The Big Picture (29 page)

“How’s your mom?” he asks, his hand shaking my knee — his trademark greeting.

I pull the seatbelt across my chest. “Better. She’s been home every night since . . . well, since Tuesday.”

“Have you guys talked — really talked?”

My laugh is bitter. “No. And when we do, we just fight. It’s okay, though.” I shut down the topic and crank up his radio. “It’ll work out.”

We change into our costumes, mine a Noah-like robe, and Tate’s some weird-looking housecoat he brought, somehow thinking it makes him look like Noah’s wife. He looks more like an overfed housewife with way too much testosterone.

The kids laugh at my take on Noah, but as I glance out into the rows, I realize they sit on the edge of their seats and hang on our every word. For the first time in a week, I feel my heart lighten. At least here, I feel a purpose. I know I’m doing some good. At home — I’m just taking up space and doing dishes.

Tate, still in his crazy outfit, peels off his wig and approaches the kids. He stands in front of them and speaks to them about faith, a reoccurring theme here at church lately. And in my own life.

“Noah didn’t understand why he had to build an ark.” Tate pauses until he has the attention of every wiggling child. “He just knew he had to be obedient and listen to what the Big Guy said. Sometimes the things we’re supposed to do and the places God puts us don’t make sense. But God doesn’t need our approval. He just needs us to do what he says.”

Tate leads them in prayer and asks for a show of hands for those who want to learn more about Jesus and getting saved.

My breath catches as two boys raise their hands. Tate, his head still bowed, nods to them, then looks at me. His eyes hold mine, and my lips move into a giant smile. I feel like the arms of God are wrapping around me.

Tate finishes his prayer, dismisses the kids, then goes down on one knee to talk to the two boys. “Katie, we’re going to need you over here.”

With a singing heart, I join the group.

“Tanner and Cory want you to pray with us. We’re going to pray the prayer of salvation with them.”

The two boys lock hands. I place my hand in little Cory’s, then hold out my other for Tate’s. He takes it and holds it to his heart for a brief second, his smile radiant as an In Between sunrise.

And we pray. And lead Cory Strickland and his best friend Tanner into the family of God.

“HOLD STILL!” I MAKE MY THIRD attempt at wiping off Tate’s drawn-on eyebrows, but am giggling too hard to hold my hand steady. “What did you draw these things on with — a Sharpie?”

I sit next to him on the front row of the children’s room, my own costume neatly folded away and in the corner closet.

His face jerks as he laughs. “And when your fake beard fell off and got stuck on your tunic?” He shakes his head. “It was like you suddenly sprouted some major chest hair.”

“What about you tripping over your robe?” I punch his shoulder.
“You just
had
to be my wife? You couldn’t be a son? There were three to choose from.”

“Yeah, that costume was uncomfortable.”

“Nobody asked you to wear a stuffed bra.”

He leans into me as we laugh, shoulder to shoulder.

And that’s how Charlie Benson finds me.

“Hey.” The object of my In Between desire steps into the room, and I jump up.

“Charlie!”

“They told us we could find you back here.”

Frances and Nash appear in the doorway and rush to me. They envelope me in a hug, and I squeal, jumping up and down on one leg. Charlie stands outside the circle.

“Oh my gosh! I had no idea! Where — ?” I shake my head. “When? I mean, how — ?”

Frances hugs me again. “When you told me you were going to this church, I wrote the name down. I thought we’d surprise you today with a visit and go to the service with you.”

I look back toward Tate, who still sits in the chair. “Tate, this is my best friend, Frances.” Frances waves hello. “This is her boyfriend, Nash. And this is — ”

“Charlie.” Tate rises and sticks his hand out. “You must be Charlie.”

“Yeah. Good to meet you.” Charlie’s mouth might say good, but his face says the opposite. “Nice eyebrows.”

“Oh.” I chuckle and swab Tate’s face with the washcloth again.

“It’s okay.” He locks his hand over mine, stopping my attempts. “If you help any more, I’ll be in danger of losing my real eyebrows.” He smiles, his eyes taking in each one of us. “Well . . . I’m just going to get this stuff off and head to the sanctuary. It was nice to meet you all.”

“The preacher’s son?” Frances asks when Tate leaves.

