11

 

 

“Feeling better?”

At David’s question, Val looked up from the book she was reading to find him smiling at her from the doorway of the rehab waiting room.

“Yes, thanks. It must have been a summer cold.”

In truth, she didn’t know what she’d had. Cold feet, perhaps, masquerading as the sniffles. Whatever, the brief illness had kept her from following through on her plan to revisit the other pain­ful spots from her past. But she was going this Sunday, sick or well.

“I was talking about more than that.” He closed the distance between them.

Val forced herself to maintain eye contact. She already knew that. While he hadn’t pressed her about the day two weeks ago when she’d almost collapsed in his arms after stumbling into the clearing at the park, it was clear the incident was on his mind.

“I’m fine.” She tried for a convincing tone, but the reassurance came off sounding weak.

To her relief, he didn’t push.

“Glad to hear it. How about some coffee?” He held out a dis­posable cup. “Black, as I recall.”

“Thanks.”

She took the cup, and he dropped into the chair beside her. A whisper away.

Holding the cup with both hands to steady it, she took a sip. “How’s Mom doing?”

“Her progress is excellent. I expect full function will be restored to her left side by the end of the summer. A helpful prognosis, since she tells me you’ll be returning to Chicago in about a month.”

So he knew the timing of her departure.

What else had her mother relayed?

“What do you two talk about during therapy?”

“For the most part, she talks and I listen.”

Val snickered. “I can imagine. It must be gossip central in there. As if you care about her whole cast of characters.”

“I care about one of them.”

At his quiet—and unexpected—response, Val shot him a startled glance. His perceptive eyes were fixed on her, and she forced up the corners of her stiff lips, determined to keep the mood light. “If she’s talked about me, I suspect you’ve gotten more than a few soliloquies.”

“I hear quite a bit about the meals you prepare.”

“I’ll bet.”

“And the glamorous life you lead in Chicago.”

“Trust me, Mom’s exaggerating. I teach high school drama. I do some modeling on the side. It’s not glamorous.”

“It is to her. Though not as glamorous as the life she thinks you could have had. On Broadway, no less.”

She took another sip of her coffee. “Mom always did have delusions of grandeur about my talent. I wasn’t Broadway material.”

“Did you ever think about giving it a shot?”

“Yes, and I did—for fourteen months. The realities of making it in New York, however, didn’t quite live up to my teenage fantasies. Being a big fish in a small pond is very different than being a minnow in the ocean. You have to have singular focus and a driving commitment to have even a minuscule chance of breaking out, and the dog-eat-dog audition circuit was kind of overwhelming. Besides, my heart wasn’t in it.” Nor in much of anything else after that fateful summer of her seventeenth year.

“Do you like what you do now?”

“Very much.” That was a question she could answer with ab­solute honesty. “Working with young people is energizing—and satisfying.”

“Then that’s all that counts.” He lifted his cup in salute. “Margaret also told me about her church and invited me to visit. Victoria and I went last weekend. I thought you might be there, but you must not have been up to it yet.”

Val ran a polished nail around the rim of her cup, where traces of lipstick clung precariously to the edge. “I wasn’t—but that’s not why I didn’t attend. I’m not much of a churchgoer anymore.”

“Meaning you used to be?”

“Years ago.”

“What changed?”

His tone was conversational, not accusatory, but this discussion was getting far too personal. She sent him a pointed look that conveyed that message loud and clear.

“Sorry.” He held up his free hand, palm forward. “I didn’t mean to pry. My faith is such an important part of my life, I’m always curious why people fall away. I could never survive the dark stretches without God by my side.” He rose. “Margaret should be finishing up on the equip­ment. I’d better get back inside.”

“Smart plan. It’s never wise to keep Mom waiting.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, and he motioned toward her empty coffee cup. “Can I pitch that for you?”

“Thanks.” As she handed it over, their fingers brushed. It was a fleeting touch, but that slight contact sent a tingle down her spine—and made her wish she could share her secret with this man. That he would listen without judgment, pull her into his arms, and hold her until all her guilt melted away.

As he disappeared through the door, Val shook her head. That was a teenage fantasy if ever she’d heard one. Problems weren’t that easily solved. Nor was forgiveness that easy to find.

