Christmas in Bethel

Chapter Six

Pauline likened the evening to a “road to Emmaus” experience. Fortunately, she had no idea where that road ended up.

Beth Stilton’s Diary

We finished the book club with the consensus that we loved the book and wished he hadn’t killed Nicole but that it was probably best for the story. After selecting our next month’s book, The Kite Runner, an oldie that somehow we’d all missed, we retired to the kitchen for more wine and Pauline’s coffee cake.

I was still feeling frustrated about the general skepticism over my date with Lee. I didn’t care what Maxine thought, no one did, but I was worried about the other ladies. I didn’t speak much, and this was, by far, not only the most I’d spoken, but the most outlandish thing I’d ever said. I wondered if they thought I had just fantasized the whole thing and thereby lost all credibility. I wished I had kept my mouth shut. I would have if Maxine hadn’t called him a sellout. Those were fighting words.

I was drinking my third glass of wine when the doorbell rang. Appropriately, it was the jaunty chorus from “Jingle Bells.”

“I hope someone didn’t get the wrong time,” Pauline said, walking off to answer the door.

“It always happens around the holidays,” Shelley said. “They pretend that they got the time wrong when they really just came for the wine.”

“Has anyone heard from Cheryl lately?” Kim asked. “She’s missed the last two meetings.”

“She used to never miss,” Deborah said.

“I’ve spoken to her,” Barbara said. “Her father’s on hospice in Jacksonville, so she won’t be back for a while.”

“I’m glad you knew that,” Deborah said. “I’ll reach out.”

“I’ll include her in our prayer circle,” Kim said.

Just then Pauline said, “Ladies. You’ll never believe who decided to visit our humble book club.”

The women were speechless at the sight of our visitor. Standing next to Pauline was Lee. Once the initial surprise wore off, Maxine was the first to speak. “Mr. Harper. I’m your biggest fan.”

I was seriously tempted to throw my wine in her face. Lee said politely, “Thank you.” He looked at me and smiled. He held up a copy of his book. “Beth, you left your book in the limo. I thought you might need it for tonight.”

“Thank you.” I walked over to him. He hugged me, whispering in my ear, “Are you surprised?”

“Of course not. Why would I be surprised?” I said back. I handed the book to Pauline. “This is for you. Thank you for letting us use your lovely home.”

“Why, thank you.” She opened the book and read the inscription aloud. She smiled brightly. “Simply delightful.” She turned to Lee. “Thank you, dear man.”

“My pleasure.”

“Would you stay and have some cake and wine?”

“I would love to. Let me inform my driver.”

“I’ll walk out with you,” I said. We walked together out the front door. Once the door had shut behind us, I said to him, “I did not expect that.” My breath clouded in front of me.

He smiled. “Just a moment.” He walked to an old Toyota idling in the driveway. He said something to the driver, then came back.

“You took an Uber here?” I said.

He glanced back at the car, then said, “Yeah, it’s better this way. Otherwise, Carlie would have been involved.”

“I wondered if your shadow was out here waiting for you.”

He grinned. “My shadow. That’s appropriate.”

“This is like the president sneaking out of the White House without the Secret Service.”

“Yet, not quite the national security risk.”

“No.” I looked into his eyes. “But you came.”

“I felt bad that you left your book.”

“That’s the only reason you came?”

“No. That’s my excuse for coming. I really just wanted to see you again.”

A large smile commandeered my face. I shook my head. “You didn’t need an excuse. I wanted to see you too.” I looked down a moment, then said, “Last night was basically the greatest night of my life. And the saddest.”

“The saddest?”

“What do you do when the best night of your life has come and gone?”

“You do it again.”

“I didn’t think that was an option. I never thought I’d see you again.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

I nodded. “How did you find me here?”

“Your book club has a website. You told me.”

“Right.”

“We should probably go back in before the ladies start talking.”

“Oh, they already are. Especially your biggest fan.”

“I thought you were my biggest fan.”

“Apparently not.” We walked back into the house. When we got to the kitchen, the talking abruptly stopped. Lee winked at me.

“The two of you met at the book signing?” Shelley asked.

“Actually, we met getting coffee,” Lee said.

“I need to drink more coffee,” Maxine said.

