Three

“Are you done?” Seth wondered if there was actual steam shooting out of his ears. “Because I’ll just wait until you are, and then I’ll explain that the brakes failed and I couldn’t stop the stupid thing if my life depended on it—which it did! You’re not the only one who could have been killed, lady!”

To her credit, the girl with the goldish blond hair looked appropriately mortified. She moved her sunglasses to the top of her head, as if needing to examine him better. As she stared at him, her expression evolved from anger to shock to embarrassment and then to the most artificial smile he’d seen in a long time. Strained though it was, he was pretty sure the corners of her mouth were pointed more up than down. Not that any hint of it was reflected in her eyes. They were pretty eyes—deep, deep blue surrounded by long lashes. She wasn’t wearing too much makeup. Then again, she’d probably spent hours layering on the natural look. He knew from experience that the pretty ones were always stuck on themselves.

Maybe he’d come on a little harsh. He could take the high road here. “Are you two all right?”

The girl who looked like she was dressed for Mardi Gras nodded as she backed away, eyes wide with shock or fear, then turned and ran. The blond gave something closely resembling a nod. Wasn’t this where she was supposed to ask how he was? Your brakes? That must have been frightening! You’re not hurt, are you? Should I call 911? Please accept my apology for completely spazzing out like that.

“You’re. . .Seth Bachelor.”

Did the woman have lockjaw? Not only did she seem incapable of an apology, she seemed to have trouble forcing words through her teeth. Was her mouth wired shut? Nobody could be that angry over a couple of busted trash bags. Who was she, anyway? Maybe she was the mayor’s daughter and the garbage bags had come out of her allowance. He refrained from hurling that one at her. “I am. And you are. . . ?”

“April Douglas.”

April Douglas. . .why did the name sound familiar? He’d remember that face if they’d ever met. Her eyes challenged, as if her name was supposed to elicit some response. He rifled through the little black book in his head. Sadly, most of the pages were blank. And if they’d dated even once, even years ago, he would have remembered those eyes. “Have we met?” It was the oldest pickup line in history; he hoped she wouldn’t think that was his intention. She was absolutely not his type.

“Not exactly.” Her tone was flat. “But I thought we shared a meaningful moment at the top of the water tower last week.”

Oh no. Not her. Lord, you do have a sense of humor. Not sure what he was supposed to say, he opened his mouth, but she spoke first.

“Can I interview you?”

Interview? Ah. . .this was her way of getting even. She’d probably focus her questions on his qualifications for driving an ATV instead of his cochairmanship of Cleanup Day. Well, he wasn’t going to make it easy for her. “Before or after picking up this mess?”

“During.”

❧

April shoved a crumpled beer can into a filled bag that sat on the ground. “How long have you been cochairing Cleanup Day?” Head down, she didn’t even look at the man in black as she held the microphone in his direction. If her equipment wasn’t good enough to pick up his answers, she’d wing it with a summary of the interview.

“Three years. Gil Cadwell did it before me. KXPB-TV has been sponsoring the cleanup since the seventies.”

If the leather jacket had buttons, they would have been popping. You’d think he was talking about running the country instead of garbage pickup. “Cosponsoring with the chamber of commerce.”

He bent over, creating a tempting spot for April to plant her hiking boot. She reeled in the thought. Tossing a wad of newspaper into his bag, he turned, still bent over, and looked at her. “For the past five years, yes.”

“But it was originally started by high school students. Yes?” Copying his word, she added her own inflection.

“No. It was started by the Kiwanis Club. They got the kids involved.”

Did that little detail really matter? “I heard there were almost two hundred volunteers signed up this year. That’s a bit of an increase over last year, isn’t it?”

“Two hundred and three this year. Last year there were a hundred and eighty-seven.”

The man was a master at splitting hairs. April stood, pressed dirty gloves against the small of her back, and stared at Seth Bachelor’s hunched-over spine. “Who provides the food for the volunteers?”

