A Path Less Traveled (9 page)

Trish nodded and
rubbed his hand, willing herself to believe. He was right. God wasn’t surprised
by her situation. Nor was He unable to handle it. She just needed to trust Him
more.

Her phone buzzed
against the oval-shaped maple table, and she flicked it open. “Hi, Delaine.”

Dad lowered his
head, his lips pressed together in a disapproving line. He’d made his opinion
about the job in Austin well known.

Her friend’s
voice held concern. “Hi. You sound tired. What’s going on?”

“Just been a long
day.” Trish rose to her feet, sent her father an apologetic glance, and moved
to the oak-canopied patio, out of her father’s hearing. “Can you give me a few
more specifics on that design position?”

* *
* * *

Andy’s brow
crinkled into a frown, as gangrenous jealousy roared inside. What in the world
possessed him to come back to Miller’s Creek one week after the wedding? His
decision to check out the town as a possible place for a private practice was
important, but ill-timed. Dani, Steve, and Mama Beth all entered Granny’s
Kitchen ahead of him, the first two disgustingly happy.

They entered the
cafe, the aroma of burgers, fried chicken, and chicken-fried steak flooding the
air. Hearty laughter and chatter rang out, with many comments directed at the
others, leaving him as the odd man out.

A few minutes
later, they located an empty table near the back, right next to Steve’s
cohorts, J.C., Coot, and the grouchy guy, Otis Thacker. Based on Otis’ scowling
face, he hadn’t changed much in the past few months.

“Hey, Mayor. Too
good to sit with us today?” bellowed Coot.

Steve appeared to
take it all in stride. “Not at all, but in case you forgot, I’m a married man
now.”

The guys all
guffawed, made comments about his being henpecked, and then guffawed some more.
An elderly lady dressed in a long dress and apron, her wiry gray hair pulled
back in a bun, delivered ice water and menus, while her identical twin worked
the other side of the restaurant. “Be right back with your coffee, Steve.”

“Thanks, Granny.”

Andy warred with
the instantaneous jealousy that shot through him. Must be nice to live in a
place where people knew you and what you wanted before you even asked. He
searched the menu. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. What’s good?”

“Everything.”
Mama Beth and Dani answered in unison.

“Don’t mind
them,” Steve intoned, taking a sip from his filled cup, “even though their
talking in stereo is a little scary.”

Dani gave a
sideways hug to her mother. “Great minds . . .”

“. . . think
alike.” The older woman finished the sentence, a broad smile splayed across her
face.

Steve shook his
head. “Something tells me I’m in a lot of trouble. Just think, Andy, I used to
be like you—happy, living the simple bachelor life.”

Dani punched her
husband’s arm. “Watch it, mister, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

Andy laughed
along with the rest of them, but it was a laugh he didn’t feel. The Granny lady
returned to their table, stationed herself next to him, and asked for his
order. “I’d like the catfish, cole slaw, and fries. And a cup of coffee,
please.”

“You shoulda said
something when I was here earlier with the coffee pot.” She muttered and
glowered.

“Sorry.”

The woman huffed
and scribbled down the other orders, then came back a few minutes later with a
cup and coffee pot. She clunked down the cup and sloshed coffee into it, obviously
still agitated he’d neglected to follow some unspoken small town café protocol.

After she left,
Dani laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t mind her. Once she gets to know you, she
can be really sweet.”

Steve crossed his
arms, rested them on the table, and looked Andy in the eye. “Dad tells me
you’re thinking of moving to Miller’s Creek.”

Andy swallowed a
swig of the fresh, hot brew. “Not exactly. I’m thinking about setting up a
private practice in a small town. Miller’s Creek might or might not be that
place.”

“Well, of course,
you should move here.” Dani looked at her husband pointedly. “Don’t you think
so, honey?”

Steve frowned and
shifted in his seat.

“I’d do a lot of
praying first.” Mama Beth stated the words matter-of-factly. “Just ask Dani.
The adjustment to small town life isn’t easy.”

Andy nodded. “I
think I pretty much understand how small towns operate.”

