Four
Gina sat at a round table, plunked down in the precise center of the Valley Oaks Community Church reception hall. She felt like a buoy anchored to a floating chair, afloat in a sea of humidity peopled with unfamiliar faces. The entire church membership, perhaps even the entire town, had turned out for Aunt Lottie’s birthday celebration. Wall-to-wall tables filled the sunny room that easily accomodated the hundreds now noisily milling about, hemming her in.
She pulled at the scooped neck of her chamois-colored knit cotton top. The label read 100 percent cotton…but it wasn’t breathing this afternoon. She discreetly picked at the matching wrinkled linen skirt, easing it off of her lap, and wondered where to dump her cup of too-sweet punch and find a glass of ice water.
The outside temperature was 90, the humidity 95 percent. Inside it must be—
She stopped the petulant line of thinking. It wouldn’t change anything. And she had certainly spent long enough wallowing in self-pity these past months. Look for something positive, she reminded herself.
Across the room her mother was overseeing the placement of the candy dishes and plates of white sheet cake. She gravitated toward such tasks at hand, which was why she was so successful as a manager. Between this open house and the coming wedding and reception, she would easily find outlets for her skills.
Aunt Lottie was beaming, her white hair freshly fluffed this morning, her new dress a pretty pastel floral print. She was 90 today…just like the temperature.
“Hello.”
The masculine voice came from behind her. It was soft, well-modulated, with a whispery hint to it. And it was definitely familiar.
Brady Olafsson came into view and pulled a folding chair out from the table. “May I?”
“Why not?”
He sat beside her and stretched out his long jeans-covered legs, blocking any escape. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” She noted that his blue jeans were almost brown with dirt. Mud clung to the thick soles of his—she blinked—work boots. Unbelievable.
He removed a grimy white cap with “Seed” something or other imprinted on it and finger-combed his short hair off of his high tanned forehead. “Just fine? That’s somewhat of a generic reply.”
“Kind of like the question.” She met his gaze and found the robin’s-egg blue eyes Aunt Lottie had described along with her white T-shirt comment. With a hint of green shading, they weren’t quite a true blue.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Today’s T-shirt was a faded red. There was a tear in the neck seam. “May I get you some more punch?” He eyed her three-fourths-full cup.
“No, thank you.”
“How’s the book?”
“I, uh, um…” Now that sounded inane. She swallowed the embarrassment she felt about not yet opening the library book he had so freely offered. “Actually, I haven’t had a chance to start it. I’d be happy to give it to you.”
“No, I’m sure you’ll get to it soon enough. Last night you had your bridesmaid gown fitting, wedding errands, and dinner with Lauren.”
Her eyes widened.
“Then today there’s Lottie’s birthday celebrations—”
“How do you know this stuff?” Her tone was incredulous.
“Word travels fast in Valley Oaks.” Brady winked. “You know how you can tell if you live in the Midwest?”
She stared at him, sensing it was a rhetorical question.
“When your car breaks down outside of town and news of it reaches town before you do.” He grinned.
Gina blinked in reply.
“Yep, that’s how you can tell.” He stood. “Well, I just thought I’d spend a few minutes getting to know you, since I’ve been appointed your escort for the wedding.”
Escort? Something about this homespun guy really annoyed her. “All that entails is walking together up the aisle.”
“Up and down.”
“Up and down?”
“Rehearsal and wedding, up and down. Then there’s the rehearsal dinner seating. The reception line. Sunday brunch—”
“Brady!” Lauren pushed her way through the crowd toward them, carrying a fork and plate of cake above her head.
He leaned over and gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek. “Hello, Princess Bride.”
She smiled. “I’m glad to see you two are getting acquainted.”
“I’ve been entertaining your cousin with some Midwest humor.”
“The Midwest jokes? Did you tell her the one about the elevator?”
He shook his head, then turned to Gina. “You know you live in the Midwest if using the elevator involves a corn truck.”
Lauren burst out laughing. “That’s my favorite.”
Gina remembered her promise to be nice. She stretched her lips sideways in a sort of smile. She didn’t have a clue as to what a corn truck was, let alone what it had to do with an elevator.
“Tell her the neighbor one.”
Brady glanced down at her. “You know you live in the Midwest if your nearest neighbor lives in the next area code.” He laughed with Lauren.