Even from a man of faith.

 

* * *

 

“Aren’t you going to be late for choir practice, Mom?”

Karen straightened from loading the dryer. Kristen stood in the doorway of the laundry room, a chocolate chip cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. “I’m not going tonight.”

“How come? You never skip.”

“I had a busy day at work and I’m tired.” She continued to trans­fer wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, hoping Kristen would let it go. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her decision tonight.

No such luck.

Her daughter clumped into the room and propped her hip against the counter. “That never stopped you before.”

Karen shut the dryer and flipped it on. Why not spill it? The truth would come out soon anyway. “Actually, I’m thinking of dropping out.”

“You’re kidding.” Kristen followed her into the kitchen. “You love singing in the choir.”

“I used to love it. But the new choir director is...difficult.”

“I think he’s hot—for an older guy.”

What?

Scott Walker, hot?

Ridiculous.

Then again, his dark good looks could appeal to some people.

Too bad his personality was equally dark.

“I won’t debate that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that.” She folded the dish towel she’d tossed on the table earlier and hung it on the door rack under the sink. “But he’s hard to deal with. He talks down to people, and he has a tendency to raise his voice.”

Kristen stopped chewing. “Kind of like Dad used to?”

At the quiet question, Karen leaned back and curled her fingers around the edge of the counter behind her. “Your dad never did that to you.”

“No, but he treated you like that.”

As the comment hung in the air between them, Karen squeezed the counter tighter. Wonderful. Despite all her efforts to shelter Kristen from their troubles, her perceptive daughter had picked up on them anyway.

“Your dad and I should never have married, Kristen.” Careful, Karen. Don’t cast all the blame on the father she loves or let this come across as sour grapes. “We weren’t compatible.”

“Then why did you?”

“I don’t know. I was young. He was older and attractive and attentive. My self-esteem wasn’t that high. Remember, I grew up in the same house with Val, and it was hard to compete. She was always gorgeous and self-confident. The boys didn’t notice me if she was around—except for your dad. I was flattered by his attention, and that clouded my judgment.”

“But you must have loved him in the beginning—and he must have loved you.”

Was her daughter ready for the truth? Val had suggested she was—and her sister could be correct. Why not test that theory?

She waved a hand to the kitchen table. “Let’s sit for a few minutes.”

Following her lead, Kristen slid into a chair at the polished oak dinette set where the three of them had shared too few meals as a family.

“To be honest, I’m not certain love ever played a role in our re­lationship. I was enamored and I mistook other emotions for love. As for your dad, I think he liked the fact that I always gave in to him and let him take charge. It fed his ego. But after a while that got old, and he lost respect for me, leading to issues later in our marriage. In the end, both of us regretted the mistake.”

“But isn’t marriage supposed to be forever? Till death do us part and all, like Reverend Richards talks about?”

“Yes—but people do make mistakes.”

Kristen chewed her lower lip. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

“I don’t know. We may be divorced, but I still feel married in God’s eyes.”

“I don’t think Dad feels like that.”

“He and I didn’t have the same core beliefs about marriage, honey. Mine are faith-based. That’s another value we didn’t share.”

“Yeah. I know.” Kristen traced one of the knotholes in the wood with an iridescent fingernail. Turquoise was the color of the week. “I remember that Christmas morning when I was about eight and he made fun of you for going to church. You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you, but I heard you crying later in your room.”

Another jolt ricocheted through her.

So that day was as imprinted in Kristen’s memory as it was in her own.

“I’m sorry you heard that. I tried to shield you from the conflict, but that day was especially bad.” Bad enough that the memory soured her stomach all these years later.

“I remember he wanted you to fix breakfast for him before we went to church and was mad you didn’t.”

“Yes.” She could recall the sequence of events as if the incident had happened yesterday. In general, Michael had condescendingly tolerated her convictions despite his attitude of academic elitism that regarded religion as a simplistic panacea to life’s problems. Not that day. He’d risen in a bad mood. Ranted that she was a fool for letting her faith run her life. Accused her of being selfish to put church attendance above family obligations. Sulked for the remainder of the day.

It had not been her best Christmas.

Nor Kristen’s, it seemed.

