Contingency: Covenant of Trust Book One

  “They are wonderful. Best thing going on these days.”

  He didn’t comment, but his eyes lingered on hers a moment too long. She looked away and he moved on to business. “What can I get for you this afternoon?”

  “I just need some fresh roast to take home,” Bobbi said, although the richness of the brewing coffee tempted her to have a cup to go as well.

  “All of our Europeans are on sale this month, and the Moroccan is our feature.”

  “I’ll take the Bella Florentina, then,” Bobbi said. “Can’t beat a sale.”

  “One pound or three?”

  “Just one. I’m the only one who drinks it.”

  “Chuck still hasn’t come around?”

  “Chuck will never come around.” Not just on the coffee. Bobbi reached in her purse for her billfold. “Oh, and here’s my card, too.”

  “Chuck doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He looked in her eyes again, then punched a hole in her card. “All right, your total is ten seventeen, and with that filled-up card, you’ll get a free pound next time. I also put in a sample of the Moroccan, too, so you can try it.”

  “Thanks,” Bobbi said, taking the bag and dropping her billfold back in her purse. Was Clay Bartel flirting with her, or just being friendly? Had it been so long since she’d received any attention that she no longer knew how to respond?

  Forget Clay. Focus on dinner, Bobbi. You gotta figure out something. Chicken . . . That’ll work, right? Head down, thoughts a million miles away, Bobbi almost collided with a woman just outside the door. “I am so sorry,” she began apologizing, when she recognized Lorraine Kinney.

  “No harm done,” Lorraine said. “It was a near miss.”

  “You come here often? I didn’t know you were a gourmet coffee fan.”

  “I didn’t either. I stopped on an impulse. Do you have time for a cup?” Bobbi hesitated and looked at her watch. She didn’t want to stay. Making pleasant casual conversation would take energy she needed for dinner with Chuck. Lorraine, of all people, would understand if she opted out.

  Then again, running into her, literally, couldn’t be just a chance meeting. Lorraine could identify with the pain Bobbi lived with day in and day out. “Sure. Let me put my bag in the car.”

  Once back inside Dear Joe, Lorraine asked her, “So, what do you recommend?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. What do you like?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Try the Gazebo blend,” Bobbi said. “Minnie or Molly.”

  “A Molly what?”

  Bobbi smiled. “Those are the sizes. Minnie is small, a normal-sized cup of coffee, then Molly, Bill, and Joe.”

  “You came back!” Clay said. “Made my day.” His blue eyes twinkled and Bobbi almost believed him. “It’s the brew, isn’t it? Had to have it, right?”

  “As a matter of fact, give me a brew and a Gazebo, both Minnies.”

  “That’s the Moroccan. You will love it. A strong Turkish base, spiced to perfection.”

  “You should do commercials,” Bobbi said.

  “I’ll consider it, then.” He set the cup on the counter. “Try that and tell me it’s not the best cup of coffee you’ve had this week.”

  Bobbi took a long sip. “It is very good.”

  He nodded. “You know, I can tell a lot about a woman by the coffee she drinks.”

  “How many times have you used that line?” Bobbi lay the money on the counter and picked up the two cups.

  “I didn’t intend for you to buy my coffee.” Lorraine said.

  “I know that. Consider it an introductory cup. That’s how we get you hooked.” Bobbi glanced up at the ceiling. “Don’t sit there. The vent will blow down on us.”

  “You know your way around a coffee shop,” Lorraine said, taking a seat at a table away from the vent.

  “I’ve been here once or twice.”

  “I gathered that much from the guy at the counter.”

  “Clay? It’s in his financial interest to make sure everyone is loved and appreciated.” Bobbi glanced back toward the counter. “I never take cream or sugar, so I didn’t think to ask if you needed it.” Bobbi handed Lorraine a cup and sat down.

  “I’m fine. How long have you been a coffee connoisseur?” Lorraine could have passed for Bobbi’s mother. Deep lines around her eyes and across her forehead testified to the trials she had faced. While the difficulties in what she called “her real growing up years” hadn’t embittered her, they made her reserved and cautious, traits she had in common with Bobbi.