“Yeah, Dad
mentioned you grew up in a small town.” Steve’s eyes narrowed, an unyielding
expression that always made him feel like he was under interrogation.
“Berringer, right?”

“Yep. Born and
raised there.”

“C’mon, you two.
You’re gonna scare him off.” Dani glared at Steve and Mama Beth, then returned
her attention to him. “It is an adjustment, but you lived here long enough last
year to know the challenges.”

Andy’s heart rate
quadrupled just thinking about the nightmare of the entire town’s suspicions
and assumptions laid on his shoulders. He still found it hard to believe they
suspected him of trying to torch downtown Miller’s Creek.

Dani continued.
“It’s difficult, but not impossible.”

Her comment
didn’t instill a lot of confidence. The food arrived, and Andy concentrated on
his meal to allow him time to think. He took a bite of the mouth-watering
catfish and glanced at Steve’s friends—what did he call them?—the old codgers?
No, the old geezers. They all leaned forward and spoke in conspiratorial
whispers. Why did he get the distinct impression he was already a rotten grape
on the town grapevine? Or was his imagination making too much out of it?

After lunch, Andy
spent the afternoon driving around Miller’s Creek and settling into his room at
Mama Beth’s, then drove to the Miller’s ranch as the sun lowered in the western
sky.

He stepped out of
his car and peered up at the Colonial-styled house. Surrounded by giant oaks,
the brick two-story seemed better suited to the Deep South—with antebellum
plantations and trees dripping Spanish moss—instead of the rolling hills of
central Texas. He wandered up the massive steps and rang the doorbell, still
puzzled over why Steve had invited him for supper.

The lanky cowboy
answered the door, hand extended. “Hey, Andy, come on in.”

Andy shook his
hand and entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the enormous chandelier.

“My mother was
from Atlanta, Georgia.” Steve spoke the words like an excuse for the house and
motioned for Andy to follow him across the marble floors. “Dad lives here alone
now, so Dani and I are living with him while our house is built on the old
homestead.”

They stepped
through the kitchen and onto the back terrace, an expanse of flagstone shaded
by ancient oaks. The patio overlooked a large metal barn and wood-fenced horse
paddock, and the entire family gathered around a large rectangular table.

“Andy!” An apron
around her waist and surprise in her voice, Trish jumped to her feet at the far
end, her eyes wide and her smile even wider. Then, just as suddenly, her mouth
clamped shut, and she plopped into her seat, as if his presence made no
difference at all. “I didn’t know you were coming.” A glare directed at Steve
accompanied her accusatory tone.

“Sorry, Sis, I
forgot to mention we needed to set another place for dinner. I’ll get it.”

With the
characteristic long strides of a man always in a rush, Steve entered the house,
while Trish’s dad motioned for Andy to take a seat between him and his
daughter. After he settled into the wooden chair, he sent a grin and a wink
across the table to Little Bo. “Hey, buddy. Wanna play catch later?”

Instead of the
spunky response he expected, the boy slouched lower and jerked his head away
without a word, refusing eye contact.

Andy wrinkled his
forehead, unease churning in his gut. He shifted his gaze to Trish. “Is he
okay?”

Her dark eyes
contained sorrow. “He had a bad week.”

Throughout the
meal Andy kept an eye on Little Bo. Trish tried to coax him to eat, but he
merely picked at the food, his expression empty and void. He stared blankly,
his mouth pinched and drawn, almost as if he were there in body only. Like the
rest of him had moved on to a very dark place. What had happened in a week’s
time to bring about such change?

The roasted
chicken was delicious, but impossible to fully enjoy because of his concern.
When he finished his plate, he scooted his chair away from the table. “My
compliments to the chef.”

“Thanks.” Trish
sent him a faint smile, her face still carved with sadness. She’d eaten very
little herself, her thoughts obviously preoccupied with her son.

Andy reached for
his glass, wet with condensation, and swigged his iced tea. “You cooked all
this?”

She smirked.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not.” And he
meant it. She was the most capable and accomplished woman he’d ever met. If
only she could see it, too.

Steve made a
sound in his throat. “Andy, I talked to Bill Braddock, our city attorney, this
afternoon. His last day is at the end of the month.” His voice all business,
Steve leaned his chair back and steepled his fingers. “I told him you might be
interested. Is it all right for me to have him contact you?”

