Chapter Eighteen Chapter EighteenChristopher, honey. Talk to me.” Charlotte pressed a cold facecloth to Christopher’s forehead. Drips of water ran down his face, making dark tracks through the dust on his cheeks.
Christopher blinked and then tried to sit up, looking around wildly.
“What happened? What did I do?” The anguish in his voice cut Charlotte to the core.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Emily was on the other side, holding Christopher’s hand.
“You fainted, sweetheart,” Charlotte said, wiping the rest of his face.
Christopher looked disgusted. “Only girls faint.”
Charlotte’s laugh was weak with relief. “No. Grown men faint too.”
Her heart was still pounding out an erratic rhythm. When she heard his small cry she had turned in time to see his eyes roll up in his head. Then his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground, and Charlotte’s heart jumped into her throat.
The arguments that had been flying back and forth over the yard had come to a crashing halt.
And so they should have.
Charlotte suspected it was those very arguments that had caused Christopher’s distress.
“Why did you faint, son?” Bob was asking, hovering behind Charlotte. “Was it too hot?”
“I don’t think so.” Christopher struggled to sit up and then reached out to Charlotte when he wavered.
“Just rest, sweetie,” Charlotte said, settling down on the ground and supporting her grandson against her. She pressed a kiss to his warm, sticky hair, relief following on the heels of her concern.
Pete, Bob, Sam, and Emily stood around, fidgeting as if they were unsure of what to do or say.
“What happened?” Sam was asking.
Christopher swallowed and then frowned. “I dunno. When all you guys were yelling at each other my stomach got all funny feeling, and then it was like everything got black.”
“We weren’t yelling at each other,” Pete said.
Christopher looked down.
“Yes, you were,” he mumbled, his hands twisting the edge of his T-shirt. “You were all yelling at each other, and it made me feel really funny. I hate it when you fight and yell. We’re a family, and we’re supposed to love each other.” He sniffed and then wiped the tears away with one hand. “And I’m not crying, so don’t call me a baby.”
No one said anything for a long while.
Toby, curious about the commotion, had wandered over and now laid her head on Christopher’s leg. Her soft brown eyes looked up at him as if to offer some comfort.
“You were the only one who wasn’t mad, Toby,” Christopher said quietly, stroking the dog’s dark brown fur.
Charlotte looked up at her family, all gathered around. In their faces she saw mixtures of shame, embarrassment, and concern.
Sam was the first one to kneel down in front of his little brother. “I’m so sorry, Christopher,” he said quietly, stroking Toby as well. “It’s all my fault. I did something stupid, and everyone is upset.”
Bob laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry too,” he said, both to Christopher and to Sam. “I should have listened to you. You made a mistake, but you owned up to it, and that’s important.”
“And I should have kept my nose out of it all,” Pete said.
“And I shouldn’t have come across as so righteous,” Emily added, kneeling down beside Sam and Christopher. She put her arms around both her brothers’ shoulders and squeezed. “We need each other. We have to help each other, and I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry that I didn’t stop things sooner,” Charlotte said.
Bob gave her a tender smile. “Now, Charlotte,” he said quietly, “don’t think you have to be the one to fix everything.”
Charlotte smiled at his assessment even as part of her wanted to protest that he was wrong. She knew that he was right. She was usually the one to interfere. The one to make things right. As if by her actions alone people would change.
Charlotte looked around her family, feeling the anger, frustration, and sorrow she had noted in such an abundance only a few moments ago melt away in the warmth of the love her family now poured out to each other.
And how had it happened? Was it anything she did? Was it anything anyone else did?
No, it was the distress of this innocent boy that had made them all realize what they were doing to each other.
Christopher sniffed, still looking down at Toby, still stroking her soft fur. “I don’t like it when we fight,” he said quietly, his voice still shaky. “We’re supposed to love each other. Like Jesus loves us.”
Charlotte smiled and gave him a quick hug. “You are absolutely right,” she said. “Jesus wants us to remember that he loves all of us the same.”
“Yeah, like we learned at camp, we should try to see Jesus in each other,” Emily said quietly. She looked over at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have judged you.”
He shook his head. “Well, while I’m at it, I’m sorry I said what I did. I shouldn’t have—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Emily said. “We can catch up later.”
Sam glanced over at her and then nodded, sharing a smile with her that made Charlotte realize they had their own relationship—their own secrets and things they talked about away from the adults. Things they could encourage each other about. They didn’t need her input.
And while it made her feel a little odd, it was, at the same time, very freeing. Raising the kids wasn’t entirely up to her or Bob. God had his own ways of dealing with them and supporting them.
