Jed walked home, his steps heavy, as Mark hopped along beside him, bouncing with his excitement over the new stickers in his book. Jed did not share his enthusiasm.
“See, Uncle Jed, I passed, and she didn’t have to kiss me,” Mark chattered. “And now you’re all done with Book One! That’s so totally radical, Uncle Jed! When we get home, I’ll get Book Two out for you. There’s way better songs in it. I’ll show you the best ones, and show you my cheater notes. Just don’t tell Miss Jefferson about them. And then we can. . .”
Jed did not feel very radical. He let Mark prattle on, barely paying attention to what the kid was saying. All Jed could think of was Jillian. He was falling hard and fast, despite his resolution to avoid getting involved in a relationship. Time and time again, Jillian proved she was nothing like Brenda. Jillian was in a class by herself. Professional, dignified, intelligent, and beautiful. And honest and unselfish. And from what he had seen so far, a dedicated Christian. No one could compare.
For himself, Jed didn’t care that Mark saw them, or what Mark thought, but if Jillian cared, then it mattered. He wondered why it made such a difference; after all, Mark was his nephew, so it wasn’t like Mark was just any student. But the fact that she was upset about it made the difference. What could he do? He’d have to have a talk with Mark, and then if he explained things to Jillian, maybe she’d feel better.
“. . .and then you start to play some of that Bach and Beethoven stuff, and some of it is really neat, but some of it is really boring, but Miss Jefferson will tell you how good it is for you to play all that stuff and then she’ll set that ticking thing and make you do it real fast, but then it really does start to sound good. And then in Book Four it gets even harder and she starts making you do scales with tons of black notes and. . .”
How could he convince Mark to keep this a secret? Like any typical eight-year-old boy, once you said the word secret, it became a general bulletin through the whole school population and entire neighborhood. Bribery? No, he would tell everyone the reason he got whatever he picked out. Threats? Another bad idea.
“Uncle Jed? Don’t you want to hear about Book Four?”
Maybe the kid would forget all about it. Maybe it was already forgotten. He was constantly forgetting about his homework and making his bed. Kids forgot things all the time.
“Uncle Jed? Uncle Jed? Aren’t you listening?”
“Huh? What, Mark? I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t hear. What was that again?”
“I said, why didn’t you just wait for her to get you a different sticker? Why did you let her kiss you? Gross!”
Maybe he wouldn’t forget that quickly. “Mark, I asked her to kiss me.”
“Eeww! Why? She’s got great stickers. Girls got germs, you know. And cooties.”
“I like to kiss Miss Jefferson.” At Mark’s horrified expression, Jed tried to scramble for another idea. “Doesn’t your dad ever kiss your mom?”
“Oh. That. Yeah, he does.”
“Well, it’s kind of the same thing.”
“Oh.”
Jed could almost see it like a light going on inside Mark’s head. Finally, he was getting somewhere. “It’s no big deal, Mark. Really. It’s nothing.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Mark walked in silence the rest of the way home. Jed thought Mark looked very serious for a little kid. He was too young now, but in a couple of years he would start having girlfriends of his own. Jed prided himself on handling it so fast. Now he could get on with his bigger problem of convincing Jillian, which would be the hard part.
As soon as they entered the house, Jed hurried into the kitchen to start supper. Instead of going outside to play, Mark sat at the table and watched him. Jed thought his behavior unusual, but since he was starting a bit late, he didn’t have time to concern himself. He had barely got everything going, his lunch packed, and was hurriedly trying to gulp down his coffee when Liz and Frank walked into the kitchen.
“Hi, Jed. How was your day?”
“Fine. Don’t forget to pick Betsy up at 6:00; remember, today is Angela’s birthday party. And I’m almost on my way.” Jed grabbed his lunch pail and rushed to swallow the last gulp of his coffee before he dashed out the door.
Mark piped up. “Guess what, Mom, Dad?”
Frank and Liz started to peek inside the oven and pots on the stove. “What, Mark?” Frank asked absently.
“Uncle Jed and Miss Jefferson are getting married.”
Jed choked on his coffee, spitting most of it into the sink, and dribbling some of it down the front of his shirt.
Liz dropped the pot lid and gasped. “Jed? Why didn’t you tell me?” She stood straight and placed her hands on her hips, feet slightly apart. “Have I been missing something? Is there anything you want to tell me? Or do you have some explaining to do, little brother?”
Jed tried to speak through his cough, barely getting the words out. “Mark! I’m not going to marry Miss Jefferson! What gave you an idea like that?” Jed wheezed for air as another fit of coughing seized him.
“You said it was just like Mom and Dad. And they have to because they’re married.”
