“Have I fallen in love with a Phantom, Hawthorne? Why did I say I would meet him?” The purring cat settled himself on her lap and listened to her woes. “I could still call it off.” She reread his letter. “No, I couldn’t. I have to go through with this, no matter what happens. And who knows? He could be normal through and through.”
At work Thursday Lauren tried to avoid eye contact with Mindy. But the all-knowing counselor had figured out that Lauren had made plans to go to Portland and continued to express concern. She left Lauren in the parking lot that evening with a dramatic hug and said, “If I never see you again, I want you to know you’ve been a true friend. My only consolation will be that I’ll see you in heaven.”
“Get out of here,” Lauren said. “I’m not going to disappear.”
“Will you promise me one thing?”
“I don’t know. What is it?”
“Promise me you’ll allow yourself an out. You know, even if you get all the way to the falls and something inside you, which will, of course, be the Holy Spirit, tells you to pull back, will you do it? Will you promise me you’ll run like the wind?”
Lauren smiled. “Okay. I promise I’ll run like the wind if anything inside me tells me to pull back.”
That night she packed in a flurry, loading two suitcases with everything she owned that still fit her. For nearly an hour she fiddled with possible outfit combinations and finally decided on a pair of jeans instead of shorts for the big meeting the next afternoon. Her legs weren’t very tan, and she didn’t like any of the tops that went with her shorts. She had several T-shirts laid out on her floor but put off that decision until the morning.
Then, with her luggage lined up by the door, she checked Hawthorne’s automatic cat feeder and cleaned his litter box. “I know you won’t even miss me. There’s enough food and water here for a week. Remember to floss after every meal, and I’m serious when I say no wild parties while I’m gone.”
Hawthorne’s flat “meow” was evidence enough that he would be fine.
She barely slept, tossing in bed while her mind ran an unending marathon. She felt like the description Mindy had given her a year ago of a person walking around with a big “if” over her head. What if this was a huge mistake? What if it was right, and they decided to elope right then and there? What if … The alarm clock’s shrill interruption was a welcome friend.
The “if’s” didn’t leave her alone, though. Not in the shower, not on the plane, not at the Portland car rental booth, and not on the freeway heading east with the unfolded map in her hand. She found Multnomah Falls with no problem and could see the 620-foot beauty from the parking lot.
She felt no qualms about moving forward. Only peace. It was a gorgeous, sunny day. That was a good sign. Lauren checked her hair and makeup and practiced a smile in her rearview mirror. Then, with a deep breath, she got out of the car, merrily closed the door, and marched off to the entrance of Multnomah Falls.
Chapter Twenty-One
The time was exactly 1:00 p.m. as Lauren came up from the freeway pedestrian tunnel that led to the falls. Dozens of tourists were coming and going. The warm afternoon sun felt good on her hands, which were chilled from the car’s air conditioner. She noticed an espresso cart to the right and remembered she was supposed to bring the drinks. No problem. They could pop back down here for KC’s 7-Up. Behind the cart, long lines formed for the snack bar window, and behind that was a wonderful stone lodge. Lauren had read about it in a brochure at the airport while waiting to rent her car. The lodge was built in 1925 and now housed a restaurant and gift shop. Perhaps they could find a quiet table at the restaurant after their hike and …
Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren spotted a man wearing a beige baseball cap. He wore a windbreaker, so she couldn’t tell what color his T-shirt was. Dark hair stuck out the sides of his cap, and he was much shorter than she had hoped he would be. Lauren hurried to catch up with him on the wide trail up to the first lookout point. “Excuse me.” She could hardly contain her excitement. “KC?”
The surprised man turned around and spoke to her in Japanese. He had on a blue button-down shirt and no backpack.
“Oh, excuse me,” Lauren said, slightly bowing her head in response to the tourist’s gesture of nodding at her. They both nodded again, and she broke away, her cheeks fiery hot with embarrassment.
A few yards farther up the trail she reached the first lookout point. Surveying the large open area with the stone railed observation point, Lauren counted a half-dozen men wearing baseball caps. None of the caps was beige and none of the men carried a green backpack.
