The Street Singer, page 16
“Honey, you never talk about him unless I ask you something. Don’t you think if he were the most important person in your world, you’d be anxious to mention him? Instead, I see your face tense every time his name comes up.”
His arms slid around her waist, and he drew her closer again. “From the moment you walked into my office, I knew. I denied it when I saw the ring, but I can’t deny it any more. We only have once in a lifetime to find a soulmate.”
She gave him a weak smile. “That’s a clichéd term.”
His eyes disarmed her. “Maybe, until you find yours. We exchange glances and know what we’re both thinking. You finish my sentences. I can’t imagine not being with you. You’re my first thought every morning. That’s a soulmate.”
Trisha tasted the salt and realized she was crying. “Rusty, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Is your relationship with Grant healthy?” he persisted. “Does he bring you joy? Do you share the same interests? Convictions? Dreams?”
Trisha knew the answer to all of those questions was no. “I can fix this after we’re married. We’re both just stressed right now.”
“You won’t fix it. Trust me. You’ll just manage the dysfunction and learn to live with it. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head and took a step back, her eyes downcast.
“Does he know you? Really know you?”
Trisha raised her eyes, stopping short of rolling them. “Of course he does. I told you, it’s been three years.”
Rusty recaptured her hands and drew her forward. “That doesn’t mean he knows you. We’ve been together six weeks, and here’s what I know. I know you have a compassionate heart that hates injustice, a heart that hurts when others hurt. I know you long for a heritage that defines you. You cling to the pieces of your past. I know you’re sensitive and cry easily, except that you try to hold the tears back because you think they make you weak.”
“They do, and I can’t afford to be weak.”
“No, sweetheart. Tears are a cleansing gift from God. They’re natural and healthy. Even Jesus wept, and there’s no weakness in Him.” Rusty took a breath and continued, “I know you’re spunky and will fight for what’s right. You’re loyal to a fault, even at your own expense. I know you’re afraid to fail, but I think you’re learning that failure is a part of growing. See Trish, you can learn a lot about a person if you care. Ask him. Who does he say you are? What has he learned in three years?”
Trisha turned her head away. “I can’t think right now. You’re confusing me.”
Rusty tipped her chin up, turning her back. “If you were in love with him, no words would confuse you. You’ll betray yourself for the sake of loyalty. Don’t spend the rest of your life with the wrong person because you don’t have the courage to make the change.”
She stepped back out of his reach. “Rusty, you need to go.”
“The thing about soulmates is—it has to be both ways, or you aren’t actually soulmates,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Either one person is mistaken, or one person is in denial. And, Trish, when you stand before God and the church and make those vows, all other possibilities end.”
Trisha walked to the front door and held it open. She felt a burning in her stomach as his shoulders slumped in defeat. At the door, he leaned in and kissed her cheek and then walked across the porch. Before he stepped down, he turned and looked back. Their gaze held.
“Does he dance with you?” Without waiting for an answer, he walked to his car, slid in, and drove away.
21
When Rusty’s car pulled away, Trisha locked the door. Back in the living room, she saw his electronic device and wireless speaker. She walked over and found the file with Adaline’s music. With shaking hands, she set it to play through the full playlist. She curled her knees up on the sofa and cried herself to sleep to the mournful voice of Adaline.
She woke on the sofa at one thirty in the morning, one dim light casting shadows on the ceiling. The speaker was silent, but the red light glowed like a laser point, alerting her that it hadn’t been turned off.
Trisha walked over, hit the button, and watched the red fade and disappear. She checked the locks and lights before going to bed. As she walked through the dining room, she saw the wedding folder on the table. Trisha pulled out a chair and flipped through it page by page. So much work and money put into this one day.
She flipped to the guest list and seating chart. Her eyes scanned the names looking for guests that were her friends and relatives. Most of the names were unknown to her, invited by Grant and his parents. Twenty-five tables of twelve and only one round table represented Trisha. She had planned to let Pap invite some of his friends, but when he died, she scratched their names.
She closed the folder and trudged the stairs to her old bedroom, unable to shake Rusty’s words from her mind.
~*~
Even though Trisha needed to be at the ceremony an hour before it began, Grant insisted on picking her up. “I don’t want to have two cars there afterwards. I told my parents we’d all go out for a celebration. Maybe a cheese plate and wine.”
Grant knocked, but then he entered with his key. Trish walked out wearing a simple black dress, her heels in her hand. She glanced around the small room.
“You’re early. Where are your parents?”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I’ll drop you off and then run back to my place to pick them up. I wanted a few minutes to tell you how proud I am of you.” He kissed her again.
Trisha leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you. I needed that.”
Grant stroked her hair. “Nervous?”
Her shoulders shrugged. “Maybe weary would be a better word.”
“Almost done, honey.” He pulled back and reached into his pocket, retrieving a small box from a jeweler. “This is a little graduation gift.” Grant’s eyes beamed.
Trisha opened it with care, pulling the gold ribbon from one side and then unknotting it with a pink fingernail. She lifted the lid. A necklace—the initials TLR formed in diamonds, surrounded by a border of gold dangled from a fine gold chain. Her breath caught in her throat.
