Everything’s Coming Up Josey (22 page)

And tears.

He looks so good, in a boy-from-back-home sort of way. His curly, dark blond hair is horribly mussed, and he is wearing my favorite version of his ripped-at-the-knees Levi's, and he's holding my hand, his incredible blue eyes on mine. I can't help but compare his smattering of whiskers with Vovka's, and have decided that Chase wins. On him, the fuzzy, unkempt look works, especially when he combines it with that little bit of smile he does so well.

“Surprise,” he says softly.

I'm not recovering well at all, and Vovka notices as he shifts weight beside me. Chase cuts his gaze to my large, Fabio-style shadow, but I'm not ready yet for introductions.

“How did you find me?” I ask instead. Chase-Me, all the way across the ocean!

Chase shrugs, as if I should realize by now that he carries some sort of GPS-on-Josey device in his back pocket, and it reminds me of that time I was walking home barefoot and slightly punchy from Lew Sulzbach's July 4th bash and Chase drove up in his motorcycle. “I have a journalist friend in Moscow who did some hunting.”

Friend, in Moscow? I suddenly hope she's not tall and blond and Buffy-built. Calm down, he's here to see me! Wow, that evil green monster rises from the depths quicker than I can blink.

“A spy in Russia,” I say, trying to be funny, but now that I'm past the green moment, I am touched. He's pulled some strings, and hunted me down. “You constantly surprise me.”

He raises one eyebrow. “That's funny, because you once told me I was predictable as your mother's sponge cake.”

I grimace. I should admit to him right now that there's a lot I was wrong about. Instead, I take the opportunity to introduce Chase to Vovka.

They stare each other down like two prize fighters, sizing up the competition.

Gulp.

What's worse, I realize that I have nowhere for Chase to stay. He can't stay in my flat, and my male-friends options are dwindling fast.

Vovka. Or Caleb.

I glance at Vovka. He's got his hands in his pockets and he is slightly taller, with a supply of
GQ
muscles that accentuate his overall stun power. But Chase has this hard-bodied, simmering confidence that makes a gal gravitate toward him on a dark night. I know, because I've spent enough time on the back of his motorcycle and hiding behind him during a few “I've come to your rescue” moments outside the Howling Wolf to realize there is danger under all that easygoing charm.

I probably should separate the two men in my life before something ugly happens, despite the fact that two guys fighting over me is darkly appealing.

Except, well, I'm being rather arrogant, aren't I?
Fighting
over me? Hardly.

“Thank you, Vovka, for walking me home. I probably should find Chase a place to stay.” I don't approach Vovka, and at the moment I'm praying desperately that he doesn't lean over to kiss me. I can't deal with the slobber, let alone the aftermath of the questions in Chase's eyes. Or my own.

Vovka must sense my ambiguity, for he purses his model lips, turns and stalks over to his grandmother's apartment. Then, glancing at me with a gaze that makes me feel like a wart, he lets himself into her flat.

I wouldn't be surprised if I found him camped outside my door in the morning.

But, thankfully, the move throws Chase off. “He's your neighbor?”

Hallelujah!

“Yes,” is enough for now.

 

Caleb isn't home, which isn't a huge surprise, but offers a dilemma because you know, we missionaries shouldn't have any sign of impropriety, even if it is innocent.

Chase and I hunker down on the sofa to wait, and I don't even notice the night hours ticking away as he, like a refreshing northern Minnesota pine-laden breeze, delights my heart with stories of Gull Lake.

Wow, have I missed him. He is leaning back against the sofa, legs up on the coffee table, slouched down and eyes smiling as he tells me about Jasmine and her pregnancy, about Myrtle's attempts to fill my shoes, and about his students.

“Hey,” I ask as I grab the popcorn bowl. “How did you slip away from your classes?” Among the many gifts he's brought me—a DVD of
Lost
shows (okay, I'm a groupie!), six months' worth of
People
magazine, three bags of chocolate chips—he's packed a ten-pound bag of popcorn. Oh, he knows me so well. Once, during my senior year, I popped an entire garbage can full and had a bonfire bash out on Gull Lake beach. I think they're still turning up kernels.

“Winter break,” he says. “Actually, I've been planning it since New Year's Eve, but I couldn't sneak away before now.”

He's been planning it since
New Year's Eve.
I feel like a salamander. “I still can't believe you're here.”

