Читать книгу Ties That Bind - Marie Bostwick - Страница 22

By the time I finished my talk on the history of New Bern Community Church, a history I’d only acquainted myself with the night before, the twelve people in the newcomers class were looking a little glazed.

“Let’s take a few minutes to stretch our legs and get something to eat. Coffee and cookies are on the table in the corner.”

I filled a paper cup and held it out to Paul Collier, who was standing next to me at the refreshment table.

“Decaf?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. The hospitality committee set everything up.”

“Better not,” he said, taking a chocolate cookie instead. “Can’t risk losing my beauty sleep. I need all the help I can get.”

He was joking, of course. Paul Collier wasn’t a handsome man, but he wasn’t unattractive either. He was about forty-five and had a nice smile but, other than his height, which I guessed to be six-three or maybe six-four, his physical appearance was in the solidly average range. But he seemed easy to talk to and had a good, somewhat self-deprecating sense of humor. Earlier in the evening, during the introductions, I’d learned he was a lawyer, specializing in family law, and was a single parent to a twelve-year-old son, James. They had just moved to New Bern from Chicago.

“So,” Paul said as we moved to the center of the room, “what’s it like to teach a new member class when you’re a new member yourself?”

I grinned. “You may have noticed there were a few holes in my recitation of the church’s history.”

“Seemed fine to me. Very interesting.” He yawned.

“Yes, I can tell.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was up late last night reading case files.”

“So? Chicago to New Bern. You in culture shock?”

“It’s going to take a little adjusting, but it seems like a nice enough town. Not that I’ve had much chance to investigate. I’m still trying to get the boxes unpacked. You haven’t heard of any jazz clubs in the area, have you?”

“Jazz clubs?”

“I play baritone sax. Back in Chicago I was in a combo with some of my old high school buddies. We played in a neighborhood club a couple times a month—just for fun. Mostly we got paid in cheeseburgers and pitchers of beer. I was hoping to find someplace nearby where I could find some people to jam with once in a while.”

“Sorry. I don’t know of any place in New Bern with live music. But we could consider starting a jazz service on Sunday mornings.”

Paul grinned; he knew I was teasing him. “Yeah? Think the town is ready for that?”

“Uh. Probably not.”

Paul popped the last piece of cookie into his mouth and smiled. “So, speaking of culture shock—how are you? New Bern is a little different from Boston. How is your daughter adjusting to the move?”

“My daughter?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Clementine?”

I laughed. Paul had arrived late, in the middle of my introduction. “Clementine is my dog, a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound English mastiff. I don’t have any children.”

“Ah. That’s a relief. When you told the story about ripping the heads off the stuffed animals she got for Christmas and pulling out the fluff, I was concerned. Thought she might have some sort of deep-seated emotional problems.”

“Not Clementine. Aside from her tendency to decapitate her toys, she’s the sweetest dog in the world. What about your boy? How does he like New Bern?”

“It’s early days yet.” Paul looked down into his cup of water. “I think things will be easier when he makes new friends. James is a good kid, but when you’re twelve …”

“The world revolves around you and your friends,” I said with a nod. “I was a school social worker before I was a minister. Twelve is a tough age to make a move, but whether he realizes it or not, James would have missed his mother more than his friends.”

“What else could I do?” Paul said.

Earlier Paul had explained that his ex-wife, James’s mother, had been admitted to Yale Law School. That was what had precipitated the move.

“Melanie was a court reporter when we met, hadn’t even been to college, but she was already talking about law school. What with the baby and then our marriage and divorce and … well, a lot of stuff … it wasn’t easy, but she did it. And, hey! She got into Yale. That’s a big deal. I got my degree from Chuck’s Good Enough Law School.”

“Sure you did.”

“Michigan State. It’s a good school, but it ain’t Yale. Yale doesn’t admit just anybody. Certainly not guys like me.”

“If you go around saying ‘ain’t’ all the time, I’m not surprised.”

“You think? Maybe that’s what went wrong with my application.” He smiled. I liked Paul Collier. I liked his modesty and his sense of humor.

“According to our custody agreement, I could have stopped her from moving out of state, but,” he shrugged, indicating that the idea had never really been worth considering, “after she worked so hard, that wouldn’t have been fair. And it wouldn’t have been right to have James so far away from his mom either. So, here we are.” He tossed back the rest of his water.

I’d only just met Paul, but his decision to move for the sake of his son and ex-wife said a lot about his character.

“Say, I’m hosting a little New Year’s Eve party for the junior high youth group. Seven o’clock. We’ll have pizza, games, even set off a few fireworks. Do you think James would like to come? Tell him it’ll be my first time meeting the kids too.”

“That’s nice of you, but … I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk him into it. He’s been kind of a pain since the move.”

“Tell him about Clementine. No twelve-year-old boy is going to pass up the chance to meet a dog the size of a horse.”

“You know, that might just do the trick. I’ll give it a try.”

He grinned, which made him almost handsome, but maybe that was just his personality. He seemed like a sweet guy. He said he’d been divorced for six years. I wondered why he was still single. Clearly I wasn’t the only one who was wondering about him. Jeannine Baskins and Andrea Rizolli were standing together in the corner, whispering and casting furtive glances in our direction.

“Well,” I said, looking at my watch. “We’d better get back to it. Nice chatting with you, Paul.”

“Thanks. Me too,” he said as the group started moving back toward the circle of chairs. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Friday?”

“When I drop James off for the party?”

“Oh, right. Drop him off at eight.” I nodded quickly, feeling stupid. “And you can pick him up just after midnight.”

By the time I stowed the folding chairs, wrapped up the leftover cookies, washed out the coffeepot, turned off the lights, locked up, and drove to the hospital, it was almost nine o’clock. At that hour, the hospital corridors were nearly empty, but as I hustled down the hallway, I heard the sound of familiar voices and tears, tears that turned to sobs. Fighting back a sensation of sickness tinged with panic, I quickened my pace. It couldn’t be Olivia, could it? Only four hours had passed since I’d left, and everything had seemed fine then. Olivia was a fighter, just like Trina said.

The sound of my steps rang off the linoleum floors and in my ears, mixing with the sound of sobbing that grew louder as I approached the end of the hall, rounded the corner, and entered the waiting room.

My heart sank, seeing exactly what I had most feared—Dr. Bledsoe, looking exhausted and at a loss as he watched the Matthews family crying and clinging to one another like shipwrecked mariners hanging on to rocky cliffs in a stormy sea, hanging on for the hope of life and the fear of death.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, addressing the doctor.

Margot answered for him, lifting her head from her father’s shoulder, her nose red and running, her eyes shimmering with tears. “She’s awake! She’s going to live!”