Shirlee McCoy - Still Waters

She was covered with sweat before she took a step.

Even sweating and stumbling along in high heels, Tiffany didn’t mind the first mile. The second mile took more effort, and by the third, she would have given her life’s savings for a drink of water. “Why did I take this road? Of all the roads I could have chosen, why the one that no one travels?”

But of course Tiffany knew the answer. She’d been running late and had hoped to make up for lost time by avoiding traffic and stop signs. She’d succeeded. There hadn’t been a car or a sign for miles.

By the time Tiffany reached the crossroad two miles from church, a pulsing pain beat behind her eyes and her stomach knotted with a familiar and dreaded nausea. With each step the pain grew sharper and soon Tiffany’s desire for water was replaced by an overwhelming need to find a quiet, dark place to hide. Sinking down onto the thick roadside grass, she rested her head on her knees and prayed the migraine would pass quickly.

Jake’s day had been pleasant until he spotted the abandoned car. He’d gone to church, had lunch at the diner and spent the afternoon exploring the back roads of Franklin County. Though he’d been living in rural Virginia for a year, the novelty of traffic-free travel hadn’t worn off and Jake often took the back roads for the sheer pleasure of not seeing another car.

Today was no different. Prompted by Ben Avery, Jake had decided to attend evening service and had picked a long, winding route to the church. He’d been enjoying the play of greens and browns in the fields that lined Old Farm Road when he saw the car.

Long, lean and old, the Cadillac was as easy to spot as a whale on the beach. Though abandoned cars weren’t unusual, finding one on a little-used road was. Jake pulled over to examine the vehicle. The doors and windows were locked, the trunk closed tight, and the car empty.

Relieved, Jake got back in his truck and called in the tag number. His relief was short-lived.

Tiffany Anderson owned the car.

Jake figured a woman willing to risk her life for a dog, one ready to give a chance to a troubled teenager, might just offer a ride to a hitchhiker. He could picture Tiffany, red-gold hair swirling in a tangle of curls, smiling as she motioned for some not-so-helpless man to get into her car.

Jake examined the vehicle again, looking closely for signs of a struggle. He saw nothing that would lead him to believe Tiffany was in danger, but that did little to allay his concern. Images rose in his mind, images of other women. Women as compassionate and softhearted as Tiffany, who had been repaid evil for their kindness.

God willing, Tiffany hadn’t met the same fate.

Jake forced his mind away from the memories that haunted him. This was rural Virginia, after all, not Washington, D.C. No doubt Tiffany had already made it safely to her destination. Still, there was no harm in making sure.

Jake hopped in his truck and headed in the direction the Cadillac was pointing. He’d driven close to five miles when he spotted a lone figure waving forlornly from the side of the road. Even the dim light of dusk couldn’t hide the vibrant color of Tiffany’s hair. Coasting to a stop, Jake stepped out into the heat and humidity. “I saw your car a few miles back. Need a lift?”

“Yes. I ran out of gas.”

There was no life, no vitality in Tiffany’s voice, and as Jake stepped closer, he realized the soft glow of health he’d admired the day before had been replaced by a sickly grayish hue. Lines of pain played around her eyes and she stumbled a bit as she moved toward him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

Just a headache, but Tiffany’s hands were shaking as she brushed a stray curl from her cheek. Jake’s concern grew, and he grasped her arm, leading her to the truck. “You need to get out of the heat. Get in the truck. I’ll drive you home.”

“I need to go to church. I promised I’d help serve refreshments at the volleyball game.”

“You need to go home. You’re sick.”

“I can’t go home. I promised. And Brian’s waiting for me.”

“Like he waited for you at the diner?” The minute the words were out, Jake wished he could take them back. Tiffany’s already drooping shoulders sagged even more and she shrugged away from his grasp, moving toward the truck with shuffling steps.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Tiffany didn’t respond. Her silence said more than words.

Watching her, Jake noted the deep shadows beneath her eyes and the perspiration beading her forehead. Tension pulled at the corners of her mouth and beat harshly in the hollow of her throat where her pulse pounded furiously. There was nothing Jake could say to ease Tiffany’s pain; instead he gently moved her fumbling hands from the door handle and opened the truck door. “Hop in. I’ll take you to the church. Grace Baptist?” Jake waited for Tiffany’s nod of affirmation. “I was on my way there anyway.”

Tiffany didn’t look at Jake. She couldn’t. For the second time in as many days, he’d come to her rescue and Tiffany’s humiliation at needing his help almost outweighed the pain in her head. Even worse had been his words, they’d been like a knife twisting in an open wound. Not because they’d been spoken harshly, but because they were true.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand, Tiffany tried to slide into the raised cab of the truck. What had been easy while wearing shorts proved more difficult in the long, flowing sundress she wore. As she tried to lift herself into the cab the fabric of her dress caught under pain-clumsy feet and Tiffany pitched forward, banging her head against the door of the truck. Even before the pain could register, strong hands gripped Tiffany’s shoulders and held her steady while she regained her balance. Then, as she reached to untangle her feet from the dress, Tiffany was lifted into the truck.

Flustered, she tucked the skirt of her dress neatly around her legs and tried not to look at Jake. The last time a man attempted to lift her, Tiffany had been eleven years old exploring an abandoned cabin with her first crush. Poor Danny Wilson. He’d been outweighed by twenty pounds, but had still made a valiant effort to boost her into a second-story window. They’d both ended up in a heap on the ground.

Thank goodness Jake had proven stronger than Danny. Tiffany had suffered enough embarrassment in the past two days without adding an attempt to crush the sheriff to the list. Blinking rapidly, she forced back the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, then leaned forward to press a hand against the pulsing pain behind her eyes.

“Ready?” Jake slid into the driver’s seat and Tiffany could feel his concerned gaze.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go home?”

She wasn’t, but she nodded anyway.

“All right. Why don’t you rest your eyes until we get there?”

Tiffany did as Jake suggested, keeping her hand pressed against her eyes and leaning her head against the window. When the truck engine roared to life, she winced at the sound, bracing herself against the jolting movement of the truck on rough pavement.

Light, sound, motion—they were too bright, too loud, too fast.

A gentle hand reached out and brushed aside curls that had fallen against Tiffany’s cheek. “You’re not up to a volleyball game. Why don’t I drive to the church, run in and tell Brian you need him? He can give you a ride home.”

The idea of spending time with Brian didn’t appeal to Tiffany, but she didn’t have the energy to think of an alternative. “That’s fine.”

The truck slowed as Jake turned into the church parking lot. Even through the closed window, Tiffany could hear people milling about, chatting and laughing as they made their way from parked cars. Usually she would have been eager to join the fellowship and fun but now the sounds were like lightning bolts, shooting pain into her skull.