Bluegrass Courtship (8 page)

“You should see some of the gizmos they got here,” Vern said, pulling a red bandana out of his overalls pocket and wiping his brow. Probably fishing for sympathy that he'd been overworked, Janet decided. “Must be how they get it done so fast.”

“And good help,” Drew said, shaking Vern's hand. Janet wondered if the bandana Vern pulled from his pockets wouldn't be
Missionnovation
green tomorrow. She was starting to dislike green.

“Would you mind terribly if Vern came back to work now?” she asked Drew but kept her eyes on Vern. “We need that good help back at the store if I'm to get to the bank this afternoon.”

“You can have Vern back, if I can borrow you for a moment. The rest of the gutter work arrived, and I've a question or two about it. You're my expert.”

Janet sighed. Wasn't the whole point of this morning to avoid Drew Downing and the
Missionnovation
madness?

“I'll head on back to mind the store,” Vern said, and she thought she saw him wink at Drew. “Go on and take your time with that.”

Roofs gutters—not exactly foreign territory, Janet thought to herself as she dismissed the looks that passed between Vern and Drew. It had clearly been a mistake to put those two together.

D
rew led her past the collection of tented workspaces that had sprung up around the church. “The garden's going to be fabulous. I found a stonemason on the other side of town who's going to help us build the terrace here. And he led me to a guy in the area who'll make a gorgeous wrought-iron gate for the garden at half his normal cost. There's a woman from Lexington who's coming out to paint murals on the preschool wall, too. And I was talking to Pastor Anderson the other day, and he's thinking about recommending the full-scale rainwater collection system to other churches.” His eyes lit up, as if connecting these people to the project was the most exciting part of his job. “You all have been hit with some bad droughts in recent years, and he thinks this is great stuff we're doing.”

Janet stared at Drew. Pastor Anderson was thinking about recommending the system? The system she couldn't get him to even look at for months back then? You've got to be kidding, she griped to herself, I try for months and he swoops in and gets them on board in a matter of days? “He's
that gung-ho, hmm?” She tried to keep the edge of annoyance out of her voice.

Evidently not very well, for Drew's expression softened and he admitted, “Well, he did say he remembered hearing something about the subject ‘from Bebe's daughter.' And the prospect of a new roof for the whole church sort of sweetened the deal, I think.”

“That, and the state funds.”

“Hey, God uses whatever means at His disposal. And we always find what we need. As a matter of fact, most times we find more than what we need.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that people are generally good.” He led her around a corner. “They're usually eager to help, just waiting for someone to ask them. And then they catch the excitement and pass it on to someone else, like the garden gate. That's the real amazing part of
Missionnovation
for me. Not the television part, the connecting part.” He spread his hands in illustration. “The ripples that go out from one connection to another. The way people join together.”

They had to stop their progress for a second to let a television camera go by. She chose that moment to say what she'd been biting back for days. “Look, I know you believe that, and I understand what you're saying, but don't you think the television exposure has more to do with it than anything else?” He scowled, and she wondered if she'd been too direct. “Not that it's bad, I suppose, because the work gets done when it might not get done otherwise, but—” she tried to think of a gentle way to put it, but this kind of diplomacy was never her strength “—don't you wonder if you're just kidding yourself about people's motives here?” There, she'd said it.

He stared for a second, and she couldn't tell if he was
taken aback or just being very careful about his reply. “Just for the record, I like that about you.”

“What?”

“You say what you mean.”

Janet looked down. “Well, not everyone sees it as the virtue you do.”

He pivoted to stand in front of her. “I've got loads of people telling me what they think I want to hear. I'm aware of what people think of me, of what they think I can do
for
them. Truth is a valuable thing in my world, Janet. I don't always get as much of it as I'd like. So please don't ever be afraid to tell me what you really think. I mean it.”

She nodded, unable to come up with another reply.

“Besides,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and walking on again, “since when is holding up the good in people bad? With all the stuff on television these days, what's so bad about showing off what's good and friendly and still right in the world?”

