The Blameless Bystander Ch. 03

"It looks like we're going to do it!" Abby announced. James' back stiffened at the words and he gazed at her in shock. "Fix it, I mean," she clarified. She stood motionless, gazing at him. "You're handier than you think!" James remained silent, beads of perspiration collecting at his hairline.

"James, I didn't realize how heavy that washer must have been!" she lavished sympathy on him. "You're perspiring! I'll get you some lemonade. You've earned it." She squeezed past him, rubbing her body against his as she did so. James felt every protruding bone and breast as she passed him. His erection was returning, and along with it his fear of discovery.

"No thank you, Abby. I really have to get going." James said clumsily.

"Nonsense, you just sit in the TV room and I'll bring it right down."

"No Abby," James protested. "I really don't want any lemonade."

"A beer, then! Bubba has some in the refrigerator. I'll have one with you." Abby brightened at the improved idea.

A voice in James' brain was screaming "Get out! Run away while you can." James struggled to heed the advice, but his vocal chords and feet had turned to lead. Another voice vied with the first. "Don't be a jerk. Have a nice beer with the lady."

"Lemonade would be fine," James compromised. He sat on the sofa in the TV room while Abby scampered upstairs for refreshments. She returned quickly with a tray with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies.

"I'm so glad to have the company." she purred as she set the tray on the coffee table. "I get so lonely when Bubba's gone—and it seems that he's gone all the time." James was sitting in the corner of the sofa. Abby took a seat in the center. "You know how it is to be lonely. Don't you get lonely every night in your apartment? You don't mind staying a while, do you?" She took a sip from her glass and peered at him from out over the top of it.

"Why don't you ask Bubba not to go away for so long?" James suggested.

"He says that he has to pay off the semi while the economy's good," Abby replied. "You haven't answered my question. You know how it is to be lonely." She asked again.

"I guess so. I'm just getting used to it," James answered. Abby adjusted herself so that she was sitting sideways on the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and sat with her feet tucked under her. There were no lights in the TV room, only the one in the stairway. It shone from behind her, outlining her face and casting shadows that invited closer inspection.

"Everyone needs company now and then," she whispered. "I'm glad that you could stay with me a while."

"Abby, I shouldn't be here," James confessed. "I should go."

"Oh please stay a while, James—just a little while. I know that you want to," she pouted.

"It's not that I don't like you, Abby," James protested. "It's just that..."

"Oh, I know that you like me, James. I saw you looking at me at Nathan's house. I know that look. I saw how hard you were a few minutes ago, too. I felt it when I rubbed against you. It felt—good." Abby leaned forward, sliding her tongue over her lips, slowly closing the distance between them.

"What about Bubba?" James cried.

"Bubba's in Texas," she answered as she drew nearer. She was so close to him, that as she softly spoke James could feel her breath caress his face. It felt soothing and nice. He tried not to, but he liked the warm softness. In a few seconds she would be on him, kissing him, he was sure. It would be the point of no return, because he would kiss her back, and then embrace her. It would naturally follow that they would make love on the sofa, if she would help him, for he had never known a woman.

He decided to let it happen. He was forcing Nathan's warning from his thoughts. As he closed his eyes he anticipated the feel of her softness covering over him.

"What!" he heard Abby cry. James opened his eyes to find himself standing alongside the sofa, looking down at his temptress as she lay sprawled against the arm of the sofa where James had just been sitting.

"Abby, I just can't. You're so nice. I like you, and you're so beautiful. I just can't," he babbled out the best explanation that he could. Instinct had won out over logic.

"Oh, James, it could have been so nice. Why don't you just sit back down here and relax?" Her words, cloaked in her sweet voice were so convincing. James nearly complied.

"I've never done this before. I can't," James hoped for sympathy.

"I had already figured that out, James. Don't worry. I'll help you," she pleaded.

"But you're Bubba's wife—and Nathan's secretary," James countered

Abby's cheeks reddened. "I understand!" was all that she said. He couldn't understand why, but his last words offended her. She led him up the stairs. They stopped at the refrigerator and she handed him his carton of ice cream that he put in her freezer. No words were spoken as James walked out the door.

