Chapter Twenty-Six

Even though the Picketts’ down-home goodness made me as comfortable as a feather bed, I couldn’t relate to them. I felt insufficient, as though my arrogant roots had lifted me high above this sweet family, and I could only look down on them from my perch, not clearly seeing or hearing them. And definitely not feeling them.

As Ansel and Velma hobbled down the road toward their house, I opened the door of the Chevy, and it moaned softly. “Thanks for dinner, Coach.”

JohnScott gazed after his parents with his brow wrinkled, but when I spoke, he spun around. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home. I’ve got a paper to write.”

“And leave me with all the dishes? You’ve got nerve.”

“Oh …” My face warmed. “I could stay and help.”

“If you insist.” He pushed my car door shut and climbed the three steps to his porch, firm and sturdy like the steps at my house. “You wash,” he said. “I’ll dry and put away.”

“What if I don’t want to wash?”

“You don’t know where to put away.” He started the hot water running and then reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of Dawn dish detergent.

“You keep your soap in the refrigerator?”

“I hid it from Mom. Otherwise she would stay and do the dishes. The woman’s a workaholic.”

“You know what they say about that …”

“What?” He opened a drawer and took out a cup towel.

“It takes one to know one.” He spun the towel, winding it into a weapon, but I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it, JohnScott.”

“Your water’s about to run over.”

“I’m not turning around until you uncoil that towel.”

He looked down at the terry cloth strung tightly between his fists, then to the sink behind me. “It’s going to make a mess on the floor.”

“You can clean it up yourself. With that towel.”

He relented, relaxing his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never attack a pregnant woman.”

“So, you admit you’d attack me if I wasn’t pregnant.”

“Sure,” he said without hesitation. “You’re beginning to understand me.”

Emptying ice from the glasses, I submerged them in bubbles, enjoying our light banter even though my pulse raced. I felt myself falling for him, like the crush I had on Leonardo DiCaprio in sixth grade. And like the actor, Coach Pickett lay out of reach. “I understand you a lot better than I did three weeks ago.”

“Meaning?” He stood next to me, taking soapy glasses from my hands to rinse under the running water.

“You’re worried about your parents.”

His mood shifted. “Dad’s getting old fast. Mom’s a good bit younger, so she tends to him, but I don’t know what she’ll do when he needs more care.”

“They seemed defensive when you mentioned it.”

He laid the wet glasses on a wooden drain rack. “He doesn’t want to give up any control before he has to.”

“That’s understandable. He can still do a lot on his own.”

“How am I supposed to know what’s too much?”

I rinsed a plate. “Maybe you’re not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dad can still decide for himself.” I turned back to the sink to avoid the coach’s penetrating gaze.

“You think I’m overreacting.”

“No,” I said quickly. “You’re concerned about your dad, as you should be, but they don’t need you to make decisions for them yet.”

He leaned his hip against the counter. “How do you know these things?”

“I don’t know.” Looking into his eyes, I saw the compassion he held for his parents, and I wished I had a smidgen of it for my own. His eyebrows puckered, and he smiled, reminding me of the feel of his lips on mine.

He cleared his throat loudly, and the plates clattered as he slid them into the cabinet. “You’re probably right.”

The comfortable feeling I’d enjoyed all evening disintegrated as a brick wall fell between us. If we were going to maintain our friendship, we’d have to pick at that wall one brick at a time.

“Thanks for helping with the dishes.” He folded the towel and hung it neatly on the handle of the oven.

I followed him out the front door, but once we were on the deck, he gestured to the rocking chairs. “Can we sit and talk a few minutes?”

I eased into the closest chair, getting a feel for its balance as I studied JohnScott and tried to get a feel for him, too. He sat down, leaned forward, and crossed his bare feet at the ankles.

He laughed lightly, then paused and picked at something on the arm of the chair. He laughed again and finally looked at me. “I’m really sorry about Saturday night.”

I sighed. “You said that. Several times. It never should have happened.”

He stared at me then, and his eyes filled with something deeper than sadness. The expression made me antsy, and I wished he would look away.