Pete ran his forefinger alongside his nose, looking uncomfortable. “So, this love fest is all well and good, but we do have a float to make, don’t we?”
Sam got up. “That’s right. We should get at it. We only have a week.”
“What do you want me to do, Christopher?” Emily asked.
Christopher blinked as he looked around the group. “You mean you all want to help me?” He sounded so dumfounded and so happy, Charlotte had to resist the urge to pull him close into another tight hug of reassurance. Instead she made do with smoothing his hair back from his face. “I think we all should help.”
Christopher got up and brushed the dust off his pants. He put his hands on his hips and stared them all down. “But we’re not allowed to fight. And I mean it.”
Pete looked taken aback. “What’s the fun of that?” he said with mock horror.
Charlotte frowned at him, and he winked in return. Marriage was mellowing him somewhat, but he was still Pete.
“OK,” Pete said, adjusting his cap on his head. “We won’t fight.”
“And you’ll have to listen to me,” Christopher said, seeming to realize that, for now, he had an advantage and he needed press it.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Pete gave him a mock salute.
“OK.” Christopher took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
Christopher led the way, followed by Sam and Emily, with Bob and Pete behind them.
Charlotte watched them walk across the yard, amazed at how quickly things had changed. Half an hour ago anger and frustration bounced among her family members. Now, duly chastened by the youngest person in the family, they were willing to work together. To help each other.
Thank you, Lord, for my family, she prayed, wrapping her sweater around her. Help them to always realize how much we need each other. How much we depend on each other. Help them always to see Jesus in each other.
She walked back to the house, already planning dinner.
And help me not to think that I always need to solve everything. That you can use a little child like Christopher just as easily as you can use me.
“SAM, MAY I TALK TO YOU?” Uncle Bill said from the doorway of the coffee room on Friday afternoon.
Sam jumped, almost dumping the water he was pouring into the coffeemaker. He finished the job, being extra careful not to spill anything. Then he wiped his sweaty palms against the sides of his pants and turned to face his uncle.
This is it, he thought. This is where I get fired. He was pretty sure Grandma or Grandpa or maybe both of them had talked to Uncle Bill about the party he’d gone to. About the few drinks he’d had.
“Sure. What can I do for you?” Sam tried to sound calm, but inside he was nervous. Uncle Bill had his lawyer face on, and when he did that he could look pretty intimidating.
“In my office, please.” Then he turned without another word and walked away.
Sam followed him, feeling like a convict going to his doom. Lena looked up as he passed and gave him an encouraging smile, which wasn’t really encouraging at all. Sam decided it looked more like she felt sorry for him.
Uncle Bill closed the door of the office behind him. “Sit down, Sam.”
Sam did, perching himself on the edge of the chair as Uncle Bill sat down across from him, pulling a file toward him. A clock ticked in the silence, and on the other side of the door, Sam heard the muffled ringing of a phone. Uncle Bill turned a couple of pages, frowning as if looking for something specific.
Sam couldn’t stand it anymore. “Is this where you say I’m fired?”
Uncle Bill glanced up. “Pardon me?”
“I know I’ve messed up in all kinds of ways, both here at work and at home, so I’m guessing you want to fire me.”
Uncle Bill sat back in his chair, and the faint smile tugging on his mouth gave Sam a tiny bit of hope. “No, Sam. I’m not firing you.”
“In spite of what Mrs. Pictou thinks?”
“Mrs. Pictou is a very precise and conscientious employee,” Uncle Bill said. “I know it seems she’s been hard on you, but I think she was just trying to bring you up to her standards.” Uncle Bill hesitated a moment. “Plus I think she had someone else in mind for your position when I mentioned that I was looking for a filing clerk.”
Sam thought about the bits and pieces of the conversation he’d overheard last week. “Her son?” he guessed.
“You weren’t supposed to know that, but yes.”
“I kind of heard her talking the other day.”
“I’m not surprised,” he thought he heard his uncle murmur. But then Uncle Bill leaned forward, looking at the file on his desk again. “However, her opinion is not what I wish to discuss. I want to talk to you about something else that your grandmother has brought to my attention.”
Sam groaned. He was getting fired.
“I know that I don’t have kids your age, but at one time, believe it or not, I was your age. And I know how easy it is to get caught up in the wrong crowd.”
Sam couldn’t help a beat of frustration. “It’s not like I got drunk or anything. Grandma and Grandpa overreacted.”
“Why do you think that?”
Sam shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I was drunk …”
“But it is illegal for you to be drinking, yes?”
