Brad’s letter read:
WREN, I’M GLAD TO HEAR YOU’RE GOING OUT. GOOD FOR YOU. PLAY THE FIELD. HOLD OUT FOR A HERO. I DISAGREE WITH MINDY ABOUT CALLING JEFF TO GET CLOSURE. YOU CAN HAVE PERSONAL CLOSURE WITHOUT EVER TALKING TO THE DONKEY AGAIN. YOU HAVE TO DECIDE INSIDE YOURSELF THAT YOU’RE OKAY WITH THE RELATIONSHIP BEING OVER. I THINK YOU ALREADY ARE.
DID I TELL YOU I’M TAKING PSYCHOTHERAPEUTIC SYSTEMS THIS SEMESTER? CAN YOU BELIEVE I EVEN KNOW HOW TO SPELL IT? MAYBE I’LL BE BETTER AT COUNSELING YOU AFTER THIS CLASS.
HOW GO YOUR CLASSES?
RAD
It felt good to be able to type back a message saying she hadn’t called Jeff and she agreed with Brad’s advice. Maybe she had experienced personal closure and didn’t realize it. Brad had a lot of insight into relationships for a guy who had remained unattached except for a girlfriend his senior year of high school. That relationship had lasted only for two months—long enough to assure him of a date to the senior prom and short enough to remain unattached when it was time to go away to college.
More than once Lauren had tried to cook up a potential romance for him with one of her friends, but none of them had been right. Brad needed someone a little on the wild side yet settled. Lauren hadn’t yet met the right woman for Brad, and obviously neither had he. He wasn’t interested in even practicing his dating manners by going out with anyone. Brad told her last June that when the right woman, sent from heaven, walked into his life, he would know it.
As the week progressed, Lauren wished she had her brother’s confidence when it came to waiting on God for the right relationship. Justin seemed like such a great guy for her, and she wanted to pursue a relationship. However, as always, it took two to make a relationship.
She was obviously more willing than Justin. He waved at her from the lobby once on Wednesday and passed her in the parking lot in his sweet little “Mabel” on Thursday. When he didn’t stop by her teller window on Friday, Lauren decided to call him the minute she got home from work and invite him over for dinner. His answering machine responded to her call. She turned on all her charm at the sound of the beep.
“Hi, Justin. It’s Lauren. I guess you’ve been on the go all week. I wanted to thank you again for dinner at Clementine’s and for being such a patient listener. I also appreciated the way you helped me out with the lunch here last Sunday. I was wondering if you would let me thank you properly. I’d like to fix dinner for you sometime this weekend. Tonight is open for me. Or Sunday night. Nothing fancy. We could even rent a video or something if you would like. Give me a call when you have a chance. I hope it works out. Bye.”
“Well, that was pointless,” she told herself after hanging up. “I’m sure I sounded desperate, saying I was free tonight.” She scanned the refrigerator and realized she was in great need of groceries. “What was I planning to fix if he said he could come over tonight?”
The last thing she felt like doing was going out again, especially for groceries. Especially if Justin called in time for them to make popcorn and watch a video.
Slipping into a pair of jeans, Lauren searched for the extra-large sweatshirt she had found at a thrift store. It said, “Don’t Mess With Texas.” Somehow it seemed like an appropriate thought for her this evening.
Scanning the refrigerator again, Lauren found a bagel, a can of Diet Coke, and a pint of gourmet ice cream in the freezer. Three unique dinner companions. She didn’t feel like watching TV. It wouldn’t hurt to get a jump on her reading for class. So drowning her loneliness in spoonful after spoonful of double fudge brownie, washed down with Diet Coke, Lauren read the first four chapters in her textbook.
Justin never called back.
She ate the bagel for dessert and went to bed.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning Lauren checked her e-mail again, hoping for a letter from KC. The computer spun through its mechanized movements, connecting her with the Internet and displaying her mail box. The number “1” appeared, indicating that a letter was waiting for her. She knew it was from KC:
DEAR WREN (AKA THE MAD E-MAIL BOMBER),
This was the first time he had used the term “dear.” Lauren read on, feeling wonderfully warm inside.
