5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Sharon
I'm staring. Again.
"I think what you're doing is very sweet," I say. "Loren is lucky to have you as her tenant."
"I'm lucky to have her as a friend," he says.
As we step into the house, we're greeted by the sound of clattering pots and pans coming from the kitchen.
"Hey, Mom," Jon says, "can we leave Noah with you for a couple of hours so I can take Sharon to the credit union to open an account?"
"Go ahead," she says, eyeing the refrigerator's contents before taking out a package of ground sausage, a large container of ricotta cheese, and a block of mozzarella. "Your dad is upstairs. If I need help with Noah, he'll come down. Just make sure you're back in time for dinner. I'm making lasagna."
"Thank you, Mrs. Linder. We'll be back as soon as possible."
"Take your time," she says. "I'll put Noah to work, don't worry."
***
At the bank, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, whose name tag reads Patrick Lewis, Loan Officer , approaches us as soon as we walk in.
"Miss Hansen?" he says, giving me a firm handshake. "Hi, I'm Patrick. Mrs. Betancourt called to let me know you'd be coming in, but I thought she said you'd be here tomorrow."
"Our schedule opened up today," says Jon, taking a noticeable step closer to me. "So here we are."
"Perfect," says Patrick. "Let's take a seat over here."
He leads us to a cubicle with a spotless desk, a computer, and a short file cabinet with multiple cubbies on top, each holding stacks of forms. He sits behind the desk and motions us to sit in the two chairs across from him.
"What can I do for you, Miss Hansen?" Patrick asks, sitting forward in his chair. I notice his bright blue eyes twinkle when he talks, immediately putting me at ease. I can tell he enjoys his job.
"I just moved here from California," I begin. "I need to open a bank account here in town. I have a cashier's check from my old bank and a check from an insurance company that I'd like to deposit."
"Okay," he says, reaching into several cubbies and pulling out a few forms. "I'll be happy to help you with that. Let me see here. You'll need to complete this application, front and back, and provide two forms of identification." He hands me the forms before excusing himself and walking out of the cubicle.
Jon pulls his chair closer to mine, and we begin filling out the forms together using my new address, which I didn't know until this very moment. As Jon recites the phone number, I write it down, inhaling deeply, enjoying the warm, spicy scent of his cologne.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "That was a deep breath you took there."
I didn't realize he'd notice. I smile, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Don't worry," he continues, "we'll have these forms filled out in no time."
"Thanks," I say, glad he thinks I'm just stressed and not completely distracted by his nearness.
"I was just reminded that I still have to call Mom and Betty to let them know I made it here safely."
"You can call them when we get back to the house."
When Patrick returns, he gives the completed forms a once-over and then starts typing the information into the computer.
"Okay," he says. Your checking and savings accounts are all set. Did you say you have some checks to deposit today?"
"Yes," I say, handing him the checks.
When he looks at the amounts on the checks, I see surprise register on his face, but he never lets his professional demeanor slip.
"Where would you like these deposited?"
"Please put the cashier's check into my checking and the other one into my savings account."
"Perfect," he says, filling out two deposit slips. "You should receive your checkbook and deposit slips in seven to ten days. Do you need to make a withdrawal from either account before you go?"
"No, thank you."
He hands me the deposit slips for my signature before asking, "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, thank you," I say, handing the deposit slips back to him before shaking his hand.
"Just one question," says Jon as we stand to leave. "How did you know this was Sharon when we walked in if you weren't expecting her until tomorrow?"
"Oh, that's easy," Patrick says, widening his perfectly white smile. "Mrs. Betancourt said I should look for the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen. I must say, she was right."
"Thank you," I say, smiling.
When the door to the bank closes behind us, Jon looks over at me.
"What?" I ask.
"That guy was flirting with you," he says.
"He was not," I say. "He was doing his job. Maybe he was a little nicer as a favor to Loren, but he was courteous and professional."
"I know flirting when I see it," he says.
