Sunday Kind of Love (17 page)

She had one heck of a decision to make.

A
ND THEN
I kissed her.”

Hank watched Coca-Cola spray from the bottle Skip had pressed to his lips, dribble down his chin, stain his shirt, and begin to splatter at his feet. Skip's mouth moved like he wanted to say something, though no words came out. His friend tried to put his soda on the workbench beside him, but he was so out of sorts that he set it down with a wobble, nearly causing it to fall onto the concrete floor.

Skip had come over in the morning, full of excitement for his newest money-making scheme. Hank had been out in his workshop, bright sunlight streaming through the doors. Talking a mile a minute, Skip had laid out his plan, something that involved old newspapers, while Hank applied varnish to an end table. Hank nodded occasionally, knowing that there wasn't much point in trying to talk once Skip had built up a head of steam. Once he'd finally finished, Skip had asked Hank what he'd been up to the last couple of days. Hank had put down his brush.

Then he'd told Skip what had happened with Gwen and achieved the impossible, rendering Skip Young speechless, if only for a moment.

“Wait, wait, wait,” his friend stammered, the words coming out in a rush, making up for lost time. “She actually let you
kiss
her?”

“As opposed to what? It's not like I forced her to do it.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Skip explained. “It's just that Gwen's one heck of a looker. She's about as fine a catch as a fella could ever hope to land. Whoever's lucky enough to make her his…” His voice trailed off, his face scrunched up in thought. “Hang on, didn't you tell me you met her fiancé?”

Hank nodded. “The night I pulled her from the river.”

“Don't take this personal, but if she's supposed to be marrying some other guy, then what's she doin' swappin' spit with you?”

This was the question that had been bothering Hank ever since he'd dropped Gwen off near her home. What
were
they doing? While she had gone to great lengths to make it clear she wasn't engaged to Kent, they were most definitely in a relationship. Why else would she have brought him to Buckton? Still, Hank had reason to be optimistic; wrapping his arms around a woman as beautiful as Gwen, both inside and out, and then kissing her had a way of doing that. But doubt continued to nag at him. He worried that he wasn't good enough for her, that he never would be. Worse, he'd considered that he might be nothing more than a fling.

“That's why I'm trying not to get my hopes up,” he answered truthfully. “More than likely, nothing will come of it.”

With that, Hank picked up his brush and went back to work. It wasn't until he'd made a couple of strokes that he realized Skip still hadn't spoken. He looked up to find Skip glaring at him.

“Are you out of your freakin' mind?” his friend nearly shouted. “A girl like
Gwen Foster
shows an interest in you and you're tellin' me you're not gonna go after her with everything you got?” Looking disappointed, he shook his head. “I can't believe you're that dumb.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Skip drained the last of his Coke, then stared hard at Hank. “Ever since your brother died, I've been keepin' a close eye on you, praying that something would come along and pull you outta your funk,” he explained. “That's why I'm always tryin' to get you to play ball or grab a bite to eat. I get that you feel guilty about what happened—hell, who wouldn't—but wallowin' in it ain't right.” Skip looked around the workshop. “It's like you crawled from that car to here, locked the door, and every once in a while you crack it open and let me in to visit. Now Gwen's knockin', too. She's smart, funny, and plenty gorgeous. What more do you want? An invitation?” Skip sighed. “Mark my words, if you don't do whatever it takes to make her yours, you'll regret it every bit as much as your brother's death.”

Hank could only stare. In all the years they'd known each other, Skip had never spoken to him that way. He hadn't known that his friend had been watching so closely, worrying about how he was dealing with Pete's death. Skip was right, though. Hank had walled himself off, keeping everyone at arm's length. But now Gwen had come along, forcing him to make a difficult choice. He could take a chance or play it safe. Hank wished he felt as confident as Skip seemed to be.

“What if it doesn't work out?” he finally asked. “What happens if Gwen decides to stay with that other guy?”

“Then you get up, dust yourself off, and go on with your life,” Skip answered. “You've got to take a, what is that, you know, a jump…”

“A leap of faith,” Hank finished.

