Jaded (27 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

When Momma drove away, I had no idea where she went. Probably Ansel and Velma's, but if so, she'd regret it. After all, Fawn was there.

I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Momma's words saddened me, but I felt dirty—
filthy
—from Neil's. His accusations and suggestions, his penetrating eyes and body language. I wanted to cleanse myself of his memory, and as I waited for the water to heat, I studied myself in the medicine-cabinet mirror. My face reflected back at me, pale and death-like, and I wondered when dark circles had appeared beneath my eyes. They made me look even more like Momma.

I stepped into the shower before adjusting the water, and my left side scalded, but I didn't care. At least I felt it. At least I felt something. My heart, which normally beat heavily with bitterness, now felt like a stone in my chest—a weight to be lugged through whatever trial came next.

The soapy washcloth wasn't sufficient, and I reached through the shower curtain to fumble under the sink for Momma's old loofah sponge. I never used the thing because of its coarseness, but suddenly I wanted it desperately. After saturating it with shower gel, I scrubbed my arms, legs, and body until my skin stung. Half the bottle of shampoo went onto my hair, and I clawed at my scalp, not slowing even when the soap trickled into my eyes. The burning under my lids eventually released pent-up anger, and I slammed my fists against the tile and screamed. The sound more closely resembled that of a tortured animal than a human, and it caught me so off guard that I halted my tantrum.

I stayed in the shower for what felt like hours, letting the water wash away the soap, the shampoo, the disgrace. Then I gently dried myself, wrapping the towel around my pinkened skin. I still felt dirty. Wiping the fog off the mirror, I peered at my reflection once again and even though the dark circles remained, I looked different. I stared at myself until I figured out what it was.

My eyes.

The emptiness had lessened, and my determination had increased.
What had changed?

A gentle stirring prickled my heart, and I realized I wanted to talk to God.
Needed to
. After all, there was no one else left. Every person in my world had pulled away in one way or another, but strangely, I didn't feel alone. I leaned toward the mirror with scrutiny. My eyes really were different. Lowering the toilet lid, I sat on the seat and rested my elbows on my knees.

And I prayed.

I told God about Momma's anger and Fawn's pregnancy and JohnScott's distance. I explained my jumbled feelings for Dodd and asked what in the world I should do, and then I begged for a way to get out of Trapp. When I griped at Him about Neil's behavior, I felt like a tattling preschooler, but then I lashed out at God for allowing that man so much power. Grief and anger bubbled inside me, and I embraced their familiarity like an old friend.

When I opened the bathroom door, cold air chilled my moist skin, and I quickly pulled on sweats and socks. I towel-dried my hair and pulled it into a bun, envisioning Neil's fury as he swung at Momma. None of it made sense. Or maybe it made too much sense. I stumbled to the kitchen table and sat down. What would he do now? Neil had already taken the Cunninghams away from me. Momma's job from her. Years ago, he took our church, our friends, our reputation.

And he took my daddy.

A whimper came from the depths of my lungs. One solitary sob that seemed to die from lack of energy.

As I positioned the salt-and-pepper shakers in the middle of the table, side by side, my hands shook. I pressed my palms on the table and studied them. Knuckles, fingernails, cuticles. My nails needed to be filed.

A knock sounded, and Dodd called to me as the door opened. “Ruthie, you okay?”

Why was the preacher here? Even though we had talked, and kissed, the night before, I made sure he understood my feelings hadn't changed. I couldn't go to his church or be what he wanted me to be, and I rested my forehead in my hands to avoid looking at him. “I've been better.”

He sat next to me at the table and trailed a finger across my arm. “You're shaking a little.”

I shrugged.

“Ruthie, I owe you another apology.”

I lifted my head to look at him then.

He leaned back and ran his hands through his hair, pausing to grip the back of his neck. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“Everything. I didn't listen to you, not really, and now I see how blind I was to what you were going through.” He pulled his chair close to me and took my hands in his. “I know what Neil said. Ruthie, I'm so sorry.”

“What? When?”

“At the United. This afternoon.”

The dirty feeling crept across my shoulders again. “You were there?”

“Charlie and me. Over by the Dumpster. We were getting boxes.”

I stared at the ceiling. The corner above Dodd's head had browned from a water spot. “What did you overhear?”

“All of it, I guess. Neil talked about an apartment in Lubbock, and college … and your mom.”

My entire life was soiled. “There's more,” I whispered.
He might as well know everything
. “Momma told me more.”

He squeezed my hands.