"Oh, really? Is that from mere observation or practiced experience?"
"He was drinking you in with every glance," he says, his tone sounding slightly agitated.
"Drinking me in?" I ask, perplexed. "I don't even know what that means."
"It means that if you were a tall glass of water, you would have quenched his thirst."
"Jon Linder!" I exclaim. "I don't know whether to be flattered or completely insulted by that comment."
"I'm just saying. He was attracted to you, and it didn't go unnoticed."
"Well," I say, "I didn't notice. Plus, I'm not interested, so it doesn't matter."
When we're both in the car, Jon looks at me again. This time, I notice he's the one "drinking me in."
"Have you dated anyone since Jimmy?" His question takes me by surprise.
"No," I say. "The thought has never crossed my mind."
"If this Patrick guy asked you out, would you say yes?"
"Patrick is not my type."
"What is your type?" he asks, his gray eyes trying to read mine.
"I was ten when I met Jimmy. He was my only type."
"Then how do you know Patrick, Pat, Patty back there isn't your type?"
"I just know," I say. "Please stop being rude to the poor guy, and can we change the subject?"
***
As soon as we walk in the door, the aroma of fresh-baked bread and homemade spaghetti sauce welcomes us. It smells like home, but I quickly remind myself that this is not my home. I shouldn't get too comfortable.
As soon as we walk into the kitchen, I ask, "Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Linder?"
"It's Elizabeth," she corrects me. "You can make a quick salad to go with the lasagna."
"Where's Noah?" asks Jon.
"He's upstairs with your father. He took a short nap and has been running non-stop since he woke up."
"I'll set the table," says Jon.
"Mrs. Linder, can I borrow the phone to call my mom and best friend before dinner? It shouldn't take long."
"Yes, of course," she says. "You can use the phone in the office. Dinner will be ready in about forty minutes."
"Thanks for taking me to the bank," I say, smiling at Jon.
"You're welcome," he says, smiling back.
I walk down the hall, trying to remember which room is the office. I assume it must be the one with the double doors, and I'm right.
The room is spacious and smells of expensive leather. On one side, there's a massive U-shaped mahogany desk with a matching credenza and hutch on the opposite wall. There's also a seating area with a leather sofa, two matching chairs, and a coffee table. I pick up the phone on the desk and dial my mother first.
"Hello," Mom's familiar voice sounds sweet and kind at first, but the tone changes as soon as I identify myself.
"Hi, Mom, this is Sharon."
"Well, if it isn't the prodigal child."
"I called to give you my address and phone number."
"I didn't think we'd be hearing from you again now that you have a new life and a quarter of a million dollars to your name."
"Is that Sharon?" Rick's voice in the background gives me hope that this won't be a wasted phone call. "Let me talk to her."
"Here you go," says Mom.
"Sharon? How was your trip?"
"It was good," I say. "Can you take down my address and phone number before I forget?"
After he writes down my contact information, he asks me various questions about my trip.
"How long do you think you'll be gone? The house feels empty without you."
"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know how long I'll be working for the Linders, but—?"
"Linder?" he asks. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Well," I say, "I've been working for them since December. Maybe I mentioned them before."
"Maybe," he says. "Garrison, New York. Is it close to the city?"
"About an hour away," I say. "But it's nothing like the city. It's a small town, quiet and safe."
"That's music to my ears, Sharon. I don't like the idea of you living so far away. With strangers. If something happens, I can't just jump in the car to go find you."
"The family I work for is very nice, kind, educated, and generous."
"Is that right? And what exactly do they expect in return?"
"I watch their son. It's a job, Rick. I promise, there's nothing to worry about."
"Okay. I'll trust your judgment, but please stay in touch."
"Okay, I will."
"I mean it," he says. "Promise me you'll check in at least once a week."
"I promise."
After we talk for a few more minutes, I hang up and dial Betty's number.
We spend a few minutes discussing her summer plans with Anthony, and she asks me to call Jimmy's parents.
