12

 

 

As Scott finished arranging the service music on the piano, Karen slipped into her place. Their gazes brushed, and she jerked hers away. Opened her folder.

Not a positive sign, but at least she’d come, despite missing rehearsal—and he wasn’t letting her get away without delivering the apology he owed her.

As the service began and the choir launched into the opening hymn, Scott watched the woman with the auburn highlights in her hair. In retrospect, he was surprised he hadn’t noticed her. He certainly would have in his pre-accident life.

He repositioned himself slightly on the bench as he played to get a better view. Her head was bent over her music, and her hair fell forward—but the soft strands couldn’t hide her elegant bone structure or the full lips that flexed with fluid grace as she sang. She struck him as the studious, serious type—in sharp contrast to the glamorous, flamboyant women he’d met in the music world who’d long ago lost their appeal. While many of them had had a certain flashy but fleeting allure, this woman’s time­less, classic beauty wouldn’t fade with age.

She could sing too. It wasn’t difficult to pick out her pure, clear soprano as she hit the final note.

All at once she lifted her head. Her lips parted in surprise as she realized she’d caught his attention, and a flush crept across her cheeks—as if she was worried she’d made a mistake. He sent her a small smile of reassurance, but her color deepened and she refocused on her music.

Now he’d embarrassed her.

Another mistake to apologize for after the service.

Angling toward the sanctuary, he tuned in to Reverend Richards. As long as he was here, he may as well listen to what the man had to say.

“The story we heard today in John’s Gospel is one of my favor­ites because it’s so rich in meaning and symbolism. Here we have a man born blind. A man who lives in darkness, groping through life, stumbling and falling. He can’t see the road ahead and often loses his way. He feels apart from the world, an outcast, alone and abandoned.

“Then Jesus enters his life and cures him. When asked later by the Pharisees to explain what happened, the once-blind man utters those wonderful words that continue to resonate with meaning in their simplicity and power: ‘I was blind and now I see.’”

The minister surveyed the congregation. “My friends, the Bible is filled with stories of people whose lives were transformed after en­countering Jesus. There are dozens of examples of physical cures. The ten lepers. The man with the withered hand. Peter’s mother-in-law. But many spiritual cures are recorded too. The tale of the adulteress is one of the most famous—a beautiful, inspiring story of forgive­ness for a woman caught in sin, whom Jesus refused to condemn.

“God sends that same message to us today. Just as he did two thousand years ago, he stands ready to forgive us. To light our path. To guide us if we become lost. To give us strength and hope. And God offers these gifts without our asking. The blind man didn’t seek God. God found him and dispelled his darkness. For as Jesus said earlier in that same Gospel, ‘I am the light of the world.’

“I think it would be safe to assume that most of us go through difficult periods. It’s part of being human. But during those trials, I ask you to remember that God stands ready to guide you. To forgive you. To offer you new hope and a new beginning. Pray to him for those blessings. It doesn’t have to be a formal prayer. All we have to do is talk to him, in the quiet of our hearts. And, like the man in today’s reading, once we open ourselves to his abiding grace and loving presence, we too will be able to say, ‘I was blind and now I see.’

“Now, let us pray…”

As the pastor continued, Scott’s thoughts remained on the sermon.

It was as if the man had written it for him—for he too was living in darkness, groping, stumbling, and falling like the blind man. Not only had he lost his way, he didn’t even know his destination. All he’d been able to think about was the life that had vanished in a few terrible seconds. It was no wonder he’d stumbled. He’d been looking behind instead of ahead.

Yet contemplating the future was terrifying. It loomed as an end­less black void, empty and meaningless. While there might be other possibilities for his life, he was blind to them.

If Reverend Richards was correct, however, help was there for the asking.

Scott wasn’t convinced a simple conversation with God would put his life back on track—but if the pastor and his mother and all the other people who gathered in this church each week believed prayer had such power, it was worth a try.

 

* * *

 

Val regarded the minister as he finished his sermon. It was as if he’d written it for her. Could his message be true? Did God grant forgiveness that readily to a repentant soul? Was it possible to leave the past behind and start anew?

As for prayer...she didn’t remember any formal ones. But talking? As natural as breathing. Asking for forgiveness would be a piece of cake.

