Unlikely Praise Read online

  “That’s nice.” She started to get in the car. He stopped her.

  “Wait a sec.” He pulled a brown Fedora off the front seat. “Forgot about that.”

  “That’s not your fishing Fedora.”

  “Nope. This is another one from my collection.”

  “Is it your grandfather’s, too?”

  “No, I got this one from a vintage clothing store in the Heights. Max wanted to borrow it.” He tapped the hat on his head and reached in the back seat for a matching brown leather vest. He slipped it on over his seventies-era brown-and-gold plaid, pearl-snap shirt. “What do you think?”

  She thought the shirt did remarkable things for his eyes.

  She thought he sure knew how to wear a hat.

  But that vest? Yikes.

  “C’mon,” he repeated. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking this outing is over if you own the leather pants to match that vest.”

  He pulled off the hat and pressed it against his chest. “Ouch. I can’t get a break with you.” He tossed the items into the back seat. “Max might have better luck.”

  She got in and fastened her seatbelt and tried to avoid his gaze. A burst of warmth settled on her face and she couldn’t shake her stupid grin—a clear indication her Anti-Ex-Dead-Lizard-Charm-Shield was wearing thin. Yikes, again. She grabbed the door handle and contemplated an escape, but what did she think she was going to do? Hop in her car and drive away while citing weakened ex-Dead Lizard immunity as an excuse?

  Shade closed his door and glanced at her. “What’d I do now?”

  “Nothing,” she blurted. “I was thinking about the hat and vest. Do you collect antiques in general, or is it just the old clothes you like?”

  “I like old tools and music stuff, but you won’t find me at a high-end antique store on Westheimer, if that’s what you mean.” He tapped on the steering wheel. “I’m more of a flea market kind of guy.”

  “And the clothes?”

  “I got started on the vintage clothing thing because my grandma never throws anything away. I found my dad and uncle’s entire wardrobe from the seventies in her shed, and then she gave me all my grandfather’s stuff when he died.”

  A pang of sadness gripped Candi’s heart. She didn’t even have her mother’s wedding dress. There wasn’t one. Like everything else her father did, her parents’ romance was of the whirlwind persuasion. The marriage started with a courthouse ceremony and a bundle of flowers from the grocery store. There was only one picture.

  “Like this shirt,” he continued, and smoothed his hand across the sleeve. “Pure seventies. It was my dad’s. Don’t even want to think about the wardrobe malfunction that would occur if he tried to connect the snaps across his belly today.”

  Candi snorted and couldn’t control the burst of laughter that followed. “Thank you so much for sharing that image. If I ever meet your dad, you know that picture will be the first thing that pops in my head.”

  “Oh, you’ll meet my dad,” he assured her and turned the key. “And my mom. And I’ll be sure to tell them exactly why you’re laughing when you do.”

  She met his gaze as her smile faded. His declaration of certainty she would someday meet his parents should have led to an awkward moment. It should have hit her like “The Darlin’ Incident” had when he’d flirtatiously called her by that endearment on the morning they went fishing. This time she found neither the desire, nor the energy to combat his rock star charisma. This time she just looked at him like some goofy groupie. No...outside of her total disarmament, there was nothing awkward about this at all.

  When she was finally able to look away, she fumbled in her purse for a lipstick.

  He put the car in reverse. “Where are we going?”

  Her ploy to look uninterested was pathetic at best. “What?”

  “I asked where we were going. You said no to a movie and to the Astros game, and you wouldn’t let me take you to a real restaurant for dinner, so where are we going?”

  “Oh. Get on Interstate 45 and go north, please. We’re going to a concert.”

  “Great. Who’s playing?”

  “Not sure. There’s a historic church out in the country past Huntsville. One day the pastor decided to build a big metal barn on the property and invite local Christian bands to come out and play. Over time it grew, and now, every three months, high school and college kids come from miles around to eat free tacos from the bottomless taco bar and listen to music. That pastor is a genius. His vision to turn an old country church with only fifty people every Sunday into a hub for the youth is an evangelistic masterpiece.”

  “Do you go regularly?”

  “I try to get out there a couple times a year. It’s a great place to get new ideas for music and connect with musicians.” She set her purse on the floor. “Do you mind going? Or would you rather find something else to do?”

  “You had me at bottomless taco bar.”

  Candi laughed. “Have at it.”

  Strip centers and fast food restaurants flew by as they got on the freeway and headed north. The classics station pulsed with music from the eighties under their safe and casual conversation, but Candi contemplated how to ask the more serious questions that had crossed her mind. She made several sideways glances his way. Steady and smooth as he drove, he concentrated on the road and met her furtive gaze from time to time as if to check on her.

  She turned in her seat. “Can I ask you something?”

  He turned off the radio. “Sounds serious.”

  “Not serious, really, but personal. About the stuff we talked about the other night. If you don’t want me to ask, I won—”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “OK. You said you gave up alcohol after the accident, but isn’t that what they call being “scared sober”? Like people who get arrested for DUI or drug possession and only stay clean long enough for their case to get through the legal system. They claim they’re all better as they go through court-ordered rehab only to revert to their old habits as soon as they’re free.”

