Eighteen

Allie burst into the foyer and blindly raced toward the ladies’ room. The warm tears that had blurred her vision trickled to the corners of her mouth and left their salty trace upon her tongue.

When Frederick turned down Louise’s blatant invitation, Allie had been stricken anew with the gross misjudgment she’d dealt him. She had lined up a few pieces of incriminating evidence and assumed the worst of Frederick without even giving him a chance. And this morning, she clearly recognized his body language. More than once, he had attempted to put some healthy boundaries between himself and Louise, but she kept ignoring his hints.

After negotiating around a young couple, Allie hit the restroom’s door and plunged into the posh lounge. The smell of rose potpourri struck her as strongly as the new rush of emotions. Realizing she’d left her purse and the packet of tissue therein, Allie hurried to the countertop box of tissue. She grabbed a handful, wheeled toward a stall, and nearly plowed over an old lady and her walker.

“I’m sooooo soooooorrrry!” Allie wailed.

“That’s okay, sugar,” the matron soothed, and looked at Allie like she was bananas. “You don’t have to cry about it. You didn’t even touch me.”

“Oh, it’s not you I’m upset about!” Allie fretted while the woman stared at her. “It’s . . . it’s . . .” She waved her hand. “Never mind,” Allie mumbled and scurried into a stall.

No sooner had the stall door slammed than the old lady grumbled, “These young women and their problems.”

Allie bit her lips together, blotted at the tears, and tried to regain her composure. In the height of emotion, her left leg complained against the new spike heels she’d bought to match her outfit. The building’s cold temperature had finally gotten to her old break. Allie examined the tile floor on which she stood. The best she could tell through the tears, the floor was clean. She slipped out of the heels and wiggled her toes against the cool tile. The pain in her leg subsided to a dull twinge.

As always, the pain brought back memories of how the injury occurred. Allie hiccoughed over her tears and remembered the infinite respect and integrity in Frederick’s eyes the day he proposed. The respect and integrity were still there. He could have taken Louise up on her offer. Instead, he’d told her he didn’t entertain women in his house alone. He hasn’t changed, Allie thought with a surge of new tears. He hasn’t changed at all.

She relived that day Louise had jumped from the picnic table into his arms, knocked him down, and kissed him. At the time, Allie had interpreted the incident as something Frederick must have enjoyed. But in the light of her discoveries from last night and Frederick’s rejection of Louise’s invitation, Allie realized Frederick had very likely been a victim of Louise’s tornado tendencies.

Her heart swelled with more love than she thought possible. Allie placed her arm against the stall, rested her forehead on her arm, closed her eyes, and recalled his open admiration from last night. That same blatant attraction had been present only minutes ago, like a force from the past that simply would not go away. And mingled with the attraction was a tinge of pain and a question.

“Oh, God,” Allie whispered through a sniffle, “have you put Frederick back into my life for a reason?”

The answer to her prayer came with the memory of her decision from last night—that if Frederick were interested then she would reawaken their relationship, regardless of what her family thought.

“I should have married him ten years ago,” she affirmed as a slow anger began to burn against herself and Aunt Landon.

“God, help me,” Allie whispered. “Oh, God, help me. Help us.”

She lifted her head, lowered her arm, and dabbed at the tears. Allie hadn’t been seriously interested in a man since Frederick Wently. And she knew she never would be. He was the standard by which she judged all men; and in her eyes, they all came up lacking. After several seconds of deep breathing, her trembling subsided. Her legs strengthened as did her resolve. She decided that perhaps she could face the world again. Allie stepped back into the fuchsia heels, opened the stall, and nearly bumped into the same lady with her walker.

The woman gawked straight at Allie, then whipped her walker around and scooted toward the exit. Allie watched her go and realized she’d just been eavesdropping. Shaking her head, Allie moved to the mirror.

“Some people need to get a life,” she muttered at her reflection, then giggled. No telling what that poor woman thought, she mused and assessed the makeup damage her cry had created. Fortunately, her eye makeup was waterproof, so the only evidence of her tears was a few streaks to her blusher. Allie gently smoothed a tissue over the problem areas and dabbed at her eyes again. Other than slight puffiness tinged with red, there was no evidence she’d been crying. She hoped by the service’s end even the redness would subside—and certainly by the time she got home. Even if no one else noticed the evidence of her emotion, Mrs. Grove would. That eagle-eyed matron missed little.

She certainly hadn’t missed Allie’s desire to go to services this morning. Allie had reluctantly offered to stay home with Barry, still in the throes of a stomach virus. But Mrs. Grove had taken one look at Allie and insisted that she and her husband would tend him. Of course, Macy and Charlie never argued with the Groves or offered to stay with their son themselves. They were too hyped about trying the new steakhouse after church. Now Allie was so glad the Groves were stubborn in their insistence to stay behind. If she hadn’t been here, she would have missed one of the most important moments of her life.

Allie squared her shoulders. The time had come to face Frederick again. Maybe they could start over. And maybe this time, they could make it last.

Frederick stood near the sanctuary door and watched the ladies’ room. He also watched the sandy-haired man in the sport coat. The guy was obviously waiting on Allie. He’d been trotting behind her while she streaked across the foyer. Just about the time he was going to tap her on the shoulder, she’d maneuvered around a young family, and the guy lost the moment. Now he leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, waiting.

Narrowing his eyes, Frederick sized up the man. The guy checked a large gold watch and fidgeted with the clasp as his attention darted around the hall. The assured tilt of his head gave him a cocky edge, and Frederick wanted to wipe the smug expression off the guy’s face.

