Stay With Me (2 page)

“Well, I’ve been out with guys before, but I guess
I never considered them real dates because my dad had somehow orchestrated them
through church. Or at least encouraged them.”

Did she say ‘church’?
He moved his chair in
a little closer. The three teens at the next table had gone from giggling to
guffawing, and the noise made it hard to hear. Did he happen upon a
church-going girl in a supermarket? “So, should I expect your dad to show up
here and put an end to this?”

She laughed again, but it sounded hollow. “No. I
moved out of his house about six months ago.” She fidgeted with the straw
wrapper, and her voice lost some of its vigor. “I’m sure he’d have something to
say about it, but he no longer has the control he did when I was under his
roof.”

“How about your mom? Does she need to give your
dates a stamp of approval, too?”

The smile left her face, and she looked down at the
straw wrapper she had folded accordion-style. “I only have a few memories of my
mom. She’s deceased, but she had stopped being a part of our lives long before
that.”

“I’m sorry.” Shoot. He wanted to keep things light,
not morose, so he steered the conversation in another direction. “You mentioned
church. Where do you go?”

“The Free Church.”

He knew the one. He’d driven by it thousands of
times.

He glanced up at the long line of customers. He
should probably order drinks soon, before it grew any longer. “Can I ask you
something I’ve been wondering?”

She set aside the straw wrapper and laid her hands
in her lap. “Sure.”

“What’s your church free from?” He had always taken
the name for granted, that is until his conversion. That’s when he started to
question everything.

Her brow wrinkled, and she looked toward the
ceiling. “I think it’s just freestanding. You know, not part of some big
network or denomination.”

Hmm. Uncertain about the appeal of a rogue church,
he decided it didn’t seem like a topic for a first date.

“Do you go? To church, I mean?” She stared
intently, like this was important to her.

“Yes. Just the past couple of years. My parents
didn’t raise me with any kind of faith, but last year I became Catholic.”

Something passed over her expression. Concern?
Disappointment? He had been surprised more than once over the past year at the
open hostility some people felt for Catholicism. Most Protestant churches
weren’t anti-Catholic, but he didn’t know about her Free Church.

Once he had come to believe in God with certainty,
he had followed where he thought he was being led. He hadn’t given much thought
to anyone else’s opinions with the possible exception of his parents. They had
met his declaration of faith with confusion and a certain amount of
indifference, but never opposition.

“I knew a Catholic boy once. He came to our Bible
camp one summer.” She gave him a reassuring little smile. She spoke like
Catholics were a wild and exotic species she had encountered on an expedition.
Maybe he should change the subject.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“A steamed vanilla milk would be great. The regular
size, whatever they call it.”

He left to get their drinks, looking back at her
occasionally. Most everyone else in the place busily tapped on a phone, but she
sat comfortably with her hands folded in her lap, people-watching. She saw him
looking and gave him a little wave.

He carried their drinks to the table, the heat and
scent of his coffee wafting past his nose.

She thanked him for the milk and took a tentative
sip.

“So, I assume your sister had the baby.”

She set her drink down and reached for her purse.
“Yes. He’s a handsome little guy. Big, too. Almost nine pounds. They named him
Ian.” She pulled up a picture on her phone and extended it across the table so
he could see.

The ugliest baby he had ever seen lay swaddled in
the standard-issue hospital blanket and knit cap.   “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I love being an auntie. I get to hone
my mothering skills, and if there’s any lasting damage it’s on my sister, not
me.” She grinned then, and he smiled. She tucked her phone back into her purse
and took another sip of milk. “What about your family? Any nieces or nephews?”

Chris swallowed the scalding coffee and pushed the
cup forward on the table. “No. I have one older brother. He’s getting married
in a few weeks, so no children yet.”

“A wedding. Well, that’s exciting. I’ve never been
to a wedding.”

He leaned back in his chair, turned his head
slightly and studied her as if he could tell by looking from that angle if she
was for real. “Are you serious? Never?”

“Nope. My dad’s side of the family is small, and
we’re not in touch with my mom’s side. I had a couple friends marry. One was a
destination wedding, and I couldn’t afford the flight or the time off, and the
other I had planned on attending until I came down with some kind of stomach
bug. My sister, Abby, and her husband eloped.”

