Summer

by Karen Kingsbury

  John didn’t mind waiting. Every once in a while, a few unexpected minutes alone like this were good for him, a chance to take stock of his life and how God was bringing all of the people he loved into a season of warm days and sunshine.

  Not just with the upcoming summer weather. But in life.

  From outside the Italian restaurant, Elaine peered through the glass and found him. She was still on the phone, and she held up one finger and made a worried face. He waved at her, silently telling her he was fine, and she could take her time. She nodded and focused again on the call.

  John exhaled, and the blessings in his life filled his heart and head. His oldest son, Dayne Matthews, had married the woman he loved, the one he’d been taken with since the day he first saw her. They were home from their honeymoon, starting life in the house they owned on the shore of Lake Monroe. His daughters were all married to wonderful men, raising families and providing him with a constant stream of humorous stories and charming anecdotes about his grandkids. And his son Luke was a full-fledged attorney, working in Indianapolis exclusively on Dayne’s affairs. On top of that, his middle daughters, Ashley and Kari, were both expecting babies within a week of each other at the end of August.

  John watched Elaine snap her phone shut and hurry through the door. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and studied her. The dark clouds of his past were lifting, and maybe the strongest reason was the woman coming toward him.

  She reached the table and took the seat across from him. “Sorry.” She was breathless, and she shook her head. “All that to say my granddaughter’s out of the hospital.”

  “The pneumonia’s gone?”

  “It’s better. She’s on antibiotics. Getting lots of rest.” Elaine set her purse on the spot beside her.

  “Out of the woods, anyway.”

  “Yes.” Elaine looked around. She drew a long breath. “I love this place.”

  I love being here with you, John thought. But he stopped himself from saying so. Instead he smiled. “Me too.”

  They checked their menus and talked about what they’d eaten the last time they were here.

  After the waiter took their order, Elaine sipped her water and looked at him. Her eyes danced, the way they did more often these days. “What are you thinking about?” She tilted her head, her words unhurried.

  “You.” John smiled. “How much I enjoy being with you.”

  The lighting made it impossible to tell if she was blushing. But her cheeks seemed darker than before. She set her water down and laughed.

  “Oh, good.” John pretended to be hurt. “Just the reaction I was looking for.”

  “No.” Elaine waved her hand. She was laughing harder now. “It’s not that.” She worked to find her composure. “It’s just . . . it’s taken a lot of work.”

  John blinked. “Meaning . . . ?”

  She covered her mouth, stifling another round of giggles. “Sorry.” She forced a straight face, but her eyes still twinkled. “Meaning we’ve been doing this—” she looked around as if the answer hung somewhere in the air above their table—“whatever it is we’ve been doing, for almost two years. Between your kids and mine and the busyness of our own lives . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it feels like it took a long time to get here.”

  “Here?” Understanding dawned on the horizon of John’s heart. He hesitated. “At a place where I can tell you how I feel?”

  “Yes.” Her tone was tender, blending with what remained of the humor from a moment earlier. She reached across the table and took his hands. “I wasn’t laughing at you, just at us. Two adults in our sixties afraid to tell each other how we feel.”

  The feel of her hands around his did strange things to him. She wasn’t being critical or complaining. Only recognizing the situation for what it was. He cocked his head. “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s true.” Her laughter dropped off. She paused, studying him. “When we dreamed about our separate stories all those years ago, we never planned that the main characters would be missing.”

  “No.”

  “But here we are.” Elaine gave his hands a squeeze and then released them. “And I couldn’t agree with you more, John Baxter. I enjoy being with you also.”

  Long into the meal John wondered about her statement, about her laughter at his admission that he enjoyed spending time with her. He’d nearly lost her friendship once—when her closeness had scared him away. But now, in light of her reaction, he wasn’t afraid of her. He was afraid of himself, afraid he might’ve given her the permanent impression that he wasn’t interested in her outside of being her friend.

  When the fact was, that had changed. He was interested and getting more interested all the time.

  Their meal was unhurried and marked with easy laughter over Cole’s latest challenge to his cousin Maddie—that he’d hit more home runs this season than her—and concern about Dayne and Katy and how their participation in a reality show might actually hurt their relationship more than it would create a peace offering for the paparazzi.

  When they were finished, John drove Elaine home and walked her up the brick path to her house. He held her hand, the way he did more often these days. It would be an early night; he had work in the morning, and she had to make phone calls for a charity auction she was helping chair. Still, John didn’t want the day to slip away without his saying something to clarify how he’d come across at dinner.

  It was almost sunset, and April’s mild afternoon had given way to a cool breeze. The smells of roses and fresh-cut grass lingered in the air between them as they reached the door. John’s heart beat hard against his chest, and he thought about telling her later.

  But before he could bid her a quick good-bye and hurry down the walk, she turned to him. “Your hands are sweaty.”

  Heat shot through his veins and into his cheeks. He let go of her fingers and wiped his palms on his pants. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Elaine searched his eyes. Her voice held a calm that gave him the courage to stay. “What’s on your mind?”

