In His Dreams, page 9
“You’ve both been good sports, but she really needs kids her own age. Lindsey is twelve. That’s a good fit.”
Marsha recalled reading in the library that disabled kids didn’t always relate well to kids without disabilities. She hoped that wasn’t true. “Your friend’s wife can’t make it?”
Jeff’s head drooped. “He’s divorced. Nasty situation. His wife had an affair. What could be worse?”
Was death worse? Marsha only shook her head, not sure how to determine the answer to his question. “We’ll have to plan something special when he’s here.” We’ll. She cringed at being so blatant.
“Al’s never been here so it should be fun. He’s bringing his clubs so we’ll probably golf.”
“Golf?” Disappointment poked her. “You can leave the girls here.”
“We’ll probably take them in the cart. They should enjoy that.”
“They might. I’ve never golfed. I suppose it’s fun.”
“You should take lessons. I know there are lots of women’s leagues. Nice company for you.”
Nice company in a women’s league. What about nice company with Jeff? Loneliness made its unpleasant way into her thoughts. If Jeff had a friend on the island, she needed to keep herself busy doing something. Barb had seemed to loosen up. Maybe she and Barb could pass the time together. It would be good for them.
Jeff climbed on the step stool and began taking down the old ceiling light fixture. His mind wandered, wondering why Marsha had seemed so quiet during lunch. Something was bothering her, and he had no clue as to what. He’d apologized for being late, but he had believed her when she’d said that wasn’t a problem. They hadn’t set a specific time so he really had no need to apologize. But something was in the air.
Bonnie had behaved well at the table. He wondered if it had been because Marsha had suggested buying her some watercolors to replace the markers. Bonnie did seem to have talent and, when she was drawing, she seemed like any other child—no tantrums and no whining. She spent long periods of time concentrating on her pictures, and Jeff felt a tremendous relief and much gratefulness to Marsha, who’d had the idea to purchase the markers to begin with.
Bonnie’s absorption with the markers had caused him to think. When Bonnie had a purpose, when she did something that had a positive result, she seemed to concentrate and focus, something she didn’t do much of the time. He needed to teach her things, jobs that would make her feel as if she had a purpose—making her own bed, helping with the dishes, things she could use in life to be independent.
Independent? Would that ever be a reality?
He removed the last screw in the fixture and eased it down from the wall. The wiring looked good, and he’d already released the circuit breaker so he detached the wires, then stepped to the floor.
Jeff heard the screen move along the track, and he glanced toward the sound.
“How are you doing?” Marsha strode to his side, eyeing the old fixture. “Dirty. I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. You’ll have a new one up there in a few minutes.”
“And one with more light.” She grinned, then drew her fingers through her cascade of red hair. “I think I’ll take Bonnie into town to look for watercolors. I suspect they have some at the Toy Museum. They sell all kinds of things there.”
He pulled the new lighting fixture from the box. “Why don’t you wait a few minutes?” He gazed at the connections, an easy five-minute job. “I’ll be done in a flash.”
“You want to go to the Toy Museum?”
“Not particularly, but the lighthouse is right there.”
She smiled, and Jeff saw the warmth in her eyes he’d come to know. He climbed the ladder while Marsha stood nearby, in case he fell, she said. He wondered what might have happened if he’d fallen earlier when she hadn’t been hearty. Jeff grinned at the question as he attached the wiring with the connectors, pulled the screwdriver from his pocket and attached the new fixture.
“How does that look?” he asked, stepping down from the step stool. He ambled to the hallway circuit box and flicked the switch. The light flashed on, and Marsha’s hair glowed in the brightness. Red hair and freckles. She seemed a vision of summer.
“Great,” she said. “Now I can read a recipe. Before it was only a good guess.”
He laughed at her remark. “Let me wash my hands, and we can be on our way.”
Marsha headed outside, and, when he’d finished, she and Bonnie were standing near the back door.
