21

“Val! Can I talk to you for a minute?”

At Karen’s summons, Val swiveled toward her sister, who was putting away her music in the choir section as the con­gregation dispersed.

“Sure. Give me a sec.” She redirected her attention to Kristen. “Pick a day and we’ll have lunch before I go back to Chicago.”

“Cool.”

After giving her niece a hug, Val joined her sister. “What’s up?”

“Reverend Richards asked me to review the program for the benefit.” Karen waved a folded sheet of paper in front of her. “And I have to add your name if you’re going to participate. Did you ever decide about the emcee role?”

No. She’d been waiting for direction that had never come. “Tell me again what I’d have to do.” At best, the stall tactic would buy her sixty seconds.

Pointing out the items in the program as she spoke, Karen re­cited the duties. “You’d do the welcome and introduce the different entertainers listed here. There will also be a few closing remarks. You know, the typical thank-you-for-coming-and-we-appreciate-your-support wrap-up routine. Very simple.”

It did sound straightforward—and innocuous. Plus it was for a worthy cause.

She could handle this.

“Count me in.” Leaning closer, she examined the lineup of entertainment, zeroing in on the listing for the church choir. “I like that line.” She pointed at the page. “‘Karen Butler, soloist.’”

Karen scrunched up her nose. “I may take that out. I want to keep my options open until the last minute. I’m still freaked out by the notion of singing in front of hundreds of people.”

“Who’s singing in front of hundreds of people?”

As Margaret came up beside them, Val scoped out Karen’s dismay and jumped in. “Scott asked Karen to sing a solo at the benefit. We were checking out her name in the program proof.” Much to Val’s surprise, her mother simply compressed her lips, as if she was physically curbing a derogatory comment.

She glanced at Karen, who raised her eyebrows. Margaret’s re­straint might be short-lived, but she was grateful her better nature had prevailed today. Karen didn’t need anyone undermining her shaky confidence this close to the show.

As Margaret walked away to chat with some friends, Karen motioned after her. “At least she’s trying. It kind of makes you think anything is possible, doesn’t it?”

Val dipped her chin and rummaged through her purse for her keys.

If only that were true.

But her stay in Washington was drawing to a close, and short of a miracle, the liberating redemption she’d journeyed home to find would remain elusive after all.

* * *

A bowl of trifle in hand, Karen paused by the back door, vision misting.

Kristen sat hunched in an Adirondack chair, arms hugging her drawn-up knees, staring into the distance. In the two days since she and Michael had told Kristen the bad news, her daughter had ignored her friends, nibbled at her food, and lost her color. Karen hadn’t seen her cry—but there’d been plenty of tears behind the closed door of her room, based on her puffy eyes.

She opened the sliding door. “Can I interest you in some dessert? I made that trifle you like from the recipe Val gave me.”

Even in profile, her daughter’s face was a study in misery. “I’m not hungry.”

After a brief hesitation, Karen set the trifle on the counter and joined her on the deck. So far, Kristen hadn’t accepted any of her overtures to talk—but she intended to keep trying.

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a few minutes? It’s pleasant out tonight.”

A shrug was Kristen’s only response.

Karen lowered herself into the matching chair beside her daughter and let her head rest against the back. The evening was cool—for August—and the muted drone of the cicadas provided a pleasant backdrop to the song of the birds as they prepared to roost for the night. A hawk circled overhead, soaring without effort in the cloudless sky, letting the wind lift it higher and higher. The quiet seeped into Karen’s soul, offering a momentary respite from the current trauma.

“Steven says letting go was the hardest thing he ever had to do.”

At Kristen’s quiet comment, Karen looked over. Her daugh­ter was staring straight ahead, toward the common ground at the back of the property now darkened by end-of-day shadows.

“Let­ting go of what?”

“His dreams. The use of his legs. A normal life. He thinks death is like that for those left behind. That it’s about letting go and learning to get on with your life even though nothing will ever be the same again.”

The teen was wise beyond his years.

“He’s a smart young man.”

Kristen swiped at an errant tear with the back of her hand. “But I don’t know how to do that. How to let go. I don’t want Dad to die.” Her voice broke.

“I know, honey.”

“Like, what was God thinking? He’s only fifty-one!”

“Not everyone is given a long life. We have to trust that this is part of God’s plan.”

“Yeah?” Defiance sharpened Kristen’s features. “Well, I think it stinks—and I’m mad! I told that to God too.”

“I’m sure he hears that quite often.”

After a moment, the defiance melted away and her posture wilted. “It won’t change anything, though.”

“No, but it’s okay to be upset.”

“That’s what Steven says. He told me he was mad in the begin­ning too—at everything and everybody.”

“That’s a normal reaction if you think life is treating you unfairly.”

“But it is unfair.”

“By human standards—but God sees the bigger picture. I think your dad has accepted what’s happening and is at peace with it. His biggest concern is leaving you behind. I think what bothers him most is how upset you’ll be by his death. He loves you very much.”

“I love him too.” She sniffled. “I wish I could help him.”

“You can. By being strong. Let your dad know you’ll be able to handle your grief and survive without him. Try to help him understand that as much as you love him and as much as you’ll miss him, you’ll go on to have a full, happy life. That’s what he wants for you.”

