Eighteen

He’d given Brenda long enough. Not one of his e-mails, text messages, or phone calls had been answered. Seth had no doubt where he’d find her at six o’clock on Thursday morning. She’d be working off the guilt from eating pizza at her Wednesday night book club.

He rubbed his hand over his face as he turned onto Spring Street. He was a morning person, but setting the alarm for four o’clock wasn’t his idea of fun. He scanned the Anytime Fitness parking lot. Three spaces from the front door, he spotted the silver Audi. But instead of opening the car door, he closed his eyes.

Lord, let my words be pleasing to You. You know my heart is not filled with grace at this moment, but let me listen to You before I speak.

Two minutes later, he stood face-to-face with a sweaty, disheveled, and extremely self-conscious Brenda.

As the blush covered her cheeks and neck, she greeted him with a smile and a hug that he didn’t return. “What a surprise! What are you doing here?”

“I just have a few questions.” He lifted the two envelopes in his hand as a shield. “Does this job you’ve offered April really exist?”

“Of course! What do you take me for?”

Lord, help. . . . His teeth clamped down on his tongue until he could trust himself with words.

“Is there any part of this offer that isn’t exactly the way you described it to her?”

“She’ll be on the air with her own show in six weeks, I promise.” A manicured hand ran from his shoulder to his elbow. “You must be sooo proud of her.”

Pins and needles prickled along his spine. “If you’re lying about any of this, I’ll be back.” He hadn’t intended to sound like the Terminator. Then again, he liked the sound of that title. That was, in fact, what he’d come to do.

“You’ll always be back, Seth.” Pink nails retraced the line from his elbow to shoulder.

Seth drew back. The muscles in his neck tightened like a vise. The envelopes in his hand felt suddenly heavy. He shoved the smaller one, the one addressed to her father, in front of her face. “This is the last payment. I need your signature on the deed, and this will all be behind us.”

The color left her face. She blinked. And then her lips pulled tight across her teeth and her shoulders straightened. “There’s no proof that you’ve given me a single penny for my half.”

❧

The promised call from Brenda hadn’t come. April had left messages five days in a row. She tossed her cell phone on her desk and her pencil holder in the cardboard box on the floor. She could recite the voice mail message by heart, flawlessly imitating the chirpy tone.

Plunking down on her desk chair, she stared at the KOEK home page, trying to picture her face on it. Picking up her phone, she did the thing Brenda had, with no explanation, told her not to do. She dialed the station and asked for the manager.

“Bud Palmer here.”

“Mr. Palmer, this is April Douglas.”

“Yes. I’ve been waiting for Brenda to set up a meeting with you.”

April’s shoulders lowered from their permanent place near her ears. He knew who she was. That eliminated her biggest fear, anyway. “Mr. Palmer, I’ve got tons of questions, and I imagine you have some for me. If you’re busy right now, I’ll call back when it’s convenient.”

“I’ll make time right now. I’m excited about you coming. We put a half page ad in the Winona Daily News announcing the upcoming On the Spot.”

“What’s that?”

“Your. . .show.” He sounded confused. “Brenda came up with the idea. Hasn’t she told you anything? Yeah, On the Spot. Our tagline is ‘Real People. Real Shockers.’ ”

April’s throat constricted. “Wh. . .what is the format?”

“Just like it sounds. One guest per show. They sit there having coffee with you just like you’re old buddies, and then zam! they let go a zinger, some buried secret or juicy bit of gossip about a friend, old boss, or ex—somebody they want to get even with.” His laugh belonged in a circus sideshow. “And then you call that person on the phone and repeat what you just heard. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Black splashes spattered across her field of vision. Her breath came in short, squeezed spurts. April lowered her head to her knees.

“April? Did I lose you? Hello?”

“Mr. Palmer. . .” Her fingers spasmed around the phone. “That’s not. . .the job. . .I was offered.”

❧

There was a note on her door when she got home. April—I found someone to rent the apartment on the 15th. Stop in to say good-bye and give me your address before you move. Sydney.

She was jobless. In six days, she’d be homeless. She hadn’t even found an apartment in Winona yet—not that she would have gone there now. April ripped down the note and kicked open the door. Bud Palmer’s cackle echoed in her ears. “Christian? You thought this was a Christian show? Where in the world did you get that idea?”