“Sure.” Andy
reached for his wallet and procured a business card. “I’ll be here all weekend
if he’d like to talk.” It wouldn’t hurt to at least look into the situation.
After all, that’s why he’d come—to see if Miller’s Creek was where God wanted
him.

Trish rose to her
feet. “Guess I’d better get this mess cleaned up.”

“Let me help.”
Andy bounded to his feet without thinking, then caught his mistake and grinned
apologetically.

To his relief,
she smiled in return. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He gathered
dishes and followed Trish into the house. “So you and Bo live here, too?”

She shook her
head, turned on the spigot, and rinsed the plates, then deposited them in the
stainless steel dishwasher. “No, I live a little way down the road. My house is
hard to see from here because of the oaks. I’ll show it to you later if you’d
like to take a walk.”

“A walk would be
great, especially after the delicious meal.”

The work
completed, Andy and Trish strolled down a well-worn path to her house, the area
blanketed with oak trees and prairie grass and sprinkled with bluebonnets and
Indian paintbrush. Her house soon came into view. Made of Texas limestone, the
rustic cedar posts and a metal roof completed the look of a Texas ranch house.

They strolled
around back to a large deck, which overlooked a grassy meadow. A cottage stood
in a grove of trees to the right. “Who lives there?”

“That’s my art
studio.” Her voice turned solemn. “Right after were married, Doc built it for
me.”

“I’d love to take
a look at more of your artwork.”

Trish pressed her
lips together, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and peered off in the
distance. Finally, she released a heavy sigh. “Sure.”

They made their
way across an overgrown pathway, bypassing an equally unkempt flower garden.
Trish looked the other direction and stopped short of the door. With a deep
breath, she inched forward and twisted the doorknob, the door creaking out a
groan that mirrored her face.

The one-room
cottage, decorated with cobwebs, smelled of musty disuse. A small kitchenette
sat to the left, and an overstuffed chair to the right. Along the rear wall,
natural light flooded in through a bank of windows, and dust danced in the
beams.

A variety of
canvases leaned against the window frames. He drifted toward them, drawn by a
combination of curiosity and fascination. One at a time, he examined them, more
awed and impressed than ever. The artwork was every bit as spectacular as he’d
imagined.

Trish anchored
herself near the doorway, like a frightened cotton-tail rabbit, torn between
freezing and bolting. She clutched one elbow, her face pale.

“Your work is
beyond beautiful, Trish. Words can’t do it justice.”

She made no
reply.

“You wanna
leave?”

Trish nodded and
escaped out the door.

As he exited the
room, Andy gave one last look around. This room was Trish. From the decorations
to the paintings . . . even the dust and cobwebs. Maybe one day the hurt and
confusion could be cleared from her life, and she’d be able to return to the
art she once enjoyed.

Without speaking,
she glided toward the beckoning pasture, now back-dropped by a gorgeous Texas sunset, apparently not ready for the stroll to end. Andy followed and allowed the
beauty of the early May evening to wash over him.

Trish finally
broke the silence. “It was tough to open that door and go in. I haven’t been
there since before Doc died.”

Andy took time to
think through his response. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her further.
She seemed so vulnerable. So fragile. “I could tell it was difficult, Trish,
but it was a major step in the right direction. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes swam
with instant tears. “It used to be such a happy place. Now it seems . . .
ruined.” Her words ended in a murmur.

Andy seized her
hand and halted, purposely not speaking until she looked him in the eye. “Not
ruined, just in need of some TLC. One step at a time.”

She withdrew her
hand and continued the walk. They approached a wooded area, where a narrow path
disappeared in dark shadows.

Andy eyed the
dense grove, old fears clawing his insides, his neck hairs bristling. He choked
on the desert dryness that puckered his mouth and battled his desire to run.
“We’re going in there?”

Trish came to a
standstill a few steps down the shaded path, her eyes full of questions. “It’s
okay, Hansel. I brought bread crumbs, and I’ll make sure we’re not baked into
gingerbread by a wicked witch.”