Just Between You and Me: A Novel of Losing Fear and Finding God
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Just Between You and Me: A Novel of Losing Fear and Finding God
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Overview
“There are few things I love more than curling up with a Jenny B. Jones cast of characters. Save the Date was no exception.” —Kristin Billerbeck, author of The Theory of Happily Ever After
The only thing scarier than living on the edge is stepping off it.
Maggie Montgomery lives a life of adventure. Her job as a cinematographer takes her from one exotic locale to the next. When Maggie's not working, she loves to rappel off cliffs or go skydiving. Nothing frightens her.
Nothing, that is, except Ivy, Texas, where a family emergency pulls her back home to a town full of bad memories, painful secrets, and people Maggie left far behind . . . for a reason.
Forced to stay longer than she intended, Maggie finds her family a complete mess, including the niece her sister has abandoned. Ten-year-old Riley is struggling in school and out of control at home. The only person who can really handle the pint-sized troublemaker is Conner, the local vet and Ivy's most eligible bachelor. But Conner and Maggie keep butting heads—he’s suspicious of her and, well, she doesn't rely on anyone but herself.
As Maggie humorously fumbles her way from one mishap to another, she realizes she's going to need to ask for help from the one person who scares her the most.
To save one little girl—and herself—can Maggie let go of her fears and just trust God?
“Jenny B. Jones strikes a perfect balance of quirkiness and vulnerability.” —Allison Pittman, author of Stealing Home
“Jones’s sassy style is merely one of this romance novelist’s many endearing talents . . . Some subtle faith messages about trusting God despite painful pasts round out this fast-paced, lighthearted romantic escape.” —Publishers Weekly review of Save the Date
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781418580049 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Nelson, Thomas, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 08/31/2009 |
| Sold by: | HarperCollins Publishing |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| Sales rank: | 856,483 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 13 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Jenny B. Jones is a four-time Carol-Award winningauthor who writes YA and Christian Romances with equal parts wit, sass, and untamed hilarity. Whenshe's not writing, she'sliving it up as ahigh school speech teacher in Arkansas. Visit JennyBJones.com and SouthernBelleView.com. Twitter @JenBJones
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
I sit at my dining room table and swirl linguini noodles around my fork. Unease has me on high alert as John relights a reluctant candle.
"When are you going to fix this place up?" He sets the lighter down and smiles with the confidence of a man who knows he makes a pretty picture. "We should've gone to my apartment."
"But I haven't been home in weeks." I glance about the dining and living room area. Okay, so I meant to buy some prints to hang here and there. But one day you're looking at art, and the next thing you know a few years have gone by, and your walls are just as bare as the wood floor. "It's not like I'm here much anyway," I say around a bite of bread. "But thanks for cooking me dinner." I blot my mouth with my napkin and wonder at the strange gleam in John's eye.
"Maggie, do you know what tonight is?" He grabs my hand, and I watch his large fingers cover mine, making them disappear.
I untie the scarf at my neck, a treasure I carried with me from my last trip to Ecuador, purchased from a street peddler who couldn't have been older than eight or nine. I reach for my goblet of ice water and tip it back.
"Tonight is our five-month anniversary." John keeps talking. Actually, I don't know that boyfriend would be the right label for him. More like frequent date when I'm in town.
John's hand strokes across mine, and my stomach does a little flip. Not the good kind that makes you want to break out in a show tune. More like the sort of quivering that happens when you've swallowed one too many bites of questionable sushi.
I tune back into the romantic scene unfolding before me and plaster on a smile. The candlelight illuminates the dark center of John's eyes. "I want you to know how special you've become to me," he says.
There's a feeling in the air, and I don't like it. A feeling that says, Things are about to get messy and out of control. Messy I can handle. The contents of my purse are a testimonial to that. But this relationship business? Let's just say I'm a better cinematographer than I am a girlfriend.
I clear my throat and interrupt him just as he appears to be on the verge of a sonnet. "John, I, um, was wondering how your day went."
He blinks. "Did you hear a word I said?"
I bat my heavy eyelids. "I'm really tired. We filmed way into the morning, and then I was on a plane for twelve hours."
