The first two weeks of “private detective duty” dragged by slowly for Carla. She had opted for mornings on her “case,” since she could sit in her car enjoying coffee from a little shop while she waited, making the shady neighborhood seem a little less shady in the morning.
Only twice was she rewarded with information she felt Marc Garman would appreciate. First she learned that Patrice worked at an insurance agency on Parlee Street, apparently from nine to five. Then she saw Patrice leave work on a Wednesday morning and drive to the county medical center, entering the building at 9:50 and coming back to her car at 11:05. Carla wondered whether Patrice was attending a therapy class at the hospital, but she didn’t share her conjecture with Mr. Garman when he debriefed her on a Thursday afternoon.
The same thought apparently came to his mind, too, because he said to Carla when she told him the times of Patrice’s visit, “Probably a therapy class. Be sure to check next Wednesday.”
“Yes, sir.”
“On second thought, maybe I’ll drive down there myself and park around the corner.”
“There’s a coffee shop across the street where I waited for her, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. The clinic’s on Jasmine, and the south side has a little coffee shop about three or four stores down from the street that dead ends into the hospital’s main entrance.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Garman said nothing for a moment as he stroked his cheek. “I think I’ll risk it. I’d like to see if she’s looking more like her old self.” He smiled at Carla. “You can tell a lot about a person by their walk, can’t you?”
“I suppose.” She paused and then went on, “Do you want me to still keep tabs on her next week?”
“Oh, by all means. Perhaps you could check out her late afternoon dealings.”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Garman, I’d rather stick to mornings. I don’t really feel comfortable in that neighborhood.” Her mind flew to Nancy, living there—just for the sake of befriending Patrice.
“No, no. That’s fine. It isn’t the nicest part of town, I’m sure.”
“No, it’s not. Nancy has just moved there.”
“Really?” Marc looked curious.
“Yes, sir.” Carla said nothing more, regretting that she had mentioned Nancy at all. She was hesitant to divulge the motive for Nancy’s move.
“Why did she move?” The question was blunt, and nothing short of an answer would have sounded just as blunt—perhaps even rude. Carla swallowed before she spoke.
“Well, if you want to know the truth, Mr. Garman…”
“Which maybe I don’t.” His words took Carla by surprise, but she was just as glad not to have to tell him.
“OK.”
“No, go ahead and tell me. And by the way, please don’t call me ‘Mr. Garman’—or ‘sir.’” He smiled. “Please call me Marc.”
Carla smiled, but didn’t try to conceal her bewilderment.
“All right…Marc.” She swallowed again, buying time. “Nancy is a very compassionate person. When I told her about my ‘detective’ assignment, she wanted to befriend Patrice and thought moving into the same apartment building would allow her the most opportunity to do so.”
“The same apartment building?”
“You don’t know Nancy, sir—Marc. She’s very discreet, and if Patrice needs a friend, she could never find a better one than Nancy Herring. I do worry about her, though, I have to admit.”
“But your brother’s there most of the time, isn’t he? I’m sure she’s OK with him there.”
“He’s not there most of the time; he actually lives in Weimer.”
“They don’t live together?”
Nancy laughed. “Oh no, sir.”
“Aren’t they engaged?”
“Yes.”
Marc said nothing, but the silence seemed to demand an explanation.
“They’re Christians.” She swallowed. “So am I.”
“I think there must be plenty of ‘Christians’ who live together.”
“Well, these two don’t. They take their beliefs very seriously.”
“Obviously.”
Carla didn’t like the patronizing tone in his voice, but she said nothing.
“So Nancy wants to ‘save’ Patrice?” Marc continued.
“Don’t you?”
“It depends what you mean. I want to rescue her.”
“I know, sir.” Carla bristled inside, and her voice was even. “So does Nancy.”
Marc turned his head and looked away. “Well, Nancy won’t get very far with Patrice. She’s very level-headed.”
“Miracles do happen.”
“OK.” Marc turned back around with a slight grin of playful sarcasm. “Let me know the day of salvation.”
Marc’s ridiculing took Carla by surprise. In spite of not wanting to take offense, she had to fight tears of indignation.
It was Marc’s turn to be surprised. His tone of voice changed abruptly. “I’m sorry. I was way out of line. Forgive me.”
Carla knew better than to try to speak. She bit her lip and looked away herself.