He shrugs, smiles. “I figure if you can fly over the ocean, I should see what all the fuss is about.”

Oh. That's so very sweet, and I'm reading between the lines—are you worth the fuss? I am! I am! But, well, wait…what does this all mean, exactly? Chase is here, but why? He can admit he misses me without admitting his love for me, right? What if this is just an innocent visit and there is nothing to read into this? I want definition!

He reaches across the table for some popcorn. Smiles at me as he chews. I can hardly believe he is here. Gull Lake in my Moscow family room. I'm trying to right my tilting reality as the lock turns in the door.

Tracey stops three steps inside and stares at Chase. I see something like interest cross her face and inside me the green monster makes awakening noises. But I shouldn't worry. Although she looks like a long-lost cave girl, she's a woman of the new millennium and not a good study subject for Mr. Anthropologist.

“Hi,” she says, dropping her bag and closing the door with her foot.

“Hi,” Chase says, and I see a polite smile.

“I'm Tracey, Josey's flat-mate.” She sits down on the arm of the sofa and reaches over for popcorn. Since when does she eat popcorn? No wonder my supply dwindled so fast!

“Chase Anderson.”

She's grinning at Chase. And there is definite interest in her eyes. “Chase, my friend from Gull Lake?” I qualify for her. My very good friend. My, my,
my.

She glances at me—oh, are you here?—and nods, like sure, no problem.

Yeah, right. She's had some difficulties with territory issues, like
my
bagels,
my
popcorn,
my
potential love interest.

“Where have you been?” I can smell cigarette smoke on her from across the room, but I want her to say it aloud so that Chase will know, definitely, that she's not his kind of girl.

Well, then again, I don't exactly have a squeaky clean past. But I've been saved and living like it for a few years now, and besides, he knew me when and it didn't repel him.

Which only makes me jump from the sofa and pick up the telephone to call Caleb again.

“The Gray Pony,” Tracey says, answering my question. “It's jazz night.”

“Jazz?” Chase says. “They have jazz here?”

“And disco and R & B, and hip-hop and even Elvis,” I elaborate, listening to the telephone ring. Please,
please,
Caleb!

Tracey is peeling off her coat. Oh, joy, under it she's wearing her other skin, the lioness dress, with fur at the cuffs. It leaves oh, so little to the imagination. Yeah, Chase! He barely looks at her, and instead he pushes off the sofa, pads to the kitchen. “Can I drink the water?”

“Hello?” I hear from the telephone.

“Caleb!” My voice holds just too much relief, and I fear it'll give him the wrong impression. He pauses, and then,

“Josey. How are you?” I've had more warmth from a large mouth bass.

“Caleb, I have to ask you a huge favor.”

More silence. Tracey is helping Chase open a bottle of lemonade. She probably purring, too.

“I have a friend who just arrived from the States. I didn't know he was coming and I don't have a place for him to stay. Can he bunk with you for a few days?”

Silence. Has he hung up on me? On our friendship? Not that I don't deserve it. I know I've been a toad to him.

“Yeah, I guess. You know where I live, right?”

“Thank you, thank you! Caleb, you're a lifesaver.”

I get the dial tone. I'm going to pretend that the phone service cut us off. That happens sometimes.

I scoop up Chase's duffel. It's considerably lighter after Santa unloaded his gifts. “You're all set.”

Chase is leaning against the counter, eyeing me. “Who's Caleb?”

“A friend from church.” I see Tracey smirking at me as I pull on my boots and Dough Girl coat. Note to self: do not leave Tracey alone with Chase. Ever. “He lives a couple Metro stops from here.”

“Right.” Chase drains his lemonade, tugs on his jacket and shoes and we're off.

His duffel carried between us, we ride down the lift. My chest is in snarls, and I can't believe how angry I am. Across the lift, Chase is watching me with his curious blue eyes, eyes that I always find way too perceptive.

“I still can't believe you live here. And seeing your roommate makes me only more impressed. Please don't tell me you live with Catwoman by choice?”

I want to hug him. And a huge lump blocks my air, makes my eyes wet. I'm helpless to do otherwise, so I smile at him and shrug.

Outside, the sky is black, a cloud cover obscuring the stars. The air is still. Our feet crunch on the snow as we walk in and out of pockets of dingy light. Moscow at night can be romantic. It can also be creepy, and tonight I hear the skitter of garbage, an occasional hum of a car. It's not uncommon for gangs to prowl, waiting to spring on stupid foreigners who go out past dark.