“Wow.” Chris thought about all the family weddings
he’d been to throughout the years. He was sorry Rebecca had no happy memories
of the dancing, eating, drinking, and general craziness that he carried with
him. Being a little boy and trying to wrest a flying garter from the young men.
Dancing with his mom while his dad looked on with pride. He remembered last
year taking a shot of whiskey with ten of his cousins as they toasted the bride
and groom.

As Rebecca finished her milk and stuffed her used
napkin into the paperboard cup, the conversation turned to work.

“The yogurt restocking is paying the
bills—barely—until I find something else. My degree is in chemistry,” Chris
said. “In the meantime, I’m trying to keep from getting frostbite on my
fingers. So what about you?  I have absolutely no idea what you do.” If he had
to guess, he would have picked something a bit artsy. Maybe music therapy or
graphic design. He could easily imagine her creating floral arrangements or
working in a museum.

“I’m a payroll administrator,” she said with an air
of disappointment in her voice. “I work with a handful of vendors to process
their payroll and benefits.” She poked an unpolished fingernail into her paper
cup and studied it for a moment. She looked back up at Chris and shrugged.
“Boring.”

“What would you like to do, if you could do
anything you wanted?”

Looking at her cup again, she opened her mouth as
if to say something and then thought better of it. “I try not to think about
it. I’m grateful to have a steady job, and I do the best I can at it.”

“What about your dreams? Isn’t there something
you’d want to do if you didn’t have to worry about money or education or any of
that? If you were free to do what you wanted?”

Her gaze rested on him for a few seconds, and she
smiled. “Well, there is one thing. I’ve never admitted this to anyone.”

“What is it?”

“I want a little store where I sell homemade baked
goods. Not elaborate cakes, you know, like the ones you see on the Food
Network. Just ordinary but delicious cookies. By the dozen. That’s what I would
do.”

“I’d love to see you do that.”

She leaned forward in her seat and studied him for
a couple of seconds. “I think you mean that.”

Chris laughed. “Of course I do. Do you bake much
now?”

“Yes. I love to bake. But I just do it for friends
and family. Simple stuff like breads and cookies. Nothing too complicated.”

“So, why didn’t you go to school for that? Why
business or whatever got you into payroll?”

“My dad said he would only help pay for college if
I studied something practical. He didn’t deem baking practical, although he’s
never refused anything I’ve baked.” She gave him a wry grin. “Anyway, I figured
I’d be better off doing things his way and getting out without a mountain of
debt. Then I could always go back later and do what I wanted. Only now there
are bills to pay, and I can’t keep going to school without having some kind of
income.”

“Would you bake something for me some time? My mom
is a good cook, but she doesn’t care to bake. My sweet tooth has been sorely
neglected.” He realized as he said it, he had pretty much just asked for
another date. That’s what he wanted, but not how he meant to go about it.
Rebecca was easy to talk to, easy to look at it, and he wanted to know more
about her.

She nodded her agreement, and he realized the other
tables had emptied save for two metrosexual-looking men in slim pants and
turtle neck sweaters who sat in the leather chairs at the front of the café.

“I think they’re getting ready to shut things down
here. Can I walk you to your car?”

“Sure.” She pushed back her chair before he had a
chance to pull it out for her.

He had to get better at this stuff. He grabbed her
coat from the hook and held it for her.

“Thank you.” She turned into the coat and used her
left hand to free the hair that had been caught beneath the collar. When she
couldn’t get it loose, his hand itched to help her. He let her struggle another
second and then gave in, pulling her shiny brown tresses out so that they
spilled over her faux fur collar. They were luxurious and tempted him to gather
them again in his hands and release them, watching them splay over her coat.
Before he could even attempt to do so, she shook her head, letting her hair
fall evenly over her shoulders.

They walked outside, and the wind hit them. Rebecca
tightened her coat around herself.

He zipped his black leather jacket. “Geez. It
hardly feels like May. Where are you parked?”

 She pointed to a small, white sedan at the end of
the first row of cars. He took her elbow as she stepped off the curb and walked
alongside her to her vehicle.

