Like Dandelion Dust by Karen Kingsbury
At two minutes after five, Rip walked through the door holding a brown paper bag. It took him a few seconds to find her, but when he did, he lit up like a bar sign at sundown. “Wendy!”
Here we go. She stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress slacks. Her knees felt weak at the sight of him. What have I gotten myself into? She found her smile. “Rip!” She mouthed his name. With a roomful of tired-looking visitors watching, this wasn’t the place for dramatic reunions. But she didn’t care. She had missed him more than she knew.
Rip looked at the guard who had accompanied him to the waiting room. The guard nodded. Rip was free; he could do as he pleased. Without another moment’s hesitation, Rip took long strides toward Wendy. His grin took up his whole face. He wore a tight white T-shirt and jeans, his blond hair trimmed neatly to his head. He had filled out, probably from hours spent in the prison weight room.
She held her arms out toward him, and her heart fluttered as he came near. Something was different about Rip—his eyes, maybe. Whatever it was, Wendy felt herself drawn to him, taken by him. “You look great.”
“Hey.” He took gentle hold of her shoulders, drank her in like a man too long in the desert. Then he planted a long kiss smack on her lips. When he pulled back, he searched her eyes. “That’s my line.” His eyes drifted down the length of her and back up again. “You look like a million bucks, baby.” He kissed her again. “I mean it.”
Wendy could feel the eyes on them. She cleared her throat and took a step to the side. She could hardly wait to be alone with him. “Let’s go, okay?”
Rip looked around the room at the dozen people watching them. “That’s right!” he shouted, his tone full of laughter. “Eat your heart out. I’m going home!”
Wendy hung her head, her cheeks hot. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t changed. Rip was always loud this way, the center of attention. He thought he was funny, and when his behavior made people pull away or caused someone to ask him to be quiet, Rip would flip them the bird or snarl at them. “No one tells me what to do,” he’d say. Then he’d go on being loud and obnoxious as ever.
Sometimes Wendy didn’t mind when Rip acted up. He was just having fun, right? But once in a while Rip’s public behavior had caused a private fight between the two of them, the kind that led to blows. That’s why she wasn’t saying anything tonight. Rip could stand on the roof of the car and sing the national anthem off key and she’d go along with it. Anything so she wouldn’t make him mad. Not with the news she still had to tell him.
Rip raised his paper bag to the roomful of visitors, put his arm around Wendy’s shoulders, and led her outside. The moment they were free of the building, he handed her the bag, took a few running steps, stopped, and raised both fists in the air. He let out the loudest whooping victory cry she’d ever heard. “I’m free!” A few more hoots, then he hurried to her and took her hands in his. The bag fell to the ground. “I’m a changed man, Wendy Porter. All my life’s been leading up to this one single minute.”
His excitement was contagious. She felt herself getting lost in his eyes. “Really?” She uttered a soft laugh and eased closer to him. Okay, maybe she was wrong. Something about him was different, definitely different. She was suddenly breathless, and she chided herself for worrying about his behavior. This was Rip Porter, the man she’d fallen for in high school. She was as in love with him now as she’d been the first time she saw him. “What happened to you in there, Rip?”
He spun her in a small circle before stopping and searching her face. “I got help, that’s what.” He caught his breath, and his smile faded. “I’m sorry, Wendy. It was all my fault.”
Her heart was beating hard again. Was he serious? Wasn’t this what she’d always wanted? Her hunky Rip, kind and gentlemanly? A ripple of nervous laughter slipped from her throat. “Really, you mean that?”
“Yes!” He raised one fist in the air and hooted so loud the sound filled the parking lot. “I love you, Wendy.” He took her hand and began running toward the rows of cars. “Let’s go home and celebrate.”
The celebration started in the car and lasted long into the night. At two in the morning, still smiling, Rip finally fell asleep. Wendy hadn’t dared ruin his joy and exhilaration in the hours after his release, but come morning she would have to tell him about the boy. Then she’d know whether Rip Porter had truly changed. Or whether the rage would find him again.
The way it had every other time.
Chapter Three
The barbecue was Beth’s idea.
Most of their boxes were unpacked, and though they’d been in town only three weeks, Beth knew where to find the can opener, and the ceramic serving platter with the watermelon slices painted around the edge, and the dehydrated onions. That and some hamburger meat and buns, and they were ready for company.
Not that Molly and Jack and Joey were company.
Beth took a handful of ground beef and pressed it between her palms. God . . . let tonight work out. . . . Let it be the beginning. . . . After all, this sort of thing—coming together for a Sunday evening barbecue—was what she and her older sister had dreamed about since they’d left home for college: the idea that one day they’d have families, and live a block from each other, and share meals on the weekend while they raised a passel of kids.
She and Bill had four: Cammie, twelve; Blain, ten; Braden, eight; and Jonah, five.
There had been speed bumps along the way, but here they were. Bill had taken a stable job at Pratt and Whitney, supervising the creative-design division of commercial jet-engine development. The position had more security than the one he left in Seattle, and best of all, she and Molly could be together. The whole move felt like an answer from God, a miracle in the making.
