Chapter 9

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne

The evening sky was shedding it's light when Joanna pulled into her driveway at seven thirty. Her little league practice had gone well, but the kids were just a little too excited and noisy. She closed her eyes, weary, but not tired. She smiled as she thought of taking a long, hot bath . . . a relaxing bath with the sweet fragrance of rose petal scented bubble bath Jan had sent her.

Even more relaxing was the thought of listening to Rod's deep voice later that night. She would curl up in the fresh sheets she had washed that morning and just relax, listening and laughing with someone she knew cared for her.

Joanna climbed out of the truck and carried the softball equipment into the garage before going to the mail box. She started to hum softly as she flipped through the mail, nearly skipping as she walked toward the house. Mostly bills and a letter from a friend waited for her to open . . . the bills did not even bother her . . .

. . . until she was in her home and opening the second one. Her eyes skimmed down and stopped in the middle. Cold. The house payment had risen one hundred and seventy-five dollars a month. Joanna could not believe her eyes and looked through the papers for a reason or . . . a mistake.

No, the mistake had been in property taxes. New homes had been built all around them.

Forgetting the song she was humming, the rose petal scented bubble bath, Rod . . . Joanna went to her desk and pulled out all her books and papers. She still had an expensive softball conference to attend the next week, and her budget was already tight. If she put money aside for the house, where would the rest come from?

One by one Joanna began to look through her meticulous notations, writing out her bills in the order of their importance, leaving only the bare minimum to cover the meals in Denver. She wrote out her tithe check first and faithfully, knowing that would have to be taken out above everything else. Slowly she covered all the bills, from electricity, to water and then the house payment, frowning over the receipt from the repairs to her truck.

Near tears, Joanna looked over her careful calculations, feeling her heart falter. She had always budgeted so well . . . the extra two hundred dollars normally reserved for groceries and occasional entertainment costs should not have stripped her away to $13.56 . . . $13.56 that had to last her until the 15 of July . . . there was no way that even the full $13.56 would get her to Dallas.

Joanna had survived before on near nothing, and her brothers would give her money if she was starving . . . even Matt. But, Steven couldn't afford to pay for her pleasure trips. Helen stayed home with the boys and tutored for extra money, but their budget tight.

Her only alternative was her oldest brother, and while Matt would give her money for groceries, he would never waste money on what amounted to a trip into Dallas. Not when it was Rod Kirkland she wanted to see.

There would be no way she could go to Dallas and see Rod on Thursday.

Joanna did begin to cry then, not out of helplessness, but out of not knowing how to tell Rod. Even knowing how painful her father’s pride had been, she still felt her own rise. She could not take Rod’s charity, if he wanted to give it. She could not take his judgement either, if he chose to share it. She did not want his advice or his pity.

She made the payments on the home because it was her childhood home. How many times had she wished to move into a small apartment? How many times had she wanted to leave Glendale, but had been stuck because of the left over debts her parents owed?

Part of her argued that Thomas and Ann Berkley were the ones who needed to pay, but no one knew where they were. Another part of her wished Matt would help out with the bills . . . Steven did when he could . . . but she footed most of them. Why? Because the others had a family to support? Because she had been the one away from home when everything had gone wrong.

It’s not your fault. She remembered her earlier conversation with Rod.

Where did her responsibility to her family lay now? Not to her parents, but to Steven and Jeff and Matt? They’d missed out on the good part of family.

But they had a home. They had a home that the three of them had grown up in, a home life they had survived.

Joanna left her desk feeling helpless and went to her bedroom. The tears came slowly, sliding out one by one.

The hurt returned like it always did. Joanna began to sob into her pillow. Oh, Father, she cried out, I need Your strength. I don't know how to tell Rod I can't come. I don't want him to know about the money problem . . . Show me what to do, oh, please Father, show me what to do . . . .

Joanna mentally worked through the problems and figures for a long time, coming up with no answers . . . no solutions. She would have to go to the bank tomorrow and talk it out with them. They had been so reasonable before. Why had they raised the payments twice in the last year? It wasn’t her parent’s credit she was leaning on, but her own.