Her daughter remained silent, so she spoke again. “That was one of the few occasions I went against his wishes. In those days, I thought being passive and giving in would help me get along with people—including your grandmother. But I’m learning that’s not always the healthiest or most effective response.”

Kristen swirled the milk in her glass, closer and closer to the top. Playing the spill odds. “Do you think if you’d been different with Dad back then, you guys would have stayed together?”

“I used to wonder about that, but I don’t think so. In fact, the marriage may not have lasted as long as it did. We’d probably have clashed sooner. Your dad and I are too different.”

“Maybe he’s changed.”

Not that she’d noticed.

But instead of voicing that opinion, she reached over in silence and brushed back a long strand of Kristen’s blonde hair.

“I wish we could have been a family forever.” Kristen whispered the choked words as moisture beaded on her lashes.

“I do too. I’m so sorry your dad and I made such a mess of everything.”

Kristen sniffled and swiped at her nose. “You know, I used to think the breakup was all your fault. But inside I always knew it wasn’t. Dad’s a decent dad, when he’s around, but I guess...I guess he wasn’t the best husband. He wasn’t very nice to you. And I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Her little girl was growing up.

A lump formed in Karen’s throat. For the past two years she’d been praying her relationship with her daughter would stabilize, that they would recapture the closeness they’d once shared. Tonight it felt as if they’d taken a giant leap forward.

Giving her yet another reason to be glad she’d skipped choir practice.

 

* * *

 

Scott stopped outside the church door. Slowly filled his lungs with the humidity-laden air. He was a few minutes late for practice—by design. With everyone already seated and waiting, he wouldn’t have a chance to let doubts deter him from his mission once he stepped inside.

As he grasped the handle of the door, his respiration quickened, much as it did in the moments leading up to a performance. He’d read once that an adrenaline rush was a survival mechanism, designed to heighten the senses and increase alertness so a person was better equipped to deal with danger...or a hostile enemy.

And considering the faces that swiveled to­ward him as he entered, the latter was an excellent description of the choir members.

The room fell silent as he approached the piano, and Scott did his best to rein in his pounding pulse. Stress could bring on one of his debilitating headaches, and he didn’t want that complication tonight. At least not until after he got through his apology.

After setting his folder of music on the piano, he surveyed the silent choir and looked—really looked—at the individual mem­bers.

The emotions they displayed were as varied as their appearance. Some were hostile. He hadn’t misread that as he entered. But others appeared uncertain. Nervous. Cautious.

He scanned the group for the woman who had left the last rehearsal. Karen, according to his mother. What emotion would he see on her face? But her seat was empty—surprise, surprise.

Summoning up his courage, Scott rested one hand on the piano. “Before we work on music tonight, there are a few things I’d like to say. First, as you know, I’m only the interim music director while Reverend Richards searches for a permanent replacement for Marilyn. Frankly, I never believed I was the best choice for the job. I have no experience directing a church choir. I’m used to dealing with professional, trained musicians who spend hours a day practicing and honing their craft. As a result, I have very high standards.

“However, in the past few days I’ve come to realize that while those expectations were appropriate for my colleagues, they’re far too strict for people who gather once a week on a volunteer basis because they like to sing. I apologize for being too hard on you last week.

“My patience is also being taxed by some health issues, including severe headaches that are a by-product of the concussion I suffered in the accident. I had one of those at the last rehearsal. I’m sorry to say, I took it out on all of you. I apologize for that as well.

“Finally, I realize that in spite of your busy lives, you give up several hours a week to enhance the worship service for the con­gregation. You don’t need to add a difficult choir director to the other stresses in your lives.”

He took a fortifying breath. “For all those reasons, I spoke with Reverend Richards a couple of days ago, planning to resign. I didn’t feel I was a fit for the job—but your minister can be quite persuasive.” Scott saw a few tentative, knowing smiles. Empathy. That was a positive sign. “Bottom line, he encouraged me to stay on for a while. I agreed to think about it, but I felt the decision should be up to you.”

He jammed his left hand into his pocket and tried to ball it into a fist, but all he could manage was a slight flex of his stiff fingers.

