Faking Grace, page 22
“Which explains why we haven’t run into each other.”
And if we did—outside of Steeple Side, outside of church, outside of mission work? Oh boy. Mustn’t forget the reason I’m here, or before much longer my name will be tantamount to a curse.
I consider the audio books in his nicely shaped hands, square my shoulders, and give the one with the glowing cross a nod. “I think she’ll like the daily devotionals. And now I have to get back to my desk.”
“Thank you for your input. And don’t worry about Jem. Steeple Side won’t let her down.”
Unlike the real world, where giving someone the benefit of a doubt for fear of ruining their life will get you canned. Unfortunately, that’s the world I live in, and though every day that passes makes Steeple Side more appealing, there’s no future here for me.
Right. You made your bed; now you have to sleep in it.
Wait. That doesn’t make sense. I don’t have to sleep in it. After all, it’s made. Maybe on the sloppy side, but made. Meaning I can walk away from it.
And where would you go? The unemployment line? You’d be ruined. This time for good. An utter failure, proving your detractors right— Maizy Stewart doesn’t have what it takes to shine light on the injustices of the world and make it a better place.
“Is something wrong?”
Not if I complete the assignment I’ve been given. Bringing Jack into focus, I shake my head. “Just thinking about all I need to get done today.”
He consults his watch. “You’d better get to it then. Your day’s almost over.”
Not even close.
“Out-of-wedlock pregnancy.” Ray’s chest puffs up in concert with his smile. “Perfect. More stuff like this and we’ll have an article that will blow the steeple off Steeple Side.”
I know I’m supposed to be amused, but I’m not, especially as the out-of-wedlock pregnancy is barely a notch above a lie—a snippet of conversation overheard in the parking lot between two women who may or may not be Steeple Side employees. But I had been desperate. Ray’s finger was in my face as he ranted about the poor quality of my leads and how long the investigation is taking, while beside me Tessie’s eyes were rolling. So it was the out-of-wedlock pregnancy or the revelation about Jack.
Ray flops back in his chair and laces his fingers over his chest in a rare show of contentment. It doesn’t last. He thrusts his chin forward. “We’ll need more, of course.”
“Of course,” I murmur.
He consults his calendar. “I’m being generous here, but I’ll give you two more weeks to get me this story.”
I startle. “Two weeks?”
“Ms. Halston led me to believe you could handle this. She vouched for you. Are you telling me you can’t?”
Tessie’s foot ceases its tapping.
I dig my nails into my palms. I don’t have to sleep in this bed. I can walk away.
And throw Tessie’s friendship back in her face? Leave her holding the bag?
But Ray wouldn’t fire her. She’s too valuable. Even so, there would be mud on her. And for what? As Tessie and Ray pointed out the last time I was in this office, there are plenty of others who’d like to advance their career on the back of Steeple Side, leaving me bringing up the rear of the unemployment line. I’ve felt torn before but never to this degree. In fact, if conscience and reason had physical form, they would be bloodied.
“Well,” Ray snaps, “can you get me the story?”
I don’t have a choice. Walk away and not only is my career trashed but Tessie gets the backlash. Stay the course and my career is reinstated, and Tessie’s belief in me is rewarded. “I’ll get the story. Two weeks.”
“That’s my girl.”
Girl?! Were I a die-hard feminist, I’d … I’d…
You’d grit your teeth and keep your job. And hate myself for it. Of course, it’s not as if I’m overly fond of myself at the moment. In fact, I can’t say I like myself much at all.
As I turn toward the door, the parting words Grandma spoke at the airport pop into my head: “Why don’t you see what that guide of yours has to say about integrity?”
NINETEEN
“Just you and me, Woof.” Eyes closed against the steadily rising sun, I reach for him. Guided by his heavy panting—one would think he’s the one who carried me the last half mile—I locate him sprawled in the grass near my thigh. “Told you we’d get back to normal.” I scratch his neck.
He rumbles low in his chest.
I yank my hand back. He growled at me! And after we agreed to put the past behind us. I lift my head from the grass. Half expecting him to be showing a bit of teeth (of course, that’s all he has), I’m surprised to find he’s not even looking at me. The silent treatment. He must be really mad. Of course, I did forget to bring water.
He scrambles to all fours, whips around, and looses a bark that sounds something like a cross between a toy squeaker and a hairball-coughing cat.
Then he wasn’t growling at me? Shielding my eyes, I look up. Nope. The one who set him off is the last person I want to see after the ultimatum Ray delivered yesterday—Jack in jogging shorts, a T-shirt, a sheen of perspiration, and a smile.
I’m not really surprised, as it crossed my mind that this might happen, especially since he has been flirting with me.
“Just the person I’m looking for,” he says as he nears.
Then he’s not going to pretend this is a chance meeting. Of course, it would be rather obvious since he told me he jogs at seven and it’s well past eight.
He halts near my feet. “So this is the little dog.”
Another growl. Another squeaky cough.
“Woofer.”
Jack chuckles. “He looks fierce.”
His gaze returns to me, and I realize how I must look laid out in the grass. Hoping I didn’t pick up any ticks, I sit up. “You said you were looking for me?”
