Читать книгу The Path To Love - Jane Myers Perrine - Страница 10

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Francie reminded herself that she had to work on this problem of constantly running behind as she dashed up three flights of stairs in the Austin, Texas, courthouse annex. She glanced at the clock on the landing—ten minutes after ten. She was only a few minutes late, but she was also panting and her hair was a springy mess. On top of that, her cheeks must be bright red from the exertion of running from the bus stop.

Terrific, she mumbled. Here she’d wanted to impress Mr. Fairchild with what a fine citizen she was, and she couldn’t even arrive on time for her second appointment. She stopped just inside the door of the parole office and attempted to slow her breathing.

From the cubicles, separated from each other with six-foot-high gray metal walls, she could hear the low buzz of voices. Telephones rang from the offices that surrounded the cubicles. Parolees waited on hard wooden benches, reading or sleeping, while others wandered through the open space drinking coffee and talking.

In spite of the chaos in the small area, she was aware of Mr. Fairchild who sat quietly and alone in his cubicle scanning a page of a file folder.

Oh, my, he was absolutely gorgeous. When she saw him, she wished she was at least three or four inches taller and a few pounds heavier. And wouldn’t she love to have something to wear besides jeans and ratty tennis shoes? And, while she was wishing, wouldn’t it be nice to be absolutely gorgeous, too?

With a pat to the top of her head, she attempted to tame her wild curls as she walked across the scuffed gray vinyl floor toward his desk. “Mr. Fairchild?”

He glanced up, saw her, stood and reached his hand out toward her. She took it and smiled. He had such a nice, strong grip.

“Miss Calhoun.” He nodded. “I was looking over your file and realize Gentry didn’t keep up with you very well.”

“No, he didn’t. I was assigned to Mr. Gentry when I got out of prison six months ago. I think he was winding down for retirement.”

“That may be true. Nevertheless, I still need some very basic information about you. There’s almost nothing written here other than the dates of your appointments and your address.”

As he read further, he tapped his pen, silver with what looked like his initials engraved on the side. “I find no mention of what you discussed during your appointments. He didn’t keep up with your employment or much of anything else, no information from your trial or prison records.” He looked up at Francie. “That’s not at all professional.”

Professional must be very important to him, Francie thought as she put her book on the floor and leaned forward. “I think he was really burned out.”

“It’s kind of you to say that, but I can’t be as forgiving.”

Wow! He thought she was both kind and forgiving. That was at least one fruit of the spirit. “Thank you.”

“Miss Calhoun, you shouldn’t be forgiving, either, not in this case. A parole officer is supposed to assist you to return to the community as an honest, upright citizen. Gentry let you down.”

She nodded. He was right.

“Let me check on the information I have.” He read a few lines. “Your father, aunt and uncle are all—”

“Incarcerated.”

“Your mother?”

“I don’t know where she is. She walked out on us when my father was arrested. I was six.”

“Who brought you up?”

“Oh, different people, off and on. Usually, when they weren’t incarcerated, my uncle Lou and aunt Tessie, my father’s brother and sister. Larceny runs in my family, I fear.”

“You believe it is a genetic characteristic?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I’m afraid so, but I’m working hard and hoping to overcome that unfortunate trait.”

“Commendable, Miss Calhoun.”

He glanced at his watch, a lovely thin silver-colored one. Expensive, she thought. Of course she knew nothing about watches. Maybe it wasn’t as costly as it looked.

“Oh, it’s probably getting close to time for your next appointment. I’m sorry I was late.” She put a hand against her cheek. It felt warm. “I had a test that lasted much longer than I thought it would. The bus was late so I had to run all the way from the bus stop. I thought I’d be here sooner but I kept dropping stuff and the lights held me up.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I do hate to keep people waiting.”

“A test?” he asked. “Are you not feeling well? I don’t believe I’ve read anything here about health problems.” He leafed through the pages to check.