LET ME START BY SAYING YOU CERTAINLY MAKE FOR AN INTERESTING PEN PAL. I RETURNED FROM MY TRIP THIS AFTERNOON, AND OF ALL MY MESSAGES, YOURS WAS BY FAR THE ONE WORTH COMING HOME FOR.
SO NOW YOU MUST TELL ME, SINCE I’M INVOLVED IN THIS WHOLE AFFAIR, HOW DID THE DATE GO WITH JUSTIN? AND WHAT ABOUT JEFF? DID YOU CALL HIM AS MINDY SUGGESTED? AND, IF YOU DON’T MIND MY ASKING, IS BEING A VOLLEYBALL MANIAC A GOOD THING IN YOUR BOOK? I HAPPEN TO HAVE ONLY ONE SPORT. WELL, MAYBE TWO: VOLLEYBALL AND GOLF. IF YOU HAVE AN AVERSION TO EITHER OF THESE NOBLE ATHLETIC ENDEAVORS, I’M AFRAID I MIGHT BE FORCED TO PUT A HALT TO OUR CORRESPONDENCE RIGHT HERE AND NOW.
THE ACCIDENTAL OPENING OF YOUR HEART TO ME IS CERTAINLY NOT A REASON FOR ME TO STOP CONVERSING WITH YOU. A LACK OF INTEREST IN VOLLEYBALL MIGHT BE.
PEACE, KC
Lauren sat back, smiling and wondering if she were crazy for liking this nameless, faceless, invisible person.
She typed back to KC:
FEAR NOT, A VOLLEYBALL MANIAC IS A GOOD THING IN MY BOOK, AND I HAPPEN TO BE ONE. I’M SO GLAD YOU WROTE BACK. THANKS. SO YOU WANT TO HEAR ALL THE JUICY DETAILS, HUH? WELL, I RUINED MY DATE WITH JUSTIN BY BLABBING ABOUT JEFF THE WHOLE TIME, BUT THEN JUSTIN MET A CHARMING YOUNG LADY AT MY APARTMENT LAST SUNDAY, AND HE SORT OF VANISHED FROM MY LIFE.
NO, I DIDN’T CALL JEFF. MY BROTHER THINKS I HAVE TO SETTLE IT INSIDE MYSELF, NOT IN AN EMOTIONAL CONVERSATION WITH JEFF. I AGREE. I’M OVER JEFF. IT WASN’T A GOOD RELATIONSHIP. I CAN SEE THAT NOW.
BUT I DON’T WANT TO DO TO YOU WHAT I DID TO JUSTIN LAST FRIDAY NIGHT. SO THAT’S ENOUGH ABOUT JEFF.
I’D LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT EGYPT. DID YOU RIDE A CAMEL OR TOUR A PYRAMID?
THANKS FOR WRITING BACK. I APPRECIATE YOU.
WARMLY, WREN.
Lauren sent the letter and found she couldn’t keep a tender smile from her lips. Checking the refrigerator, ready for breakfast, she decided a trip to the grocery store was unavoidable. So she took off, violating the universal rule of grocery shopping: Never shop on an empty stomach. Hers was worse than empty. Her innards were churning the final remains of double fudge brownie dairy product.
Lauren pulled her car out of the apartment complex and into the flow of traffic. All she could think about was how some people might be content remaining single all their lives, but she dearly wanted to share her life with someone else. Someone she could love with her whole heart.
It bothered her that she felt so happy simply because she had received a letter from KC. No man should have that kind of power over her. She had ridden that roller coaster with Jeff, feeling happy when he was happy, feeling responsible when he was sad. She didn’t want to live like that.
I’m going to find my own life. No more of this chasing after attention and being dependent on a man for my happiness. If God has someone for me, he’ll have to bring him to my front door!
Lauren smiled at the thought as she pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and muttered, “So what are my options here? I’m going to marry a pizza delivery boy!”
At the moment, pizza sounded good—anything sounded good. Her cart became fuller and fuller as she ventured down each aisle. And she became hungrier and hungrier. In uncharacteristic style, Lauren tossed all kinds of impulse items into her cart including potato chips, gourmet ice cream, chocolate chips (telling herself she would make cookies that afternoon and take them to work on Monday), and a canister of international-flavored coffee.
She was about to wheel out of the coffee and tea section when a small green box caught her eye. It read, “Irish Breakfast Tea.” Lauren stood there for several minutes, holding the box in her hand, trying to remember where she had heard about this tea. Someone told her they liked it. But who?