Closing the door, she leaned against it. Lord Jesus. . . . It was the beginning and ending of her prayer, the same one she’d repeated over and over since breaking the phone connection with Bud Palmer. From the dim recesses of her memory, a verse whispered. . . . “The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.”

Her purse dropped, her arms crossed over her waist. She hadn’t yet shed a tear. Walking, driving, breathing sucked all her energy, not leaving enough to manufacture tears. She couldn’t afford the luxury of giving in to self-pity yet. She should be doing something—making lists, searching the Internet, thinking. But thoughts wouldn’t stick together in her mind.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and stared at the hodgepodge of boxes, bags, and baskets that cluttered her living room. Splash and Willy treaded water between two DVD skyscrapers. Snow Bear slept on a pile of folded blankets on the floor. . .like the street bear he was soon to be. Thin, late-afternoon sunlight hit the picture leaning against a box on the couch. Itasca. In the photograph, misty morning light filtering through the trees, reflecting in the water. The headwaters of the mighty Mississippi. . .quiet, serene. . .everything her life wasn’t at the moment. A place of beginnings, a place to think, to sort through the remnants of what used to be her life. . .

She could pack tonight and be there by noon tomorrow. She’d miss her last day of work and the surprise going away party everyone had been whispering about. But maybe they’d be willing to postpone it until Monday. It wasn’t like she was leaving town.

Like a shot of caffeine, the plan jolted her into action. Mental lists made lines and columns out of the mess that had filled her head just moments before. Call Jill, cancel Winona hotel reservation, call Itasca, tell Yvonne, Mom, Seth. . . .

Seth. Earlier, with Bud Palmer’s laugh still ringing in her ear, she’d picked up the phone to call him. And then it hit her. He’d feel responsible. He’d shared April’s dream with Brenda, like handing her live ammunition. She had to tell him in person that she wasn’t angry. He needed to see that she was doing okay.

Right.

As she bent to pick up her purse, a buzz sounded in the outside pocket. She pulled out her phone and stared at the caller ID. “Hi, Mom.” She didn’t have the energy to mask her mood.

“April?” Her voice sounded tight, strained. “I. . .heard you turned down the job in Winona.”

Alarm bells went off in April’s head. “Where did you hear that, and how did you know—”

“Did you get another job offer, honey?” Her voice bordered on shrill.

“No.” Muffled sobs met her ear. Not again, not now. “What’s going on, Mom? How did you—”

“It’s all my fault!” A louder sob. “I thought it was the best thing. I thought it would be good for you to get away from. . .there.”

Every cell in April’s brain stood at attention. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought you’d love the new job. Brenda made it sound like it was perfect for you.”

“Brenda?” April was yelling, but she didn’t care. “You talked to Brenda?”

“It was weeks ago, before I met Seth. I was so worried about you. I wanted to know the truth about him, so I looked her up, and she said she had the perfect solution. . . .”

April’s phone snapped shut.

❧

The last time she’d entered the doors of KXPB-TV, she’d been young and idealistic, with a head full of dreams. Before Caitlyn died, before she got a great job and then threw it away like a dog with a bone in his mouth looking at his own reflection.

She stepped into the dimly lit empty reception area. No one sat at the two desks behind the counter. The screen saver on a monitor rolled and transposed the call letters. KXPB. . .X-ceeding X-pectations.

From somewhere in the back of the long, narrow building came the sound of the current broadcast. The news was over, and the seven-to-eight slot was filled with spotlights on local organizations and school functions. Prime-Time Pine Bluff.

If she hadn’t seen Seth’s Camry in the parking lot, she would have left. The quiet was eerie, and she had no idea where to find him. A blade of light from a doorway sliced across the darkened hallway in front of her. She walked toward it, stopping when she reached the door. Mervin Fuller, Station Manager, the nameplate read. She tapped on the door.

“Come on in.”

The voice startled her. She pushed the door open. With his phone in one hand, pencil in the other, and feet crossed on top of the desk, Seth looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

“April!” His feet arced over the corner of the desk and hit the floor at the same time his phone landed in its cradle. “Hi!” He stood and walked toward her, hands reaching out before she reached him.