“No, not a medical test. English lit. Jane Austen. You know, she writes wonderful characters and she’s really funny, not what I’d expected from the classics.” She scooted forward on the chair and whispered, “Have you ever read Pride and Prejudice?”

“Yes I have…but why did you take a test on Pride and Prejudice? Why are you even reading it? I remember being forced to read parts of it in high school. I also remember it was slow and not very interesting.”

“Oh, no, it’s wonderful.” She sat back and pondered for a moment. “Even though they lived in a totally different time, those people are incredibly interesting. They’re not all that much different from us.”

“You’re reading Jane Austen for pleasure?”

“No, no, for English lit, but if I’d known it was so much fun, I’d have read it years ago.”

“Miss Calhoun,” he shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Would you please explain why you are reading Pride and Prejudice.”

“Isn’t it in my file?” She moved forward and tried to read the record upside down. “Didn’t Mr. Gentry mention that I’m working on an associate’s degree, picking up the required courses?”

He frowned at her information sheet. “How can you do that? Gentry’s notes say you don’t have a high-school diploma.”

“What do you mean?” She tried to read her file again, again unsuccessfully. “It’s not in there, is it? I got my GED while I was incarcerated.”

He looked up at her, his eyebrow lifted. “You did? Congratulations. I’ll get that information from TDC and put it in your record.” He wrote on a sticky note and attached it to her folder. “Did you bring me your pay stubs?”

She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! I had them all ready to go, then I got worried because I had forgotten if Elizabeth Bennett had—well, you probably don’t care about what I had to check, but I thought it might be on the test. Anyway, I left them on the table when I ran out. Can I…may I bring them next time?”

“Of course.” He studied her for a moment before he asked. “How is the great metamorphosis going? I mean, have you moved along with your change?”

“Yes, my metamorphosis is moving along just fine.” She studied him for a moment before she nodded and said, “I do know what the word means.”

“Of course you do. I had no doubt—”

“You know, criminal doesn’t mean stupid, except on certain topics, like hard work and honesty and common sense. Truly, I’m working hard not to fall into that trap again. Self-control is high on the list of fruit of the spirit, one I’m concentrating very hard on.”

“Of course, Miss Calhoun. Please forgive my rudeness. I have to say that I’m very pleased you have found out what the fruit of the spirit is.”

“Thank you.” She felt surprisingly delighted at the compliment. “Okay. About the metamorphosis, I’m still looking for a church.” She held her hand up before he could ask. “The Sunday after I saw you, I went to the first one I visited, the one where I decided I wanted to change. The people there didn’t seem happy to see me. Guess they don’t mind if I come to the revival service but not Sunday morning.” She shrugged. “That evening, I visited another church, but it was a little, well, a little too loud for me. Last Sunday, I tried another but that was…ummm…slightly boring and the people seemed a little cold. So I’m still looking for one that will be right.”

“If you’re sincere, I’m sure you’ll find a place.” He picked up his pen again. “Why don’t you tell me about your plans for the future? Why did you decide to go to college?” He wrote the date and looked up expectantly.

She didn’t speak for almost a minute. She bit her lower lip before saying, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that education,” she said finally. “I just knew, when I went to prison, that I couldn’t live like that anymore, like I always had, like my family always has. Stealing from people and hiding from the police and being locked up. I knew I had to prepare for a better life.”

He nodded his encouragement.

“My family hasn’t been much for looking ahead. I mean, past the next job or casing the convenience store or bank they wanted to knock over or setting up their next scam. Planning is new for me, too, but I have to change. I know education is the place to start.”

She looked at him for a second, then she gave him a tiny, uncertain smile which grew into a grin.

His expression changed from concentration to—it looked like interest. Oh, she knew she had to be wrong, but maybe a spark of attraction was there, for just a second. Then he blinked, cleared his throat and assumed an unsmiling professional demeanor.

“Education seems like, for my mind, what those fruit of the spirit are for my soul, you know?” she continued. “I’d like to use my education to help people, to become a teacher, maybe.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just kept his eyes on her face until he realized she was watching him while he studied her. “I’m sorry, Miss Calhoun. An idea about another client distracted me. If you would please repeat your comment?”