“Where’s your car?” she asked as she unlocked her
door.

“I don’t have a car right now. I ride a
motorcycle.”

“Are you serious?” Her brows rose and her eyes
widened. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a biker dude.”

Chris smiled. He loved to see people’s reactions
when he told them he drove a motorcycle. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “No facial hair. No jewelry. No
visible tattoos.”

“Stereotypes,” he said with a half grin. “Well, I
had a nice time this evening, Rebecca. May I call you again?”

“I’d like that,” she said, her cheeks growing rosy.
“And I’ll have some goodies—for your sweet tooth.”

“Thank you.” Before he could overthink it, he
leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek.  She moved toward her car and
gave him a nervous smile.  “Good night.”

He stepped back and allowed her to start her car,
watching as she pulled out of the parking space and exited the lot.

2

You and Me

The spring-like weather the following weekend
convinced Chris a trip to the zoo would be a safe second date. There would be
plenty of opportunity for them to talk, but if the conversation lagged there
would be lots to see and do.

Rebecca had brought him chocolate chip banana
bread, and he knew it wouldn’t last the weekend. It was moist, delicious, and
must have smelled like heaven when she’d baked it.

The conversation between them flowed naturally, and
the more he got to know Rebecca, the more he liked her. The only awkward moment
had come at the mountain lion exhibit. The reason for the female’s
vocalizations wasn’t immediately obvious. The incessant half-moan, half-growl
eventually gave it away.

Chris stared for a moment. “Whoa. I think they’re…I
thought visiting the zoo was a G-rated activity.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened and her cheeks bloomed an
endearing shade of pink as the realization hit her. “Oh my. They are
definitely—involved.”

The next day, he caught up with his friend Father
John Cavanaugh. Chris often joined him in the rectory after the last Sunday Mass. Sometimes they’d watch football, and sometimes they’d just have a beer and talk.
Their friendship began when Father John was still Deacon John, and Chris
peppered him with an endless series of questions about God, faith, and
Catholicism. John wasn’t much older than Chris, and they found they had a lot
in common.

Chris took a seat across from Father John, who tore
the wrapping from his Philadelphia-style hoagie and twisted the cap off of his
Yuengling lager. Father John said grace, and before he’d gotten his sandwich to
his mouth, Chris blurted, “I met someone.”

Father John bit into his hoagie, wiped some stray
sauce from his chin with the napkin, and chewed before he spoke. “A woman?”

Chris nodded.

“So spill it. You know you’re dying to. Is she from
the college or is she a local?”

Chris smiled. Father John knew him as well as his
own brother. “Well, her name is Rebecca, and her family lives in Gettysburg, but for the last six months she’s had a place up in Harrisburg. She does some
kind of payroll administration.”
And she’s got the most beautiful brown hair
and eyes I’ve ever seen.

Feeling a bit like a fool, he bit his tongue before
he went on to list every one of her positive attributes. He turned his
attention back to his sandwich, which was proving to be surprisingly spicy, and
waited for Father John’s response. His tongue felt like it had caught fire as
the jalapenos slid over it, and he began to sweat.

Father John took a swig of beer and smiled. “Sounds
like you’re enamored with her. So, is she Catholic?”

“No, she’s not.” He’d hit upon the one reservation
he had about pursuing a relationship with Rebecca. Two years ago he couldn’t
have cared less what kinds of religious beliefs she might have possessed, or if
she had any at all. Not anymore. He expected when he found the right woman he’d
be united to her in every way—emotionally, physically, intellectually, and now
spiritually. The fact that she was a Christian comforted him, but he’d be lying
to himself if he claimed he didn’t wish she were Catholic.

“Do you know anything about the Free Church?”

“Not much.” Father John rolled up his paper wrapper
and took it to the trash. “I’ve met the pastor a couple of times. He seems nice
enough. Can’t say they’re very ecumenical. The church kind of keeps to itself.”

“Do you think I should end it before it goes any
further?” Chris’s heart ached even as he said it. He liked Rebecca way more
than he should after only two dates. “Because I felt like the Holy Spirit led
me to her.”

Father John smiled. “Well, sometimes a pretty face
and what I’m guessing is probably an attractive body to match can muddle our
discernment.” He sat and drummed his fingers on the table a few times.

