Page 68 of Steadfast
“Exams all done?” Denny asked, grabbing the pan of chicken and sliding it into the oven.
“Yeah. Turned in the take-home on Monday.” I snuck another glimpse of the prep station. Still empty.
“How’s your pediatric case coming?” he asked, breaking open another package of chicken.
I put an empty pan in front of him. “Well, the child is getting her cochlear implant soon, but they haven’t figured out the financial piece yet. I’m helping them apply to three foundations for assistance,” I said, reaching for the spices. “I think we have a good shot of finding a donation to cover the deductible for the little girl’s treatment. I want her to have it before she turns two.”
“Cool,” Denny said.
“Mmm,” I replied, distracted again. I couldn’t help replaying my conversation with Jude. I’d basically called him a liar. Could he really be angry enough to blow off the dinner?
“Everything okay?” Denny asked.
“Sure, why?”
“Because you’ve been staring at that oven door for a long time.”
I turned around on a sigh. “Sorry. What’s next?”
“Are we mashing the potatoes? Or are they going to be just boiled, and tossed with butter?”
“Um, boiled I guess. The mixer has been on the fritz, I think.”
“We could smash ’em,” Denny suggested.
“Okay?” My eyes made another involuntary trip over to the prep table. It was still empty.
“Is something the matter with Jude?” Denny asked quietly.
The question made me grumpy. “If I said there was, would you give me another lecture?”
“Oh.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said—“
I held up a hand. “Let’s just forget it. We have potatoes to smash.”
Stepping around Denny, I went back to my work area, cleaning all the chicken wrappers off of it. Worrying about Jude made me feel disloyal, because I kept wondering if he’d gotten into trouble. My mind spun a scenario wherein he had a really stressful week…and then did something stupid to ease himself.
The truth was that I’d never be able to look at Jude with the same naive eyes as my teenage self. Even if he and I were able to be a normal couple, I might always worry about him turning to drugs. If he were late to come home, or missing for a couple of hours, I’d wonder why. It would be a lot like dating someone with a history of unfaithfulness.
And now I hated myself for thinking these disloyal thoughts. Even worse? We’d argued. If Jude fell off the wagon right this second, I’d feel responsible.
“We’re down a man?” Father Peters asked, surveying the kitchen with his fists on his hips.
“Seems so,” Denny said.
“Funny how we come to depend on every volunteer,” the priest said, frowning. “What should I do? Doors open in forty-five minutes.”
“Peel some potatoes?” Denny suggested. “I’ll help.”
“Let’s go.”
I looked over the serving station, which was already set up. And then the oven timer buzzed, so I donned an oven mitt to check the first batch of chicken legs. That first night when Jude had appeared, we were serving this same meal. I’d been comically distracted by his presence. And now I was distracted by his absence. I had the sinking feeling that it would always be this way between us. Tortured.
Damn you, Jude.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jude
