Pastor's Assignment (6 page)

Twelve

Mother Tilly headed straight for Laney's closet. Pulling the sliding door open, she gasped. “Is there any order to this closet at all?” She clucked her tongue as she sorted through the skirts and tops. “I group by designer,” she explained. “It's a real time-saver. When Rock runs for mayor, you'll see how this helps.”

Laney nodded, although she thought the day she alphabetized her clothes would be the day she checked herself into a mental hospital. Still she didn't protest as Tilly plowed steadily through her closet.

The room, small to begin with, felt even tinier with Mother Tilly in it. Feeling as if she couldn't breath, Laney swung open the sliding glass doors and stepped outside to the deck. The night air, though nearly the same temperature as inside, immediately seemed fresher, and she felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. How would she tell Rock the secrets of her heart with his mother there?

“Don't you have any black silk?” Mother Tilly called from the closet.

“No, Mother Tilly,” she replied. In fact, she didn't own many dressy clothes at all. She loved gauzy, light skirts of bright colors, knit tops, and oversized cotton shirts. She fervently hoped Tilly wouldn't uncover one of the bridesmaid's dresses she had stuffed in the back of her closet.

She didn't want to go back inside her apartment. Not with Mother Tilly finding fault with every garment of clothing she owned. Strangely, she didn't feel like spending time with Rock either. She felt like staring up at the night sky and trying to figure out why her life suddenly felt so out of control.

“I think I've found something.”

Laney cringed. She had the awful feeling Mother Tilly had just discovered the crimson taffeta dress she'd worn at Richard's wedding.

Her fears were confirmed the minute she stepped back into the bedroom. “Here, dear,” Tilly said. “This will go well with the lavaliere.”

Laney shook her head. “I appreciate your help, Mother Tilly, but I think I'll just keep what I have on.”

Holding the dress up to her, Tilly smiled coaxingly. “Come on, dear. Rock will be so pleased to see you looking so nice.”

Shaking her head, Laney took a step backward. “I don't think so. Maybe another time.”

“Laney, as Rock's wife, you're going to have to get used to wearing formal clothing. Some day he could be the mayor, you know, or even a senator.”

“When the time comes,” Laney said, “I'll deal with it.” She was having trouble breathing again and glanced longingly at the open sliders that led to her deck.

“Humor me, Laney,” Mother Tilly pressed. “Wear the dress.”

Laney felt the color drain from her face. First it would be wear this dress, and then it would be cut her hair and change her makeup. She saw her life as a series of compromises she would make until she was completely unrecognizable to herself.

“I'm not wearing the dress,” Laney heard herself say loudly. “And you can't make me.”

Tilly wiggled her eyebrows at her the way Rock did when she displeased him. And as usual it sent a rush of irritation through her. As if she were standing outside her body, Laney watched herself take the dress from Tilly and rip it down the middle.

“I'm not wearing the dress.”

Eyes bulging, Mother Tilly clutched the Weyeth lavaliere to her breast. A small sound of distress squeezed through her throat like air released from the pinched neck of a balloon.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “You girls okay in there?” Rock's voice rang with worry.

“We're fine,” Laney shouted back.

“You sure?” Rock prodded. “I heard something tear.” There was a slight hesitancy, and then Rock chuckled. “Mother, you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Tilly called back in a strained voice. Her gaze fixed on the dress, which lay on the floor in a torn heap.

“Perhaps you were right, dear,” she said. “Trying out the Weyeth lavaliere is best left for another day.”

Laney smoothed her damp hair. What had gotten into her? Already she regretted her action. “Good idea, Mother Tilly,” she said. “I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me.”

“I'd better go check my beef bourguignon,” Tilly said. “Rock will be disappointed if it burns. It's his favorite, you know.”

❧

Afterward Laney couldn't quite remember how she had gotten through the evening. Trying to make up for her inexplicably bad behavior, she'd done her best to follow Tilly's instructions. Her nerves were jumpy, though, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't concentrate. She forgot to put the lid on the blender, and as a result, Rock's fruit smoothie ended up on her ceiling.