  John swallowed. Maybe he wasn’t ready to share his feelings. Maybe they weren’t feelings at all but fleeting thoughts. But then why did he want nothing more than to hold her hand again?

  She was waiting patiently for his answer, her lips slightly curved in a smile that told him perhaps she already knew what he was trying to find the nerve to say.

  He cleared his throat. “Earlier, when I told you I enjoyed being with you . . .”

  Elaine took hold of his hands and ran her thumbs along the sides of them. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

  “I know, but . . .” John closed his eyes and drew a long breath. When he opened them, when he saw her standing before him, a sudden burst of knowing filled his heart. He straightened. “Elaine, I care a great deal for you.” He paused, and for a moment he didn’t breathe. “Far more than I would care for a friend.” Cars passed by on the street behind him, and a few houses down, a group of children were jumping rope in a driveway, their voices loud and happy. But John barely heard any of it. He gently squeezed her hands. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “I think so.” A blush warmed her expression, and a smile crept up her cheeks. She suddenly looked more like a shy schoolgirl than the confident woman she’d been just a few minutes ago. “Are you saying you have intentions?”

  Intentions. John’s soul soared at the word. That was exactly what he’d been feeling. A chuckle started low in his gut and became a full laugh.

  “Oh?” Elaine raised her brow, and a teasing look came over her. “Now I’m the funny one?”

  John shook his head and found his composure again. “Sorry, it’s just . . .” He shrugged. “All night I’ve been trying to find a way to say that. Maybe for a few weeks now. And it took you three seconds to figure it out.”

  “Really?” Elaine’s expression softened. “You do?”

  “Yes.” He slipped his fingers between hers. “I don’
t know what my intentions are just yet.” He didn’t want to make her angry or ruin the mood, but he wanted to be clear. He carefully chose each word. “But I have them, and they remind me all the time that I feel more for you than friendship. I wanted to tell you before another day went by.”

  Elaine looked deep into him, beyond the silliness and awkward moments that had marked this turning point for them. “We can take our time.”

  Something about the idea didn’t sit well with John. If he and Elaine were going to get closer, if they were going to share something beyond friendship, then why would they take their time? They’d known each other for more than a decade, and they shared everything that mattered—their faith, their love for family, and their feelings for each other. He thought about saying so, but the admission felt like too much for now.

  Instead he smiled at her. “I have intentions toward you, Elaine Denning.”

  A sparkle lit up her eyes. “And I toward you.”

  John pulled her close and hugged her, and the warmth of her worked its way through him, to the coldest dark corners of his heart. He wasn’t going to kiss her, had never planned on it when he thought about how this night might end. But as he drew slightly back, before he might release her, he touched his lips to hers and she responded.

  Their kiss didn’t last long—a few heartbeats at the most. But it ignited in John a sense of hope and love and longing he hadn’t expected to ever feel again. He brushed his knuckles tenderly against her cheeks. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Elaine cupped her hand around his. “Good night.”

  He must’ve floated back to the car, because he didn’t remember taking a single step. He was halfway down her street before he reminded himself to breathe. He wanted to laugh and cry and shout out loud in thanks to God that somehow—through the darkest of nights—the Lord had led him to a place of new life, new love. He never would’ve chosen this. Elaine wouldn’t have either.

  But it was here all the same.

  He had told Elaine his feelings and finished the night with a kiss, and now his whole world felt different. Fresh and full of possibility. His mind raced with the implications. Even though all this felt strange at his age, and even though he’d never intended to do this again, he and Elaine were officially dating.

  The statement settled from his heart to his gut. That meant his kids would need to know, and what about the rest? If he had feelings for Elaine and intentions toward her, and if he was aware they didn’t have any reason to wait, wouldn’t something far more serious be right around the corner? If he and Elaine married, changes would be inevitable. The way they marked Elizabeth’s birthday and their anniversary and the day she died. And what about Christmas and Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July? Over the past few years, Elaine had been a guest with the Baxter family, but she would be entitled to her own traditions and ideas.

  And something else would have to change. He and Elaine could never start their marriage in the old Baxter house. Not with memories of Elizabeth filling every room, her presence woven into the colors on the walls and the things she’d collected over the years. He pictured his belongings in boxes, a For Sale sign anchored in the ground in front of the old house.

  Suddenly his intentions felt flimsy and uncertain. John slowed his car as the lights from his front porch came into view. He turned in and rode the brakes up the driveway, his eyes on the house. The changes ahead of him felt like so many towering mountains and this—the familiar and warm and loved—like the oasis he never wanted to leave.

  He opened the garage, parked, and trudged through the house to his bedroom. No matter how much fun they’d had tonight, no matter how badly he didn’t want to lose Elaine, the reality lay here. In the home he and Elizabeth had spent a lifetime building.

  The house was too quiet. John turned on the radio in his room and checked his four favorite channels. All commercials. He flicked the machine off and let out a long breath. He had work in the morning, but it was only eight o’clock. And the idea of watching something mindless and numbing on TV did nothing for him.