Skip snapped his fingers. “That's it! That's what you've got to do. It ain't all that different from when you jumped into the Sawyer. You reacted without thinkin', and look what came of it.”

“It's not the same,” Hank said. “I only did it because Gwen needed saving.”

“So do you,” Skip replied.

Hank didn't know what to say. Maybe Skip was right. Maybe he was drowning, too. Maybe he needed to be rescued from his past, from himself. And maybe it was also true that Gwen was his salvation, that meeting her after so many years, falling for her, was the first step toward making things right again.

“Is she worth fighting for?” Skip asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

“Then what in the hell are you waitin' for? Go get her.”

“Right now?”

Skip chuckled. “Still waitin' for that invitation, huh? I tell you one thing: if it was me that Gwen Foster was sweet on, I'd have been there yesterday, poundin' on her door, doin' whatever it took to squeeze in one more date, hell, one more minute of time together.”

Hank shook his head. “You make it sound easy.”

“That's 'cause it is.”

“No, it isn't,” he disagreed.

“Why not?”

“For starters, her parents hate my guts. If I just show up at their door, the first thing I see won't be Gwen, but her father's shotgun pointed at my chest,” he explained. “Then there's the rich Chicago attorney who thinks he and Gwen are engaged to be married.”

Skip hopped down off the workbench. “You can stand here and make excuses till you're blue in the face, but the way I see it, you owe it to yourself to try. It's called a leap of faith, remember?”

With everything that's already happened, with all the troubles trying to pull me under, I've proven to be a hell of a swimmer…

“Besides, if she turns you down, you'll always have me,” Skip joked.

“That's not much of a consolation.”

His friend shrugged. “Beggars can't be choosers.” He put his hand on Hank's shoulder and added, “Get goin'.”

So Hank put down his brush, grabbed his keys, and did just that.

Hank took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell.

Standing on the Fosters' porch, shaded from the late-morning sun, he felt conspicuous. The whole drive across town, he'd talked himself through what he wanted to do and say, slowly gaining confidence. But by the time he'd parked his truck against the curb, the ticking engine sounding far too loud on the otherwise quiet street, that confidence had vanished. Walking to the porch, Hank had felt as if every eye in the neighborhood was on him. He kept expecting Warren to burst out the front door, shotgun in hand. After taking a moment to steady his nerves, remembering how Gwen's lips had felt pressed against his, he'd rung the bell.

It was too late to turn back now.

Seconds crawled past like minutes, but no one answered. Hank rang the bell again; he could hear the chime sound inside.

But still nothing.

He rapped his knuckles against the door's frame, trying not to hit it too hard, worried that it might sound like he was pounding, as if he was demanding entry. He raised his hand, but before he could knock again, a voice spoke behind him.

“Hank? What are you doing here?”

He turned to find Gwen standing on the walk. Sunlight shone off her hair. Her smile was every bit as radiant, although Hank was surprised that she was wearing the same outfit as yesterday.

“I wanted to see you again,” Hank told her truthfully, even if he left out the part about Skip prodding him out of his workshop.

It was clear that his words affected her; Hank saw it in the way a smile spread across her face, how her eyes lit up before looking away, unable to hold his gaze, but then just as quickly returned.

“You wanted to see me that badly?” she asked.

“I did.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Maybe so.” Hank chuckled. He raised his thumb toward the door. “I knocked, but no one answered.”

“That's strange,” Gwen said with a frown. “My father's been at the bakery for hours, but my mother should be home. Maybe she went to the grocery store.” She paused. “You were willing to come here, to face them, even after what happened the last time they saw you?”

Hank came down the stairs to stand before her. “It doesn't matter,” he answered. “Not enough, anyway.”

“Now I'm
definitely
flattered,” she replied with a laugh.

As much as he wanted to, Hank couldn't return her good cheer. Her outfit kept distracting him, nagging at his thoughts. Something had happened, he was sure of it. “Is everything all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

He nodded at her. “You're wearing the same clothes as the last time I saw you. I'm no Dick Tracy, but it makes me wonder.”

