Summer Storms

  “He hasn’t gotten over her yet, has he?”

  “I had hoped so, but…” Ian shook his head. “I don’t know if he ever will.”

  “I can’t imagine what he must have gone through or how he did it alone.”

  “He didn’t have to be alone, he chose that.” There was an edge to Ian’s voice.

  “I know.” Lizzie noticed Ian’s surprised look, and recapped her lunch conversation with Jeffrey.

  “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Jeffrey doesn’t talk about Camylle. Even after she first died, he wouldn’t talk about it. I tried to help him, but he shut down.”

  “I did too,” Lizzie said. “I isolated myself trying not to feel the pain.”

  “How did you get past that?”

  “I dabbled with going to church again, and gradually I began to feel a weight lifting from my spirit. It may sound strange, but I always felt God pursuing me, unwilling to let go of me. If I hadn’t felt that I don’t know where I’d be today.”

  Ian nodded. “It doesn’t sound strange at all. I wish I could get Jeffrey to see how much he is missing by wallowing in his pain. He didn’t have much faith in God before, but now he downright refuses to hear anything about it. I thought by now he would have met someone new and started over.”

  “He has mentioned a girl. Michelle, I think, is her name. He just met her recently.”

  “He told you about Michelle?” Ian sat forward in his seat. “He must trust you to tell you so much about his life. He was never a great communicator; used to drive Camylle crazy because she never knew what was going on in his head. How long have you known him?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  Ian shook his head. “Maybe you’re the girl he should be going after instead of Michelle.”

  This remark took Lizzie by surprise and an awkward silence descended on the room.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t even know if you’re single.”

  “Forget it; it’s not a big deal.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, her gaze tracing the lines of the ceiling.

  Ian hesitated before asking, “So, are you single?”

  Lizzie felt her face flush. “At the moment, yes, I am.”

  “But there’s someone you’re interested in?”

  “No, I’ve been focused on work and of course now there is this monstrosity to transform.” Lizzie stretched out her arms and twirled around with a childish giggle.

  “Well, I can assure you, these floors will be good as new in no time, and I’d be happy to help out with anything else you need. You are going to replace the porch aren’t you?”

  “Jeffrey told me I should, but it isn’t a high priority right now. I know it will cost a fortune to build a whole new porch.”

  “I can keep an eye on lumber for you and let you know if I come across any deals.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Have you talked to Jeffrey this week?” Lizzie switched gears.

  “No, he hasn’t been answering my calls.”

  “Did you hear about the accident at his worksite Monday?”

  Ian shook his head, concern covering his face. “Is he okay?”

  “Physically he’s fine, mentally, I’m not so sure.” She told him about the accident, the deaths, and her dinner with Jeffrey.

  “Three people died? As far as I know these are the first deaths he’s been faced with since Camylle.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m a gossip, and it certainly isn’t any of my business, but Jeffrey seemed to have an awful lot to drink. Every time I tried to talk to him about the accident, he brushed me off and changed the subject. It doesn’t seem like he is dealing with it at all.”

  Ian nodded, a grieved look in his eyes. “He’s dealing with it by denying it. If he can’t feel the pain, there is no pain. Did he tell you Camylle played tennis? One time she tore a hamstring during a match, but she refused to quit. She said as long as she didn’t think about the pain, she was fine. Jeffrey twisted that around when she died. He drank until he didn’t feel the hurt anymore. It seems as if that philosophy has extended to anything that hurts him.” Ian rubbed his bruised face.

  “I wish there was something I could do to help him.”

  “I don’t know what to do anymore other than pray for him,” Ian said, leaning forward. “But you might have more luck than I did. Maybe grief is your common bond, the door that is open between you, and if he can learn how you have dealt with it then he can find healing for himself.” Ian grew more excited as he spoke, bounding out of his chair when he finished.

  “Maybe,” Lizzie replied but she wasn’t convinced. Ian circled the room. She watched his face, acutely aware he was deep in thought.

  “I’m not saying it will be easy or that it will even work, but you have more chance of understanding his pain than I ever did. Even though I loved Camylle like my own sister, he doesn’t believe I grieved for her. He doesn’t believe my heart aches when I think of her, and in a way, he’s right. I never have grieved the way he does, because he doesn’t have any hope, he doesn’t have that promise of seeing her again in heaven.”

  “He knows I go to church. Why wouldn’t he think I had the same reaction to my parents’ death as you did to Camylle’s?”

  “Did you?” Ian asked, causing Lizzie’s face to darken. She folded her arms across her chest creating a defensive wall between them.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Ian stood before her, a pained look in his eyes. She turned away from him and studied the room.

  “What do we need to do next on the floors?” she asked in a businesslike tone, shutting down any further personal discussion.

  Ian hesitated. “Next, I’ll lay out the new boards, then it all needs to be sanded down before it can be refinished. I can come out the next couple of nights if that works for you.”

  “I need to start packing up my apartment, why don’t you just take the key and let yourself in. Leave it with my neighbor across the street Friday night.” Lizzie handed him the key, gathered up her things, and disappeared before he could reply.