A tear trickled down Kristen’s cheek. “Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again. It was bad enough when you guys got divorced, but this is worse. It’s so...final.”

Fighting back her own tears, Karen knelt in front of Kristen, taking both of her daughter’s cold hands in her own. “I can promise you this. You will be happy again. And until you are, I’m going to be here for you. Anytime you want to talk or need a hug, I’m available. We’ll get through this together.”

All at once, Kristen’s lower lip began to quiver. Leaning forward, she threw her arms around Karen’s neck.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The whispered admission came out ragged.

Hugging her tight, Karen fought back tears as she stroked her daugh­ter’s long blonde hair.

Kristen held fast for another few seconds. Then she backed up and swiped her fingertips over her cheeks. “But…but what if s-something happens to you too?”

Today must be the day for hard questions.

Karen wanted to reassure her that she’d always be around—but she couldn’t promise that. As Kristen had already learned, life held no assurances. The world you knew could crumble overnight, with no warning.

Easing back on her heels, she chose her words with care. “I hope I’m around for many more years—but whatever happens, we have to remember that while circumstances can change, and people do die, God’s love never wavers. We’re never really alone if we put our trust in him.”

Based on Kristen’s silence, her response hadn’t been adequate. Not surprising. At fifteen—with a tentative, tender faith that hadn’t yet put down deep, sustaining roots—it was hard to understand the concept that there were different ways to be alone…and physical aloneness wasn’t the worst of them, as her life with Michael had taught her. It was a lesson she hoped her daughter never had to learn.

Since theological reassurances weren’t comforting Kristen, she simply pulled her into another hug and sent a silent prayer heav­enward.

Please, Lord, I’ve promised Kristen we’ll get through this to­gether, but we need your guidance and strength. Stand with us and let us feel your loving presence as we travel this final journey with Michael. Give us comfort and sustain us if we become overwhelmed. And after we walk this difficult road, please help Kristen heal and go on with her life.

* * *

“Hey, pretty lady! This is a treat.” Scott waved at Karen across the parking lot as he finished locking the church door.

She swung around at his greeting, a flush of surprise—and pleasure, he hoped—pinkening her cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” She angled toward him, the open car door between them.

“Steven and I squeezed in an extra lesson. We’re trying to double up, with the benefit so close. What brings you to church on a Thursday?”

“I had to drop off the final program.”

“Ah. The hand of fate at work.” He closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples, pretending to consult some unseen seer. “I see a trip to Mr. Frank’s in your immediate future.”

“I wish—but Michael’s coming over this afternoon to review some papers with me.”

“Your ex?” Scott frowned and shoved his hands into his pock­ets. That sounded rather cozy, given what she’d told him about her marriage. “You two aren’t…um...sorry.” He stopped. Raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s none of my business.”

“We aren’t getting back together, if that’s what you’re wonder­ing.”

The tension in his body melted away. “So what’s going on?”

Distress tightened her features. “He’s dying. Pancreatic cancer. He doesn’t have any family, and he asked me to handle any decisions that have to be made after he’s unable to do it himself.”

Scott sorted through the double bombshell. The second one actually shocked him more.

“You agreed to help him?”

“I think it’s in Kristen’s best interest. She’s struggling with this already, and it would be worse if she thought her father had to deal with everything alone. He may not have been the best husband, nor always the most attentive dad, but she loves him. Besides, it’s the charitable choice.”

“That is the most unselfish thing I’ve ever heard.”

She waved off his comment. “I wish I could claim to be pious, but the truth is I’m only doing this for Kristen. I’d have to scrape the bottom of my well of compas­sion to do it for Michael alone.”

“That’s more than understandable. How long does he have?”

“Six months, at best.”

Or worst. Watching someone die had to be hard—even someone for whom you no longer harbored any special feelings.

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”

“No. I’ve never dealt with anything like this—but I expect it will be stressful. I’ll just have to do the best I can and muddle through.” Alone.

While she left the last bit unspoken, it came through loud and clear.

But she was wrong about that.

Slowly, he reached over and laid his hand against her cheek. “In your place, I doubt I would be half as generous—and I don’t envy you the task ahead. But I respect your decision, and I’m here if you want me to help. With anything.”

Her lashes spiked with moisture, and she laid her hand over his. “Thank you.”

At her touch, his pulse quickened. “You’re welcome.”

“Can I get a rain check on Mr. Frank’s?” She removed her hand.

He missed its warmth at once.

“Anytime. I’ll be around.”

He wanted to linger. Wanted to touch her again. Fold her in his arms.

Instead, he took a step back, lifted his hand in farewell, and walked toward his car.

When he looked back, she was standing where he’d left her, one hand wrapped around the edge of her door, the other resting against the hollow of her throat. She seemed as shook up as he was—and as needy. The yearning in her eyes told him she wanted that hug as much as he did.

With everything she had on her plate, however, she couldn’t deal with another complication in her life. Especially one as consuming and intense as romance.

Their day would come, however…he was sure of it.

But in the meantime, his self-discipline and patience were going to get a major workout.