  Then, the way he had done so many times since Elizabeth died, he remembered her letters. The box full of correspondence between him and Elizabeth over the years. Most of the letters were written by her, and a number of times he’d meant to copy them and put them in scrapbooks for his kids. He had even planned to compile the scrapbooks for Dayne and Katy’s wedding, but he hadn’t finished. The task always seemed too daunting, too emotionally draining.

  But here, at the brink of a new season, he owed it to his children.

  He went to his closet and moved the box onto their bed. Even still it smelled like her, his precious Elizabeth. He peered into the box at the letters on top—the ones he’d found and read in the years since her death. Nothing would make the job an easy one, but he needed to go through them. He would take each one, read it, and decide whether it belonged in the pile of letters to be copied for their kids.

  And in the process he would hold on to Elizabeth a little while longer.

  He sat on the edge of the bed next to the box and went quickly through the few letters on top. Each of them needed to be copied, and he placed them on the bedspread. Those first letters talked about her ten rules for a happy marriage and her love for her children, her hopes and prayers and plans for them. Peace surrounded him, because this was the right thing to do, the best way he knew to keep himself from thinking about what had happened with Elaine half an hour earlier.

  Now that he’d cleared away the top layer, John spotted an envelope slightly larger than the others. The paper was thicker, and he wondered if it was one of the birthday cards Elizabeth had given him. He reached for it and smiled. She had been a celebrator of birthdays, a maker of moments. No birthday had passed without her marking the occasion with her thoughts on the year past.

  He opened the envelope and pulled out a card, one that looked nearly brand-new. The front said only My lover, my friend. . . .

  Pain and a sense of betrayal over his dinner with Elaine pricked at John’s heart. Elizabeth had indeed been his lover and friend.

  The card was similar to most Elizabeth would pick out. A brief birthday greeting with a full page of her own handwritten sentiments. He checked the date. The card wasn’t old. Which meant . . . when she wrote it she might’ve just had the first signs that her cancer had returned.

  He steadied his hands and found the first line.

  Dearest John,

  How blessed I am to be celebrating another year of your life. Even the act of buying this card made me smile, because I never take the years for granted. Never.

  John ran his finger over the words and pictured Elizabeth browsing the cards, looking for one with plenty of white space. He kept reading.

  I think of how many couples don’t get the years God has given us, and I am grateful beyond words. Because you’ve spent your years defining life for me, John. The way you laugh with me and hold my hand on our long Sunday afternoon walks. In some ways with you it feels like we never get a day older. But that’s what birthdays are for, I guess. Little reminders that as good as this is, it won’t last forever.

  John’s throat felt thick. Had she known about the return of her cancer when she wrote this? He looked at the framed photo of the two of them, the one that had stood on their dresser for as long as he could remember. No, Elizabeth . . . it won’t last forever.

  He found his place again.

  And so my wish for you this year comes from Deuteronomy, my love. You know it, because you’ve shared it with me and the kids so many times. Here it is: “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.”

  We’re not as young as we once were, and I want you to know, whatever happens in the years to come, you must choose life. We both must. Every day we wake up with another twenty-four hours.

  Happy birthday, sweetheart.

  I love you always.

  Elizabeth

  Choose
life?

  A shiver ran down John’s arms as he reread that last part. She was referring to their lives together; she must’ve been. But that’s not how her words came across now, in light of the day’s events. Whatever happens in the years to come, you must choose life. . . .

  John lowered the card to his lap and closed his eyes. This had happened before—times when he needed wisdom, when he was missing Elizabeth, and God had led him to one of her letters, the exact one he needed to find peace. But this . . .

  He opened his eyes and found her photo again. Had she known? Had she imagined a time down the road when she might no longer be here and he would need more than anything to hear this very Bible verse?

  He returned the card to the envelope and placed it at the top of the stack of letters to be copied. Her picture was calling to him, so he went to it and took it in his hands. Her eyes were just as he remembered them, blue enough to fall into. She was like no other woman, no other friend or lover he would ever have.

  But she was gone.

  And her letter reminded him of what he desperately needed to hold on to. The knowledge that Elizabeth would’ve wanted him to do exactly what he’d done today—share his feelings with Elaine, tell her about his intentions, allow himself to move forward. In that moment he knew what Elizabeth would be doing if somewhere in heaven she could know the intentions he had toward a woman who had been one of her friends.

  She’d be smiling.

  Ashley babysat for little Ryan Junior the morning Kari went in for her ultrasound. The minutes passed slowly even though Devin and RJ kept her busy. Kari was having a girl. Ashley would’ve bet on it. They both were. It was something she’d thought since the beginning.

  Finally, just before noon, she watched Kari and Ryan pull up outside and climb out of the car. They were both grinning, and Kari hurried Ryan along. Ashley held her breath. RJ and Devin were sleeping, so she moved quietly from her place at the window to the entryway.