“I spent last night at my aunt's,” she told him.

“Why not here?”

Gwen sighed. “My parents and I had an argument.”

“Let me guess,” Hank said, running a hand through his light hair. “They heard that we'd spent the day together.”

She didn't answer, her eyes falling to her feet. He knew he was right.

“I'm sorry,” he offered.

When Gwen looked back up, her expression was serious. “Don't apologize,” she said. “They're the ones at fault. My parents might choose to believe the worst about you, but they're wrong. They don't know you like I do.”

Even though a part of Hank was happy to hear Gwen standing up for him, he still felt guilty that he'd caused her so much trouble.

“I don't want to come between you and your folks,” he said.

“You're not.”

Hank chuckled. “Sure seems that way to me.”

“All right, some of it is about you,” Gwen admitted. “I just can't understand why they won't recognize what you did for me, or why they aren't willing to give you a chance.” She paused. “But a lot of what's happening is because of me.”

“How do you figure?”

“The problem is that they still think of me as a little girl. They want to be able to tell me where I can go, what I can do, and especially who I can do it with.” Gwen tenderly slipped her hand into his. “They don't realize that I'm a woman now, and that these decisions are mine to make.” She smiled, causing his heart to skip a beat. “And right now, what I want most of all is for you to take me out for lunch.”

“Downtown?” Hank asked, the thought of being seen on the streets of Buckton as unsettling as ever.

Gwen noticed his discomfort. “We don't have to,” she said quickly. “Let me fill a picnic basket instead, then we can drive into the countryside.”

Hank knew that Gwen was just trying to make things easier, but it embarrassed him. “Let's go to the diner.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He thought back to his conversation with Skip. Hank wondered if his friend wasn't right, if he hadn't been making excuses for hiding himself away after Pete's death. Sure, whenever he was in town people stared or made hurtful comments, but why did he let it get to him? He knew the truth about what had happened that night. That's what really mattered. Right then and there, Hank resolved not to let any of that keep him from spending time with Gwen.

“Yeah, I am,” he answered.

He had taken a leap of faith, all right.

Now he hoped he didn't end up dashed on the rocks.

When Hank pushed open the door of the diner, its bell chimed. Gwen stepped inside. Lafferty's Diner was a Buckton institution. A countertop ran most of its length, with swivel seats to sit on, a cash register at one end, and the kitchen behind. Booths lined the other side of the restaurant. Large windows filled the room with light. The pleasant aromas of burgers, bacon, coffee, and other smells mingled. At nearly noon, the diner was busy, full of customers.

And every one was staring at them.

Gwen saw many faces she recognized. Alice Merkel, one of her mother's bridge partners, paused midbite. She noticed Nils Crabtree, whose son she had sat behind almost all the way through middle school, gawking over his companion's shoulder. She even saw Eleanor Burch, the organist at the Methodist church, a woman who had babysat Gwen long ago, turn toward her sister, Violet, and start whispering in hushed tones. No one smiled or waved. Most of them frowned, their disapproval obvious.

And Gwen knew why.

It was because of who she was with. It was because of Hank.

“There's a booth in the back,” he said pleasantly enough, so used to the stares that he either no longer noticed, or, more likely, chose to ignore them.

Walking across the diner, Gwen felt as if she was being judged with every step. But by the time she slid into her side of the booth, the one that faced toward the entrance, she had resolved to follow Hank's example, determined not to let the unwanted scrutiny get to her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Oddly enough, yes. It probably doesn't hurt that I'm hungry enough to eat a horse,” Hank said, picking up the menu.

Gwen stared at him. She still couldn't believe that he had been at her house, willing to knock on the door and face her parents' disapproval, all because he'd wanted to see her again. The whole walk home from her aunt's, Gwen had thought about him, wondering what he was doing at that moment. Nearing home, recognizing his truck parked against the curb, and then seeing him on the porch, she had gotten her answer. While being with Hank brought its share of troubles, it was worth it. No matter what anyone else thought, he made her happy.