It didn’t seem to her he’d been thinking about another client. He’d been looking at her, sort of inspecting her face, as if he found her attractive. She wasn’t going to call him on it. How dumb would it be to contradict her parole officer? How dumb was it to think he could find Francie Calhoun attractive?

Instead she said, “I said I thought once about maybe being a teacher, although I don’t think a school would hire anyone with my record.”

“That’s probably right.” He used a cold, professional tone.

She shivered at the unexpected chill in his words. Why had he changed so much? And he seemed to be meditating again, looking down as his pen before pulling his attention back to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s an enormous problem with the other client. Please continue, Miss Calhoun.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

“How nice of you to be so concerned about all your clients. I don’t think Mr. Gentry thought about us at all.”

“Nevertheless, I should not be taking time from your appointment.”

“I figure nursing is out, too, and probably accounting, so I don’t know what I want to do, what’s open to me. I’m just picking up the basic hours.”

“I’ll arrange for you to see a vocational counselor.” He wrote another note on her file.

“Thank you.” She blinked in surprise at his suggestion. Mr. Gentry would never have thought of that. “That’s a wonderful idea. They could give me some direction.”

“I appreciate your gratitude, but it’s nothing. Gentry should have done this months ago.”

“It’s something I could certainly use.”

“Miss Calhoun,” he began but his voice seemed to go all funny, alternating between friendly interest and that chilling note. She wondered why. If she hadn’t known better, she’d think maybe he did find her attractive and was trying to ignore it, but that was crazy. She was, she reminded herself, an ex-con. He was, after all, her parole officer.

Did he have to keep reminding himself, too? She wondered for a moment before stuffing that thought back in the far depths of her brain. Of course not. He was her parole officer and would never find a woman with her criminal tendencies interesting.

“Miss Calhoun,” he said after clearing his throat, “how many hours do you have in college?”

“Oh, only fifteen so far. Nine when I was incarcerated and six since—but I’ll have twenty-one when I get my credit for this course and the intro to psych course I’m taking. I wish it could go faster but it’s hard to work and go to school. I work breakfast, from five-thirty to nine or so, and lunch. Julie lets me work in a morning class between nine and ten when I need to, and in the fall, I’ll take two in the afternoon. And, of course, the cost—”

“Have you checked into scholarship help or grants?”

“What?” She considered for a moment. “No, I haven’t. Would I be eligible? I didn’t think people like me—”

“There are some government funds that are closed to anyone with a record, but I believe there are others you could apply for. I’ll write a note to get in touch with your school. What school are you attending?”

“Texas Community College, the downtown branch.”

He nodded again. “I know someone in the financial aid office. I’ll give her a call.”

“You are the nicest man.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on his.

He quickly moved his hand to pick up his coffee cup. She probably shouldn’t have touched him.

“I’m sorry.” Embarrassed, she sat back in her chair. “It’s just that no one has ever made an effort to help me like this. Thank you.”

“Gentry should have.” The chill clung to his voice. “I guess that’s all, Miss Calhoun.”

Brandon kept his eyes on his pen. Not that there was anything interesting in the silver tube, but he refused to look at Miss Calhoun’s face. Her blue eyes probably showed confusion and hurt over his attempts at aloofness and his hot-and-cold behavior. That couldn’t concern him at this moment. The point was to be professional because right now he didn’t feel at all professional. Not a bit.

He was attracted to her probably because he didn’t meet all that many women in this job. After a second, he had to admit that was not an acceptable explanation. It wasn’t an explanation at all.

Then he had to remind himself he was not interested in Miss Calhoun. He could not possibly be attracted to a felon. He was only interested in her as a man would be interested in any pretty young woman.

He could not possibly be attracted to Miss Calhoun. She was medium height and thin. With all that curly black hair, she wasn’t really pretty. The freckles dotted across her fair skin made her cute, but not pretty. He’d never been drawn to cute women.