Oh, there goes that compassionate look. The one that promises to care for me in my every moment of jet lag, sleep deprivation, and PMS. You'd think I'd be grateful to have found that. I know I should be.
"I think we should talk about our relationship, Maggie. What our next step is."
"I have an interview with the National Geographic channel."
His face freezes. "What?"
"Even Carley doesn't know. It's very hush-hush." I nod and study the ice cubes in my glass. "It's in a couple of weeks. They just called today."
"Would this job involve more travel?"
Lately John has been hinting that I try to stick closer to home more. Every time he brings it up, I get these little itchy hives on my neck. "It's the chance of a lifetime. I'd be the producer of one of their TV shows." I see his eyes light up at that. So why don't I feel more excited? I should be oozing with enthusiasm. It's like when I got saved last year, a lot of things changed for me. Including my attitude about my career. And I have no idea what to do with this feeling of ennui I now wake up with every morning. "And it would get me that much closer to the people who could make my documentary a reality."
He leans back and rests his elbows on the chair arms. "You've had five rejections on your documentary proposals. Let it go."
"Maybe." And — just like the value of ESPN and foreign sports cars — here is yet another area in which we will never agree. I've approached a few companies about backing this idea I have for a series of documentaries. Everyone has said no. Even John thinks it's silly.
"People have done plenty of films about underprivileged children." John reaches for my hand again. "You know I think you're gifted at what you do, but budgets are tight out there for projects, and they're not going to fund something that's been done a hundred times."
I don't want him to be right. But he probably is.
His smile is warm, filled with care. "You need to learn the difference between work and a hobby."
I grip the stem of my water glass. "You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Talking to me like I'm a child."
"I just want the best for you."
John works as an attorney for our network. Sometimes I think he finds my career behind the camera a little beneath me. Or him.
"Maggie, tonight is a very special night."
Uh-oh. Here come the dreamy eyes again.
"I care so much about you. And recently I've realized those feelings have grown into something more. I'm crazy about your laugh, your smile, your sense of adventure. I want to tell you that I —"
"Boy, am I tired." I like how John and I are a casual couple — we go out when I'm off the road. We talk; we text; we e-mail. We do pad thai and a movie. We do not do the L-word. "Maybe we should skip dessert and call it a night."
He leans forward, his face too close to mine at this small table. He runs the back of his fingers across my cheek and down my jaw line. "Maggie, I love —"
Ring! Ring!
"Oh, sorry." Yes! "Gotta take this." John's face crumbles into a mask of frustration as I answer my phone without even checking the display. Whoever it is, I owe them a big one. "Hello?"
"Maggie?"
My heart plunges like a runaway elevator. "Dad?"
"I've been calling you for weeks. Didn't you get any of my messages?"
"I've been out of the country." I wince at my own tone, but it's Dad, after all. The man who only contacts me twice a year, and usually it's just to tell me some distant old relative has gone to the great beyond. Heaven forbid he get crazy and call because he wants to see how I am. Or acknowledge a birthday.
"What is it?" John whispers, and I hold up a finger to wait.
"Maggie, I don't know how to ask you this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it. I ... I need you to come home."
I snort into the phone. "Right." Maybe when the planet starts rotating the other direction. "I was just there a few Christmases ago."
"That was five years ago."
"Oh." Seems like only yesterday to me.
"Your sister showed up last month ... and we need help."
"I'm sorry. I can't come see you guys right now. The show is wrapping up for the season, and I have to catch a plane in four days."
"Look, you know I wouldn't ask you if I had anywhere else to turn. Last week I had to go back to the plant to work."
"Why would you go back?" Dad retired five years ago after giving his life to the local tire factory. It got more of him than his family ever did.
"I don't have time to get into that now."
"Where's Allison? Is she in trouble?" My quirks are more socially acceptable, but my younger sister's? Not so much. There's no telling what she's done this time.
"Gone. She's just gone, okay? The point is I ... Can't you just visit for a few days?" His tone snaps like a rubber band.
It occurs to me that this is the longest conversation I've had with my father my entire life. I mean, he's using real sentences and everything. "Dad, if you or Allison need money, I'll gladly send some. I can have it wired tomorrow. But I can't just up and leave. I have to fly out to Taiwan next week to tape, so I can't simply abandon work."