The ride to town thrilled Bonnie when a fox darted from the roadside as they approached Font Lake. She craned her neck and knelt on the backseat, staring out the window, but the fox had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. Jeff wished his problems would fade that quickly.
They followed Main Street through town and around Paradise Bay to the far side past the sheriff’s department to the Toy Museum, an old house nestled behind a wall of trees and tall grass.
Along the path into the museum, they walked through the wildflowers and grasses where unusual displays caught Bonnie’s interest. An old stump held a piece of concrete with a clock embedded into its face and a stone robin sitting on top, silly things that fit a toy store.
Inside the building, Jeff kept an eye on Bonnie as they wandered through the rooms filled with antique toys. She gawked at the unusual coin banks and wanted to hold the dolls with porcelain heads.
When Bonnie began to whine, Marsha suggested they return to the store area. Her suggestion stopped Bonnie’s tantrum before it began.
“Here we go,” Marsha said, showing Bonnie the watercolor tins. Marsha selected a large pad of paper and some extra brushes before making their way to the cashier.
Bonnie said thank you on her own, and Jeff felt his chest expand. He hadn’t gone totally wrong with raising Bonnie.
She bounded on ahead carrying her new sketchbook and watercolors and, when they reached the road, Jeff felt moved to take Marsha’s hand as he steered her to the lighthouse.
Marsha didn’t resist, and he clasped her hand more firmly, weaving his fingers through hers and feeling the wonderful closeness of a woman, her perfume filling his senses.
The white structure stood at the tip of Whiskey Point near the old Coast Guard boathouse and the city hall. The lighthouse was always the first thing Jeff noticed from the car ferry as he approached the town of St. James.
Bonnie darted to the lone picnic table and plopped down the bag holding her new painting equipment. “Can I paint?”
He eyed Marsha, and she gave an agreeable shrug.
“For a while,” he said. “Let me get your water.”
He took the water tray and dipped water from the lake, then set it beside her. “Don’t get paint on your clothes.”
“Okay,” she said, already organizing her brushes and paper.
“We’ll be nearby,” Jeff said, grasping Marsha’s hand again and heading for the nearby monument that honored those lost at sea. They studied the monument talking about a sailor’s life, then walked to the old Coast Guard pier and around the far side of the building. Alone, Jeff paused. “Thanks for thinking of the watercolors. I always wonder where you get such good ideas.”
“I read some articles at the library about emotionally impaired children.”
He drew back. He knew she cared about Bonnie, but he had no idea she’d taken time to read articles about her disability. Her effort touched him. “You’re a good woman, Marsha. A wonderful person.”
She gazed at him, her eyes searching his, and he leaned forward and brushed his mouth against her warm lips. He startled himself by his action, but he’d wanted to do it for so long.
Marsha’s hand flew to her mouth and her face flushed.
Disappointment charged through him. “I’m sorry, Marsha. I don’t know why I did that, except it seemed right.”
Her hand dropped, but the surprised look remained on her face. “I’m not angry, Jeff, just…”
She faltered, as if not knowing what to say, and he didn’t know what to say, either, except to tell her the truth. She seemed to fill his mind and his dreams. Yet, it seemed out of place. She’d always been Marsha, his sister-in-law, but now it was different, and he couldn’t seem to keep a grip on his emotions.
“Please forgive me. I won’t do it again.” He didn’t want to say that, but it came out.
Marsha’s expression shifted from surprise to a frown. “I’m not angry. Really.”
She wasn’t angry, but she’d been startled. He’d been stupid to kiss her, even a small kiss. She’d accepted his hugs and hand-holding, but a kiss was too intimate. He had no right without making sure that she would be willing.
He stepped away from the building and headed back to the picnic table, wishing he hadn’t been so presumptuous. He needed to control himself and, if that meant staying away from Marsha, then so be it. If he saw her as he’d been doing, he feared he would kiss her again, but this time fully, a long lingering kiss that had already happened in his dreams.