“Don't talk,” I whisper, realizing suddenly that it's been weeks since I've walked home alone, and never in the dead of night. Vovka is always there to protect and serve.

“Why?” Chase whispers back. I say nothing and he frowns.

We don't talk again until we get on the Metro train. It's well lit and empty and I show him how to surf. Of course, he's a pro and gets it in a second. He was born to surf, I can see it, and I wonder for a second what it would be like to live in Moscow with Chase, to hang out at Venetsia, and wander the boulevards under the stars. He laughs as the train takes a turn and he's knocked off balance. The sound of his laughter feeds my heart. I can smell Gull Lake on him—wool and his fresh soap and cotton jeans. I'm feeling weepy again so I push him and he tumbles back into a seat, but not before he grabs me and pulls me down on his lap.

The giggles vanish, and his expression turns serious. He reaches up and touches my hair, running the strand through his thumb and forefinger. “It's different, but I like it.”

I'm not sure if he's talking about my hair, or me. Because I know I have changed. I'm…bolder, maybe. And owning my life, in a way that is also a glad surrender to God's plans, and that paradox feels strangely peaceful. Despite the struggles, I feel richer, even stronger for the last six months as I've wrestled with what it means to live for God, for His glory. I hope Chase sees this in my expression. It's this richness, this strength that prompts me to run my fingers through his hair, hoping he sees invitation in my gesture. I want to kiss him, and I feel it build in my chest, and consume my thoughts.
I want to kiss him.

No second cousin issues here. And while I do hear the beeping of a danger signal in the back of my mind, I'm tuning it out to stellar effect.

I see it in his eyes, too. He gives me a soft, lopsided Chase smile. “Are you glad I'm here?”

Is he kidding? I can barely breathe. I nod, slowly.

He runs his fingertips down my face, his beautiful eyes holding mine. “Me, too.”

Then he leans forward and I close my eyes. Please.

The Metro lurches, squeals and grinds to a halt. I'm jerked against him and we bump noses. Ouch! My eyes fly open.

But he's grinning, laughing and he shakes his head. “Our timing is perpetually off, isn't it, G.I.?” He pushes me off his lap as the subway stops and the doors bang open.

I disembark, knowing that the Anthropologist has uncovered our problem and dissected it with painful precision.

T
here is a time and a place for H. She's my link to Gull Lake gossip, my foothold in culture, and most of all, she's the only one who truly knows what it means to have Chase here, in my kitchen, making me dinner.

Besides God, that is. And right now, although H would find the latest turn of events fodder for a lengthy IM, I'm needing solid wisdom, from Someone who can see beyond my fears to tomorrow.

So I'm locked in my bedroom, under pretense of changing my shirt after spilling pizza sauce on it, on my knees and taking this straight to the One Who Really Knows.

I figure, if God can write all that stuff in Song of Solomon about twin fawns and honeycomb lips and eyes like doves, He might know something about the leaping gazelles frolicking in my heart.

Lord, he's here, which you know, but I think just need to lay all the facts out on the table. Chase is in Russia, and I am so confused. You alone know that I'm trying my best to live Your way, every day, whatever that means, and it's not so very easy with him dressed in my favorite black T-shirt, smelling like fresh soap and cooking for me. It is possible he's just here, like he has been over the last 20-odd years, to be my friend. Because, well, although there was that moment in the Metro when the emotions I thought I saw in his eyes matched his actions, since then, there's been nothing. Nil.
Nichevo.

Which makes me wonder if I'm attaching too much importance to this week.

1. He hasn't asked me once about Vovka. What's with that? He has to be curious. Especially since Vovka has appeared twice at my door, and called three times.

2. He told me all about Panty Stealer and Holiday Girl and made it clear that they were old shoes thrown into the back of the closet. So why can't he just say it aloud…he's here for me?

3. He and Caleb have hit it off, for which I have to applaud Caleb, unless, of course, Chase told him we were Just Friends. In which case, Caleb only sees opportunity.

4. Chase has definitely had some sort of spiritual nudgings over the last six months. I saw a pocket Bible in his stuff, and he prayed with me in a café (read: in public!) before lunch yesterday. Which only ups his eligibility. And, by the way, no matter what our future brings, thank You for answering that prayer.