"They called this morning," she says. "They wanted to know if I'd heard from you."
"They are such good people," I say. "They really care about me."
"A lot of us care about you."
"I met Jon," I say, not wanting to forget to mention him.
"The guy who recommended you for the job?"
"Yes. He's super nice. He's been renting a guesthouse from the neighbor, Lorenza. Loren for short. She's an elderly woman, and he won't move back home because he doesn't want to leave her alone. Isn't that sweet?"
"Yeah," she says, "most guys would rather bum a room from their parents and not pay any rent. Hmm, that sounds like my brother."
"Poor Bobby," I say, laughing. "Cut him some slack, will you."
"The slacker loser is almost twenty years old and doesn't want to get a job!"
"Jon is a middle school teacher."
"How's your little ward doing?"
"Noah? He's in high heaven. His family's back together. His room is decorated with all things dinosaurs. He's a happy little boy. Jon is really good with him. We visited our neighbor, Loren, this afternoon, and Jon played with Noah the entire time so I could get to know Loren better. It's like he's a kid at heart, you know what I mean?"
"Wow, he sounds like a great guy."
"He is. He also took me to the bank to open an account, and he—."
"Sharon."
"He also has a great sense of humor."
"Sharon!"
"What?"
"It sounds like this guy has made quite an impression on you."
"Betty, he was there when Jimmy died."
"What?!"
"I wanted him to tell me what happened, but I chickened out and told him I don't want to know."
"You never wanted to know. I read the story in the paper, but when I tried talking to you about it, you always said you didn't want to hear it."
"I don't know. The fact that Jon was there made me think I could, but I was wrong. I'm not ready. I don't think I ever will be."
"And that's okay. If knowing all the details will break your heart all over again, you're better off not knowing."
"Part of me thinks I owe it to Jimmy to know exactly what happened. I question whether or not I was able to truly mourn him, with all my heart, if I don't know what he went through?"
"I saw what you went through. Trust me, your whole heart was in it. You were crushed, and it changed you forever. You don't need more heartache."
"I love you, Betty."
"I love you too."
After I hang up the phone with Betty, I call the Bowmans and speak to Jimmy's mom.
She lets me talk for twenty minutes, listening to everything I have to say.
"Make sure you call us at least every couple of weeks," she says. "We want to know how you're doing and that you're safe."
"I will. I promise."
***
"Mom, this lasagna is delicious," says Jon during dinner. "I missed your cooking so much. Now that you're here, I'll have to hit the gym more often."
"Thank you," says Mrs. Linder. "Now that the family is all back together, I have a reason to start cooking and baking again. It just wasn't the same without you. I missed you, Sweetheart."
"I missed you too, Mom."
"He's right, Lizzy," says Mr. Linder, using a nickname I hadn't heard before. "This lasagna is amazing."
"I know it's your favorite," she says. "Oh, before I forget, we just found out that there's a special dinosaur exhibit at the American Museum that ends this month. It won't be back until next summer. Who knows if Noah will still like dinosaurs a year from now? He might lose interest, so we're taking him with us next weekend."
"Would you like me to go with you to watch him?" I ask.
"We were hoping we could all go together," Mr. Linder says, glancing at Jon, who just put a big bite of lasagna in his mouth.
"Mmm?" Jon asks, raising his eyebrows and pointing his fork inward at his chest.
"Yes, you," says Mrs. Linder, "and Shay and Noah. All of us."
"That sounds like fun," Jon says. "Count me in."
I'm the employee, so I don't get a vote, but I think it'll be fun, too.
After dinner, Jon takes Noah upstairs to play while Mrs. Linder and I clean the kitchen.
"You know," Mrs. Linder begins as we stand together, washing and drying the dishes. "We didn't think you were serious about moving to New York with us."
I look over at her, and she quickly reads the look of surprise on my face.
"You didn't want me to come with you?"
