The Seat Beside Me (36 page)

“First off, the surprise. I got a job this afternoon.”

His eyes blinked his surprise. “Already? Where?”

“At a Christian bookstore.”

“Not teaching?”

“Not teaching.”

He looked past her, letting it sink in. “You
do
read more than anyone I know. You love books. But what made you apply there?”

“I didn’t go in with any intention of applying. I wanted some new books to celebrate my breakfast with Vincent and happened to drive by that store. I bought some books, saw the help-wanted sign, interviewed with the manager, and I got the job. Assistant manager.”

He laughed. “Assistant …? How’d you manage that?”

“I’d say it was my blazing credentials, but it wasn’t. I think it’s a God-thing. I think this is what I’m supposed to do.”

“Not teach? Never again?”

“I can’t say never, but I can’t ignore the fact that this feels so right. To deal with people who like to read. To share my passion with them—for God
and
books.”

“Sounds like your life is nearly perfect.”

“It is. Nearly.” She looked away from him, gathering her
strength.
Is this really what I want? Now’s my chance to back out
 … She looked up and saw him watching her. She took both his hands in hers. “I love you, David. Will you marry me?”

She wished she had a camera. The look on his face. His eyes widened in total shock, his jaw dropped, and he let out a short expulsion of breath. She thought of making a joke but restrained herself. This was a moment they would remember all their lives.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“What brought this on?”

That was hard to explain, but she had to try. “I’ve resisted the idea of marrying you—of marrying anyone—because I felt unsure of myself. I grew up with people making fun of me for my weight, my brains, my obsession with books. I think I became a teacher out of spite. To get revenge on all the teenagers who made my growing-up years miserable and all the teachers who didn’t come to my defense.”

“Teaching shouldn’t be a form of revenge.”

“Exactly. That’s why I wasn’t good at it. And, as with all forms of revenge, it backfired the most on me, the instigator. And the more I hated the job, the more I hated myself, and the more unlovable I felt.” She touched his knee. “Truthfully, I felt unsure about being loved by you—as if I wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t say such—”

She stopped him. “And I wasn’t good enough. Mostly because I couldn’t love you in return. But Mallory changed all that. Her interest in me, and then the crash and the larger kind of love those rescuers showed for me, and the hero’s love for me.” She caught a tear before it escaped. “What I learned this morning with Vincent was that God allows our failures. He loves us in spite of them. He loves me so much I think
He
led me to the Christian bookstore, and
He
made the timing perfect for me to get a job there. If I hadn’t quit my job yesterday, David.” She shook her head at the implications.
“It’s all worked out as it should have worked out—as He wanted it to work out.” She smiled at his puzzled expression. “Ah, David, you’re the last piece of the puzzle. I’m sure now. I’m flawed but finally willing to try. Will you take me?”

He said yes without saying a word.

“I’ve never had popcorn for dinner before,” Merry said.

George handed her a heaping bowl. “Then you’ve missed out on one of the highlights of life.” He sat at the other end of her couch. “I put extra butter on it. You need a little meat on you.”

Merry knew she’d lost weight. Her kitchen was still full of food offerings, but she didn’t feel like eating much. And yet the smell of freshly popped popcorn made her taste buds dance in anticipation. She ate a handful and sighed.

“Hits the spot, doesn’t it?”

“I feel guilty for not eating all the food people brought.”

“It’ll keep. Freeze some. Throw some out. Or have some friends over for a feast.”

Merry looked away. “I don’t have many friends.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve chased most of them away.”

He looked at her sideways. “May I ask why?”

It was a good question. Merry tried to tuck her feet beneath her, but her sore muscles wouldn’t budge. “They annoyed me.”

“All of them?”

She loved how George got to the heart of things. “Pretty much.”

“They had bigger houses, cuter kids, more romantic husbands?”

“Actually … no. They had exactly what I had. And that bugged me.”

