Stranded in Paradise (20 page)

Tess enfolded her fragile frame and hugged her tightly. “I promise.”

As Carter backed the truck out of the drive, Stella suddenly quickened her steps. Her eyes deepened with concern. Reaching out, she grasped onto her fingers through the open window. Tess held on tightly.

“Remember the things we talked about,” Stella called. “About trust, and faith and love.”

“I will.” She knew that she would never forget the time she'd spent in Stella's house, or the long talks, and the woman's wisdom. She swiped at tears stinging her eyes.

The Chevy was old, and rattled as if it would fall apart. Carter seemed unusually quiet, Tess assumed because he was concentrating on driving. Or was he avoiding conversation? The air between them was charged, as if they both had something weighing on their minds and neither could push past politeness to speak. His stern features indicated that he was troubled. Maybe he thought that rushing back to Denver would only cast her back into the same mold she'd always been in. And perhaps that could happen, but she didn't think so. Ever since she'd gotten the telegram and money from her mother a new thought had been forming within her. Now, as they made their way along the cluttered, storm-strewn streets of Kihei she saw with clarity why she'd always held back, had been so terrified of trusting. Mona. The one person she'd tried so hard to trust, who had invariably failed her, finally came through, and with that one act, Tess felt her foundations shake. If Mona, who was far from perfect, could be trusted, perhaps God, the God Carter loved so dearly, deserved her trust too. But first she had to go to Indiana, to see her mother for herself. Indiana held the key to her problems.

She looked over at Carter. The thought of never seeing him again left her hurting. Somehow it seemed wrong to walk away from this man; why, her practical side couldn't fathom. But like the air she breathed, it just was.

Carter peered at the vacillating dash gauges, seemingly unaware of the turmoil going on inside her. “The gas gauge is sticking. Stella and Fredrick must not believe in maintenance.” His voice fell to silence.

She studied the pineapple fields as the old truck rattled along Highway 30. She was heading home; Carter was going back to Chicago and his job at O'Hare—his church work. She recalled the dedication in his voice when he spoke of his mission trips to faraway places like Bosnia, El Salvador, and his newest project, an orphanage in Uganda. How she wished she could do something so noble, so
meaningful
with her life.

Her eyes switched to the Bible lying on the seat between them. She picked it up and glanced over questioningly. Carter turned the wheel and they headed down 380. His jaw locked, and she wondered if she'd aggravated him by handling the book. Even he would have to admit that not everybody carried a Bible in their front seat. Maybe Jehovah's Witnesses . . . pastors.

Carter answered her silent inquiry. “I've fallen behind on my reading lately.”

She lightly skimmed the worn pages. Passages were highlighted in yellow; notations made to the side.

She closed the Bible. “If the Bible is the best-selling book in the world, what's the second?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Would you think I'm full of myself if I told you that I knew?”

He glanced at her.

“Well, I don't—I haven't a clue either,” she admitted lightly, “but I do know the Bible sells over a million copies a year—read that in a Crimson and Brown report. Why that particular fact was mentioned in a human resource periodical, I can't imagine.” She lifted the heavy black book again and stared at it. “Have you read this through?”

“Several times.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Several times? Why? Does it update itself?”

“No, it doesn't change—only my comprehension changes. Every time I read it, I discover something I didn't know before.”

She could see she was getting to him. He gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. Not the relaxed Carter of days past. He seemed on edge, tense. Distant. Well, maybe that was what she wanted: distance. The relationship had all the signs of . . . what? Turning serious? Hardly. After today she would most likely never see him again.

She laid the book back on the seat between them.

He turned to focus on her. “Are you sure you aren't leaving for different reasons?”

“Like what?”

“Maybe you're afraid.”

“Afraid!” She scoffed. “Of what?”

“I don't know.” Carter turned onto the exit. “Afraid of discovering that God loves you more than you can imagine.”

“Why would that frighten me?”

“Love is a terrifying thing—it gives, yes. But it asks a lot more in return. You'd have to give up everything for Him—for Jesus. A lot of people turn back because of that. You'd have to let go of your unholy twins.”

“Unholy twins?”

“Hurry and Worry.”

“Hurry and worry,” she repeated. “Whatever.”

“You hurry too much, and you're going to worry yourself into an early grave.”

“Now just one minute—”

“Face
it, Tess. That's why you're in such an all-fired hurry to leave Maui. You can't stand the thought of rejection, that Len Connor fired you. You can't wait to get back and have the last say.”

His observation stung; and he couldn't be more off base. Well, maybe there was a grain of truth in the accusation but who was he to butt into her personal life?

“Quite obviously you don't live in the same world I do, Mr.-Perfect-Carter-McConnell. Worry is a natural extension of any high-pressure job.”

“You can't say my job isn't high pressure,” he reminded her.

“And you couldn't take the stress—you said so earlier. The only reason you came to Maui was because you were forced to slow down. So don't talk to me about hurry and worry. Those
twins
are on your back too!” She could feel her blood pressure boiling. Then she added insult to injury. “Plus, you have it EASY, Carter. You aren't upwardly mobile like I am. You've reached your goals.”

“Have I, now?”

“Haven't you? You sit in a tower, directing planes to safe landings and takeoffs.”

When he refused to capitulate, she baited, “Isn't that true? You've already reached your potential?”

“My potential won't be reached until I see Jesus face to face.”

She crossed her legs and her arms. One foot twitched erratically.

She sobered as the years fell away and she once again squirmed beside her grandmother in a pew as the priest's words filled the large sanctuary.

“Are you far more valuable to Him than the birds of the air? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?”

“The Jewish have a saying,” Carter's voice broke into her suddenly melancholy reverie. “‘Worms eat you when you're dead. Worry eats you when you're alive.' Worry erodes the machinery of our lives. Faith and trust are the grease that keeps it running smoothly.”