The thought of spending the next day at the bank, in a stuffy office, did not make Joanna feel any better about the situation. When the phone rang at nine, she was in bed, without the long bubble bath she had planned. She curled up in the covers and tried to relax.

“Hello,” she said, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice.

“Hi,” Rod's voice was so deep and rich. Joanna suddenly desired to spill the whole mess out to him, but held her tongue. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she told him, carefully stepping around the emotions she was harboring. “How did the meeting go today with that client of yours?”

“Fairly well—really well, I guess. It's just been a long day.”

“I won't keep you up, then.”

“Are you kidding?” Rod said with a laugh. “You’re not about to hang up on me when I've been looking forward to this call all day. Knowing I'd get to hear you're voice—make sure you're really okay—kept me going.”

“You need some sleep,” she advised him.

“Maybe,” Rod told her seriously, “but I need you more. Sleep may help, but you would help more. Just talk to me.”

“I'll hop on the next bus to Dallas,” Joanna teased.

“I'll send you a ticket if you're that ready,” Rod encouraged with a small laugh, but Joanna was getting nervous again.

“How 'bout we hop on that plane to Mongolia? I'm sure ready for a break.”

“A break sounds good. Why don't we both just drop every commitment we have tomorrow and spend the day together?”

In spite of herself, Joanna laughed. “We're in the real world now, Rod. We have to act grown up and mature.”

“Fun still sounds better.”

“Chocolate sounds good, but that doesn't mean I can eat it.”

“Still allergic?” Rod said as if he was surprised, his boyish voice traveling as a comfort over the long distance line.

“Highly reactive,” Joanna replied, “about as reactive as the A-bomb.”

“I guess I'll take that triple chocolate cake back to the store,” Rod teased, “or eat it before you get here.”

“I'm not to sure that's good for you.”

“Maybe not,” Rod told her, the serious man returning to the conversation. “But you are. I'd rather have you than an A-bomb.”

Joanna laughed. “We'll you'd be a blimp and I'd be an A bomb. Both were used in world wars. We'd be a great team.”

“We already are,” Rod said softly. “Who would have thought that we'd ever get together?”

Part of me wished, Joanna reminded herself. Doesn't that count? “Half the school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Joanna reminded him and thought of her conversation with Chad. “Maybe there's something romantic in the attractive male president falling head over heals with the popular female VP. People would ask me all the time if we were dating and I'd say no. Most of them thought we'd make a cool couple.”

Rod chuckled, his deep voice resounding in a soft ballad. “I'd have to agree with them now. I think we make a cool couple.” Joanna could almost picture his face, centralized by that boyish grin she was learning to love. “Did you ever think that . . . before now, I mean?”

Joanna hated to admit it, but he read right into her hesitation. When he spoke, his voice was full of something . . . not humor . . .was it . . . regret?

“Did you have a crush on me?”

“Oh, come on, Rod! Every girl in the school had a crush on you,” Joanna said defensively, “especially the girls that really knew you. You were an awesome Christian guy, good looking, money to spend, a car, successful . . . dating Sarah Fairchild sometimes . . . “

”I was human Joanna,” Rod urged, his voice taking on a defensive tone. “I wasn't all that great . . . remember?”

Joanna did not want to reply. As much as she wanted to forget, she did remember his words . . . no one will ever love you . . . and all the while she had a crush on him then. He had been full of so much confidence . . . how could she not? He was the strength of metal, she was the magnet.

Knowing that Joanna was not going to answer, Rod dropped the subject. He realized, maybe then for the first time, that he had hurt her in high school more than he had known. Instead, he tried to imagine her there with him, holding her hand, the past forgotten, the present wide open for them to explore and share. The urge to see her returned.

“Say, what's keeping you from coming up tomorrow? I know you had practice today, but let's say you get here a day early. I’ll minimize my appointments.”

“I'm sure,” Joanna replied, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” she batted back. “I think Steven needs the car for tomorrow.”