The ladies’ room door opened. Allie stepped out and strode back into the foyer. Other than her slightly reddened eyes, no one would guess she’d been crying. And Frederick was as curious as ever for the reason. He sensed her emotion involved him and prayed it was all good.

When the stranger stepped toward her and spoke, Frederick decided not to leave Allie to the snares of what he called a “church wolf.” Frederick had long ago realized that many men and women used church merely as a place to hit on the opposite sex. While he saw nothing wrong with a strong singles’ group and figured the best place to meet a spouse was at church, Frederick found it hard to swallow when people used the church as a hot spot for picking up dates and nothing more. If this dude wasn’t a wolf, Frederick would eat one of his cowboy boots. He moved toward Allie, who was gladly shaking the guy’s hand and smiling into his face as if she already knew him. And the church wolf was looking at Allie like he’d like to take her home with him now. A fresh shaft of jealousy surged through Frederick. What was the deal with Allie and men these days? First Jim, now this . . . this . . . impostor.

Without acknowledging the man, Frederick neared Allie and said, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Allie glanced into his eyes, ducked her head, and tucked a strand of short hair behind her ear. Frederick used every ounce of restraint to keep from taking her hand in his. Her eyes hinted that she would have liked nothing more.

“I’m Brent Everson,” the stranger said and offered his hand to Frederick. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t,” Frederick said and made himself shake the guy’s hand. He looked into the man’s eyes and saw everything he expected to see—right down to the self-centered desires.

“Brent is my cousin,” Allie explained.

“Well, a used-to-be cousin,” Brent supplied and smiled toward Allie. “Like I was just explaining to Allie, I saw her from across the sanctuary and was nearly dead sure that was her. Turned out I was right.” He shifted his weight to the left and shifted back to the right.

“I married Allie’s cousin,” Brent continued. “But she passed away last year.” He looked beyond Allie with just the right hint of regret.

Frederick nearly raised his hands and huffed, What gives with these dead wives or fiancées?

“I was so sorry when I heard,” Allie said and laid her hand on his arm. “That was the saddest funeral I’ve ever been to in my life.”

“It was just such a shock,” Brent said, his eyes going red.

Nice theatrics, Frederick thought and wondered if the guy could ever love someone as much as he obviously loved himself.

“I had no idea that killer bees could really kill someone,” Allie continued.

Frederick swallowed an incredulous snort. “Killer bees?” he blurted.

“Yes. My wife—her name was Chrissy—she loved to garden, much like you, Allie . . .” Brent paused long enough to bathe Allie in an adoring gaze. “Anyway, she was near the woods behind the house one evening and stumbled into a hive of killer bees. They overtook her and,” he lowered his head and crossed his arms, “she had an allergic reaction and died.”

Frederick eyed Allie, who was just as attentive to “poor Brent” as she had been to “poor Jim.”

“It was just dreadful,” she soothed.

Brent sniffed and squared his shoulders. “But I’m getting better all the time. You know, life must go on.”

“Listen, would you like to sit with us?” Allie asked. “I’ve got a new friend—Frederick’s friend, actually—whose fiancée suddenly died about nine months ago. I think the two of you might be able to help each other.”

“Sure, I’d love to sit with you,” Brent agreed, and the hungry look in his cold, green eyes suggested he barely remembered his wife’s name. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other; we need to get caught up.” He tugged Allie into the crook of his arm and moved toward the sanctuary.

Frederick rubbed the corners of his mouth and watched the two walk away. Allie didn’t even have the decency to look back at him. He glared at Brent and decided the time had come to make a move with Allie. Enough with this undercover operation. Frederick should let his heart and intent be known or risk losing her forever.

“Frederick!” Helena’s ecstatic voice echoed from near the entryway.

He braced himself for a knock-you-flat hug and a cloud of perfume to go with it while turning toward her. She broke loose from a tall, lanky guy who looked like he could stand beneath a basketball net and dunk the ball flatfooted. His jeans were twice as long as Frederick’s, and Frederick tried to imagine the guy folding himself to fit into his airplane. The image left him on the verge of laughter.

“Frederick!” she repeated. “I didn’t know you were going to be here this morning!”

“Well, it was a last-minute decision, actually,” Frederick explained as the orchestra’s first strains of “Lord, I Lift Your Name on High” filtered from the sanctuary.

Helena looked every bit as cute as her sister was gorgeous. For once she wore a demurely cut dress that made her look closer to twenty-nine than nineteen. Her hair was caught up in a twist, and she had the decency to offer Frederick a friendly, sideways hug and nothing more. However, her knock-your-socks-off perfume was as powerful as her hug was discreet. A sixth sense told Frederick the guy approaching must be Craig Hayden.

“Craig,” Helena said and turned toward him, “this is my sister’s boyfriend, Frederick.”

“More like a big brother,” Frederick corrected and shook Craig’s hand.

“Yeah, right,” Helena teased, her glossy lips curving into a knowing smile.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Craig said. The sharp-eyed guy looked from Helena to Frederick and back to Helena like a pitbull protecting his favorite bone. Frederick nearly raised his hands palms outward in silent denial of any romantic interest in Helena. Frankly, he was thankful that Helena’s boyfriend seemed so attached. Maybe the two of them would get married, and Helena would stop kissing on him.

The orchestra’s increased volume suggested the service was within seconds of starting. “I guess we’re just in time,” Helena said as she grabbed Frederick on one side and Craig on the other.

“We’re sitting on the south side,” Frederick said. He pointed to the right, suavely disentangled himself from Helena, and motioned for the couple to move ahead of him.

By the time Frederick entered the sanctuary, he suspected that Allie had somehow landed between “poor Jim” and “poor Brent.” When he stepped down the aisle, his suspicion was confirmed.