Come to the Lake

by Macarthur, Autumn

  “Right, and when I first arrived, I raised the count to two single women in Sunset Point. Yet you didn’t even notice I existed.” Her words didn’t shake. Not one bit. Exactly as cool and unaffected by his declaration as she wanted to sound. Even if she didn’t feel it.

  “I’d been in the habit of thinking I loved Maddie. I was slower than I should have been getting over it.”

  “Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “And Maddie’s husband coming back might have had just a little to do with it, too.”

  “Okay, that helped.” He spread his hands ruefully. “But I would have figured it out myself if he hadn’t.”

  “Would you? I’m not sure I can believe that.”

  As she sniped at him about Maddie, she knew in her heart it wasn’t the real issue. If things were different, she’d be ecstatic right now. She’d grab at him in a moment if she could give him the kids he wanted. His obvious crush on Maddie last Christmas wouldn’t have crossed her mind.

  But things weren’t different.

  Raising his focus from the snow his boots scuffed up, his brown gaze met hers. “I’m sorry. I guess.…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he searched for words. “Okay, it’s like this. The moon and the stars are still there in the daytime. We can’t see them for the sun, right? But they’re still there and still real, we just don’t see them till after the sun sets, and then they make the night beautiful.” He gestured to the blaze of the Milky Way overhead.

  Unlike Ryan to be so poetic.

  But he’d confirmed what she already knew. If she wasn't his sun by now, he didn’t really love her. Or didn’t love her enough to still want her when she dropped her bombshell. What man eager for a family would?

  Hastily straightening her shoulders, drooped lower with each word he spoke, she raised her chin. “That’s exactly the problem, Ryan. If I did choose to marry you, I wouldn’t settle for less than being the sun in your life. Your moon and stars, too. That’s the only way it can be when I love someone.”

  Hope lit his eyes. “You are my sun, now. I just meant when you first arrived. I was stupid and wrong, I admit it. So does that mean—”

  “No!” Both her hands slammed into the air in front of her face like stop signs, to interrupt him.

  Ryan jerked back as if she’d swung a punch at him.

  Well, maybe she had. Good as, anyway.

  Guilt and regret twanged though, sharp and painful. Hurting Ryan, the nicest guy she knew as well as the most irritating, had never been on her To Do list.

  But he had to forget any thoughts that he loved her, now. If making sure he did meant hurting him, then she’d have to hurt him. Better to do it now than let him keep imagining they could have a future together.

  She didn’t love him. Not really. Nothing more than her pointless hormones, that’s all.

  Maybe one day soon she could actually believe it. When the ache of having to turn him down went away.

  “Truly, Ryan, I’m not the girl for you. I can’t give you the happiness or the life you deserve. I’d hate to let anything develop between us then have you realize that fact.” Every word the truth.

  “I love you, Claire. Nothing you tell me can change that.” Smiling, he reached for her hands again.

  She pulled back. Arm’s length was the only safe distance. Though the other side of the lake might be an even safer distance.

  “You don’t know that for a fact. How could you?”

  Maybe she should tell him the one thing sure to drive him away. But she couldn’t face dealing with the mess she’d become if she tried.

  “I’m pretty sure I do know. I’m sorry I was so slow to realize you were the woman I wanted to share my life with. I won’t stop hoping you’ll figure out I’m the man for you, too.”

  How could she make him understand, without telling him the truth? “Not everyone wants marriage and a family. My life is fine as it is.” Time to lighten the mood. “Anyway, if your prediction is correct, soon I’ll have six cats. Who needs a man when she can have that?”

  He loosed an exasperated sigh. “Or, you could have the six cats and a loving husband who likes most critters.”

  “Sticking to cats would be way less trouble.”

  Cats would never make her have to talk about things she never wanted to even think about, things that would turn her into a bawling mess. She couldn’t tell Ryan the truth. Not now and not ever.

  Chapter 12

  Claire wanted to block her ears. Gabble meaningless words. Scream out loud if it would help. Anything to stop Ryan from saying more, talking about things she’d spent the last five years running from.