Lauren hung back by the trees on the side, wanting to make sure she didn’t approach the wrong man again. Suddenly there was a tap on her shoulder. She jumped slightly and turned to see the Japanese man handing her his camera. By his rapid words and gestures, she figured out he wanted her to take his photo on the observation point with the falls in the background.
“Okay,” she said, accepting the camera and tipping her head to the man.
He chattered his instructions, pointing at the lens cap, and walked back to where he wanted to pose for the photo. Lauren put her eye to the viewfinder. The man was close up, filling the frame and leaving no room for the waterfall. “Wow! This is quite a camera,” she muttered, trying to adjust the zoom lens.
The tourist continued to point and call out his directions to her. Lauren gave the lens a twist and suddenly a green backpack and part of a beige hat appeared in the frame. Her heart began to pound faster. She moved the camera slightly and made the image smaller. Yes, he wore a white T-shirt, and the green pack over his shoulder had a brown leather bottom.
Lauren could hardly breathe as she moved the camera so she could see his head through the lens. Locks of dark brown hair peeked out from under the beige baseball cap. “Come on, turn around, turn around,” she muttered.
He slowly turned. Her focus through the camera lens was perfect. A strong, chiseled jaw laid the foundation for a tender smile that pulled up the laugh lines across his cheeks and bunched them together like a collection of gold threads in the corner of his eyes.
“KC,” she whispered.
Lauren moved the camera toward him and felt her cheeks flushing a tingly red. This was it. KC was standing there, big as life, as real and as wonderful—no, more real and more wonderful—than she had imagined.
Click. Her trembling finger snapped a picture—not of the tourist, but a close-up of KC.
The tourist, assuming she had taken his picture, trotted over and tried to retrieve his camera, thanking her and bowing.
“But I didn’t take your picture yet,” she said, holding on to the camera.
The man yanked it from her hands, a scowl spreading across his forehead. He marched off, mumbling Japanese phrases, which Lauren guessed weren’t especially complimentary.
Oh yeah? Well, wait till you have your film developed!
Lauren looked up to see if KC had noticed the clamor. He was looking in the other direction, scanning the faces of each woman who walked past him.
Suddenly Lauren couldn’t move. KC was standing only twenty feet away, and she couldn’t move. The only other time she remembered feeling this dumbfounded was that night in the alley when the homeless man stole her purse. An overwhelming impulse swelled inside her.
Run, Lauren. Run!
And run she did. All the way back to the parking lot where she hid in her rental car, feeling her heart pound in her ears and her eyes fill with tears.
“I can’t do this!” she told herself, turning the key in the ignition. “He’s too wonderful and I’m … I’m not ready for this. What if he wouldn’t like me? Or if he would spend today with me and then decide he never wanted to see me again? I couldn’t live with that.”
Fueled by the vast emotional furnace of painful memories of abandonment, first by her father and then by Jeff, Lauren rammed the car into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. She was mad, flaming mad, and she didn?
??t exactly know why. As she drove, she decided the best course was to do what she had done for years: Swallow her feelings and go on. Change the subject. Move on to the next thing.
Today, the next thing happened to be getting herself to Glenbrooke. Teri had called the day before and left a message for Lauren saying there weren’t any really nice hotels in Glenbrooke so arrangements had been made for Lauren to stay with Teri’s friends, Jessica and Kyle. Teri had left directions and said Lauren couldn’t miss their white Victorian mansion on the top of Madison Hill. Jessica would be expecting her in time for dinner.
I’ll be a little early, that’s all. I’ll hear all about Teri’s romance, and I’ll meet new people, and I’ll laugh and smile and have a good time. This never happened. I never should have agreed to meet him. I feel so foolish!
Maneuvering her way through a maze of Portland bridges, Lauren found the I-5 Freeway and headed south. She passed under a sign with the word “Salem” on it. She drove on, not thinking, not feeling, set on arriving in Glenbrooke with her emotions calmed. If Lauren was good at anything, it was fixing things. She would fix this weekend so it would be just right—fun, relaxing, and in every way enjoyable. The only thing she had never tried to fix was the part of her heart that bore the sign “rejection” over it. She would not allow anyone, especially another man, to pass under that sign and enter that part of her life again. In her panicked state, it made complete sense that she had done the right thing to turn from KC before he could reject her.