Sam couldn’t say anything to that.
Uncle Bill turned more pages of the file on his desk. “You know what I have here?”
Sam shook his head.
“It’s a case I’m representing. It involves a young man, a year older than you, who was drinking. He obviously didn’t think drinking was a big deal either because after the party where he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, he got in his car.” Uncle Bill paused as he lifted another page.
“I’m representing the family of the young girl who was injured as a result of the crash that young man caused—a young girl who will have to deal with the repercussions of his carelessness for the rest of her life.” Uncle Bill glanced up at Sam. “All because one young man wanted to have fun that he, and I quote, ‘didn’t think was such a big deal.’”
Sam looked down at his hands, feeling lower than a snake.
“He didn’t think he was impaired, according to the police reports, even though he blew over the limit.” Though Uncle Bill spoke quietly, each word hit Sam a bit harder. “He made a decision that not only affected the family of the girl but also gave him the permanent knowledge that his choices—the choices he thought were no big deal—hurt an innocent person. This case will take time, and it will take its toll on many people in many ways.”
With a creak of his chair, Uncle Bill sat back. He didn’t say anything more, and Sam didn’t know what to say.
Silence filled the office and Sam squirmed. “I’m sorry.” He fiddled with the button on his cuff, not sure what to say or do.
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I understand that you went back to help clean up, which I think is admirable.” Uncle Bill rocked in his chair, and Sam finally dared to look up. His uncle was smiling. “I didn’t want to lecture you because I think you’re a bad person, Sam. I know you haven’t had the guidance you should have had, but at the same time, I think you have the potential to be a good young man. I’ve been pleased with your work here, and your work ethic, the past two weeks. As I said, I see a lot of potential in you and think you could go far.”
Uncle Bill leaned forward, and although Sam was encouraged by what he was saying, he was wondering how much longer his uncle would talk to him. Once Uncle Bill got going …
“Anyhow, I don’t want to go on and on.” Uncle Bill gave him a quick smile, which made Sam squirm again. Could Bill read his mind? “But I did want to speak to you about choices and the repercussions of some of those choices. Do you understand?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I do. I never stopped to think about what could happen.”
“Most people don’t, Sam. And that’s how tragedies occur.” He got up from his desk; Sam guessed the lecture was over.
“I … uh … thanks for talking to me.”
Uncle Bill grinned. “That’s what family is for.”
Sam grinned back, feeling surprisingly comfortable now that the talk was over. “I guess so.”
Uncle Bill shot a quick glance at the clock, which was Sam’s cue to get up and get back to work. But just before he got to the door he turned. “Thanks again for the job. I’m really enjoying the work. It’s getting more interesting.”
“Like any job, it has its tedious moments, but overall, the legal field is an important one with many options and opportunities.” Uncle Bill nodded at him and smiled.
Sam stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him. Lena, Uncle Bill’s secretary, looked up from her computer as he passed her. “How did it go?”
“Pretty good, I think.” A little uncomfortable, but Sam didn’t want to tell her that.
“He’s pretty pleased with your work, you know,” Lena said.
Though Uncle Bill had said as much to him, hearing it secondhand made it seem more real. “Thanks. That’s good to know.”
As he went back to work, he felt just a bit freer, a bit lighter on his feet. And, in spite of losing Arielle and the whole mess of the last couple of days, a little happier.
EMILY LOOKED OVER at the phone and sighed. She should call Troy. She hadn’t called him since she got back yesterday. He had known she was coming back Thursday, yet she hadn’t worked up the courage to call him because she was sure he knew everything that had happened at camp. She was also sure that Nicole had twisted things around to make her and Mike’s relationship seem different than it was.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked, looking up from the material she was cutting out.
“Nothing.” Emily turned back to the sewing machine and picked up the pieces of the costume she would wear on Christopher’s float. She started sewing. Then the bobbin jammed, and she slammed her hand against the machine. “Why do I even bother?” she grumbled, yanking the material out from under the presser foot and slicing at the threads with the scissors.
“Careful, missy. You’re going to cut your hand,” Grandma warned.
Emily threw the partially sewn costume down on the table and bunched the material in her hands. “I don’t think I’ll get this done in time,” she said, frustration filling her voice. “It’s just not working out. It’s not going the way I want it to.”
Grandma put down her scissors and came over to Emily. She carefully took the costume from her hands.
“Somehow I get the feeling it’s not the dress that’s the problem,” she said.
Emily shoved her hands through her hair and sighed again. “No. You’re right. It’s not.”
Grandma sat down beside her and gently turned her face up to hers. “Can you tell me what is?”