5. Russia is his element. I haven't missed the fact that we spend every waking minute (practically) visiting ancient buildings, going to museums and watching people. Chase has attended every English class this week and bonded with Lera and Vera and Sergei (and I don't think Sergei needed to learn words like
goober
and
noogie,
complete with demonstration. I'm sorry, Lord, and would it be too much to ask if Matthew didn't find out until after I'm long gone?). All of this brings me back to the Big Question.

Why is Chase here?

So, Lord, I'm asking, please, give me a sign. Is Chase The One? Because, You know, I'm willing to dish out chances for him, here. Or should I be leaping for Vovka, the Man Who Loves Me?

More importantly, what life do You want for me? Gull Lake or Moscow?

 

There are many things I love about Chase. (Wait, did I say love? Maybe really, really, really like is safer at the moment. Oh, okay!
Love.
)

1. He fills out a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt like a Navy Seal. Where he got those muscles, I don't know, but I'm not complaining. And, as I more recently discovered, he also looks stunning in an Armani suit. (A truth I can now embrace because he's
not with Buffy
.)

2. He doesn't take me too seriously, something that I count on when I start taking soapbox positions on things like healthy eating, exercise and world politics.

3. He makes great pizza.

I am leaning over the counter, in a fresh T-shirt, snitching cheese. Tomato sauce bubbles on the stove, and the smell of oregano, basil and garlic saturates the air and is whipping my stomach into a frenzy. I have to admit, I didn't know basil really came in leaves. But Chase nearly went into a salsa dance when he found it today at the market. Actually, there are a lot of interesting things at the market, as I discovered today—fresh dill, basil, rosemary, leeks, leaf lettuce, Edamer cheese (which he informs me is German—like, how did he know that?) and roma tomatoes.

Sorta makes a girl wish she had been the one blessed with the cooking genes.
Sorta.

Chase has perfected the art of pizza making, most likely due to his remote assignments and the lack of decent pizza delivery. He is chopping green peppers at the moment, and he looks up at me, keeps chopping. “You remember when we made pizza over the campfire?”

Oh, yeah. I would have been grounded for a half a century if I hadn't been out with Chase. We made the dough up after a football game, stoked the coals from the dying bonfire and sat on the beach for hours watching it cook. I think I pulled in around 2:00 a.m., to my father waiting in the family room. Whoops. The pizza wouldn't have won any prizes, but now, as I see the memories in Chase's eyes, I know it has its own value. I nod. “We did a lot of crazy things,” I say.

“No, you did a lot of crazy things. I remember myself as the Voice of Reason.”

“Ha!” I say, but I can't deny that he's been the guy I most wanted to count on, the one I hoped would roar up on his motorcycle when I disentangled myself from a particularly groping date, or when H dragged me to a party that felt scary.

In fact, before I fell to my knees in repentance and surrender, Chase was the one who felt most like my guardian angel.

My throat is thickening. “You were always there, weren't you?” That's about as vulnerable as I can get at the moment, but still, it feels like I've just wrenched my heart out of my chest for him to take a good look. Yes, Chase, I needed you. More than I ever realized.

“Yes,” he says, and holds my gaze. “And I'm here, now, too.”

Whoa, is he ever. I can hardly breathe. “Why?” I ask, disbelieving that the word actually makes it out of my mouth.

He holds my gaze a moment longer, then goes back to chopping. I watch the knife slice the green pepper into paper-thin slices. “I guess I missed you.”

Oh.

“And, like I said, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

I suddenly feel like crying. “So, have you figured it out?”

He glances at me, real quick, then back to the pepper. “Not sure, still formulating my hypothesis.”

I let those words settle into my constricting chest, and loosen it. I reach over and grab a pepper, and he makes teasing move to spear me with the knife. “If you eat everything tasty before it gets on the pizza, you miss the end product. Wait, G.I.”

His words seem serious, however, and I wonder if they should be accompanied by a tingle or a nudge by the Holy Spirit.

“Trust me, it'll be worth the wait.”

Promise?

As if seeing the rush of fear, of doubt in my eyes, he cracks a grin. “Okay, I'll give you a little morsel.”

Yes, yes! I step closer to him, as he turns toward me. He's wearing his “I found you,” smile and my heart fills my throat as he leans down…and reaches over to the pile of sliced pepperoni. He picks one off and hands it to me, his breath close to my ear.

“No more snitching. Okay?”

