The Caregiver - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,58
next to him, primly clasping her palms over her knees. Looked straight ahead so she wouldn’t be tempted to notice his blue eyes.
His muscles relaxed, making her realize that he was just as tense.
Finally, he spoke. “Lucy? Are you afraid of me?”
Startled, she turned to him. “I’m not.”
“I would feel terrible if you were.” Quietly, he said, “I’ve never laid a hand on anyone in anger. Please, believe me.”
Reminding herself that she was far stronger than she used to be, Lucy forced herself to say what she was feeling. “Though I can’t imagine you hitting me, I have to say that when I found out you read my journal—well, that hurt a lot. ”
“I know.” After a pause, he said, “Perhaps one day you’ll understand that my intentions weren’t cruel.”
Cruel. Such a terrible, harsh word. Nerves jangling inside her, she swallowed. “I don’t think you can be cruel, Calvin. I know how you were with me on the trip. And Katie, too.”
“Lucy . . . Paul hurt you a lot, didn’t he?”
She nodded. Oh, she ached to run away, but Lucy knew it was time to face her past, to speak about it. She couldn’t continue the rest of her life reliving things she pushed to the back of her mind.
And so she gathered her courage, and spoke. “Calvin, Paul was a man who liked things his way all the time. But his wishes changed. They changed so much, I never knew what he wanted, not really.” She darted a glance at Calvin.
He sat motionless, listening intently to her.
Taking a deep breath, she continued: “His moods were mercurial. Some days, it would be fine if I only swept the floor. Other times, he yelled at me when it wasn’t mopped.” Lowering her voice, she added, “And one time, he made me wash it with my hands at night.” She closed her eyes, hating the memories. Hating the fact that she’d sat beside him on the way to church the next day—knowing that everyone imagined he was so devout and good.
“Oh, Lucy,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.” Reaching out, Calvin took her hand and placed it between his. Warming her skin, warming the bitter memories.
Another moment passed. Slowly, the painful memories lifted and she became more aware of the feeling that was brewing between the two of them.
“Lucy, do you ever think you will marry again?” he asked.
Too self-conscious to meet his gaze, she looked at their joined hands. “I don’t know. I used to think I’d never marry again. That I’d never trust any man. But now . . . now I’m starting to wonder differently.”
“Do you fear all men will turn into . . . a person like Paul?”
“Nee.” Though it was so, so hard, Lucy forced herself to keep talking. “I know enough women to realize that all men don’t treat their wives like I was treated. But . . . I don’t know if I will ever forget how trapped I felt.” In a burst of clarity, she murmured, “That’s what I’m afraid of, Calvin. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to live day-to-day without fear.”
“Perhaps what you need is time?”
“I suppose so.” It sounded so simple, but to Lucy, it was anything but.
He released her hand and stood up.
Inwardly, Lucy sighed. He probably couldn’t wait to leave. And, well, there wasn’t much more to be said, anyway . . .
But instead of leaving, he reached out, clasped the pail of berries, and scooted it between them. “Calvin, what in the world?”
He grinned. “Let’s start things over. Right this very moment.”
“Calvin?” What was he talking about?
“How about you let me sit here with you for a while, and we just enjoy the moment? How about we just sit and eat berries?”
His comment startled a laugh—which was almost as startling as the realization that she did want to sit with him for a little bit longer. “Calvin, this is silly—”
“I don’t think so.”
“And I’ve got chores . . . Aunt Jenna’s going to wonder why I didn’t dust like I told her I would . . .”
“She won’t care. I promise.” Looking in the pail, he examined the pile of berries; then, with a satisfied look, he plucked one out. “Now this is a perfect blackberry.”
Drawn into his silliness, Lucy examined it. Indeed, it was as perfectly formed as any she’d ever seen. And the color was a beautiful shade—right in between black and purple. “God had to be pleased with that one, for sure.”
Still holding it,