It was all a fairy tale, a fabricated relationship through a computer screen. None of it was real. Mindy was right. I never should have agreed to meet him.
Then Lauren remembered something else Mindy had said about how God didn’t need an electronic dating device to get two people together. If she and KC were meant to be together, they would end up somehow, some way, meeting someday.
Was that supposed to happen, God? Was that our divine encounter, and I just blew it? I couldn’t go through with it. Did I do the right thing?
There was no answer as the car sped down the freeway toward Eugene.
“It’s awfully quiet in here,” Lauren said aloud, her quavering voice echoing off the ceiling of the rental car. “What’s going on, God? Are you about to abandon me, too?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
With one hand on the steering wheel and the written instructions to Kyle and Jessica’s home in the other, Lauren turned right on to Main Street in Glenbrooke and glanced out the top of her windshield. There it was: Madison Hill. And nestled in its emerald crown stood a great white jewel of a mansion.
“Wow, Teri wasn’t kidding! I hope these people aren’t eccentric weirdoes like my Great Aunt Clarita. This could be a nightmare weekend.”
Pulling into the long, circular driveway, Lauren slowly approached the front of the Victorian charmer. A wide porch wrapped around the whole house, and lining the base of the porch were dozens of the most gorgeous hydrangea bushes Lauren had ever seen. The yard seemed to go on and on behind the house with a rolling green lawn and huge friendly old trees. A swing hung from an apple tree to the right. Off to the left swung a large, empty hammock, inviting Lauren to come sink into its knotted embrace.
Lauren pursed her lips and swallowed the last bit of her wracked emotions. She would not, absolutely would not, allow her emotions to ruin this weekend. She was here to celebrate with Teri. Even if the owners of this estate turned out to be exotic nut cases, she would be cordial and as supportive of Teri as Teri had always been of her.
Closing her car door and lifting her sunglasses, Lauren called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”
Two golden retrievers came bounding toward her from around the side of the house. Lauren walked up the wide steps, lined with terra cotta pots bubbling over with bright summer flowers. The dogs followed, two steps behind. She stopped by the open front door and patted the friendly pooches on the head.
“Hello?” She knocked on the wood frame and heard the clip, clip, clip of heels on the hardwood floor. An older woman appeared. Her silver-rimmed glasses matched her silver-white hair. She was wearing a huge white Shasta daisy pinned to the bodice of her dress. With quick strokes, she wiped her hands on her checkered apron.
“Come in, come in!” she said, holding open the screen door. “I’m Ida, Ida Dane. You must be Lauren. Teri told us to expect you.”
Lauren stepped inside. Ida shooed the dogs away and closed the door.
The entryway was breathtakingly beautiful, yet warm and welcoming. A spiral stairway was the focal point. But Lauren took in each detail of the entry, enjoying the gleaming hardwood floors, the large oak hall tree to the right with etched, beveled glass, and the huge ceiling light fixture with frosted glass bells hanging down like dainty flowers. Bunches of fresh flowers greeted her from the antique entry table to the left. French doors opened to a charming parlor with a marble-hearthed fireplace and inviting, overstuffed chairs. Lauren noticed that the fabric covers on the furniture in the parlor were the same as her rose floral couch and easy chair covers. She instantly felt at home.
“You’re early, you know. We didn’t expect you until this evening. No matter. We’re preparing a few things for the reception tomorrow. I understand you and Teri were roommates in college, is that right?”
Lauren could barely answer yes before Ida plunged on. “She’s an absolute favorite of everyone here. We all missed her terribly when she moved to Maui at the beginning of the summer. Have you met her husband?”
“No.”
“I understand he’s Austrian,” she said in a lowered voice. “Can you imagine? I shouldn’t wonder if he doesn’t honor us with a bit of yodeling at the party tomorrow. Teri tells us he’s quite an individual. And Teri being a Spanish teacher and all. It’s an international experience for us here in Glenbrooke, if you catch my meaning. The pity is that they’re going to live in Hawaii. You know, don’t you, that he’s a minister? Just like her father. Shall we go into the kitchen?”