Liz took advantage of Jed’s inability to speak. “What do Mom and Dad have to do, Mark?”
Mark made a face. “You know! Kiss!” Mark opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out, grabbed his own neck with both hands as if choking himself, then crossed his eyes.
Jed’s face burned as Liz and Frank stared at him. The tightening sensation in his throat wouldn’t allow him to speak.
“I can hardly wait to hear this one,” Liz said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.
Mark continued on, unaware of Jed’s predicament. “When I got to my piano lesson, Uncle Jed was kissing Miss Jefferson because he passed Book One. I told her she better not kiss me; I want stickers for passing. I know she’s got a huge one of Mario and Luigi, but Uncle Jed said it was okay for her to kiss him because he asked her to. And it was just like you and Dad, you know, cause, like, you and Dad are married, and that’s how babies are made, you know.”
“Oh?” Liz looked down at Mark, then back at Jed, then pressed her lips tightly together. “Well, Uncle Jed? Want to tell me all about passing Book One?”
Thankfully, Frank had the sense to be quiet. Jed cleared his throat. “I’m going to be late for work!” he grumbled as he ran the dishcloth over the wet dribbles on the front of his shirt, then threw it in the sink. He made a grab for his lunch pail for the second time, and stormed out.
All the way to work, Jed’s guts churned. If Liz and Frank hadn’t guessed there was something happening between himself and Jillian before, they knew for sure now. But, worse than that, now Mark knew, and knew too much. Now the whole school, and probably every one of Jillian’s students would hear about it. Jillian would be devastated.
Would Mark tell the whole school his uncle Jed was marrying his piano teacher? Or worse? Liz and Frank had better straighten the kid out about the reasons for kissing a girl. Although come to think of it, what were his reasons?
Jed ran in and punched his time card with only a minute to spare. He threw his stuff in his locker, changed into his work boots, and hurried to his station. Another night of the same old thing. Today he’d have to make an extra effort to keep his mind on his job.
With relief, Jillian bade good-bye to the last student of the day. All evening, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything except the heart-wrenching embarrassment of being interrupted by a child, a student no less, caught in the most exhilarating kiss of her entire lifetime, not that she’d been kissed that often. Now that she was finally alone, she could deal with it rationally. Her stomach flip-flopped thinking about it as she leaned with her back against the door.
Jillian covered her face with her hands and sagged into the door. She never did get around to telling Jed that she didn’t think it wise to see him outside of piano lessons. And now this! No matter how much she liked him and enjoyed spending time with him, she wasn’t going to risk her reputation or her heart for him. She had to come to a decision on which way she would proceed with Jed.
Her decision was redundant; either way, she lost. She could keep with her original plan to refuse to see him again except for piano lessons, but she didn’t think she could handle the strain of seeing him twice a week and knowing there would be no more, now that she knew how much fun he was to be with. Her only other option would be to tell him to find another teacher, so she would never see him again. Jillian sank lower as she continued to lean against the door. She couldn’t handle that, either.
She shuffled into the kitchen to make herself some tea to help her relax, but only stared into the bottom of the empty cup. She opened her Bible to read, but none of the words made sense. Instead of sitting up all night and moping, she decided to go to bed. She would be able to think more rationally in the morning.
Yawning as she hopped into bed, she switched off the light, but she found she couldn’t close her eyes. Every time she did, all she could see was Jed with his eyes closed, his untamed hair falling onto his forehead and a lazy smile on his face. Either that or the horrified look on Mark Edwards’ face as he stood in the entrance hall. She tried praying about it, begging God for answers, but she only came up with blanks.
At 2:07 a.m., Jillian turned to the clock radio for the hundredth time. Rather than stare at the ceiling all night unable to decide what to do, she shrugged on her housecoat and shuffled into the kitchen to make herself some chamomile tea in the hope that it would help her sleep.
Sitting at the table, she watched the kettle, waiting for it to boil. Outside, a rumbling sound echoed, then stopped in front of the house.
Jillian ran to the front window to peek through the blinds: Jed’s truck. The interior light came on as the door opened. Jillian yanked her fingers out of the blinds and ran to the door, clutching the neckline of her housecoat to her throat when he knocked on the door. For a second, she considered leaving him standing outside, but she opened the door anyway.
A rush of cold air whooshed in as Jed stood in the doorway, staring at his feet. Splotches of dirt streaked his shirt, and his jeans were so ratty they had holes in them. His typically unruly hair lay flattened in places, and he smelled like a grease pit. The only clean part about him was his cowboy boots.
“What are you doing here? It’s two in the morning!”
He shoved his hands in his pocket. “I know. I was on my way home from work and saw your kitchen light on. Can we talk?”