“I want to tell you I’m sorry for causing too much anxiety at rehearsals, and to promise that in the future I’ll do my best to create a pleasant experience for you. I ask for your forgiveness for my behavior, and for your patience as I try to learn how to be a church music director. I know I’ve been dif­ficult to work with, but I’d like a second chance. If the situation doesn’t improve to your satisfaction, I’ll step aside. Do you think we can give this another try?”

During his speech, the mood in the room had undergone a subtle shift. Friendly would be too generous, but agreeable, perhaps—and more relaxed, as if a collective deep breath had been released. He even spotted a number of nods.

It appeared Reverend Richards’s assessment of the choir had been sound. The members seemed willing to give him another chance.

Except perhaps the woman who’d walked out. Karen.

“Can I take the silence as a yes?” Scott scanned the room.

A murmur of assent supplied his answer.

As Scott thanked the group and took his place at the piano, a burden lifted from his shoulders.

But his task wasn’t finished yet. Nor would it be until the one empty seat was filled again.

And that meant he had one more apology to deliver.

 

* * *

 

As Karen deposited two frappuccinos on the table and took her seat, Val appraised her. “I’d say the weight-loss program is continuing to reap benefits.”

“Yep.” Karen lifted her drink in a mock toast. “Thirteen pounds down, twelve to go.”

“That’s terrific! And I love your new hairstyle.”

“So do I. Michael noticed it too.”

Val pretended to gag. “Is he still hanging around?”

“He comes to see Kristen. On his last visit he complimented my appearance.” She rested her elbow on the table. “He also looked at me the way he used to. Like I was attractive. I have to admit, that boosted my ego.”

Val knitted her brow. “Uh-oh.”

She stopped twirling. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t tell me you’re susceptible to that—excuse me for being blunt—jerk’s compliments. Not after how he treated you.”

Karen’s cheeks warmed. “It surprised me too. I mean, I don’t have any feelings for him anymore.”

“Hmm.” Val tapped a polished nail on the surface of the small round table. “I think I know what the issue is. You need some romance in your life.”

Karen coughed on her swallow of frappuccino. “You can’t be serious!”

“One hundred percent. You should find a new guy to add some zing to your world.”

“Sorry. Not in the market.”

“Why not?”

“Believe it or not, Kristen and I had a similar conversation recently. As I told her, despite our divorce, I did take vows before God. I can’t discount those.”

“Michael has.”

“That’s his issue, not mine. Besides, there aren’t exactly a ton of guys tripping over themselves trying to date me—and I don’t need male attention to make my life complete anyway.”

“If that’s true, why did Michael’s compliment rev your engine?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. Male attention is an ego-booster. Having a man in your life can be a positive experience.”

“I’ve had a man in my life, thank you very much. I’ll pass.”

“I’m talking about a man who treats you with respect. Who cherishes you. You deserve that, Karen.” Val studied her. “I understand and respect your feelings about the sanctity of mar­riage—but even the Catholic church, which frowns on divorce and remarriage, grants annulments in cases where one of the partners never intended to abide by their vows. Do you really think Michael ever gave his vow of fidelity a second thought?”

Karen frowned. Val did have a point. It was possible he’d never in­tended to remain faithful. And if he hadn’t, did that kind of deceit undermine their vows?

Possibly.

“I can see I got you thinking.”

As Karen poked at the whipped cream with her straw, it began to deflate. “I’ll admit you’ve offered a perspective worth pondering.” Then she turned the tables. “But you’re single too. What about romance in your life? And marriage?”

A mask dropped over Val’s face. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“I’m not wife material.”

“Baloney—and I suspect a certain physical therapist would agree with me.”

The sides of the cardboard cup in Val’s hand caved under the sudden pressure of her fingers. “What are you talking about?”

“Your friend David was very disappointed the day I took Mom to physical therapy. He came out to talk to you and got me instead. I wonder what he did with that second cup of coffee he was holding?”

“You always did have an overactive imagination.” Val took a sip of her drink.

“Uh-uh. You had the imagination. I was always the sensible, straightforward, analytical one. And I know what I saw. His dis­appointment went light years beyond mere friendliness. He likes you—a lot. I think you’ve been holding out on me.”

“No, I haven’t.” Val’s tone was flat—and definitive. “There’s nothing between David and me, and there never will be.” She tapped her watch. “Are you ready to tackle the grocery store?”