Chapter Nine
Marsha stared at the telephone. She wanted to call Jeff and tell him she’d loved his kiss, but she couldn’t allow herself to be romantically involved with a man unsure of his faith. She believed if Jeff would only open his heart, the Holy Spirit would nest inside and relieve his bitterness and frustration.
But she stopped herself. She’d already told herself over and over that forcing Jeff to church, manipulating him to say he believed, was not the answer. If he really cared about her, and she knew she cared about him, he had to allow his heart to accept the truth. She could not use her will to force his decision. She wanted to trust Jeff, to know that he’d chosen the Lord of his own free will.
Two days had passed since the kiss and Jeff had only called once to say he was busy and wouldn’t be over. She’d heard the tension in his voice and she wished she could back up time and replay the kiss so she would have responded differently.
But how could it have been different?
Barb sat outside at the picnic table, this time writing her novel instead of reading one.
Marsha longed to sneak another peek at what she’d written. Barb’s story had created word pictures that settled in Marsha’s mind and wouldn’t budge. Why that kind of dark story? She pulled herself from the sofa and slid open the screen door.
The sun felt warm against her skin, but a lake breeze spun the flavors of the air past her, leaving her feeling refreshed. A cottage could mellow a person. It certainly had Barb.
She closed the screen and sat beside Barb on the picnic-table bench facing away from her. “How’s the writing going?”
“Good. I’m surprised it’s coming so easily.”
“What’s it about?” Marsha’s chest tightened.
“A woman with problems.”
Leaning back, Marsha glimpsed at the page. “What kind of problems?”
“You know. Problems. Issues. We all have them.”
Her back pressed against the sharp edge of the table. “I guess we do.” Jeff’s face filled her mind.
Barb shifted and turned over the legal pad so Marsha couldn’t see the work. “I’ve been concerned about something.”
Jeff. Marsha knew she would notice. “Concerned?”
“About Bonnie.”
Marsha felt her eyes widen. “Bonnie?”
“Why are you surprised? You’ve been concerned about her, yourself. I’m agreeing with you.”
The comment threw Marsha for a loop. “You convinced me to back off, and I did. So what happened to change your mind?”
Barb pulled one leg over the bench and straddled it. “Observing her. Thinking about that neighbor who told her she was pretty.”
“She is pretty if she learned to take care of herself. It won’t be long and—”
“That’s what I mean,” Barb said, her arm flailing outward as if she were at a loss for words. “To take care of herself.”
“I’d hoped to influence her a little—teach her some grooming, but I’m not sure—”
Barb scowled. “I’m not talking about that kind of taking care of herself. I mean, protecting herself.”
“Protecting herself? Why would you say that?”
“Because it happens.” Barb lifted her pop can and took a drink.
Marsha recalled Bonnie’s naiveté. “I know she needs social skills, and she needs to look more—”
“You don’t get the picture, Marsha.”
She studied her sister’s face. “I guess I don’t.”
“Protect herself from men. Boys. They take advantage of girls as they blossom, especially ones who can’t defend themselves.”
Marsha drew back. “Why would you even think that? I can’t imagine anyone hurting Bonnie in that way, Barb. They can see she’s not—”
“That’s just the kind they do hurt. Kids who are shy or different. Don’t think she’s safe from anyone. Some people can’t be trusted, and it’s difficult to know the difference.”
Her remark jolted Marsha. “I suppose someone might try to take advantage, but Jeff keeps a good eye on her. She’s never too far away from him.” Marsha had always felt more concerned about the impression Bonnie made in public. She pictured Bonnie’s messy hair, her bangs usually hanging in her eyes and her unkempt clothing. Barb’s fear seemed such a stretch. “I know Jeff’s trying to do his best, but Bonnie needs to learn about grooming and keeping her clothes neat. She’s capable of doing that. She just needs guidance.”
“You think that’s her only problem?”
“Jeff tries to teach her those things, but—”
Barb plonked her drink on the table and leaned closer to Marsha. “Jeff has a job. He sends Bonnie to school. She’s vulnerable at school. I’ve heard all kinds of horror stories of things that happen to kids at school.”