I suddenly feel terribly ashamed. And I'm not sure why, but I think it has something to do with Vovka the Trout.

“Okay,” I say, pretty sure I know what I'm agreeing to.

I watch him push out the pizza dough into the pan, fill it, then put it in the oven (which he figured out how to work after a three minute perusal. What, do I have
kasha
for brains?).

I pour a couple of lemonades and we sit on the vinyl. “I told you I've been going to your church, right?” he says, picking at the label on his bottle. “And I think I've figured something out.”

I tuck my legs up under me, stretch my arm out along the top of the sofa, turning my body toward him.

“In all my work among people groups, I've seen a common thread.”

“What's that?”

“We all want to matter. Something you said when you wrote to me in Montana stuck with me. You wanted to do something significant. Pastor Peterson has been going through Galatians, and verse 2:20 has stuck with me. ‘I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body I live by faith in the son of God who loves me and gave himself for me.' I'm thinking that is what all this is about, Jose. You're letting Christ live in you.” He takes a drink of his lemonade, but I notice he doesn't look at me when he continues.

“I have to admit that I always looked at you with a bit of…desperate awe. You were always the one with the wild ideas, the passion. So much of the time, just being around you felt exhilarating.” He glances at me, a familiar winkle in his eyes. Then it dies.

“But you scared me, too. I followed you around most of the time thinking I was going to scrape you off the highway. And that thought nearly skewered me. But when you turned to God, well, part of me didn't want to believe it.” He sighs. “The other part felt cheated.”

I frown at him, seeing in the back of my mind his reaction when I told him about my new faith. He had seemed more distant, even angry. Come to think of it, shortly after that, he'd accepted his first assignment studying a people group in Alaska.

“See, I was pretty sure that deep down, you couldn't live without me. And when you decided you could…I felt like you threw our friendship out in lieu of your new Savior.”

He swallows, and I feel a pain deep in my chest. I want to touch his arm, to tell him no, but I have to admit, maybe I did act that way. Like some sort of spiritual giant, squashing all the little people. Josey, mounting the soapbox, again. I want to cry, because if he only knew how small I felt most of the time, he'd be right back on his motorcycle, coming to my rescue.

Only, maybe that's not so good for him. Maybe he needs to find his own road, one that doesn't have me at the end.

Ouch.

“The thing is,” he continues, “after I got over the fact that you might not be slapping me across the face, and that your faith was real, I started to pay attention. And I've come to some conclusions. I want my life to matter, also. And I'm not sure, but I think that if Pastor is right and eternity is what it's all about, then I think God has some insights into how to make life significant on both sides of eternity.”

“What are you saying, Chase?”

He looks at me now. The sight of my Chase at the edge of spiritual vulnerability makes me want to wrap my arms around him. “I asked Christ into my life.”

“You did?” I am trying to keep my voice down, but
he did?
Thank You, God, thank You! “Chase, that is great.”

But when he smiles, there is a sadness to it that doesn't match this news. I suddenly feel a swell of panic in the back of my throat.

“What would you say if I told you I might not be in Gull Lake when you return?”

What?
What?
“Where are you going?” Wow, I sound almost normal, like my heart isn't breaking into a thousand pieces. Foiled again, and this time by my own prayers!

He shrugs, and there is a sad smile. “I don't know. But my degree in anthropology might be an asset in a mission organization, especially in, for example, Irian Jaya, where they're discovering new tribes all the time.”

Irian Jaya? Lord, this is
not
the sign I was looking for! What about all that nonsense about waiting for the pizza? I thought Chase meant himself, but what if he just means…
wait for the pizza?
No wonder he said our timing was off…now that comment makes perfect sense. He wasn't about to kiss me, which then follows reason why he hasn't snatched any of the other opportunities I've presented before him. He wanted to tell me that he wouldn't be around when I returned.

“Wow,” I say, because I can't think of anything else. I feel sick. In fact I might hurl. Because as happy as I am for him, reassessing his life and all, he
needs
to stay in Gull Lake. Especially if he doesn't know he loves me, yet. How is he going to figure that out across a couple oceans and buried in the jungle? I probably should have outlined this in my litany of requests to the Almighty.
Lord, when I asked You to move in his life, this is
not
what I meant. Please, understand me here?

“Yeah.” Chase smiles at me, like he hasn't just cut me off at the knees. “I just thought that you, as my best friend, should know.”

Best friend. Never have those words hurt so much.