“I love these! Do the corn one.”
“You know you live in the Midwest if you can eat an ear of corn with no utensils in under twenty seconds.”
They roared while Gina allowed herself a tiny smile. That one was almost funny. The image of someone scarfing down an ear of corn that fast—
“Gotta run, ladies. See you tonight.” He sauntered off.
“Isn’t he cute, Gina?” Lauren sat down and took a bite of cake.
“Uh.” She didn’t want to offend her cousin. The guy was obviously a good friend. “Well, he’s sort of attractive, if you like tall, thin guys.”
“Didn’t you date a couple of basketball players in high school? Tall and thin type?”
And in college… One or two… She didn’t offer the information that would only add fuel to Lauren’s Cupid bent. Besides, she had outgrown that infatuation years ago.
Lauren held a forkful of cake in midair. “As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember a conversation we had our junior year. You planned to marry a basketball player and live out in the country and raise horses.”
“Long time ago.” Gina changed the subject. “What did he mean, he’d see you tonight?”
“Actually, us. At Annie and Alec’s.” Alec was Lottie’s grandson.
“I thought that was a family dinner for Aunt Lottie.” She thought of the myriad of cousins and second cousins and their children that she had met so far today. Being related to anyone in this town loomed a very real possibility. “This guy’s not related to us, is he?”
“Nope, not yet. Do you want some cake?”
“No, thanks.” Inwardly she cringed at the thought of the thick frosting, chock full of shortening, slithering down her cousin’s petite throat, making its slow journey toward arteries. “What do you mean, not yet?”
“Well,” she swallowed, “I am marrying his cousin, so that makes him a cousin-in-law. A distant relative to all of us, I guess. Anyway, Aunt Lottie likes him a lot. He and Vic have been good friends since grade school.”
“Vic is Alec’s brother. Which makes them some sort of cousin, right?”
She nodded, her mouth full of cake.
“Lauren, how can you eat that stuff and stay so slender?”
“It’s this month! It must be the stress. I’m eating everything in sight. I hope my gown still fits. Oh, you haven’t seen it yet. It’s so absolutely gorgeous. Let’s run over to my apartment now.” She popped the last bite of cake into her mouth. “Then we’ll stop by Aunt Lottie’s so you can change. Most of the wedding party is going bowling tonight, after the birthday dinner. You’ll want to be casual.”
Lauren had always been on the bubbly side, but at this special time in her life she gurgled like a regular fountain of effervescence. Gina doubted the schedule would ever slow down enough to make time for reading, let alone figuring out her own future. Maybe, though, it was just what she needed.
Now if only “most of the wedding party” meant everyone except Brady “Mr. Homespun” Olafsson, she just might be able to relax.
Dear God, Brady paused, then ploughed ahead, she’s like a porcupine.
He sat at his desk, head in his hands, elbows propped either side of the laptop computer, praying.
He imagined God’s view on the subject of one porcupine named Gina Philips. If God’s voice were audible to Brady, His reply would probably be along the lines of, “Yes, well, I created porcupines for a purpose, you know.”
Brady groaned.
“You’re holding some things against her, and it shows.”
This was true. I’m sorry.
That part was easy, but he knew that writing this afternoon was out of the question unless he came clean before his heavenly Father, the source of his creativity.
Okay. The past is not her fault. Help me to give it up.
He heard the silence.
She is a snob, though. All right, help me to ignore the stiff, sharp spines of her porcupine personality.
“They will hurt. But they’re not poisonous.”
Brady breathed a hasty “amen.” It would be tough to face Gina Philips again tonight, but he felt relieved that he had addressed his crummy attitude toward her. He didn’t know how to let it go, didn’t even know if he wanted to let it go. At least he had asked for help. Not a total copout.
He opened a file on the computer. He was working on his fourth novel in a series called The Nazarene. The last few lines he had written were part of an imaginary scene with Jesus joking with a tax collector, a man who cheated others in order to increase his own wealth. A man who did not deserve the kind attention of God’s Son.
Brady stared at the screen.
Of course he had to let his crummy attitude go. What right did he have to keep it?
He thought again of Gina’s stiffness, of her nonresponse to his jokes. What would make her laugh?