But there was such a sparkle about her. She was so full of life and joy. Hope glowed in her eyes. Why would a woman with such a background feel optimistic about her life?

There certainly was little future in a relationship between the two of them. After all, Miss Calhoun was certainly not the type of woman he could bring home to meet his mother.

Where in the world had that idea come from? He jerked his attention back to his client and looked at the calendar. “Two weeks, Miss Calhoun? Same time?”

“Perhaps a few minutes later, ten-thirty? My class is from nine to nine-fifty. If I can catch the bus right away ten o’clock is usually fine, but today it was hard to get here on time because—”

He cut her off before she could complete the sentence and shooed her away with his hand. “Ten-thirty is fine.” He jotted a note in her file and slid it into the cabinet. He needed businesslike gestures to remind himself who she was and who he was.

But he couldn’t keep himself from watching her walk away from his desk. When she got to the door, she turned. Her eyes met his and she smiled unevenly at him.

Callously, he dropped his glance to his desk, but he could not wipe out the memory of her face and the charm of her smile, so genuine and full of delight and interest, as if she cared about him and his reaction, as if she hoped he shared her happiness.

Mixed with that picture was the memory of her un-cooperative black curls and those wide and oddly innocent eyes that could also sparkle with humor or pain, the hurt she tried so carefully to hide. In their depths, he glimpsed anger which she also tried to disguise, attempting to make a good impression on him, he guessed. What she didn’t realize was that she already had. Too good an impression. He was even starting to believe her. Not wise to believe a parolee.

Other than her incredible smile—which he was sure she’d used to con countless others—and many physical attributes, why did he care about Miss Calhoun? She was no different from the other ex-cons he worked with, not a bit.

Not a single bit, he repeated to himself. He didn’t know yet, but he guessed she was as untruthful and manipulative as many of them. Then, why was he so concerned about this one, about her?

This was not at all the emotion he should be experiencing when talking to a parolee. Being interested in a client, he lectured himself, was incredibly unprofessional. If he acted on it, if she even guessed he was attracted to her, he could get in a great deal of legal trouble. In addition, he didn’t want to make Miss Calhoun uncomfortable, didn’t want her to think he was harassing her in any way. She needed to believe his interest in her was completely professional.

Oh, he always helped the parolees he worked with. There was nothing new about that. He’d always thought that was his duty as a Christian. He helped them find work, financial aid, housing, even food, but never with the need, almost a compulsion, he felt to help Miss Calhoun.

But there was something odd about her, something that nagged him. He flipped the folder open and scanned her record. Several arrests, two convictions on scams but no time served. Then this robbery. Strange she would turn from being a con artist to a robber. It happened, of course, people changed, but she didn’t look like a violent person.

He slammed the folder shut. What did he know? She was a convicted felon and his client, only that.

Then he looked up into the scarred, beefy face of Butch Conway who stood in front of his desk. Butch had returned to society after a ten-year stay in Huntsville for assault with time off for good behavior.

All thoughts of the attractive-but-felonious Francie Calhoun fled to the back of his brain as he began his work to mold Butch into a model citizen.

“So, how’s this hunk of a parole officer of yours?” Julie Sullivan, owner of the diner, put two cups of coffee and a slice of apple pie on the table and joined Francie in the booth where she was reading for her English lit class.

Francie looked up at Julie and shook her head, attempting to return from Shakespeare’s flower-scented bower in the Forest of Avon to the smell of bacon and syrup left over from breakfast in Julie’s tiny diner.

It was a nice, neat little place with a black-and-white checkerboard floor. The table tops were beige with chairs and booths upholstered in red. The windows looking out on the busy street were covered with beige curtains with red piping. Against the walls were six booths—empty now except for Francie and Julie—with eight square tables in the open space.

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I hate to call him a hunk when our relationship is purely professional.”

