“Oh, yes, that I do remember. You were going to do a video call with Reese. Come to think of it, I don’t remember if you ever got through or not.”
“We didn’t.” She drew in her breath with a gasping, sobbing sound.
Nana gripped her hand tighter. “Tell me what happened.”
She blew out a breath, sucked in another. “Brock took me into one of the bedrooms. So we could have quiet, to talk to Reese. That’s what he said.”
Nana’s eyebrows drew together. “Go on.”
“Only we didn’t talk to Reese. Instead, he...” She bit her lip and looked off to the side. “He raped me, Nana.”
A strangled sound came from Nana’s chest, and then she pulled Gabby to her and held her tightly. “Oh, my poor girl. My poor, poor girl.”
The sympathetic words and the warm embrace loosened what was left of Gabby’s tears.
Nana let her cry, rocking her back and forth. “And that’s how Izzy came to be.”
Gabby nodded.
“Did anyone know?” she asked when the tears slowed down.
Gabby shook her head. “He said no one would believe me. I fought him, Nana. And though I couldn’t keep him from doing what he did, I screamed at him afterward. I was as angry as I was scared. But that was the night—”
“The night he wrecked his car and died.” Nana’s words sounded heavy. “Oh, my dear. I am so very sorry.”
“And Reese,” she choked out. “Reese just realized tonight...someone just told him...that Izzy looks like Brock. So he came and accused me of cheating on him with his cousin. I don’t know what to do.”
Nana pulled away enough to stare at Gabby. “He’s throwing stones without knowing the circumstances.” Two high red spots colored her cheeks. “I’d like to give that boy a piece of my mind.”
“Don’t tell him, Nana,” Gabby said, alarmed at her grandmother’s obvious high emotions. Nana didn’t need any more stress. “It’s okay. All’s well that ends well. I have Izzy. We have Izzy. And if Reese is that narrow-minded and judgmental, well, I guess I don’t want him.” She made her words firm, almost firm enough to convince herself. Not quite, but almost.
“I want you to rest,” Nana said to her. “You’ve had a hard night and spilled a lot of emotion. You just sleep in here with your baby and don’t think one thought about men, all right?”
A smile creased Gabby’s face. She was in her twenties and a mother, but being cared for by Nana still felt good.
Nana helped her lie down and pulled the covers up under her chin. “You just rest, dear. Everything is going to be all right.”
It wasn’t. Her heart wasn’t going to be all right, not quite, not ever. But Gabby nodded and let her grandmother think she’d made it all better, just like when Gabby was small.
* * *
Reese arrived at the church early for Christmas Eve services, mysteriously directed to do so by Gabby’s grandmother.
He just hoped she wasn’t trying to set up a ridiculous reconciliation. It was the kind of thing she’d do—like how she’d as much as forced him to hire Gabby. And look how that had turned out.
If she brought Gabby in and tried to get them together, he’d be hard-pressed to be polite.
But when he arrived in the little church parlor to find Nana there all alone, his heart sank and he realized: some part of him had hoped to find a way things could be repaired with Gabby.
He was a fool.
Nana didn’t smile. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing at a chair set up to face her.
He felt like he was at a tribunal, especially with the religious paintings surrounding them, the smell of candles, the dim light.
“I understand you’re angry at Gabby.” Her words were tight, clipped.
“Well...yes. Yes, I am. But that’s between us.”
“The two of you are making a botch of it! Now listen.” The old woman leaned forward. “Love is too wonderful and rare to waste on a misunderstanding.”
She was making him sound petty. Feel petty. “Lying and deception are more than a misunderstanding.”
“So is being judgmental,” she said severely. “I take it your hostility has to do with Izzy’s father?”
He didn’t want to admit to it, but he couldn’t deny those clear, uncompromising eyes.
“You’re angry because you think it’s your cousin, Brock.”
He blew out a breath, leaned forward and propped his cheek on his clenched fists, nodding. “Yeah.”
Then he waited for her to deny it. Hoped she would. Hoped Marla’s information had been wrong.
“Well. I learned last night that you’re right.” Nana lifted her chin. “Your cousin Brock was Izzy’s biological father.”
Rage and despair propelled him out of his chair. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” He got so far as turning toward the door before his manners turned him around. “Is that all?”
“Sit down,” she ordered.
He should have kept walking. He definitely didn’t want to listen. But you treated your elders with respect, so he sat back down.
“How well did you know your cousin?”
He shrugged. “Pretty well. We grew up together, from the time I was twelve.”
“How would you describe his personality?”
He shrugged again. “Athletic. Well liked.”
She actually rolled her eyes at him. “Not on the surface. I mean his inner self.”
Reese thought about his cousin, and the words that came out were “Entitled and mean.”
Nana nodded. “That was my impression, too.”
They sat a moment in silence. Reese looked at his knees, thinking of his cousin. Tragic that he’d died, of course, and it had broken his aunt’s heart. But there was no personal sense of loss inside of Reese. He’d stopped trusting his cousin within six months of living with him, if he’d ever even started. He’d kept the peace, played on sports teams with him, listened to his exploits and complaints. But he had to admit he’d never liked Brock. Never trusted him.