Her gaze shot up from the box to Grant, questions etched in her brain.
His eyes danced with pleasure. “Your new initials. I know you have a month, but this is a special day. I wanted you to have something special to go with it.”
He leaned in and kissed her.
He’s so excited, I can’t tell him. It should be an A. Trisha Ann.
Grant wanted her to wear it with her black dress, but she convinced him she shouldn’t wear it until her name was Ramsey. It would never be Trisha Lynn. She supposed that’s what he was thinking. Lynn had been her mother’s name. She once told him her mother thought about giving Trisha her own name for the middle but didn’t like the sound of it. She thought Trisha Ann had a better flow. Maybe she could just wear it in remembrance of her mom.
Grant dropped her outside of the school, and she went in to join her classmates. The number of graduates was small. Garlington Law School limited acceptance to fifty new students each year. A few always dropped before completion. Trisha was among forty-six graduates. A celebratory atmosphere filled the holding room where they pulled on caps and gowns, talked, laughed, and hugged each other. Trisha had a few closer friends in the mix, but Rusty’s words returned to her. She was serious. She hadn’t allowed herself to be lighthearted or to join them for evenings out just for fun. Instead, she crammed for every test, poured her heart into every assignment, afraid of failure. Rusty read her well.
They lined up in the assigned order, and the cue rang out to begin the procession. Trisha sighted the top of Grant’s head through the crowd. As she drew closer, she saw his parents. They turned to watch the graduates and smiled when they saw her.
She waited through all the regalia of a commencement: music, honors, valedictorian and salutatorian speeches, and the keynote. Finally, the time arrived to call each graduate for their earned degree, ending the tedium. One by one, each received their coveted certificate. On cue, they stood in unison, turned, and the exit march began. She saw Grant but kept her eyes forward to match the decorum. As she passed the place where he was seated, her gaze was jarred by the familiarity of a man in the back of the auditorium. Rusty stood, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on her. As she got closer, she made out the slightest hint of a grin. He did a brief thumb’s up.
Trisha broke eye contact with Rusty and looked straight ahead while the graduates continued toward the room where their guests would meet up with them. Trisha’s muscles tensed just thinking of Grant and Rusty in the same room. Would Grant look at her and know? Her emotions must be engraved all over her face.
She tried to still her shaking hand as she watched the doorway and each person who entered. Grant, who had been seated near the front of the auditorium, was one of the last to reach the hall. Rusty hadn’t stayed. Trisha breathed with relief.
Her future in-laws hugged her. Her mother-in-law leaned close. “Grant’s so proud of you, dear. He loves to tell everyone he’s marrying an attorney.”
~*~
Trisha and Grant walked hand-in-hand as they left the graduation. Grant’s mother walked on his other side. “The trip in from Raleigh exhausted me. Just drop us off at your townhouse and you can have some time with Trisha.”
Trisha was tired, so the change in plans didn’t disappoint her. She and Grant returned to her apartment alone.
Grant held the door as they walked in. “Can I pour some wine for us?”
She plopped onto the sofa, overcome by fatigue. “Yes, please. That sounds nice.”
Balancing two wine glasses, Grant handed one to Trisha. He swirled, sniffed, and sipped his own.
Trisha reached for his hand. “Thank you for everything. I didn’t want to walk for graduation, but I’m glad you talked me into it.”
“You deserved it. You worked so hard.”
Trisha turned so she faced him. “If someone didn’t know me, and asked you to tell them about your future wife, what would you say?”
Grant gleamed, a seductive smile on his face. “I’d tell them you’re beautiful, smart, and that you’ve worked hard to become an attorney. I’d tell them you’ll be the best attorney this city has ever seen.”
Trisha was solemn. “But what about me—about who I am, not just what I do?”
Grant reached for her hair and tangled his fingers inside the waves. Then he stroked her cheek. “I guess I’d say you have a gorgeous mane of hair surrounding this incredible face. Big beautiful eyes. I could mention some other attributes, but you might not want me to do that.”
His eyes lowered to her chest. She tipped his chin up with a finger. “That’s not who I am. That’s what I look like.”
Grant rubbed his temples. “Trisha, I’m giving you compliments. What is it you want?”
Her shoulder slouched, and she exhaled. “Nothing. I guess I’m just wondering, do you want to marry me so you can say your wife’s an attorney and show me off when we go places? I don’t want to be a trophy wife.”
Grant crossed his arms and stiffened. “Where’s this coming from? All because I said I’m proud of you? Sometimes I don’t get you.”
She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m too tired.”
Grant stood and reached to help her up. “I’ll be going. I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow night. We have dinner reservations at The Whitmore. I thought you’d like that.”
~*~
Trisha pulled on her nightshirt and brushed her teeth. She reached for her laptop and thought about Rusty’s tablet over at the farmhouse. She’d have to get it back to him before he left for Nashville. She closed her eyes and saw him standing against the back wall, giving her a grin and a thumb’s up.
Trisha knew what she needed to do. She needed to distance herself from Rusty. It was the only sure way to save her relationship with Grant. Yet Adda connected them until the suit ended. She couldn’t turn her back on Adda.
