The Envelope Read online

  The remaining twenty minutes to Sheila’s apartment felt like an eternity. And when he got there, and began to exit in order to open her door, she shot him a warning glance.

  “I can let myself out, thank you.”

  What had he said to earn the cold shoulder? “Hey, Miss Carson,” he said. She stopped with one foot on the pavement and turned back to him. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate what you tried to tell Diana’s aunt. It took a lot of courage.”

  For a brief moment, the wall went down and gratitude filled her eyes. Then she shrugged, turned her back to him, and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She shut the door and walked away without so much as a wave.

  CHAPTER 9

  As soon as her key was in the apartment door, Sheila felt guilty about her behavior. Hank had given up his entire weekend to help her find Diana, and she didn’t even bother to give him a heartfelt thank you, or at least look at him to say good-bye.

  Well, at least she hadn’t lied to him about where she lived. The thought had tempted her when he first offered to pick her up and drive them both to the jail. She knew the names of all the complexes within a four-block area; she could have picked one, high-stepped over to it and had Hank meet her there. But after Friday night, she became well-convinced he was a man of integrity and he would never try to take advantage of the fact that he knew where she lived. Besides, although she could hide her emotions well enough, she was a horrible liar.

  She turned to see if Hank’s car was still sitting in the drive, but it was gone. She sighed, and pushed the door open. He would be home in about fifteen seconds. She could call him then.

  What are you thinking? She barely knew him; she’d thanked him after they left Diana and Rosa at the shelter; she was under no obligation to be Miss Congeniality in his presence.

  Especially when he’d asked a question she was unable to answer without opening a Pandora’s Box of memories.

  Why do you care, anyway? She could tell Hank hadn’t bought her answer, that she had safety concerns for the girl. To his credit, he had let well enough alone. If he had tried to press the issue, she might have told him to let her out and call a cab.

  But he hadn’t. And Sheila sensed it was not indifference on his part. If she’d learned nothing else the last couple days, it was that Hank seemed to be compassionate and selfless. He’d never said one negative or critical thing, never complained about the time involved to track Rosa down—in fact, the whole time he acted as if he had preplanned giving up forty-eight hours of his life to aid Sheila in her self-assigned task.

  A fly on the wall in his Grand Am would have mistaken them for good friends.

  Her mind was so focused on these thoughts, that she didn’t notice the beeping of her answering machine until she had locked the door behind her, thrown her purse on the couch, and headed for the kitchen to fix a sandwich.

  She pushed the play button.

  “Shel, this is Gary.” Sheila held her breath. Something hadn’t happened to her mother, had it? The last time her brother had called her, she was in college, and he bore the horrible news of their father’s sudden and fatal heart attack. “Mom really wants you to come home this Christmas. I mean, we. . .okay, look, just call me, would you, please? So we can talk about this?”

  Sheila hit the erase button before he could rattle off his phone number. She wasn’t going to talk to him any more than she was going to talk to her mother. If anything, she was less willing to talk to any of her siblings. After all, they were the ones who had blamed her—still blamed her—even though Gary was the first one to snap out of it and try to reestablish their relationship.

  By the time he did, it was too late, as far as Sheila was concerned. The damage was done; she’d made a tragic mistake, and felt that, at some level, her brother and sisters’ ostracization of her was well-deserved. She moved to Texas, hoping to escape the heavy load of guilt and depression, only finding some relief when she started attending church with Margaret three years ago. Still, the burden weighed on her, and she fought to lighten it by throwing herself into her job and various church functions.

  And trying to save children who looked like her cousin-once-removed, Lorena.

  * * *

  “Just checking to see if Diana made it to school today.”

  Sheila had left her classroom door open, and at the sound of Hank’s voice, looked up with a start.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Hank ambled in, grabbed a chair and turned it backwards to straddle it. The chair was much too short for him, and his long legs dangled out either side like loose strands of spaghetti.