“You called him that before and didn’t seem to mind.” Julie poured two packets of creamer into her cup and stirred, keeping her eyes on Francie’s face as she pushed a strand of her graying black curls back in place, curls Francie had noticed barely ever moved on their own.

“Two weeks ago, he didn’t feel so…I don’t know. He got a little stuffy at the last appointment, sort of cold. Oh, not that he wasn’t helpful,” she hurried to add. “He seemed different this time, not as friendly.”

“That’s not unusual. You know how men are. I mean, Manny can be a real jerk sometimes, when he’s feeling real macho.”

“I don’t know. That might be it.” Francie shrugged and looked back at her book. “Sorry, Julie, but I have to read the rest of this play.”

“I won’t bother you for long. We’ve got a good two hours before the lunch crowd comes in. You might as well take a break.” She pushed the cup and the pie in front of Francie. “This is your boss talking. Do what I say. You’re getting too thin. Eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The coffee was strong and hot, and the pie tasted wonderful, warm and cinnamon-flavored. “Okay, Julie, suppose you tell me what’s going on with you and Manny while we’re taking this break together.”

“Nothing’s going on between us. You should know that. Since I broke our engagement last year, we’ve never looked back. He dates other women; I date men, lots of men.” She looked over her shoulder at the dark, handsome cook.

“He’s just like all men,” Julie continued.

“I think he’s more handsome than most, Julie.”

She bit her lip. “Yes, I guess he is. He’s got those dark brown eyes that say such romantic things to a woman, but he’s got a really macho attitude. Thinks he owns his woman and can’t get it through his head that I have a brain and can take care of myself. He hates it that I own this place.” She leaned toward Francie. “I think the fact that I was his boss and told him I would not hand the diner over to him when we got married was what finally broke us up.” She sat back in the booth. “Men!”

“You know, it’s probably hard for him to work for the woman he loves.”

“What?” Julie sat up straighter. “What’s the matter with you? You used to agree with me about Manny.”

“I’m trying that kindness thing.”

“Huh?”

“I’m trying to be a kinder person.”

“Just because you’re trying to change doesn’t mean you have to side with Manny. You’re still my friend and can be kind to me.”

“I’m trying not to judge other people.”

“If that doesn’t beat all.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I want you to be happy, Francie, but don’t get all goody-goody on me.”

“I’m sorry, Julie. Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly the right balance. I’m still searching.”

“I guess you’re doing the best you can.” Julie stood. “Okay, I’ll leave you to your play.” Julie picked up the coffee cups and took them to the kitchen.

When Francie was alone, she leaned against the back of the bench and closed her eyes, turning her thoughts toward God. “You know,” she whispered, “this whole transformation is turning out to be a lot more difficult than I ever imagined. I’d appreciate a little help here because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Francie had just finished studying when the lunch crowd came in. Within minutes, she had tables and booths full and was running back and forth, taking orders and picking them up, placing them on tables, adding up checks and picking up tips. While she did all of this, she smiled and kept up running jokes with the regulars.

Shortly before one-thirty, the crowd thinned. As she filled the glasses of the few remaining customers and wiped down tables, she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Curly, how’re you doing?”

Francie turned around to see her cousin Mike Fuller, Tessie’s older son. “Hi there. How’s one of my favorite cousins doing?”

He had become such a handsome young man. She’d met him when he was seven and she was twelve, back when Uncle Lou went to prison and she’d moved in with Aunt Tessie. For six years, they’d been like sister and brother. He’d been a skinny little kid, a runt everyone in the neighborhood picked on. Now he was over six feet tall, broad from working out and almost as handsome as Mr. Fairchild.

Where had that foolish thought come from? Mike was much more handsome than Mr. Fairchild, in a different sort of way. Besides, she shouldn’t be thinking of her parole officer like that. She shouldn’t be thinking of him at all.

“Hey, Francie.” He hugged her.

“Sit down. What do you want? The usual?”

“Yeah. You know how much I love Manny’s hamburgers.”

