Down from the Cross (6 page)

He pulled into a parking stall in front of the automotive shop and turned off the ignition, for the first time realizing he had been humming to himself. A tune he couldn’t place at first. Then it hit him, and he began to sing aloud. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G. Jesus died for you and me.” An audible huff escaped his lips.
Jesus? Jesus never actually lived. He was a fable—a myth, just like God! Nothing but a silly myth!

Biff walked toward him and stuck out his hand as Keene entered the building. “Looks like you’re gonna have to have that little Chevy Aveo repaired instead of replacing it. Your insurance company won’t go for the whole ball of wax,” the man shouted over the loud noise of grinders and sanders. “Come on into my office!”

Keene shook the man’s hand and followed him into the office, seating himself across from Biff’s beat-up old desk. He looked the man directly in the eye. “Tell me, Biff. If this were your daughter’s car and you could either fix it or replace it, without any insurance company being involved, and you were the one responsible for wrecking it, what would you do?”

The man remained silent for a minute, then grinned. “Well, as the owner of this body shop, I’d say I’d fix it up.”

“And as a father?”

Biff Hogan rubbed his fingers across his cheek, roughing up the small amount of stubble that had grown there since his morning shave. “If I were the father, I guess I’d have to say replace it. Wouldn’t seem fair to pawn off a repaired car to replace one that had been nearly new and without a scratch before I banged it up.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. Haul that Aveo over to the General Motors dealer and tell him to get in touch with me with a price for a new one—exactly like it, using this one as a trade-in. Okay? It’s the only fair thing to do.”

Two days later, at the end of their workday, Keene led Jane through the Kennewick Place lobby to the parking lot, where a red Aveo was parked.

“My car!” She rushed over to it and then realized something was different. Peering in the window, she noted both the dashboard and the upholstery were a different color than hers. Backing away quickly, she felt a flush of embarrassment rush to her cheeks. “I–I guess I made a mistake, but it looked like my car.”

Without a word but smiling broadly, Keene reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “It is your car, Jane. A brandnew one. Here, try this key in the lock.”

Puzzled, she stared at him. “But your insurance agent said my old car could be fixed up to look like new.”

“Look
like new—that’s the operative word, but your car would always bear signs of being wrecked. If not on the surface, at least underneath. If you ever tried to sell it or trade it in, it would depreciate the value. I couldn’t let that happen. I caused the wreck. I had to replace it with one that had not been wrecked. I–I hope you like it. I told the dealer I wanted it to be as close in appearance as possible.” He stepped forward and rested a hand on the car’s top. “If it isn’t right, or you’d rather have another color, I told—”

“No! It’s perfect just as it is, but I never expected you to buy me a new car!”

“I only paid the difference between what my insurance paid and the selling price of a new one. I’m just glad you like it. Now,” he said, still holding on to the key, “go on and enjoy your evening. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry about the rental car. They’ll be picking it up this evening.”

After taking the key and opening the door, Jane smiled at him with tears in her eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Keene.”

He chuckled. “Let’s just say you bring out the best in me.” He rested his palms on the top of the car after she climbed inside and rolled down the window. “I’ve never met anyone like you either.”

His words made her tingle all over. She hoped they were a compliment. At least, she was going to take them that way. She handed him the key to the rental car, said another sincere thank-you, then a quick good-bye, rolled up the window, and turned the key in the ignition. Taking in the fresh smell of her new car, she backed out of the parking space and headed for the exit. If she could have her pick of men, it would be a man like Keene Moray.

The next few weeks flew by as Jane worked at a whirlwind pace, trying to put things in order the way Keene wanted them. At times she felt frustrated when her walking cast kept her from moving as quickly as she would like, making certain projects tedious and laborious, but he never seemed to mind the delay and was more than patient with her.

That patience was tested the day before the doctor was to remove her cast. In her excitement, she accidentally knocked a file box off a chair. It contained the sheet music Keene was using to rehearse for the next season, and every piece ended in a heap in the middle of the floor, mixed up and scattered. Knowing how important the order of his music was to Keene, she began to cry as she knelt and tried to gather them up, barely able to read the titles and page numbers through her tears.

When he entered the room and realized what had happened, he waved his arms and spouted a few profanities, which only made her feel worse. Unable to deal with her self-recrimination, much less his fury, she collapsed into a heap beside the mess she’d made, weeping her heart out, her cast sticking out awkwardly in front of her. She had wanted so badly to please him.

He crossed the room slowly, coming to stand beside her, wringing his hands as if he had no idea what to do or say. Finally, he knelt on one knee and wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “I’m… I’m sorry, Jane. For a moment there, I lost my head. I’m not mad at you. Seeing everything on the floor like this upset me because I knew how much work you’d put into filing that box full of sheet music.”

She lifted her eyes to his, tears cascading down her face. “I–I thought you cursed because you… you were mad at me! Maybe now that I’m getting rid of this cast, it’s time for me to get out of your way and look for another job.”

“No! Like I said, I’m not mad at you! Things happen. I have done far worse than spilling a box of mere paper, and I wasn’t even wearing a cast. Look what I did to you and your car. I know how hard you’ve worked to get everything in that box in order!” He stroked her hair gently then wiped a thumb across her damp cheek, clearing away a tear. Tilting her face up to his, he gazed at her, his deep brown eyes filled with regret. “I apologize for my language. I am sure you are not used to hearing words like those. And don’t you even talk about finding another job. I would like you to stay on right here until I am ready to leave Rhode Island. I–I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She had a hard time finding her voice with him so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She wanted to say something profound, something that would convince him of his lack of reverence for God, but the words wouldn’t come.
Lord, help me! I promised to tell Keene about You and Your saving grace, and I’m making such a mess of things!