  “You can’t scare me. I teach in the inner city.” Sheila set the scissors down, happy to take a break from cutting the paper poinsettias for the PTA Christmas program.

  Hank laughed. “That would make a great bumper sticker slogan.”

  Sheila smiled. “Or T-shirt. Yes, she did.” And thanks for asking. That he’d bothered to come all the way down to her room to do so proved that he really did care about what happened the past couple days. Especially considering how she’d left him.

  She cringed at the thought. “Listen, Hank, yesterday I—”

  “Sheila, are you—I’m sorry.” Margaret now framed the doorway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No problem, Ms., um. . .”

  “Kennebrew.” Margaret gave Hank an understanding smile. “You’ll get everybody’s name by Spring Break.”

  Hank grinned sheepishly as he got up. “Anyway, Ms. Kennebrew, I was just leaving. I’ll see you later, Miss Carson.”

  Margaret stepped aside to allow Hank to pass by, then raised an eyebrow at Sheila. “He seems to know your name pretty well.” She entered the room and sat down, questioning Sheila with her eyes.

  Sheila heaved a dramatic sigh. “You might as well know. We’ve fallen madly in love and are getting married this Saturday.”

  Instead of laughing, Margaret took on a pensive look. “I could see that happening.”

  The seriousness of her tone flustered Sheila. She wasn’t ready for that kind of a relationship. Wasn’t sure if she ever would be. Besides, Hank was destined to be no more than a friend to her.

  But even as she said, “He’s not my type,” she felt a stirring on the inside, a whisper of why not? She pushed it down, feeling uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. She decided she’d better change the subject, if only slightly.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you what happened this weekend.” She glanced at the open door, and went over to shut it. The hallways of the school had ears, and she didn’t need anybody—other than her best friend—to know about her weekend excursion.

  By the time she finished the story, Margaret’s eyebrows were clear to the top of her forehead. “I had no idea. I knew you were trying to see if she’d transferred to another school, but. . .” Then her eyebrows knit together as she tilted her head. “Sheila, do you think it’s wise to get so personally involved with the family life of a student?”

  Sheila sat back, appalled. “You’re the last person I’d expect to say that.” She stood up, feeling dismayed. “I believed Diana’s life was in danger. Don’t you think—”

  “I’m not just talking about this weekend.” Margaret’s voice remained calm. “Every day you have something to say about her, as if she were your own little girl.” She pursed her lips. “We need to love our kids and nurture them as best we can in the classroom, yes, but what you’re doing. . . I don’t think it’s healthy. For either one of you.”

  Sheila did not want to blow up at her best friend, but the anger simmering just beneath the surface of her emotions was about to boil. She’d always been able to count on Margaret to support her, even when she’d made mistakes. Suddenly, she felt like Margaret was pulling a chair out from under her.

  She bent her head over the poinsettias once again. “What were you going to ask me when you first came in?”

  Margaret regarded her silently fo
r a long moment, as if debating whether to pursue the subject. She must have vetoed the idea, since she finally just said, “I was wondering if you were ready to hang up your poinsettias, but you’re obviously not.” She got up and headed toward the door. “I’ll be in the auditorium, decorating, if you. . .well, if you want to talk about anything.”

  Sheila gave her a cursory wave as she left, shutting the door behind her.

  Then she set the scissors down, pushed the paper aside, and buried her head in her arms.

  * * *

  His daughter was back in Fort Worth. Miguel’s shoulders slumped in relief as the deputy who had just given him the message walked away, the jingling of his keys echoing down the concrete passageway. He would have to find those two teachers and thank them when they got out.

  Man, you are losing it now. That’s probably exactly what they hoped he would do. And then, BAM! They’d be all over him like flies on a day-old burrito, trying to convince him to give them something for their heroic efforts.