 

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Early Saturday morning Lizzie struggled up the front steps, weighed down with cans of paint, and three bags containing brushes, painter’s tape, and drop cloths. The neighborhood was quiet making each clanging step she took sound like a primitive alarm system. She dropped the supplies at the front door and felt in her pocket for the key before remembering she had left it with Ian. She slapped her palm against the door, spun on her heel, and gazed at Mae’s house. The windows were still dark.

  She pulled anxiously on a lock of hair. She hadn’t thought about making arrangements with Mae to get her key when she left Ian the other night. The memory of his excitement at finding a way to reach Jeffrey, unaware he would be using her own shame to do so, made her chest tighten. Not many people knew about the regrets she had from the year after her parents’ death and she preferred it that way. She feared Ian’s reaction if he learned the truth, if he learned the things she had done during that dark time.

  “Hello? Lizzie?”

  She looked up and down the street before catching sight of Mae in the doorway. Lizzie waved, relief flooding her as she jogged across the street.

  “Good morning.” She took the porch steps two at a time.

  “You’re getting an early start today.” Mae stepped outside.

  “I’m hoping to get most of the place painted. Some friends are coming over to help.”

  “Wonderful. The young man who came by last night was very nice.” Mae withdrew the house key from a pocket in her robe and handed it to Lizzie. “I was making some coffee, would you like a cup before you get started?”

  Lizzie glanced at her watch. “A quick one would be nice.”

  She followed the elderly lady into the house. It smelled of fresh coffee and sweet perfume. Lizzie sat in a metal and vinyl chair at an old Formica table that reminded h
er of something in a 1950s diner, while Mae shuffled into the kitchen. She poured the rich liquid from an old-fashioned stovetop percolator into two white mugs, each decorated with a different bird.

  “How’s the renovation going?”

  “Slow but steady. I spent most of this week packing up my apartment. I’m hoping to be able to move some things in next week while I continue to work.

  “That will be nice. The young man last night mentioned he had repaired the floors. I imagine that was quite a job.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure how I would have done it without Ian.”

  “He must be a good friend. He worked until nine o’clock last night.”

  “I’m so sorry if he bothered you,” Lizzie exclaimed. She had been so focused on her own discomfort she hadn’t thought of anyone else.

  “The boys and their families were over for dinner and they were just leaving when he stopped by.”

  “Thank you,” Lizzie said before gulping down the last of her coffee. “I suppose I should get things ready for the day.”

  A few minutes after eight o’clock, cars started to fill the driveway and spill out along the road. A dozen friends had turned out to help with the painting. Lizzie felt her heart would burst with gratitude. This was the first time many of her Concierge Club friends had met her church friends. There were several moments when she questioned her judgment bringing these two groups together. Her work friends could be a little rough around the edges, letting expletives fly when they were frustrated. For the first time she realized she didn’t know much about the state of their souls and had never thought about it before.

  James clasped Lizzie in a smothering hug and turned to look at the house. “This place looks like it could be haunted.”

  “I haven’t encountered any ghosts so far. You have no idea how much better it looks than the day I agreed to rent it.” She gave the house a long look.

  “I brought a paint sprayer. That should help speed things up,” James said.

  Lizzie smiled and pointed him in the direction of the paint cans. “I need a few more people to help with exterior paint,” she called to the crowd. She set the volunteers up on the backside of the house and returned to find the rest of her friends had already spread drop cloths.

  “What color do you want in this room,” Stephanie called from the guest bedroom. Lizzie joined Stephanie in the bedroom and opened a can to reveal a powder blue color.

  “I thought this might help the room seem a little bigger.”

  “Sure, light colors are supposed to do that.” Stephanie poured paint into her tray, loaded up a roller and started to smooth it on.

  “Thanks for helping, Steph. I know you aren’t big on physical labor.”

  “No sweat, I can count this as my workout for the week.” Stephanie shot her a grin. Several boom boxes had been set up in the small house and Lizzie could hear a mixture of Casting Crowns and Def Leppard. She reflected on the music that represented so well the diversity of her friends and felt grateful for the blessings each one had brought to her life.

  The team worked for several hours, walls transforming from dingy white, to green, blue, and yellow. Lizzie flitted through the rooms checking the progress, surprised to find her friends hadn’t clumped into their separate cliques, but mingled together. In the living room, she found Sally and Jennifer from church working with Patricia painting new baseboards and crown molding. In the kitchen, Stephen worked with Travis, the youth pastor. Mona worked in the master bedroom with Emma.

  “Hey, where’s that pizza you promised? I’m starving,” Travis yelled.

  “Should be here in twenty minutes.”

  “Looks like we’re finished with the kitchen,” Stephen said.

  “The kitchen is always the easiest,” Patricia teased.

  “Bet we can have the bathroom at least half finished by the time the pizza arrives,” Travis challenged.

  “You’re on,” Patricia said.

  Travis and Stephen washed out their brushes and ran into the bathroom. They poured more of the pale blue paint and attacked opposite walls. When the pizza arrived, the men emerged from the bathroom triumphant.

  “Done,” Stephen shouted.