He drops down beside me—near enough for me to silently bemoan the absence of his usual scent, but not so near as to suffer the smell of his physical exertion. Woofer, on the other hand, busily sniffs the change in the air while he holds his ground on my opposite side.
Jack tosses his water bottle to the grass, slides fingers back through his damp hair, then loosely wraps his arms around his knees. “I want to talk to you about Jem. I would have rung you last night, but I didn’t have your number and you aren’t listed.”
Not under Grace Stewart. “I’m fairly new to the area, so I probably missed the last printing of the phone book.”
“Directory assistance couldn’t pull up a listing either.”
Imagine that. “Maybe I went unlisted. I’ll have to look into it.” Honestly I don’t remember, so not a lie. “What did you want to tell me about Jem?”
“I shared a lift with her yesterday when we were leaving work and asked her to join me for coffee. She agreed, though somewhat reluctantly.”
I’m surprised she agreed at all. “I assume you spoke with her about her eating disorder.”
He grins. “I’m not sure if it was my charm or the three cups of coffee that got her to open up, but she came around.”
“And?”
“I gave her my word that Steeple Side will stand beside her. She agreed to think about it.”
“You think she will?”
“I believe she was sincere.”
“And if she decides against help?”
He sighs. “I don’t know if she can beat this on her own. In fact, I’m doubtful, but she has her faith, and I’ve learned never to underestimate the power of prayer.”
I underestimate it, which is why I didn’t give in last night, though I felt pulled to my knees to ask God to help me out of the mess I’m in. Would He really listen to a cultural Christian who has to keep track of her lies? And if He answered my prayers, what price would He exact? There has to be a price, and I know I’d be the worse for it. Unemployed. Ostracized. Friendless.
“You look like you just swallowed a nasty pill.”
Plummeting back to earth, I mentally land beside Jack with a gasp. “Sorry?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just worried about Jem.” Which is true. “Anyway, I appreciate that you adjusted your jogging schedule to let me know you met with her.” Of course, he could have told me tomorrow at church. Er, providing I showed, as it’s a strong possibility I would have found an excuse not to attend again. It just feels wrong. And yet right. Might this be the onset of schizophrenia? Or merely a deeply disturbed conscience?
“You swallowed another one.”
I land beside Jack again. “Sorry, my mind’s all over the place today. So much going on … Overload, you know.”
“Then I suppose now would not be a good time to ask how the article’s coming?”
How did he find out? I teeter. I totter. I ground myself. He’s talking about the article for not on Steeple Side. “I’m, uh, working on it.”
Though the space between Jack’s eyebrows remains pinched, he nods. “So long as you have it to Linda in two weeks.”
Not even in my current state of frazzle do I miss the irony. Two weeks to prove that Steeple Side is a den of hypocrisy. Two weeks to write a piece about the soup kitchen that reflects the Christian’s commitment to showing by example how to live the Christian life. I don’t feel so good.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jack leans toward me. Still no citrus, but a not-too-unpleasant masculine scent tempts me nearer. And makes Woofer rumble.
Poor guy. If it’s not Grandma, it’s some strange man. I pat his back, but he bristles and trots to the end of his leash.
“I’m all right. Just a bit overwhelmed.”
“Is it the editing?”
I freeze. “Uh …?”
“Jem mentioned that you do freelance editing.”
Knew that would come back to haunt me. “I do.” Not a new lie, just a new recipient. And it’s not even a big lie as it’s only the adjective freelance that qualifies it as a lie since I am editing lifestyle articles. “Oh, just the odd piece here and there, but it helps to pay the bills.” But enough about me. “So do you have anything special planned for this weekend?”
He reaches for his water bottle. “Just kicking back. You?”
Other than organizing the notes on my Steeple Side investigation? “Same.”
Jack tips the bottle to his lips, which not only makes me salivate but Woofer as well.
Jack chuckles, pours a splash in his hand, and extends it. “Want a drink, pooch?”
It appears that Woofer might take him up on the offer, but he drops back to sitting and gives another growl. Meaning the water is up for grabs. But even if I were crawling across the Sahara, dehydrated and near death, it would be a bad idea to drink from Jack’s hand.
I startle when he reaches the bottle to me. “You look thirsty too. Have a drink, providing you’re not afraid of a few germs.”
I look to his face, which has a grin so appealing that the voice telling me to tread carefully goes mute. “What?” I smile and, as if from a distance, hear myself chuckle. “Was I drooling?”
“Nearly.” He winks.
Oomph! All systems alert! Maizy Grace Stewart is not treading carefully.
I snatch the bottle and tip the spout to my lips. When I lower it, I become aware of a strangely disturbing sound—like lapping. What is Jack doing?
Not Jack, but Woofer. Drinking out of Jack’s hand.
Jack shrugs in response to my wide eyes. “He was feeling left out.”
I refuse to relate.
Lifting his head, Woofer gives a single tock of his tail and moseys back to my feet.
I hand Jack his water bottle. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So how about breakfast?”
Tempting, but therein lies the problem—temptation. “I should get home.”
He leans in. “Still not in the market for a relationship?”
Is that what he’s offering?
