Drummer Boy (7 page)

Heber moved into the small entranceway.

Tim glanced Jane's way, and his eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Jane.”

“In the flesh,” she said and then broke off flustered because it was a stupid thing to say when Tim was wearing nothing but boxers and a tank top.

He looked down at himself and the tips of his ears reddened. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I was out late last night. Totally forgot Heber had arranged a viewing.”

Heber was pointing out features in the small apartment, but Jane only had eyes for the personal details. A gorgeous, huge, black drum kit and an equally gorgeous stereo system took up most of the living room.

“I didn't know you were looking for a place.”

Jane shrugged and smoothed her hand along the back of Tim's butter-soft, ivory leather loveseat. “Candy has Dean, now. I'm not needed around the house the way I was. They're getting hitched January 1. Being roommates with them as a couple would just feel weird.” Her toe nudged something. She looked down, and then stooped to retrieve a well-worn Bible from the floor by the couch.

She handed it to Tim, who set it on the breakfast bar. “Makes sense to move on, I guess.”

“But what about you? Why are you moving?”

Tim flushed deeper. “Just thought it was time to get something a bit bigger, in case, well, I don't know. I might not be single forever, you know.”

Heber was saying something about the damage deposit, but he interrupted himself. “You guys know each other. You talk—and you let me know if you want the place by tomorrow 5:00 PM.”

“I will. Thank you so much. It's lovely.”

Heber smiled, nodded once, and left.

There was a second of awkward silence, and then Tim said, “So this is weird…I would've invited you over before, but—”

“But you were busy with whoever this “not going to stay single forever” person is?”

Jane had just noticed something else telling about Tim's tattoos, but as if he sensed her staring—and her questions—he grabbed a soft flannel button up shirt from the back of a kitchen chair and pulled it on.

He met her gaze. “You misunderstood me. There's no one else.”

No one else
. The implication of his words made her want to jump up and down with joy—which was stupid. Totally stupid. She didn't want him to be saying or thinking any such thing. She just wanted to be friends—to have none of the pressure of going out, none of the hassle of breaking it off when it wasn't working out. She sighed heavily.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Sure.”

They took the stairs down, Tim in front, her behind. From her vantage point, for the first time, she noticed a tattooed snarl of barbwire poked out just above his collar.

She pressed her fingers against it.

He stopped stock-still.

“You hate your tattoos,” she said. It wasn't a question, and his head bowed at her words.

Tim kept his back to her, his face averted. “They…It's just always in my face. The guy I used to be—so filled with rage and hate—or fear that masqueraded as hate. Confusion. I hate being reminded, but mostly, I hate people seeing that mess and thinking that's still me. You should hear my mother go on about them.”

Behind Tim, where he couldn't see her, she shook her head. No one who knew Tim could think that.

“You're beautiful,” she said, and meant it. “Inside and out. Really.”

He didn't respond to that.

“So you're covering them up with new tattoos that suit who you are a bit better?”

“Yeah, I wanted to remove some of them, but it's too costly—inefficient.”

“Roses,” she said.

“What?”

“White roses. The barbwire will convert to a beautiful vine, no problem. And you could add your brother's name…”

Tim pivoted on the step he was on and looked up at her. “They really don't put you off?”

Jane shook her head.

“You're something else, you know that?”

Jane wanted to bend down and kiss him. It would be so easy to do, but that was the whole problem. They were growing close. What if the second it got serious, she wasn't as keen anymore? Or once she wasn't a challenge any longer, what if
he
stopped being interested? She had no doubts about her ability to attract men, but it was another thing to keep someone over the long haul.

Tim was fortunate. His problems were exterior. Ugly tattoos.

No, if she was going to get to keep Tim in her life at all, she had to make sure they kept some distance.

 

 

 

 

10

 

Something buzzed near Jane's head, interrupting her good dream. She was on a beach, maybe in Tahiti? Somewhere gorgeous, anyway, with white sand and an ocean so blue it looked fake…
The phone
. That's what the annoying noise was.

“Hey, guys,” she croaked. “Get the phone.”

It kept ringing.

“Kaylie? Matt? Michael? Anyone?” she asked louder.

No response.

Fine.

She picked up the handset half covered by one of her pillows. “Hello?”

“Jane?”

“Yeah,” she admitted grudgingly, still sleepy, but chilled now. Her dimly lit bedroom was the furthest thing from the sunny heat of the beach.

“It's Tim.”

Her stomach did a little flip, and she bit her lip. “Hi,” she said and left it at that.

“Uh, I was wondering…you haven't returned any of my calls since you checked out my apartment. Is something wrong? Did I do something—or not do something?”

Jane changed positions carefully, turning to lie flat on her back, and stared up at the ceiling. Little trickles of salt water ran from the outside corners of her eyes, down her cheeks, and into her ears—an icky feeling that made her tears flow harder. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Are you sure? Are you all right? You sound a bit—”

“I'm coming down with a cold.”

“Oh, OK, then. Well, if you're going to that tea thing of Sarah's today, I'd love to accompany you. I'll drive, and maybe we could hang out afterwards?”

Right. Sarah's celebration tea. It was today. How had that day arrived so quickly anyway? Where was time going?

“I guess.”

“Don't sound so enthusiastic. It might go straight to my head.”

Despite herself, Jane chuckled—a dried up, out of practice sound. “Sorry. Sorry. It's definitely me, not you.”

“Uh huh,” Tim said. “That's what all the pretty girls say.”

“Oh, is that what I am to you? A pretty girl?” She'd meant to sound teasing, but the question came out strangely serious.

Tim's tone matched hers. “Actually, uh, about that…I'm happy you brought it up. I've been wanting to talk about what you are to me for a while now.”