Which made it sting all the more that Gabby had chosen to give Brock what she wouldn’t give to him. What they’d agreed to wait for, before sharing with only each other.
He looked up to find Nana watching him. “Does Brock seem like the kind of man Gabby would choose?”
The question stopped his racing thoughts cold. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. He doesn’t. That’s why it’s so crazy that—” He broke off because Nana was pushing herself up out of her chair, and he hurried to help her.
“You’re right,” she said once she was steady on her feet. “He isn’t the type of man Gabby would choose.”
Her words circled in his head as she walked toward the parlor door. “Wait, Nana. What did you just tell me?”
“Think it through, Reese. Think of the times when choice is taken away from a woman. Ever heard of that?”
He had, of course, but... “I don’t get it.”
“She would never have chosen Brock,” Nana said patiently. “But what if she didn’t have a choice?”
“If she didn’t have a...” He trailed off, because the only reason Gabby wouldn’t have had a choice about Brock as the parent of her child was if... He looked into those clear eyes. “He didn’t...force her...did he?”
She just gave him another steady look and then walked slowly out of the room.
* * *
Minutes later he was striding through the church. If he’d been angry before, now he was furious, outraged...for Gabby, not at her. He had to find her, to tell her he understood, that he’d been wrong.
There she was, among the crowd of people starting to file into the sanctuary. He approached her, put a hand on her shoulder. “Gabby, wait.”
She turned. Izzy was in her arms, and Gabby was wearing a red dress he remembered her wearing in high school. And dignity, wrapped a
round her like a cloak. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, and walked into the church.
He couldn’t stop her, couldn’t force her to listen to him. She’d been forced enough and had survived on her own incredible strength.
His mind kept circling around the truth Nana had shown to him, a truth that immediately felt accurate.
Of course Gabby wouldn’t choose Brock. She’d never liked him.
And Brock... Gabby wasn’t exactly his type, but he’d always felt entitled to take whatever he had a momentary whim for.
Reese didn’t live in a hole; he knew how many women had faced harassment or worse. Stories were everywhere in the media, which had to mean there were ten times as many stories that hadn’t been publicly told.
He’d never even considered the fact that Gabby’s story could be one of them.
How could he let her know he was sorry for misjudging her? How could he make it up to her? What was he going to do?
He couldn’t face sitting alone through the church service nor standing out here schmoozing with merry parishioners over hot chocolate and Christmas cookies. He ducked into the church’s tiny, empty chapel and let the door close behind him.
He sank down into a back pew and let his head drop into his hands. At his wits’ end, full of shame for the wrong he’d done Gabby, and anger at the wrong that had been done to her, he lifted an inarticulate prayer to God.
He didn’t expect any answers. He’d acted like scum, didn’t deserve direction from God. After long, contrite moments, he opened his eyes, leaned back and looked around the little chapel.
What caught his eye immediately was a banner.
To know the love of Christ, which passes knowledge, that you might be filled with all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:19.
He knew that. Knew he was loved, because God loved everyone.
Except...it had always seemed like God loved some people better than others. He’d always thought Brock was better, more loved, because that was how it had been in his aunt’s home.
But his conversation with Nana had made him think.
Brock wasn’t better. Of course not. He was a blustering, mean-spirited bully who had done the worst thing possible to Gabby. Even now, Reese’s blood boiled at the thought of it, and he pounded his fist on the back of the pew.
There was nothing he could do to exact revenge, but he sure wanted to.
Sitting a little longer in the chapel, though, he remembered that vengeance belonged to the Lord.
Of course. Brock had gone to meet his maker immediately after the horrible thing he’d done. Reese had made plenty of mistakes in his own life, had sometimes dreaded having to defend his life before God, but he’d done nothing on the scale of what Brock had done. He had to figure that God knew how to take care of that.
Probably the worst thing Reese had done, now, was to mistrust Gabby and say mean things to her. He prayed about that, asked for forgiveness.
Knew he could be forgiven by God, already was.
Gabby, though...that was another question. She saw into people’s hearts.
So making sure his heart was right—that was the important thing.
He sat staring at that banner, read it again.
To know the love of Christ, which passes knowledge, that you might be filled with all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:19.
He knew the love of God, in his head at least, but did he really know it in his heart? Was he filled with the fullness of God?
He had to admit the truth: not really. Some of the time, maybe, but not all the time. Not enough to make him good at dealing with life’s challenges and blows.
He had the feeling, though, that Gabby truly knew that love. Otherwise, how could she deal with what had happened to her? His stomach twisted at the very notion.
How could she raise Brock’s child, but by an exceptional gift of grace from God?
He sat praying for some of that kind of love and grace to fill him, too, until the heightened music let him know the service had ended. Then he went to Gabby’s car to wait for her.