She felt helpless to argue. Memories had stripped her of self-assurance; confidence momentarily deserted her. Passages long forgotten drifted back to her.

“Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don't work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, won't He more surely care for you?”

“I don't understand God,” she admitted. “I just don't. But, you're going to have to trust
me
—I want to. I really do.”

Carter reached for her hand and held tightly.

A few minutes later his “Uh, oh,” broke the silence.

“What's the matter?”

The engine sputtered, and then coughed. She glanced at the gas gauge as the old wheezer started to buck. “Don't tell me we're out of gas!”

The Chevy rumbled and spat a couple more times. Carter swerved the vehicle to the edge of the road. “Okay,” Carter agreed. “But somebody needs to inform you.”

Panic crowded the back of her throat.
Out of gas?
The truck was out of
gas
and she had a flight out in one hour? Her eyes darted, trying to locate a nearby gas station.

Carter switched off the ignition. “I'll bet nobody's put gas in the tank in months.” He opened the door and unfolded his long legs out of the cab. “We passed a convenience store half a mile back.”

She went on point. “You have to walk? How long will that take?”

“I don't know. I'm not an Olympic sprinter, but I'll be back as soon as I can.”

She scooted across the seat and shouted after his retreating back. “My plane leaves in
one
hour, Carter! It will take me that long to get through security!”

“I'm aware of when your plane leaves, Tess.”

Carter trekked back to where they'd come from while she kept track of his progress through the back window. It didn't take long for the truck's cab to heat up. She wished she'd dressed a little more casually. Her nylons were already sticking to her legs.

She thought about getting out of the truck and standing somewhere cooler. She opened the truck door, hoping to catch a breeze. Twenty minutes passed. Finally she slid out of the truck and paced the side of the road.

About the time she decided something awful had happened to Carter and he was never coming back, a rattletrap truck sped down the road and skidded to a halt beside her. Carter clambered out and lifted a gas can from the truck's bed.

“Thanks!” he called.

“Aloha!” a voice returned before the truck sped off.

Carter lugged the heavy can to the back of the truck and uncapped the tank. Tipping the can, he poured gas into the empty tank. Sweat rolled down the sides of his flushed face. “Relax. You'll make the plane.”

Relax.
She resumed pacing.

By the time Carter returned the gas can, filled the tank, and parked the truck in “short term” parking, the plane was due to take off in twenty-five minutes. Tess's nerves were raw and stretched to the limit as Carter lugged her bags to the curbside check-in line. Minutes later, after retrieving her boarding pass, she made a break for the gate. Halfway there, she turned around and stopped. Harried passengers swerved around her to avoid a collision.

Carter stood in the opening of the breezeway, watching her. She hadn't said good-by. She realized this was the moment she had been avoiding all day.

Turning around, she walked back. They stood for a moment, breathing deeply of tuberose-scented tropical air. Paradise.

Silence stretched. Then he leisurely held out his arms and she walked into them. Holding on tightly, she closed her eyes and savored the last few hints of his cologne. She searched but couldn't find the words to say what she wanted to say. For the past ten days he had been a source of strength and hope that she never knew she needed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His hold tightened. “You weren't kidding about staying in touch?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you to.”

She wasn't sure how he kept his voice so calm, so level, when all she wanted to do was cry.

Gently releasing her, he stood back and smiled. “Take care of yourself, Tess Nelson.”

“You, too, Carter McConnell.” She grinned. Tears stung her eyes as she turned away and walked toward the gate. She heard his voice calling above the noisy room.

“I'm holding you to your promise to call. Don't forget me.”

Forget him?
Impossible.

Moments later, she raced down the Jetway and onto the wide-bodied plane. Breathless, and fighting back tears now, she located her seat. Buckled in, she fumbled for a tissue. She wished she'd never met Carter McConnell—knowing him only added another confusing equation to her messed-up life.

The plane remained unmoving in its place at the gate. Tess thumbed through a copy of United Airline Promo Magazine and listened for the door to seal. She checked the time. Back to her magazine.

Thirty minutes had passed when the pilot announced there would be a slight delay.

What
now?
If she could only get
out
of paradise— away from Carter—away from this feeling that because of this Chicago flight controller and his beliefs, her life would never be the same.

Another thirty minutes crept by. Passengers fanned themselves with newspapers; babies cried.

“Ladies and gentleman.” The pilot's grave voice came over the intercom. “Sorry about the delay. Seems there's been a security breach. Passengers will have to deplane.”

She slammed her head solidly back against the seat. Why not? What
ever
made her think she was going to get off the island this easily?

With a sigh of resignation, she picked up her purse and stepped into the aisle.

“How long?” she asked as she passed the flight attendant.

The lady shrugged. “Stay close. The airline will keep you informed.”

18

The message light on the answering machine was blinking when Tess turned the key and let herself into the apartment. She glanced at it. Twelve calls. Her thoughts drifted: Len.

He'd taken his good ol' sweet time to call.

After dumping her bags the bedroom, she returned to the hallway and jacked up the heat. Though the apartment was exactly as she'd left it, the place didn't feel like home anymore. What had changed? Her?

The two-hour delay at Kahului had given her time to reflect on her life and the direction she'd been going. She hadn't cared for the insight. Always the smug career machine, the Tess of the past had attributed success to self-achievement, but vacation . . . and Carter McConnell . . . had made her realize that no man—or woman, for that matter—was an island. Tess Nelson needed help.

She unpacked and then addressed the imminent problem: her phone messages. The first message came on. “Tess . . . ?” It was Len. He sounded contrite—no, penitent. “Tess—sweetie. I tried the hotel in Maui, and the clerk said there'd been some sort of accident—fire— something. Anyway, call me the minute you get home. We need to talk.”