“So what did you think of my new book?”

“It was fantastic as usual,” Maxine said. “But then, no surprise. We’re all fans. It was less a review than a celebration.”

He cocked his head. “A celebration. I like that.”

“Most definitely.”

I think all the women were as appalled by Maxine’s unctuousness as I was. Then Kim said, “We did have one question. Did you plan on Nicole dying in the end?”

“That seems to be the big question I’m getting. I didn’t. But like I told Beth, writing stories is like falling in love—you think you’re pulling the strings until you discover you’re really the puppet.”

“You talk like a poet,” Pauline said, swooning. “Now everyone, let’s show proper hospitality and let Mr. Harper enjoy himself.” She turned back to him. “Did you try my coffee cake?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll get you a piece.”

“Would you like some wine?” I asked. “Bordeaux of course.”

“I’d love some.”

As I walked to the counter, Shelley grabbed the bottle to pour a glass for him. She said softly to me, “Well done, dear. He’s clearly enamored with you.”

“You think?”

“Trust me. This old bird knows enamored.”

I smiled and took the glass over to Lee, who was already eating some of Pauline’s cake. “Here you are, darling.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Pauline, who was hovering close to him. “This coffee cake should be classified as a Schedule 1 drug. It’s incredibly addicting.”

“It was my great-grandmother’s recipe. She was a chef at the Drake in Chicago.”

“I didn’t know I was among royalty,” he said.

Pauline beamed.

“How long are you in town?” Shelley asked.

I wondered that myself.

“I leave in the morning for New York. I’m on the Today show Monday morning.”

“That’s exciting,” Alice said, showing remarkable courage. “It is, isn’t it?”

Lee turned to her, likely noticing her for the first time. “Like most things, it was more exciting the first time, but I still enjoy it. What’s your name?”

“It’s Alice.”

He took her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alice. And that was a remarkably insightful question.”

I saw something in Alice’s eyes that I’d never seen, and a large smile crossed her delicate lips. I didn’t feel jealous; I felt proud of him. It was as if he took all the love given him by the world and pushed it back out. I didn’t think Alice would ever be the same.

“I’ve done the book circuit,” Maxine said, hungry for the attention he was giving Alice. “It’s excruciating.”

Lee turned and looked at her. His expression remained respectful, but I caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “It really can be. You’re a writer too?”

“I dabble,” she said with mock humility. “One of my books hit ‘the list.’?”

The list, I thought. The “list” she hit was the local one in the Lancaster Journal. I poured Lee another glass of wine, which he immediately drank from. Neither of us rolled our eyes, but I’m certain he wanted to. Or maybe I just did for both of us. He furtively smiled at me, then asked Maxine, “You hit the New York Times bestseller list?”

Maxine froze, caught between the truth and the falsehood she had just tried to peddle. “It did well. But reviewers can be a nightmare.”

“They can,” Lee said. “But they keep us honest.”

“They sure do. I’m going to get some more wine,” Maxine said, running from the conversation.

“Do you know what time you’ll be on the television Monday?” Pauline asked.

“No. I won’t know until Sunday evening.”

“You know we’ll all be watching.”

Shelley, bless her soul, said, “So why are you still here? If this is your last night in town, you should not be wasting it with a bunch of fans. You two take off. We’re just so honored that you would grace our little book club with your presence. Mr. Harper, you have permanently ensconced yourself in our book club history. None of us will ever forget the evening that J. D. Harper stopped by the Bordeaux Babes Book Club.”

“Nor will I,” he said. I believed him.

She held up her glass. “Ladies, a toast to Mr. J. D. Harper.”

He drained the rest of his wineglass. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Would you like to take some of my cake back to the hotel with you?” Pauline asked.

“Do I look like the kind of fool who would turn that down?”

Pauline laughed. “You’re just darling. Let me get you a Tupperware.” She cut off a large piece of cake, put it in a Tupperware bowl, and handed it to him. “Don’t worry about returning the container, dear. I’ve got plenty.”

“Thank you. And if you find someone eating coffee cake in my next book, you’ll know it was inspired by you.”

Pauline looked like she might faint with excitement.

“Good night, everyone,” I said.

