When Dreams Cross (6 page)

Loneliness gripped her and refused to let go as she drove the distance to the hospital, where the other man she had loved and lost lay in wait.

Chapter Seven

T
he hospital room was still too cold as Andi stepped in, so she went to the closet and found another blanket for her father. Carefully, she laid it over him, tucked it around him, and leaned over to kiss him. “Hi, Daddy. It’s me, Andi.”

There was no answer, just her father’s blank stare. She sat down in the chair beside his bed and stroked his hair back from his forehead. He had gotten a haircut today, she realized. Her mother must have done it.

“Daddy, we signed all the papers today. The cartoon characters I told you about, Khaki’s Krewe, are part of Promised Land now. I think they’re going to add so much. I wish you could see one of the cartoons yourself. You’d love them.”

Her voice fell on deaf ears, for all she knew. Leaning both elbows on the bed, she gazed down at her father, wishing from the bottom of her heart that she could somehow snap him out of this trap he was in. She reached for his hand, laid across his stomach, and squeezed, wishing, praying, that he would squeeze back. If she just had a sign.

But there was no sign.

“Are you even in there, Daddy?” she asked helplessly. “If you were, couldn’t you tell me somehow? I really miss you.”

She waited, hoping for a sign—a squeeze of the hand, a blink, a change in his breathing pattern—but there was none. Finally, she let go of his hand and sat back in her chair. She felt tired … so tired. It was as if she hadn’t slept in days, and something inside her felt empty, weak. Where was the joy Christians were supposed to feel? Where was the hope?

Her tear-filled eyes found her father’s Bible, where her mother had laid it beside his bed. She had been reading it to him. Since his accident, her mother had read aloud all the way to Habakkuk. She hoped her father could hear, that it brought him some pleasure, some relief.

She picked up the Bible and opened it. Her father’s own notes were written in the margins of almost every page, verses were underlined, passages highlighted. Her eyes fell to the passage on the page the Bible had opened to, in the first chapter of James.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

She’d read the passage herself, many times, but tonight she saw her father’s notes winding around the margins of the page. She turned the Bible sideways and read what he’d written.

“We should consider our personal trials and sorrows joy because of what they can allow God to do in us. If we let our trials break us, God can’t use us. But if we go in to those trials knowing that God is going to do something great with us, something for which he has to strengthen us in advance, it all comes into perspective.” Then he had jotted, “Romans 8:28.”

She didn’t have to look that up. It was one of her favorite verses. Aloud, she whispered, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

The words from the Bible, along with her father’s words, and his cross-reference, all combined to wash a wave of comfort over her. Tears filled her eyes, and she caught her breath on a sob. Was this the sign she had looked for? Had her father written that passage just for her, knowing that one day he couldn’t tell her himself?

Probably not. But another of her fathers had known. God had led her to it tonight.

“It’s hard to consider it joy,” she whispered to God as she read back over the passage. “But when I think it’s all for good, that there’s a reason, that you have a plan … it’s easier.” She dropped her forehead on the edge of the bed, and fell deeper into her tears as she closed her eyes and tried to pray. “Lord, help me. I don’t want to be alone, and I am. And nothing seems to be working out …”

Another verse that had once been dear to her came to her mind.
“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

That was it. She had not been seeking the kingdom of God first. It had come somewhere down her priority list, after the problems with the building of the park and staving off the government officials, but somewhere before relationships and recreation. Here she was so encumbered with busyness, most of which she called God’s work, and ignoring him completely. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Forgive me, Lord.”

She tried to list off the things she needed to repent of: pride, arrogance, neglect, apathy … “Daddy,” she whispered, “how does God keep his patience with me?”

Her father didn’t respond, but it was okay, because the peace that came over her told her that her heavenly Father did. She got up, pressed a kiss on her father’s temple, and whispered, “Good night, Daddy.”

Quietly, she slipped from his room, and headed back to her apartment on the grounds of Promised Land.

