Mixed Signals (44 page)

As soon as his shyness evaporated, Josh had a million questions about the house, about the radio station, about the truck.
What a great kid!
David kept thinking, over and over. He answered Josh’s questions with all the enthusiasm the boy deserved, while Sherry listened, her eyes glowing with an unsettling light.

The clock on the mantel caught his eye.
Nearly three
. Thank the Lord, the cavalry would soon be there. “Sherry, I’ve invited someone to join us this afternoon.”

“Oh?” The single word carried the weight of several.
Who?
and
Why?
no doubt.

“Her name is Belle O’Brien.” He laughed, feeling awkward for not mentioning this sooner.
And why didn’t you, man?
“Actually her name is Belinda Oberholtzer, but her radio name is Belle, so that’s how we all think of her.”

Sherry looked immensely relieved. “I see. A coworker, then.”

“More than that.”
What is your problem? Just say it
. “She’s my … girlfriend.”

A host of emotions moved across Sherry’s face. Surprise, suspicion, anger, determination. “Your
girlfriend?
David, I’m shocked.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended, so he kept both to himself and asked the obvious. “Shocked that someone might be interested in me?”

“No!” She was upset. More than upset. “Shocked that you’d … ah … Suppose we let Josh watch a little television while you and I take a walk around the property.”

Without a word, he flicked on the set in the living room, then grabbed their coats and headed out the door.
Whatever line she’s selling, I’m not buying
.

As they moved across the frozen yard, she spoke first, in measured tones. “David, apparently there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“On your part, maybe.” He was hot, could feel his blood pumping under his skin. He willed himself to remain calm, hear her out.

Sherry could be so convincing. Manipulative. She’d been batting her eyes at him for the last three hours. He knew the signs. She wanted something, expected something from him. The sooner they got it out in the open, the better.

“What is it you want, Sherry?”

Her eyes flew open as if she’d been struck. “What do
I
want? I thought
you
wanted something. Specifically … me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

They stopped and faced one another, their breathing sending puffs of steam into the frosty air. “David, when you mailed me that check, I thought you were telling me to come home. To Abingdon.”

“What?”

Her words came out on a sob. “I thought you loved me, David. That’s why I’m here.”

He was undone. How had this happened?

He clenched his fists and prayed for guidance. “I did love you, Sherry. A long time ago. For months after you left, I hoped you’d come back to
me, marry me, let me help raise our child. But you didn’t come back, so I stopped asking. Stopped begging.” He sighed at the painful memory. “Stopped hoping.”

“I did care for you, David.” Her voice was strained, her words halting. “In my own way, I did. But I couldn’t marry you. Surely you understood that. Not a … a Cahill. Not then. But seeing the life you’ve created now … Well, you’ve redeemed yourself, David.”

Ahh. There’s my answer. Thank you, Lord
.

He lightly touched her elbows through her heavy coat, wanting her to hear him clearly. “You’re wrong, Sherry. I didn’t redeem anything. The Lord redeemed me. He saved me from myself. From my bitterness. From hating you and mistrusting women in general. The Lord set me free from all that.”

“The Lord?” She scrunched up her face in distaste. “You really have bought into this whole church bit, haven’t you?”

“Not church.” He had to make her see the truth. “Not a building, not people. The Lord Jesus. He’s the one who’s made all the difference. He’s the reason I could send that check to you, no strings attached.”

“That’s funny—” she all but spat the words at him—“I saw all kinds of strings dangling from that check.”

“I’m sorry you did, Sherry.” He exhaled, frustrated, looking for a way to make amends. “I’m not sorry you came home, though.”

For a moment, a glimmer of hope shone in her eyes. “Really?”

He nodded. “It’s time for you to patch things up with your family, don’t you think? And I need to get to know Josh. Really know him. He’s a terrific kid, Sherry. You’ve done a fine job of raising him.”

She stepped backward. The soft angles of her face had sharpened. “So. This is all about
you
, then. You seeing Josh. You bringing my dad and me together for a boxing match so you can sell tickets.”