It was a long drive back to James's apartment, even though the distance was only a few miles. His heart was pounding in the contemplation of what had almost been. He felt bad because he knew Abby was angry.

It would be alright, though. After he unpacked his bags of groceries he would be with her again. No one would see them, not even the prying Mrs. Wilkinson, only separated from them by a single wall. They would go as one into his bedroom, take off their clothes, lie down together on the bed. She would wrap her warm, dainty hands around his hardened penis and then cover his thirsting body with her warm, inviting one. He would call her forth from his mind's eye. They would make love on his terms, safe from Bubba, Nathan and guilt.

*******

The next day was a busy one at school. It was the first real day of instruction. James did not see Abby, although he silently wondered what would happen if he did. He wanted to be friends with her, to know that she liked him, perhaps even desired him from afar.

It was after James' third section, just before lunch, that a young, pretty, blonde girl stood before James as he was packing up his books. She had been in the class that just ended, sitting in the back alongside a muscular young man. He was a little irritated that the pair was more intent on looking at each other than the derivation of the sine function that James so carefully placed on the blackboard.

James looked up. "Yes?" he acknowledged her.

The girl gave a sheepish grin. "Mr. O'Toole, I'm Becky Chandler."

"How do you do, Miss Chandler." he answered. James waited for a second. He knew that she wouldn't answer. Teens always had trouble speaking to adults. "What's on your mind?"

"My father said that I had to come and talk with you," she started, then paused. James waited. "I took this course last year and didn't do very well," she explained.

"You failed it?" James probed.

"No," she corrected. "I withdrew, but I would have failed it if I hadn't. Now, I'm in senior year and I have to pass it to graduate. My father says that I can't cheerlead if I don't get extra help."

James was tempted to lecture on the folly of equating cheerleading with graduation, but passed the opportunity. She wouldn't have believed him.

"Help is available," James told her. "You know there is a system if you want to get a private tutor."

"Yes, I know. Everyone knows about the tutor system. I was hoping that if I got a tutor I could do that in place of the homework."

James shook his head. "The homework is to help you learn the material. You should do the homework with the tutor. I can't release you from the homework while the rest of the class has to do it."

Becky rolled her eyes. "That's a lot of work! I can't do it."

"It will only take you as long as it takes to watch one television program. You may not like it, but you'll enjoy passing the State Test," James admonished.

"But the tutor..."

"The tutor can only help you." James interrupted. "You have to learn it yourself."

Becky took a deep breath and started to stammer out a new protest.

"I'm sorry, Becky. That's the way it is," James sternly cut her off.

Becky let out her stored breath and her head sunk in disappointment.

"Can I sign up for you to tutor me?" she asked after a pause.

"You don't have to sign up with me," James said. "You can ask any Math teacher."

"All the other teachers know me," she replied curtly. "They don't like me."

"I doubt if anyone dislikes you, Becky, but if you want, I'll tutor you. Take this form home. Have one of your parents sign it. When you return it, we'll set up a time."

The girl took the paper from him without saying a word. She turned to leave. As she did, James caught a glimpse of her young man waiting just outside the open door. It nagged at James that he had seen the pair before, but could not place them. He shrugged. It wasn't important.

"See, I told you," James heard him cajole her as she walked through the doorway.

************

At seven o'clock that Thursday night the Reverend Ethan Chandler passed through the heavy doors of the First Baptist Church. It was one of the angry stone buildings in the center of town. It had a tall steeple that seemed to reach to the heavens. It could be seen from any part of the town and the farms on the hillsides. The Reverend didn't go into the sanctuary, but entered a stairway off to the side in the vestibule that led to the basement. There was a conference room there and he entered it and turned on the lights.

He was early. He wanted a chance to be by himself, to get his thoughts together before the others on the Church Board arrived. Upstairs he could hear the choir practicing for Sunday Service. They were singing "Rock of Ages", his favorite. He found himself humming along with it, as usual. Although he was true to his custom, he couldn't give it the robust effort that was the norm. Other things weighed heavily on him.