“Yeah.” But my focus is on Charlie when I answer. “We’ve been doing skits to tell Bible stories.” I bring my attention back to Frances
again. “It’s the most amazing thing. It’s so cool to use drama to tell a story from the Bible. It was Tate’s idea. He loves those kids.”

I sit between Charlie and Frances during the service. I write them each a few notes, completely unable to pay attention to the sermon. Tate sits across the aisle but doesn’t glance our way a single time.

I have so many questions for Charlie. What’s his status with Chelsea? Where do we stand? Has he realized I am the sugar in his tea? The ketchup on his fries? We could make this work. We could. Like Tate said, if a guy likes a girl, distance won’t matter. Doesn’t it say something that Charlie made the drive this morning to see me? I think it does. I choose to believe it does. I shall have an ark-load of faith.

My head lifts after the invitation, and I roll my shoulders back in relief as a deacon reads the announcements then finally dismisses us.

We’ve just about escaped when Pastor Jamie steps off the stage to greet my friends. Tate joins us and makes the introductions.

“Glad to have you today. Come back anytime.” His dad slaps Charlie on the back, then moves on to other guests.

Tate catches my eye and speaks low. “So I take it you don’t need a ride home, right?” I shake my head. “Just wanted to make sure.” He pats my shoulder and says good-bye to my friends.

“He’s cute, Katie.” Frances elbows me, watching the preacher’s crazy son walk down the aisle. “We should set him up with some of our single friends. Would he be a good catch for Hannah?”

Um, gee. I don’t know. Would she be the type to throw herself at him? ’Cause he is so not into that.

Charlie finally smiles. “Let’s go eat somewhere.”

We all pile into Frances’s station wagon, and I direct them ten minutes out of town to a diner.

Charlie pulls out my chair for me at the metal table, and I take the moment to admire his sheer hotness. He’s dressed in some Abercrombie khakis, a pink button-down shirt that sets off his tan, and some leather shoes I’ve never seen before.

“I liked your new church.” Frances puts down her menu and fires
off twenty questions. She and I dominate the conversation, filling in the blanks that text messages and hasty phone calls tend to leave. “Does the high school have a drama program?”

“I don’t know.” The waitress stops by, and I give her my drink order. “Mom hasn’t enrolled me yet.” Mom hasn’t done a lot of things. “But I’m loving helping out with Sunday school. It’s so cool to use my acting skills for . . .” I search for the words.

“For God?” Frances finishes, her face beaming.

“Yeah. Who would’ve thought God could use
me
?” I mean, what do I have that God could want? And second of all, I’m a brand new Christian, and I still can’t find the book of Job without the index. (And hello, buy a vowel. Job totally needs an E on the end of it. Am I the only person this bothers?) It blows my mind that I could be useful to God. But after today, there’s no denying it. I sip my iced tea and tell my friends about Tanner and Cory.

By the time Trixie, our waitress, jots down our order, the church youth group files through the door. Ashley is the first one to see me, and she waves and walks our direction.

New friends are introduced to old ones. I watch Charlie for any reaction upon meeting Ashley, who is the cutest thing in town, but he merely shakes her hand and smiles. He can resist her but not Chelsea? Boys are so weird. Even I think Ashley’s hot.

“Hello again.” Tate joins us and stands behind me, his hands perched on the back of my chair. “I’d say funny running into you guys here, but it’s pretty much the only place to eat within fifteen miles.” He leans over me, toward the table, and I inhale his light scent again. “I’d avoid the meatloaf.”

The group filters over to their own table, and my eyes follow.

“Tate seems nice.” Charlie stirs his tea.

“Yeah, they all are.” Was that jealousy I heard? Could it be? Oh, perchance to dream. “Tate’s been a really good friend to me. One of those people you meet and feel like you’ve known forever.” Too much? Overboard? It’s the truth though.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found friends so quickly, Katie,” Frances says. “That was my prayer for you.”

Conversation turns to the latest happenings in In Between, including who’s dating, who’s broken up, and any other town news worthy of mentioning.

“And we’ve raised a thousand dollars to go toward Bubba’s Big Picture.” Nash nods, his chin-length hair covering one eye. “Only fourteen thousand more to go.” He smiles weakly. “Totally doable.”

“We have less than two weeks to go.” Frances sighs as the waitress serves our food.

“I wish I could be there to pitch in.” I spare them the story of my mom banning all visits to In Between.