Into the basket went the green tea box. She would figure out late
r where the subliminal suggestion had come from. Wherever or whoever it was, the suggestion had had its desired effect.
At the checkout line Lauren tossed in a bag of candy corns from the display. Even though Halloween was more than a month away, evidence of its approach was everywhere. To Lauren, candy corns represented autumn, and she was ready for it to be autumn—ready for a change.
The afternoon wind seemed to cooperate with her wishes as it whipped past her in the parking lot, spinning a french fry box and a plastic coffee cup into a dance of glee.
Lauren paid attention to all the deciduous trees that lined her way home. A few had slight tinges of yellow and orange in their outer leaves. What was it she had read once about autumn trees? Something about their being like gypsies wearing amber jewels in their hair, ready to dance with the wind the moment it came calling. That’s how she wanted to live. Like a carefree gypsy, always ready to dance. What a laughable contrast that picture was to her life these past few months, or even this past year as she had planned out her life so carefully with Jeff. Lauren felt as if she was getting back to the old Lauren. The one she liked. The one who had big dreams in high school.
A garage sale sign appeared as she turned the corner toward her apartment complex. Lauren couldn’t resist. Leaving her eleven bags of groceries in the backseat of her car, she approached with anticipation the mounds of treasures sprawling across the lawn. Boxes of books and heaps of linens were surrounded by rusty garden tools and crates of canning jars. The old brick manor had probably been there since the turn of the century. The acre or so of surrounding land was circled with new housing developments, one of them being the backside of Lauren’s apartment. A young woman sat at a table guarding a metal cash box while an older couple poked around in the clothing stack on the other side of her.
Lauren smiled her greeting and went right to the box of books. She pawed through the vast assortment until she found a small, worn book with roses embossed on the cover. It was entitled Modern Classics, which made her chuckle aloud because the copyright date was 1871. The book contained two novels by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Tales of the White Hills and Legends of New England. Lauren felt her heart beating faster. She had read that Hawthorne had traveled to Italy with his family and actually visited Robert and Elizabeth Browning at Casa Guidi. She clutched the old book, feeling as if she had just met the friend of a dear friend.
The price on the book was a bargain at two dollars. “Excuse me,” Lauren said to the young woman at the table. “Do you have any more old books?”
“I’m not sure. We went through a lot of stuff yesterday and this morning. Sold all the furniture. Whatever is out there is what we have left.”
“Sounds like quite a sale.”
“This was my great-grandparents’ home. They both passed away this summer. We’re dividing everything up. The property has already been sold.”
“What about the house?” Lauren asked, feeling a lump of sorrow in her throat for these people she had never met.
“It’s all rundown,” the woman said. “I’m sure they’ll level it.”
“Can’t it be moved or saved somehow? Isn’t it a historical landmark for this area or anything?”
The woman smiled. “I don’t think so. The land is worth far more than the house.”
Lauren heartily disagreed, even though she hadn’t seen the inside of the house. The imagination wheels began to spin in her head. If she had the money, she would buy the house and fix it up. Maybe turn it into a bed and breakfast. But the balance in her savings account and her monthly income would not qualify her for such a venture.
Some other garage-sale shoppers stepped up with armfuls of clothing. Lauren returned to the linens and drew out of the pile a lovely old wrinkled ivory tablecloth with ivory embroidered flowers in the four corners. She groped through the stack until she had seven matching linen napkins. The eighth napkin eluded her. No matter. When would she have more than seven people over for dinner at the same time?
Returning to the table, Lauren added the linens to her book, feeling jubilant over her finds. She pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the keeper of the cash.
A little girl on roller blades came clanging up the driveway toward them, carrying an open box in her hands. “I made a sign for them,” she said to the woman at the table. “See?”
The box landed on the table in front of Lauren with a thump followed by an echoing chorus of meows.
“Oh, how darling!” Lauren said, reaching inside the box and picking up the kitten that looked the most dazed of the bunch. He fit in the palm of her hand and was the softest little ball of fur she had ever felt. He was mostly gray with two white patches, one on his nose and one on his front right paw. “Are you selling these kittens?” Lauren asked the roller-blade queen.