"I don't need your money!" he growls. "I need ... help." Silence crackles on the phone. "I need help, Maggie. Please."
I close my eyes at the plaintive tone. Never have I heard my dad like this. It scares me almost as much as the idea of going back home to Ivy, Texas. Though I don't owe this man anything, I feel the familiar twinges of guilt.
I think of my sister, three years younger than me, and at the age of twenty-seven, she has yet to grow up. When I left home after graduation, I pretty much never looked back. And if I have any regrets, it's that I left Allison to be raised by a heartless grump who was only home long enough to criticize. At least I had Mom until I was sixteen. By the time Allison was thirteen, she only had me and Dad ... and then I left. I took off with a suitcase in one hand and guilt for leaving my little sister in the other.
"It's just not doable, Dad. I have too much going on right now. I'm sorry."
"This is for Allison."
My sister — my Achilles' heel.
"Think what you want about me, Maggie, but she's never needed you more. In fact ... I think you're the only one who can save her this time. Do it for your sister."
I close my eyes against the inevitable. "I'll be on the first flight out tomorrow."
An hour later, with the excuse of fatigue and a need to pack, I escort John to the door.
"How long are you going to be gone?" His face radiates such care, I find myself drawn into his hug.
"Three days. Then I'll fly out to the show location."
"I'll miss you."
I smile at his predictable statement. Of course he will.
He pulls back and cups my face in his hands. "I wanted tonight to be perfect. I needed to tell you that I —"
"John ... I think we should use this time apart to really think about our relationship."
"I think about it all the time."
And here's another one of our problems: I don't. "I believe you and I are at two different places here. Two different speeds."
He takes my hand, kisses it. "You're tired. I'll let you pack."
"No, I'm serious."
"Call me if you need me." He presses his lips to my forehead. "Talk to you soon."
I shut myself in and take comfort in the click of the locks ... and slide to the floor.
Me, scared?
I've counted snakes in the rice fields of Cambodia. Eaten things that crawled down my throat in Botswana. In the Amazon, I dodged mosquitos as large as birds.
But I, Maggie Montgomery, world traveler, have never been anywhere quite as frightening as home.
CHAPTER 2And if you just sign here, here, and here, I'll get you the keys to your rental."
I scribble my name on the Hertz agreement and wait as the woman types in a few more things on her computer. I think she's gotten every detail about me but my bra size.
"Sure you don't want the weekly special? We've got a good deal running."
Lady, you could pay me, and the deal wouldn't be good enough to keep me in Ivy a week. "Three days is all I will need the car, but thanks." I take the Focus key from her chipped-polish fingers.
Turning down an offer of help from a gentleman in the parking lot, I heave my suitcase into the Ford, only banging my knee twice. I decided I'd just catch my connecting flight to Taiwan from Dallas, so I packed for three weeks.
Pulling out onto the Dallas highway, I crank on some country music and let Carrie Underwood sing to me about her cheatin' man. Ivy didn't leave much of a stamp on me, but I've never outgrown my love for good country music.
God, I know we haven't talked much lately. I've been really busy the last few weeks. But obviously you have something up your holy sleeve, or I wouldn't be eastbound and trucking, headed straight for my own version of hell. Why am I doing this? Why is it Dad only has to mention Allison and I'm doing his bidding, no matter how awful it is for me? Maybe this will wipe the slate clean once and for all. I'll swing by, do whatever needs to be done, and leave my old Ivy ghosts forever.
Two long, tedious hours later, I stop the car at the Jiffy Qwik gas station and fill up. The gauge reads half a tank, but I might as well get some. What if there was a wreck between here and the five streets to Dad's, and I had to wait forever and ran out of gas?
On this last day of March, the sun warms my skin as I stand outside my car, and I toss my light jacket in the backseat. The pump clicks, and I head for the door to pay, as the miraculous invention of pay-at-the-pump has yet to make it to Ivy. Nothing about this place could be easy.
