Reba nodded. Terrific. The pressure to put on a memorable pageant had just increased a hundredfold.
“I hope everything works out for you, sweetheart.” Joan paused at the door. “And I’m not just talking about the Christmas program.”
Reba desperately needed someone to play the piano. Someone who knew the routine. Someone who’d attended the practices and knew the nuances of timing as well as she did.
Seth.
The instant his name flashed into her mind, Reba knew it was divine inspiration. He’d been to almost every practice. He’d sat in the back of the church activity room and had even helped out backstage a time or two.
More important, he played the piano. He hadn’t in some time, she remembered, but he’d been good. He’d said so himself.
Heart pounding, Reba flipped the pages of her personal directory until she found the work phone number he’d given her. She punched it out so fast and hard, she bent a nail.
“Seth Webster.”
“Seth,” she breathed, relieved he’d answered the phone himself. “I need you.”
“Now? I mean, I’m perfectly willing to give you my body, but—”
“Not sexually.”
“Oh.” He pretended to be terribly disappointed.
“Mrs. Foster, you remember Mrs. Foster, don’t you? She fell and broke her arm, and now I need a piano player. Not just anyone, either, but someone who knows the program. Someone who’s been there practice after practice. You.” She spoke so fast that the words all but ran together. The silence that followed left her feeling as though she were standing on a precipice, ready to tumble over a cliff.
“Surely there’s someone else more qualified,” he said finally, breaking the tension.
“No, there’s only you.” Her hand squeezed the telephone receiver tightly. “You told me you play, remember? I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important. There’s no one else who knows the program. No one.”
She felt his hesitation once again. “I’m sorry, Reba. I hate to let you down, but I told you before, I gave up playing the piano after Pamela died.”
“Are you saying you won’t help me?”
The delay before his response said it all. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Chapter 27
You’ll notice that a turtle only makes progress when it sticks out its neck.
—Mrs. Miracle
Seth hated to turn Reba down, especially now. He knew he was already in her bad graces following the meeting with her sister. It hadn’t taken a crystal ball to read the pain in Vicki’s eyes or the anguish in Reba’s. She had to force herself to hold on to her grudge, had to work at feeding her anger toward her sister. Seth had sensed that all it’d take would be a few words of encouragement for her to give in to what she actually wanted.
While his intentions were good, he’d realized the minute he’d opened his mouth that he’d traipsed onto treacherous ground. Reba had closed up tighter than a bank vault. Almost immediately she’d withdrawn into another world, one that excluded him.
He debated whether to stop off at her office on the way home and decided against it. To do so would be to invite discussion, and as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.
He’d told Reba early on in their relationship the reason he’d given up music. He hadn’t touched a piano since the day Pamela had died, and he wouldn’t. At the time she’d been so understanding, sensitive to his grief. She hadn’t lectured or offered him any bits of well-meaning wisdom, but had silently accepted his decision. She’d suffered a loss of her own and could empathize—until she had a reason to show him the error of his ways.
She’d gotten to him, Seth realized, frowning. He found himself wanting to help her and angry that she’d put him in an impossible situation. A vow was a vow. The music had gone out of his life, and he wasn’t going to let Reba talk him into doing something he knew he’d later regret. All for a silly Christmas program.
His heart was heavy as he drove home. He didn’t want matters to be like this between them. They were struggling, and this complicated everything.
His mind wasn’t on the road, and when he pulled into the driveway, the thirty-minute drive had completely escaped him. He could remember none of it. Early on after Pamela’s death, it’d been like this. He’d find himself at the cemetery and not remember how he got there. It shocked him that this kind of thing would repeat itself at this late date.