  He changed lanes and chewed his bottom lip as if formulating a response.

  She replayed her comments in her head and realized how offensive her words sounded.

  “Let me start over,” she said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m not trying to compare you to a drug addict or accuse you of working the system. I know you’re serious about your recovery and you weren’t arrested or—”

  “An addict is an addict. I know what you meant, and I see people like that all the time in my meetings. Mothers who’ve had their children taken away and get well long enough to get them back and then they’re messed up again, guys who go to jail, like you said, and stay sober until they get a plea bargain.” He shifted in his seat and moved his hands to a classic ten-and-two-o’clock position on the steering wheel. “I was a little scared sober. Waking up in that condition and losing Pete did scare me.”

  “I guess what I’m asking is—and I know this sounds awful—but when you’re in that position and sobriety is forced upon you because of a horrible event, how much of it is your own decision? I mean, how can you say you chose to be sober when the choice was made for you?”

  His relaxed smile surprised her. “You always have a choice, Candi. Hospital or not, I could have gotten alcohol any time I wanted it. But I didn’t want it. I made a conscious decision there, flat on my back, and cried out to God for help. That decision was to quit. I wasn’t healthy, I wasn’t happy; I wasn’t productive despite what my career indicated. I was just a drunk.”

  “Do you ever want a drink, now?”

  “I had my rough days. Not so much anymore. And I know it sounds corny, but the whole one day at a time thing is true. It’s a daily choice. And a daily miracle.”

  She nodded, but knew she didn’t fully understand the horror of addiction, or the struggle to overcome it. Having never been there, she never would.

  “The worst is behind me,” he continued, “and as the
fog cleared in the hospital, I found I had other reasons to be free of alcohol.”

  “What other reasons?”

  “How much longer will we be in the car?”

  “We’ll be getting off the interstate in a couple miles, and then it’ll take a few more to get to the church.”

  “Need more time. I’ll explain later over coffee.”

  She blew out a breath. “You’re assuming the bottomless taco bar is a worthy substitute for dinner.”

  “No, I’m assuming since you didn’t really agree to go out with me and wouldn’t let me pick you up at your house—not to mention your total disdain for the leather vest—that you’ll be anxious for this evening to be over. I’m taking what I can get.”

  She felt that stupid grin coming on again and had to physically put her hand on her face to scrape it off. “Let’s see how it goes.”

  “Next question. Make it one that’ll take only a few miles to answer.”

  “What happened with the band after the accident? How did Dead Lizard Highway come apart and how did you end up here?”

  “Uh...with Pete gone and me laid up for months, everything stopped. There were five of us in the band. Spider Monkey and Tom came to see me regularly about—”

  “Wait a minute,” she interrupted. “Spider Monkey?”

  “Yeah, we called him that because he’s skinny and has these long arms that look like they’d be good for climbing trees like a monkey.”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “Never mind. I don’t need to know. Go on with your story, but oh! Take this exit and make the first right at the light.”

  “Anyway, Spider Monkey and Tom came to see me all the time. They fully expected we’d eventually get it back together. Our bass player, The Rodrunner, never did come to grips with Pete’s death. Little by little they disappeared, and I knew I couldn’t put myself back in the middle of that lifestyle if I hoped to start over.”

  “Excuse me, did you mean The Roadrunner?”

  “No. It’s Rodrunner. His name is Rodney and he’s really fast. It’s a modified nickname.”

  “Moving on,” she said with a smirk, “this may come as a shock, but I didn’t follow Dead Lizard Highway.”

  He looked her way with an arched brow. “You don’t say...”

  “So,” she continued, “you’ll have to explain it to me. I know you had CDs out and toured a lot, but how close were you to breaking out?”

  “Honestly? We were regionally very hot, and nationally were opening for some of the best bands out there. We were close to going worldwide. We had some great people working for us, a great manager and promoter, people like that. We were going to make it.”

  Candi let out a long quiet sigh of relief. He said great manager and promoter. Pretty obvious he didn’t know her dad.

  “Take a left at the gas station,” she said and pointed. “And when you got over the physical injuries you came here?”

  “Yeah. Something like that. There was physical therapy and some loose ends to tie up in Austin, but yes, my parents are in this area so I came home. Then I found Cornerstone and you know the rest.”

  “Take the right at that tree stump,” she instructed, “and I have one more skinny question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I overheard Kevin and Max talking about how long their hair was getting and how they weren’t going to get it cut. You have anything to do with that?”

  “Not technically.”

  “Max’s hair is thick and curly, Shade. He’s beginning to look like a circus clown. And Kevin has a huge forehead. He needs his bangs to stay bangs to keep that thing under wraps.”

  “What are you, the hair police?” Shade laughed. “It’s their hair.”

  “You’re no help.” She crossed her arms and stared out the window. “You should see the barn anytime, now. Park in the grass wherever you can.”

  Shade followed a couple other cars through the metal gate and into a giant field. As unaccepted first dates went, it was going pretty well.

  She’d shown up, told him where to go and how to get there, and then hinted he should help her do something about how other people wear their hair.