“I didn’t mean I’m sorry I kissed you. I’m just sorry I did it at such a bad time, when you were upset.” He leaned with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. He looked up at me hesitantly, then back down to his hands. “So you wish it hadn’t happened.”

I didn’t know what to say. Since that night in the dark, I had thought of little except JohnScott Pickett—even to the point I hadn’t dwelt on my breakup with Tyler—but I couldn’t figure out what I thought about that kiss. If I told him I wished it hadn’t happened, I would have been lying, but if I said I was glad he did it, I would have been just as untruthful. I shrugged. “I didn’t say that. Exactly.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to think about it either.”

I inhaled a shallow breath, then released it slowly. “I thought you regretted it.”

“No.” He smiled, and the lines on the side of his face made me tingle. “Oh no.” He leaned back in the rocker, relaxing into the wooden curves. “I only wish it weren’t so complicated. Imagine it. You …” His eyes pierced mine, conveying his understanding of the complexity of my situation, the baby, my parents, Tyler. “You with … me.” He shook his head, and in the droop of his eyes, I recognized the acknowledgment that both our lives would be dramatically affected if something happened between us. “You’re not ready for a relationship with me or anyone else. And I’m not sure I should even ask that of you. Now or ever.”

I rested my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes for a few moments, agreeing with everything he said, yet feeling a flame of hope had been snuffed out. “It’s over with Tyler.” I don’t know why I spoke those words right then, other than to reassure myself that JohnScott believed it. “I’m embarrassed I ever took him back.”

He jerked his head and frowned at me. “Don’t be embarrassed about that. You felt you needed to give it another go.”

“But … I think deep down inside, I knew he wouldn’t change … that he couldn’t change.” My chair gritted against the boards of the deck as I rocked, but I stilled my movements as my true motivations came into focus. “For some reason, I felt bound to him. I guess it’s because of the baby.”

JohnScott moved one of his shoulders in a circle, a nervous shrug. “It’s not just that.” His gaze dropped to his knees, and I thought he blushed. “You and Tyler have a physical bond now because of … well … you know. But it’s a spiritual bond, too—which is even stronger—so it’s only natural you would feel that way. And for him to feel that way about you.” His voice tapered off.

As warmth washed over my face, I turned away from him and pretended to inspect the herd of cattle grazing on the other side of the barbed-wire fence. His statement broke open the protective shell of my emotions, leaving me vulnerable and exposing one of my greatest fears. “Will I always feel bound to him?”

He inhaled deeply and thoroughly, and when he exhaled, I sensed sadness for my past, regret for his own, and hope for both of us. He spoke softly. “When I was in college, there was this girl.” His gaze slid away from me, to the safety of the herd. “I wasn’t a Christian then, and I guess I didn’t have any reason to wait. Of course I knew I should respect her—and I did—but we were both consenting, and we thought we were in love.” His eyes grew distant. “I know I was.”

A hundred questions leaped into my brain, but I held my breath, hurting for him, wanting to tell him we should talk about something else, yet yearning to hear whatever answers he had to offer me.

He stretched his legs in front of him, breaking the awkward spell that had been cast. “For years I imagined myself still in love with her, and maybe I was a little bit. But then Dodd started talking to me about Jesus. And forgiveness.” He chuckled. “And we had a lot of late-night conversations about me and my sordid past.”

I tsked. “Sordid?”

“Yep.” He smiled, and his cheek wrinkles flashed briefly, but then he sobered. “Turns out those spiritual bonds are a lot harder to break than the emotional ones.” His eyebrows lifted sadly. “And I don’t know … Maybe they never completely go away. But that doesn’t mean either of us are bound to our past mistakes.” He shook his head. “God washes it away.”

A lifetime of Sunday sermons echoed in my mind, and I heard our little congregation droning the hymn “God Shall Wipe Away All Tears,” but my heart couldn’t quite believe it. I shook my head. “I’ve been going to church all my life, sitting by my parents, reading the Scriptures, singing the songs, but only lately have I started to come close to God.”

JohnScott tilted his head thoughtfully, and a corner of his mouth wrinkled in a hesitant smile. “Maybe we’re both starting off brand new.”