Butterflies swarmed Jane's stomach. Happy nerves or dread? She wasn't sure. “You have?”

“Yeah,” Tim's voice was so quiet, Jane strained to hear it. “Maybe we can talk after Sarah's thing?”

“OK,” she said. “Yeah.”

After they hung up, she looked for something to wear and finally settled on a dress with a long, loose-fitting shrug—not her usual sporty wear, but less constrictive on her arm. If they had to have an awkward ‘where they stood with each other' conversation, she might as well be comfortable.

She was watching for Tim and when he pulled into the driveway she hurried out to meet him.

He was already out of the car and walked around the side of the car to open her door for her.

“You look lovely,” he said. “Different, though.”

“Yeah, me in a dress. Write it on a calendar.”

“The softness suits you.”

Jane rolled her eyes and snapped into her seatbelt, one handed. She really was becoming more adept. It wasn't just her imagination.

“Do you need help with that?” Tim asked as he slid into the driver's seat and then spotted the burgundy strap that crossed her chest. “Ah, I see not.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Can you blame me? I'd have an excuse to get nice and close.”

Jane snorted. “I don't know if I'm flattered or irritated by that comment.”

“Go with flattered.”

“All right. I'm flattered.”

“Excellent.” Tim grinned and glanced over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway.

“What are you wearing?” Jane asked as they walked toward the big glass doors of the church.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I don't know. You tell me.”

“A drumming t-shirt.”

His grin broadened, and she noticed the eye tooth on his left side stuck out just a little bit further than its brothers, overlapping the lateral incisor beside it just a smidge. Jane loved the tiny irregularity.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “What does your shirt say?”

“Guess.”

She shook her head. “No idea.”

“Try.”

“Hmmm…How about ‘a drum for all seasons'?”

“No, but that'd be a good one.” He unzipped his jacket and looked down at his stomach, keeping the picture hidden from view. “Try again?”

“Parum pum.”

He laughed and a petite red-haired woman looked at him censoriously. He lowered his volume a tad. “No, but I actually do have one like that. It says ‘Little Drummer Boy' really small across the top and has a cartoon guy waving his sticks madly. Am I that predictable?”

“Nah, you just wear your obsessions on your chest, so everybody and their dog knows what to get you for Christmas and birthdays.”

“You got that right,” said Tim. “It's an off year if I don't score at least two new shirts. Now lean in.”

Jane peeked into his jacket as bidden. Tim's army green shirt featured a tough-looking cowboy yelling at a little bow-legged guy who stood shamefaced in front of a set of red drums. A speech bubble above the angry cowboy's head read, “I said it was time to pull out the big guns.
Big guns.
”

“Heh!” Jane said.

“You may be the only woman who's ever appreciated my t-shirts properly.”

Jane smirked. “What can I say? You work so hard to drum up compliments.”

Tim groaned, and then they were inside, being ushered to the fireside room—a large meeting room on a separate floor from the sanctuary, used for special events.

 

****

 

The tea was very polished and went off smoothly, but that was the best thing Jane could say about it. Something about the event felt contrived and when the guest speaker got all choked up, and waved her hand over her face, stuttering, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I'm just so moved by these young people,” before she started her speech, Jane felt like a bad person, but all she could think was that the woman seemed fake. Like she was making a show of how much she cared. Jane also resented the plug for various local businesses. This was supposed to be about a group of nine kids who'd been clean for a year—not about coupons to buy junk at a discount.

Seeing Sarah at the end made the whole thing worth it, however. She was radiant in an old-fashioned dress and striped leggings, eyes huge beneath her raven-wing hair, cheeks flushed a deep rosy pink, when she stepped up to accept a big bouquet of mixed flowers. She dipped her head in small curtsey. “I'd like to say a special thank you to my mom, to my Uncle Tim, and to my friend, Jane. Mom, for not giving up on me. Tim, for being whatever I need him to be, whenever I need him and Jane, for being the kind of person I want to be.”

Jane was touched and gave a little wave.

“So what could you possibly do to gain such undying gratitude and respect from our Miss Sarah?” Tim whispered, leaning in close to her.

Jane shrugged and tried not to feel stung.

His eyes were warm and friendly, so what kind of comment was that?

“I don't have the foggiest.”

“That's what I thought,” he said and then went quiet as each of the other eight kids said a few words.

Ouch.

“So you think she's doing all right?” Jane asked on their way out of the building after they'd said good-bye to Sarah and congratulated her once more.

“Who? Sarah?”

“Who else?”

Tim started the car and let it idle. “I think,” he started. “I think…she's doing well, yeah. Maybe better than most of us, but life's a forest. You can be on a good path, but you're never fully out of the woods, and you're safer when you don't forget it.”

“I'm worried that she's too sunshine and roses. I want to believe God's healed her as miraculously as He's seemed to, but—

“It seems too good to be true, maybe? Like she's still putting on a persona instead of facing the things that eat at her?”

“Yeah.”

Tim drummed his steering wheel with both hands.

Jane was sure the movement was unconscious and it made her smile.

The guy fidgeted almost as much as she did.

Finally, he turned to look at her. “I've wondered that, too. Enough that I've broached the subject with her, and we've talked about her dad's choices, too.”

“What did she say?”

“That I shouldn't worry. That she was ‘all good.'”

“Hmmm.”

“Yeah. That's what I thought, and that you're a bit worried, too, gives me pause.”

“We'll keep an eye on her.”

“
We'll
?” Tim asked.

Jane scrunched her face. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” Tim said. “But I hope one day you mean what I mean.” He let the car roll back slowly and then turned onto the street.

“And what on earth does
that
mean?” Jane asked, wanting to laugh but feeling weirdly solemn.

“We'll know when you know.”