  “I’ve drunk coffee since I was fourteen. In college, I started drinking the flavored kinds, but in grad school, I found the good stuff.” An awkward pause hung over the table, signaling the end of small talk. Bobbi resigned herself to the ‘you think you have it bad, at least your husband didn’t leave’ speech. Lorraine surprised her.

  “You feel utterly alone, don’t you?” Lorraine asked. “Yeah, I do. Nobody gets it.”

  “I doubt I do either. I’ve wanted to talk to you since Chuck went before the church, but the timing was never right.”

  “I haven’t exactly been approachable.”

  “This is survival. There’s no energy for anything else, least of all social graces. You do what you have to do to get through a day and that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” Bobbi murmured. “So what was it like when Dean left?”

  “I was crushed,” Lorraine said, taking a sip from her coffee. She spoke quietly with a gentle humility. “He was such a liar,” she said, shaking her head. “I had no idea. I didn’t even know he had a secretary.” She glanced away, betraying the fact that her own naiveté still embarrassed her. “I had just turned thirty. Todd was seven, Christie was four, and Donnie was two. The first year, I thought I would die, or at least lose my mind. We moved back in with my parents, all four of us in one bedroom. Then I found a decent job, and the kids and I settled into life without him.”

  “I know it wasn’t as easy as you just made it sound.”

  “No,” Lorraine sighed. “But Dean was an adult and he made a decision that I had no control over. I had to live with the consequences, but there wasn’t anything I could have changed, or done differently.”

  “You still love him?”

  “It’s complicated. I haven’t spoken to him more than a half dozen times, and he makes me so angry, I could bite through a nail. On the other hand, he’s the father of my children, and I was genuinely happy when we were married.” She looked away for a long moment. “I’d like to know if he ever loved me.”

  “What about forgiving him?”

  “It took me fifteen years. I heard a sermon about Samuel when God told him to go make Saul the king. I don’t even remember the point of the sermon, but one of the verses was ‘they haven’t rejected you, they’ve rejected Me.’ That’s the summary—Dean didn’t reject me, he rejected God. God is my defender and avenger, and this is between Dean and God, not Dean and me.”

  “So how do you get through it? How do you live with the hurt day after day after day?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. When I look back, I don’t know how I did it.” Then she raised a hand. “Well, I know how I did it—it was all God.”

  Bobbi sipped her coffee in disappointment. Was that the best anybody could tell her? You just get through it. “Then, when does it stop hurting?” Bobbi asked, hoping for something concrete, something she could grab hold of to get her through this storm. Pray this prayer, or read these verses . . . anything.

  “The truth?” Lorraine asked, allowing the slightest smile to form.

  “Oh, no,” Bobbi said, closing her eyes and returning the smile. “It doesn’t, right?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Lorraine finished off her cup of coffee. “Bobbi, I wouldn’t presume to give you advice, but if you’ll let me, I want to say two things.” She waited for Bobbi’s consent before continuing. “God gave Job his family back, but He never removed the pain of the loss from Job’s life. Second, Chuck is a good ma
n.”

  “That’s all?” Bobbi asked.

  “Anything more would be meddling, and I wouldn’t do that for the world.” Lorraine smiled and stood to leave. “The coffee was wonderful, thank you. Let me throw your cup away.”

  Bobbi handed over her empty cup. “Lorraine, I have to tell you, I was a little hesitant to talk with you. I figured you’d tell me I didn’t have it so bad, to suck it up, and go on. I’m sorry.”

  “You know, the Bible says God never puts more on you than you can bear, right? You are carrying as much as you can right now. Whether or not that’s more or less than what I can handle is irrelevant. Suffering is not a contest.”

  Bobbi arrived home as Brad started the last lap of the front yard with the lawn mower. She waved at him and went on in the house to start dinner. Joel sat at the kitchen table finishing his homework. “Mom, I need the computer unless you can tell me the top three exports for each of the European Union countries.”