Chapter Eight

J
ustin had expected to run into Andi when he’d shown up at the Promised Land office building the next day, but she had been too obviously scarce. His disappointment surprised and angered him, for he didn’t want to spend every moment at work wishing she’d come through the door. That wasn’t productive. Besides, if she did, they would only fight, or have one of those stiff conversations packed full of double meanings and barbs that were left to hang. Was that what he wanted? To see her so she could get his adrenaline pumping?

No, that wasn’t why. He knew that as clearly as he knew that his merger with her had been a great idea. But he wanted to admit neither.

He had finally gotten most of his stuff moved into the building when he realized that the time was sneaking up on him. While his staff was in his living room—formerly his studio—discussing where they would all eat that evening, he had slipped away to take a shower.

He had plenty of time, he told himself, and as he dressed in the silly tuxedo shirt he’d rented earlier that day, he wished that he could appear at the reception as himself—in jeans and sneakers. But being part of corporate America meant making a few concessions, he supposed. He tucked the shirt in, put on his cummerbund, and wondered who had invented a getup like this. It was neither practical nor reasonable, and he felt like a clown dressing in it now. He looked down at the limp tie in his hand, and wondered how in the world he would tie it.

“Madeline!” he yelled through the door.

“Yeah!” she shouted back.

“Come give me a hand with this blasted tie, will you?”

Madeline came around the corner, her curls bouncing in her face, and she laughed out loud at the sight of him. “I never thought I’d see the day!” she said. “You look like a million bucks. Guys!” she shouted. “Come get a load of this!”

The others filled the doorway quickly, mocking him with catcalls and whoops. “I told you,” Madeline teased. “You’re lookin’ good.”

He shot them looks that said he wasn’t buying. “Can you tie this tie? It’s too short. I can’t figure out—”

“It’s a bow tie, Einstein. Here, let me do it.” Mechanically, she began to tie the tie. “I didn’t have three brothers for nothing, you know. Andi’s gonna swoon, Justin. The minute she lays eyes on you, she’s just gonna swoon.”

“Andi’s never swooned in her life,” he said irritably.

“You watch. When you walk in, she’ll have to grab onto something.” She demonstrated by grabbing onto a chair. “Her eyes will roll back up in her head. Her face will turn pink, and she’ll stumble back …”

He laughed as she pretended to faint, then caught herself. “Now when she does it, Justin, you have to get right over there and catch her. It’s the only gentlemanly thing to do.”

Still laughing, he checked the tie in the mirror, wishing he could loosen it a little. “You sure don’t know Andi Sherman.”

“Justin, I’m a woman. I see things that you can’t. I saw the look on Andi’s face last night when she was here. This relationship may have been dormant for eight years, but it’s not dead for her, either.”

“Either?” he asked. “What do you mean, ‘either’?”

She chuckled. “I mean that I think the feeling is mutual. I’ve never seen two people more enamored of each other, yet putting on such a front. Who are you trying to kid, anyway? She’s knock-dead gorgeous, she’s generous, she’s sweet … and you were in love with her once. My money says you still are.”

“Yeah, well, your money is weak with anemia. It’s not thinking clearly.”

“Not true. I injected it today with that fat check you gave me.” Giggling, she started out of the room. “We’re heading out to eat. Have fun at the reception.”

“Yeah, big fun,” he said without much hope.

He heard them all milling out of the house, the door closing behind them. He checked his watch. He was running forty-five minutes early, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to get there early, hang around in his new studio for a while, and get his ducks all in a row. He had to admit he was a little nervous. He had never done a press conference/reception before, and he sure didn’t want to look like a bumbling fool around Andi.

He looked for his keys, found them in his jeans pocket lying over a chair, and pulled them out. He checked to see if he’d forgotten anything, then stepped out of the side door.

Absent-mindedly, he unlocked the door to his car and started to get in, when he realized that there were three cars in the driveway behind him, blocking him in. They had all left in the fourth.