Nash volunteers to pray, and we bow our heads. “God, thank you for this day. For a great service. Thank you for Katie doing well and making friends. We pray you’d continue to guide her and strengthen her. And Lord . . . we pray for Chelsea Blake.”

My head snaps up.
What?
How dare she intrude on our prayer!

“We know she and her family are having a tough time, and we ask you be with them and see them through. Give them peace and hope. Bless this food. Amen.”

I raise my brows in question and Frances explains. “Since it hit the papers yesterday, I guess it’s safe to mention that Chelsea’s dad has been indicted for fraud. He’s being held until the family comes up with the bail money. They’re devastated.”

“Chelsea’s a wreck.” Charlie slices into his fried chicken.

She’s a wreck as in, isn’t that sad? Or as in, I give her my shoulder to cry on every chance I get?

“Well . . . uh . . .” My mind spins as I try to think of something to say. “I . . . er, that’s too bad.” Yes, that was the best I could do.

“We’ve been hanging out with her a lot lately.” I can tell nothing from Frances’s tone. “Just to keep her mind off her troubles, show her we care.”

The mashed potatoes lodge in my throat. “Oh . . . good.” I glance at
Charlie, who concentrates on buttering his roll.

A few minutes later, Frances finally changes the topic. “When you come back and visit, maybe you can also do something about Maxine and Sam.” She rolls her dark eyes. “Maxine is out every night with that . . . that Satan’s spawn of a mayor. And Sam . . .” She looks to Nash, who finishes her sentence.

“The poor guy just mopes around town. You’re not allowed to mention Maxine’s name around him, but you know she’s not out of his system. It’s like they’re both too proud to admit they’ve still got it bad for each other.”

Frances pushes up her glasses. “Sam just wants to be appreciated though. He wants to know he’s her main squeeze and that he doesn’t have to jump through hoops to win her over.”

My eyes roam to Charlie. I
so
relate. Sam and I are just victims in the cruel game of love.

I turn at the sound of loud laughter, and watch the Maple Street Chapel group make their way toward the door. Many of them wave good-bye, and Tate and Ashley walk our way, still chuckling over something. Their smiles are contagious.

“We wanted to invite you guys to the river. We’re going over there about four o’clock, if you’re still in town. It’s a good time; Katie can tell you that. Even for a girl with one leg.”

I lob a package of butter at Tate. “Can you stay?” I watch my In Between friends hopefully. Like stay forever?

“No, we have to get back as soon as we finish up here.” Frances’s face is full of regret. “My mom doesn’t want me on the road after dark. This is my first road trip behind the wheel.”

“Maybe next time when you’re in town then.” Tate’s gaze drifts to me. “What about you? I could be at your house at 3:45.”

I blot my mouth with my napkin and shake my head. “I’d better not. I think I need to stay in tonight and get some stuff done around the house.” Plus I haven’t been away from my mom this long all week. She’s already been alone over four hours.

“Okay.” His smile tilts. “But when supper time comes, you’ll wish you had one of my special bologna sandwiches.”

I’m still grinning when he and Ashley walk out of the restaurant.

The waitress brings our bills to the table, and before I can reach for my purse, Charlie grabs mine.

“I’ll get it.”

“No.” My forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I’ll get it.” Though I have misinterpreted a lot of signals this week, I do know this is not a date.

I reach for the ticket, but Charlie intercepts my hand, holds it for a moment, then places it on the table. “Katie, I’m buying.” His mouth pushes into a smile, and he actually makes eye contact.

“Okay,” I concede. “But next time it’s on me.”

He nods. “Deal.”

Outside I lift my face toward the warm afternoon sun and breathe in the Middleton air. Frances and Nash, chattering about some band member of the God Wads, walk ahead of us.

“Are you seeing that guy?” With his hand on my wrist, Charlie stops me.

What’s it to you?
I want to say. “No. Why?”

“You two just seemed . . . close.”

I shield my eyes and look into his impassive face. “I guess we are.” At this point I am sorely tempted to embellish. To tell Charlie that Tate won’t stop asking me out, or that he sends me roses every day and dedicates songs to me on the radio. But I don’t. “We’re just friends. He was the first person my age I met in Middleton.” I wait for Charlie’s response.

He drops his head and contemplates the ground. “It bothers me.”