Without waiting for a reply, she stood.

Obviously, that subject was closed.

But why?

Despite her curiosity, Karen left the question unasked. Why jeopardize their developing relationship by being nosey?

“All set. Listen...I’m sorry if I overstepped. I was just kidding around.”

“No worries. I have thick skin, remember? I’ll pitch that for you.” She took Karen’s cup and walked away.

Although she tried to restore the prior relaxed give-and-take with small talk during the rest of their shopping trip, the strain between them didn’t diminish much. Not until they were preparing to drive home did Val begin to loosen up.

And then her mood took another sudden swing.

As her sister leaned forward to put the key in the ignition, she glanced toward the passenger seat. “Let me know if you’d like that recipe for…”

All at once, the color drained from her cheeks.

Alarm bells clanging in her mind, Karen surveyed the scene beside her. A man stood on the other side of the car next to them, strapping a toddler into a car seat as an older child climbed into the backseat on their side. There was nothing unusual about the domestic scene.

She refocused on her sister. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Instead of responding, Val averted her face, put the car in gear, and backed out. “Nothing.”

That was a lie.

For the second time this morning, Val had been thrown off balance—and based on the tremors in her sister’s hands, Karen almost offered to drive. But making a big deal out of the situation could undermine the foundation of friendship they’d been building.

Unwilling to take that risk, Karen remained silent as she tried to process what had happened. Val wasn’t easy to rattle, so whatever was going on was significant. Yet for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what upset her sister.

As they pulled away, she studied the car next to the spot they’d vacated. It was some guy with his two kids. What in the world about that scenario could freak out her always-in-control sister?

Karen had no answer.

And a quick glance at her sister told her Val had no intention of providing one.

 

* * *

 

In the darkness of the early morning hours, Val reached to the back of her bureau drawer and carefully withdrew the familiar cardboard tube. Cradling it in her hands, she sank onto the side of the bed.

What were the odds she and Karen would run into Corey in the parking lot at the grocery store?

Minuscule, at best.

And not only him, but two children.

His children.

Val tightened her grip on the tube.

Seeing him hadn’t been part of her agenda for this trip. It hadn’t seemed necessary to her healing process.

But perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps it had been important for her to learn that he hadn’t let the past define him or hold him prisoner. That he’d married. Had a family. Was living an ordinary, conventional life.

Yet how could he have gone on as if nothing had happened? How could he have felt he deserved a normal life? Had their tragic decision meant so little to him?

Val clutched the tube closer to her chest. She had no answers to those questions—but if her long-ago beau could get past them, perhaps she could too.

So tomorrow she’d drive to St. Louis. To the place where she’d received this. And if her courage held, she’d continue on to the final place, where she’d followed through on their fateful choice.

She’d do it alone too. As she had all those years ago.

Yet how much less painful it would be if someone was by her side!

An image of David flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut. How ridiculous was that? She barely knew him—yet based on what she’d seen, he was a man of deep faith, with a solid moral character. The kind of man who would never be able to understand, or forgive, her mistake. A loving father who wouldn’t want anything to do with her if he knew the truth.

And she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t deserve someone like him. Or anyone, for that matter. The choice they’d made may not have stopped Corey from leading a normal life, but for her, life had never been normal again.

Val rose and padded over to the dark window. Could she share her story with Karen, ask her to go? In these past weeks they’d connected far better than she’d ever imagined.

But she, too, was a person of faith—and while she and David both bought into the notion of forgiveness, it was one thing to believe it in theory and another to put it into practice. Testing the strength of Karen’s faith could risk their newfound friendship.

So who was left—except God?

She sank onto the window seat, shoulders drooping. Too bad she didn’t have her sister’s faith. Or David’s. He’d told her once his trust in God had allowed him to survive the bad stretches. That at his darkest moments, he’d felt the Almighty’s presence.

What a comfort that must be.

Val ran her fingers over the crude cardboard tube, suddenly toying with a radical notion.

Why not go back to church? Seek some of the comfort and strength David and Karen talked about? At worst, she’d waste a couple of hours. At best, the service might offer her some nugget of solace that would help get her through tomorrow.

And anything that could do that was worth a try.