“Neil lied. He told my daddy I wasn't his daughter. That's why Daddy left us. Momma couldn't convince him otherwise.”

Dodd didn't move for several seconds. “So … your mother didn't have an affair, with Neil.”

“No.” I paused to consider it, answering slowly. “I don't think she had an affair with
anyone
.”

“Should we ask her?”

I laughed bitterly. “She won't be ready for an interrogation anytime soon.”

He studied me intently, then asked the question that had been running through my mind. “Do you believe Hoby is your dad?”

Another sob slipped from my lips, and I clamped my fingers over my mouth. Neil had already taken my daddy once. He wasn't taking him again. “I do. I believe that.”

Dodd pulled me toward him, cradling my head against his shoulder. He brushed aside a wisp of wet hair that had pulled loose from my bun. Then he prayed.

His prayer was different than mine had been. He prayed peace for Momma and me, and understanding and strength. He prayed Momma and I would learn how to communicate again. That we would heal and be blessed. Then he prayed forgiveness for Neil. At first I cringed, but then I realized I no longer had the capacity to withhold it from him. Even though his actions infuriated me, I would not allow him to control my anger any longer.

As Dodd continued to pray, I cried.

Thirteen years' worth of tears. Thirteen years of bitterness and frustration, confusion and anger—all blustering out of my heart in one explosive stream of forgiveness. I had never cried so hard, not even as a child—never knew it was possible for my body to react in such an involuntary way. In fact, trying to stop my blubbering would have been like trying to hold back the West Texas wind. I don't know how long it took, but Dodd never left my side or stopped praying, except to occasionally whisper words of comfort.

Eventually my sobs diminished to whimpers, and I wilted into a heap, laying my cheek flat on the kitchen table. “So what happened? After?”

Dodd wiped beneath my eyes. “I told Charlie and Lee Roy everything.”

“They believed you?”

“Why wouldn't they?”

I sighed. “What about Neil?”

Dodd shook his head. “Charlie and Lee Roy confronted him, but he couldn't repent. He stormed out of the building.”

I closed my eyes. “The Blaylocks won't have a friend left to their name.” Somehow the thought of the Blaylock women being knocked down a few notches satisfied me.

“Is that really what you want?” He spoke so softly, I could barely hear him. “To punish them for Neil's sins?”

My hand trembled as I pressed a fist against my lips, wishing my words could be taken back. I sat up and shook my head.

“The man is black with sin, Ruthie.”

I nodded. “Will the church push him away?”

“I get the impression Neil is gone for good, but if not, Charlie and Lee Roy won't ask him to leave.” He exhaled and leaned against the wall. “God is capable of forgiving the darkest sins, and He expects us to do the same.”

“If you're telling me to forgive Neil … I think I just did.” I peered into his beautiful blue eyes as they crinkled into a smile.

“I'm telling you to let God forgive
you.
”

Chapter Forty-Eight

The following weeks held so many changes, I didn't recognize my little town, much less my life. Not only did the church formally apologize to Momma and me, but a few families, like the Sanders, invited us into their homes. While Momma muddled through her feelings for the church members, I muddled through my own. I thought I had forgiven most of them, but it would take me a while to forget about Neil Blaylock and the accusations he had slung against my family.

Two things still bothered me, but I accepted it might be years before Momma explained them. First, I couldn't help but wonder about Clyde Felton. Whatever happened to his girlfriend and baby? Second—and this wasn't nearly as pleasant—I found myself wondering about Momma and Neil dating back in high school. She never told me why he broke up with her.
Thank God, he did
. But why?

In spite of my questions, peace gradually settled over Momma and me like soft music. I had discovered so much about my past, I couldn't handle any more for a while, so I ignored my doubts and embraced rest. Of course, the peace didn't make a lick of sense, but I decided most things weren't meant to make sense, and I was better off not forcing sense into them.

Like my feelings for Dodd. He had been gracious enough to back off for a while, but never so far I had to wonder about his intentions. He would wink whenever he came into the school office, or slip me a Butterfinger in the teachers' lounge, or eavesdrop on my conversations across the gym. My feelings for him, though intense, were tangled up with my feelings for the church, and I had a dickens of a time sorting them out.

Even though Momma still begrudged Christians to a certain extent, I no longer worried about my actions hurting her. Maybe I'd cause her grief, and maybe I wouldn't, but Momma had to tend to her own pain. We formed a nonverbal truce, allowing each other to befriend, or not befriend, whomever we wanted. So far I had bitten my tongue at her impatience with the church ladies, and she had done nothing more than hide in her bedroom if Fawn dropped by the house … which happened often.