“There's a difference between honest generosity and…I don't know what you'd call it…product placement?”

“Yes, there is.” He looked at her over one shoulder. “And while I admit to a bit of an expertise in the area, most people can see the difference. That's part of what I do. That's part of my job—to keep
Missionnovation
on the right path, to watch for that kind of thing and keep it at bay.”

“So you admit it happens.”

“It does happen. I've rejected offers of help. Things we have no business taking because those people aren't really here to help, but only for exposure. That's one of the reasons I like going out into the community and asking. That's where you find the honest folks. The people just looking to help other people? They're so easy to find, Janet.”

Janet wasn't sure she agreed with that remark. She thought about all the people Tony had fooled. She almost told Drew the story, suddenly not wanting him to think her a cynical old spinster, but couldn't reveal something so personal—especially here, with all those annoying cameras around every corner. She settled for shrugging her shoulders, saying, “That's a lot of optimism.”

“Maybe, but that's how I've always seen the world.” He swung his hand around the work site. “All this isn't that much different than when I was just building houses with charity development organizations. I do it on a larger scale now, and more people know about it.”

“Yeah, just a few million.”

He looked at her, intensely this time. “It was the same when it was three. Or twelve. Or two hundred. Honestly, it might have even been more fun.”

They wound their way around the back to where the little preschool garden sat nestled into the hillside. The benches—artfully curved and tot-sized—were still unpainted and piled up on one side. The motor works for the fountain was still above ground, and the fishpond was upside down on the ground without its hole dug yet. Even so, she could clearly see the finished product in her head. It was darling. She couldn't help but smile.

“See,” Drew said, nudging her with a grin on his face. “That's something else I like about you. Other people look at this and they see a chaotic construction site. You look at this and you see the outcome. Check this out.” He walked over to where the cistern stood. “We're gonna build a housing around this to make it look like a giant watering can.”

Wasn't that a bit much? Water tanks were fine just as
they were; they didn't need to look like they came from a theme park.

Drew caught her scowl and held up his hand. “No, no really, it's brilliant when you think about it. Right now, all they know is that God made it storm and their preschool went away. Now, they'll see how God waters the earth.” He made an oversize watering gesture next to the cistern. “Can't you just see God's mighty hand picking up this giant watering can to make their little garden grow?”

“The system works on gravity. I'm pretty sure it's got to be underground to work best.”

“You can do them both ways. This way's gonna be fabulous. So many people are already lending their hand to make it great. But it's missing one thing. It's missing your birdhouses. You haven't said yes, yet.” He stared into her eyes as if her answer were the hinge pin to the entire project's success. It did something to her, pulled up something from deep inside. She hesitated.

“Say yes.” His voice softened to the quiet tones she'd heard in the dusk yesterday.

She knew, right then, that it would be impossible not to say yes. It was bubbling up from somewhere under her ribs even now.

“Will you? Please?” He winced. “I don't want to build this garden without those birdhouses. I want your art to be part of the community that makes this garden.”

She shifted her weight back onto one hip. “I need to think about it.”

“Well, I suppose I can't ask for more than that.” He picked up one of the fence posts lying on the ground and inspected it. “I'm not famous for my patience, but I can wait until I get back.”

Janet sat on a stack of fencing. “Get back?”

Drew sighed. “I've got to leave on Tuesday and go to a big network meeting about the next season. Glad-hand sponsors, pitch our cause, that sort of thing.”

“You're leaving?”

“Just for a day. They insisted I be there.” He sat down near her on the pile of fencing slats. “I'm not happy about it, but there doesn't seem to be any other way.”

“You're the boss. Who's ordering you around?” Janet tucked one leg underneath her. “I hardly think God himself called you to head on up to L.A. and make nice with the sponsors.”