“No, I—”

“I gave up everything to come home to you, David!” Her voice was shrill, cutting through the icy air. “You owe me a chance. A chance to be part of a whole family. A chance to have a father for Josh and a husband … a husband for me. I’ve been … so … so … lonely.”

Sherry’s shoulders collapsed. Her anguished sobs tore at his heart.
Whatever the truth behind her words, her tears were real.

Should I hold her? Comfort her?
He didn’t want her to jump to conclusions.

Hang the conclusions
. He was not the kind of man who stood by and watched a woman suffer, especially if her pain was due to his own misguided attempt to do the right thing.

He reached out and pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, though it made her cry harder, her sobs echoing in the frozen stillness of the countryside. At a loss, he smoothed her hair, murmured the most encouraging, honest words he could think of. When she seemed too weak to stand on her own, he tightened his grasp, pressing her against his blue parka, praying for wisdom.

But it wasn’t wisdom that drove up in a Pontiac.

It was Belle.

Sherry’s sobs had distracted him, or drowned out the sound of Belle’s engine, until she’d pulled up within a few feet of them. While Sherry clung to him, Belle only stared. Long enough to see his desperate expression. Not long enough for him to explain.

Belle hit the gas, sending her car spinning toward Spring Creek Road, throwing a spray of gravel at his feet.

“W
HOSE FAULT IS IT AGAIN?
”

Norah sighed, shaking her head. Her lifelong journey with Patrick was twenty-four hours old and they’d already hit their first speed bump. “It’s no one’s fault, darling. Not David’s and certainly not Belle’s. Sherry Robison simply appeared at the other end of his phone line last night after we left the party.”

“Humph.” Patrick squared his shoulders as if to do battle. “Cahill better take care of our Belle, or he’ll answer to me when her heart gets broken.”

His fierce expression made her swallow a laugh whole, sending her earrings on a merry dance. “Don’t polish your armor just yet, good knight. Belle can manage things.” She ventured into the closet and brought out a fistful of hangers. “Wait until she gets back from David’s place. We’ll no doubt find out everything is under control.”

“If you say so.” Patrick yanked open the dresser drawer she’d emptied for him and began filling it with socks. Not in pairs, not in stacks, just willy-nilly.

Forever is a long time, she reminded herself, watching him stuff dress and sport socks into the drawer with abandon. Soon those same socks would be hiding in corners, gathering wool under furniture, wrapping their fuzzy threads around unsuspecting dust bunnies.

It was a sure bet she’d be the one rounding them up for a trip through the wash.

New husband, new socks, same old story.

But hadn’t he been the handsomest thing yesterday, standing before the county clerk, wearing his freshly pressed suit and a narrow black tie? She’d stumbled over her vows more than once, lost in his dark hazel eyes and devastating smile.

“Mrs. Reese?”

Barely listening, she continued to gaze at him, remembering their first hours together at the Martha …

“Mrs. Reese!”

“Oh!” She snapped to attention, feeling the heat sting her cheeks. “Sorry. Not quite accustomed to the sound of that.”

“Get used to it, woman.” A sly grin stretched across his beard. The remaining socks landed on the floor in a jumbled heap. “Were you daydreaming just now, my dear?” He eased his arms around her, drawing her toward him.

She gave him no resistance. Couldn’t if she’d wanted to.

“Thinking of anyone I know?” He slipped off one dangling earring, then another, lightly kissing the sensitive spot behind each ear.

In seconds she felt like the blushing bride she most certainly was, being wooed by her teddy bear of a bridegroom. “I was thinking of you, naturally. Of us. Last night.”

“Oh, at David’s party?” His kisses eased down her neck.

“No, silly. Uh … later.”

“On the porch?”

The lips against her skin didn’t contain the slightest hint of a smile, though she was certain she felt the corners of his mouth beginning to curl. So, for that matter, were her middle-aged toes.

“Not then. Later.”

“In the car, perhaps, Mrs. Reese?”

She groaned. “No … later!”

“Hmm.” His hands were rubbing her shoulders and back, relaxing her, gentling her. “There wasn’t much after that, really. Except the Martha.”

A throaty sigh escaped her lips. “Precisely.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, beloved, but the daily rent at the Martha is
too steep for your old cheapskate hubby. Will home do?”