When the door had finally closed behind Rock and Mother Tilly, she breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out on her deck.

To her surprise, she saw Ty Steele sitting on a bench in the sheltered garden just beyond the deck. She walked to the railing and put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing there?”

“Waiting for them to leave,” Ty said. “I didn't think you'd appreciate another unwanted guest for dinner.”

Bracing herself against the railing, Laney crossed her arms. “I thought you left hours ago.”

Ty shrugged. “I would have, except I left my car keys on your coffee table.”

“You mean you've been here the entire evening?”

“Just some of it. I took a walk around the block after you ripped up the dress. Good going, by the way.”

He'd overheard her fight with Tilly? Laney felt her cheeks heat up. Only too well she remembered leaving the sliding door to the deck open.

“I'll go get your keys,” she said.

When she returned, he had stepped out from under the trees and was looking up at the moon. It reminded her of how she had gazed up at it earlier. She wondered if he, too, recognized that something was wrong with his life but didn't quite know how to fix it. He finally turned around.

“Sorry you had to wait so long for these,” she said and handed him the keys.

“No, I'm sorry for you,” Ty said.

“For me?”

“They were really on your case for failing that premarital exam. You should have told them it works both ways. He has to get to know your life as much as you have to get to know his.”

Laney sighed. “The least you could have done was put your fingers in your ears. That was supposed to be a private conversation.”

“Just you, Rock, and Mother Tilly,” Ty said agreeably. “You all make a great couple.”

Laney bristled at his words, angry because he was right, frustrated because he understood something Rock hadn't. “She was just trying to help, you know.”

“How do you stand it?” Ty asked suddenly. “They talk to you as if you are a total moron.”

“Rock adores me,” she said.

“Doesn't it frighten you that you have to count the number of times you stir the coffee? ‘Steady hand, girl,' ” Ty parroted imperfectly but effectively.

Laney waved her hand. “It's just for the test,” she replied.

“No, it isn't,” Ty warned. “They're trying to turn you into a copy of his mother, and you don't see it.”

“That isn't true,” Laney protested.

“What you cook, how you arrange your clothes in the closet, what you wear. . .” Ty shook his head.

“This isn't any of your business, is it?” She crossed her arms on her chest.

Ty's gaze fixed on hers. He didn't seem able to stop. “And that necklace she wants you to wear. The plug in my bathtub is more attractive.”

“That's a family heirloom,” Laney snapped. “A symbol of love.”

“Symbol of love?” Ty's smile had a fiendish air. “More like a symbol of service—a gold ball and chain to hang around your neck.”

“What right do you have to talk about my relationship?” Laney's words flew off her tongue like arrows off a bow. “What do you know about love?”

Ty glared at her. “I know what love isn't. It isn't about lessons in making coffee or quizzes about favorite books and movies.”

His face, shadowed, looked even harsher than usual, almost in controlled anger. She saw the prominence of his facial bones, the lines fanning from his eyes, the scar near his hairline.

“Love isn't two people in the same room with nothing to talk about. Love isn't what someone can give you or what you can get from them.”

She couldn't tell the exact moment when the anger in his eyes turned into something else. Only that it had. She looked away, not wanting to see that things had changed for him.

Laney took a step backward as he approached the deck, his hand on the railing, as if he would climb over it. She saw his purpose in the intensity of his gaze.

Her hands fumbled along the railing then closed around a plastic watering can. In one swift motion she emptied it down the front of his shirt.

They both stood, speechless, watching as water dripped onto the ground. Ty squeezed water out of his shirt.

“I've been punched, kicked, and shot at, but never watered down.” He shook his head as if in wonder. “You're something, you know that, Laney?”

Laney didn't deserve his admiration. She was more than glad that Ty Steele no longer needed her help. He needed dry clothes, perhaps, but not her.