  Love talk. Marriage talk. Family talk.

  He stood eyeing her, lips quirked to one side, head shaking a little. More exasperated than hurt by her rejection.

  Good. She didn’t want to hurt him. But he looked too much like a man who hoped she’d change her mind and who knew how to be patient.

  Better simply be her imagination, a trick of the light.

  Because before she knew it, she’d weaken and melt into his arms, which could only lead to heartbreak for them both.

  “Please, could we let it go now, Ryan? Let’s not ruin each other’s Christmas.”

  “As you wish.”

  Now it was her turn to shake her head, but with gritted teeth. He hadn’t used that line from her favorite old movie accidentally.

  Smiling, he raised his mittened hands in surrender. The man knew full well “As you wish” meant “I love you.”

  At least teasing was better than arguing or cajoling.

  Ryan didn’t say more, and he didn’t reach for her hand again.

  Though he’d done exactly what she asked, she missed the sweet contact. Longed for things to be different, so she could take his hands. Let him hold her.

  Even cry on his shoulder and tell him exactly why today had been so hard for her.

  Her gaze fixed on the blinking lights adorning the Gregorys’ house. Anything to avoid his eyes.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  Still not looking at him, she nodded and turned.

  They walked in silence through the quiet evening, the only sound the soft crunch of their feet on the snow. Near the corner where she’d turn off, her foot slipped. Unbalanced, she jerked, windmilled, and held her breath. Ryan grabbed her arm, steadying her.

  Solid as a rock. A man a woman could depend on. Any woman but her.

  She twitched her arm from his hold. “Thanks.” The muttered word sounded and felt less than gracious.

  He simply smiled. “It’s okay. Guess there’s some icy patches hidden under this new snow.”

  “Guess so.” A glance measured the distance to her house. Time to let Ryan go. “I’m fine to walk the rest of the way on my own. And your mom will be expecting you home, too. Please let her know I’ll be thinking of her tomorrow.”

  And I’ll probably be thinking of you, too. Much as I wish I wouldn’t.

  “You could always come in and tell her yourself? She’s still hoping you’ll join us for lunch.” He tilted his head toward the big house he’d grown up in.

  Not a wise move. Either going there now or for Christmas lunch.

  Much as she wanted to support Ryan, and Jeannie too, in their first Christmas since Hank died, spending the holiday with them felt too risky. They both might see it as encouragement she’d be wrong to give.

  Especially when she already longed to grab his coat and pull him close to kiss him.

  Refusing him hurt — an icy boulder in her chest. But he’d thank her one day when he found the girl who really was right for him. Ryan deserved a wife who could give him what he wanted.

  She shook her head. “Jeannie’s kind to ask me, but I probably won’t. I have a date with my cat, my flannel PJs, and a bunch of old movies on Netflix. My idea of a happy Christmas.”

  Ryan huffed. “Hope you enjoy it. If you change your mind, you can simply turn up. It’s an open invitation.” He gazed at her, brow furrowing a little
, doubt darkening his eyes. As if undecided whether to say more.

  “Go on, say it.” Probably risky, but this day couldn’t get much worse. Even though he only imagined he loved her, his day hadn’t been exactly a barrel of laughs, either.

  “Okay.” He took a step back, suggesting he already guessed she wouldn’t want to hear whatever it was. “I’m thinking I should tell you something from a book Pastor Roberts gave me not long after Dad died.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. A book on grieving, for sure. Maybe even the same book her pastor had given her, donated to the Goodwill unread.

  Ryan guessed right. This wouldn’t be anything she wanted to hear.

  He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “It said some people get angry with God and other people when something bad happens. They switch off to letting in the things that are still good in their lives.”

  Not responding to that. Not meeting his warm, brown eyes. Not letting his well-intentioned words settle in her heart and mind.

  Not letting herself retort that he had no idea of how bad “bad” could really be.

