Jane Perrine - The Path To Love

“She loves those boys, has always tried to help with them. She’s kept an eye on them all their lives, even when they were in foster homes after Tessie was caught.” She fixed Brandon with a firm stare. “Francie’s had a tough life but has never let it get her down although sometimes that’s a struggle. You be nice to her,” she warned.

“Thank you, Ms. Sullivan. It’s good to know Miss Calhoun has such a good friend.”

“You can’t say a word about her, can you? It wouldn’t be professional or ethical. You can’t even say you’ll be nice to her because that would show that you have a relationship, like being her parole officer, but that’s okay. I just wanted you to know that, yes, Francie does have good friends.” She moved her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Manny would do anything for her and so would I.

“Well, nice to meet you.” She nodded and stood before reaching her hand out and shaking his again. “The meal’s on the house.”

“It was nice to meet you, also. And thank you, but I can’t accept the meal.” He took out his wallet and put a bill on the table.

“Oh, yeah.” She picked up the money. “That’d be like a bribe, huh? Okay, I’ll get you a receipt.”

“What in the world did you say to him?” he heard Francie ask her boss.

“Don’t you worry about it. Just take his change back to him and the receipt. Give him a big smile and maybe you’ll get a good tip.”

Miss Calhoun rolled her eyes but took the change and receipt, brought them to the table and put them down in front of him.

“Thank you. I hope you enjoyed your lunch.”

“It was very good. I’ll recommend the diner to my friends.”

“Yeah, Manny’s a great cook.”

For a moment, she just stood there, shifting from foot to foot before she said, “I’ll see you next week.” She picked up his dishes and smiled at him.

Her smile began with a slight hesitation before it turned into that high-voltage one she’d given him in his office. This time, he didn’t turn away immediately or drop his eyes. This time, he watched her and basked—just for a moment wouldn’t hurt anything—in the joy her expression brought him. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to soak in the warmth and happiness of her personality.

Then he reminded himself sternly that she was an ex-con and he was her parole officer and getting all sentimental because she had a wonderful smile was a really dumb and incredibly unethical thing to do.

But he grinned back at her before she turned and dumped the dirty dishes in a big plastic tub which very effectively destroyed the tenuous connection between them.

“Well,” Julie said as she and Francie watched Mr. Fairchild leave, “you got yourself a great parole officer. He seems nice and professional.”

“Ah,” came Manny’s voice from the kitchen. “You don’t care if he’s professional. All you care about is that he’s good-looking.”

“If I’d cared about men being good-looking, I never would have been engaged to you.” She picked up a rag and started toward the empty tables.

“Then why were you engaged to me?” Manny put a plate on the dividing counter.

“I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

Julie wiped the tables down with so much energy Francie was sure she’d throw her bad shoulder out, but she knew better than to interrupt a quarrel between her boss and the cook. Once she had. They’d both turned on her.

They were nice people, both of them, although Manny tried to act tough. Really nice people who had given her a job when she needed one. They’d never reminded her about her mistakes, about being an ex-con, just encouraged her and allowed her to work her schedule to get to classes.

They’d broken their engagement only days after she started work. Both had pretended that it didn’t bother them, that they hadn’t been hurt or angry, but there was sure a lot of unresolved emotion hanging around.

That sounded like something she had picked up in psych class, didn’t it?

Usually they didn’t argue. Knowing how uncomfortable some of the customers would be with raised voices and fighting, Julie stayed in the diner and Manny in the kitchen. Both did their own tasks and pretended the other wasn’t around. But every now and then their tempers exploded or a word was said and the other had to retaliate which made Francie feel as if she’d wandered onto a firing range.

Other times they were silent and glared at each other but the emotion was still there. It almost made the air crackle.

The whole thing upset her. It also reminded her that one fruit of the spirit was peace. She’d need to remember that, try to bring peace here, but she’d need a lot of help. Julie and Manny certainly weren’t cooperating. They probably didn’t want a ceasefire, much less a peace agreement.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” Julie continued to clear and wipe tables while Francie completed the last few orders.

“What do I usually do? Go to class, study and sleep. But I’m excited about Sunday. I saw a church the other day when I was walking home from the bus stop.”

“It just appeared, huh? Sort of a miracle?”

“No.” Francie grinned at Julie’s joke. “I’m sure it was always there but I just noticed it. It’s a nice white building, not too big. It has a little steeple with a cross on top. It looks, well, like a church should look. Warm and welcoming. I thought I’d try it.” She turned to look at Julie. “Want to come with me?”

“Hey, don’t try this conversion thing with me. If you’re happy, fine, but I haven’t been to church for years and enjoy sleeping late Sunday morning.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind—”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell you.” Julie snorted.

Brandon glanced up from his paperwork at ten-thirty but didn’t see Miss Calhoun in the reception area. Well, she wasn’t late yet.

A few minutes later, Brandon looked at his watch again. She was four minutes late. Unusual, he thought. Not that he really knew. Nothing about her punctuality or lack of it had been written in her file, but her boss had mentioned it. In addition, he believed she wanted to impress him, to assure him she had changed.

After another minute, Brandon began to wonder again why he was so concerned about this one, about her. His other parolees could come an hour late, and he took advantage of the time by finishing up notes or making calls or seeing another client. Why did he care about Miss Calhoun? She was no different from the others, not a bit. Not one single bit, he repeated to himself.

Then she threw the door open and came into the office area. With one hand she closed the door. With the other she tried to tame her unruly curls. Unsuccessful at that, she dropped into a chair in the waiting area. Her remorse was so obvious he had to struggle not to smile.

He looked back at her file where he’d taken a few notes, questions he needed to ask her but the image of her, all the energy she radiated and those wild curls, stayed with him.

Brandon glanced up again. “Miss Calhoun?” he called.

Francie—Miss Calhoun, he corrected himself—stood and walked toward him. She wore jeans and a trim blue shirt with a button-down collar. A less buttoned-down person he’d never seen.

Did she have an extra spring in her step? Who in the world still used the phrase “spring in her step?” But she did seem to have a little more energy than when he’d seen her last.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I don’t know what happened to the time.”

“That’s fine. You’re only a few minutes late.”

Standing, Brandon reached out his hand and shook hers. “Please sit down,” he said as he did the same. For a moment, he shuffled the papers before he asked, “How has your week been?”