A Scarlet Cord (6 page)

Five

“Hey, sunshine. Time to get up and get ready for church.” Melanie sat down on the fluffy pink comforter beside her daughter and patted the thin arm that flopped over the edge of the mattress.

Jerica stretched, opened her eyes, and immediately began whining, “I don’t wanna get up. I don’t feel good.”

Melanie put a hand to her daughter’s forehead. It didn’t feel especially warm. “Come and eat some breakfast, and you’ll feel better.” She pulled the quilts back and stroked Jerica’s arm briskly. “Come on, baby …”

“Noooo,” Jerica whimpered.

For a minute, Melanie was tempted to stay home and let her daughter sleep. But the thought of seeing Joel Ellington again spurred her to ignore Jerica’s cantankerous mood. Besides, she’d promised to give Joel the number of Dana Landon’s realty company.

“Come on, sweetie,” she coaxed again, brushing a dark tendril of tangled hair away from the little girl’s forehead. “Let’s go eat, and then you can choose your outfit for Sunday school.”

Jerica stuck out her bottom lip and gave one last bleat of protest, but she climbed out of bed and padded behind her mother to the kitchen.

Melanie set Frosted Flakes and juice on the table for Jerica, then rummaged through the junk drawer until she found one of Dana’s
business cards. Her friend had helped her and Rick find this house five years ago, and since then, she had steered several By Design employees Dana’s way. She tucked the card in her purse, poured milk on Jerica’s cereal, and went back to her room to get dressed.

An hour later, Jeanne Hines greeted a much happier Jerica at the door of her Sunday school classroom.

“Jeanne! It’s so good to see you here,” Melanie said. “I thought you were still in the hospital. How are you feeling?”

“I’m … I’m doing okay,” she said weakly. But Darlene Anthony’s mother was thin and pale, and it was obvious that it was an effort for her to be here. Melanie was glad to see that Selina and Kimmy Breyer were helping out in the classroom today.

Kimmy came over and steered Jerica to a group of children coloring at a low table. Confident that Jerica was happily settled, Melanie thanked Jeanne and went down the hall to her own class.

When she walked through the door, half a dozen people were already helping themselves to coffee and donuts at a table in the corner.

“Good morning!” Karen Dixon waved a half-eaten maple long john at Melanie.

“Hi, Karen,” Melanie said. “Hey, we’ve missed you guys. I take it the kids are over the chickenpox?”

Karen puffed her cheeks in an exaggerated sigh. “Finally.”

“Well, we’ve been praying for you. It’s good to have you back.” Melanie touched the young mother’s arm sympathetically, then went to pour herself a cup of coffee. She picked up a small cinnamon roll and looked over the room, scouting out a seat. This class was made up mostly of married couples—
as the entire world seems to be
, she thought wryly—and it was always tricky to find a spot in the circle of chairs that didn’t split up a couple or leave an odd number of chairs open.

She took a seat facing the door and self-consciously occupied herself with juggling her Bible and the sweet roll and brimming Styrofoam cup. Finally settled, she took a sip of coffee and looked up to see Joel Ellington walk through the door. His gaze caught hers, and he nodded a greeting before heading for the refreshment table. A minute later, he took the empty chair beside her, wrestling with his own coffee and roll.

“Good morning,”

“Hi, Joel.”

“This is the eating-est church I’ve ever seen,” he told her over a mouthful of pastry. “If I don’t learn to ‘just say no,’ I’m going to end up fat as the proverbial pig.”

“I seriously doubt that a little cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee are going to do you in,” she told him.

“Yes, but you didn’t see the two extra-large muffins I had for breakfast.”

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to eat breakfast before you come?” she teased. “That’s one thing I love about Sunday mornings: Somebody else does the cooking.”

“I’ll remember that,” he whispered, motioning toward the front of the room where Mike Dixon was clearing his throat and waving his arms, trying to get the class’s attention.

Throughout the class period, Melanie was uncomfortably aware of Joel’s presence beside her. She felt like a silly schoolgirl with her first crush. She struggled to concentrate on Mike’s lesson until one of his comments launched a discussion about grief. Her interest in the topic outweighed her juvenile reaction to the man beside her, and she finally relaxed a little.

Half an hour later, Mike dismissed them with prayer, and the room broke into a pleasant buzz of conversation. Melanie remembered the business card she had for Joel, dug it out of her purse, and handed it to him. “This is the Realtor friend I was telling you about yesterday,” she explained, seeing the question on his face.

“Oh, sure … thank you.” He gave the card a quick perusal before tucking it into his breast pocket. “I’ll have to give her a call when I get ready to start house shopping.”

An awkward silence followed, and Melanie gathered her Bible and purse and started toward the door. But Joel put a tentative hand on her arm. “Hey, Melanie? Um … can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she said, turning back toward him, her heartbeat quickening at the warmth of his hand on her skin.

He paused as if he wanted to say something, then his gaze dropped to the floor and he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I … just wondered if you ever attend the singles class here.”

She hesitated. Cornerstone had a thriving singles ministry, with its own Christian education class that met during this hour. “Yes … I’ve gone a few times,” she hedged. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to get a feel for where we need to improve in the CE department. I was thinking you might be able to give me the low-down on the singles ministry. I assumed you would attend that class. I was surprised to see you here … that’s all.”

She hesitated. “Well … to tell you the truth, I’ve always felt a little awkward and out of place there.”

He flashed a crooked grin and looked around the room. “More awkward and out of place than you feel in this hotbed of marital bliss?”

She followed his gaze. All around them, little duos and quartets made up of married couples buzzed in easy conversation.