That’s what she’d see if she practiced family law. Two people who once loved each other enough to marry, forever connected by a child. A jolt of panic gripped her chest. Could that someday be her? No one married expecting the road to lead them to divorce. No. She would never allow her marriage to fail.
Curling up in bed, Trisha opened her e-mail. Rusty’s name jumped out at her, obscuring all others. She clicked on the link.
Saw Adda today, and all is well.
Isn’t it a shame how 99% of lawyers give the profession a bad name? Well done! Welcome to the 1%. Hope you’re laughing. Does he make you laugh?”
22
Adda went to her markings on the cardboard. The last one was F, making today Saturday. She marked her S before slipping into her flat shoes and walking across the street. At least she didn’t have to worry about her hair. Her braids bounced as she walked. The donation box had been good, so she bought herself a nice breakfast biscuit with ham and eggs. Adda suspected Rusty kept her donation box a little fuller. Maybe she’d only sing ’til lunchtime today.
Adda ate and cleaned up in her sink before pulling her equipment out to the front. Saturdays always had less people, but the ones who passed seemed to have more time to stop and listen. Most times when people stopped to listen, they pulled something out of their wallet for the box.
Adda only sang two songs before she saw him. Frank sauntered on in there and sat down. He didn’t say anything, just glared at her. His gaze stayed on Adda for over an hour, and he scowled the whole time. Adda’s voice quavered, and she forgot the words a time or two.
Her throat was starting to scratch, and she needed to walk across the street for the bathroom. But she feared Frank would try to talk to her, maybe rough her up again. She announced her break and started wrapping up her equipment. He never left his bench, and his eyes didn’t leave her.
She walked her equipment to the storage closet and went around back of the building. There was a public restroom she could go to in the lobby if they didn’t lock the back door. She peeked over her shoulder. Frank hadn’t followed.
When Adda returned to her room, she checked the secret place where she kept money from the week’s donations. She counted $38.00. That would have to be enough. She wouldn’t be singing again today.
~*~
Trisha turned the bend on the gravel driveway, not expecting anyone to be at the house. Jimmy’s truck sat in the driveway and what looked like a car beside it, mostly hidden by the truck. As she drove closer, her pulse began a rapid beat. Rusty. He must have come to pick up his tablet and speaker. If Jimmy hadn’t been here, he’d have been locked out. Trisha gave a momentary thought to turning around. No. This is my house. He can pick up his things and leave.
Trisha opened the door. From inside came the sounds of George Strait singing about Amarillo. She walked through the summer room to the kitchen.
Her mouth dropped open and hands went to her hips. “What in the world are you doing?”
Rusty sat on the top step of a ladder, paintbrush in hand. Jimmy was kneeling in front of a base cabinet screwing hinges to replace the doors. He looked up at Rusty.
“Uh-oh. Busted.”
“Jimmy, you told me you’d get me a price. I don’t want you doing this.”
He pulled himself up off the floor, brushing wood shavings from his jeans. “Trish, would you rather me sit in the rocking chair staring at the TV? You know me. I gotta be doing something.”
Trisha’s exhale came out in a big sigh. She looked up at Rusty on the ladder. “And you? Don’t even think of telling me you had nothing better to do.”
His eyes held the gleam that had become so endearing. “Oh, I had things to do, but nothing better I wanted to do. I’m learning a lot from Jimmy.”
Jimmy piped in. “He’s pretty handy with a sander. I’ve seen lots worse on jobsites.”
Trisha swung back around to face Rusty. “You sanded these? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Can’t I have some surprises?”
Trisha shook her head and walked away. This must be what all their whispering was about. Why would Rusty do this? At the entrance to the living room, she slipped her shoes off before stepping on the hardwood. A rush of adrenaline hit her as she stood there remembering the dance. The dance and the kiss. She passed through the room to the entry and saw that all of her boxes were gone. They had carried them upstairs. The same boxes that Grant hadn’t wanted to carry.
Footsteps followed her. She expected to see Rusty but turned to find Jimmy behind her.
“Trishie, you’re not upset, are you? If you don’t like it, I can make some changes.”
She was an emotional mess, but none of it had to do with the kitchen or Jimmy Wallace. He was the embodiment of kindness.
She reached to hug his shoulder. “I love it. I just don’t want you to think you have to do all of this. You’ve done so much for me already.”
“I promise I won’t overdo it, and I won’t do anything I don’t want to. Rusty offered. We’ve had a good time working together. Nice fellow.”
She nodded. “Yes, he is.” Too nice.
“Come on back in the kitchen. Let me show you something.”
They returned to the kitchen where Rusty painted away, singing with the radio. Jimmy reached for a folder in one of the cabinets. He leafed through it until he found the page he wanted, turning it so Trisha could see. The drawing showed a built-in wine rack, a series of diagonal strips formed diamond shapes where the wine bottles would be stored.
“This little space right here,” he pointed, “is pretty useless. Something like this might dress it up. Add a little something special.”
“I like it. That would break the monotony and give me nice storage.”
“We think alike. Rusty’s idea. We sketched it out this morning.”
Trisha looked up, but Rusty never turned. He just kept painting.