“Knowing you and your journey and taking into
account my admittedly limited experience counseling couples, I’d say it would
be better for you if the woman you chose to settle down with was Catholic, and
not the kind of Catholic that checks off that box on a census form because she
goes to a fish fry with her grandma or hangs rosary beads from her rearview
mirror. The kind that knows her faith and lives her life accordingly.”

Chris tried to keep the disappointment from his
face. He didn’t want to hear this. Not when he was near to bursting with the
excitement of a fresh, new relationship that had, just a moment ago, held so
much potential.

“That said, sometimes God puts people in our path
for reasons we don’t fully understand. At least at first. And maybe he uses
attraction, even sexual attraction, to draw us to them.” He stared at a point
somewhere on the wall beyond Chris. He wasn’t just talking about Rebecca
anymore.

“That’s clear as mud, Father John.”

“Yeah. Just because they gave me this Roman collar
doesn’t mean I have it all figured out yet. I guess I’d say not to lose your
head over this girl. If you’re dating because you’re looking to get married,
then you’ve got to think about her in the context of marriage and children, not
just how she looks when she’s seated across the table from you or how much fun
you have together.”

Father John was right, and Chris knew it. He would
just have to find a way to navigate this relationship so that he didn’t lose
his head—or his heart—until he thought it had a reasonable chance of success.

***

Rebecca sealed the lid on the container of
blueberry muffins then rested her elbows on the kitchen counter. She swiped her
finger across the phone, opened the contacts app, and scrolled down to R.
Reynolds, Chris. She tapped his entry, and her finger hovered over the call
button.

Facebook.

She hadn’t checked in this morning. Rebecca
switched apps and scrolled through her news feed. Cat photos, unfunny memes,
and inspirational quotes.

If he
didn’t want me to call, he
wouldn’t have given me his phone number, right?

She and Chris had two really good dates, and he
said he wanted to see her again soon. Unfortunately, a family dinner on Friday
night and an overnight camping trip Saturday left little time for a date. It
wouldn’t be for long, but this morning he’d be at his parents’ house packing
for his trip.

When Rebecca baked the muffins, calling and
arranging to drop them off seemed easy. Now, it seemed presumptuous.

She thought back to a conversation with Abby a few
weeks earlier, just before she met Chris. That conversation later convinced her
to accept Chris’s offer to meet her for a drink. The first stage of labor
removed most of Abby’s filters, not that she had many to begin with.

Abby had stopped pacing her dining room and pressed
her palm into her back. She breathed heavily through a contraction and then
focused on Rebecca, seated at the table. Abby dictated a list of bedtimes and
favorite foods for the kids so Rebecca would know what to do while Abby was at
the hospital.

“The bottom line is, do you want to spend the rest
of your life with one of the Daddy-sanctioned church boys? You know, the ones
so socially-backward they can’t pry their eyes off their gaming devices? I
swear I spotted that last guy—what was his name? Douglas?—at the furry
convention. Joel’s work banquet was in the same hotel. The guy was dressed like
a sexy porcupine puffer fish. Cause, you know, nothing turns a woman on like
poisonous tumescence. So, if the answer is no on the Daddy-approved social
rejects—and if it’s not, I swear I’ll disown you—then you need to put yourself
out there and meet someone. You can’t continue to hide out and think your
Prince Charming is going to sweep you out from under Daddy’s overlong nose.
You’re out of his house now, and that’s a good start.”

And then her water broke.

For those few seconds in that rainy grocery store
parking lot, those words swirled through Rebecca’s head.
A good-looking guy
had asked her out. Nothing big, just a drink in a public place. She could do
this. Abby was right. Nothing good would happen if she didn’t take a risk.
This was a small one. So, she had said yes.

And it was a great date. She hadn’t even realized
until she’d started to drive home that night he had called her pretty—right
before she steamrolled over his side of the conversation and blathered on about
the dates her dad had set up for her. So, why was this so nerve-wracking?

Rebecca inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled
slowly through her mouth.

You can do this, Rebecca.
She tried to steady
her finger as it scrolled through her contacts until it landed on Chris’s name
again and hit ‘call.’