“KXPB supplies the food and does all the recruiting of volunteers. The chamber of commerce donates the bags, reflective vests, and gloves.” He stood up. One eyebrow crept a fraction of an inch higher than the other. “Your radio station foots the bill for the portable toilets.”

That was it. April tied the top of a half-full trash bag. The toilet comment was the last straw. Not the fact, but the delivery. “Thank you, Mr. Bachelor, for your cooperation.” Her bag sailed through the air, missing the weatherman by a good two feet.

❧

“You know him?” April handed a glass of sweetened tea to Yvonne, who was sitting cross-legged on April’s faded denim couch. “How come you never told me?”

“I did tell you.”

“You made it sound like you knew him like you know the snowplow driver! You didn’t say you knew him knew him. How come you never mentioned him?”

“It never came up. He’s been in my Wednesday night Bible study for a couple of months.”

“He’s a Christian?” April didn’t try to temper the incredulousness in her voice. “My sympathies to your pastor and his wife.” After pouring her own glass of tea, she moved her giant white teddy bear to the floor and sat down on the other end of the couch she’d nabbed from her mother’s basement before she moved. “The Larkins must have the patience of Job.”

Yvonne’s expression turned defensive. “Seth’s a really nice guy.”

Was she serious? Maybe Yvonne was just overtired from singing and shopping in the Cities. It was, after all, past midnight. April took a gulp of tea and a relaxing breath. Her emotions had been frazzled all day. She hadn’t felt good about her show this afternoon and had spent the evening in a mental boxing match.

“Then maybe I met a different Seth Bachelor. I could hardly use anything he said in the interview. It was like he was deliberately condescending, and enjoying it. If I’d said the sky was blue, he would have said it was purple.”

“And he would probably have been right. He’s the meteorologist.”

Yvonne’s effort to lighten the mood almost worked. April gave a weak smile and stared at Yvonne. Was it possible she had more than a passing interest in Seth Bachelor? Yvonne was engaged, but until that license was signed, things could change. If that were the case, April shouldn’t let her personal issues interfere. “Okay, so if he’s not the obnoxious, argumentative know-it-all he appeared to be, tell me something good about him.”

“He knows how to dress.”

April’s iced tea slopped over the side of the glass when she laughed. “You’re right. How could I have been so wrong about the guy? His style sense should cancel out all the negatives.”

“He’s cute.”

“A sad waste.”

Yvonne lowered her head, staring through curled top lashes. “He’s got a headful of Bible knowledge.”

“ ‘By their fruit you will recognize them.’ ”

“He’s really a nice guy!” Yvonne set her glass on the coffee table with a thud. In the silence that followed, a siren screamed below them, heading north on Main Street. “You just got off on the wrong foot with him. He’s witty and deep and discerning—he’s always got some new insight into whatever we’re studying.”

Where was his gift of discernment back in October? April sighed and rubbed her hand across her eyes. “Maybe he’s got a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on.”

Yvonne stood and took her glass to the sink, only ten feet from the couch in the small apartment. “I have to get some sleep.” Putting her hands on her hips, she turned to face April. “Come to Bible study with me on Wednesday.”

April picked up the white four-foot-high bear and plopped it on the couch next to her. Leaning against it, she curled her feet beneath her. “I have to wash my hair that night.”

❧

She should have gone to bed. But Snow Bear made an inviting pillow, and she hadn’t had the energy to move after Yvonne left. Now, squinting at the time on the microwave in the tiny alcove known as her kitchen, April massaged the kink in her neck. It was 2:32. Two hours of heavy, dreamless sleep in the fetal position and now she was awake, but her right leg wasn’t. Dragging herself off the couch, she shook the pins and needles out. Her numb foot slid on something, and she looked down. Her orange vest from the cleanup. Pictures of a day she’d like to forget flashed in her head.

