To Heal a Heart. Arlene James
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when she reached shelter. Leaden skies threatened to release their burden of rain any moment. Piper refused to think the oppression might be guilt. She was absolutely determined to be finished with guilt. Why should she feel guilty just because she’d decided to attend a church other than Mitchell Sayer’s?
Frankly, it hadn’t been a very uplifting experience, even though the people there had seemed friendly. The music had been familiar, and she couldn’t quibble with the pastor’s sermon or delivery, but she hadn’t felt any “connection.” So what? she asked herself. At least she could scratch that particular church off her figurative list. Besides, she didn’t owe Mitch Sayer anything. As a matter of fact, she didn’t owe anyone anything, not anymore. She was a free agent. Completely free. She didn’t have to go to church at all if she didn’t want to.
Piper trudged past the stairwell leading to the second floor of the small, recently refurbished apartment house and moved into the open courtyard beyond. She’d rented here because she’d been able to view the apartment over the Internet and because she’d imagined that the waterfall at one end of the swimming pool would provide constant, calming background noise. Not today, however. The soft plinking sounds were more from the gloomy rainfall than the fountain.
She dashed to her front door, keys in hand, and wrestled with the lock. By the time she got the door open and swept inside, she was thoroughly misted with rain. Closing the door firmly behind her, she put her back to it and let out a deep sigh.
Silence surrounded her, accenting the emptiness she felt. She shrugged out of her sweater, hung it on the doorknob and plopped down on the rented sofa. Recriminations pummeled her. She should have gone to Mitch’s church. She should have gone where she knew someone, but she hadn’t because he knew who her parents were, and she was so tired of trying to live up to everyone’s ideal of who she should be. Being the brave and saintly Wynnes’ daughter was more than she could manage just now, perhaps more than she could ever manage again. She wished Mitchell Sayer didn’t know, wished she could be just anyone’s daughter and sister. She wished it for her parents’ and brother’s sakes as well as her own.
It was impossible to change who she was, though, so the best she could do was to change her life. That much she could, would manage. She sat up a little straighter, remembering that one of her neighbors had invited her over for dinner this evening to meet her husband.
Melissa Ninever was a few years younger than Piper, maybe twenty-three or -four, and newly married—a tall, slender young woman with an engaging smile and streaky, light brown hair in a short, trendy cut. Melissa had gone out of her way to make Piper’s acquaintance. Her husband, Scott, apparently worked a lot of overtime as a shipping scheduler. Melissa herself worked as a clerk at a rental agency just a few miles up the road and seemed to find herself at loose ends quite a lot. She seemed to need a friend as much as Piper did—and she had no idea that Ransome and Charlotte Wynne were revered the world over for their missionary service.
It was Day Thirteen of her new life, and already Piper had made a friend. That was a good beginning—enough for now. The rest would come, surely. Otherwise, why would she have so easily found a job and an apartment via the Internet even before she had set foot in Dallas? They were confirmation, in her mind, that she had made the right decision. For whatever reason, God wanted her out of Houston. Perhaps if she had listened more closely and been more sensitive to His urgings, she and her family could have been spared the pain of these past weeks and months.
Perhaps she would not have made such unforgivable mistakes.
She bowed her head, but confusion swirled through her, blocking any coherent thought that she might have lifted in prayer, so she got up, walked into the small, single bedroom and began changing into casual clothes, pondering how to fill the next few hours. Lunch had to be prepared, of course, and then cleaned up. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t think of any other way to fill the time until she was expected at the Ninevers’ upstairs apartment.
The afternoon suddenly seemed as bleak as the weather, but she busied herself flipping channels on the rented television and choosing from her meager wardrobe the next week’s outfits. She didn’t want to show up for work week after week in the same few articles of clothing. Finally she brushed out her thick, wavy hair, slid a bright blue elastic band over her forehead to hold it in place, put on a matching shirt with her jeans and stepped into her loafers.
Melissa had said to come casual, but Piper wanted to make a good impression on her friend’s husband, so she added a pair of simple gold hoop earrings and a bangle bracelet, as well as mascara and a touch of pale coral lipstick. Taking along an umbrella this time, she climbed the corner stairs and followed the landing to the Ninevers’ door. Melissa greeted her with a bright smile, and Piper allowed herself to be pulled into the colorful apartment strewn with lava lamps, beaded curtains and tie-dyed fabrics straight out of the early 1970s.
Scott Ninever might have been a year or so older than his young wife, but his sideburns, pale shaggy hair and baggy clothes made him seem younger, as did the inch or so in height that Melissa obviously had on him. His friendly, open manner and kooky sense of humor soon put Piper at ease, and she found him every bit as accepting and intelligent as his wife.
Dinner proved to be nothing more than frozen lasagna and prepackaged salad, which they ate sitting cross-legged on the floor around a large, square coffee table in the living area. Modern rock emanated from a wall-sized stereo system. The dining nook was occupied by a desk and an impressive array of computer equipment that looked right at home with the seventies memorabilia and minimalist metal furniture.
An uncomfortable moment came when the dinner lay spread out on the unconventional dining table and the three of them had arranged themselves comfortably around it. From sheer habit, Piper bowed her head in expectation of a blessing. At least a couple seconds ticked by before she realized that her new friends were carrying on with filling plates and pouring drinks. Realizing her assumptions were erroneous, she quickly picked up her napkin and spread it in her lap, keeping her head down until the burn of color in her cheeks cooled somewhat.
If the Ninevers even noticed, they were too polite to let it be known, and she was soon laughing as Scott lip-synced to the music and played air guitar with his fork while somehow managing to eat his dinner. After the meal, Melissa and Scott quickly cleaned up, working as smoothly together as if they’d been doing so for decades, while Piper sat at the counter separating kitchen from dining-cum-office area and admired Melissa’s display of hand-painted tin plates. Next they coaxed her into a silly game of dominoes, again to the accompaniment of rock music and Scott’s gyrations.
Reluctantly Piper rose to leave just before ten, warmed when first Melissa then Scott kissed her cheek. She was almost out the door when Melissa stopped her, saying, “Hey, why don’t you come with us to the arboretum next Sunday?”
“Hey, yeah, bet you haven’t been out there yet,” Scott added.
“It’s really neat,” Melissa told her. “Of course, it’s prettiest in the spring, but there’s still lots to see.”
“It’s, like, serene, you know,” Scott put in, “and they do concerts on the lawn—classical mostly, some folky stuff, too. You really ought to see it.”
“Bring a book,” Melissa suggested. “We’ll just veg out.”
“Guaranteed to relieve stress,” Scott said enticingly.
Piper smiled. What could it hurt? It wasn’t as if anyone would miss her if she didn’t attend church somewhere. Besides, it was just one Sunday. She nodded. “I’d like that.”
Melissa gave a little hop and clapped her hands together, which made Scott smile.
“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Melissa promised. “We’ll hook up later and fix what time to meet, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks for the invitation, and for a great evening.” Piper started toward the stairs, adding, “Next time, my place.”
“Right on,” Scott called heartily. “Have a good one!”
“You, too.”
She