raised his hand to touch her shoulder but decided against it at the last minute. He wanted her to confide in him without an invasion of her space. “What happened?”

By now, they were in the covered storage area at the back of the store.

Debra sat on a stack of cinder blocks. “Before I tell you, I have a question.” She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.

What now?
Bowen sat next to her. “And what is that?”

“I know you didn't graduate from Central High in Dayton. Why did you lie about it?”

He'd been expecting this question and had an elaborate excuse ready but couldn't get through it under her intense scrutiny. Bowing his head, he poked at the sheet of thick plastic covering the blocks. “First off, I'm sorry for lying. But, you see, I'm ashamed of my past. I didn't attend a regular high school. Never graduated.”

She shifted her weight and crossed one leg over the other. “Because you were raised in foster care?”

“Kinda. I was a troubled kid. Families passed me around like a stale Christmas fruitcake. Ended up at an alternate school for—” He slapped his knee and stood, keeping his back to her. “The other night when the guys discussed their mascots and pressed me to name mine, I had to come up with something. I couldn't tell them the truth.” He sneaked a glance at her. The skepticism had left her gaze; a touch of pity replaced it. Good. He'd chosen the right strategy.

“In fact, if we had a mascot, it wouldn't have been a cute bird or big kitty-cat. It would have been that eternity symbol. You know, forever going nowhere.” He hung his head when her movement caught his attention.

She came up behind him and briefly touched his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

He knew by her soft tone he had her sympathy vote and turned, hands in his apron pockets. “No hope, no future. No one to care what happened to us.” Maybe he'd milked it enough. He pulled a hand free and ran it across his brow. “But I moved on. Finally got my GED, attended trade school. Took a few computer courses.”

Her gaze raked his face.

“And look at me now. I've done pretty good, even if I say so myself.” He lowered his head a fraction. “But again, I'm sorry I lied. When they asked me and with you across the table, Central High was the first thing that came to mind. Will you forgive me?”

She stared at him a moment and then nodded. “Of course.”

He thought that was the end of the inquisition, but a puzzled expression crossed her face. She must have another concern.

To forestall her inquiry, he asked, “Are you ready to tell me what happened at church?”

Debra pointed to the far corner of the storage area. “While I'm here I do need to check the outdoor furniture. Come this way. But before I explain my problem, I have to ask. Did you also lie about your wife and daughter?”

He followed her, glad she couldn't see his face. He hadn't prepared an answer for that question. But he improvised. “No. They did die in a car wreck.” He almost gagged saying the words.

“Where?” Debra stopped at stacks of tables and chairs and faced him.

He had no time to wonder why she needed to know. “In Mexico.” He ignored the jab to his conscience and elaborated on the lie. “We were on vacation in the mountains of northern Mexico.” Lowering his voice, he added, “But I don't want to talk about it anymore.” He hunched his shoulders and stared at the cracked concrete floor.

Debra moved a step closer. “I'm sorry. I know what it's—“ She backed away and cleared her throat. “I have to count these items.”

Bowen raised his head. Had she almost admitted to having lost a spouse and child? He kept his gaze on her as she counted the tables and figured he'd played his part well. But his conscience winched under an onslaught of jabs.

When Debra completed her task, she turned and rested against a glass-topped table. She rubbed her temples. “Can you stay a minute longer?”

Bowen glanced at his watch. “Sure.”

She folded her arms and took a gulp of air. “I may be imagining a problem with a man who attends Hillcrest.” She described her encounter with Kyle, what she knew of him, and ended with his odd behavior at her car.

“Why does that trouble you?”

As if she searched for the right words, Debra's eyes darted back and forth. “His reluctance to leave. The way he…leered at me, like he wanted to ask me on a date or something. And then his question about the…” She pursed her lips and shrugged.

“Question about what?”

“Never mind.”

Bowen waited, but she didn't elaborate. “OK, so let's take the possibility of him asking you out. Is that something you want?”

Without hesitation, she said, “Definitely not.”

The corners of his mouth twitching, Bowen lowered his head. He liked her reaction. “Sorry, but I had to ask.”

“Kyle's fine as a friend, but nothing more.”

The wheels in Bowen's brain chugged into action. He struggled to keep the smile from appearing again. “I have an idea, and before you say no, hear me out.” He took a step towards Debra. “I liked the service today and want to visit again and get involved.” The lies threatened to choke him. “I could join the puppet ministry, too. Maybe help build the set or whatever.”

Debra's furrowed brow relaxed. Her eyes glowed as she took a step closer to him.

He focused on her face. “And we, you and I, could pretend to date so Kyle would get the message and leave you alone.”

She jerked, and her eyes grew as large as a cartoon character's. Her hands flew to her hips.

Uh-oh
.
I'm in trouble.