  He wondered if they’d had to use the fourth of July line on Perla. When he told them to mention it if she proved uncooperative, they both had stared at him as if he’d asked them to commit blackmail. It wasn’t like that at all. He had had to fight off Perla’s advances at a volleyball game last Fourth of July. She stalked off, insulting his manhood in several different ways. The barbs stung, and against his better judgment he went after her.

  Accosting her by the beer cooler, he grabbed her arm, shook her, and said, “My Marcela is a better woman in death than you could ever be in life. Your kind will never be able to live up to the goodness and grace she carried.”

  At that point, Perla’s face paled as Miguel dropped her arm. She muttered some sort of apology and hurried off without a beer, not looking back.

  Miguel was sure the incident had had enough of an impact to stay in her mind, and since no one else knew about it—as far as he was aware—he knew that hearing it mentioned would prove to her that he was indeed the messenger when the two teachers showed up at the motel registration desk.

  He turned around and shuffled back to the hard bed where he’d been sitting just before the deputy showed up with the news. The three musketeers had taken over, and now glowered at him in a silent dare to try to get his place back. They seemed to be asking for a fight.

  They wouldn’t get any from him. He was going back to his daughter, safe and sound and with as clean a record as possible. He shrugged, resignedly walking over to the other side of the cell where Will sat, talking a million miles an hour to a new cellmate.

  Just a few more days, he thought, rubbing at a sore spot on his abdomen. Just a few more.

  * * *

  “It’s been way too long.” Hank hesitated, then began to extend his hand.

  Barbara’s shrill laugh was like music to his ears. “Come here, you.” She grabbed him with both arms and pulled him toward her, giving him a sisterly hug, the way she greeted everyone she knew.

  The butterflies in Hank’s stomach diminished slightly, and he offered to take her bag as they began to push their way through the last-minute Christmas shopping mob crowding the mall.

  “No way,” she said, snatching the bag from his grasp. “This is. . .somebody’s Christmas gift.”

  “Oh,” Hank said, smiling, “and would I happen to know who this somebody is?”

  Barbara kept a straight face. “Maybe.”

  Within a couple minutes Hank completely relaxed as they fell into easy conversation, as if they’d just seen each other last week. After Hank had replied to her first letter, she had written again, then he had asked her if she was going to be in Austin for Christmas – he would be there to spend the holiday with his folks – and if so, could they meet for lunch.

  When she’d written back, “yes,” the nervousness had begun. Would she be different? Would he act different? Would memories of the past wedge themselves between them, and keep them at an awkward distance? He wanted so badly to reestablish their friendship, feeling guilty for having let it slip away in the first place, that he, the man with a stomach that emptied into hollow legs, had barely eaten the day before.

  Now, as he dodged a bouquet of helium balloons being toted by a child, relief washed over him. This was the Barbara he knew before the plane crash, teasing, carefree, and compassionate. He was happy to see that time and God did seem to have healed her wounds, although he would never mention it. No need to put a damper on their fresh start as good friends.

  They had to wait forty-five minutes to get seated at the Outback Steakhouse.

  “Lord almighty,” Hank said, keeping his hands in his pocket to avoid elbowing the other restaurant patrons sitting and standing all around him, “I’ve never gone out for lunch on Christmas Eve day before. Who’d ever’ve guessed what a madhouse it would be?”

  “All the shoppers need to eat somewhere.” Barbara shifted in her seat, adjusting her crinkled red and gold skirt that flowed down to her ankles. She always was one of the best-dressed young ladies in church. Even on the mission field, her work clothes were coordinated in a kind of rugged elegance.

  “Well, we might as well take this opportunity to catch up with each other,” she continued. “How do you like teaching in Fort Worth?”

  Hank pushed himself against the wall to let a couple with three small children get by. “It’s great. I love it.” The two swapped stories of their new careers—his as a teacher, hers as a small town paralegal—until the hostess called them to their table.

  They’d been served and eating for about five minutes when Barbara raised her head and said, “I’m so glad you wrote back, Hank.” Her eyes glistened with moisture, her smile trembled.

