Missing Your Smile Page 9

  “It wasn’t my fault!” she said out loud. She turned to look behind her. What if Laura heard me? She’d think I’m crazy for sure.

  The front door opened and an older woman walked in.

  “Can I help you?” Susan asked and added, “It’s a really fine morning, isn’t it?”

  “As fine a morning as can be expected,” the lady said. “You certainly sound cheerful this morning.”

  “Well, I try to be. Can I get something for you?”

  “I’ll take a strawberry turnover and a small coffee.”

  Susan placed the turnover on a plate and moved to the cash register. “That will be two ninety-nine,” she said.

  The lady handed Susan a five-dollar bill, collecting the change with a trembling hand. Susan came around the side of the counter and picked out a plastic cup. “I’ll help you with the coffee. Is that okay?”

  “Well, you are sweet, darling. Of course it’s okay.”

  “Which kind do you want? We have several selections.”

  “Oh, my goodness! Just the regular, old-fashioned kind. I never can get used to these newfangled flavors.”

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “A little cream, dear, but no sugar.”

  Susan prepared the coffee for the woman and set it on the table where the woman had seated herself.

  “You have a good day now,” Susan said. “And I hope you like the turnover.”

  “I’m sure I will.” The lady smiled. “I think I’ll come back here more often.”

  “I hope you do!” Susan said, hearing the door open behind her. As she turned to head back to the counter, she heard a familiar voice.

  “Good morning, Miss Hostetler.” It was Mr. Moran.

  Susan continued her way behind the counter where she felt more comfortable.

  “Good morning.” Susan tried to sound natural. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was expecting the usual,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “It’s been a while,” Susan said. “I think I’ve forgotten.”

  “True,” he said. “I like the apple fritters. I’ll take one of those and a large coffee. Is Laura in this morning?”

  “She’s in the office. I can call her, if you wish.”

  Susan noticed then that Mr. Moran had a stern look on his face—as if something was wrong. What can it be? she wondered.

  “No, don’t bother her,” he said. “I’m just concerned. There’s been another missing woman from around here. Have you seen the paper this morning?”

  “No! I haven’t opened the paper. Surely not here in Asbury Park again?” she gasped. “That’s awful. Who could be doing this horrible thing?”

  “I’m sure the police wish they knew, not to mention the young woman’s parents.”

  Susan forced herself to reach for his apple fritter, her hand shaking. She knew she must trust Da Hah, but this was not gut news at all.

  “Was it close by?” she asked, nearly dropping the fritter.

  “At Monmouth Mall. That’s where the woman was seen last. I’m sorry to bring you the news, but I’m quite concerned.”

  “We must pray for the family,” Susan said, handing him his order.

  “Yes, that would be a good idea. And for yourself. You are careful, I hope?”

  “Yah. Laura reminds me often.”

  “It’s bad when things like this start to happen. Often they aren’t over with for quite some time.”

  He handed her a ten. Taking his change, he still looked distracted. Suddenly he asked, “Are you busy over the lunch hour?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan said. “We usually are.”

  “I could come by and take you over to the diner to eat. I don’t have much time, but it would give you a break from here.”

  “You…take me out to eat? I…I…I’ve never done that before.”

  “What? You don’t always eat at home on the farm, do you?” he asked with a laugh.

  “That’s not what I meant…I meant…”

  He laughed again. “Yes, I know what you meant. I’m sorry, I was just teasing you. How about if I stop by a few minutes after one? If you can get away, we’ll walk over to the diner. I can have you back in no time. Surely Laura can handle things for a little while.”

  He is asking me out to eat? What does that mean in the Englisha world? Is it something friendly? Obviously…but how friendly? Friendly as in a smile at a hymn singing, or friendly as in taking a girl home in a buggy, or friendly as in a goodnight kiss? Certainly not that! she decided. “I don’t know,” Susan replied. “We’re usually busy over the lunch hour. I’d better stay here. But thank you.” Her neck felt warm…burning, the sensation spreading fast. This was awful, absolutely awful.

  “Maybe some other time then.” He started to turn but hesitated. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’m working outside the office at a client’s place until eleven. But between then and say quarter to twelve you could call me at the office. Laura has the number. Oh, and do pray for the family of the missing women. I will too.” With that, he turned and was gone.

  “That was a nice man,” the older lady said, getting up from the table. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “No!” Susan said quickly. An Englisha boyfriend? Why, the world would stop turning if an Amish girl ever had an Englisha boyfriend. But hadn’t she come here to look for love? Yah, but not this. Then what am I looking for? Thoughts raced through her head. It was so confusing and mixed up. If only Thomas hadn’t gone and messed everything up!

  “You have a good day,” the lady was saying. “And I will also pray about that kidnapper that’s loose on our streets. Heaven knows he won’t bother old ladies like me, but I can still pray.”

  “Thank you,” Susan whispered as the lady left. It was gut that people were praying. That at least felt a little bit like home.

  “Not busy yet?” Laura asked, coming out of the back and surveying the empty shop. “Did I hear Duane’s voice?”