His pondering was interrupted by the first of the Board members to arrive. It was Jarrod Morris. Besides being a Board Member of the Church, he was Mayor of the Village of Bates, and owned the largest insurance agency in town. He was born and bred in the town. He was a natural for the Board membership, except that his political office made him feel a little uneasy that someone might accuse him of a conflict of interest. At the same time, he was good at organizing and business. People weren't lining up for either the Village or Church offices, so he was safe enough. He was a large man, an athlete in his younger days. Now at the age of forty-five he retained his charismatic good looks. His voice was strong and when he spoke people listened to him.

"Good evening, Ethan," Jarrod hailed the pastor. Although the Reverend was not a native of Bates, the two men had known each other for years. Chandler settled in the town shortly after the First Baptist Church recruited him after his seminary days. The two men were quite different in appearance and outlook, yet were fast friends. They were about the same age. The Reverend was tall, as his friend, but his features were thin and reedy. The bones of his face, set atop a pencil-thin neck, formed cutting edges beneath his thinning blond hair and large ears. He had light-colored, hazel eyes that seemed to blunt any display of emotion. His lips were thin, too, and they poured out plenty of brimstone each Sunday morning.

"The others should arrive soon." Chandler replied. There were three others on the board; Chandler and Morris would drive it. The others would discuss for a time, and then go along. They could be heard noisily clattering down the hallway.

"You would think that after Labor Day the weather would cool off." Mrs. Corbett complained. The corpulent woman was placed on the Board several years ago to keep her interested in running the Bake Sale.

"I remember summers like this." An elderly, bespectacled gentleman replied. "Always leads to hard winters." Howard Jones was a retired Town Clerk. The fifth member said nothing. It was Hazel Ferguson, a Sunday School teacher.

Each of them sat around the conference table, trying to find a comfortable position. They knew that a long meeting was in store. The choir continued rehearsing, but the Board members barely heard them.

"We all know why we're here," Jarrod began. "It's because..."

"Ahem!" Ethan interrupted.

"Oh, I'm sorry Reverend. Please get us started," Jarrod excused himself.

Chandler stood and the four others bowed their heads. "For our invocation tonight, let us join together in silent prayer, asking God to grant us wisdom as we deliberate." The Reverend stood silently while the others sat. After half a minute of asking silently for wisdom he uttered "Amen!" and sat down.

Jarrod wasted no time. "Like I was starting to say, we're here tonight to decide how to set our Church finances right."

"We started talking about this last week, but didn't get very far," Howard Jones spoke up. "Where do we stand, anyway?" he asked.

"Not quite making ends meet," Jarrod replied. "Tom Hawkins at the bank is helping us all that he can. He's supposed to put our mortgage into the 'delinquent file' but was able to delay it. He doesn't know how much longer he can do it. If an auditor shows up..."

"I think that we have too much waste," Mrs. Corbett interjected. "We need to cut waste."

"Such as what, Mrs. Corbett?" Jarrod asked patiently.

"Why there are just so many things. The church bulletin, for example, is on two pages and..."

"I don't agree." Jarrod interrupted. "We can try to cut corners. We already are. What we really need is more money in the collection plates."

"We have plenty of members," Ethan added. "The problem is that too many aren't attending Sunday Services. Very few send in their tithe if they aren't at the service. We need to get more people in the Church."

"Where do you think they are, Ethan? Why aren't they coming on Sundays?" Jarrod asked.

"I think a lot of them have one spouse as members and the other belonging to other churches. Other denominations allow more leeway in their teachings. I think that there's some slippage to the Presbyterians," he answered.

"I know why." Hazel Ferguson offered. "A lot of the members are farmers. It's easy to put church aside after you've been up at five in the morning, milking and doing other things. If they don't feel a real need, they skip a few times, and then soon they skip more times than they come."

Hazel's observations made a lot of sense. The other four nodded in agreement.

"We've got to let people know where we stand financially." Jarrod proclaimed. "We have to get them to give more, even if they can't attend."

"That won't be easy. I won't beg for money from the pulpit," Ethan stated.

"If you don't we'll be breaking up the pulpit for firewood," Jarrod warned. Ethan hung his head.

