Like Sweet Potato Pie (26 page)

Carlos sat down next to me and leaned forward, laughing. Running his hands through his thick black hair as I caught snatches of words:
Beautiful. Boca Juniors. Three seconds.

Wait a second. “Boca Juniors?” I turned to him incredulously. “Are you talking about soccer?”

Carlos glanced up then hastily ended the conversation. His smile faded as he stuck his cell phone back in his pocket. “Sorry about that. He’s kind of a work buddy, and I have to … but that makes no difference. Where were you? I’ve waited all evening.” His dark eyes glinted, wounded and moody.

“Emergency room,” I replied in humiliation, stuffing my bandaged finger in my pocket. “Didn’t you get the message?”

“No! Did you leave one?” His hand fluttered to his cell phone pocket. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see it.”

“No big deal. Just three stitches.” A drinking glass that cracked as I loaded it into the too-full Green Tree sink. Apparently I didn’t do the whole “carry-heavy-trays-without-maiming-yourself” thing very well.

“Stitches?” He ran a hand through my hair. “You should be more careful, amor.”

We sat there in strained silence until he finally caressed my arm. “You … okay? Are you hurt? Where did you cut yourself?”

“I’m fine. I just … I’m fine.” I kept my arms crossed.

Carlos ran his hand through my hair. “Listen. Let’s get something to eat. You look hungry.”

“I’m not hungry. I just want to know why you’re suddenly here. You haven’t called me for months.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought … Why should we have all this distance between us? You’re beautiful, Shiloh. Special. I need you.”

I kept my gaze shifted away, praying for words. Something exciting but menacing tingling in my heart, like a flash of lightning over the mountains. “I don’t know if I’m ready for … well, what we had before, Carlos.”

“Ready? Why not? It’s me, Shiloh. I even brought your ring back.” His eyes glowed as he reached into his pants pocket. Not jeans this time, but good-quality khakis from Banana Republic that fit him flawlessly. Ironed. Nobody I knew around here wore khakis like that, even to church.

When Carlos opened his fingers, my engagement diamond glittered in his palm like ice. “I’ve even forgiven you for all the stupid taxes I had to pay on it. Although I really wish you hadn’t put the full price on the envelope. But … that’s all in the past now.”

Carlos reached out and grasped my left hand, and before I could think what to do, slid it on my ring finger. It sparkled there in breathtaking defiance.

“Leave it on,” he murmured, that lush voice of his whispering gently. “I bought it for you.”

I stared at it there in the yellowish lamplight, snow falling outside the darkened window. A thousand words stuck, frozen, on my tongue.

“You’re still the same inside, princesa,” he whispered. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ll pick up where we left off. I love you.” His voice trailed, husky. And he leaned forward to kiss me. Not on the forehead, but on the lips.

I shook myself out of my stupor long enough to pull away, scooting abruptly across the sofa and opening a wide space between us.

“I’m not ready yet, Carlos,” I said in warning tones, slipping the ring off with shaking fingers and handing it back to him. “You dumped me for some lousy housemate and haven’t spoken to me for months. I don’t know you anymore. What do you even want out of life?”

My heart beat out a plaintive cry as I remembered Adam asking me that same question, sitting on my deck steps in silver summery dawn. Everything that had previously mattered to me falling on its knees in the light of this strange and wonderful Jesus, whose light seared each empty corner of my heart.

Carlos stared down at the ring in his hand then finally put it back in his pocket, rubbing his forehead in irritation. “What do I want out of life? I don’t know. That’s kind of a heavy question for me right now.” He shrugged and checked his cell phone, a gesture that annoyed me. “I think … happiness, right? There’s nothing greater in life than to be happy. And I could be happy with you.”

I could be happy with you.
The words didn’t bring the stunning force I expected. I could be
happy. With you.

I remembered Kyoko’s question hanging there in my Japanese cell phone in block text letters and the cursor blinking. Waiting for my response. D
OES HE LOVE YOU?

I cleared my throat. “So, happiness?”

“Sure.”

Adam told me he wanted to honor God.
The thought sprang into my mind without any warning, and I guiltily shoved it down.

“Let me stay with you.” Carlos’s eyes pleaded. “Just for a week or so—how’s that? And then we can talk about our future. I’ll do anything. I’ll clean your place. I’ll fix it up. I’ll have dinner waiting when you come home. Whatever you need.”

I hesitated, ever so slightly, and Carlos saw it. He reached out and took my hand in his, lightly kissing my fingers. “Please, princesa.”

My free hand bumped, with shocking accuracy, into a blue hardbound Gideon Bible on the end table, right next to the lamp. I ran my fingers along the pages, feeling them flutter like flakes, a soft rustle of silver.

Maybe I’m wrong about this whole Jesus thing
, I thought, staring out at the snow.
Maybe my Jimmy Choos are telling the truth about who I really am.

I pressed my palm to the Bible cover, wishing I could draw warmth from its words. This confusion of Carlos twisted around my neck like a too-tight scarf, cutting off the circulation I thought I had.

Is it so wrong, God, to want happiness? To want wholeness? Life? Purpose?

To want out of this mess of bank liens and back taxes and house seizures?

Ice beaded on the windows, diamond-like, in sparkling patches like my engagement ring. Each tiny point sharp and dazzling. Frozen like my thoughts, my breath.

A thousand glittering eyes staring into my roiling heart.

I abruptly excused myself, untangling my hand, and fled for the lobby bathroom. Closing the door behind me. Leaning, trembling, against the cool painted wood.

“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered, covering my face and trying to pray. All my former confidence swept away like the sun. “Please show me the way! I am weak. I am tired. I am a lost sheep.

