Divine Connection

by Amy Lyon

  Sara nearly choked on her next breath and two things happened: First, the air in the bus sparked with the electrified secret that she was responsible for her husband’s death. And second, she got a whiff of Sweet Serenity.

  She fell back into the driver’s seat, exasperated. “What are you wearing?” She gripped the bus wheel.

  “Tahari,” Sally said, straightening imaginary wrinkles from her mauve suit. “And the most comfortable Jimmy Choos I’ve ever owned.”

  Vivian perked up behind them.

  “I’m talking about your scent, mother. That perfume smells awfully familiar.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the military, Jackson was trained to handle some of the most intense assignments imaginable. He remained vigilant in deadly convoy missions and quickly assessed health and welfare emergencies like it was just another day at the beach.

  But he was at a loss for how to defuse the mother-daughter situation happening right in the front of him. He’d already plucked Vivian out of the middle twice—a place she had no business sticking her nose—and now they hung near the back of the bus below the emergency exit sign to give Sara and Sally their space.

  When pressed, Sally admitted to using the hide-a-key Sara had stashed in the bushes in front of Sweet Serenity to get inside the shop, as well as to taking Sara’s essential oil blend.

  “The smell reminds me of you,” Sally said, sniffing her own wrist. “And I wanted something to remind me of you.”

  “How did you know where to find me? My shop?”

  Sally tilted her head toward Vivian, who buried her face in her hands.

  “Helpful Chamber of Commerce you have down here,” Sally said.

  Vivian jumped up. “I did it,” she said in a dramatic tone. “We met at the Fourway Motel when I was dropping off flyers. We got to talking and—”

  “I came here for you,” Sally said to her daughter.

  Sara recoiled. “Why? To ruin my life again?”

  “Oh no,” Vivian moaned. “This isn’t happening!” She whirled around and yanked the red emergency exit handle.

  A high-pitched buzz filled the bus. Though Jackson’s reaction time was quick, he wasn’t quick enough to stop Vivian from thrusting open the door and bailing out the back.

  He hopped out behind her as Sally and Sara rushed out the front of the bus, their hands pressed over their ears.

  “So I’ve ruined your life, huh?” Sally shouted over the buzzing.

  Sara shrugged and she might as well have screamed yes! the way Sally spun on her expensive high heels and sped off toward her rental car.

  Sara folded her arms across her chest and Vivian pounced on her.

  “You’re being too harsh,” she cried. “Your mother is trying to fix the relationship between you two.”

  Sara jabbed a finger in Vivian’s direction. “You did this. You brought her here and you made this mess.”

  Vivian’s face crumpled and her whole body quivered, then she let out a guttural sob.

  Jackson stepped forward and touched Vivian’s back. Sara’s tone shocked him, but he couldn’t say he blamed her. He’d used anger before to cover up his pain, but he also knew how ineffective that tactic could be and the harmful consequences.

  “I’m sorry,” Vivian howled. “I wanted to help because I’ve made the same mistake you’re making. I turned on my mother, who had breast cancer like your mother, and accused her of ruining my life, and then she died. Gone, Sara. Forever! And I have to live with those last words.”

  Jackson gritted his teeth. He expected a softening from Sara, but to his surprise she met Vivian’s stare without flinching.

  “Not my problem,” Sara said flatly. “As far as I’m concerned, my mother’s already dead to me.”

  Vivian gasped and Jackson dropped his arm in shock.

  And he thought he wore a thick, protective coat of armor. He went around to the back of the bus, slammed the exit door closed and the alarm stopped.

  Sara turned to get back on the bus, but Vivian halted her with a tight grip on her arm.

  “You can’t leave like this—”

  Sara shook her off and Jackson stepped in.

  “Vivian’s right,” he said. “I think you should …”

  He trailed off when the fire jumped to life in Sara’s eyes. She squared her shoulders.

  “Let’s make a deal,” she said, raking him over the coals with a glance. “You two deal with your issues and leave me alone to deal with mine.”

  Scalded, Jackson dropped his hands to his sides and closed his eyes as she boarded the bus and drove away.

  * * *

  Sara could barely see through the tears that clouded her vision as she carried gifts from the church bus into her cottage. With each trip, her mental baggage grew heavier as she tried to reconcile herself with the monster that had sprung to life inside of her. Finally, she collapsed into the sky blue Adirondack chair on her porch. The chair Jackson had expertly hammered together using salvaged wood, painted the beachy hue, and left as a surprise on her patio the day before.

  Man, she’d screwed up.

  Had she really thought he would pursue her after what she’d said about her mother and the glimpse he’d gotten into her past?

  She swiped at her face. Yes, she was a monster. And the same evil that made her wish her own husband dead more than a year ago was the same evil that swirled inside of her today. Nothing had changed. And no amount of tears or self-pity or physical distance could take that away.

  As far as I’m concerned, my mother’s already dead to me.

  She winced at the memory of her words, an acute sense of regret and loss spreading through her.