“Hi, kid,” Julie said and gave Mike a hug. “Take a break, Francie, and grab a bite with Mike.” She picked up the order Francie had written and handed it to Manny who took it from Julie’s hand but didn’t look at her.

“Friendly guy,” Julie grumbled.

“Hey, Mike,” shouted Manny from the window. Then he turned toward Julie to say, “See, I’m a very friendly guy when people treat me right.”

Julie frowned. “If you weren’t such a good cook and never missed a day of work, I’d fire you.” She picked up a plate and carried it to a customer.

“What a terrific surprise,” Francie said to Mike. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?” She slid into the booth next to him.

“Hey, lay off. I don’t have classes this afternoon, and I’m not due at work for an hour. Why can’t I stop by to see my favorite cousin—”

“Only cousin.”

“Without getting the third degree?”

“The third degree is sort of a custom with our family.” She smiled at him. “How’s life going?”

“Great. My grades are good. You know I got accepted to med school.”

“I know. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Mike took her hand. “If it hadn’t been for you—” He shook his head. “Thanks, Francie.”

“Enough of that.” She shook her head. “Okay, so tell me why you’re here.”

“My girlfriend’s family is having a barbecue Sunday. She’s heard me talk about you and wants you to come.” He put onions and ketchup on the hamburger Julie had just placed in front of him, then took a drink of the milkshake. “We’re going to start about noon.”

“That sounds wonderful, but I’ll probably be a little late.” She paused and dropped her eyes to the plate Julie had placed in front of her. “I…um…I’m going to church on Sunday.”

If he hadn’t had taken a big bite of hamburger, Francie knew Mike’s mouth would have fallen open. While he chewed and swallowed, she picked up the tuna salad sandwich Julie had given her and nibbled on a corner.

“You’re going to church? Why? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter. I want to go. I had an experience a couple of weeks ago.” She paused for a minute. “This is hard for me to explain, but I went to a church service and it felt good. I felt close to God.”

“Terrific, Francie. If that makes you happy. It just seems strange.” He shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone in our family who’s been religious.”

“Maybe it’s about time.” She took a deep drink of diet soda. “I’d be happy if you’d like to come with me sometime.” After she’d found a church.

“Yeah, sure, maybe sometime.” He began to devour the enormous pile of French fries.

“How’s your little brother doing?”

“I don’t see Tim much. He’s still living with the Montoyas.”

“How long has he been with this foster family? Three years?”

“That’s about right.” He studied her frown. “Francie, stop worrying about him. Stop worrying about me. We’re doing fine. With school and work, you’ve got enough to take care of in your life without taking on more.”

She took one of his fries and studied him. “I’ll never stop thinking about you. I’m just an old maid aunt who doesn’t have any children of her own to watch after so I worry about you and Tim.”

“You’re the prettiest, youngest old maid aunt I’ve ever seen, but Tim’s sixteen, almost grown up.”

“Sixteen is not almost grown up. Sixteen just thinks it’s almost grown up. So does twenty-one.”

“I’ve been on my own for nearly four years and will be going to med school in the fall. If that isn’t grown up, I don’t know what is.”

She smiled at him again just because he had matured into such a terrific young man.

“Now, don’t get all teary-eyed,” Mike warned.

“I wouldn’t think about it, Mike. Anyway, I know you’re still wet behind the ears, whether you believe it or not.”

He shook his head as he finished off the last bite of hamburger. “My girlfriend—”

“Does she have a name?”

“Here’s Cynthia’s address.” He handed her a small piece of paper. “She lives just north of the mall, in a pink house in the middle of the block.”

That would be easy. Buses went to the mall all the time.

Mike stood. “I’ve got to run. Don’t want to be late for work.” He turned toward Manny and Julie to say, “Thanks for lunch.” Then he dropped a kiss on Francie’s cheek and whispered, “I love you,” before he ran out of the diner.

“Nice kid,” Julie watched him as he walked out of the diner.

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” Francie agreed. “I hope I can get him to come to church with me someday.”