Bill came into the kitchen, dirt smudges on his cheek. “The garage isn’t half done.” He turned on the water, took a pumpful of soap, and rubbed his hands together. “When’ll they be here?”
The clock on the microwave said 3:17 p.m. “Two hours.” Molly rounded the edges of the meat patty and set it on a stack with four others. “They went boating this morning, remember?”
“Right. While we were at church.”
Beth sucked the inside of her cheek. “They invited us.”
“Knowing we wouldn’t say yes because of church.” He gave a sad chuckle. “You can see through that, right?” He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and picked a piece of masking tape from the bottom of his shoe. “Besides, I’m not sure I’d do well out on the ocean.”
“Bill . . .” Beth didn’t want trouble—not now. “They’ll invite us again.” She rushed on. “You can keep working in the garage if you want.”
“I wanted to work through the night.” He gave her a wry smile. “Monday morning comes early.”
“I know.” Beth’s tone was sheepish. “I guess I figured the garage could wait.” She hesitated. “Right?”
Bill released a slow breath. The corners of his lips lifted, and the light in his eyes was genuine. “Right.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad they’re coming.”
“Even Jack?”
The smile faded. “Jack doesn’t know me.” He dried his hands on a paper towel. “I guess the more we see each other, that could change.”
Beth bit her lip. “Sorry. About Jack . . . about the garage.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He kissed her cheek and looked out at the backyard. “I’ll wipe down the patio furniture.”
She watched him go. This was one of the speed bumps.
She and Molly hadn’t attended church as kids. Their parents were nice people, good people. The sort of people who always had an extra plate at dinner, an extra pillow and blanket and spot on the sofa for someone who needed a place to stay. They believed in God, but they didn’t pay Him much heed.
It was Bill who changed all that for Beth.
The two of them met at a jazz club a few blocks from Pike’s Place in downtown Seattle. They snapped their fingers to the same songs and joined
She smiled at him over the edge of her cup. “I can think here.”
“Me, too.”
And that was that. They talked the rest of the evening. She loved bluesy jazz (especially in A-minor), fresh Alaskan salmon, hiking the shoreline at Depoe Bay, and jeans. She was a sophomore at the University of Washington studying nutrition, thousands of miles from her Central Florida home. Bill was a junior engineering major with a minor in accounting, a walk-on for the Husky swim team, and a Christian who was fascinated with the Bible.
On their first date, he showed up fifteen minutes early so they could read together from the New Testament. Bill read aloud from Philippians while Beth rolled her eyes and checked her watch. Once he put away his Bible, Bill was a fascinating date. But after three months of discussing Scripture, their discussions came to a head.
God wasn’t a must-have, was He? She could live a good life without guidance from the Bible, couldn’t she? Never mind that Bill was loyal and funny and that he had a standard of character that Beth hadn’t seen in other guys. She was tired of talking about God. One afternoon when they were standing near Bill’s car, Beth grabbed his leather-bound Bible and threw it on the ground, breaking the binding and scattering sections of the book across the road.
Bill didn’t say anything. He just picked up the pieces, got into his car, and drove away without a fight.
That would’ve been the end of things, but there was a problem. Beth couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat or study or think, either. Not when every waking moment she kept replaying the scene in her head. How could she defend a life that was good and right by breaking a Bible? With her world spinning out of control, she went to the local bookstore and bought a Bible and an exhaustive concordance.
Between the reference tool and Scripture, days later Beth was convinced of two things. First, the Bible was full of sound wisdom, and second, the message might amount to more than head smarts. It might hold the difference between life and death.
She apologized to Bill and they never looked back, except when it came to Beth’s family. Her parents were mildly tolerant of her newfound faith, but Molly thought her sister had been swallowed whole. A year went by before the two of them got together for lunch and laughed about the changes in Beth.
“I thought I’d lost you.” Molly wrinkled her nose from across the table. “My little sister, Miss Bohemian Seattle, gobbled up by religion.”
Beth downplayed the issue and the subject easily shifted to Molly and her own social life, mainly the relationship she’d found with Jack Campbell at Florida State University.
After that Molly never brought up Bill and Beth’s faith except in passing—“Be careful what you say; Beth’s in the room.” Other than that kind of comment—
usually born out of an attempt at sensitivity—the deep friendship and closeness between the two sisters remained.
The strain came because the men they’d married were so different. Jack was hip, with a winning personality, business savvy, and a light tan no matter what time of year. Jack smiled a lot. He was a walking picture of success and he’d done it all without God. If he were a movie star, Jack would be Brad Pitt. His self-sufficiency pervaded everything about him. Bill was more like Dustin Hoffman, serious and compassionate but with an underdeveloped fun gene. He was better in reports than in person. When the families got together once or twice a year at the home of Molly and Beth’s parents, Jack kept his distance.
Both men were crazy about championship golf and Wimbledon tennis, and NASCAR. They liked Bill Murray comedies and scouring the business page for changes in their stocks. But none of that mattered. If Bill was in the TV room, Jack stayed in the kitchen. When Bill came in for a handful of Doritos or a cheeseburger off the grill, Jack would find his way outside to whatever relatives were smoking on the front porch. The distance between the two never translated to overt tension or trouble. But it was distance all the same.