  “Hi, Mom. How was your day?” Bobbi teased.

  “Hi, Mom. How was your day?” Joel repeated, rolling his eyes.

  “Fine, thanks,” Bobbi answered. “Yes, you can use the computer. Dinner’s in about an hour.”

  “You know,” Joel said as he packed up his books, “this would be much simpler if I had a computer of my own.”

  “Nice try,” Bobbi said.

  “I have to try,” Joel said. “You’d be disappointed in me otherwise.”

  “Yes, and I have to say no.” Bobbi opened the large cabinet that served as her main cupboard. Chicken. I can fry it and do baked potatoes. Wait, I don’t have potatoes. Rice. Have I got any rice? She moved boxes to the side. I really need to go to the grocery store soon. Rice, yes! She pulled the package out and inspected it. Not enough for four people.

  It hadn’t been so long ago that Bobbi planned meals two weeks at a time so she rarely ran out of anything. Now, if she planned two hours in advance it was an accomplishment.

  Breakfast. I’ll make pancakes. Surely, I’ve got eggs and flour. She checked the refrigerator. Thank God. Eggs and enough milk for dinner. Now that she had a plan, autopilot kicked in and got her through the preparations.

  “Brad, I’ll be by about six tomorrow so we can eat before the game,” Chuck said, as he finished his last bite.

  “Okay.” Brad began collecting dishes and carrying them to the kitchen. “I cut the grass,” he announced before disappearing through the doorway.

  “Pathetic,” Joel said, shaking his head.

  “What?” Chuck asked.

  “Dad, he wants television back. Isn’t it obvious? No school, no phone, no computer, and no TV. He’s going nuts.”

  “That’s up to Mom, not me. She has to live with him.”

  “He’s doomed,” Joel said. “Mom, I didn’t get finished before dinner. Can I get back online?”

  “Yes, and Brad,” she said loud enough for him to hear, “you can have television until nine.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” He stepped into the kitchen doorway, turned and pointed at his brother. “Ha! Joel! You don’t know everything!”

 

  “You look tired,” Chuck said to his wife once the boys cleared out of the dining room. Since July, the emotional strain had grayed Bobbi’s hair, and creased her brow. He wondered if anything could erase the dark circles under her eyes.

  “It’s been a long week. Well, they’re all long these days.” She refolded her napkin and set her glass on it. “I ran into Lorraine Kinney this afternoon.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Bobbi initiated a conversation. He wouldn’t bring up the lawsuit if she had something on her mind.

  “I nearly knocked her down leaving Dear Joe. We talked for a little while.”

  “What about?” Chuck could have guessed.

  “Dean and you. She said the hurt never goes away.” Her eyes began to brim with tears.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re always sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” his jaw stiffened.

  “Nothing . . . I don’t know. I just hoped for a little more encouragement from her.”

  “I’m not Dean Kinney. I’m not leaving you.”

  “No, you just cheated on me. I guess I should be thankful.”

  “Bobbi—”

  “I’ve got a lot to do to get ready for tomorrow, so can we just call it a night?” She pushed her chair back from the table. “Joel? Hurry up with the computer!”

  “Don’t do this, please—”

  “What?” Bobbi interrupted. “Don’t do what?”

  “Every time we start to discuss things, you cut it off.”

  “It’s not things, Chuck! You were with another woman!” She didn’t yell, but her eyes blazed. “You destroyed everything I believed about you, and about our marriage. Every time I think about it, I get physically ill. It’s all I can do to keep from throwing up.” She crossed the room away from him.

  “You told me you loved me in the morning and then you spent the night with someone else.” She took a deep breath and continued softly. “You had sex with her, and then came home to me like nothing happened. You’re right, Chuck. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever.” She started to walk out of the dining room, but Chuck intercepted her.

  “You’ve got to face it. That’s the only way we can work through it.”

  “Face it? I can’t get away from it!” She swept her hand in front of her in a broad arc. “My whole life is framed by your affair.”