Her boss gave her a gentle smile. “For your sake, I’ll try to have better control over my mouth in the future, but old habits are hard to break. You may have to remind me occasionally. Give me a swift kick. But I really want you to stay. Promise me you will?”

“I–I’d like to stay, if you’re sure you want me,” she murmured, dazzled by his touch and enjoying being near him.

“I said I did, didn’t I?” He gave her a warm smile. After searching the room for a larger empty box, he helped her put the fallen items into it. “You can refile these when you have time. Why don’t you quit and go on home? This will wait until tomorrow,” he said once everything had been picked up from the floor. “Besides, I have a dinner engagement, so I’ll be leaving early myself.”

Her heart sank. Even though she was nothing more than a temporary employee, it hurt to think of another woman sitting beside him, smiling at him over some exotic candlelight dinner at a swanky restaurant. She had never considered the fact that he may have a girlfriend in Providence. Of course he would! This was Keene Moray, the singing idol of thousands of women throughout the world. Somehow, the thought filled her with jealousy, a feeling completely foreign to her. Realizing the fallacy of her thoughts, she snickered.

“What?” He pulled away from her and rose. “What’s so funny?”

Embarrassed and unable to think of one reasonable excuse to explain her silly actions, she simply gave him a blank stare. “Ah… it was nothing. Your… your statement about having dinner reminded me of something, that’s all.”

He tilted his head and lifted a brow. “Oh, you have a hot dinner date, too?”

His choice of the word
hot
distressed her almost as much as the word
too.
Her face probably showed it. She had never used the word
hot
in that context, let alone had a
hot
dinner date of her own. “No, Mr. Mor… Keene, I don’t have a dinner date. I’m planning on reading a book tonight.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He placed a placating hand on her wrist. “I never meant to offend you, Jane.
Hot
was just a figure of speech. You know—like exciting—no, not exciting. Interesting. Special.”

Keene Moray actually looked—embarrassed? If she hadn’t been offended by his use of words, she would have enjoyed it.

“I think I know what you mean,” she offered, amused to see someone so famous put on the defensive for something he had said, and to her, of all people. A nobody.

“Hey, since you’re from around here, maybe you can help me decide where to take Camellia for dinner tonight. It’s her birthday, and I want it to be a surprise.”

“I–I really don’t know much about Providence’s fancy restaurants, but I have driven past The Green Goddess a number of times. It looks pretty fancy.”

Knotting his hands into fists, he pressed them into his lower back and arched, stretching first one way and then the other. “I guess I should get more exercise. I sit at the piano far more than I should.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m going to be an old man before my time if I don’t change my ways.”

“You could join the YMCA.” The words slipped out before she realized what a ridiculous suggestion she had made. Why would he join the Y when he could afford to belong to the fanciest health club in town?

She watched a slow smile creep across his mouth. “Not a bad idea, except for one thing. There are great workout facilities right here in this building, and I don’t even take advantage of those.”

She felt just plain dumb. “I–I hadn’t realized.”

“I didn’t know it either until two days ago.” He grinned again. “Too bad you have that cast on your leg, or I’d invite you to try out one of their treadmills.”

“I–I’ve never used a treadmill,” she admitted dolefully.

“I hate them. My idea of exercise is a fast game of tennis. Now that’s a real workout.”

“I’ve never played tennis either.” She had worked weekends one summer at the local country club, waiting tables for those who did know how to play tennis or at least walked around the clubhouse carrying their expensive rackets and wearing cute little tennis outfits.

“I was kidding about the fast part. I’m not very good myself. Always too busy to take the time to improve my game.” He tossed an imaginary ball into the air, swinging at it with an imaginary tennis racket, and then chuckled. “See, I didn’t even get it across the net.”

She loved his sense of humor. Surprisingly, nothing about him seemed pretentious or conceited. She giggled, covering her mouth. “Maybe your racket has a hole in it.”

He pretended to be lifting it up, observing it carefully as his hands twisted back and forth. “You know, you may be right. Maybe I’m a better server than I thought.”

“You… you don’t look like you need to exercise. You look, umm, fit to me.”
More stupid words. I’ll bet his Camellia wouldn’t say something that stupid. She would probably ooh and ahh over him, stroking his biceps and saying how strong he looks.

He smiled again. “Aw, thanks.”

“Well, I’d better get out of here so you can get ready for your date.” She stood and picked up her walker, setting it directly in front of her before swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see myself out.”

She started for the door, but the phone rang. Out of habit from answering it the past few weeks, she reached for it without even looking his way. “Keene Moray’s residence. This is Jane. How may I help you?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a sneeze. “I need to speak with Keene.” Another sneeze. “Tell him this is Camellia.”

He took the phone, and after a few “uh-huhs” and an “I’m sorry,” he said, “Perhaps another time, when you’re feeling better.” Before hanging up, he stared at the phone for a few moments then turned to Jane.

“Camellia had to cancel our plans for this evening. How about having dinner with me at that swanky restaurant you told me about? The one with all the cars in the parking lot. To celebrate the official removal of your cast tomorrow.”

Jane’s knees threatened to bend of their own accord. If she had not been hanging on to the desk, they probably would have. “No… no, I’m sorry. I–I can’t.”

“Why not? You have to eat supper. We can order a take-out dinner for your mother, if that’s what’s stopping you.”