Lee took the Tupperware in one hand and mine in the other. “It’s been a pleasure. Thank you.”

He helped me into my coat, then we walked out of the house.

“Thank you for enduring that.”

“It was fun. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Did I?”

“You did. I just wasn’t very receptive to your invitation.”

“Now where are we going?”

“Dinner,” he said. “Is there any good barbeque around here? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“We have Coachman’s. It’s not fancy, but it’s kind of a local landmark.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Should I drive?”

“Let’s let the kid drive. Are you okay leaving your car?”

“We can come back for it. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not.”

We got in the Uber. After shutting his door, Lee leaned forward to the driver. “Do you know Coachman’s barbecue?”

“The one on Gravel Pit Road?”

“Is there more than one Coachman’s?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then that must be the one. Take us there, please.”

“Yes, sir. I love their chicken. I might get something to eat myself.”

Lee sat back next to me. “Where were we?”

“I was just about to apologize. The ladies avalanched you. I’ve never seen them so excited.”

“Avalanched. That’s a good word. They were lovely.”

“You were lovely with them. Even Maxine.”

“Maxine. She’s the author.”

“Yes. And sycophant.”

He grinned. “She needed the attention the most. Everyone wants to feel important. The lucky ones can get it from inside. The others look outside of themselves. Maxine is empty inside.”

“That’s exactly who she is.” I thought about his words, then asked, “Which are you, an inside or outside looker?”

His forehead creased. “Good question. It’s hard to know anymore. I’m so surrounded by approbation, I’m not sure how I am without it. Fame’s a two-edged sword. Some become more affected by it and need more and more; others become satiated and start longing for anonymity. Honestly, I’ve seen both.”

“Well, you made them all feel important.”

“I hope so. Tell me about Alice.”

“I don’t know her well. She’s very quiet.”

“Is she married?”

I suddenly felt a twinge of jealousy. I had seen the way he looked into her eyes.

“Are you interested in her?”

He looked at me with amused incredulity. “No.”

“I don’t think she’s married. I think she was, but they’re divorced.”

“She was abused, wasn’t she?” he said. “Like you.”

“Her friend who brought her to the club told us she was.” I looked at him in wonder. “How did you know that?”

“I pay attention.”

Coachman’s was as much an institution as a restaurant. It had been around for nearly half a century and had miniature golf, an outdoor pavilion, and a party room. Even though it was late, there were still people in line waiting to order.

Lee ordered the meatloaf with mashed potatoes, while I had a small cheesesteak sandwich. We skipped dessert since we’d already had Pauline’s coffee cake and had more in the car.

“This is pretty good,” Lee said.

“I picture you eating at five-star restaurants, champagne and caviar. Not meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

“I’m a comfort-food kind of guy. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, food doesn’t get much better. Especially in the South. I love southern cooking.”

“I thought you were leaving town today.”

“No, I just had something personal. I’d tell you what it is, but you’d probably mock me.”

“I might. Try me.”

“The reason I came to Lancaster this tour is because there’s a big Civil War antiques show going on.”

“You mean, those pewter soldiers you collect.”

He nodded. “You know you have pretty eyes.”

“That was a clever deflection. Thank you. So do you.” I shook my head. “This still seems like a dream.”

“I could pinch you.”

“Later,” I said. “I wonder how many people in here read your books.”

He shrugged.

“Do people stop you everywhere for autographs?”

“That depends on where I am. One of the Chicago media escorts told me that Grisham can walk through a suburban mall, and no one will recognize him, but if he walks into an airport he’s mobbed. It’s about context. Since the last movie and the press junket, things have gotten worse; now everyone wants photographs so they can post them on their social media.”

As if I had manifested it, at that very moment a young woman stopped at our table. “Excuse me, sir, but are you J. D. Harper?”

He glanced over at me. I raised my eyebrows.

“Yes, I am,” he said to her.

“I knew it.” She turned to a table filled with other twentysomething women. “I told you it’s him.” She looked back. “I’m such a huge fan. Could I possibly get a picture with you?”

“Sure.”

He stood up.

“I can take it,” I said.

“Thank you, but I like selfies,” she said, not even looking at me. She lifted the camera and nestled into Lee, her mouth opening in a big, toothy grin. “Smile.”