She thought she was smiling. But the look on Seth’s face told her otherwise. His hands clamped on her arms. “Sit down.” He guided her to a chair and took the one beside her. “What’s wrong?”

The sobs gave no warning. Racking, jarring, they emanated from some buried storehouse of hurt and fear and longing.

Like a fortress, his arms surrounded her. Her face pressed against his chest. He didn’t talk, just held her tighter, stroked her hair. Never in her life had she been held like this. How many times as a little girl had she imagined a rescuer, someone who would step in and make things right, who would defend and protect her? God had been her strength, but still she’d craved the feel of strong arms around her. Over the thud of Seth’s heart, she heard him whisper.

“Lord, comfort her, protect her, and fill her with Your love and the knowledge of Your presence.” His fingers stroked her cheek. “Whatever it is, April, I’m here for you. We’ll get through it. We’ll work it out.”

His words brought fresh tears. Finally, when his shirt was damp and her eyes sore, but there were no more tears, she told him.

❧

Seth eased off the accelerator when his headlights lit the sign for the 107A exit. He’d only been driving for about fifty minutes, but the muscles in his forearms ached from gripping the wheel. A sense of déjà vu washed over him. This was his second trip to St. Paul in fourteen hours.

But this time, he was hoping to not find Brenda.

As he turned onto the exit, his shirt pulled away from his chest then touched his skin again, cold and damp with April’s tears. Saying good-bye had been so hard tonight. But the only way he could offer her any hope was to bring an end to his three years of bondage to the Miss-St.-Cloud-wannabe.

He took a right on 70th Street. Minutes later, he pulled into the circle driveway on Lone Oak Road and parked in front of two tall white columns. It was the first time he’d ever used the front door.

Chimes echoed behind double mahogany doors at the press of his finger against a lit button. The door swung open, and the woman who had almost become his mother-in-law stood before him. Openmouthed shock smoothed her face in a way Botox never had. “Seth!”

“Margaret.”

Perfectly tipped nails ran through short-cropped, eternally blond hair. “Are you. . .looking for Brenda?” A spark of hope lit her gray eyes.

“No.” Absolutely no. “Is Gil home?”

Margaret tugged at the bottom of her fitted blouse. “He’s in his office.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside for him to pass. “I have raspberry lemonade.”

He stopped. The sadness in her voice turned him around. “That would be good.” He gave her a quick hug. Though she probably deserved most of the blame for the way her daughter had turned out, he doubted that she had any clue.

She led the way across marble floors and handwoven wool rugs to the study, stopping on the way to fill a chilled glass with lemonade.

Gil Cadwell stood in front of an arched window with his back to the door. In his midfifties, he was still a striking man. Disdain for golf carts kept him in shape.

“Hello, Gil.”

The man whirled. “Seth!” A grin lit his face. He covered the space between them in four long strides and engulfed Seth in a bear hug. “It’s been too long. Sit down.” He pulled away and gestured to two overstuffed leather chairs. As they sat down, he said, “Got your check this afternoon. By courier—you must have been anxious to make that last payment. I imagine that feels mighty good. You’re a prince of a guy, Mr. Bachelor. More of a man than I would have been at your age.”

“Thank you. But. . .there’s a little problem.” Just imagining the look that would soon harden Gil’s features started his stomach churning. If he’d known any other way to put this to rest, he wouldn’t have involved the man who had been more of a father to him than his own father. “Brenda is refusing to sign over her half of the business.”

“What?” Gil’s eyes glinted like steel.

“I have nothing on paper to show that I paid her off.”

Gil rose to his feet. His hands coiled in tight fists at his sides. “I’ll take care of it, Seth. Enough is enough. She’ll sign. You’ve done more than anyone would have expected.” His shoulders suddenly lowered. Shame and frustration wove through a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry, Seth.”

Standing and closing the gap between them, Seth put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. They’d had too many conversations about Gil Cadwell’s oldest daughter. “It’s not your fault.” He pulled his hand away. “I just don’t know what game she’s playing this time. She doesn’t want the station, does she?”

“No. She doesn’t.” A sad smile lifted one corner of Gil’s mouth. “She wants you.”