Fawn and I weren't as close as we had been when we were young, but every day, I found it more likely we would be. Ansel and Velma had welcomed her into their home for as long as she needed a place to stay, and I was beginning to view her presence as a blessing instead of an intrusion. Besides, the distance she kept from her father—and possibly her mother—seemed to gradually cleanse the spite from her heart. As she became a different person, I found my own heart overflowing with compassion for her, but I worried how she would manage. Without her parents' support, she would have a terrible time making a life for herself and her child. I wanted to help her and yet had no idea how to go about it.

Emily Sanders also showed up at my house periodically. I assumed her mother still pushed her to befriend me, but I no longer minded. What once seemed manipulative, I now understood to be their bumbling way of reaching out in love. Sure, the whole Sanders family would always be what I called
followers,
but they no longer blindly followed the church crowd, so I couldn't fault them. And neither could Momma. Whenever she saw Emily, she would roll her eyes, but at least she didn't lock herself in her bedroom.

She tolerated both Fawn and Emily, but the ultimate test of her patience came when I invited Dodd to dinner. I knew it would make Momma uncomfortable, but I also knew I couldn't keep him waiting indefinitely.

 

In preparation for dinner, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, cooked two chocolate sheath cakes, burning the first, and washed all my laundry in hopes of discovering something new to wear.

Momma, on the other hand, appeared indifferent. She brought takeout from Dixie's Diner, then slipped into her house shoes.

Even though I was glad she returned to her job at the diner, I couldn't help wishing for a home-cooked meal for Dodd. I frowned at the Styrofoam containers boasting
The Best Dining Experience in Texas
, but at least we had a homemade dessert.

“What?” Momma asked. “Your preacher man too good for takeout?”

I didn't argue as I transferred the chicken-fried steak onto one of our own platters, but when I heard Dodd's knock, my stomach knotted.

What if Momma pitched a fit? What if Dodd said something to set her off? What if my life never changed, and I remained trapped in the same scenario for another decade?

I opened the door and shrugged helplessly. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for asking.” The crinkles around Dodd's eyes settled my nerves.

“She's waiting for us,” I whispered.

When we stepped into the kitchen, Momma tossed three of our flowery plastic plates on the table without looking up.

“Thanks for having me over, Lynda.”

Dodd put one arm around her shoulders briefly, but she only motioned toward the table with an ice tray. “Sit.”

I didn't appreciate her attitude, but I understood it perfectly. Dodd and I had been studying the Bible together. At first I tried to hide it from Momma but soon realized she might as well get used to the idea because if I started hiding it now, I'd be hiding it the rest of my life. That's how long I planned on reading the stinking book, because now that I'd begun listening to God, I didn't know how I had done without Him for so long.

I poured iced tea into glasses, which Dodd helped me carry to the table. As we sat, he habitually lifted his palms to hold hands during the blessing, but when he noticed Momma had already put a bite in her mouth, he swept up his fork before she noticed. “This looks tasty, Lynda.”

She stopped chewing and glared at him suspiciously. “It came out of Styrofoam.”

“Not any old Styrofoam, though.” Dodd pointed with his knife. “Styrofoam from Dixie's Diner, the best dining experience in Texas.” Momma scrutinized him, probably wondering if he was making fun, but he continued. “We get dinner from Dixie's at least once a week. I'm not sure it's the best food in Texas, but it's good, just the same. The meat loaf is exceptional, and Mom loves the pork chops, but my favorite is the chicken-fried steak. I don't think anyone could beat it, do you?” He placed a bite in his mouth.

“Well … I suppose not.” Momma pushed a dollop of mashed potatoes around her plate. “I do love Dixie's chicken and dumplings.”

I blinked.

“How does she get them so perfect?” he asked. “Not too done, but not too soggy. And with all that gravy.” He leaned toward her as though he were sharing a special secret. “We may have to get some for dessert.”

“Don't be silly,” I said automatically. “I made sheath cake.”

Dodd held his hand to the side of his mouth and spoke to Momma in a stage whisper. “Just go along with it. We don't want to hurt her feelings.”

Momma actually chuckled.

“What's a sheath cake anyway?” he asked me.

“Only the best chocolate cake in the world. Gooey, with icing drizzled on top when it's still warm.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So it's actually better than Dixie's chicken and dumplings?”

The knot around my stomach had gradually unwound, and now it did a gleeful cannonball into the deep end of my emotions, splashing my heart with something that felt an awful lot like love.