She, on the other hand, needed a lot of help.
Heavenly Father,
Laney prayed,
somehow I misread signals and have been trying to help the wrong person. Please forgive me for following Ty Steele and now for ruining his clothing. Please give me a new plan, Lord, and another chance to make things right.

Thirteen

Laney's new plan involved a stakeout. On Sunday morning at church, she watched the gymnasium fill. People she knew by sight but not by name smiled at her. She waved back, wondering if they had seen Rock in the parking lot greeting people.

Laney sat straighter in her seat, filled with a quiet pride in the knowledge that Rock could be counted on to do a job well. He gave new meaning to the word
dependability
.

Music soared through the gymnasium, announcing the beginning of the service. The last stragglers hurried to their seats, and a couple settled themselves into the very seats Laney had been watching.

She couldn't believe her eyes when she recognized Terry and June Whitley, friends since high school. Although she and June had gotten a bit out of touch the last few years, Laney still counted June as one of her closest friends. It dismayed her to think her friend might have been the one to have written that sad note. At the same time, she wouldn't repeat her last mistake. Before she confronted June about the note, she would do her best to find evidence that June or her husband had written it.

Two days later she found herself on June's doorstep.

“I'm so glad you suggested getting together this evening,”
June said. She held the door to her house wider. “And you brought Angel.” She bent to greet the dog. “How's my best buddy?”

“He's fine,” Laney said. “Hope you don't mind that I brought him.”

“Don't even worry,” June replied. “It'll be great to spend time with both of you.” She smiled in apology. “Between the business and the kids and Terry, I don't seem to have a minute to call my own.”

“I know what you mean,” Laney said.

Laney walked past her into the restored Victorian that served both as home and business. Angel trotted happily inside, checking out the sights and smells.

June and Terry lived on the second floor. The first floor had been converted into a full-service beauty salon.

“I hope you know,” June continued as Laney settled herself onto the couch, “that I'm here for you. You can call me anytime.”

Here for her? Laney frowned. She was supposed to be here for June. Not that June appeared to need help. Her friend looked wonderful. The new color and short, choppy cut framed her round face perfectly.

Gazing into the mirror on the wall, she saw that she, on the other hand, had dark circles beneath her eyes and cheeks as pale as the moon. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days, which was the truth.

“When I saw you in church,” Laney said, “I knew we had to talk.”

“Is it about Rock?” June fingered a spike of hair around her ear and sighed in a sympathetic sort of way. “Nobody tells you how stressful an engagement can be.” She took Laney's cold hands in her own.

Laney had the sudden urge to confess the real reason for her visit. Before she could say anything, however, the ceiling rumbled with the force of running feet, excited shouts, and giggles.

“If you want to talk stress, though, try dealing with five-year-old twin boys. Some days I think I'm going crazy.” She shook her head. “Plus we've been without a washing machine for two weeks. Talk about wanting to cry!”

“What happened to it?” Laney asked, her mind jumping back to the reference to a washing machine in the note she'd found.

June shrugged. “I'm about ready to take a sledge hammer to it.” She sighed. “It flooded our laundry room, and now it's sitting by the garbage cans. Terry thinks he can fix it.” She shook her head. “You should see the list I have of things that need fixing—everything from the doorbell to the toaster oven.”

Laney leaned forward. “I want to know all that's going on with you.”

June chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “You know what? We'll give each other a complete beauty treatment. I'm talking facials, deep-conditioning shampoo, even a body wrap. Then we'll head up to the guest room where no one will bother us, and we'll stay up all night talking like we used to. How's that?”

Angel barked in excitement. June patted his soft nose and ran her hands over his large, winged-looking ears. “We'll do you, too, Angel. Put bows on you.”

Angel grinned. Laney knew he liked nothing more than being in the center of the action. “Sounds like a plan,” she said.

“I'm closing the shop,” June declared. “Terry has the kids. The evening is ours. Let's start with our hair and work down.” She eyed Laney professionally. “How do you feel about blond highlights?”