  Susan kept her eyes on the window. “He was here. He told me there’s another woman missing. This time from the Monmouth Mall, where we were the other night.”

  Laura opened the newspaper and read the story while Susan silently struggled with her thoughts. Why did she feel like she was missing something regarding the lunch invitation? How could so many conflicting emotions be racing around inside her at the same time?

  “God help us all,” Laura said, as she read. “I sure hope the police find this man soon.”

  Susan cleared her throat. “What an awful experience for the woman and her family to go through.”

  “Yes, it is,” Laura said. “I wonder if it’s safe for you to stay alone at the apartment anymore. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you while you’re here. How would I explain it to Bonnie, let alone your parents?”

  “I’m fine,” Susan said. “I can’t afford any other place. I come from the country. I’m strong and resourceful.”

  “You could stay at our place until this blows over. We have a spare bedroom upstairs.”

  “But I’m not family. And I couldn’t. Really, I couldn’t.”

  “Don’t look so distressed,” Laura said. “You’re almost family.”

  “Oh, that’s a sweet thing for you to say,” Susan said as tears formed in her eyes. The door opened behind her, and she covered her face. She couldn’t be caught crying in front of customers.

  Laura squeezed her hand under the counter.

  “He asked me to lunch,” Susan whispered, keeping her eyes focused on the kitchen.

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Moran.”

  “Duane?”

  “Yah. I told him I couldn’t. That I had to help in the shop because I really do, and I don’t mind.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Laura whispered back.

  Susan dried her eyes and turned to greet the young man who had walked up. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

  Behind him the door had opened again, and two others came in. Clea
rly the morning rush was starting.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Two customers remained in the bakery, a woman and a man separated by two tables and lost in their own worlds. Outside the street traffic had slowed down, and the bell over the door had been silent for ten minutes.

  “So let’s have this out about Duane,” Laura said, pinning Susan in her place behind the counter with a sharp look.

  “I don’t want to go,” Susan said, her face resolute.

  “What exactly did Duane ask? Perhaps we should start there.”

  Susan was silent for a moment, thinking back over those few moments. “Well, he said that if I could leave over the lunch hour, he’d take me to the diner across the street. And that it wouldn’t take very long.”

  “And you said what?”

  “That we’re usually busy over the lunch hour, and that I couldn’t go.”

  “Is that all?”

  Susan shrugged before continuing, “He said if I changed my mind I should call him between eleven and twelve. That you know his phone number.”

  “Yes, I do. And I think you should call him and go,” Laura said. “That is, unless you really don’t want to. I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do.”

  Susan’s eyes grew wide. “What does it mean in the Englisha world when a man asks you out to the diner over the lunch hour?” she asked. “How serious is that?”

  “You poor thing.” Laura patted Susan on the hand. “I guess you wouldn’t know. It’s not serious at all. Just indicates an interest—a start perhaps, but nothing really. You don’t have to worry. And Duane is an outstanding young man. He doesn’t come to our church, but he does go. I can’t remember where. I’m sure that’s important to you.”

  “It is,” Susan said. “I suppose he has the bishop’s approval on his life.”

  Laura looked startled for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You do have a sense of humor. It’s kind of sudden at times, but it’s there nonetheless.”

  Susan looked puzzled but continued the conversation. “I just don’t know. Mr. Moran is kind of nice, but it’s so sudden.”

  “That’s understandable, dear. But don’t expect Duane to give up easily—not if I know him.”

  Susan took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’ll go then.” Is this a mistake? she wondered. She did want to go, but she also didn’t want to go. What a mess to be in. And it was so strange. That was the problem, no doubt. The strangeness of everything. Surely life would get easier, when things weren’t so odd. And she simply couldn’t stay cooped up in the apartment for the rest of her life. Thomas was in the past, and life must move on. This must be part of moving on.

  Laura had a big smile on her face. “I think that’s the right choice, dear. You just take it slow and easy. I know Duane won’t push things. If he does, you come tell me, and I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “You sound so serious,” Susan said. “Like a lot of things are going to happen between us.”

  “I guess I do.” Laura shook her head. “And that’s really wrong of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

  “It’s okay,” Susan said. She glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Mr. Moran said to call between eleven and twelve. Will you do that for me? See if he still wants to…to take me out?”

  “I could, but why don’t you call him, dear? It would give you practice with our world. If the man invites you to lunch and told you to call him at his office, then you have the right to. Remember now, you don’t have to feel intimidated at all.”

  “Me call him? He’s a tax person. And the building he works in—it’s all glittery and glitzy.”

  Laura laughed. “He’s also a man, Susan. Just remember that. A man—and a good one. Don’t be afraid of our Englisha ways.”

  The door opened, and Susan glanced again at the clock. Could she really do this? Call Mr. Moran? The thought was freezing her throat like homemade ice cream did when swallowed too quickly. Even the sweetness of the thought didn’t take away the fear.

  Susan busied herself with the customer, but kept an eye on the clock, noting the time advancing. With each tick her stomach twisted into a larger and larger knot. There was still time to back out. She didn’t have to make the call. But she wanted to. That was the problem. Hopefully another customer would come through the door soon and keep her attention off the clock. But really, she was making way too big a deal out of this. It was nothing, really. It was like a smile between a girl and boy back at the Amish Sunday night hymn singing. They could be friends or just like each other’s company.