Marc quickly walked over to where she stood and grabbed her arms in his hands. “Carla,” he said in a tone that compelled her to look at him. “Please. I didn’t know you felt so deeply about—your religion. Until just recently, I’ve never known anybody to feel very deeply about it, as a matter of fact. I’m sorry.” He dropped her arms as if suddenly realizing he’d crossed a boundary line. Carla felt herself redden and she turned to walk over to the door. Marc jumped in front of her to hold it open for her as he always did. “You will forgive me?” he asked with sincerity.
Carla still didn’t dare try to speak, but she nodded without looking at him. She walked to her desk, frustrated at not being able to control her emotions. How much better it would have been if she had had the presence of mind to at least try to defend her faith logically instead of dissolving into tears. She chided herself as she resumed her work.
Later that evening, back in her own apartment, she relived those moments. The memory of the experience had one tantalizing aspect. She had never seen Marc so ardent as he was when he had held her arms in his hands, and he really was handsome, no doubt about that.
……….
As he climbed the echoing open cement staircase to the second floor, Michael Chadwell tried to dismiss the images that kept playing in his mind as he thought of Nancy climbing this very stairwell by herself. She was too easily noticeable in such a desperate setting, and far too vulnerable. No matter what her motive, he did not like Nancy’s living here.
Knocking on the door, he found himself thinking that at least it was solid and had a peephole. He turned suddenly, hearing a door open farther down the hall, but it closed again without anybody’s exiting. “Strange,” thought Michael, as he turned back and knocked again. When no one responded, he tried a third time, straining in the dim light to see the time on his watch. He was sure he’d told Nancy he’d come over at 6:30. It was 6:30 on the nose, and she was as punctual and reliable as he.
He knocked again. After the fourth knock, he headed for the stairwell, wishing he’d not forgotten his phone. He couldn’t imagine Nancy’s not being home when she’d invited him for supper, but he had nothing to lose by checking for her car in the parking lot behind the building. When he saw it, his puzzlement grew. He stood still, thinking, for a long moment. Climbing back up the stairs, he prayed for Nancy’s safety. She had to be somewhere in the building. He knew she wouldn’t walk these streets in the dark.
Michael took a deep breath and knocked once again. He practically jumped when he heard Nancy’s voice ask, “Who is it?” from the other side of the door.
“It’s me—Michael.” He knew his voice reflected his consternation, and when Nancy opened the door with a pathetically apologetic expression, his heart melted as he wrapped his arms around her. “Where were you, honey? Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Michael. I was just down the hall.” She cocked her head and a distinctly satisfied look of success caught up Michael in its contagion.
“OK, Chester, what’s up?” he grinned.
“I was visiting Patrice!”
“Ohh…” Michael’s inflection indicated that the puzzle was coming together. “You were the one opening the door and then shutting it again?”
“Mmhmm,” Nancy smiled. “I’d hoped to slip out five minutes earlier, but it didn’t happen, and when I opened the door I heard your knock. I didn’t want to risk having to introduce you.” Michael and Nancy had already discussed the circumstance of his last name being the same as Carla’s. They’d probably have to cross the bridge eventually, but for now, skirting the problem seemed the best plan.
“You didn’t want to introduce me? Don’t you know I’m attracted to pretty girls?” Michael teased.
“Mmhmm,” Nancy teased back, “but you already have one.” She turned and headed into the tiny kitchen. “And she’s cooked a delicious dinner—no pizza tonight!”
“It smells wonderful. Pork chops?”
“Stuffed pork chops. It’s a recipe a gal from work gave me.”
“Carla?”
“No. Rita Helgessen, that lady I told you about. We had a recipe exchange at work, and I thought I’d try hers. It sounded pretty good.”
In a few minutes they were eating the pork chops and all the accompaniments, including muffins. There was no lack of conversation. Michael and Nancy had always found conversation easy, perhaps because they had so much in common. Tonight they ate leisurely, the dinner being the focal point of their evening together.
A few minutes into the meal, Michael brought up a question to which he’d not yet found a satisfactory answer. “All right, Nance. Would you tell me again why you volunteered for this—this adventure?”
“You mean, why did I move?”
Michael nodded.
“The rent was cheap, and my lease was up.” Nancy’s eyes sparkled, and Michael was reminded of the genuineness of this girl, which had first attracted him. That genuineness was what made her merry heart so loveable.
“And…?”