“I know some kids make fun of her, but she’s in a special program. The special-ed teacher doesn’t let her go off alone.”
Barb shrugged. “Let’s hope.”
Marsha didn’t respond.
Barb slipped her other leg over the bench. “If anything happens, remember I warned you.”
Marsha studied Barb’s taut expression. “What brought this on? That neighbor hasn’t been in the picture for over a week and a half. Why did you think about that now?”
“It’s been on my mind. I didn’t want to…”
“Want to what?” Marsha’s face tightened with a scowl.
“Want to start anything.” She swung her arm away from her body. “Start something like this. You asking me why I’m concerned. I just am.”
“Okay. Let’s not argue about it.” She rose and stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Finally, she stepped off the porch and headed for the beach. Barb’s worry had left her with an unpleasant edginess.
Jeff stood behind Bonnie at the kitchen table and watched her paint with the new watercolors. He couldn’t help but gawk at what she’d drawn. Somewhere she’d learned about shadow and light, learned about blending colors by washing them with lighter or darker shades, techniques he couldn’t imagine where she’d gotten.
“That’s beautiful, Bon. I think you’ve found your calling.”
“Calling?” She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with question. “Are you calling Aunt Marsha?”
He winced, knowing he’d confused her by spending so much time with Marsha and then pulling away again. He’d done it before, but now he avoided her for a different reason. This time a reason in his heart. He’d lost control of his emotions, and spending time with her made it all the harder.
Her reaction to the kiss hadn’t been what he’d expected. What had he expected? His head swam with questions and answers, but none made sense. The island, the summer sky, the newness of being together, it led people to behave differently. Those sunny feelings would fade just as they did in winter. Today his heart felt like winter.
And Bonnie, he’d been unfair to her. She needed his attention. Instead, his mind and dreams were focused on Marsha.
“Are you calling, Daddy?”
Bonnie’s persistent question echoed in his thoughts.
“Maybe later.” Jeff turned away and wandered into the living room, then aimed for the sliding door to the deck. He strolled outside, his gaze scanning the beach. What was Marsha doing today?
Bracing his arms against the railing, Jeff drew in a lengthy breath. Rain had fallen during the night and today the flowers and wild grasses glistened with droplets not yet burned off by the sun. A sparkling day. He wished he could feel the same sparkle.
Marsha. He felt a bond to her. Yet she apparently didn’t feel it. If she hadn’t been upset by the kiss, as she’d said and, if it had nothing to do with Bonnie, then what was it?
He’d assumed his edginess had caused their distance when she’d started nagging about talking with Bonnie, and he still needed to do that. He’d avoided it more than he avoided cleaning windows. The reason seemed clear. He felt inadequate. What did he know about womanhood? A son he could have talked with, but a daughter?
Reality struck him. He needed a woman, a mother figure for Bonnie, yet he’d rejected Marsha’s help. She would have been willing to give Bonnie some feminine pointers, but he’d snapped at her too often. Now she never said a thing.
So that led him back to the same question. If Bonnie or the kiss wasn’t the problem, then what was? Why had Marsha withdrawn? He’d come on too strong, he guessed. She wasn’t ready for romance, and—
Neither was he, he’d told himself. Marilou had only been gone a little more than two years. Two long years. She would want him to find love again.
Love? Was it love he felt for Marsha, or was it familiarity and comfort? She stirred him. He thought of her all the time when they weren’t together. He dreamed of her at night. He couldn’t escape her and, yet, here he was trying to hide.
Foolish.
Jeff turned and entered the house, settling into a chair and leaning back his head. If Marsha weren’t on the island at the same time he was, what would he be doing now? Moping the way he was today? He’d be sightseeing, swimming with Bonnie, maybe even fishing, although he’d have to put the bait on the hook. Bonnie would probably need help with that. Not Marsha. If Marsha went fishing, she’d want to be in charge…though she’d been true to her word. She’d backed off lately.