Except—wasn’t that too simple? How could a mere “I’m sorry,” however sincere, banish her guilt?

On the other hand, prayer was important to many people. Like David, despite his absence today, and Karen. Even Margaret prayed. It may not have helped her disposition, but appar­ently God listened to her. After Val had announced this morning that she planned to attend services with the family, Margaret had recovered from her shock with surprising alacrity and said, “Well, the Lord must have heard my prayers after all.”

Nevertheless, asking for absolution struck her as far too presumptuous.

She could ask for strength, though, on her journey to the past—and for guidance. Like the blind man, she was blundering along a rocky road, unsure of her steps, stumbling and falling and fearful of what lay around the next corner. If nothing else, perhaps God would take pity on her, as he had on that poor blind man, and light her path.

Not that she expected the light to penetrate into the deep, dark crevices of her soul, of course. That would be too much to expect. But a few faint beams to dispel some of the shadows that had darkened her days for almost half her life would be a welcome gift.

 

* * *

 

“Sorry to interrupt.” Scott joined Karen and another choir mem­ber as they chatted after the service. “Karen, do you have a minute?”

Karen blinked…and swiveled from Ellen Sullivan to the dark-haired man. She hadn’t realized he knew her name. “Yes. Would you excuse me, Ellen?”

“Sure—and I’m glad you came to services today. The soprano section would have been in dire straits without you. See you soon.”

As Ellen walked away, Scott clasped his hands behind him “We missed you at choir practice.”

Heat crept up her neck. She hoped it wouldn’t spill onto her cheeks. “I had a long day at work. I couldn’t handle any more…”

Her voice faltered, and he finished the sentence. “Stress?”

The flush crept higher. “I should have come. I heard it was better.”

“I hope so. I apologized to the choir for my bad temper and asked them to give me another chance.”

“Ellen called to tell me that.”

“I’m glad—but a secondhand apology isn’t sufficient. I know you were very upset at rehearsal two weeks ago, and I wanted to tell you in person I was sorry for my behavior. I hope you aren’t thinking about dropping out.”

“No. I’ve been in the choir too long for that. I’ll be back next Wednesday.”

He smiled. A real smile—and far bigger than that tiny lip tip he’d given her earlier after the opening hymn.

The transformation was nothing short of mind-blowing.

His dark eyes, usually brooding and distant, grew warm and vibrant. The angular planes of his face softened, and the tiny crinkle lines at the outside corner of his lashes told her he had once smiled often. As for those lips...Karen’s gaze lingered there. No longer taut, they were supple and appealing and…

Mercy!

It took all of her willpower to resist the urge to fan herself.

No wonder Kristen had said he was hot.

“I’m glad you’re sticking with us. That means I’ll be able to report to Reverend Richards that I didn’t drive away any choir members after all.”

“Karen, are you ready to go?”

Yanking her gaze away from him, Karen pivoted toward her mother. Margaret was bearing down on her, Kristen and Val on her heels. “Yes. I had to gather up my music.” Her reply came out in a breathless rush.

“You better hurry. Val has to get home. She’s got someplace to go today. Don’t ask where. She isn’t saying.”

Instead of the saucy reply Karen expected from her sister, Val fiddled with her purse. Her cheeks were a bit pinched, as if she was feeling ill again.

“Young man, since Karen hasn’t introduced us, I’ll do it myself. I’m her mother, Margaret Montgomery. This is my other daugh­ter, Val, and my granddaughter, Kristen.” Without giving Scott a chance to respond, Margaret continued. “We’re very pleased you were willing to fill in after Marilyn left. Why she couldn’t give poor Reverend Richards more notice, I’ll never know, but you’re a godsend.”

One corner of Scott’s mouth quivered, and Karen caught the amused glint in his eyes. “I must admit, no one’s ever called me a godsend.”

“I’d say the term fits in this case. I understand from Dorothy that you have extensive training. But I expect you’ll be disappointed in our amateur choir. They’ll never live up to your standards.”

His gaze swung to Karen...and stayed there. Once again her cheeks warmed.

“I’ve learned that setting standards too high can be discouraging instead of motivating. All the choir members do their best, and that’s really all you can ask of people, isn’t it?”

