Chapter Twenty-Three

Happy, John stood on the porch and rang the bell. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he hummed the silly song they’d heard at the Heritage Theater the other night.

When the door opened and he caught sight of Lori’s puffy eyes, he stopped humming, concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I was up most of the night.”

“I woke you when I called. I’m sorry.”

“No, I was still up. I was just thinking through a lot of things.”

He wondered if she’d been thinking about her father, after finally talking about him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh. Yes. Please.”

He stepped in and leaned over to kiss her. Was it his imagination or did she pull away somewhat? Her lips were warm, but the kiss ended quickly, and not because of him.

“The Peach Days festival starts in ninety minutes, if you still want to go.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“So what did you do all night instead of sleeping?”

“I worried if you were safe or not.”

That pleased him. “What else?”

“I cried.”

“About what?”

She didn’t answer the question, but motioned him toward a chair. She sat on the other chair. Not together with him on the couch.

“I read a few chapters of—” She stopped, looking at him as if she’d said something wrong.

“Of what?” He smiled. “Some naughty novel?”

She smiled back, but it was a faint imitation of her usual bright smile. “You might not believe it, but I started reading the Book of Mormon after you challenged me that day when we were weeding.”

“Did you find any comfort there?”

“Some,” she admitted.

He kept himself from grinning. This was really great. “What else did you do?”

She looked down at her hands. “I did a lot of thinking.”

“About?”

When Lori looked up, he saw such sadness in her eyes that he reached out between the two chairs and brushed hair off her cheek, the touch scorching him.

Lori looked away. “John, this isn’t going to work.”

“What do you mean?” Wary, he felt adrenaline pump through every cell as though he were facing a fire. A big one.

When she blinked her eyes closed, John wondered if she was fighting back tears. More worried than ever, he asked, “Lori, please tell me what’s wrong.”

Finally, she opened her eyes, but she still wouldn’t look at him. “We need to break it off. Our relationship, I mean.”

Her words hit him like a blast from a fire hose. Carefully, quietly, hurting, he asked, “Why?”

She lifted her gaze toward the window. “I just think we’re getting . . . too involved. And, with me going back to New York soon, I just thought . . .”

Her voice faded away, as did his hopes—but then they rose again. Did she feel she was getting too involved? That must mean she cared for him. He definitely wasn’t ready to have her leave his life. He’d do whatever it took to win her, even if that meant backing off in the short-term, with the long-term goal of staying close by.

He reached out again and gently turned her chin until she looked into his eyes. “I’d still like to see you.”

She bit her lip, then said, “I just don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

Afraid if he didn’t backpedal a little he might lose her altogether, for the first time since he’d told his mother he hadn’t taken that pack of gum from 7-11 when he was five, he lied. “You know, I did some thinking last night, too. This has all moved rather quickly. You’re probably right—being just friends might be wiser for us.”

“I don’t know if I can still see you.” She stood and he stood, too. “I think it would be best if we broke it off totally.”

He stepped in front of her, close, but not too close. “Lori, have I done anything wrong?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

Not wanting to leave without having a foot back in the door, he hid his pain and asked, “Then can I still stop by and see you now and then?”

She paused. Debated. Finally nodded.

John raised an eyebrow. “Dinner tonight?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m going to turn in early.”

“Okay. Get some sleep.” He forced a grin. “See you around, friend.”

She smiled faintly and nodded. “See you around.”

She closed the door behind him, and he walked to his truck, his muscles tight.

He had some questions to ask his bishop.

~

A scowling boy, probably twelve or thirteen, answered the door and peered up at John through long, ragged, black bangs. “Yeah?”

“I need to speak with Bishop Robertson, please.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” The kid rolled his eyes. “Don’t you know what day this is?”

Punk. “Sure I do. It’s Wednesday.”

“Yeah, Wednesday. The first day of Peach Days, and my sister is in the Junior Peach Queen Pageant at the middle school.” The boy called back over his shoulder, “Dad. Someone else to see you.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Again.”