Seth Bachelor was only part of the reason the day had gone wrong—she’d started the morning in a lousy mood. Grief was a strange thing. She’d been upbeat all week, buoyed by the positive feedback from the water tower show. Making arrangements for next week’s Slice of Life with April Douglas had kept the adrenaline flowing and her time at the station busy. But from the moment she’d opened her eyes the day before, sadness had settled on her chest like a weighted vest.

Thoughts of Caitlyn permeated even the most inane details of her morning. Caitlyn writing “Happy Birthday, Ape” on the bathroom mirror with toothpaste. . .the food fight Caitlyn had started with scrambled eggs because April had used too much pepper. . .trying on wigs and turbans after they’d both shaved their heads before Caitlyn’s first round of chemo. And then, reliving moments from last year’s Cleanup Day and her sister’s words, “I’m gonna beat this thing.”

The way April had blown up about the ATV slamming into “her” pile of trash was evidence of her lousy frame of mind. Had she known who the driver was before she yelled, there would have been some sense to her outburst, at least in her mind. But the accident wasn’t his fault. The brakes had failed, and he’d deserved some slack under the circumstances. It wasn’t like her to go ballistic without first checking out the facts.

Yvonne’s protective defense of the man was interesting. “Seth’s really a nice guy.” She’d said it twice. April had been in a miserable mood at the cleanup, but that didn’t explain his bristling responses to her questions. So where was the truth in all the contradictions? Was Seth Bachelor a chameleon, showing his “nice guy” side only when it fit his purposes? Maybe she should show up at the Wednesday night study after all. . .seeing the other side would be fascinating.

Then again, maybe she should just wash her hair.

❧

A low and distant rumble woke April to semiconsciousness. Pale pink light seeped between the slats of her blinds. Dawn. Sunday. What was the rumble? Her eyes shot open; her hand groped toward the nightstand where her cell phone quivered against the alarm clock. “Hello?”

“April? It’s Jill. Sorry to wake you. I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do a live coverage.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Two kids from the high school were in a car accident last night. One of them was killed; the other’s in critical condition. Some of the students are holding a prayer vigil outside the hospital. Orlando’s going to cover the press conference with the highway patrol; I don’t have anyone else who can go to the hospital.”

“I can do it. Do you have the names of the kids?”

“Yeah. . .here somewhere. . .Dave Martin was the one who was killed. Brock Louis is the one in the hospital.”

“Oh, no.” Her heart skipped a beat. She sat up, throwing off the covers.

“April? Do you know them?”

“Brock was a friend of my sister’s. How bad is he?”

“I don’t have details. Critical is all I know. Can you do this?”

Her eyes closed, April lifted a prayer and took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”

❧

Six o’clock on Sunday morning. The streets of Pine Bluff were silent, though a few hours from now they’d be brimming with early season tourists in search of breakfast. As she pulled out of her parking space and into the alley that paralleled Main Street, April turned on the radio. She preferred silence this early, but knew she needed something to reset her mood dial. KPOG’s six-to-nine slot was filled by Nick Joplin, an animated charismatic Christian who’d grown up in Warroad, just south of the Canadian border. Nick could talk faster than anyone April had ever met, though he didn’t touch caffeine. “Got a Holy Spirit buzz going on,” he claimed.

“It’s 6:01 in beautiful downtown Pine Bluff. Daffodils bloomin’ by my back door this mornin’. Just gotta praise God for color right now. Thank You, Lord, for all the little added touches. It’s got its problems, for sure, but it’s a fine world You made us. A fine world.”

As always, Nick had her smiling in the first minute. When he played a praise song, she sang along.

Her 2001 Grand Prix knew the route from her apartment to the station and then to the hospital. How many times had she driven that circuit? But this wasn’t the time to reminisce. Lord, let me be a comfort. Let me respect their grief but find a way to share their story. She turned the music up and sang until she got to the hospital.