"I know what brings them in," Howard Jones told them. "Scandal. Remember when the Mayor who preceded Jarrod ran off with the Public Health Nurse? The church was packed. Everyone wanted to let God know that they had nothing to do with it."

"Well, we have no scandal to help us right now," Jarrod quipped.

"There is always scandal," Ethan brooded darkly. "It usually gets covered up, but it's always there waiting to be found out."

The Reverend's admonishment silenced the assemblage. Jarrod recovered.

"Let's do a letter campaign and personal visits to get the collections up," he said.

The Board stayed until ten, their plan worked out. They prayed to God to send them money.

***********************

Classes were over on Friday afternoon and James was closing out his first week on his new job. Becky Chandler turned in her tutoring form to him after class, as had two other students, so James had three tutoring clients. He was glad for the extra income. It would help him pay off his brother for the car. He hoped to move to a nicer apartment, away from the prying Mrs. Wilkinson, and by nexus, from daughter, Doris.

James sat in the Math Office at his desk, correcting homework papers. He was half-way through the stack and he wasn't encouraged by what he saw. He reluctantly admitted to himself that it would be a struggle to get many of the juniors and seniors through Trigonometry. He would do what he could. He would inform Nathan of the need to lay better groundwork with the freshmen and sophomores if progress on the State Test would ever be realistic. He was all alone in the office. The other Math teachers were long departed, or socializing in the teachers' lounge.

"I knew that I would find you in here," a voice behind him broke his concentration. James spun around in his office chair to find the speaker Vicki Morgan standing over him. "I looked in the lounge first. I should have known better."

"Hi!" greeted James. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I have to be very quiet," Vicki pointed out with a note of sarcasm. "Nathan might see me." She said, reminding JKames of the flirting session at the Labor Day barbecue.

"I was just correcting some papers," James explained.

"Oh yes, you're the homework man," she said, continuing her sarcastic tone. "Everyone is talking about how you love to give homework. I even hear it in the English Department."

"It's for their own good," James answered defensively.

"It's not from the students that I hear it. Their attention span was spent after the first day," she corrected. "It's from the teachers. They're afraid that they'll have to start giving homework assignments, too."

"And what is the attention span of the teachers?" James asked derisively.

"Unfortunately, a lot longer than the students," Vicki answered truthfully.

"The students need repetition to master the principles of..."

"The teachers understand all that. They just don't want the extra workload," Vicki interrupted. "You don't have to defend yourself. It makes no difference to me."

She paused and James did the same. Her answer satisfied him, at least as far as she had the power to do so.

"That's not the reason that I was looking for you," she continued. "I wanted to see if you're going to the football game tonight."

"Hadn't thought about it," James answered.

"Why don't you?" Vicki encouraged. "The game's against Dansville. Afterward, some of the teachers are going to meet at Shorty's for a few drinks. It'll be fun."

"Shorty's?" James asked.

"It's a bar down on the State Road. C'mon—it will help your image."

"Sounds like a good idea," James agreed.

"You'll find a group of us the stands at the game. It starts at seven. We'll head to Shorty's from there.

James put away his papers. He decided to head to his apartment and grab a shower and a sandwich before the game. ********

The weather was nice that evening. As the sun started setting it was just cool enough for a light sweater, but not much else. When James arrived at the game he searched for the section in the stands with the teachers. The teams were going through their final warm-ups so he hoped to get into the stands before they played the National Anthem.

"James—over here! Come sit with us." It was a familiar voice, but not Vicki's. He looked around. "James—over here!" He finally saw Abby in the middle of a section. Her friendly demeanor surprised him. After the session at her house on Wednesday night, he was certain that she would never speak to him again. He gave a sudden start when he saw Bubba sitting next to her. His first inclination was to beg off and find Vicki's group. Then he caught sight of Nathan sitting three rows above them. He headed up to where they were sitting. He waved at Nathan who nodded back approvingly.

"Sit right here, James." Abby slid over a little to make room so that she would be between James and her husband.

"Hey, James. Nice to see you!" Bubba cried as he thrust his meaty forearm across his wife's chest to shake hands. "I just got in from Texas; thought that we'd take in the game. The team is supposed to be pretty good this year."