Lauren nodded and followed, amazed that Ida finally took a breath. This woman definitely bore a resemblance to Lauren’s Great Aunt Clarita.
“That’s always the way, isn’t it?” Ida continued. “We marry a man just like our father.”
The image that struck Lauren was that of her biological father rather than of Stan. With great effort, she stifled the thought that she might end up with a man who would abandon her, a man who could be homeless at this very moment, stealing purses from innocent women. She would never be a victim again. Hadn’t she proved that today? How could she ever trust a man? Even Jeff, who had seemed so stable and predictable, had abandoned her.
“Look who’s here!” Ida announced as they stepped into the high-ceilinged, freshly painted, and renovated kitchen.
A woman about Lauren’s height, but slimmer, stood at the sink peeling carrots. On the counter was a pile of fresh carrots and a bowlful of snap beans. The woman’s long, honey-blond hair was pulled back and fastened with a twisted red bandanna. Behind her a tall, broad shouldered man with thick, dark hair stood with his arms wrapped around her middle. He appeared to be patting her stomach and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Startled by Ida’s announcement they turned around, embarrassed. Both said “Hi” at the same time.
The man moved toward Lauren first. “I’m Kyle,” he said extending a huge hand. His handshake was tender, his eyes clear green, and his jaw firm. “Glad you could come, Lauren. Teri will be happy to see you.”
The woman wiped her hands on a towel and slid in next to Kyle. She had a simple, honest face with moss green eyes and fair skin. The scar above her lip curled up when she smiled. But what made the deepest impression on Lauren wasn’t the woman’s appearance, but the calm gentleness that seemed to float around her. She offered her cool, small hand, and Kyle said, “This is my wife, Jess.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder.
“Will you listen to us!” Ida said. “So busy making introductions all around we haven’t asked if Lauren would like something
to drink. It’s a hot afternoon, and I’ll bet a glass of lemonade sounds good to you about now.”
Now Ida reminded Lauren of some of the sweet ladies from Shelbyville, who loved to use their southern hospitality on Lauren whenever she paid them a visit.
“Yes, lemonade would be nice, thank you.” She felt hot in her jeans and wished she had worn shorts instead.
“I’ll get it for us,” Kyle offered. “Ice?”
“Sure. This is a beautiful home,” Lauren said, glancing at the hanging copper pots above the island cook-top range. The deluxe kitchen opened into a breakfast nook where a thick, round oak table sat in a bay window area. Ferns hung in front of the window, and a blue pitcher stuffed with white Shasta daisies graced the center of the table.
“Thanks,” Jessica answered shyly. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
Lauren had assumed this was Ida’s home. But did it belong to Kyle and Jessica? Could such a young couple own a place like this? She guessed them to be in their late twenties. Kyle might be thirty. Perhaps Ida was his or Jessica’s mother; although Lauren failed to see any resemblance to either of them.
Kyle offered Lauren the lemonade and asked if she wanted to settle into her room. She followed him past the breakfast nook into a hallway that led to a laundry room.
“What do you do, Kyle?” she asked, hoping for a clue as to who ran this place.
“I’m a paramedic. Jessica teaches English at the high school. That’s where she and Teri became such good friends. I knew Teri before that, from church. We worked with the youth group together.”
They walked past several closed doors. “Unfinished projects,” Kyle explained, nodding toward the silent rooms. At the end of the hall he opened the door to Lauren’s guest room and said, “This one’s fit for company.”
The huge room was not only fit for company, but it also could have won an award for best bed and breakfast. Along the back wall was a bay window with a built-in window seat. It was covered with bright geranium cushions and pillows, and a matching ruffle swung across the top of the window. Outside lay yards of fresh cut grass and a picture-perfect view of a flower garden in full bloom. Beyond that was the beckoning hammock. A small fireplace was nestled in the bedroom’s corner, and a king-sized bed was made up in fresh summer colors that matched the geranium window seat. An antique trunk stood guard at the foot of the bed. On the bedside table was a fresh bouquet of white daisies and red geraniums.