“Oh, no!” He walked down the driveway to see if he could catch them.

They were already out of his sight.

He raked both hands through his hair and went back inside, grabbed the phone book, and started trying to decide where they might have gone.

Ten phone calls and half an hour later, he had still not found them, and he realized that he wasn’t going to. He tried calling Andi, but she wasn’t in her office.

Finally, he flipped through the yellow pages to the listing of taxi services, and called the first one on the list. The line was busy.

Banging a fist on the table in frustration, he tried to think. Wes. He could call Wes. Maybe he hadn’t left home yet and could give him a ride.

He punched out Wes’s number and fidgeted through three rings. A woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Is Wes there, please?”

“No, I’m sorry. He left a little while ago for the reception tonight.”

“Laney?”

“No, she went with him. I’m his sister, Sherry.”

“Sherry?” Justin laughed. He hadn’t seen her since Wes’s wedding, and it had been years even before that. “Sherry, this is Justin Pierce. How’s it going?”

“Justin!” she shouted. “It’s great to hear your voice!”

He grinned. “Listen, I’ve got a little problem. Are you busy right now?”

“Amy and Clint and I are just hanging around. We’re baby-sitting.”

He knew Amy was Wes’s seven-year-old daughter. “Who’s Clint?”

“Well … Clint’s a very interesting, good-looking man who happens to be crazy about me.”

Justin heard him laughing in the background.

“I’d invite you over to meet him, but aren’t you supposed to be at that reception?”

“Yes. That’s my problem. My car is sort of blocked in. If I pay you a million dollars, Sherry, would you come and pick me up and take me to Promised Land?”

“A million dollars, huh? I suppose you’d want to use a credit card.”

“Yeah. An expired one.”

She chuckled. “All right. Give me directions and we’ll be right over.”

“Can you hurry? I’m late.”

“For a million dollars on an expired credit card, we can be there in five minutes.”

F
eeling like an idiot waiting out beside the curb in his tuxedo, Justin began to wonder if God was trying to teach him something. His own father had often told him he was “too big for his britches,” and maybe this was the Lord’s way of saying the same thing. All dressed up with his loaded bank account and a future that looked brighter than it ever had before, and he didn’t even have a ride to the party in his honor.

True to her word, Sherry and Clint and Wes’s beautiful eight-year-old daughter showed up a few minutes later, and Justin jumped into the backseat. “Thanks, you guys.”

Sherry wrenched her neck around and gave him a once-over. “Who are you and what have you done with Justin Pierce?”

Justin grinned. “It’s me. Really.”

“No,” Sherry said. “The Justin Pierce I remember would never have put on a tux.” She shifted the car into drive and pulled back out on the street. “Justin, this is Clint Jessup.”

Clint reached back over the seat and took his hand. “Good to meet you, Justin. So whose cars are blocking you in?”

“My staff. They’re trying to drive me insane.” He looked at Amy, who sat beside him staring at him with fascination. “Tell me, do I look insane?” he asked.

She grinned. “You look nice. Were you really my daddy’s roommate?”

“Sure was. Where do you think my insanity started?”

He leaned up to the front seat and peered through the windshield. “Can you make this thing go any faster?”

“I’m driving as fast as I can, Justin. But don’t sweat it. You’ll make an entrance. They’ll love you. Besides, you’ve already signed the contract. What are they gonna do? Fire you?”

He smiled and tried to let that reality relax him, but his tension only coiled itself tighter as they reached the grounds of Promised Land. He thanked them and raced inside.

T
he chatter of the reporters rambling around the room in clothes they’d rented or purchased just for the occasion grew louder as the night wore on. Conjecture about the nature of Andi’s announcement dominated most of the conversations around the room, but those reporters who had been the targets of leaks kept the news to themselves, hoping that only they would be well researched enough to ask the questions that mattered.