Dodd continued to carry the conversation, asking nonthreatening questions to get Momma to join in, and when he told her the lime and lemon Popsicle story, she almost spewed iced tea. Evidently the image of the preacher carrying on about wine and women got to her, and she was trying not to smile when she carried her plate to the sink.

Dodd followed with his own dishes. “Thanks again for the meal, Lynda.”

Her lips parted as though she had just thought of something funny to say, but then she turned away suddenly, mumbling, “Oh, sure.”

Evidently she had reached the limit of her hospitality, because she stalked to her bedroom and shut the door.

Dodd sighed. “Should I go?”

“Not yet.” I felt my expression changing into what JohnScott called my spoiled-brat face, but I couldn't help myself.

“Okay, then,” Dodd said. “Should we do the dishes or sit on the couch and talk?”

“Couch, definitely.”

He reached for my wrist and pulled me into the living room, where I silently studied Momma's bedroom door, closed like so many doors in my life. Closed doors, closed minds, closed hearts. But I was learning to make peace with the closed doors and climb through the windows.

He leaned back on the couch and slipped his arm around my shoulders, sending chills down to my elbows. When I smiled up at him, I was surprised by his grave expression, and a thin shadow fell across my happy mood.

“What's wrong?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Rubbed the back of his neck. “Ruthie, you need to register for classes at Tech this fall.” He sounded like a parent telling a third grader to brush his teeth.

“What? Why? I'm not sure it will work out with Momma.”

His eyebrows met in the middle. “It's time for you to make it work out.”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“It's only fair.” He ran a finger across the velour of the couch cushion. “You told me what to do.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

He pulled my hand onto his knee and traced my fingers. “Remember that night at Old Man Guthrie's ponderosa pine? Before Christmas?”

“What about it?”

“You told me to quit teaching and get an engineering degree.” He smiled. “Then you told me to obey you.”

He tickled my hand, and I had trouble focusing on the conversation. “And …”

“Well, you were right. So really, I should thank you.” He picked up my hand and ran his lips across the tips of my fingers. “So in light of your revelation, I decided not to renew my teaching contract for next year.”

I gasped. “You can't do that. What about your mom and Grady? You need the income. You've got to consider the possibilities and not make a hasty decision.”

He laughed out loud. “This hasn't been a hasty decision. I've been thinking about it since that night in December. Mom will still be at the middle school in the fall, so that will be a steady income for her. Grady will be at Tech”—he raised an eyebrow—“with
you
, and like you, most of his tuition will be covered with grants and loans. You won't want the loans, but that works out because you can live here with your mom. Of course, you won't mind evenings in Trapp because I'll be here.” He rubbed his lips across my cheek, and an electric current spun down my neck, but he only grinned. “Any questions?”

“What was that you said about engineering?”

“This is the best part, Ruthie.” He chuckled. “I'm going back to school with you and Grady, to get my bachelor's in engineering. Tech agreed to let me work part-time in the math department for now, and when I start my master's, I can probably teach a few freshman-level courses.”

It was almost too much information to get my mind around. “Dodd, that's … that's amazing. I don't know what to say.”

He laughed. “Say you'll register.”

Momma remained shut up in her bedroom, bumping around in there noisily, and I stared at her door, searching for an answer.

“Hey,” Dodd said softly, “I listened to your advice. The least you can do is listen to mine.”

He was right. I could take college classes. I could study the Bible. I could date the preacher. I could do whatever I wanted. And suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. What I was ready to do. What I
needed
to do.

Placing my palm against his jaw, and ignoring the tears in my eyes, I said, “I want to go to church with you, Dodd.”

He melted. “All I asked for was a few college classes.”

“I know, and I'll do that, too.”

He squinted his eyes softly, and I knew he was afraid to ask the next question. His voice was so light, I wouldn't have heard him if I hadn't been looking.

“Why?”

I leaned back against the couch cushions. “Well, it's complicated. First of all, I love you, and because I love you, I want to experience life with you and make you happy. But that's not the real reason.” I raised my hands slightly before letting them fall back to my lap. “It's just that I love God, too, and He wants me there. He wants me at worship, even though the people are a faulty, ugly, sticky mess.” I sighed. “I have a feeling He thinks I'll fit right in.”

Dodd stared at me, and in his crinkly blue eyes, I saw pride. And peace. He gently leaned in, wrapped his arms around me, and nestled my head against his shoulder.

And it felt so good.

He rubbed his hand up and down my back, then ran his fingers through my hair, and I didn't care if he ever stopped. “What was that first thing you said again?”

I laughed out loud and popped him on the chest.