Instead of responding to his comment, Margaret motioned toward Val. “You ought to see if you can convince Val to join while she’s here for the summer. She has the real vocal talent in the family. Such a beautiful voice—and professional training too. She’d be an outstanding addition to the choir.”

“Talent must run in the family, then. Karen also has an excep­tional voice. I was admiring it today during the opening hymn. I believe she has perfect pitch.”

Karen studied him. Surely he was just being kind. Val did have the real talent.

Still, she couldn’t quite contain the sudden glow that filled her and made the world seem brighter.

Margaret regarded him over the top of her glasses. “I see you’re quite the diplomat.”

“Tact and sensitivity are commendable assets. Ones we all should work on, don’t you think?” Without waiting for her to answer, he con­tinued. “But in this case, I wasn’t being diplomatic. I was being truthful. Perhaps your daughters inherited your talent?”

Karen masked her grin with a cough and peeked at Val. Her sister’s features remained a bit tense, but she gave a subtle thumbs-up. Margaret had been insulted so charmingly she’d failed to recognize the slight.

“I did do some singing in my younger days.” Margaret appeared pleased—if a bit flustered—by his question. “But my husband had a wonderful tenor voice. I suspect they got their talent from him.”

How about that? Margaret had gone from disparaging her oldest offspring’s talent to acknowledging both daughters’ singing ability.

Amazing.

“Ready?” Val nudged her.

“Yes.” She ventured a peek at Scott—and for a brief second, she had the absurd notion he was going to wink at her.

Didn’t happen.

But she wasn’t imagining the twinkle in his irises.

“Then I can count on you to be at practice Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

He returned to the piano, and Karen found Kristen giving the musician a speculative once-over as Val and Margaret wove through the crowd to­ward the exit.

“He likes you.” Kristen shot her a smug smirk.

Karen frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“The new music director. He likes you.”

“You, my dear, have an overactive imagination.” She tried for a dismissive tone. “He’s never said a word to me until today.”

“So? Actions can speak louder than words. Didn’t you see how he looked at you?”

“Whatever look you saw wasn’t aimed at me alone. He’s trying to make amends with all the choir members. Trust me. He wasn’t singling me out for special attention.” Karen took her arm. “Let’s go. Your grandmother won’t be happy if we keep her waiting.”

Kristen held her ground. “I bet he was singling you out. Let’s get Aunt Val’s opinion.” She tried to tug free, in the direction of the departing duo.

Karen held fast. “No!” She did not want to discuss romance—or even hint at the topic—in front of her mother. “I told you the other day—I’m not in the market for that kind of...involvement.”

Kristen planted her hands on her hips. “I bet God wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life by yourself because you and Dad made a mistake.”

After her conversation with Val on that very topic, she was beginning to toy with that possibility. But she wasn’t ready to discuss it with her daughter.

“The subject’s closed, Kristen.” She adopted her this-isn’t-open-for-discussion tone. “Let’s go.”

Kristen acquiesced—but based on past experience, her daughter would follow up on the topic in the not-too-distant future.

As for Scott…if Kristen’s take on his interest happened to be accurate, she suspected he’d follow up too. He couldn’t have risen to the brink of success in the cutthroat music business without being single-minded about going after what he wanted.

Meaning she’d better get her feelings about the status of her marriage resolved.

Pronto.

 

* * *

 

Val edged into a parking spot across the street from the small brick building in St. Louis that had once housed the Women’s Health Clinic. It had a new, more descriptive name now, but it was in the same business, providing services like fertility testing, birth control assistance, and ultrasounds.

Summoning up her courage, Val picked up the cardboard tube on the seat beside her and slid the paper out. With shaking fingers, she unrolled it across the steering wheel.

To the untrained eye, the crude image was hard to interpret. If the technician hadn’t pointed out the head, the feet, and the hands, Val doubted she could have deciphered it.

But while she hadn’t quite been able to discern the outlines of her baby, the ultrasound had made it tangible. And once the woman had let her listen to the heartbeat, the baby growing within her had become all too real. That thump of life had been seared into her memory, haunting her dreams for close to two decades.