***

Hearing from Rebecca had brightened Chris’s
morning. Was she as eager to see him again as he was to see her? The homemade
muffins she made would be an added bonus.

Chris gathered the last of the camping gear from
his parents’ garage and organized it for packing onto his motorcycle.

Alan emerged from the house where he had been
discussing wedding reception details just as Rebecca’s car pulled up.

“Who’s that?” Alan asked.

Chris hoped he planned on heading home, not staying
to find out. Alan’s hair hung over one eye, mussed to perfection, and his
strong but stocky frame was loose and relaxed in his oversized tee shirt and
sloppy cargo shorts. The typical picture of nonchalance.

“Rebecca.”

“The brown-eyed beauty you took on two amazing
dates, Rebecca?” He made air quotes around the word “amazing,” as if he didn’t
believe Chris’s assessment.

“The one and only.” Chris set aside the small camp
stove he held and headed to the end of the driveway. He opened Rebecca’s car
door. “Good morning.”

“Hey, there.” She stepped out carrying a large
basket covered with a beige tea towel. It smelled like fresh berries and
cinnamon. “For you.”

“Thank you. They smell delicious.” He took the
basket from her and walked her toward Alan. Being that he hardly dated, Chris
had never introduced a girl to Alan. He didn’t know whether his brother would
try to make a fool of him or not. It wouldn’t be hard.

“So, Alan, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, my brother,
Alan."

“Good to meet you.” Alan gestured toward the
basket. "Mind if I try one? I haven't had anything homemade since Jamie
moved in. These look amazing.”

Rebecca thanked him for the compliment and turned
back to Chris.

“Jamie’s a lousy cook,” he offered by way of explanation
as the crumbs gathered on his brother’s tee shirt.

“Chris.” He couldn’t miss the gentle scolding in
her voice.

“No, it’s true,” Alan said. “Jamie says it herself.
She can’t even make pasta. It’s either crunchy or gummy. I’ve got six takeout
places on speed dial.”

Having exhausted that line of conversation—Chris
couldn’t disagree since Jamie had more than her fair share of culinary
disasters—he hoped Alan would leave and give them a few moments alone. Instead,
Alan leaned against his car and crossed his ankles.

Jerking his head toward the street, Chris hoped
he’d get the idea. His brother smiled, and Chris knew that he got the message
all right, but he refused to comply.

 “Get lost,” he mouthed, but Alan smiled and didn’t
budge.

So that’s how he wants to play it.
Fine.

Scowling at his brother, he placed a hand lightly
on Rebecca’s back and guided her into the yard. “Excuse us,” he tossed over his
shoulder.

Chris glanced down to ensure they didn’t step in
one of the little “presents” the neighbor’s chocolate lab had left in the yard.

“Sorry I’m not going to be around this weekend.
I’ve had this overnight planned for months.”

“No problem.” She widened the space between them a
fraction, and his hand fell away from her back.

Her gaze quickly dropped to her feet. He hoped her
disappointment matched his. He had badgered his mom about moving that dinner,
but she was adamant.

“Where are you camping?”

“Shenandoah National Park in Virginia. Have you
been there?”

She shook her head, a wistful expression on her
face. “No, can’t say that I have.”

He stopped and faced Rebecca. Beyond her Alan
gestured to him and made hand signals. Chris squinted and tried to make it out.
A little cross sign and then his index finger. Alan said something, too. Not
much of a lip reader, Chris needed four tries to get it. Alan was saying, “Plus
one.”

Chris knew what he was asking. He and Jamie had
been hounding him for weeks about whom he was bringing to the wedding. He had
thought of asking Rebecca, but they hadn’t known each other long, and he didn’t
know how she’d react. He’d be introducing her for inspection to nearly all his
living relatives. Not to mention, as best man he would have to leave her on her
own part of the time, which would make him feel guilty, since she wouldn’t know
another soul there. Still, if he didn’t ask her that would mean he wouldn’t see
her for two weekends in a row. He could try a weeknight, but his schedule
varied. Maybe he should ask and let her decide. At least it would get Alan off
his back. Chris refocused on Rebecca, who glanced around the yard.