“Home will do very nicely.” She laced her fingers through his hair and tipped his head back until their eyes met. “Have I mentioned how much I love you, Mr. Reese?”

“Not in the last ten minutes.” His eyes darkened and the lids dropped to half mast. “Suppose you tell me again.”

“Not again! Not again, Lord!” Belle was filled with a cold fury. She managed to keep the car on the road, but her emotions were veering wildly over the map of her heart.

Last November, when she’d discovered Norah and Patrick gazing at one another in the shop kitchen, had been awful. This was worse. Much worse.

She’d only had a crush on Patrick. David Cahill was the love of her earthly life.

Patrick and Norah had merely been holding hands that night.

David and Sherry had been embracing. Fervently, it appeared. She’d seen them the minute she turned off Old Jonesboro Road. Recognized David’s blue parka right away. Easily guessed who was wrapped in his arms.

And where was Josh?
The boy wasn’t even in sight. Wasn’t he the whole point of their cozy Sunday get-together?

She wiped away a burst of hot tears, knowing they were the only ones that would dare interfere with her justifiable thoughts of homicide. It would have to be a humane method, she decided. No knives or guns. Death by chocolate, maybe. Kill them with kindness. “Oh, fiddle,” she grumbled, slowing down for a stop sign. “It’s Sunday. You can’t go bumping people off on the Lord’s day. It’s not proper.”

Besides, she knew there was an explanation. Hadn’t David’s look of despair told her what she needed to know? That all was not as it appeared, that something had happened? Maybe he’d just told Sherry about a certain Belle O’Brien, the love of
his
life.
There’s a calming thought
. Maybe he’d just informed Sherry that he’d be willing to see Josh often, but not her.
Better, much better
.

Or maybe—just maybe—things were exactly as they appeared. David’s first love, the mother of his only son, had come home at last to claim what she thought was rightfully hers.

The tears returned for a second round. Belle felt her spirits drooping, past her boots, under the Pontiac, and all over Main Street. Matthew’s morning sermon floated through her mind. “Cast all your worries upon the Lord,” Pastor Howard had admonished them, “because he cares about you.”

Believing that was one thing. Acting on it was another.

She’d leaned on the Lord to get her through the debacle that was Chicago, and he had. When everything fell apart with Patrick, God was there. The embarrassment of the Barter audition faded in the warmth of his steadfast loving-kindness.

Now, her future with David dotted with question marks, she found herself with a fresh armload of worries and only one place to drop them that made sense.

“All yours, Lord.” It came out on a croak, but it was a sincere croak, full of determination. “David is yours, Sherry is yours, Josh is yours. Work that whole situation out to your satisfaction, Lord.” She sniffed, the last of her tears drying, making her cheeks feel tight and drawn. “One more thing, Lord. Could you wrap your arms around me in the meantime?”

The gray afternoon light, slanting low in the winter sky, beckoned her to follow its meager rays, up and down the streets of Abingdon until, an hour later, she pulled into the single parking space behind the brick house she called home, and yanked on the brake.

Fine
. She wouldn’t do anything drastic. Not overreact. Not think the worst. She also wouldn’t call him. David was the one who had the explaining to do.
Let him call me
. In the meantime, she’d make a concerted effort to leave her fears in the Lord’s capable hands and press on with her life.

A few chocolate chip scones from Norah’s bakery case would help matters greatly.

Belle wasn’t so easily assuaged come Monday morning. Scones and muffins were not filling the hole in her heart left there by one heartthrob of an engineer
who was noticeably absent when she arrived at WPER. The phone message he’d left her Sunday evening was cryptic—“Not to worry, Belle. I’m working things out here. I love you. Trust me, all is well.”

“Well, then, where are you?” She yanked CDs out of the rack for her show, slapping them on the counter.

“He needed to spend the day with his son,” Patrick informed her when she went looking for David during the noon newsbreak.

“He took the day
off?
”

Patrick looked up from the clutter on his desk. “Yeah. You know, vacation days? Most people make use of them, Belle.”

“Will he be here tomorrow?” She sounded like a lovesick fool. Well, so what? She
was
a lovesick fool.