  Breast cancer. The reality that she could lose another parent to the dreaded disease struck a fear so deep inside her that she fell to her knees, clenching her hands and bowing her head to the porch floor.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Please help me.”

  She didn’t know how long she knelt on that floor in prayer, but exhaustion finally set in and she practically crawled to her bed. She slept, albeit fitfully, and woke the next morning still wearing her dress and feeling no better than she had the night before.

  So she did what she always did when the need for distraction arose. She sorted through her cupboards, organizing and reorganizing the glasses, plates and bowls, then moved on to the pantry where there were only a few canned goods and boxed foods to toy with.

  When those tasks didn’t bring her the usual comfort, she mixed up cleaning supplies for her shop and crafted a strong blend of lemon and sweet orange for her diffuser.

  If only she could mix up a blend that would wipe out cancer.

  She made her way to the shop with a bucket and a heavy heart. Sweet Serenity was spotless with only a few minor touches needed before the grand opening later in the week, yet Sara gave every flat surface a wipe-down and even dusted the bottles that had arrived in the mail a few days before.

  It was almost one when she peeked out her shop window to watch a car drive by, hoping she’d catch a glimpse of Jackson. But the driver was the college student Jackson had hired to take care of his shop for a few days.

  Sensing no relief from the organizing or cleaning, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her shorts. Empty. Oh, how she needed that coin right now.

  On a new mission, she combed through every square inch of the cottage in search of the remembrance token. When she didn’t find the coin anywhere, she drove the bus back to the church and hunted through her car right there in the parking lot.

  Two hours later, exhausted and empty-handed, Sara sank back into the chair on her front porch. She wanted to call Andi, but her cousin was bobbing around the Atlantic Ocean blissfully in love and unaware of the disaster back home.

  She thought about how Andi had mended her broken relationship with her own mother when she moved to Mimosa Key. Andi admitted that she’d wished she hadn’t waited so long to reconcile with her mother, and that it took Millie’s dement
ia diagnosis to wake Andi up to the importance of family over career.

  Sara needed to wake up and step up.

  She picked up her phone and dialed the cell phone number she knew by heart. The number she’d tried to erase from her memory, but the one that replayed like a nursery rhyme in her head.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes as she thought of the path that brought her to this moment. What would it take before she’d stop nurturing the hurts of her past and look forward to forgiveness with her mother?

  And forgiveness for herself.

  If you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.

  She pressed the call button.

  As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

  Sara sucked in a shaky breath as the phone rang, biting her lip until it throbbed like her pulse.

  When the familiar voice answered, she saw the red of her past wiped clean.

  “Mom,” she said. “Can we talk?”

  * * *

  Jackson stood on the front porch of Beachside Rentals with the Naples Daily News in his hands.

  “Check out the front page of the D section!” he read on the note that was attached to the newspaper with twine.

  He sat on the porch step and flipped to the business section. There on the front page was a photo of him on that same porch with Jax smiling next to him, and an article featuring both his and Sara’s businesses.

  The headline read, “New and old celebrated on Harbor Drive.”

  A lump formed in his throat, and he smiled with pride as he read about the history of Beachside Rentals sprinkled with quotes from local business owners who knew his dad.

  Sara’s fingerprints were all over the article, and not just in the information about Sweet Serenity and its humble beginnings. There was also mention of Beachside Rentals’ new website and social media links, as well as the time and location of the paddleboarding demonstration.

  “That’s it,” he said. Folding the paper, he stuck it under his arm and marched over to her cottage.

  This would be the fifth day of no communication from her and enough was enough. He’d given her the space he thought she needed, but too much time might signal apathy on his part.

  And he cared more than she could imagine.

  Her screen door was open and from the front steps he heard her humming inside. He rubbed his chin. Maybe this time apart hadn’t been as hard on her as it was on him.

  “Knock, knock,” he said and held up the paper.

  She came to the door, unlocked the hitch and invited him in.

  “Have you started a paper route?”

  He grunted, taking the faint glint of humor in her eyes as a good sign.

  “Got your note,” he said and handed her the slip of paper.

  “Note?” she asked and tilted her head to read the words.

  Then it dawned on him. Of course. Vivian.

  Sara had been so heavy on his mind that he’d just assumed the special delivery came from her.

  But she was interested nonetheless. She took the newspaper from his hands, sat on the couch and flipped through pages.

  “So they did write an article,” she said, her green eyes twinkling.

  Jackson stepped forward and took the paper back. “You can read it after you talk to me.” He folded the pages gently. “What’s going on with you?”

  She turned her palms up and shrugged. “What do you mean?”

  He dropped down beside her. “I haven’t heard from you.” He tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “I’ve missed you.”

  Sara’s lashes flipped up, then she bent her head and studied her hands in her lap. “I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

  He grunted. “Why would you think that, Sara? Talk to me.”

  She slapped her hands on her thighs. “Okay, I’ve got to get this out. I’m done hiding from my past.”

  A wave of apprehension rolled through him and he rubbed the back of his neck. “All right,” he said slowly.

  She turned to him. “Mack and I had a terrible marriage,” she said in a whoosh.