Andi Sherman moved from one cluster to another, keeping the conversation at a gossipy pitch. Her perfectly coifed French twist was an elegant contrast to the simple black gown she wore with a regal air. Her smile was a bit too forced, her eyes a bit too distant, but her aloofness was part of her appeal to the media, who kept her as the center of their attention no matter where she stood in the room.

Inwardly, Andi was anything but cool, for her blood seethed through her veins with alarming speed, and it took every ounce of decorum to counter the telltale signs of her fury. Her teeth did not grind together, her knuckles were not white, and the crystal glass in her hand did not crumble in her grasp. But she knew that the moment Justin Pierce came through that door her reserve would come crashing down in rage around her.

She fumed inwardly as she worked her way to the entrance of the plush suite. He had known he was the subject of the announcement. In fact, he knew that the whole function was in his honor! As thanks he had left her to placate these reporters, hungry more for the story of the hour than for the food and punch she kept circulating. Even B.W. Givens, who owned half the town and was determined to keep Promised Land from being part of it, was in attendance, watching and waiting with vulturelike shrewdness for some sign of trouble in Promised Land.

For the thousandth time in a quarter of an hour, Andi doubted the wisdom of her agreement with Justin. She had obviously been too easy. As Wes had pointed out yesterday, she had spent too much time walking on eggshells around him. But that was about to come to an end.

Behind her, Laney Grayson whispered, “Calm down, Andi. He’ll be here.”

Andi still had her smile pasted on as she turned around to Wes’s wife. Laney was seven months pregnant, but still looked as elegant as she had before she’d ever begun to show. “It’s a little embarrassing,” Andi whispered impatiently.

As Wes joined them, Laney said, “Well, if it helps any, it doesn’t show. Does it, Wes?”

“Nope. You look as calm and collected as a deodorant model.”

If she hadn’t been so angry, Andi might have appreciated his attempt to make her laugh. “Thanks, Wes. You’re a real prince.”

T
he elevator smoothed to a stop on the nineteenth floor of the office building, and Justin checked his watch as he lurched out and rushed toward the party that awaited him. “Blazes,” he muttered when he saw how late he was. Sherry Grayson had an authority complex and insisted on driving the speed limit. It beat anything he’d ever seen.

He tugged at his stiff collar and strangling bow tie before jogging toward the noise coming from down the corridor.

Justin had scarcely reached the open double oak doors of the noisy suite when he saw Andi near it, a glacial, untouchable vision of loveliness. She looked up at him and their eyes collided. She was angry. Her frigid eyes riveted scornfully into him as she excused herself from a reporter and pushed out to the hall.

The very look on her face riled him, and he stiffened, deciding not to let those crystal daggers in her eyes get the best of him. If he’d had any plans of apologizing to her, or offering an explanation, he changed his mind now and took on his most defensive facade. He may have merged companies with her, but he would not let her treat him like an inept employee. He met her expression with one equally hard, equally haughty.

She grabbed his elbow and began to pull him toward a secluded wing. “How dare you?” she asked when they were out of earshot of the press.

“How dare I what?”

“How dare you waltz in here fifteen minutes late? I got these people here for you. They’re getting restless, and I don’t think I need to remind you how hostile they can get when they want to!”

“Come off it, Andi,” Justin flung out in a stage whisper. “Who do you think you’re kidding? You got them here for you, not me. Look,” he said, feigning weariness at her attitude. “I’ve had a rough day. This is silly. You wanted me to come; I’m here. Let’s not keep the press waiting any longer.”

Before Andi could reply, he pulled her by her arm—the same way she had guided him earlier—down the hall and into the party. Shaking free of him as soon as they reached the threshold, Andi shot across the room to a cluster of her own employees.

He began to mingle with a drive he didn’t know he had, determined not to let her see him sulking or shying away from the attention. He saw her seek him out in the crowd, then glance quickly away as she seemed to work on the composure she had lost before he’d even walked in.

So much for her swooning, he thought with disdain as he waited for her to signal him that it was time for the press conference.