“Sorry.” The kid was resentful, but John could understand his frustration; after all, his own father had been a bishop at one time. His questions could certainly wait another day. In fact, he could talk with his own dad later tonight or tomorrow. “Hey, look. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come back another time.”

But then the bishop was at the door. “John. Hi.”

“Hi, Bishop. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting a family event. I’ll come back later.”

The bishop motioned him in. “I have some time.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m sure I can give you thirty minutes, anyway.” He pulled the door open wide, and glanced back at his son with a smile. “Then we’ll leave and we’ll still be thirty minutes early for the pageant, just like we planned, okay?”

The boy stared through his bangs; he seemed to accept what his father was telling him because he shrugged and said “Okay” before disappearing into the living room.

The bishop led the way down the hall and through the first doorway. The room must have originally been a medium-sized bedroom, but it now housed a desk and computer and a couple of chairs.

John had known Bishop Robertson for more than five years, but had only met his family on a few occasions, usually at holiday time.

The bishop might look a little out of shape, but John and the rest of the single guys had learned from experience that looks could be deceiving—the bishop was rock hard muscle with a belly. He wasn’t someone you wanted to have block you in a game of football or on the basketball court, either. Now John realized what a sacrifice those games must have been for the bishop’s family.

Bishop Robertson motioned John to sit and did the same, settling back comfortably into the easy chair. “So, what can I do for you?”

John hesitated. “I’m not sure exactly what I’m asking, but I need help figuring out some things.” He started slowly, but soon was pouring out his story. Meeting Lori and being smitten by her. His talk with Dawn. Dating Lori. Being dumped by Lori. And how he very much still wanted to date her.

When the words quit spewing from his mouth, John sat back in his chair, relieved.

“Whew. That’s quite a tale. But how exactly can I help you?”

“I have a lot of questions. But mainly I just need some perspective on how to proceed.” John told the bishop about Lori’s father’s betrayal and her subsequent mistrust of men. “I really care about her, Bishop. How can I get her to trust me? What do I do next?”

Bishop Robertson steepled his fingers and said, softly, “Pursue her gently. Don’t put pressure on her. At the same time, prepare yourself to accept whatever she decides.”

Disappointed, John said, “Then I might lose her.”

“Yes.” The bishop paused, as if considering his words. “Sometimes that happens.”

“But—”

The bishop held up his hand and John quieted.

“John, I think it’s fairly obvious to everyone in the ward that Dawn Lawson cares for you deeply.”

“Dawn?”

“The point I’m trying to make is that you can’t force people to do what you want them to. You can’t change things with Lori if she doesn’t want to go there, no matter how much you wish you could. Just as Dawn can’t change things with you, no matter how much she wishes she could and no matter what she does.” The bishop looked John straight in the eye. “I just want you to remember that you can’t dictate how a person responds to you, even if you want it with all your heart.”

Guilt speared John. He knew he’d hurt Dawn. “That hardly seems fair.”

“It’s not. But it is real life. It has to do with that darned agency we fought so hard for in the pre-mortal life.”

“So you’re suggesting I pursue Lori. But if she doesn’t want to be pursued, step away and let her go.”

The bishop nodded. “I wish I could help you more. I can’t make this decision for you, John. And you can’t make it for Lori.”

THE GARDEN GURU

Dear Ms. Scott: We want to start a community garden in our subdivision. We already have a small plot donated. What is the best way to set this up to avoid problems down the road? I want to participate, but I also want to be in control of what I plant. (Phil)

Dear Phil: Give each individual or family their own plot of land in the community garden, as a small well-tended plot will produce more than a larger, neglected one. Have a kickoff date when someone (a local farmer, perhaps?) will till the plot and when everyone starts planting at the same time. This will get some excitement going. A community garden is a great opportunity to work together as a team, but it does require some give-and-take. And the harvest will be well worth it. Since the harvest is over for this year, let me tell you the best time to plant in the spring . . .