Maybe the whole ordeal would have been less traumatic if she hadn’t gotten the ultrasound and seen such compelling evidence of the life growing within her. Corey had tried to dissuade her from doing so, and he’d refused to pay for it. But she’d done it anyway, though it had taken most of her summer savings from her waitress job at Harry’s Bar and Grill.

She stroked her finger over the crinkly paper. She hadn’t analyzed her motivations as a teen, but they were clear to her in hindsight. She’d hoped some medical issue would be discovered that would justify the solution Corey had proposed to their “problem.”

Her baby, however, had been fine. Healthy and normal and expected to arrive at the end of May. He or she would have been seventeen this year. Poised on the brink of adulthood, with a future filled with endless possibilities.

Except Val’s tragic mistake had robbed her baby of that future, stilling the heart that beat only in her memory.

With shaking hands, she lay the ultrasound on the seat beside her and pulled into traffic. One more stop on her agenda for the day—and for that, she’d have to muster up every ounce of her courage.

Calling up the minister’s message from this morning, she sent a desperate plea to God.

Lord, I know I don’t deserve anything from you. Certainly not forgiveness. But I could use some strength and courage. Could you be with me for the next few minutes? Help me feel I’m not quite so alone? Please!

As she approached her destination, Val looked around and suppressed a shiver. The neighborhood had deteriorated dramatically since her first and only other visit. Under normal circumstances, she’d have worried about her safety, but today it was low on her radar. The danger within loomed far larger than any external threat she might encounter.

Once she arrived, Val pulled to the curb, set the brake, and looked up, toward the third floor. To the window of the shuttered room where the procedure had taken place. She could have gone to a legit clinic, but she’d been afraid they’d ask too many questions or notify her family. She’d wanted a place where she could come and go anonymously, her shame the only evidence of her visit.

Corey had found this place. She’d been afraid it would be seedy, but while the outside of the brick tenement had been a bit run­down, the small facility had been clean and businesslike inside. After she’d filled out minimal paperwork using a fake name, she’d been ushered into the “treatment” room. The whole process hadn’t taken more than an hour. She’d paid in cash and driven back to Washington in a friend’s borrowed car. Feeling dirty. Tainted. And the hour she’d spent in the shower after arriving home hadn’t made her feel any cleaner.

In the end, she’d given up, crawled into bed, and curled into a knot until her mother had called her for dinner. Although she’d picked at her food, for once Margaret hadn’t commented on her eating habits. She’d been too busy talking about the difficulties her friend, Alice Martin, had been having with her son, who’d been cited by the police for underage drinking.

Val hadn’t been able to get too excited about a transgression that paled in comparison to her own.

No one ever found out about her trip to St. Louis. The secret remained known only to her and Corey and God. Nor had she suf­fered any physical trauma as a result of it. Only later, after reading horror stories about back-alley practitioners and patients who ended up with massive infections or who hemorrhaged or were left barren...or died…had she realized how fortunate she’d been to breeze through the procedure and emerge unscathed.

Except for the emotional scars.

A silent tear slid down her cheek.

Dear God, I’m so sorry! If I could do it all over again, I’d live with the consequences. I’d see the baby to term and either keep it or put it up for adoption. I wouldn’t care about the shame or humiliation or Mom’s wrath. I’d make the right choice, Lord. I would!

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. A sob rose from the depths of her soul. Then another. And another. Until the tears were cours­ing down her cheeks.

Only a persistent tapping on her window pulled her out of her misery.

Wiping the moisture from her cheeks, Val turned to find a vacant-eyed man on the other side of the glass. He was dressed in a torn T-shirt and a filthy baseball cap, and based on the coarse stubble on his gritty cheeks and chin, he hadn’t shaved in quite a while. Or had a bath.

Her lungs locked, and she fumbled for her key—but all at once, the man backed off. Perhaps her mascara-streaked face had scared him as much as his disheveled state had frightened her. For whatever reason, after giving her one more glazed perusal, he wove down the street as fast as he could.

Hiccupping another sob, Val twisted the key in the ignition. She had to get out of this place. She didn’t belong here, and it wasn’t safe.

Hands shaking, she put the car in gear and aimed for the highway. It was time to go back to Washington and do what she’d done that day almost eighteen years ago.

Pretend everything was normal.