  Well, he’d have to be completely honest, too. “I know. Andi told me.”

  Sara nodded, seemingly not surprised. “Did you hear what my mother said? On the bus?”

  Jackson tried to quickly filter through the back and forth of that night. Truthfully, he wanted to forget that whole interaction and move on, but clearly Sara had wounds that needed to be healed.

  “That she forgives you,” he finally said. “That she came here for you.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “No, that Mack’s family no longer—” she swallowed a lump “—blames me for his death.”

  Jackson did remember that, but the comment didn’t make any more sense now than it did that night. “Why would they blame you? He died in a motorcycle crash, right?”

  Her lips drew tight. “I deserved all of it,” she said in a low, tormented voice.

  “The way he treated you?” He clucked his tongue. “I don’t think so. You were innocent—”

  She straightened and pinned him with her eyes. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Jackson. I’m not innocent in all of this.”

  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you figure?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I purposely left his helmet in the closet rather than putting it out on the table like I always did when he went for rides. I knew something terrible was going to happen that day. I felt it—” she clutched her gut.

  “He was a grown man—”

  “And I prayed,” she said in a whisper, squeezing her hands together. “I knew I couldn’t ask for a divorce because the church constantly preached about how God hates divorce. But I knew I couldn’t live the rest of my life that way. So I started praying, ‘Please, God, get me out of this mess’. And when nothing changed, I changed my prayer, ‘Please, God, just take him out of this world’.” She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “I didn’t see any other way out. I wanted him to die.”

  Jackson rubbed his chin, then the back of his neck, then finally sat forward on the edge of the couch where he could get a better look at her. Silent tears fell from her closed eyes and he couldn’t imagine the unnecessary torment that mounted inside of her.

  “Look at me,” he whispered and when she finally opened her eyes, he said, “I still don’t see it.”

  Sara shook her head and wouldn’t look at him.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand and wiped her tears with his thumb. “How could you blame yourself for this?”

  She swiped at her cheeks. “How can you not see it?” she asked in a tear-smothered voice. “I prayed for him to die, Jackson. What kind of person does that?”

  He threaded his fingers with hers. “A desperate person. A lonely person. Someone who has had the life sucked right out of her and saw no other way.” He paused and took a deep breath. “The fact that he got into an accident has nothing to do with your prayer. Frankly, you’re not that powerful, Sara. That was between Mack and God.”

  They sat silently for a long time. Finally, Jackson had to ask the question that was on his mind. “Did you tell Mack’s family that you’d wished their son—”

  “No!” Sara said defensively, clapping her hand over her heart.

  “But, on the bus, your mom said Mack’s family forgives you for what you did—”

  Sara sighed heavily. “After I found out how much debt Mack had gotten us into and that he’d let his life insurance policy lapse, I wasn’t able to pay our mortgage and I moved in with my mom. I thought telling her what I’d prayed for would be cleansing, you know, like confession for Catholics.” She shook her head. “Worst thing I could have done.”

  “Why?”

  “She was so burdened by the truth that I would pray such an awful prayer that she went to the religious leaders of our church and told them everything.”

  Jackson groaned. “Oh, she
didn’t.”

  “She did. And that’s not the worst part. That Sunday the lead pastor organized a special prayer circle around me at the end of the service. I thought it was strange, but I figured that was customary for widows.”

  “And?”

  “The pastor rattled off everything I’d said under the guise of—” she made air quotes above her head “—‘feeling moved by the holy spirit to pray for me in a big way.’”

  “Oh no, Sara.” Jackson leaned forward and drove his elbows into his knees. “What did you do?”

  “I was so traumatized by the whole thing that I ran out of the church and never went back.” She looked up at him. “Mack’s family went to that church. They heard everything.”

  Jackson had no words. He wrapped his arms around her wanting to protect her from anything that could ever hurt her again. Sadly, he knew that wasn’t possible, but he’d spend his life trying.

  If she’d let him.

  “That church was so wrong,” he said. “And I need you to believe in here—” he tapped her chest over her heart “—that you didn’t cause Mack’s death. That you are a good person.”

  She looked up at him and the desperation in her eyes was palpable. She sighed. “I want to believe that. I really do. It would make it so much easier to look at myself in the mirror and—” she gestured around the room “—start over without feeling this overwhelming guilt in the pit of my stomach every single day.”

  He clutched her tighter. “Matt taught me that we won’t always understand why God does the things he does or lets us suffer when he could so easily flip the switch. Free will, I guess. But I do know that God would never put the burden of Mack’s death on you. He’s not like that.”

  Sara nodded. “Maybe I’ll try going to church with you some Sunday.”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “No hurry. In the meantime, maybe there’s a lesson to take away from this.”

  Sara grunted, but got his humor. And she felt comforted being this close to him again. “Oh yeah, smart guy? What’s the lesson in all of this?”

  “Never settle for less than you deserve.” He turned her toward him, gently cupping her face in his hands. “Everyone has a story and that’s all this is. A story. A piece of your past. What matters now is just that, here and now. Sweet serenity.”