Unlikely Praise Page 10

  He shot Shade a warning glance. “Go ahead and talk. Rachel will be awake soon.”

  As Bobby disappeared into the kitchen, Shade covered his face with his hands. “Aw, Jess, this is brutal.”

  “It’s not so bad. You guys are doing fine.”

  He wandered to the bay window and absently pushed aside the ivory sheers to peer out at the street. “I knew this would be hard, but that guy hates me.” He turned back around and gestured toward the kitchen. “How big a knife does he have in there?”

  “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just a little scared, that’s all. This is hard for him, too, you know.”

  “What’s he got to be afraid of? He’s holding all the cards.”

  “No, he’s not.” She motioned for him to sit back down.

  He took an uneasy step back toward the chair.

  Jess glanced at the doorway to the kitchen and lowered her voice. “You don’t get it, do you? You and I have a history. He’s not a part of that, and he feels threatened by it. Put yourself in his place. He’s a great, handsome guy with a lot of wonderful qualities, but he’s not a rock star. I mean, look at you...all that music video leather and hair. You carry yourself with that bigger-than-life rock star smile and confidence. No guy would want you showing up to see his wife. You get it?”

  “C’mon, Jess, this is me you’re talkin’ to. You, of all people, know I’m not that guy. Especially not now.”

  “I know that and you know that. Bobby doesn’t. You two are going to have to find a level of trust.”

  “I’m trying, but this isn’t about you and me. It’s about me and Rachel.”

  “Exactly. He loves that baby and is very protective of us.”

  Everything she said confused him more. “Should I get a lawyer?”

  She jerked back as if slapped. “What? No! Do you want to get a lawyer?”

  “Of course not. I can’t afford a lawyer, but I thought it might make him feel better if there were some clear and negotiated boundaries regarding financial matters and visitation and—”

  “And you don’t think we can do that?”

  He left his chair again. “All I know is you’re married to some guy who knows my baby better than I do, and this whole visit is making me crazy.”

  She joined him at the window. “C’mon, Shade. We can do this. We have to do this for Rachel.”

  Panic settled in his chest. His heart pounded so hard his ribs seemed to vibrate. He wasn’t ready for this. Seeing Jess, facing Bobby...it was harder than he imagined. Now, more questions than answers flooded his mind, and the anger and guilt he thought he’d dealt with suddenly exploded in his brain. All he wanted to do was talk to her like they used to, but nothing was the same, and he sure didn’t want to do all this emotional stuff in front of Bobby. He thanked God Rachel was asleep. He wasn’t ready...

  Jess tugged at his sleeve. “Shade, look at me. I have to tell you something.”

  He met her teary, blue gaze. “This is too hard.”

  “Just listen. I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the baby sooner. And I’m sorry that when I did tell you, it was at a time when you couldn’t do anything about it. I know that doesn’t seem fair, but I had some difficult decisions to make.”

  He struggled to take in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, too. I know if I’d treated you better, or listened to you more, or did the right thing once in a while, you wouldn’t have had those difficult decisions to make. I know it’s my fault. I know you did what you had to do because I wasn’t the man I needed to be.”

  She seemed a little stunned as she stepped back and wiped tears from under her eyes.

  His pulse evened out. “Now what?”

  “Now, this should get easier.” Her smile was hopeful.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Her gentle laugh eased him further. “Look, Shade, if it makes you feel any better, I know in my heart that Rachel and I are where we’re supposed to be. I believe God has answered prayer and directed my path. I’m where I belong.” She touched his arm. “And for what it’s worth, I think you are, too.”

  Shade’s cluttered mind faded to black. He shrugged. “I can’t think of one more constructive thing to say.”

  Jess pulled him toward the hallway. “C’mon. I know what will make this better.”

  Bobby stepped out of the kitchen with an oven mitt on one hand and a dish towel slung over his shoulder. “Everything OK?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she said. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  “What about the potatoes?”

  “Put them in the microwave and zap ‘em for a few minutes, would you, please?”

  Shade followed her to a small bedroom. He stopped at the door to the classic nursery that had a crib on one side and a rocker by the window. A giant mural of a peaceful forest scene covered the wall across from where the baby slept. With mossy rocks, vibrant wood ferns, and tall trees, it had been painted to look as though you could walk right into the woods. Leave it to Jess to make it all about nature.

  She waited by the crib. “C’mon over.”

  “We’ll wake her up,” he whispered.

  “She’s due to wake up, anyway.”

  He stepped closer and rested his hand on the rail. He’d imagined her in his mind and formed his expectations from photos and what his mother had said. But nothing could have prepared him for the precious bundle in the snow-white sleeper as she lie fast asleep with her tiny fists at her sides and her plump rosy lips pressed together in a steady sucking motion.

  Jess brushed the side of the baby’s face with her finger. The little mouth opened in a wide yawn. “I think meeting your daughter will help. Up until now, you’ve felt a biological bond, but having never met, you don’t have any emotional bond. We need to fix that.”

  Rachel moved her arms and legs and her eyelids fluttered in response to her mother’s voice.

