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  Harold gave a satisfied nod. “Well, there you go.”

  Paul was unable to resist asking, “So...have you known Charlotte for a long time?”

  “I’ve known her practically her whole life,” Harold said. “She’s a lovely girl, a good person.”

  The genuine affection on Harold’s face as he spoke made his boss, who could sometimes be rough around the edges, look like a real softy. He was curious to hear more.

  “Is she a good teacher, too?” he probed, not wanting it to seem like he was probing.

  “Oh, I would think so. The kids all seem to love her, and the parents, too. She comes from a good family, of course. I tell you, the way they carried on after...”

  The bell rang as a customer entered the shop.

  “Duty calls!” Harold gave a sharp salute. “I’ll get that.” He headed to the front of the shop, leaving Paul to wonder what Harold had been about to say.

  Harold’s praise of Charlotte should have reassured him, but instead he felt more agitated. He didn’t need any more reasons to feel attached—and attracted—to her than he already did.

  When Harold returned a few moments later, he was in full business mode again. “It’s getting busy out there. We’ll have to get back to this later. It was good to see you and the little guy at church on Wednesday. Maybe you’ll think about Sunday, too? There’s a terrific Sunday school program that I know Tyson would love.”

  He said it in an amiable way, but still, Paul felt pressure weighing down on him. He knew that church had been a regular part of Tyson’s life and that Erica had probably assumed that Paul would continue on with his spiritual upbringing when she named him as guardian.

  It was yet another way that he was falling short.

  He forced himself to smile at Harold. “I’ll think about it.”

  It wasn’t a lie, because he always thought about it, whether he wanted to or not. He just didn’t intend to do anything about it. There was almost nothing that he wouldn’t do for Tyson, but this was one barrier he just couldn’t push himself past.

  * * *

  On Monday evening, Charlotte sat quietly in her favorite comfy chair and tried to gather her thoughts. She had just told her parents about her plans to do missionary work abroad.

  On the one hand, her parents had told her that they understood it was important and valuable work she wanted to do. But there had been apprehension and worry in her mother’s voice. “I’m just afraid that something will happen to you, Charlotte.”

  Her father had lingered on the phone after her mother had gone to lie down with a headache. “With things still being so up in the air with your mother’s health, we really need you here, Charlotte.”

  She tried to tell them that she wouldn’t be going away until June of the following year at the earliest, but it didn’t appease them.

  Now she tried to pray that she would make the right decision, but God wasn’t giving her any clear answers. She felt like she had no choice but to follow her heart. Except now she didn’t even know what her heart was telling her. At first it had seemed crystal clear that she was meant to go away, but lately she’d been feeling like there were reasons—and people—to stay for.

  But if she did that, she would be breaking the promise she had made to herself to stop basing her decisions around other people’s expectations.

  After what felt like a long time, she stood up and took the application out of her purse. She spread it out on the kitchen table and ran her hand over it once or twice. Then sat down and began to fill it out.

  * * *

  “Did you eat anything today that you haven’t had before?” Paul asked Tyson, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

  “Just the fruit you cutted up for my bedtime snack,” Tyson said, sniffling. Below his tear-filled and swollen eyes, his cheeks were blotchy with red patches.

  Paul had sliced up a pineapple for Tyson’s bedtime snack. “Are you sure that’s all?”

  Tyson nodded, his lower lip trembling. “My head hurts,” he moaned.

  “Okay, bud. You go lie down on the couch.” Paul ran cold water over a washcloth while his mind raced. He hurried back to the boy’s side.

  “Tyson, has anyone ever told you if you’re allergic to anything?” Paul asked.

  Tyson nodded, but looked even more fretful as he tried to recall details.

  Paul took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “You just stay here and try to relax. I’m—” what was he going to do? “—I’m going to go make a phone call.”

  It suddenly occurred to him that Charlotte must know if Tyson was allergic to anything. As his teacher, it would be vital for her to have that information.

  He rapidly punched in Charlotte’s number and breathed a sigh of relief when she answered right away. He nervously told her about Tyson’s symptoms.

  “It’s going to be okay, Paul,” she said. Comfort washed over him at the sound of her voice. “Try to find some of his anti-allergy medicine if you can.”

  “I don’t think I have any,” Paul said, cringing as he omitted the fact that he wouldn’t know whether he did or not.

  “That’s okay,” Charlotte said. “I’ve got some. I keep it in case something happens in the classroom. I’ll be right over.”

  Paul thanked her and disconnected, then went to check on Tyson.

  His cheeks were still spotty and flushed, and he looked anxious, but he was breathing normally.

  “Ms. Connelly is coming over with some medicine to make you feel better.”

  “My teacher?” But Tyson’s interest was listless at best. It was plain he really wasn’t feeling well.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. When Paul opened it, there stood Charlotte in the periwinkle sweater she wore that brought out her remarkable eyes.

  “Where is he?” she asked. He led her to the couch.

  Charlotte sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. “Hi, Tyson. So you’re feeling kind of rotten?”