She’d expected maybe a dozen teens. . .a small prayer circle near the front entrance. What she saw raised goose bumps on her arms. The grassy area inside the circle drive was full, not just teens but adults and young children. Fifty people, maybe more. . .at six thirty on a Sunday morning.

Father God, be glorified in this place. Let Your presence be felt.

❧

There was something invigorating about Nick Joplin’s voice. Seth wasn’t the kind who needed three cups of coffee to get moving in the morning, and Nick’s voice and choice of contemporary and gospel music fit his energy level. It was a good way to start a Sunday morning.

He was whistling to “Give Me Words to Speak” as he stepped out the back door and dumped an empty dog food can into the garbage. Just looking at the dark green bag that lined the trash can stopped the song on his lips. Trash. He’d picked up more of it yesterday than he’d touched in all of his twenty-seven years. He slammed the aluminum lid harder than he needed to and went back into the house, giving the screen door a shove for good measure. Maynard looked up from his chicken liver hash, reprimanding him for disturbing his breakfast.

“Sorry, boy.” Seth ruffled the part-mastiff’s ears. “That’s what a woman’ll do to you.”

As he poured a cup of Highlander Grog coffee, his gaze landed on the flashing red light on the kitchen phone. Another reminder of what a woman could do. He’d looked at the caller ID when the call came last night but hadn’t picked up the phone. The last thing he needed to hear at the end of a frustrating day was Brenda Cadwell’s voice. As he knew it would, a text message on his cell phone had followed in minutes. His answer had been short and not so sweet.

Glowering at the annoying light on the phone, he headed for the bathroom where he turned on the shower radio along with the water, needing the music to keep his Sunday morning mind-set.

It didn’t work. Thoughts of yesterday’s fiasco flooded his mind. As if failing brakes and exploding garbage bags weren’t enough, he had to go and have a run-in with that woman. Sarcastic, defensive, grating. . .April Douglas had been all that and then some. What was it about him that attracted the good-looking ones with attitudes? Where were all the soft-spoken godly women hiding out? And why was self-absorption so in style these days? He’d fallen for the queen of me-centered beauties, literally, and until he found someone who was everything Miss-St.-Cloud-wannabe wasn’t, his last name would also describe his marital status.

The shower radio was still on as he wiped the steam off the mirror. Humming to the music, he looked down at the book on the counter, a commentary on the book of Romans. This morning, the adult Sunday school class at church would be studying the last half of chapter 12, the part about showing kindness to your enemies. If there’d been a way to get out of this lesson, he would have, but it was his week to facilitate the discussion. Once again, the thought hit him that God had a sense of humor.

Back in January, when he’d signed the clipboard, he had no idea what the topic would be this week. If the Christian Education Committee knew the extent of his hypocrisy, they’d show him the door.

Seth waited for “Sunday’s Comin’ ” to end before reaching around the shower door to turn off the radio. As he touched the knob, Nick Joplin’s voice changed, suddenly somber. “Two local teens were involved in an accident on Highway 65 around midnight last night. David Martin, a senior at Pine Bluff High School, was pronounced dead at the scene. Another senior, Brock Louis, is in critical condition at Emerson Memorial. April Douglas is live at the hospital where students have been holding a prayer vigil since word of the accident got out during the night. April, I understand you know the young man who was injured.”

“I do, Nick, and I have to echo what I’ve been hearing from the people gathered here this morning. Brock is the kind of guy who never plays favorites; he makes everybody, teachers and students alike, feel. . .like. . . ,” her voice faltered, “like a friend.” Several seconds passed. “Dave Martin was one of those friends. He and Brock had been buddies since grade school. The kids, the faculty, and the staff are reeling from the loss. Allison Johansen was at the party Dave and Brock attended last night. Allison, I know it’s not easy for you to talk right now, but can you give us some idea what Dave would want us to remember about his life?”

Seth stood, towel wrapped around his waist, fingers resting on the radio knob, transfixed by the tenderness in April Douglas’s voice.

Maybe he’d been wrong about her.