  Has she always been that beautiful? The thought startled Hank so that he paused in the middle of chewing a juicy piece of meat. When he’d first developed feelings for her a few years earlier, they were based mostly on the deep bond of friendship and shared interests. Sure, he’d thought she was pretty, but he’d never considered her any sort of ravishing beauty.

  Until that moment.

  Whoa, there, cowboy. It’s only because she’s showing her vulnerable side. He always was a sucker for crying women.

  He swallowed, chasing the lump down with a gulp of iced tea. “Me, too.” He made himself look at her nose rather than into her eyes. He didn’t want to confuse his emotions any further.

  “I have a stupid question.”

  “Never say that to a teacher,” Hank said. “You know what we’re going to say.”

  Barbara wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “No question is stupid if you don’t know the answer?”

  Hank winked. “Try, ‘stupid is as stupid does.’”

  A mischievous grin crossing her face, Barbara picked up a broccoli floweret from her plate and threw it at him. “Bull’s eye,” she said, as it bounced off his chest.

  “Give me fifty push-ups,” he said with mock sternness, as he would to a rowdy student.

  “Seriously,” Barbara said, the grin disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m just curious.” She glanced downward and pursed her lips, as if struggling with what she was about to say. When she looked back up, her dark eyes pierced through him. “Have you ever considered, you know, going back?”

  Going back where, he wanted to ask, just to procrastinate having to answer. He knew what she meant—to the mission field—but had hoped she wouldn’t bring up the subject. What if that was why she had agreed to meet him? What if she had plans to return to a missionary career, and wanted him to go with her?

  Then they would have to go their separate ways, and that would be that. He was never going to serve as a missionary again. Not for anyone. Not for any reason. Ever.

  “I’ve never considered it,” he finally said, trying to keep his tone even, “because I’m through with it.” He shoved a forkful of baked potato into his mouth to avoid saying more.

  Barbara nodded, eyes squinting in a thoughtful expression. “I can see the topic i
s still painful, so I won’t say anything else, except to say that I’m with you.”

  Hank paused in his chewing. She was with him. Meaning, she was also through with the missionary world. Which for some reason, brought him a sense of relief.

  Neither spoke for the next few minutes, concentrating on their food. Then, out of the blue, Barbara asked, “Have you met anyone?”

  Hank nearly dropped his fork. Why on God’s green earth would she ask that question? And how was he supposed to answer? Yes, I’ve met another teacher, and even though she’s warm one moment and cold as ice the next, I think about her frequently. And, by the way, she might be just as beautiful as you are.

  Uh-uh. No way José was he going to mention Sheila. Not as anyone special, anyway. As far as he knew, they would never be more than friends.

  On the other hand, maybe she wanted to use his answer as a segue to bring up a someone special in her life. He half wished she would. Then he could let go of his budding feelings for her and chock it up to infatuation.

  Or maybe she’s just expressing a caring interest in my life, like she always has with her friends, Hank chided himself. He needed to stop analyzing everything she said. It was about to give him indigestion.

  “Nah,” he said. “All the pretty girls are in Dallas.” Before he finished speaking, he felt a pinprick of guilt. He couldn’t imagine finding a more attractive woman in Dallas than Sheila, and he felt somehow disloyal in acting as if she didn’t exist.

  But he couldn’t get himself to tell Barbara about her, despite an inner prodding to do so. “No,” he reiterated, “I haven’t met anyone. Not yet.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Sheila had to stop in Sweetwater for gas on her way back to Fort Worth. The pumps were the old-fashioned kind with numbers that rotated mechanically, so there was no pay-at-the-pump option there.

  “Headin’ back from Christmas with your family?”

  Sheila’s signature on the receipt suddenly became dark and almost illegible. “No.” She struggled not to snap at the elderly clerk. After all, he was just being friendly. “They’re a long ways a way.” She pushed the slip of paper toward him, forcing a smile. “So I thought I’d do a little sightseeing.”