A bell tinkles overhead as I step inside, and I immediately inhale the scent of popcorn and convenience store hotdogs. Instinct kicks in, and I go directly to the aisle with candy. It's like I have the gift of sugar prophecy. The Lord just tells me where the goods are. Wrapping my hand around a Snickers and some SweeTarts, I decide to suck up some more time and peruse the wall of drinks. When I'm not in close proximity to my father or clingy boyfriends, I can stay away from the stuff. This is not a time for self-control, though.
Meandering to the front, grabbing things as I go, I throw my purchases on the counter. Two candy items, plus four Little Debbies, five packs of chocolate minidonuts, a box of Oreos, peanut butter crackers, and some strawberry Jolly Ranchers so I can say I got in some fruit servings.
"Someone have a sweet tooth or a life crisis?" The clerk lifts one penciled eyebrow in judgment.
I smile and dig out my debit card. "I got gas at pump three."
The register beeps with each item as "Marge" scans my loot. I feel better just looking at all that comfort food. There are some things in life you can depend on.
"You look familiar."
A blush moves up my neck. "I'm just passing through town." I avert my gaze and stare at the Oreos.
"You Constance Montgomery's daughter?"
And here we go. "Um, yes."
"Crazy Connie." Marge laughs as she whips out a plastic sack. "I haven't thought about her in years, but I couldn't miss that wavy red hair. You look a lot like her."
"Uh-huh. Thanks." My hand shakes as I sign the debit slip. Let's go, Marge. Throw the stuff in the bag and let me leave.
"I remember you. You and some friends went streaking through my tulips one spring."
I close my eyes and swallow back a groan. "That was a long time ago. I'm sure my daddy made me apologize."
"No." Marge smacks her Juicy Fruit. "I didn't get no apology."
"Oh. Well. I'm sorry then." Awkward! "If it's any consolation, I've given up my streaking ways and keep my clothes on these days. I leave the skin flashing to young Hollywood." Not to mention the morning I turned twenty-eight was the day I woke up to a new relationship with Miss Clairol and some dimples on my thighs.
"You were just like her," the woman says, not letting this go. "Always in trouble, always doing something crazy." A reluctant smile grows on Marge's chapped lips. "Your momma was a fun lady, though. She'd come in here and get a bunch of junk just like this." She hands over my bag. "Usually had a song on her lips and a twinkle of mischief in her eye."
I blink back a tear at the unexpected description of my mother. She died when I was in the eleventh grade, and my sister and I lost our champion. Our joy. Like a bad sunburn, the memory of that dark time still remains tender to the touch.
I gather my purse and bag without another glance at Marge. "Have a nice day." As I turn to the door to make my escape, another woman walks through.
"Maggie?" Her eyes round as she squeals. "Maggie, it's me!"
I blink at the short, chubby black woman who's approaching with arms stretched wide.
"Beth?"
Her arms swallow me in a fierce hug. "You look amazing." She eyes my figure, my clothes. "I was a size six once." Beth laughs. "Before I had four babies in nine years. How long are you in town?"
"Just a few days." I stare at the woman who was once my best friend. I practically lived at her house after my mom died. I couldn't stand to be home. Not with my dad. And not with the memories. "I'm here to see Allison, then head back out."
Her mouth forms an O. "Yeah, I heard about your sister."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm sure your daddy will catch you up."
"That would require him turning off the TV and talking. Maybe you could fill me in."
Beth reaches out and pats my shoulder. "Not my business."
This from the girl who used to write people's business on the gym bathroom wall.
"Well, I better get back home. Mark has the kids, and they've probably got him tied up and stuffed in a closet by now." Her expression darkens. "He just lost his job at the tire factory."
"Oh, I'm sorry. But Dad said he just went back to work there." Things are starting to get weird.
"Yeah, there's talk of the plant closing, so some of the managers got jobs elsewhere. They were lucky to get your dad to pinch hit. Last month Reliant Tires laid off one hundred and fifty employees. My Mark got the cut, as did all the third shift." She shrugs. "I actually popped in here to get an application. Time for mama to go to work."
"I'm really sorry." Could I get any more lame? Sometimes when I'm in the real world, I long for the safety of my camera to hide behind. Like now.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Just Between You and Me"
by .
Copyright © 2009 Jenny B. Jones.
Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.