  Typical control freak Candi. He liked her, anyway.

  Under that bossy and distant exterior, she was a warm and intelligent woman who, deep down, wanted to do right by everyone. Her genuine concern for his struggles had always been evident, even from the start when she had no interest in him for the worship team. Her continued desire to understand him better warmed his heart, though he knew as complicated women went, she was more complicated than most. She clung to her friends at church, yet he’d bet his last dime she’d never shared with them the truth about her father. And why would she? It was a jarring secret that, even to him, came in shocking waves after he’d first realized it at the pond and then spent a long, sleepless night connecting the family dots. His chest hurt for her when he thought about it.

  Fiercely private control freak Candi. She ruled her little corner of the world with strength and determination, yet he’d seen her revert, for a moment, to childlike and carefree wonder at the pond.

  Somewhere in between was the woman who made him feel grounded because of her faith. That was the woman he was going to kiss goodnight.

  The car lurched as the left wheel dipped into a hole and popped back out. “Max doesn’t need to know about this, OK?”

  Candi smiled. “Know about what?”

  He took the first spot at the end of the row. It would be dark soon and he had a feeling no floodlights came on to illuminate the cow pasture.

  “Can you pop the trunk, please? I want to put my purse in there.”

  “Sure, but here, let me do it and come around to let you out. Need to make sure there are no surprises for you to step in.”

  She hesitated.

  “Hand it over,” he said. “I’m not gonna look inside between here and the trunk and find all your girly secrets.”

  The expression on her face as she handed him the purse was amusing beyond all expectations. First her eyes widened, then softened into a melted-butter kind of warmth he was sure she usually reserved only for kittens and dark chocolate. By the time he opened her door and offered his hand to help her walk through the bumpy field, he’d achieved guaranteed entrance into the Chivalry Hall of Fame.

  As promised, it was a big metal barn. Scattered folding chairs and an assortment of picnic and card tables dotted the wide concrete floor, and halfway decent speakers hung on each heavy beam along the walls. Students in their late teens and early twenties milled in every available space and corner while ambitious young musicians tuned their instruments and made last minute adjustments to their sound board. In the corner, someone knelt and plugged a heavy duty extension cord into the wall and an explosion of criss-crossed Christmas lights came on overhead.

  Candi elbowed him and pointed at the ceiling. “That’s new.”

  He gazed at the giant mirror ball that hung from the middle support beam. “I don’t know what to say...”

  “Sometimes words are not adequate,” she said and giggled.

  Several people in the room either waved or somehow acknowledged her presence.

  “Do you know all these people?”

  “No. I think a lot of them recognize me from church or school or from when I was in college here, but they don’t really know me. You’re more likely to be recognized here than I am. Exactly what is the protocol for dating a Dead Lizard? Should I have a pocket full of permanent markers so you can sign autographs?”

  “I’m an ex-Dead Lizard, and you’re not funny.”

  “Listen, it’s about to get loud in here, so let me tell you the taco bar is down where that big crowd is. If you want to get something to eat, I’ll go see if I can get a flyer about who’s here and meet you at that orange picnic table in the back.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Diet cola.”

  “How many tacos?”

  “No tacos. I’ll get something w
herever we go later.”

  He stepped back. “I can wait, too. I’m not gonna eat without you.”

  “No, it’s OK. I don’t want you to miss Mama Lupita’s homemade tortillas. I’ll eat with you later.”

  The scent of melting cheese and fresh jalapeños wafted through the air. He’d never been so torn between being a gentleman and being a pig. “I can wait.”

  “Here’s the truth.” She stepped closer. “You ready?”

  He nodded. Somewhere in the room, Mama Lupita sliced an onion. He could smell it.

  “Now pay attention.” Her smile was demure as she batted her lashes. “My mama always said a gently bred southern lady never, under any circumstances, eats a burrito on a date. Especially a first date.”

  “It’s a taco.”

  “Same difference. Now go. Eat all you want. I don’t mind.”

  She disappeared into the crowd, leaving him no choice. He had to eat tacos.

  By the time he made it to the table, a band had already started. He scooted onto the bench beside her with his plate, a wad of napkins, and two cans of soda.

  “Where are the tacos?” she shouted over the music.

  “Got stopped a couple times,” he shouted back. “Ate some on the way.”

  “Good, aren’t they?”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nevermind. Too loud.”

  Shade finished what was on his plate and tossed his trash into a barrel nearby. Some seemed to be enjoying the band. He wasn’t sure how.

  Candi tugged on his sleeve and leaned in to share the flyer with him. “I’ve never heard this group,” she shouted to the side of this head, “and I don’t recognize anyone else on the list.”

  He shrugged. It wasn’t as if he knew anybody. “I don’t either. And I don’t think this song has an end.”

  “What?”

  She swung her leg around to free herself from the picnic table and pointed at the back door.

  He followed her outside. She took a few steps and leaned against the metal wall.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Hang on. My ears are still ringing.”

  The scent of Mama Lupita’s tacos mingled with the cool night air. Crickets chirped in rhythm with the thumping bass of the band and, in the distance, he was sure he heard an owl.