  Shade reached in to touch one hand as she brought the other to her mouth.

  Her eyes opened.

  Love at first sight.

  7

  From: Pastor Charles Littleton

  [mailto:pastorcharles@crnrstone-chrch.org]

  Sent: Monday, April 27 12:00 PM

  To: Candi Canaberry

  CC: Shade Blackledge

  Subject: Power in Praise Worship Conference

  Candi:

  Thanks for the workshop outlines for the conference. I’ll forward them to the conference director. Pastor Hartley is looking forward to meeting you and Shade in June. I’ll ask Ms. Mattie to get with you on all the travel and registration details.

  Charles

  Candi turned her windshield wipers on high. Texas rain was like that. There’d be none for weeks, and then a month’s worth would fall in one day and flood low-lying roads and parking lots.

  To make matters worse, it was Monday. And Monday was the day she checked her mail. She’d weighed the pros and cons of her once-a-week-pick-up and found that between paying bills online and e-mail correspondence, her means of communication had become virtually paperless. Anyone she cared to contact—or wished to hear from—was just a text message away, and most of what she retrieved from her mailbox ended up in the recycle bin, anyway. If something of importance did happen to arrive via snail mail, it usually didn’t require a do-or-die response within seven days.

  Nevertheless, it was Monday. So despite the pounding rain and her desire to get home, she would stop for her mail and not further push the limits of her carrier’s good will.

  She pulled the car as close as possible, kicked off her sandals, and rolled up the legs of her khaki slacks. With key in hand, she left the car and darted for the cluster box that stood just past the gated entrance of her condo complex. The area was covered, but it made no difference. Wind-blown drops pelted her from one side, then another. A sudden gusty blast surprised her from behind. She shivered
. It was raining up the back of her yellow blouse.

  The tall stack of retail ads and mail order catalogs did not come easily from the box. She yanked them out, went back in for the grocery store flyers, then clasped the pile against her chest and dove into the car.

  She tossed the mail on the seat and reached for her door. The edge of an off-white linen envelope stopped her cold. The words Turner, O’Hare, and Camp peeked at her from under a real estate agent’s shiny red postcard. She ripped it open.

  Dear Ms. Canaberry...your father has requested we notify you regarding…blah, blah, blah…and the proposed sale of a residence located at...blah, blah, blah...and to further notify you the Texas Department of Criminal Justice has scheduled a release date...

  The paper shook in her wet fingers. She was going to be sick.

  She grabbed the handle of the open door and leaned out. The shock of cold rain on her neck caused her to gasp for air rather than throw up. She clamped a hand across her mouth and fought another wave of nausea.

  A passing car slowed, then sped past as she sat up straight and forced a smile. How could this be? It wasn’t time, and if it was, what would make him think she’d want to know he was free?

  The empty envelope caught a breeze and flew off her lap. She couldn’t catch the paper before it landed on a street swamped with rain that had come too fast. A river of water carried it toward the storm drain.

  She slammed the door against the wind. Texas rain was like that.

  ****

  Candi pushed the corner of the pillow off her eyes and squinted at the television. Odd she hadn’t noticed before, but the guy on the six o’clock news looked a lot like she thought Wild Bill, the sound guy, had looked twenty years ago. Wonder if anyone else ever noticed that? She’d ask Carol Ann.

  Her open Bible slid off her chest as she changed positions on the bed. It had been two hours since she got that letter and lunch was still trying to make a reappearance. She’d read her way through her favorite comforting scriptures. Twice. At one point, she’d been face down on the floor sobbing her guts out. Her ribs hurt and she knew God heard, but the uneasiness in her heart would not go away.

  The lawyer obviously knew where she was, which meant her father did, too. She expected that. Anyone could put her name in an Internet search engine and, at the very least, that appalling college photo would appear along with her faculty webpage. Her church information would be right after that. She knew she could be found, but had hoped no one would bother.

  She pulled the letter from under the cup of cold orange and spice tea on the nightstand. So her dad had plans to sell the house she grew up in. Probably to pay his legal fees. It didn’t matter. Her fondness for her childhood home died with her mother. Everything after that was tainted and ruined. Her father had seen to that with his criminal activity. And so what if she knew when he got out of prison? It wasn’t as if she’d be waiting there with open arms like some lonely little girl with daddy issues. He could find his own way to where he wanted to be.

  Somewhere on the bed, her cell phone burst into a selection from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. She dug in the crumpled linens until she came up with it. The text was from her colleague, Brett, who was the music director at another church in the community.

  Found that piece of music you were asking about. We practice tonight at 7:30 if you want to come by the church. If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll put it in an envelope at the front desk.

  That made her laugh. The last time Brett left her something at the “front desk” it took her two days to find it. His gargantuan church had more than one front desk and each was devoted to something different. There was a children’s ministry desk, a youth ministry desk, and a members-only desk. Her packet ended up being at the information desk, which made sense, but since that desk was partially obscured by the church’s full service coffee shop and bookstore, she’d missed it completely.