  The door opened and she waited on the young couple who entered, watching them as they chose a table. They laughed softly over the murmur of each other’s words. Perhaps he had asked her out today, to meet him at Laura’s bakery for a few quick moments. If he had, it seemed to be working fine. Susan glanced at the clock again. It was past eleven. She took a deep breath and walked back to Laura’s office.

  “Will you give me Mr. Moran’s phone number?” Susan asked, trying to keep her breathing even. Why is this so hard? I’ve used the phone in the phone shack at home many times. But this is like…well, this is totally something else. I’ve never called a tax person who wanted to take me out to eat.

  “Right here,” Laura said, showing her the number. “Take your time. I’ll take care of the shop.”

  Susan waited until Laura left and closed the door before she dialed. She listened to the ringing of the phone in her ear.

  “H&R Block, Mandy speaking,” a woman’s voice said. “How may I help you?”

  “Ah…” Susan cleared her throat. “I need to speak with Mr. Moran.” Apparently he didn’t answer his own phone. But of course he wouldn’t. He was a tax person. There were secretaries who worked for tax people.

  “Just a moment,” Mandy said. The phone clicked.

  Susan clutched the receiver and waited.

  Suddenly he was there. “This is Duane Moran.”

  “Ah, Mr. Moran,” she managed.

  He laughed. “Hello, Susan. Duane is fine. Have you changed your mind about lunch, I hope?”

  “If you still want to take me. Laura said she would take care of the shop.”

  “Always a darling, Laura is,” he said. “How about twelve sharp? Will that work for you?”

  “Yes, certainly. At the diner? Shall I meet you there?”

  “I’ll save a booth by the window, okay? And, Susan…”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you can come.”

  “Yes. Well, thanks. I’ll see you then.”

  “Goodbye,” he said.

  “Goodbye.” She pressed the receiver against her chest, feeling the redness move all the way up to her cheeks. She had made the call! Who would have thought such a thing possible just a few months ago? She, Susan Hostetler, had just called a gut-looking Englisha tax person to accept a lunch invitation. That was enough to make even the cows standing in the fields at home blink in astonishment!

  Susan cracked open the door and glanced out. The line was lengthy in front of the counter. There was nothing like work to soothe jittery nerves! Stepping up beside Laura, she waited on customers.

  “What time?” Laura whispered as she got an order together.

  “Twelve sharp,” Susan answered as she continued working, the line becoming even longer.

  “I shouldn’t be going,” Susan whispered. “We’re getting really busy.”

  Is there still time to call Duane and explain? raced through her mind.

  Laura didn’t answer but kept working, moving deftly between the pastries and the cash register. Finally at five minutes before twelve, Laura said, “You better go now.”

  “But the line?” Susan said, almost moaning.

  “Go!” Laura’s voice was firm. “I’ve been busy before. This is not new to me.”

  Susan wiped her hands and took off her apron as customers glanced at her. She walked past them, ignoring their looks.

  Yah, she thought abo
ut saying out loud. I’m going to see an Englisha man for lunch. Just stare at me. As if I don’t feel bad enough already—and guilty.

  Outside, the noise of the noonday traffic swept over her. As she made her way down one block to cross at the light, she broke out in a nervous smile as she once again thought that here she was, Susan Hostetler, going to have lunch with an Englisha man.

  A few people were standing at the light. She got in line, looking with them across the street to the traffic signal. Finally the little white man in the black box signaled Walk. The waiting pedestrians surged forward, Susan moving too. In the rush and the crowd, Susan suddenly lurched as something caught at her foot, wrenching her shoe and sending her in a forward fall. Her hands went out to break the spill, the impact solid on the palms of her hands, the pain stinging all the way up to her shoulders. A groan escaped in protest against the pain before she stifled the cry, clamping her lips together. A woman stopped and asked if she was okay. She quickly nodded, embarrassed by the fall. She stood up and, with an upward glance, saw the little man in the traffic box turning red and holding out his hand. The signal had changed, and soon automobiles would come crashing her way.

  But her left shoe! It had come off and now lay five feet away, tipped over, the low heel broken off. The waiting cars, their fierce-looking grills staring at her, were ready to claim their rightful place in the intersection. She’d have to leave the shoe and move to the curb. It was ruined anyway. As she reached the curb, she turned to see the cars were already moving through the crosswalk. A large blue van ran directly over her abandoned shoe, squashing it into a flat piece of black in the middle of the street.

  Susan took a step forward on the sidewalk, feeling the up and down motion of her hips. At least she could walk, and she didn’t have far to go. Great! What would Mr. Moran think when she came limping into the diner, one foot wearing only a sock. A true country hick, no doubt. One who couldn’t even walk from the bakery to the diner without losing her shoe. “He’ll have to think what he wants. He’s the one who asked me to come,” she said aloud. She continued to walk, trying to minimize the up-and-down motion. Thankfully, nobody around her seemed to care.