  Patricia gave him an unconvinced look before popping her head into the bathroom. Streaked paint covered three walls; cast off from the racing brushes, splattered the shower stall.

  “I guess we should have clarified it needed to be presentable,” Patricia commented wryly. Lizzie walked into the small room and spun around considering the work.

  “Impressive,” Lizzie gave them a smile, “but you have to clean off the shower before the paint dries.” She walked outside to meet the pizza delivery guy. James turned off the sprayer and helped her carry the boxes inside. They laid them out on the kitchen counters and the group grabbed several pieces each.

  “Maybe we should eat out on the porch,” Lizzie recommended looking around the cluttered living room.

  Outside Lizzie breathed in the fresh air realizing how stifling the paint fumes had been. Her friends spread out on the porch stairs and front lawn admiring the freshly painted house.

  “You chose some great colors,” Mona remarked. “Have you ever considered a career in interior design?”

  Lizzie laughed, almost choking on her pizza. “No way. If you think the people we deal with now can be demanding, imagine spending their money trying to decorate their house.”

  “Good point. Speaking of work, how did things go last week? I can’t believe we have two more waves of that group coming in.” Mona sighed.

  “Trouble at your place?” Lizzie asked.

  “I heard complaints from the front desk every day,” Mona replied. “Why do they feel the need to send thousands of postcards while they are here?”

  “They’re sending them to their sales associates,” Stephen piped in. “It’s a whole pyramid scheme. The top sellers get to come to this conference, then they send postcards to those below them telling them how wonderful it is. It’s supposed to motivate them to produce more so they can come to the conference next year.”

  “Ugh, I can’t imagine having to deal with more of them next year,” Mona groaned.

  “Guys, I can’t thank you enough for helping out today,” Lizzie interjected. “It would have taken me weeks to get all this done alone.”

  A chorus of voices proclaimed it was no problem and they were having fun. With the pizzas polished off, they returned to their work. By five o’clock the brushes and paint trays had been washed, and lay along the edge of the porch to dry. Lizzie hugged each of her friends as they left.

  Alone she meandered through the rooms, reveling in the new look. She returned to the living room and pulled up the drop cloths that had covered her repaired floors. She gasped when the wood was revealed. The floor shown with a fresh coat of varnish and she couldn’t even tell where the damaged wood had been. She squeezed the balled up drop cloths to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “You like it?” a voice asked from behind her. Lizzie turned toward the door and gave Ian a shy smile, acutely aware of the way she had fled from him days before.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  Ian scanned the room, “You’ve been busy.” He strolled around the small house popping his head into the other rooms.

  “Some friends came over today.” She started folding the drop cloths and he stepped forward to help. He took one end of the cloth, stretching it tight before folding the edges together. The hum of the air conditioning unit in the window and an unending serenade of cicadas filled the silence between them.

  “Mae said you worked late last night.” Lizzie said without meeting his gaze.

  “I finished around nine. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would to varnish.” He stepped toward her to hand off his half of the cloth. Their fingers touched and she felt a tingling sensation again.

  “I noticed a few spots in the master bedroom that could use some work also,” Ian continued. “I can get th
em cleaned up next week if you want.”

  “I appreciate it.” She laid the folded cloth on a chair and picked up another one. Ian reached for an end, repeating the process.

  “I used some boards from your closets out here so it would all look the same age. I can use newer wood in the bedroom. It should be more covered up in there so it won’t matter if it matches.”

  Lizzie dropped the folded cloth onto the chair, fidgeting nervously with the corners. The silence stretched on as she searched for the right words. Ian shifted his weight and turned to leave.

  “I guess I’ll get going. I was in the area so I thought I would stop by to check on the floors.”

  “Ian wait,” she called as he crossed the threshold. He paused and looked back over his shoulder.

  She took a tentative step toward him. “I do appreciate your help. I’m sorry if it hasn’t seemed that way.”

  Ian stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets. Lizzie did not raise her eyes, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid he might see her shame. It had been a long time since she’d felt this vulnerable.

  “Like I said, I’m happy to help.”

  She felt his eyes trained on her. Her hair was a mess; paint flecked her face, arms, and clothes. She reached up and tried to tug her fingers through the tangled locks, wincing as the hair pulled against her scalp.

  The sound of a car pulling into the drive came as a welcome distraction. Her gaze flicked past Ian and recognized Jeffrey’s truck. Ian turned and stepped onto the porch. Lizzie was surprised when Jeffrey stopped in the middle of the walkway. His glance moved from Ian to Lizzie.

  “Come on in, I was just leaving,” Ian said, his voice cold. Crossing the porch in two strides, he passed Jeffrey on the walkway and slipped into his car. Jeffrey hesitated a moment longer before entering the house.

  “What was that about?” Lizzie asked.

  “He doesn’t approve of the way I live my life,” Jeffrey replied with a shrug. His gaze moved to the floor. “Looks great.”

  “It does.” She watched him circle the room, waiting for him to speak.

  “You did all the painting today?”

  “Well, this room I did last weekend, but I had a painting party today and got the rest done.” She noticed he seemed distracted. “How are you doing? Did you find out what caused the accident?”