  The little boy nodded. “I feel hot and itchy.”

  “We’ll get you better, I promise.” She took a small bottle out of her purse and coaxed Tyson to open his mouth and accept two droppers full of the liquid.

  “Now you just lie back down and try to relax,” Charlotte said. “The redness and itching will start to go away soon.” She looked up at Paul. “What was the last thing Tyson ate?”

  “Some pineapple.”

  “Tyson is allergic to pineapple.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but it was puzzled. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  Paul hesitated. “I might have heard, but...” He could hear the nervousness in his own voice.

  Charlotte put her hand over his in a reassuring gesture. “You’ve had a lot to adjust to,” she said. “Look, why don’t I make you a list that you can put up on the fridge? Things like what to do if Tyson ever has another reaction, phone numbers you should have handy, that kind of thing.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Paul said, hating that he had to push her away when every part of him screamed that he needed her help. But what was the point of her making a list that he wouldn’t be able to read?

  “I was just caught off guard,” he said. “I’ll know what to do next time. I really do appreciate you coming over.” He touched her arm and felt its warmth beneath the softness of the sweater.

  She raised her eyes to his with a question that suddenly seemed to be about more than Tyson’s allergies. But he couldn’t let her get too close. He stepped back, and for a moment she looked as entirely abandoned as he often felt.

  “Well... I’ll leave this for you anyway,” Charlotte held up the bottle. “I can pick up some extra for school on the way home.” She handed the bottle to Paul. “The instructions are on the back.”

  He held it in his hand, not looking at it. “Thank you again for coming over.”

&nbs
p; “Paul...if there’s anything else I can do? Anything at all...”

  There was that feeling again, like she could see right through him. He shrugged it off.

  “No, everything is fine now,” he said. “I’ll walk you to the door and then I’d better get Tyson to bed.”

  Charlotte hesitated at the door. “If you’re sure...”

  “I’m sure,” he told her. “Thank you so much again. Have a good night.”

  Later, as he sat by Tyson’s bedside, Paul thought about the near miss they’d just had, and he worried about a real emergency. Oh, he knew how to dial 911, but the thought of it coming to that terrified him.

  For the first time since he had shared his secret with his sister, Erica, when they were teenagers, Paul gave serious consideration to telling someone else the truth about his illiteracy.

  And the first person that came to mind was Charlotte Connelly.

  Chapter Seven

  At the end of September, on a Tuesday, Charlotte was leaving school with her head filled with more than what was going on in the classroom. She had finished up her lessons on pets by asking the students to draw pictures of pets they owned or wished they did. Choices ranged from kittens to dragons and, as she had predicted, Tyson drew a dog with floppy ears, grinning teeth and a lolling tongue.

  She had not raised the subject of overseas missionary work with her parents since their phone call and, although she knew she would have to address it when she saw them again, for the time being her mind was focused on the matter of her and Paul meeting with the church council to present his idea of teaching basic car and home maintenance skills to the newcomers and whoever else was interested.

  For a reason she couldn’t pinpoint, or didn’t want to admit to, it was important to her that the council agree to Paul’s plan. She wanted him to feel welcome, like he had purpose, and she admitted to herself that she was looking forward to the additional contact she would have with him.

  Feeling jittery, Charlotte hardly ate anything before heading over to the church. When she entered, she kept her eyes open for Paul—Tyson was staying at Mildred’s for the duration of the meeting—and she spotted him almost immediately, pacing and looking as anxious as she felt.

  She approached him and suppressed a sudden urge to offer a reassuring hug.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “It’s a good idea, Paul. It really is. I’m sure they’ll see that.”

  They went to the meeting room and sat across the large table from one another. Soon the council members, consisting of Ralph Meyer, Joe Rockaberry, Olivia Meissner, Seth and Rena Acoose, and Dudley Bowen from the pharmacy filed in and took their seats.

  After an opening prayer and some introductory remarks by Joe, who was the chairman for the year, Paul was invited to share his request with the council.

  Charlotte offered up a quick, silent prayer that he would find the right words.

  “As you know, there is a group of people who meet at the church on Wednesday nights to learn how to read and improve their English-speaking skills,” Paul said. His unease was obvious at first, but as he warmed to his subject, Paul began to speak with more confidence. “You also know that I work at Harold’s Garage and I’m pretty handy at repairs in general. So, as I told Charlotte, I got to thinking that there are other skills that I could teach—just basic things like checking the oil in a car or fixing a leaky faucet. It’s amazing how much confidence it gives a person to feel independent in those ways. I believe it would make a real difference for them.”

  Charlotte saw Olivia Meissner raise her eyes from the notes she had been making and scrutinize Paul for a moment before glancing over at Charlotte. She tried to smile reassuringly at the older woman. Stone-faced, Mrs. Meissner turned her attention back to Paul.

  “What about language barriers?” she asked.

  “Well,” Charlotte began to answer, “the literacy classes will continue, of course, and—”

  “I believe I directed my question to Mr. Belvedere,” Mrs. Meissner interjected.