“You know … I guess in a lot of ways I don’t
feel
single.” She couldn’t believe she was being so candid with him. “I know this will make me sound like I’m in some kind of delayed denial, but I still feel somehow a part of the couple that was Rick and Melanie LaSalle.”

“Really?” His gaze was warm, full of genuine interest, and instead of making her feel self-conscious, it comforted her.

She tried to explain. “It’s just that after Rick’s death, so little changed in the day-to-day pattern of my life. I stayed at the same
company, even took over Rick’s position. I still live in the same house, I attend the same church, and I see my husband’s parents almost daily. And, of course, there’s Jerica. It’s almost as if Rick is simply away on an extended business trip or something.” What she told him was true, and yet, didn’t the cold, empty pillow beside her head on the bed each night contradict her comments?

Suddenly she was desperate to change the subject. “I don’t mean to badmouth the singles class. It really is a good class, Joel. Milt does a wonderful job with the lessons, and I know that a lot of the people who attend wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I’ve thought about trying it myself, but for a few months at least, I need to sit in on each of the other classes, so I have an idea of what we have to offer and what we need to add. Actually … I’ve thought about teaching a class myself somewhere down the road.”

“Really? That would be wonderful. I know they’re always looking for teachers.”

He started to say something, then paused, clearing his throat and glancing at his watch. “We’d probably better go if we want a seat in the service.”

She looked around the now-empty classroom, then glanced at her watch. “Oh, my! Jerica’s teachers probably think I’ve abandoned her!”

“Well …” He put up a hand in farewell. “Have a good morning.”

She returned his wave, and they hurried in opposite directions down the corridor.

The alarm clock buzzed annoyingly. Without opening his eyes, Joel reached over and fumbled with the buttons. Tuesday morning was his day off, and he was tempted to sleep in, but he’d planned to finish organizing his apartment today. He forced himself to roll out of
bed and pulled on yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt. Sidestepping a stack of half-empty moving boxes, he headed for the kitchen.

Most of his personal belongings had yet to arrive, but he knew from past moves that it might be weeks before they were shipped. He couldn’t complain. The apartment was furnished, and his clothes, small appliances, and computer and stereo equipment had been delivered Saturday. He had everything he needed. But standing in the tiny kitchen, looking out over the open combination living-dining area, he was struck by how clinical and austere the space was. The only things that set this unit apart from the two hundred other apartments in the complex—that marked this as the home of the man called Joel Ellington—were the small framed snapshots of his family.

The photographs sat side by side on an end table near the low-slung sofa. The one of his family had been taken the summer before his parents’ plane went down somewhere in Africa. The other one showed him and his brother, Tim, arm in arm on the Foxmoor campus the first year Joel had taught there. He had a smaller copy of that one in his wallet, along with Victoria’s college yearbook photo. They were all he had left to remember his past by—those fragile pieces of paper and colored inks. He had hand-carried the frames all the way to Silver Creek, unwilling to risk having them among his possessions that seemed to mysteriously disappear every time he moved.

Joel crossed the room and picked up the frame that contained the likeness of his parents, his brother, and himself. They stood arm in arm in a row, Mom and Dad in the middle, he and Tim flanking them, wide smiles on every face. He couldn’t remember now who’d taken the picture. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, it was just the four of them. His world. They’d been so happy then.

A crushing sense of loneliness came over him, and he replaced the frame carefully on the table and went back to the kitchen. Taking a loaf of raisin bread from the counter, he popped two slices into the toaster and went to the refrigerator for butter and orange juice.
Soon the smell of toast filled the kitchen. His mother had baked homemade bread twice a week when he was growing up. The faint aroma of cinnamon offered him a moment of pleasure. Closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar scent, he could almost imagine that he was back home in New York.

Home
. That word and all it had once meant to him had been perverted, changed forever—first with his parents’ deaths, then inexorably sealed the day he’d lost Victoria.

He took the bread from the toaster, spread a thick layer of butter on each slice, and shook off the memories that encroached. He perched on a barstool at the kitchen counter and, out of habit, bowed his head and gave thanks before he took the first bite.

When he finished eating, he put his dishes in the dishwasher and went to tackle the boxes in the bedroom. As he put away the rest of his clothes and the few books that had been packed among them, he practiced the new attitude he had determined to embrace. He spoke the words aloud like a mantra: “Thank you, Father, for this place of refuge. Thank you for a new beginning. Thank you.”

He
was
grateful for the safe haven Silver Creek provided. He could be going out of his mind in a run-down hotel in some unknown city.

He could be dead.

Six

Melanie went to the drafting table where a dozen miniature logo sketches were neatly aligned on a piece of art board. She straightened the images one last time and smiled to herself. She still had the touch. And even though Cornerstone’s account didn’t add to By Design’s profits, she felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction in having created some attractive and unique designs.

She went to her desk and dialed the church’s number. Darlene Anthony answered on the second ring. “Hi, Darlene, it’s Melanie LaSalle. Is Joel in the office today?”

“Oh, hi, Mel. He sure is. Just a minute … I’ll get him.”

Melanie tapped a pen nervously on her desk while she waited. Her heart lurched when Joel’s voice came on the line.

“Good mahning, Melanie. What can I do for you?”

That gorgeous accent again.
Good grief, LaSalle. Get a grip!
“Hi, Joel.” She inhaled slowly and forced a businesslike tone. “I have some sketches for the CE project ready to look at. I was wondering when might be a good time to get together.”

“Wow, that was fast. Well, let’s see … my schedule is probably more flexible than yours. Why don’t you just name a time?”

“Does Pastor Steele need to be in on the meeting?” she asked. “Or any of the rest of the committee?”