  Chuck stepped closer. Should he try to hold her? He started to raise his hand, but Bobbi caught sight of the subtle movement. She pointed at him with her jaw clenched. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

  “Bobbi, let me—”

  “No. Just go, all right?”

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? You’re not thinking about splitting, right?” Hadn’t they made any progress since July?

  “You know Joel’s in the other room and can hear us. You expect me to answer that?”

  “Yes, I do. You threatened me before. Do you want a divorce?”

  “No, but I’ll tell you what I do want,” she answered, her voice as firm as his. “I want to be able to look people in the eye again. I want to be able to face people, and not wonder what they know.” She began to soften. “I want to wake up without the weight of shame and humiliation on my shoulders. I want to love you again without having to justify it to myself or anybody else.” She blinked and a single tear spilled onto her cheek as she pointed at his heart. “I want you to deserve to have me love you again.”

  Chuck stood on Tracy’s porch, waiting for her to answer the door. His grip tightened on his toolbox as he glanced down the street. Doing a favor for a coworker, that’s all. It was perfectly normal for him to be here.

  And he would tell Bobbi that. If she ever found out. If she ever asked. There was nothing wrong with him being here. Nothing.

  He swallowed hard and peered through the window panel in the door, then he checked his watch. Eight o’clock, just like they’d agreed. At last, he heard a click, and the door swung open. His eyes immediately dropped to her white tank top. When she smiled, he knew she’d caught him looking.

  She pushed the storm door open, but not wide enough that he could avoid brushing against her as he stepped inside. “Hey, sorry it took so long for me to answer. I was back in the laundry room.”

  He followed her into the living room, watching her hips as she walked, the way her shorts followed her curves. She was so at ease with herself.

  She bent over an open cardboard box in the floor and pulled out a sheet of paper. “For the record, I have handed you the instructions. My responsibility in this is now done.”

  He laughed and took the sheet, his fingers brushing hers. He walked under the ceiling fan, checking the sheet. “Looks pretty straightforward. Is the lamp on the same breaker?”

  “No idea.”

  He switched the lamp on. “We?
??ll find out. Lead me to the breaker box.” He waited for her to pass so he could watch her walk, then turned on the light in the entry hall before following her to the laundry room.

  She stretched in front of him and flipped a breaker. “That’s the living room. I know that much.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’ve got some stuff to do upstairs, but come get me if you need anything.” She reached over and squeezed his bicep. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

  An hour and a half later, he had the new ceiling fan installed, and the old one stuffed in the cardboard box. He walked back to the laundry room to the breaker box, hoping Tracy had come back down to do another load of clothes. She was nowhere around.

  Did she expect him to come looking for her? Was she waiting for him in her bedroom? He couldn’t . . . That was too obvious. He had no defense against that. He needed some kind of story . . .

  He wandered back to the living room. She had to make the first move, otherwise . . .

  “Finished already?” She surprised him.

  “Ninety minutes, as promised.” He nodded toward the new fan. “You want to do the honors?”

  “Absolutely.” She walked over and clicked the light on, then pulled the chain to start the fan. “Perfect. You do good work, Mr. Molinsky.”

  “We aim to please.”

  “Do you?”

  What a loaded statement. He had to let it go, though. He couldn’t start things. He smiled at her and knelt down and began dropping tools back in his box.

  “Here. The least I can do is help.” She knelt beside him and dropped his voltmeter in. Every move drew his eyes to her cleavage and filled the air around him with her scent.

  As she pulled her hand back, she touched his knee, hesitated for just an instant, then eased forward. He froze until her lips pushed his open. She ran her tongue across his upper lip, and he felt himself relax. He slipped a hand behind her head, and kissed her once, then again.

  She pushed away, and he started to protest until she locked her eyes on his. She crossed her arms in front of her, and pulled her tank top over her head. She crushed her body against his, her tongue forcing his teeth apart.

  He had to remind himself to breathe. Bobbi . . . Bobbi never . . . it wasn’t like this. She tugged at him, and he ripped his shirt off. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I use a patch.”