“Yes, ma’am. They’re three dollars each or two for five dollars.”
Lauren laughed and said, “I only need one. And this one is worth the price of two to me. Here,” she handed the girl the five dollars the woman had given her as change a moment earlier. “Thank you very, very much. I’ve wanted a kitten for a long time. Does he have a name?”
“No. Only this one does,” she said picking up an orange striped tabby. “I call her Pumpkin.”
“Well, I hope you find a nice home for Pumpkin.”
“I don’t. I hope nobody buys her. Maybe then I can keep her.” The girl smiled and showed the gap where her two front teeth had been. Lauren wondered if those teeth had come out naturally or if the girl’s exuberant roller blading had helped the course of nature.
“Thanks again,” Lauren said as she tucked her kitten in the crook of her arm and carried him, with her book and table linens, to the car. “Hi, little one,” she said in answer to the kitten’s meows. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat.”
Lauren placed the kitten on the floor in the front of her car and headed back to the grocery store. She pushed the cart down the aisle for the second time that day. This time she picked up cat food and cat box filler and a half dozen other necessities to set up her new house guest. At the deli department she ordered a large roast beef on rye, a bag of Cheetos, and a large Diet Coke.
Then, balancing her Coke in one hand and scarfing Cheetos by the handful, Lauren maneuvered her way back to her apartment with the exhausted kitten asleep in her lap, both of them as happy as could be.
Chapter Thirteen
Lauren unpacked her groceries with more zest than she had felt in weeks; more than she had felt all summer. Things were changing for her. She was invigorated by the promises of fall, which included an antique book to peruse by the fire and a precious kitten to snuggle with. Perhaps she could tolerate Nashville a little longer and wait patiently for the day when she could move to a small town.
“What should I call you?” she asked her kitten, holding him up to the light. “You’re quite a noble looking young man. Sensitive, yet intelligent. Strong, but shy. Tender and very snuggly. All the qualities I look for in a man. Not that I’m looking, though. Not any more. I’m waiting for my pizza-man,” she said, rubbing noses with the kitten.
She poured some more milk into the kitten’s dish and placed it and the feline on the new mat along the back wall of her kitchen. “So, do you want to hang out with me and wait for the doorbell to ring? It could be a couple of years, you know. You don’t have any other plans, do you?
“Good. Neither do I. Except for finishing school. And reading this book,” she said reaching for the Nathaniel Hawthorne book on the counter. “I’ll be in the living room. You come snuggle with me when you’re finished there, okay?” She stroked the soft fur along his back and watched his tail go straight up in an eager response to her touch.
Lauren turned on the automatic fire in the wall fireplace and curled up on the couch with her dusty volume. It wasn’t chilly. Yet Lauren felt such a book should not be explored without a roaring fire.
She dusted the cover with her sleeve. “Nathaniel Hawthorne,”
she said aloud. “Should I call you Nathaniel? Any friend of Elizabeth’s is a friend of mine.”
No response came from the kitchen.
“How about Hawthorne? Do you like Hawthorne better?”
The kitten appeared around the corner of the kitchen area, stretching on the carpet and sharpening his claws.
“You like that name, huh? Hawthorne it is. Come here, Hawthorne.” She patted her leg, inviting the little one to come join her on the couch. “I probably shouldn’t let you up on the furniture, should I? Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. I can whip off this cover and wash it any time I want. You belong right here with me.”
Hawthorne nuzzled up against her leg. She lifted him to a cozy spot on her lap and turned to the first page. “Shall I read to you, Hawthorne? ‘Chapter one, “The Great Stone Face.” One afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy sat at the door of their cottage —’ ”
A knock at her door interrupted their story time.
“Coming.” Lauren scooped up Hawthorne and opened the door.
It was Mindy. At least she thought it was Mindy. Her friend was dressed as a country-western singer with the most ridiculous platinum blond wig Lauren had ever seen.
Lauren slapped her hand over her mouth.
“You forgot,” Mindy said, slipping inside the apartment.
Lauren winced and nodded.
“It’s only my husband’s surprise birthday party,” Mindy said with an exaggerated drawl. “Where did you get the cat?”
“This is Hawthorne. I bought him this afternoon at a garage sale. Mindy, I’m sorry. The time got away from me. I’ll be ready in five minutes. Seven minutes tops.”