"That's not what I mean," she says. "We thought you'd back out at the last minute."
"Why?" I ask.
"You're a young woman with your whole life ahead of you. Most teenagers want to spend the summer with their friends after graduating—parties, the beach, part-time jobs, and making plans for their future. Not moving cross-country with complete strangers. We expected you to quit before the move."
"I always planned to come with you. Quitting never crossed my mind."
"We were actually surprised when you showed up at the airport."
"I thought my willingness to move was the main reason you hired me."
"It was one of the reasons," she says. "But not the main reason. Once Noah met you, we knew we'd made the right choice. Even if it was temporary. He really likes you. You're so patient with him. You never once corrected him when he started calling you Shay. You hug him, you hold his hand, you're very nurturing. You love him like a sister would. And he has learned so much since you started watching him. You're a great nanny and a gifted teacher."
"I honestly didn't think you liked me." Hearing myself say it out loud makes me regret even thinking it.
"I didn't think you liked me," she says, smiling and chuckling a bit.
"I'm sorry," I say. "Maybe I was standoffish at first, and then later, I didn't know how to fix it."
"You were so wonderful with Noah from the start. Your face lit up almost as much as he did when you were together. In the end, we figured you were still mourning the loss of your fiancé and decided to give you your space."
"Thank you, Mrs. Linder," I say, not knowing how else to express my gratitude.
"Can you please call me Elizabeth?"
"Yes, I promise."
***
When I step out the back door, I breathe in the evening air and close my eyes, appreciating the cool breeze caressing my skin.
The backyard and garden are well-lit and inviting. Despite my mind racing, I sit on one of the benches and try to unwind. Knowing that this family has welcomed me with open arms is a humbling realization. There are still good people in this world, and God brought them to me.
God. I've been so mad at Him for what happened to Jimmy. Everyone else in the accident walked away except him. It's hard not to be selfish and wish he had been the one to live, even if it meant someone else had to die. My mind immediately goes to Jon. Was Jon close enough that day to be in danger? Why did Jimmy have to die, Lord? Why?
The footsteps I hear heading toward me quickly snap me out of my pensive mood.
"Hi," says Jon, with his hands deep in his pockets.
"Hi."
"Can I join you?"
I scoot over on the bench to make room for him.
"Did Noah go to bed?" I ask.
"Yes. I almost fell asleep next to him."
"So it's not just me?" I laugh, thinking of the state Jon found me in last night.
"No," he says, "I think it's the mattress. It's like sleeping on a cloud."
"Your parents?"
"They're both upstairs. They always retire early. Mom reads in bed while Dad watches television, and now he's enjoying it even more with the new television and remote control."
"Is Noah excited about the trip to New York?"
"Oh my gosh, yes. It's all he could talk about tonight."
"It was very nice of your parents to include me in their plans."
"Why wouldn't they? I don't know if you realize this, but my parents love you."
"You think so?" I ask, smiling.
"One thing about my parents is that neither one of them has a fake bone in their body. They don't pretend just for the sake of convenience or to get along. They're direct and honest to a fault."
"I like that," I say.
"They're also protective, and so am I."
When he doesn't elaborate, I glance at him, expecting him to finish his train of thought.
"God, it's so hard to look at you," he says.
"What do you mean?"
"I feel like your eyes have supernatural powers so strong that you're able to look deep into my soul."
"And what do you think I see?" I ask, still looking at him.
"An apology," he says, looking away.
"Apology? For what?"
He remains quiet as if searching for the right words. Meanwhile, my eyes continue staring. He's so handsome. The gold center in his gray eyes seems darker tonight.
"That whole ridiculous conversation earlier about Patrick."
"So that's what you meant when you said you're protective."
"Yes, but I have no business arbitrating your dealings with other people. I recognize that I was wrong."
"I appreciate you looking out for me," I say, noticing his smile. "Like a big brother." A big brother?! Ugh, I could kick myself for saying something so stupid.