  Instead, she simply shrugged and focused on the way each word puffed visibly from his lips, steaming in the frozen air. Let it trigger safer memories. How she’d loved pretending to be a dragon as a kid, on the rare winter days cold enough for her breath to steam.

  And now, she really was becoming a dragon. Before too long, she’d be like Mrs. Parks. Except with cats instead of a yappy little dog.

  “I’m getting nudged to tell you a verse that book quoted,” Ryan continued. “A different version to the one everyone usually quotes. I don’t know if it’s a God thing or not, but here goes. ‘Stop fighting, and know that I am God.’ You don’t need to keep fighting, Claire.”

  Fury swelled in her, hot and quick. Her hands clenched, and she closed her eyes, struggling to contain the volcano of rage, stop it erupting. She didn’t need anyone, especially someone who hadn’t been through what she experienced, telling her how she should feel.

  Ryan had grieved, sure. He’d lost his dad.

  But she’d lost more, so much more. She’d had to fight, every day since the accident, simply to hold herself together.

  “Whatever that bad thing was, God is still there for you. He won’t let you fall. And I won’t, either.” Emotion roughened his low voice. Almost tenderness. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

  If she let his tenderness in, she’d break her heart even more. And his, too.

  “Thanks, Ryan. I need to go now.” Her words emerged clipped and tight. She clamped her mouth shut to stop saying more.

  He wanted to help. She got that. He simply didn’t understand. How could he? No one understood because they’d never been where she’d been.

  Stomping away, she didn’t look back, didn’t sneak a backward glance. Knowing Ryan, he’d be standing where she’d left him, waiting till he saw she’d made it safely home before he went home himself.

  His care for her lit a warm, gentle glow deep inside her, totally unlike the heat of her fury. Ryan was a good man. One of the best. Her anger wasn’t aimed at him. He didn’t deserve it.

  God did.

  Her tense shoulders and rigid back sagged as soon as she shut her front door behind her. Leaning on the door, she pressed her gloved hands hard against her eyes to hold back tears.

  Help me, God. Why don’t You help me? You really don’t care, do You? If You did, surely You’d show me You do. Like Ryan does, in so many little ways.

  He was right about one thing. She was fighting God. And in the last five years, God hadn’t given her a single reason not to.

  Mrs. Mehitabel twined around her legs meowing. Sniffing a little, Claire bent to pet the tabby. “Are you telling me you care, Mrs. M? Or do you only care for the dinner I’m about to feed you?”

  The cat didn’t answer any more than God did.

  Peeling herself away from the door, Claire took off her boots and coat then padded out to the kitchen. The expectant cat loosed a string of pitiful meows as Claire opened two pouches of Mrs. M’s favorite food and emptied them into a bowl.

  “No good pretending you’re starving, Mrs. Not when there’s still half a bowl of your crunchies left from lunchtime.”

  She should get herself something, too. A hot chocolate. Cheese on toast. Then turn on the TV. Pretend today simply hadn’t happened and everything was fine.

  It didn’t help. A Christmas Carol, a film she normally loved, was mere light and noise. Nothing to distract her from the memories, hitting full force, impossible to suppress.

  The excitement when the contractions became strong enough to ask Karl to take her to the hospital. The joyful anticipation that soon she’d see her baby. The moment the car spun out of control. Her desperate prayers, hands clutching her belly as if somehow she could keep her baby safe. Then the crash and the terrible pain and slipping into darkness. Waking in the hospital to more pain, tubes in both arms, and a flattened belly.

  The doctor’s explanations — he’d tried to save her baby, but by the time they’d arrived in the hospital, it was too late. He’d tried to save her womb, but the damage was too much. Oh, and he was sorry, her husband died, too.

  Next, the nurse wheeling her baby to her, washed and dressed in pink. Perfect and beautiful, with ten fingers, ten toes, the cutest little button nose. But so quiet, so still.

  She’d walked out of the hospital six days later, with a red angry wound running vertically up her belly and five pints of other people’s blood in her veins. Gone home to an empty, quiet house.