His gaze settles on my mouth with a deliberateness that makes me drop my eyes like two hot potatoes. Now would be a good time to grab your little dog and get out of Oz.
Jack’s shadow shifts, and now I’m really afraid to look up. Afraid of what I’ll see because of this thing between us … afraid of what a difference two weeks will make.
“Grace.”
Lifting my chin, I’m struck by the proximity of our mouths. So close. And getting closer. Contact.
“Grace,” he whispers against my lips.
As his fingers slide along my jaw and curl around the back of my neck, I lean into the kiss. And feel like ice on a hot tin roof … a Popsicle on a midsummer day … butter on a sizzling griddle. All my nerves may be standing at attention, but I’m me-e-e-elting. Thus, when Jack pulls back—first his mouth, then his hand—I’m in danger of dribbling down into the earth. I open my eyes to find his face still near.
He smiles. “How was that?”
Yummy. And served with a side of British accent, better than yummy. Totally, positively—
Dangerous.
He runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “It seems that Grace Stewart—”
Grace.
“—may not be as averse to a relationship as she thought.”
Neither is Maizy. I sit back to add more inches to the space between us. “I admit that was nice, but you have to admit that it’s not a good idea to allow this to go further. We are co-workers.”
“I’ve considered that, and you’re right. It isn’t a good idea. Office romance can get sticky, which is why Steeple Side cautions against it.”
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s true that I wanted to tell you about my meeting with Jem, but …” His smile takes a crooked turn. “… more true that there are some things worth throwing caution to the wind for.”
Is he saying I’m one of those things?
He nods as if I spoke aloud. “I didn’t want to be attracted to you, but I am.”
The feeling is mutual. “This is probably a case of rebound.”
“No. I’m the one who broke it off with Bette. And that was over six months ago.”
“Six months?” I pull back further. “But no one at Steeple Side knew about it.”
“I hope I don’t sound egotistical, but my job is easier when the Closed sign is hung as opposed to the Open sign.”
Jem did mention that if Jack and Bette broke off their engagement again, a line would form to catch his eye. And speaking of catching his eye, I follow his gaze to a ribbon of stomach peeking from beneath the hem of my top. “Uh …” Tug, tug, tug. “It might still be rebound. You know, me being the first woman to turn your head and all.”
“You aren’t the first. I’ve had several dates since the breakup with Bette. The women were all nice but not what I’m looking for.”
That begs a question I shouldn’t ask. “What are you looking for?”
He leans back on his elbows. “This may sound wishy-washy, but I’m not sure.” Squinting against the brightening day, he looks across the lawn. “All I’m sure of is that, despite a strange first meeting, followed by several peculiar encounters and a shocking change of hair color, I fancy you.”
My heart leaps only to land with a splat when he turns his face to me and adds, “Grace.”
I long to correct him, to tell him the name is Maizy, but that would require too much explanation. And the truth.
“You’re attractive.”
Even with this dark hair?
“You have a nice smile.”
Just nice?
“You’re different.”
Is that a good thing?
“Amusing.”
At my own expense.
“Caring.”
Must be talking about Jem.
“Interested in knowing more about your faith.”
Of course, that’s on hold.
“Mysterious.”
With reason.
He shrugs. “Though you pretend to be someone you’re not—”
It’s all I can do not to clap a hand to my chest.
“—I believe I’ve seen enough of the real you to warrant a closer look.”
The need for CPR is fast becoming a reality.
“So what do you say to a closer look?”
Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation is imminent. Are you insane? Like it or not, once is enough.
I shake my head. “You’ll thank me for this, but I have to pass.”
“Pass?”
Time to go. I rise so suddenly that Woofer jumps several inches and scoots to the end of his leash.
Jack is on his feet seconds later, his brow furrowed. “I’m a bit at sixes and sevens here.”
I frown. “Sixes and sevens?”
“Confused. Will you humor me a moment?”
I bite my lip. “Okay.”
“Is this about the boyfriend your grandmother spoke of? The one who gave you second-degree burns?”
Ben. Self-absorbed, controlling Ben who was wrong for me from the start. Whose betrayal brought every doubt I’d had about us into the chill light of reality.
He’s in the past. Leave him there.
I shove the memory of that day back into its closet. However, no sooner do I step away from it than the door bursts open and the confrontation is before me again in Technicolor and surround sound.
“You stole my story.”
Standing in the doorway, toothsome smile absent, contact-enhanced blue eyes dull, Ben slides his hands into his pants pockets. “No, Maizy, I salvaged it from the garbage. ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure’ and all that.”
Springing from the chair I had sunk into hours earlier to await his return, I advance on him. “There wasn’t enough proof.”
“Tell that to the judge and jury. Speaking of which—new development. Looks like your pal Leona has skipped the country.”
Anger sinks through the cracks in my life, and I halt. And feel a deeper pang at his slow smile that has endeared him to Seattle viewers—and once endeared me.
“You got too close, Maizy.”
I lower my chin. As his too-musky cologne causes my nostrils to pinch, I stare at the two feet between us that seems like miles. Yes, I messed up—and may regret it the rest of my life—but he had no right to do what he did to me. His fiancée!