* * *
When Gabby emerged from the church into snowflakes that looked as big as saucers, Izzy lifted her face, felt them and blinked, looking startled. Then she laughed and tried to catch them.
Gabby stepped back to take Nana’s arm, intending to give her a little extra support on the slippery sidewalk, but Nana was talking to Mr. Romano. They were arguing, of course, but amicably for once.
After Mr. Romano’s family came and swarmed around him, Gabby took Nana’s arm and walked with her to the car.
At which point she saw Reese leaning against it, arms crossed, legs planted wide. He looked like a movie star to her, and her heart turned over.
He might be handsome, but it was how a man treated you that mattered. She stopped, clutching Izzy a little tighter. “What do you want?”
“I’m still hoping to talk to you,” he said.
Nana looked over at Gabby, her grip tightening. “I can take Izzy home, if Reese can bring you. If you want to talk to him, that is.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Reese took a step toward her. “Gabby, I’m so sorry for not delving into the real story of what happened...” He broke off, took a breath. “What happened with Brock.”
Gabby narrowed her eyes at Nana. “You told him!”
“I just put a few facts into his mind. He figured out most of it himself,” Nana said complacently.
She studied Reese. His eyes were sympathetic, sure. But something still didn’t feel right about all of this. Gabby needed to listen to her own truth, not anyone else’s. “Reese,” she said, “I’ll think about forgiving you. I appreciate your apology. But honestly, I’ve heard sweet words from you before, and they were quick to change once something else happened that made you think badly of me.” She shook her head slowly. “Words are cheap. They’re not enough.” She sidled past him to open the car door, snapped Izzy into her car seat and then helped Nana into the passenger seat.
She got into the driver’s seat. Carefully, she eased the car out of its parking space and drove away from the man she loved with all her heart.
Chapter Fourteen
As Reese drove to his aunt and uncle’s house, he berated himself. Why hadn’t he ever considered that Gabby might have gotten pregnant through an assault? When he thought it through, he realized anew how committed she’d been to saving intimacy for marriage. She’d been tempted during their high school relationship, they both had, but she’d stood strong against it and encouraged him to do the same. They’d avoided situations where too much willpower would be required. They’d talked about it and prayed about it.
So why hadn’t he instantly realized what must have happened when she’d shown up with a baby?
Finally, he told himself to stop. Yes, he’d been wrong to assume that Gabby’s connection with Brock had been romantic and consensual. As memories came back to him, he had to acknowledge that Brock had always been hostile to him, had always wanted what Reese had—the grades, the athletic success, the friends. And yes, he’d been jealous of Reese’s close connection with Gabby.
One of the few physical fights they’d ever had had been because of remarks Brock had made about Gabby, insinuating that, of course, a poor girl from a bad family would readily be intimate with any boy.
He shook away the thoughts that were threatening to undo him. Talk about a bad family. Yes, Gabby had faced a lot of difficulty and heartbreak at the hands of her mother, and she hadn’t known her father. But her grandmother had stepped up and made a warm and wonderful home for Gabby, and as a result, she’d become a strong and resourceful person.
Whereas Reese himself...
Reese had started out with a strong family, but the years of putdowns from his aunt and uncle, both open and subtle, had taken their tol
l. He’d come to doubt himself, to agree with their assessment that there was something inherently flawed about him.
That was why he’d been so quick to assume the worst about Gabby. Because he hadn’t felt worthy of a woman like her. On some level he’d been waiting for rejection, both when he’d gone overseas and when they’d connected again.
But when he remembered to let the fullness of God’s love live inside him, he remembered that his worth wasn’t based on any human assessment, nor on what he’d done right or wrong. He was a child of God, and that made him worthy. Just as Gabby was worthy.
But he still wanted to set right the wrong he’d done her. He pulled up to his aunt and uncle’s home—the mansion that had never felt like home to him, even though he’d lived there throughout middle and high school—took a couple of deep breaths to remind himself to stay cool and headed for the front door.
The lawn decorations were all restored, he noted. Uncle Clive had turned down Reese’s offer to help with it, saying the gardener would take care of it, which he obviously had.
He tapped lightly on the door and then walked inside. The Christmas tree in the foyer was perfectly decorated in silver and gold, and the even bigger tree in the front room was also perfectly decorated, this one in shades of blue and purple, presumably to match the furniture.
He thought of the lopsided tree in Gabby’s grandmother’s living room, bearing all colors of cheap ornaments mingled in with Gabby’s preschool creations and strings of popcorn. Their nativity scene was from one of Nana’s ceramic phases and was clearly an amateur production. There was no comparison with his aunt’s crystal nativity, painstakingly collected over the years, one expensive piece at a time.
Warm color versus cold ice.
He followed the sound of a TV show into the den. “Hey, the door was unlocked so I walked in.” Of course he’d called first; they hated unexpected visitors.
Uncle Clive muted the television. “Welcome, welcome,” he said, rising to shake his hand. “What brings you out again on Christmas Eve? You wanted to talk to us about something?”
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