“Well, you could ask him,” Rod tried again, but Joanna shook her head. She could not give in. While Steven had been a youth intern for Rod's grandfather, the two teenage boys had grown to know and admire each other fairly well. She knew Rod realized Steven would trade the truck easily, especially if it meant Rod and Joanna would get together.

It just wasn’t the car that was the problem. It was the gas. No gas, no trip . . . .

“I have to go to the bank,” Joanna tried again, her voice shaking. No matter what, she did not want to lie to him.

“What's wrong?”

Joanna's stomach turned over. Rod knew, as she did, that even a long line at the bank would not keep her in Glendale. She could hear the concern in his voice. Oh, Joanna, why did you give him an excuse that sounds so lame? “What do you mean? What's wrong? I have an appointment at the bank.”

“You could leave after . . . or change it. I’m getting the feeling that you’re hiding something.”

“Look, Rod,” Joanna replied a bit too defensively. “I just can't drop and give you five whenever you feel like it. I happen to have a life too.”

“I realize that, Joanna. Look, I just wanted to see you.”

“Well, I want to see you too, but I'm not about to let go of the things I’ve built for myself here when the mighty Rod Kirkland sounds his alarm. We had planned on Thursday,” Joanna reminded, “why can't we just keep it at that? Or just ... wait.”

“Wait? Now wait a second. I wasn't the one who got so touchy. It was just a suggestion. It’s not like we see each other often as it is,” he sighed, and Joanna knew he was frustrated. After all, he was the one in the dark. “We can keep it at Thursday, I just wish I knew why you were so defensive.”

“There's nothing wrong.”

“Then you're fine,” Rod said slowly. “There's nothing going on. You're not in any kind of trouble, like,” he stopped for a moment, his mind reeling, “financial trouble?”

Joanna hoped he did not hear her shocked intake of breath. “You said you had an appointment at the bank,” Rod suggested again. “Is something wrong?”

Not able to kept from trembling, Joanna swallowed the lump in her throat. “No,” she told him, hating the amount of tension in her voice. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it's the only thing I can come up with,” Rod sounded tired. He didn’t want to argue with her, but she was making it hard to step back. He could almost feel her pushing him away. “Do you need some money? I can give—”

“I don't need any money.”

“Let me help, Joanna. I’ve got a good job. It’s not like I don’t have the money.”

“No! I don’t care about your money! I have never cared about your money,” Joanna could not stop the fear from rising. “It's not your problem!”

“What problem? Is it the house, Joanna? Does something need to be replaced—”

“I'd stop while—”

“Joanna, how many times are we going to go over this? It's not your fault. You don't owe anyone anything! Your family needs to be helping more than with a-once-a-month casserole.” Rod's anger flowed. He was not thinking clearly. “You told mom you wanted to move. Why don't you? The memories—”

“Stay out of it, Rod,” Joanna warned, just as frustrated with his mother at that moment for sharing their private conversation as she was angry at him. “Stay out! It's not your family. It's not your decision! It's not you're problem.”

“If that's the way you want it,” Rod replied in anger, “then I guess I’d better let you go.”

“I guess so,” her own words startled her, but she realized it was for the best as the click announced the disconnection. She knew he objected to her paying so much of the bills. Doug had objected too, she reminded herself . . . but this was somehow different. Doug hadn't seen the point, Rod was concerned for her.

Tears, large, and full of hurt slid down her cheek. Joanna tried to replace the phone back in the receiver, but it rocked and dropped to the floor. She turned her face into her recently washed pillow and sobbed herself into sleep, wishing with all her heart that Rod would call her back.

If only she had known the receiver lay on the floor, not in the safety of its cradle. Not ten minutes later Rod called back . . . only to receive a busy signal.

In the lonesomeness of his apartment, Rod, weak and weary, turned Joanna and their relationship up to God . . . . Only God could reach down and pull them in His strong embrace. Rod knew Joanna needed comfort then. If she would not accept him, then he prayed God would accept her.

A cross, conquered, was Rod's assurance.


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