George tossed a kernel in the air and caught it in his mouth. “You lost me.”

Merry bit her lip, trying to pin it down. “We were all living the American dream. A house, a family, a swing set in the backyard.”

“But?”

Her heart began to pound as if she were on the edge of a precipice and had been asked to jump. “But … but they were content, and I wasn’t.” She took an extra breath, relieved to get it out. “They wallowed in their lives; they were happy. They thought it was enough. I got so sick of their … their perkiness that I wanted to slap them. Didn’t they realize what they were missing?”

“What
were
they missing?”

“Reality. On TV, women work in fancy offices and have people hang on their words. They’re important. They’re contributing something.”

George nodded. “Ah, I see. You’re taking TV as the basis for reality? Hello? Surely you’re not that naive?”

“It’s not just on TV; it’s in real life too. I know it is. My friend Teresa, who I was going to visit in Phoenix … she’s free to spend money on what she wants and go where she wants, when she wants to go. She can party and not come home until two in the morning.”

George tsked-tsked. “At the risk of sounding like a father, I’ve got to point out that what you’ve described as your friend’s ideal life sounds like the yearnings of a teenager wanting to run away from home. Parties, late nights, buying things. Is this truly what made you discontent?”

It sounded so shallow. “I …”

George put a hand on her arm. “Listen to me, Miss Merry. Listen to the advice of one who’s worked in a fancy office and has had people hang on my every word—and from one who’s even felt a little important in my time. What the TV shows and even society at large don’t tell you is that most of us successful corporate types would give anything to stay at home and have our
kids
hang on our every word and find a feeling of importance there. But we can’t. At least I couldn’t. As the man of the house, it was my responsibility to make
the money, to provide for my family. You women have it made.”

“Excuse me?”

“Now don’t get huffy on me. Hear me out. A lot of women have the option of holding down an outside job or staying home with the kids, or a combination of both. Most men don’t have that option. We’re the ones who should be discontented with our lives. Maybe you felt that way because you had too many options. It was confusing, especially when the world tries to convince you that staying at home is the lesser thing. It’s not. It’s the greater thing. Maybe you resented your women friends because they loved what you were afraid to love: being a mom and a wife.”

He was right. One hundred percent right. “Now I’m neither.” She tossed the popcorn bowl on the table. It upset and spilled kernels across a magazine. “Oh, George. But now I’m neither!”

He moved close to comfort her.

George wished there was something more he could do for Merry. Popcorn and a willing ear seemed as ineffective as blowing on a burn to make it better. It was good that she’d realized the source of her discontent, but he was afraid the new knowledge might be too much for her. She seemed strong earlier, but was she really?

She’d gone off to the bathroom to freshen up. He heard the muffled blowing of a nose.

The phone rang. George got it. “Hello?”

“Who’s this?”

George didn’t like the caller’s tone. “Who do you want it to be?”

“Is this the Cavanaugh residence?”

“Yes.”

“Is Merry Cavanaugh there?”

“She can’t come to the phone right—”

“Can you confirm that she was rushed to the hospital last night because of a suicide attempt?”

“Who is this?”

“Dan Craven, the
Probe
.”

“We have no comment.”

“We? This doesn’t happen to be George Davanos, does it?”

“How—?”

“We heard you were the one to find Ms. Cavanaugh. You saved her life. And now that you’re home with her. Is there something going on between you two?”

George was so shocked he hung up the phone as if it were hot. He never even thought about the press finding out. And yet he shouldn’t be surprised. He still got phone calls asking for interviews and even spotted TV vans driving through his neighborhood as if seeing him come and go was some huge piece of news.

Merry came out of the bathroom, her face freshly washed. “Did I hear the phone?”

She didn’t need this new wrinkle in her life. “Wrong number.” He stood. “I’d better be going.”

Merry nodded. “We wouldn’t want people to talk now, would we?”

She was
way
too close.

George scanned Merry’s neighborhood as he went to his car. If only he’d parked a block down.

Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t done anything wrong
.

He spotted a blue car, parked on the street two houses away. A man got out and started coming toward him. He had a camera around his neck. His aggressive walk spoke volumes.

George glanced at Merry’s house. He didn’t want her to see that tabloid reporters were close, and he couldn’t let the vulture bother her. He had to stop this. Now.

He hobbled toward the man, attempting his own aggressive stride in spite of the crutches. He was rewarded with a momentary
look of surprise on the man’s face. Apparently the reporter wasn’t used to being on the defensive.

“What do you want?” George asked, as they met on the edge of Merry’s property.

“You’re George Davanos.”

“Answer my question.”

The man’s grin was full of lewd thoughts. “You’re a widower, right? And now Ms. Cavanaugh is a widow? I’ve heard of old guys like you going after young things but—?”

George shoved the man backward, making him fall onto a bank of snow. He pointed down at him with a crutch. “Listen to me, you dirty-minded cretin. You leave her alone! You leave
us
alone.”

The man raised his camera. “Smile.” He took a picture. George lunged for the camera, but the man scurried out of his reach and ran for his car. “Thanks for the interview, Davanos.”

He sped away. Oh dear. Things were going to get dicey now.

Sonja and Eden sat on lawn chairs outside the Moore home, a white one-story concrete block house with yellow trim and cacti in the yard. Other neighbors sat in their front yards as the sun went down, watching the kids ride their bikes or play soccer in the quiet street. The evening was cool.

“This is so different,” Sonja said.

“Different is bad?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do about … about anything. Your offer to work with you.” She shook her head with the immensity of the decision.

“Maybe you need to let God push you out of your box, Sonja. Quit living the life you thought you ought to live, and live the life God wants you to live. Surrender and let Him do the work.”

“My parents would never approve.”

Eden nodded. “That’s regrettable. But will that stop you?”

“Should it?”

Eden batted a fly away from her face. “We’re supposed to honor our father and mother but, even more than that, bring honor to our heavenly Father.”

“And you think He approves of me moving here?”

“Yes,
I
do. But more important, you need to feel that way. You need to pray about it. Ask for wisdom.” She brightened. “Did you know wisdom is the one thing God always grants when we ask for it?”

“Really?”

“You bet. James 1 has been a favorite of mine for years. It says, ‘If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.’ ” She raised a warning finger and continued. “ ‘But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.’ ”

“I think I’ve been tossed a bit.”

“We all get a little windblown at times.”

“Surely not you.”

“Just because I know God and can recite some Bible verses doesn’t mean I’m even close to perfect.”

Sonja smiled. “You’re not?”

Eden shrugged. “Well, almost.” She put a hand on Sonja’s arm. “You don’t need to give me an answer right now. Go home tomorrow and think on it—and pray about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Sonja was willing to pray, but she wasn’t too sure God would answer. Why should He?

Fifteen

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise;
God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong
.…
so that no one may boast before him
.
1 C
ORINTHIANS
1:27, 29

A
nthony awoke to a pounding on his front door. It only took him a second to remember the reporters. He grabbed the arms of the chair, bracing to defend himself from the intruders.

Then he noticed the edge of light glowing around the window blinds. It was daylight. He looked at his watch: 9:32
A.M.
?

“Dr. Thorgood? Are you in there?”

It was Lissa’s voice. He eased his way out of the chair, his bruised body rebelling against its cramped night’s sleep. He peered out the side window. The reporters were gone. He let Lissa in, along with a blast of cold air.

“What’s going on?” she said. “We paged you; we called. You didn’t show up at the office.” She gave him a thorough once-over. “You look terrible.”

“How appropriate.” He turned toward the kitchen. He needed coffee.

She followed. “Did you see the news?”

He whipped around. “It’s on the news?”

“Last night and this morning. In the papers too. The Patrick Harper thing
and
the Belinda Miller thing.”