“What did you say?”

He hesitated a moment, gauging her body language. “We could pretend to date.”

Debra's eyes narrowed to slits. “How do we pretend something like that?” Her playful tone surprised him.

He took a step backward. “We, uh, we go out for a meal, or we sit together at church.”

Debra sauntered closer. “But wouldn't that be dating?” She removed a loose thread from his collar, her fingers lightly brushing his neck.

At her touch, his skin tingled and his chest heaved as if a bolt of lightning struck red-hot into his flesh. Off-key words squeaked out. “I suppose it would.”

Resting against the table again, she tilted her head. “I'm sure the puppet ministry committee could use your help to build the stage.”

Bowen had a hard time focusing on her statement. He rubbed his neck. “You can ask them tonight if they need my help.”

An impish smile played around her lips. “Why don't you ask them yourself?”

“Huh?”

Debra stood, straightened her apron, and took three steps towards Bowen. “Why don't you come with me tonight and ask how you can help?”

With Debra an arm's length away, Bowen lost control of the situation. How had she turned the tables on him so fast? He planned on asking her for their first date, but she'd gotten the drop on him.

“OK. I'll come.” Cogs churned. “We'll call this our first date. What time is the meeting? I'll pick you up.”

She turned, shaking her curls, and the peachy smell of her shampoo drifted past. “It's at seven, but I don't get off until then. I'd rather meet you there. The address is in my car.” Pointing towards the door, she added, “I've got to get back to work.”

Bowen followed her out. “I also get off at seven. I'll meet you in the parking lot and tag along.”

With her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, Debra strode ahead. He tried not to focus on her hands as they accentuated her swaying hips.

He almost bumped into her when she stopped suddenly and turned.

“Hey, Sam?” She eased a hand out of her pocket and prodded his chest. “Don't think this pretend dating business is going to lead to any handholding or kissing. Understand?” Without waiting for a reply, Debra sauntered away.

“A guy can hope, can't he?”

Only a customer in the next aisle heard his remark.

 

****

 

Kyle's house nestled in a tree lined suburb north of Hillcrest Church. Bowen and Debra approached the front door.

“Mr. Boudine, remember our arrangement,” Debra said over her shoulder and rang the bell.

Bowen lowered his head and breathed in a whiff of her peachy hair. “Whatever you say, Miss Johnson. I'll take my cue from you.”

Kyle opened the door, but his expression hardened when he shot a glance at Bowen. He made a quick recovery and welcomed them both inside. “Glad you could make it, Debra, and we can always use another volunteer.” He shook Bowen's hand. “Come on in. There's tea and cookies on the table.”

Debra picked up two glasses of tea, and then sat close to Bowen on the sofa. “Hi, everyone. This is Sam Boudine, a friend from Rhodes. He's a good carpenter.” She then introduced the other people present.

Bowen acknowledged their greetings with a nod, sliding an arm along the sofa behind Debra. She didn't flinch, and he disguised his pleasure by taking a gulp of tea. Her curls brushed his shoulder. She relaxed next to him. How he wanted to draw her closer, but instead, he blew out a puff of air and repeated to himself, “You're playing a part. Stick to the script.”

Sylvia, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a sleeping baby in a carrier, picked up a three ring binder. “You're an answer to prayer, Sam. I downloaded plans for a wooden stage but had no idea who'd make it for us.”

He inwardly balked at the prayer part but swallowed the guilt. “I'll see what I can do.”

Sylvia flipped to the middle of the binder, opened the rings, and removed a section of papers. “See what you think.”

Bowen had to remove his arm from the back of the sofa to accept the pages.

In the armchair next to Bowen, Kyle pointed to the binder. “Sylvia's done a lot of work already. The Hands for Hannah website has been very helpful. Our first order of business is to decide what kind of puppets to use. And do we order them readymade or craft them ourselves?”

While Bowen sorted through the stage plans, Debra's leg muscles tensed beside him. He stole a glance at her face, but she kept her eyes on Sylvia.

Kyle's voice droned on and on about hand puppets, stick puppets—people or animals?

Then Bowen sensed a change in Debra. She scooted forward as if engrossed in the discussion.

Sylvia peeked at her sleeping son. “I think we should use animals. Little ones love animals.”

“But older kids would like people puppets,” Kyle said.

Grace wagged a finger at the group. “Hold on. If we use people, then we need all skin colors. I want some like me.”

Tyrell blew her a kiss. “You mean dark chocolate?”

She pretended to catch his kiss and giggled.

“Wait. Why don't we have both animals and people?” Kyle stood and lifted his empty glass. “I need more tea. I'll be right back.”

Debra shook her head. “No. Having different puppets makes extra work for the operators.”

At the table, Kyle stopped and turned. “What do you mean?”