Emily heard the sympathy in her voice, and yet she hesitated.
“Is it about Troy?”
Emily nodded.
“Can you tell me?”
Emily looked up at her grandmother, and as she looked into Grandma’s eyes, she knew she would understand. So she took a deep breath and started at the beginning. She told her everything. Told her about Nicole. About Mike. How she and Mike had talked, how Mike had saved her life. About their kiss on the dock. And how she was worried that Nicole had already talked to Troy about what she had seen.
“Have you talked to Troy since you got back?” Grandma asked her when she was done.
“I don’t dare.”
“He has called here a few times,” Grandma reminded her.
“I know. But I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of what he will think of me.”
“But you won’t know what he thinks until you talk to him, right?”
That made sense, but it was also very scary. “I suppose.”
“If you really care for him like you say you do, then you need to sit down and tell him for yourself what happened and why. Tell him like you told me. Then, if he really cares for you, he’ll understand that nothing happened. And if he doesn’t understand, then maybe he’s not the one for you.”
Emily swallowed a knot of nervousness. “I suppose.”
“Bedford isn’t that big. You’ll have to face him sooner or later. So you may as well make it on your own terms.”
Which also made sense.
“Why don’t you let me finish this costume? You can call him and make arrangements to meet him in town.”
Emily glanced at the phone and realized that Grandma was right.
She called him, and when she got his voice mail she took a chance and left a message asking him to meet her at Mel’s in half an hour.
Twenty minutes later she was sitting at Mel’s, a soft drink in her hands, staring out the window, jumping every time she saw a dark truck. She didn’t know if he would come or not, but she knew she had to take the chance.
She’d dressed carefully. Over a T-shirt, she’d pulled on a favorite shirt, one she’d pieced together from three others. It was funky and fun, and reflected her style.
The door of the diner opened, and Emily’s heart jumped again—and then fell with a thud.
Nicole!
Seriously?
Was there no place she could go without running into the girl?
Emily spun her head away, and was thankful that Nicole walked right by without noticing her. Then, before the bell over Mel’s door even finished jangling, the door opened again.
And there stood Troy.
Emily’s heart skipped in her chest, and in that moment she knew that what she felt for Troy was completely different from anything she’d experienced with Mike.
He looked around the diner, caught her gaze, and walked toward her, his eyes on her. “Hey, beautiful,” he said as he sat down. “I missed you.”
Emily released the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. “I missed you too.” She reached across the table to take his hand. “How have you been?”
“Good. Good. Better now that you’re here.” He pushed his hair away from his face, his smile warming her heart. “How was camp?”
Did she imagine a note of suspicion in his voice?
“I really enjoyed it. Met a bunch of new people. Had fun. Went canoeing and almost drowned. Except some guy saved me. That was kind of freaky.”
“Hey, I’d like to meet this guy. Thank him for keeping you safe.” Troy squeezed her hand a little tighter.
“He was a really nice guy,” Emily said, waiting to see Troy’s reaction.
“Should I be jealous?”
Emily’s heart flipped over again, but she heard the teasing note in his voice, and with a flood of relief she realized he didn’t know. Nicole hadn’t phoned him like she had threatened to.
“No. You don’t need to be jealous at all. He’s just a friend. We talked a bunch because he lost his mother too.”
“So you had a lot in common,” Troy said quietly, stroking his thumb over her hand.
Emily could have kissed him right then and there. He understood. He got it.
She told him about Mike. Told him about camp and what an experience it was for her. He told her about work. They talked about friends and made plans for the coming week. They talked for more than an hour, their conversation slipping into an easy rhythm.
Then suddenly Troy glanced at his watch. “Sorry, Emily. I gotta take off. I have to go in to work. But I really wanted to see you first.”
“I’m glad you came,” Emily said.
“Me too.” Troy stood up and then bent over the table and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “See you later?”
“For sure.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then walked away, whistling. Emily watched him go, all the burdens of the past few days melting in the warmth of his smile and understanding.
She got up and glanced back to where Nicole was sitting, thinking again that Nicole hadn’t called Troy at all. She’d just been playing Emily along.
Suddenly Emily had had enough. She would finish this once and for all. She strode over to Nicole’s seat before she lost her nerve and the anger that sent her there. The diner wasn’t very full, and that would make this a lot easier.
Nicole looked up. Then her eyes narrowed when she saw Emily.
“What do you want?” Nicole asked in a haughty tone. “Why are you bothering me?”
Emily stared down at her and then sighed.