Nancy sighed. “Oh, where do I begin?” She paused, putting down her fork and taking a sip of water. “The fact is, Michael, I have had this feeling for Patrice as though she were my own sister ever since the Christmas Party last year when she came with Mr. Garman. And I didn’t even meet her that night.”
“The sister you’ve always wanted?”
“Yes.” Nancy looked down. “Besides the one in I have in heaven—a sister or a brother.” She raised her head to look at Michael. “As I was praying about whether to move here and get involved in a serious way, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Jesus on the cross when He said to John, ‘Behold your mother.’” Now her eyes glistened with emotion. “And then it felt like He was telling me, ‘Behold your sister.’ That probably sounds funny to you, but, oh Michael, if Patrice were my natural sister, and she’d been through what Patrice has been through, wouldn’t I be willing to give up a lot—risk a lot—to be there for her?”
Michael nodded his head thoughtfully and remained silent.
“Patrice doesn’t know it,” Nancy added, a smile growing on her face, “but she’s my sister: I’ve adopted her.” Now her eyes, still glistening, sparkled mischievously. “You won’t mind having her as a bridesmaid at our wedding, will you?”
“What?” Michael couldn’t help himself. “Aren’t you jumpin’ the gun, honey?”
“Maybe. I hope not. We really got off to a great start today. The biggest problem is having to keep my engagement to you and my friendship with Carla a secret.” She sighed, deliberately licking the gravy off her spoon. “I don’t like secrets. They seem almost like lies to me because they share the same purpose—to hide something from someone else.” She took a bite of food and wiped her mouth. “Oh well,” she said, “for a while that’s the way it has to be, I guess.”
There was a knock at the door. Nancy’s eyes opened wide and she whispered, “If that’s Patrice, I’ll introduce you only as Michael—no last name!” She walked over to the door. “Who is it?”
“Patrice.”
“OK. Just a second.” Nancy unbolted the door and opened it. “Hi! Come on in.”
“Well, OK.”
“Patrice, this is my friend Mike. Mike, Patrice.”
“Hello.”
“Hey,” Michael answered.
Patrice turned to Nancy. “I didn’t realize you had company. I can talk to you later.”
“Oh no, we were just having dinner. And there’s plenty. Would you like to try some stuffed pork chops?”
“They’re delicious,” Michael volunteered.
“No, that’s OK. Actually I’ve got soup on the stove and I need to get back.” Patrice looked at Nancy. “I just realized I can’t get together for supper tomorrow, and I didn’t have your phone number so I thought I’d better catch you tonight.”
Nancy frowned. “You can’t get together tomorrow?”
“No.” Patrice offered no explanation.
“Well, we’ll have to try for another time.”
“Sure.”
“Will you let me know when’s a good time for you, or shall I stop by in a day or two?”
“I’ll let you know.” Patrice’s tone was decidedly cool.
“OK.”
Patrice turned to Michael. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” Michael smiled.
The door shut behind Patrice, and Nancy’s countenance fell. “Oh!” she exclaimed, and heaved a giant sigh. “Oh well. God will have to take care of it.”
“Yeah. He can probably handle it. Serves you right for not wanting her to meet me.” Michael grinned as he picked up Nancy’s plate and his own and headed for the sink. “I’m sure glad she turned down dinner. Do I get to take home these last two pork chops?” Michael knew Nancy had fixed extra just for him.
“You sure do!” Nancy started humming as she put food away. Michael could tell she was struggling with disappointment, and he left her to her warfare outwardly, but inwardly he was battling beside her, silently praying for God’s peace to fill her heart and for divine reassurance to supplant the natural disappointment.
“I get so excited sometimes that it’s hard to wait for the Holy Spirit to lead me.” Nancy turned to Michael with her hands in the soapy dishwater. She smiled, wrinkling her nose and raising her eyebrows like a little girl. “I’m excited to have a sister, Michael. Carla will be my sister-in-law, and you know how much I love Carla. But God promised me a sister, remember? It’s hard to wait, I’m afraid. But… since she’s from the Lord, I know He’ll direct me, so I’m not going to be disappointed—just glad He’s doing His thing His way.”
“How much I love this girl,” Michael thought to himself, but all he said was, “I’m blessed.”
“You’re blessed?”
“I’m blessed.”
Nancy, fully understanding the implication, walked into his arms. She felt loved—so loved—by a supernatural God and a very natural, wonderful man.