Lee also smiled. I noticed that nearly everyone in the restaurant was watching. Someone in a booth across from us was videoing them.

She snapped at least a dozen photos, then lowered her phone. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then she said, “We all think you’re really hot.”

“Thank you.”

As she was leaving him, two other young women from her table walked up, then someone from another table.

“I think we need to go,” I said. I stood and took his arm. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get Mr. Harper to his next appointment. Thanks for reading.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, waving to the growing crowd as I dragged him out of the restaurant. The temperature had dropped still more, and the winter air felt like a brisk slap. Luckily our driver was in the car, otherwise our departure would have been awkward. Lee opened the door for me. I slid across the seat to the other side. There were still people looking out the window at us. Our driver had a Coachman’s sack in his lap.

“You’re good at that,” Lee said to me.

“That was getting out of control.”

“Welcome back,” our driver said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Where to now?”

“Back to where we picked this young lady up, then to the Lancaster Marriott at Penn Square.”

“I can drive you to your hotel,” I said.

“Thank you. I’d like that.” He reached over and took my hand.

As the Uber driver pulled up to my car, he said, “Mr. Harper, I googled you while you were inside. I’m not much of a reader, but my mom’s a big fan. She freaked out when I told her I was driving you. Could I get a picture of us?”

“Sure.”

It was really a video. “Look who I’m with, Mom. Mr. Harper, would you give her a shout-out, her name is Sandra.”

“Hi, Sandra,” Lee said. “Your son is a relatively safe driver, though he texts at intersections, and he doesn’t know the difference between a photo and a video.”

The driver laughed. “Cool, man. Take it easy.”

As late as it was, Maxine’s car was still parked at the curb. I half expected her to spring from the Honda and ambush us.

“Party still going on?” Lee asked, his hands in his coat pockets.

“That’s Maxine’s car. She’s still here.”

“My biggest fan?”

“That’s the one.”

We walked to my Volkswagen and got in. The vinyl seats creaked from the cold. After sitting down, I looked over. He was just looking at me. He looked beautiful.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m happy.”

“Good. So am I.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“I was exhausted before I started the tour.”

“I’m not helping by keeping you up late.” I started the car. “You’re staying at the Marriott?”

“I’m not in a hurry,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

I shut off the car. “I was hoping you would say that.”

“You might want to keep the car going, though. For the heater.”

“Sorry.” I started the car back up, then turned the heater on full.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Not too far from here. I rent a house from my best friend. Her name is Frankie. We used to be roommates, then she got married a few years ago and I just took on the rental. It’s a nice place. Would you like to see it?” I was talking too much. I do that when I’m nervous.

“Maybe next time.”

“Sorry. I’m acting nervous.”

He looked perplexed. “Why?”

“Really? I’m alone here with you. I still can’t believe this is happening. Things like this don’t happen to me. And after you left yesterday, I realized you never answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“Why you chose me?”

He suddenly looked thoughtful. “I suppose that I was still trying to answer that question to myself. Sometimes we connect with someone, and we don’t know why. I obviously found you attractive, but that’s just surface. What I’m feeling isn’t surface.

“It began at the coffee shop when you started talking about your life and how Bethel impacted you. I didn’t just feel your vulnerability, I felt an emotional connection, like we’re two broken people and the jagged edges fit together. Like a puzzle.”

“Are you broken?”

“More than you know.”

“You have no idea how hard it was for me to come to the signing. You were the first hope I’ve felt in men for decades. What if you were nothing like your books, and I had another experience like I had with my father?”

He looked at me soulfully but said nothing.

“I’ve thought about what you said about me looking for my father, that I was looking for home, you were right. When you held me last night.” I paused to control my emotions. “For the first time in my life, I felt like I was home.”

We both let the words settle in the silence of the night. Then he reached over and took my hand. “What is home to you?”

“Home is someplace safe and warm, where people care for each other. Maybe it’s the fiction I want to believe exists somewhere.”

“Bethel,” he said softly. “How far is your house from here?”

“About ten minutes.”

“I’ve changed my mind. We should go there. I really want to hold you, and this console is in the way.”

I put my seat belt on. “I bet I can make it in seven.”