Laney sighed and prepared for the worst.

Hours later, with her hair in multiple tinfoil spikes, her face plastered with a green cream that hardened into a glue-like cast over her face, and her nails painted hot pink, Laney still hadn't learned a thing about her friend or her washing machine.

“Go put your bathing suit on.” June pointed to the bathroom. “We'll do a seaweed wrap next.”

When Laney returned minutes later, June stood in front of a bathtub filled with thick green mud. “You go first,” June urged. “This is so good for your skin. Believe me. You'll get that radiant look everyone expects brides to have.”

Laney looked at the tub doubtfully. Even Angel, after peering over the rim, retreated. But she couldn't disappoint her friend, so she eased into the depths of what she thought of as a dark lagoon.

The seaweed smelled surprisingly of eucalyptus, and Laney leaned further back, letting the scent work through her body. Muscles she hadn't known were tense slowly unknotted in the warm, silky mud.

“Put this on your eyes,” June said, handing Laney a black gel mask. “It'll take away those circles.”

Laney tied the ends of the mask. She felt like a combination of the Lone Ranger and the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Not so much, however, that she forgot the purpose of her visit. “So marriage is good then,” she said.

June perched on the edge of the tub. “Wow! You are having doubts about marrying Rock.”

“Mom!” Two boyish voices rang clearly through the house. June looked at Laney with a combination of pleasure and impatience.

“I have to tuck them in,” she said, smiling. “They won't go to sleep otherwise.” She stood. “Be right back.”

As soon as June disappeared, Laney climbed out of the bathtub and toweled off.
Okay, Lord,
she thought.
I hope You're enjoying this.
She slipped into her sweat suit and headed out the back door to check the state of the broken washing machine.

The back door closed with an ominous click, and even before Laney put her hand on the knob, she knew it had locked behind her. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Laney stared at the locked door. She wanted to bang her head against it. Why did it always seem as if Murphy's Law had been written just for her?

Trying not to worry about how she would get back into the house, Laney put this setback behind her and followed the concrete stepping-stones to the back of the house. She stubbed her toe and would have gotten a nasty scratch on a protruding branch if not for the thick facial mask.

Near the back fence an oversized garbage can sat next to a forlorn-looking washing machine. Laney stepped closer. As far as she could tell, it didn't have a scratch. When she opened the lid, the insides looked like those of any other washing machine.

Frowning, Laney closed the lid. June had been exaggerating. No one had smashed the washing machine during a grief-stricken rampage. She could cross June and Terry off her list. Now the problem remained. How could she get back into the house?

She remembered the doorbell didn't work. At the risk of summoning the neighbors, Laney didn't want to pound on the door or shout. The twenty-four-hour gas station and convenience store seemed a reasonable solution. She could telephone June from a pay phone.

She was thankful plenty of loose change had found its way to the floor of her minivan. She was also glad she'd left it unlocked. She retrieved enough money to call and headed toward the gas station. She drew the hood of her sweatshirt over her head so the aluminum foil wouldn't reflect the streetlights. The seaweed wrap had begun to dry and itched horribly. Her stubbed toe stung, and she wondered what color her hair was turning under the foil.

Please don't let anyone see me,
Laney prayed. She walked more quickly. When she reached the gas station, she peered through a corner of the window to make sure no one was inside.

Satisfied with the emptiness of the convenience store, she swung the door open and walked in. Her bare feet slapped on the cold, polished floor as she crossed to the pay phone. She'd nearly reached her destination when the clerk turned and saw her.

For a moment they both froze. They locked gazes, each mirroring the same horrified expression. The clerk, a heavyset man with a ruddy complexion, recovered first. “Take whatever you want—just please, don't hurt me.”

“I'm not robbing your store,” Laney said. “Look,” she said. “No gun.” She held out her arms, which trailed particles of the green seaweed wrap.

“Angel of death,” the frightened clerk gasped as he hit the silent alarm and then fainted.