  She headed for the shower. If nothing else, a trip to Brett’s stomping ground was a good diversion and an opportunity to network with other musicians. And this time she’d park in the same hemisphere as the music department. She didn’t think the church trolley ran at night.

  Within an hour, she’d donned her jeans, a white camisole, and a pink hooded sweatshirt. Misty rain dotted her windshield as the last of the raging storm rumbled out of town. She dodged the puddles of high water it left behind and maneuvered down the winding driveway in to Brett’s church. She read the collection of signs along the way and decided to simply circle the massive cluster of buildings until she spotted Brett’s car. But it wasn’t his car she saw first. Instead, she rounded a corner and found the Del Rio Destroyer parked under a flickering street light near a back entrance. Brett’s car just happened to be three spots away.

  She slowed to a stop while she thought about it. Shade had said he could not meet about the new youth service on Mondays because of a previous commitment. Brett’s massive worship team practiced on Mondays. So... could Shade be cheating on Cornerstone Fellowship with a bigger church that had better sound equipment?

  “Now, you sound like a lunatic,” she mumbled to herself.

  She lifted her foot off the brake and coasted into a spot nearby. There had to be an explanation. Even a newbie like Shade knew it was generally accepted that you only ministered at one church at a time. Especially since he’d recently been tapped to help out with the new youth service. Unless he really wasn’t on board at all and was looking for something better.

  She reined her imagination in again. “Stop it. Just stop it.”

  She got out. There was one surefire way to find out if Shade was cheating on her. She’d walk right into Brett’s practice and see. And if he was there, well, she’d flat pass out for a minute before she got up and knocked them both senseless.

  Strains of music floated towards her as she made her way into the building.

  Brett’s team did not have to meet in the sanctuary. Their ample rehearsal hall had everything they needed to create a full sound without having to take up the main worship area or move one piece of equipment. His music closet was something to see, too. It wasn’t an actual closet like hers at all. It was one whole room devoted to music and storage.

  And there were built-in cabinets.

  Brett met her with a warm hug as she approached. “Good to see you,” he said. “I have that envelope for you.” He looked at two different stacks and eventually pulled it out from under his Bible. “I put a couple more things in there you might like.”

  “I appreciate it.” She scanned the room. No sign of Shade.

  “So,” he continued. “You doin’ OK?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied and eyed two more musicians who came in the side door. “Just fighting the urge to break that commandment about coveting your neighbor’s stuff.”

  He laughed. “Your turn’s coming. I understand construction at Cornerstone is a done deal. Did you get a say in how you wanted your space designed?”

  “Oh, I made myself heard, but what I get remains to be seen. I know they’re trying to get everyone what they asked for.” She glanced over her shoulder to get a look at two passers-by. “What’s happening over here? Any new musicians?”

  He pinned her with a warning gaze. “You’re not gettin’ any of my people, Canaberry.”

  And, buddy, you’re not gettin’ any of mine...

  “No worries, Brett,” she said and smiled, “but I have a new guy. Lead guitar player. You’ll meet him next time we all get together and swap music and ideas. When are we going to do that again, anyway?”

  “I’ll check my calendar,” he assured her. “We’re about to start. You wanna hang around?”

  No, she didn’t, because one thing would lead to another and after practice Brett would ask her if she wanted to go have coffee, and then he would ask her out, and she’d have to say no again. He was a nice enough guy, but seriously, Brett? No.

  “Can’t tonight, Brett, but thanks.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll be
in touch.”

  She rushed back to the double glass doors. Shade’s truck was still there. Now she was being just plain ridiculous. He clearly wasn’t there for practice, and it wasn’t any of her business why else he might be there. Perhaps he was taking a class or had a painting job. She should get in her car and go home.

  She headed down the hall to peek in doors instead.

  Floor by floor and room by room, she cruised the halls and interrupted everything from a Boy Scout meeting to the Golden Needles Quilting Bee. On the top floor of the Christian education wing, there were muted voices and light coming from a room at the end of the hall. A large coffee urn sat on a card table just outside the door. It hissed and bubbled at regular intervals as she crept by to sneak a quick look inside. A group of men and women sat in a lopsided oval. Many had their backs to her. The silhouette of one looked familiar. Very familiar.

  “Who’s next?”

  She didn’t see who asked the question or who consequently raised a hand.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks,” the volunteer said and cleared his throat. “I’m Shade and I am an alcoholic.”

  Candi stifled a gasp as the others responded.

  “Hi, Shade.”

  ****

  Shade took a minute to refill his stainless steel coffee cup and say hey to a couple people before he left the meeting. Attendance had been light this evening, but the die-hard regulars were there and nearly everyone reported a successful week. That was a blessing made sweeter because he was able to share the news he’d finally met Rachel and that his sobriety had put her back in his life.

  The last of the rain slid off the overhang at the west entrance and dripped into the fading puddles on the sidewalk. The worst of the downpour was over. That was good news for his truck. If the bad-tempered monster got so much as a hint of moisture under the hood, it launched itself into a whole new series of mechanical quirks and issues. The bad news was that he still had to get the thing home and dried out tonight.