“Worse than that, I am Esau.”

I imagined a brown helping of stew, steam curling up its bowl. And I reached for it. With my one unbandaged hand, of course.

I got out my keys and pulled on my coat, marching out to the lobby and straight to the exit. Not trusting myself to go and sit beside Carlos. “I need to think,” I said, wrapping my scarf around my neck. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And I plunged out into the bitter night, leaving him standing at the glass door with stiff hands on his hips, watching me go.

My cold feet must have been an omen.

Stella called the next morning to announce another snowstorm and people packing the Food Lion to buy bread and milk. Misty Wilcox had her eye on Shane again, Stella informed me, and if I wanted him, I’d better move fast.

“Which one’s the most urgent? Food Lion or Shane?” I stood at the window, watching the snow. Not daring to mouth a word about Carlos.

“Well, duh! Shane of course! He’s a good-lookin’ man, and Misty’s on the prowl. I jest hope he’s got enough sense ta stay away from that gal. She ain’t nothin’ but trouble, Shiloh. You gotta save him!”

“The only thing I’m saving is my skin from collection agencies,” I replied, padding through the kitchen in my house slippers to pull out the rusty ironing board. Can of spray starch (per Jerry’s picky requirements) and white-collared shirt waiting on the kitchen table. “Shane will have to fend for himself. Besides, I’ve got a house showing at six. I’m busy.”

I was trying to scrub wrinkles out of my stubborn shirtsleeve when the phone trilled again. “Stella? I’ve got extra bread. How much do you need?”

“Lowell Armstrong here.”

“My Realtor. Oh. Sorry. The house’ll be ready by six. I promise.”

“Did I hear right, Shiloh? You went out with Shane Pendergrass?”

The iron hissed as I set it upright. “Yes, Lowell. And we’re getting married this afternoon,” I snapped, sick of chasing down this stupid rumor. “Satisfied?”

Lowell didn’t speak for a long time, and I ironed in angry silence. “Are you serious?” he finally sputtered. “What about your house? I thought …”

“I was kidding, Lowell.” My voice stretched taut. “No. I didn’t go out with Shane. I’m not interested; never will be. Okay? So I’ll call you tonight after the showing. I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

“Listen, Shiloh—I know we agreed on six, but the snow’s supposed to get worse, and they want to come early. Can you do it? I’ve got a good feeling about these guys.”

“Early?” My eyes flickered to the clock, which pointed to just after eight.

“Oh, just maybe … ten? You can do it by ten, right?”

“Ten o’clock in the morning? In this snow?” I yelped. “Are you kidding? I’ve got to scrape my car, dig out of here, and get ready for work, Lowell! I’ll never get the house together in time!”

“I believe in you, Shiloh. This is your moment!”

Right.
I slammed the iron down.
Of course you believe in me, busting my tail getting ready for work and cleaning the house while you sit behind your cushy office desk, probably with your feet up on it!

I ran a hand through my messy hair. Snowbound outside of my own house, with just a few minutes to pick dog hairs off the furniture. “Fine. I’ll go to work early. I’m on the clock for eleven thirty anyway.” I mashed the wrinkled sleeve with the iron.

“Atta girl. Believe me, nobody wants your house to sell more than I do, Shiloh. Hey, and say hi to Shane for me, will you? His dad and I are buddies. Tell him to come by sometime and let me know if he still wants to sell that—”

I slammed the phone back into the receiver.

I pushed through the frosty glass doors at The Green Tree, and there sat Beulah Jackson at a side table, sipping the remnants of a cold-looking cup of coffee.

“Beulah?” I shook snow from my hair and leaned over to hug her. “What are you doing here? Trinity doesn’t come in until this evening.”

She patted my cheek affectionately. “Oh don’t worry. I ain’t here to see Trinity. I’m here to see you. And what a cute thing you are, too! Just like one of Santa’s elves, all rosy and bright.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, please don’t say anything about Shane. I didn’t go out with him. Not like he thinks I did.”

“Who?” Beulah swiped snowflakes off my eyelashes and brushed my shoulders. “No, that ain’t why I’m here. But take these.” She held out a flowered gift bag. “I made ‘em for ya. Can’t vouch for how they taste.”

“For me?” I peeked inside. The bag bulged with heavenly smelling chocolate chip cookies and a jar of homemade hot cocoa mix. “Beulah, you didn’t have to bring me anything!”

Beulah and Stella were a dieting girl’s worst nightmare. Good thing Kyoko wasn’t here, or she’d bark at me to run around the block.

Beulah patted my arm. “But I wanted to. It’s good to see you, Shiloh. I prayed you’d come in early today.” She slid out of the booth and pulled on her gray wool winter coat. “C’mon.” She held out her arm. “Take a walk with me. I’ve paid already.”

“A walk? Now?”

“Yep. When’s the last time you actually slowed down enough to enjoy somethin’?”

“You win. Let’s walk.”

I held the door for Beulah, and we stepped out onto the wintry sidewalk. Cars slushed through the wet streets, dotted with falling snowflakes. Snow carpeted the leaves of a potted tree, dusting its brown branches like a striped candy stick.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and inhaled deeply: the scent of snow, fresh and clean and cold.

“Snow that covers,”
Mom had written in her journal.
“Snow that blots out. Snow that promises shouts of victory just beneath the surface. All the roots and shoots and stirrings waiting, joyfully, to erupt at the just proper time… . A picture of the gospel: ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ ”

Beulah put her arm around me, looking up at the old brickwork and church steeples. Pearl-gray clouds scuttling overhead. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”