This was a waste of time. Nicole didn’t like her. Never would. She was about to leave when Nicole looked at her again, and in that look Emily saw the glimmer of an unfamiliar emotion that made her pause. It was as if Nicole wanted something from Emily. The last time Emily’d seen that look, Nicole had wanted to befriend her—for her own selfish reasons. She hadn’t trust her since.
“How’s Troy? I’m guessing you figured out I didn’t call him from camp,” Nicole said in a self-righteous tone, fiddling with the scarf wrapped around her neck.
“You’re guessing right,” Emily said. She took another look at Nicole’s scarf and then smiled. It was identical to the one she had bought only a couple of weeks ago at the dollar store. And the earrings looked a lot like the ones Emily had found in the half-price bin at Brenda’s Clothing Store in Bedford.
Her mind skipped back to what Ashley had said, and what Mike had told her. Was Nicole really jealous? Was she really trying to imitate Emily?
And in that moment, all the things she had learned at camp came together. All the things about love and caring and seeing Jesus in other people and not putting herself first.
To her surprise, she suddenly felt sorry for Nicole. And even more surprising, the anger that had launched her out of her seat to give Nicole a piece of her mind was now gone. Instead she found herself praying, hoping God would give her patience and understanding.
Emily made a sudden decision. She sat across from Nicole, took a breath, and plunged in.
“Why don’t you like me, Nicole?”
Nicole shot her a puzzled glance. As if she didn’t know what Emily was talking about.
“Ever since I moved to Bedford, you’ve been kind of mean to me.” Emily struggled to temper her words. To think of Nicole as a person she should care about.
“Well … you made that nasty comment about the food my mother served in the cafeteria.”
“And I apologized for that.”
“And then there was the Christmas play and … and …” Nicole stuttered, struggling to find another offense.
Emily had to press her lips together as all the mean things Nicole had done and said to her popped into her mind.
It’s not about you, she reminded herself. This is about Nicole.
“But none of those things were mean or nasty,” Emily said, trying to keep her voice low. Trying not to get angry. “And if I did hurt you, I’d like you to let me know how.”
Nicole’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re so much better than us, don’t you?”
Emily felt as if she had been slapped. “No. I don’t. Why do you think that?”
“The way you dress. Like you have to be different.”
Nicole looked at Emily’s outfit—the shirt she had designed and sewn herself.
“Why is that bad?”
Nicole fidgeted with her own scarf, her lips pursing. “I … it just is.”
“Don’t you want to be different?” Emily asked.
Nicole glanced at her shirt again, and Emily caught a flash of something else in her eyes. Almost like Nicole wanted it for herself.
Emily bit her lip, a part of her wishing she hadn’t heard all those lessons on caring for someone and turning the other cheek and especially the one about how, if someone takes your coat, you should give him your shirt too.
Now something else caught hold of her. Something bigger. Something more important than her own needs and wants. After everything she’d experienced at camp, she didn’t want to fall back into the same nasty patterns now that she was home. Something had to change, and if Nicole wouldn’t then it was up to her.
Emily leaned forward and tugged her arms out of the sleeves of her shirt—quickly, before she changed her mind. She pulled it off, folded it up, and handed it to Nicole.
“Do you want this?”
Nicole’s eyes got big, her mouth fell open.
Emily laid it on the table in front of her, feeling a tinge of regret as she let go. “You can have it if you want. I’ve only worn it a couple of times. So it’s kind of new. Consider it a peace offering.” Giving Nicole the shirt wasn’t as easy to do as she had hoped, but once she took her hands off it, she actually felt pretty good.
“But … I don’t think—”
“You don’t have to take it.”
But Nicole laid her hand on the shirt, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She took a slow breath, like she wasn’t sure what to say.
“I can’t believe you just gave this to me,” she said, her voice hushed. “Are you sure?”
Emily nodded, feeling more sure each moment. “Yes. I’m positive. I want you to have it, and I want you to enjoy it.”
Nicole’s hand moved over the shirt, as if testing to see if it was real. Then she turned to Emily and gave her a funny look. Like she’d like to smile at Emily but didn’t really know how.
“Thank you, Emily.” And for once, that sarcastic note was missing from her voice, which was as good as a smile as far as Emily was concerned.
“You’re welcome, Nicole.”
If this were a television show or a sappy movie, this would be the part where they would hug and say they would never fight again. That they would be best friends, and then maybe they’d find a field of flowers to run through together.
But this was a diner in Bedford.
And Nicole was still, well, Nicole.
Emily got up and smiled at Nicole. “I hope you enjoy it,” she said. Then she walked out of the diner, her heart light.