The Color of Hope

CHAPTER THIRTEEN





Charley began making the rounds early evening, saying good-bye. Most of the Sanders family she still didn’t know, but from hanging out at Grandma Geri’s house, she’d gotten to know those family members in particular—and was proud of herself for learning the names of aunts, uncles, and innumerable cousins.

Charley hugged Janelle and Kory again. “I’m so happy for you two,” she said. “So beautiful, the way you did it, Kory. I’m a sucker for love stories. And after all you’ve been through.”

In one of the late-night conversations, Janelle and Kory had shared more of their story. Charley couldn’t believe Kory’s wife had left him for another man, then returned a year later—after he and Janelle had found one another again—when that other man left her. Janelle refused to stand in the way, insisting Kory try to reconcile. Though reluctant, he did try, only to watch his estranged wife leave again weeks later.

“I didn’t think I could love again.” Janelle clasped Kory’s hand. “Words can’t even describe.”

Stephanie walked by, and Charley stopped her. “Hey, let me get my hug.”

“Are you leaving?” Stephanie said. “I thought you wanted to tell me something.”

“I did,” Charley said, “but there hasn’t been a good time. I’ll call you.” Then she waved the idea away as quickly as she’d said it. “Never mind, I can’t wait.” She grinned. “I told Marcus I’m taking the coaching position!”

Stephanie’s eyes widened. “No way! You’re staying? What made you decide?”

“It started with that newspaper article,” Charley said. “I hate to say this, but I’d never heard much about what life was like in the sixties in Hope Springs. Gave me a real perspective for the way things are today, and why this joint service is so important. Then when Pastor Travis preached on God accomplishing His purpose through us . . . I felt this stirring, almost an urgency, that this is where I needed to be.”

“Wow.” Stephanie nodded. “I would say I’m surprised, but I know that feeling.” She hugged her. “Now I can admit I pulled a Marcus—I was praying for you.”

Charley gave her a skeptical look. “What did you pray?”

“That God would keep you here.” She held up her hands in defense. “But I said only if it’s His will.”

“Uh-huh. Turnabout is fair play.” She spotted Cyd in the distance. “Let me finish my good-byes to everybody who’s leaving town.” She smiled. “I can see you any ol’ time.”

Charley hugged Cyd, Cedric, and Chase, who were leaving early in the morning. Next she swung through the kitchen, saying good-bye to the aunts who’d cooked up a ton of good food, including breakfast that morning. Then, remembering her overnight bag in Stephanie and Lindell’s room, she doubled back.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Charley heard voices as she entered, though those speaking couldn’t see her. When she realized the voices belonged to Stephanie and Marcus—with her name in the conversation—she couldn’t help it. She paused where she stood.

“She just told me,” Stephanie was saying. “I’m so pumped she’s staying.”

“Me too,” Marcus said. “Definite plus for the volleyball program.”

“And maybe a plus for someone else?”

Marcus hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just thought maybe I detected a little teeny something between the two of you. You needn’t confirm or deny, but if I’m right, I’m tickled pink.”

Charley’s jaw dropped. Stephanie detected something? On both their parts?

“A little teeny something?” There was a lightness in Marcus’s voice. “I like Charley a lot,” he said, “but not in the way you’re thinking. More like a sister.”

“Mm-hm. That’s why you hung out over here till all hours of the night, two nights straight, talking to her. I may be many things, but I ain’t crazy.”

Marcus was quiet a moment. “You know . . . maybe I need to be honest with myself. From what I’ve seen so far, Charley has a lot of qualities I want in a woman. Maybe you did detect a little something. It’s just . . .”

“What?”

Charley was sure she could hear her heart hammering.

“Whenever I see myself with someone, it’s a black woman. That’s what I happen to prefer. Is that wrong?”

“Marcus, I thought you were bringing me my purse!”

The sound of Aunt Gladys’s voice startled Charley, causing her to step back—and into the door. She headed quickly into the living room, realizing she still needed her bag. Her feet kept moving anyway. She’d get it tomorrow. She just needed to get out of—

Someone grabbed her hand and turned her around, and she wished her heart hadn’t fluttered. Marcus.

“Please tell me you didn’t hear that,” he said.

“I heard enough.”

He sighed. “I didn’t mean—”

“There’s nothing to say, Marcus. Really. Everything’s cool.”

He looked at her. “But I can’t leave it like this, Charley.” He tried to make eye contact, to no avail. “Can we talk a few minutes? We could go for a walk.”

Charley tried to stifle her emotions. He had no clue what she’d been feeling all weekend, so no clue how much it hurt. She needed to keep it that way.

She shrugged. “Sure, I’ve got a few minutes.” She turned slightly toward the back door, and he opened it, holding it as she walked past.

They moved through pockets of people, out of the lighted backyard, and up the street. They’d never had a moment alone like this, and Charley’s senses were on hyper alert—aware of his slow gait, the fresh scent from his shower, the brush of his arm when he drifted too close. Why now was she feeling drawn to him more than ever? What a joke.

“This is so awkward,” Marcus said. “I’m really sorry. I never would’ve said that if—”

Charley held up a hand. “Marcus, I know. And please, you don’t have to apologize. I think we all have a certain image in our heads of our ideal mate.”

He walked in silence a few feet. “But as soon as I said it, I was sort of convicted.” He paused. “Just last night I was telling you God has me thinking differently about relationships. So it hit me, Am I thinking like God wants me to think, or like I was raised to think?

She glanced at him. “How were you raised to think?”

“You want me to be frank?”

Charley nodded.

“Mom always said, ‘Don’t bring home no white girl, especially not one with blond hair and blue eyes.’”

Charley felt a stab. “Aunt Gladys said that? But she’s been so nice to me.”

“It’s not that she doesn’t like white people. It’s just, when it comes to marriage . . .” He turned toward her. “Your parents never said anything to you about interracial dating?”

“There was never a reason to,” she said. “They promoted a relationship with Jake from the time I was young.” She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know what my mom would think.”

He looked at her. “What about you?”

“It’s not on the list of what’s important to me. Maybe that’s unrealistic, I don’t know.”

They rounded the bend and continued on for several yards, passing Travis’s house.

“What is important to you?”

“That he have a heart for God. That’s my main thing right now.”

They walked in silence awhile.

Charley paused in the middle of the street. “I’d better start back. I have a lot to do in the morning, especially now that I’ve got a new position to think about.”

“Which I’m still really excited about. But . . . I feel like the dynamic has changed between us.”

“Not really.” She started a slow trek back to the house. “Just maybe back to the way it was before Friday night.”

“But why? I feel like we became friends this weekend. How did the conversation with Stephanie change things?”

Charley couldn’t think of a quick answer, not one she wanted to reveal, anyway.

He stopped walking. “Charley, seriously, I’m trying to understand. We’re not friends now? It’s not like I said anything negative about you. I said I liked you.”

She laughed a little, but it held no humor. “Yeah, like a sister. But if I were black . . .” She cringed the moment it came out of her mouth. “Forget I said that. I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

She walked a little faster than before, with Marcus keeping pace, silent. She almost wished he would defy her, keep talking. Part of her wanted to know more of what he was thinking, more about those words to Stephanie. “Maybe you did detect a little something.”

But her saner self was raising the professional wall, hoping they never broached this subject again.