“Jack can’t get past the religion thing,” Molly would say. Her tone always held the apology that never came. “Don’t take it wrong, Beth. If they saw each other more often, it’d be different.”
This was their chance. Now that their families lived so close they would finally find out if the guys could learn to be friends. Beth took another handful of raw hamburger. Yes, they were about to see. In this next season of their lives, they would certainly spend more time together, enjoy more barbecues like this one. It was the life they’d dreamed about.
She pressed the soft meat with her thumb until the edges were round; then she placed the patty on the platter with the others. Her candle set was still packed; otherwise this would be the time to light them—anything to add to the ambiance, the sense that she and Bill were warm and friendly and unthreatening.
Her cupboards were already full and fairly organized. Beth put her hands on her hips and surveyed her kitchen. Cinnamon sticks. That’s what she needed. She found the spice cupboard, grabbed the cinnamon and filled a pan with water. It was a trick their mother had taught them. Boil cinnamon sticks in a pan of water and the house would smell good for days. When the water came to a boil, she turned down the heat, finished working with the hamburger, and moved on to the vegetable tray.
Everything would work out with their two families. Molly was her best friend, after all. They knew things about each other no one else would ever know. Not ever. And on days when Beth didn’t feel she had a friend in the world, there was Molly. It had been that way since they were little girls.
If only they shared their faith.
Bill was lighting the barbecue and Beth was giving the kitchen counter a final wipe-down when the doorbell rang. A surge of excitement bubbled up inside her. It was really happening. She and Molly, together again. Neighbors, even. As she reached the entryway, she had no doubt. Of course Bill and Jack would find a way around their differences.
Beth opened the door, held out her hands and squealed. “Can you believe it?”
“No.” Molly rushed into her arms and the two of them hugged for a long time. When Molly drew back, they looked at each other. “I feel like our suitcases should be waiting out in the car.”
Beth laughed. “Me, too.”
Jack and Joey sidestepped them and Jack gave Beth a quick smile. “Hey.” He held a tray of fruit with a can of whipped cream balanced on top. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”
“Hi, Aunt Beth.” Joey looked up at her and grinned. He was tanned, his blond hair lighter than usual. “We brought yummy fruit.”
“I see that.” Beth released her sister and put her hands on Joey’s shoulders. “Mister Joey’s been in the Florida sunshine.”
He giggled. “Mommy bought me a swimming pool.” He did a little jump and raised his fist in the air. “Me and Gus play there every day. Sometimes his tail hits me in the face and it tickles.” His eyes caught Molly’s. “I’m gonna help Daddy.”
Molly smiled as he skipped off. “That child loves his father.”
“Yes.” Beth leaned against the wall and looked at her sister. “You let Joey swim with the dog?”
Molly shut the front door and let loose an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a wading pool, Beth.” She conjured up a mock look of concern. “Don’t tell me! You read something online about dog germs and how they can spread through water.” She raised her brow. “Right?”
Beth chided herself. She hated sounding like their mother, always finding something to correct about Molly. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She shrugged one shoulder and led the way to the kitchen. “It’s possible.” Her tone was lighter than before. “All that hair and dirt in the same water as Joey. Yuck!”
“Lighten up.” Molly set her purse down on the counter and rolled her eyes in a silly sort of way. “A little dog hair never hurt a growing boy.”
“I guess.” Beth took a plastic pitcher from a lower cupboard and filled it
“You might.” Molly took one of the kitchen stools and leaned her forearms on the counter. “Wait ’til summer hits. Even George Brett will need a way to cool off.” She grinned. “I still can’t believe you named a female golden retriever George Brett.”
Beth smiled. She felt her tension ease. “Not like I had a choice.”
When Jonah was born, she and Bill disagreed over his name. Beth wanted Jonah; Bill wanted George Brett, after his favorite Major League baseball player. They compromised. Beth got to name Jonah, and Bill got naming rights for their next dog. When the dog turned out to be a female golden retriever, Bill didn’t waver. “George Brett is a fine name for any dog,” he still said. “Even a girl.” The name stuck.
Across from Beth and Molly, Jack had Joey in his arms, and for a minute Beth was struck by the picture they made. Nose to nose, lost in a conversation all their own. Molly was right. Jack and Joey shared something very special. And whatever germs Gus carried, they didn’t seem to be slowing Joey down. She reached into the freezer, took out a tray of ice cubes, and popped them into the water pitcher. “The kitchen’s almost unpacked.”
“I see that.” Molly sat up straighter. “You’re amazing, Beth. I’d be living out of boxes for the first month.”
They heard the sound of the patio slider and immediately the shouting voices of Beth’s kids. “Mom!” Cammie raced around the corner with a hula hoop in her hand. Blain and Braden were quick on her heels, with Jonah bringing up the rear. Cammie stomped her foot. “Tell Jonah it’s mine.”
“No!” Jonah caught up to her, his face a twist of anger. “It’s my turn. Daddy said she has to share the hoop-a-hoop.”