Drew chuckled. “Charlie'd laugh at that. Charlie Buchanan, our executive producer. I'm the build man, he's the biz man. I trust him, but I've never left a site before in all three seasons of
Missionnovation.
” He leaned a fraction of an inch closer to her. “You, you really are the boss. Me, I just play one on TV.”

“So now you're saying you don't like what you do?” It seemed a ridiculous question given his exuberance.

“I love what I do. I just don't always love how I have to do it.” He picked up the post again and thumped it on the ground in front of him, as if testing how it would look upright. “What about you? Do you love what you do?”

As the only offspring of Ronald and Bebe Bishop, it had been a given from her first breath that she'd work in the store. Loving that never came into the equation. As such, her first impulse was to say the expected thing, something easy like “Sure I do,” but she choked on the words.

“It…needed doing.”

“What if it didn't?” He looked at her. “What would you love to do? Would you build amazing little birdhouses all day?”

She wondered if anyone even remembered her college major. “No. I'd build amazing big houses. For people.” It felt like someone else was answering for her, some daring other Janet he'd managed to tug out of her with his eyes.

“Architect?”

“I have half a degree. Three quarters of one, actually. I always meant to go back and finish that last year after we got things settled at the store.” That degree felt like an exercise in futility anyway—a stretching of wings that she'd never really get to use. It hadn't even really been a decision to come home from college when her dad had gotten sick. It had already been decided that she would run Bishop Hardware, and who needed an architect's degree to do that?

A breeze picked up in the trees, showering amber-colored leaves down around them. One fell onto the post, and Drew brushed it off before he thumped the wood on the ground again, turning it to a new angle. “You quit school to come back and help your mom when your dad died?”

“She needed it. She doesn't have it in her to run the store.” She picked up one of the leaves that had fallen on the fencing. She held it up to the light, the deep yellow glowing in the low afternoon sun, and spun it around in her fingers. It was wet on one side from the brief rain shower that had come overnight. “And you know Vern would curl up and die if he didn't have Bishop Hardware.” She tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out with a sad little lilt. It made her wonder about the dear old man. Had he thought he'd be the one to run Bishop Hardware after her father died? Why had it never even been discussed? He was as close to being a Bishop as anyone could be without having the actual name.

“Vern.” Drew said the name with affection and amaze
ment. “The Verns are all but gone from this world. He's a piece of work, I'll tell you. You don't meet Verns at HomeBase.” Somewhere over her shoulder a pair of birds called to each other. She and Drew listened to the exchange for a moment. “No Verns in Los Angeles, either,” he continued wistfully. “Nope, the Verns are out here, in the neighborhoods like this one. And they're the most important people, the Verns.”

He said it in such an odd way—especially about a man he'd essentially just met. It made her wonder. “You have a Vern in your life, I take it?”

“I did, yeah. Only he was a Hal. A lot like Vern, only younger—and fatter, too.” Drew chuckled. “A great big man, as a matter of fact. Could devour barbecue ribs and gospel music like no one I've ever met since.” She saw that same distant look, the one that took those intense eyes far back into his memory.

“A pastor or something?”

Drew laughed. “Not at all. Well, maybe in a radical sense of the word. He pastored me, but not in a church pew. I wouldn't have darkened the door of a church in my earlier days. I was a pretty wild guy growing up.” He stole a look at her. “I'm sure you can't imagine that, given my personality.”

“Well—” she nodded “—you're such the shy type.”

“In college I was the wild guy. Full-out, one-hundred-percent intensity in all directions.” He spread his hands in front of him. “Including several less-than-healthy ones. I liked to be entertained, enthralled, and I found some pretty daring ways to do it. I'll spare you the sordid details, but let's just say by my sophomore year in college, I was a pretty lost soul in every sense of the word. Film school is a really easy place to explore your dark side.”

Film school. That explained his ease with the cameras, Janet supposed. And his tendency to be in front of them. “Believe it or not, it's a rather ordinary story,” he began. Janet regretted asking, realizing he'd taken her inquiry as an opening to tell his testimony.