  Charlotte was anxious to see how Paul would handle the question. She watched him sit up straighter in his chair, and almost as if she was pulled by the same invisible magnet, Charlotte felt herself straightening her own shoulders.

  “I teach by demonstration, Mrs. Meissner,” Paul said. “It’s all very visual and hands-on. I show people how to do things and then I supervise while they try it themselves.”

  “Paul has already helped me with some projects,” Charlotte couldn’t resist interrupting. “I can vouch that he’s a good teacher.” The look of appreciation he gave her across the table made her thankful that she had spoken up.

  “Well, it sounds like that could work...” Mrs. Meissner said thoughtfully. “We’ll be counting on your groups to work closely together, Charlotte, and possibly overlap.”

  “Of course.” Charlotte nodded.

  Finally a vote was taken, and it was agreed that they would give the fix-it classes a try, in conjunction with the literacy group. Paul and Charlotte thanked the council. Then he caught her eye and gave her a wide-open grin that made her feel like she had been given a gift.

  She tried to remind herself why she couldn’t let herself be too attracted to Paul. She feared she was losing the battle, and she would have to pray about it later.

  “I think that went pretty well, don’t you?” Paul said as he and Charlotte walked out together.

  “It did,” she agreed. “You did great. I was pr—” She stopped herself, wondering if it was going too far to tell him she was proud of him.

  But his eyes lit up with a gentle light and he asked, almost shyly, “You were proud of me?”

  Oh boy... Charlotte blushed profusely. Paul glanced at his watch. “We wrapped up earlier than I expected, so Tyson’s okay at Mildred’s for another half hour. Could I buy you a cup of coffee at Seth’s? We could talk about the class.”

  Unable to resist, Charlotte said, “I’d like that.”

  As always, Seth’s was buzzing with customers, some enjoying a late supper, some killing time before heading to the movie theater, and many, like the two of them, just in to enjoy some coffee and conversation.

  Charlotte glanced around and spotted Bridget sitting at a table with Stephanie. She waved at them and ignored Bridget’s raised-eyebrow question. She wouldn’t know what answer to give anyway.

  Paul’s eyes followed the direction of her wave and he nodded at Bridget and Stephanie.

  “Do you want to ask your cousin and Stephanie to join us?” he suggested.

  “Oh, no, that’s fine,” Charlotte said hurriedly. “I mean, I appreciate the thought, but I’m sure they’re busy chatting.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Paul said. “You and Bridget seem close.”

  “We are. She’s more like a sister to me than a cousin.”

  Eugenie appeared at their table, and Charlotte, mindful of the time of night, ordered a cup of lemon-ginger tea, while Paul opted for a cup of decaf.

  “Anything to eat?” Eugenie offered. “Seth made cinnamon buns today.”

  “Don’t torture me,” Charlotte groaned. “I really shouldn’t.”

  “Why don’t we share one?” Paul suggested.

  They agreed it was a good compromise and Eugenie nodded with satisfaction and went off to fill their order.

  They settled back to bask in the success of the meeting and Charlotte felt an attachment to Paul that she hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time.

  * * *

  Eugenie brought their order over, and after a couple of bites Paul said, “You said that Bridget is like a sister to you. Are you an only child?”

  There was the barest hint of hesitation and a look of something so fleeting he couldn’t quite grasp it before Charlotte answered his question. “Yes, it’s just my parents and me
. But we do spend a lot of time with Bridget and her family. Our dads are brothers.”

  Charlotte chatted about some of the funny adventures and family occasions she and Bridget shared growing up. Paul was happy to sit back and listen to Charlotte talk about her family. Maybe one day, he would talk to her about his parents and his sister.

  “I remember one particular Easter,” Charlotte said. “I think we must have been around seven, and we hid out in Aunt Brenda’s walk-in closet and completely devoured the big chocolate rabbits we’d been given. I can tell you that it wasn’t pretty. To this day, I’ll choose almost any kind of treat before chocolate.”

  “You don’t like chocolate?” Paul queried.

  Charlotte shook her head. “Not in the slightest.”

  Then she told a funny story about the swimming lessons she and Bridget had taken. “It was hard for Bridge to learn how to swim when she was determined to never get her hair wet.”

  The words made Paul glance in the direction of Charlotte’s cousin and note that her hair and makeup looked perfect as always.

  “You’re not like that,” he found himself saying out loud, thinking of how Charlotte went back and forth from prim to casual and that he liked both sides of her. “You don’t always have to be perfect.”

  “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” Charlotte said with a twinkle in her extraordinary eyes.

  Paul excused himself to call Mildred to see how Tyson was faring. “No need to rush,” Mildred assured him. “You and Charlotte visit as long as you like.” Paul thought she sounded highly pleased about the whole matter.

  “Does Tyson want to talk to me?” he asked.

  Mildred told him that Tyson and Max were busy playing pirates and she was making him walk the plank. Paul shook his head and chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

  When he returned, he saw that Bridget was standing at their table chatting with Charlotte. She said hello to him and then went back to sit with Stephanie.