AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tom drove, content listening to his dad and Wiz argue about the merits of solar and wind power. Her mere presence made him happy. Which was different from every other relationship he’d ever had. He wanted more—a full relationship. But his needs and desires simply weren’t important next to her comfort and happiness. A year ago, he’d have never believed he’d be living in an old-fashioned romantic movie relationship, all glances and mild flirting. But he was happy, if hoping for more someday.
He pulled into the back lot of the church, parking so they could leave easily. Knowing it would be a little crowded, they’d come early, so they could get seats in the very back, where Wiz would feel safer. They got out of the car, Wiz not waiting for him to open the door, and sauntered to the front of the church. Wiz walked between the two of them but about a half step behind, her head turning from side to side, inspecting the beautiful but aging Queen Anne-Cape Cod style church, the pastoral center next door, and the others joining them. Tom opened the front door for her and she entered, immediately turning left to the old choir loft door. She must have checked the church out online. No one was supposed to use the loft—it was a fire trap—but he doubted anyone would confront them. Even though there wasn’t a second exit from the loft, in an emergency, they were all in good enough shape to escape using the columns holding it up or going through a window to the outside.
Tom smiled and gestured for Dad to go ahead. Wiz would feel better with his dad at her back. But she stopped and motioned Tom to go first, then stepped in behind him, leaving Dad to follow.
They climbed the narrow circular stair and walked to the back row of the four small pews in the choir loft, where the three of them took up the entire pew on the left side. There was a matching set of short pews on the other side of a narrow isle. Wiz inspected the ornate gold and white interior, decorated in red, green, and more gold. Tom did too, but probably not for the same reasons.
“The decorations are beautiful,” Dad murmured. “They always do such a great job. Of course, it’s gilding the lily. They really knew how to build back in the 1880s.”
“Yes, they did. And I’m sure the music will be spectacular as usual.” Tom smiled.
“Really?” Wiz asked.
“Oh, yes.” Dad nodded. “We have a lot of talent in this little town. The choir is very good, and they’ve been practicing for months.”
The musicians crowded onto benches at the front. Craig—Ryan’s former coworker—popped around the corner. Wiz jumped, then relaxed. Craig walked toward them.
“Merry Christmas, Craig.” Dad offered his hand. “Your wife’s singing in the choir?”
Craig nodded. “She sure is. Merry Christmas, all. I see you’ve taken my favorite place.” He winked.
“Merry Christmas. You watch my six, I’ll watch yours,” Wiz said.
“Deal. I’ll sit for now, but I’ll probably end up standing. It’s always crowded.” He sat.
The pews below filled, and the choir started singing. As usual, it was very good.
During a short break between songs, Craig leaned over and whispered to Wiz, who shook her head then giggled. Tom shared a startled glance with his dad, then they both grinned. That little giggle was a huge Christmas present.
People trickled in, and they pulled off coats, warm air rising from the crowd. Wiz wore a surprisingly snug fuzzy sweater in swirls and shades of gray with black slacks. Tom forced his gaze from her, but he wouldn’t be forgetting her beautifully athletic form any time soon. She always wore baggy clothes covering every inch of skin.
The opening song announcement startled Tom, but he stood with the rest. He didn’t have a great voice, but he could stay on key, so he sang along with Dad. Wiz joined in on the second verse. She was on pitch, with a high, slightly breathy soprano. Surprising, since her speaking voice was fairly low. He exchanged smiling glances with Dad.
He let the familiar cadences of the Catholic Mass wash over him. Luckily, no one else had joined them in the loft, so Wiz and Craig seemed comfortable. During the final song, Tom was surprised again at Wiz’s pretty voice. He was almost shocked when she leaned against his arm; the first physical contact they’d had since she’d wrapped his ankle. He was sure the whole congregation could hear the smile in his voice as he sang Joy to the World because his heart sang too, his whole body warmed by the small touch.
They waited until almost everyone left, then trod down the stairs, offering greetings to the few parishioners they saw. Tom and Dad bracketed Wiz as they returned to his car. He opened the doors, and Wiz went for the back seat. She’d made real progress, but not enough that Dad could sit behind her. Well, baby steps.
As they cruised through the silent streets of Marcus, Dad turned toward her. “What did you think?”
“It is a very pretty church, and the choir is very good. Craig was right, though. You’ve got an awful lot of aerobics for church.”
Tom and his dad both laughed at the old joke. “It’s true, there’s a lot of up and down. But it’s all got roots, so it’s not going away anytime soon. Besides, that way your rear doesn’t go numb on those hard wood seats.”
“That’s a good point. But it didn’t last as long as some religious services I’ve been to.”
“Are you a member of any particular religion?” Tom glanced in the rear-view mirror.
“No. I’ve been to several different Protestant services, and I used to go semi-regularly when I was deployed because I figured praying was a better use of my down time than most other things.”
“Good point. There’s few atheists in foxholes.” Dad grimaced.
Tom drove in silence, enjoying the bright stars above and watching for wildlife crossing the dark highways. But he was curious. “You’ve got an awfully pretty voice, but I thought you’d be an alto because your speaking voice is low.”
She didn’t answer, and Tom thought he’d made a major blunder. He glanced in the mirror several times, but she was looking out the window. After he’d given up on a response, she said, “That’s nice of you to say, but I’ve been told I sound like a badly-played piccolo. And my speaking voice is low because I learned to speak this way. Men take me more seriously.”
Tom’s scowl matched Dad’s. “Whoever told you that is wrong. You have a beautiful voice. I was going to suggest you join the choir if you can stand being up front. They can always use more voices, especially high ones.” Dad grinned. “A lot of the people around here are older, and sometimes those high voices get a little shrill later in life.”
Tom couldn’t hold back. “I’m guessing it was that idiot you were married to. What a bunch of rubbish.” Tearing anyone down was bad, but doing that to your partner was cruel.