  People told her over and over she was lucky to be alive. That she should feel glad her husband didn’t suffer. That she could be thankful her baby was with Jesus. She didn’t feel lucky or glad or thankful. She just wondered why she hadn’t died in the accident, too, when so much of her died that night.

  Her hands formed fists, hit again and again on the arm of her couch. Hot tears burned her eyes. Tears of anger at the unfairness of losing Karl and Rose and the other children she might have birthed. Losing everything she’d hoped and dreamed and planned.

  Why, God? Why? Why do that to me — and to them? How can You claim to love us when things like this happen?

  She asked Him, over and over again. God never answered. He didn’t care, and the proof was — He hadn’t shown He cared. Not once since the accident five long years before. This time wouldn’t be any different.

  But this time, the verse Ryan quoted echoed in her mind. “Stop fighting, and know that I am God.” Along with a gentle whisper. “Trust Me.”

  Was this her answer?

  Could it be that, the same as she hadn’t noticed or she’d been irritated by the small, everyday ways Ryan showed he cared, she’d been the same with God? Had she really refused His help, the way she’d refused everyone else’s help, from her family to her pastor to the grief counseling the hospital offered her?

  Maybe if she stopped fighting Him and flinging anger at Him, she’d find He’d been answering and trying to show how much He cared all along.

  Suddenly, she knew. The answer was right in front of her, in the Nativity scene on her mantelpiece.

  Christmas was the proof she’d asked Him for.

  The Nativity wasn’t just a nice story to tell the kids and get them to act out once a year. The Baby in the manger wasn’t just a doll. That was a real, live, flesh-and-blood baby, as real as Maddie’s new son. God’s gift to us, as surely as Nathaniel was to Maddie and Brad.

  God answered. He always answered. He answered right there — Jesus, God’s Son, a baby resting in the hay.

  God knew exactly what she felt because He’d lost a child, too. Letting His Son be born a baby, knowing the terrible way He’d suffer to bring life and redemption to all who chose to accept it. When Jesus cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” right before He died, what father wouldn’t have wept tears of blood for his son?

  God’s answer wasn’t like the ones other people tried t
o give her after the accident. Not an easy-to-say canned answer, like “But you can adopt” or “It’s all God’s will and you need to accept it.”

  God had suffered just as she had. He knew her pain. And He gave her what He could to help.

  God’s answer in Jesus was far from easy. Nothing pat or throwaway about it.

  But Jesus was the answer that made all the difference. An answer to meet her where she was, right there, crying and punching her couch. An answer to stay with her for a lifetime.

  All those prayers she thought weren’t answered, when what she needed to do was stop fighting long enough to open her eyes and see Him standing there, arms outstretched, ready to help her.

  Please forgive me, Lord, for blaming You so long. I’m willing to trust You again. I’m willing to trust that You will heal my pain. I’m even willing to trust that You can bring good out of the most terrible things.

  Memories washed over her again, this time her ghosts of Christmases Past.

  All those good Christmases with Mom and Dad and her sister, secure in the knowledge she was loved and cared for. The years she’d shared with Karl, full of hope and joy and dreams of the life they’d have, the children they’d raise, the family they’d make.

  And then the wonderful Christmas when she’d been expecting Rose. She’d felt the first flutters of the baby moving inside her on Christmas Day and called it the best Christmas present ever. She’d been so truly happy. Those memories weren’t the curse she’d seen them as when she’d lost it all.

  They were still a blessing. They always had been.

  Thank You, Lord, for giving me a good family and Karl’s love. Those years were wonderful gifts. And thank You for the privilege of carrying Rose. I felt her grow inside me. I felt her move. I saw her lovely face. Open my heart and mind to trusting she’s now safe in Your hands.

  She imagined literally taking all those hopes and dreams and handing them over to God. And holding her beautiful perfect baby in her arms, hugging her close for a moment, and then passing her over into God’s tender care.