by Rachel Hauck
“There.” Ruby-Jane jumped down, sweeping the chair aside. “Oh, Ginger . . .” Her eyes watered as she pressed her fingers over her lips.
“Be honest, please.” Ginger swept her gaze from RJ to Michele. “Am I crazy? Do I look ghastly?” She offered up her bare, scarred arm, the gold glitter in the body makeup catching the late afternoon light floating through the window. “Is it too much? The glitter?”
“It’s perfect. You are going to blow Tom away.”
She touched the skin patch at the base of her neck. The sleeveless gown was a surprise for him. Her gift. “I can live with my arm and back being exposed, but what about this?” She motioned to her neck.
“You’re fine, Ginger,” Ruby-Jane said. “Don’t second-guess yourself now.”
She was right. If she was going to be brave, then be brave. Next month, Ginger had an appointment with a renowned plastic surgeon, a friend of her future father-in-law’s, who had volunteered his time and skill to repair the botched graft.
But truth was, she’d already met a renowned surgeon. Jesus. Who’d healed the inner wounds no one could see. And all it took was love. His and Tom’s.
A sweet laugh escaped her lips.
“What?” RJ said, smiling, leaning in, wanting to join Ginger’s joy.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, treasuring the moment. “I’m just happy.” Ruby-Jane still insisted God watched from a distance, so any talk of Him would spark debate.
“Ready to see what you look like?” Michele turned Ginger toward the full-length mirror.
“Ready.” Ginger closed her eyes and followed Michele’s leading—one, two, three steps to the right. She’d insisted they get her ready without a mirror. In case she panicked. Believing she was beautiful was still a battle some days.
“Open your eyes.”
Ginger inhaled, then opened her eyes on the exhale. The glass was filled with her image, clothed in white, her ombre hair sculpted on top of her head in a retro ‘60s updo, and gold glitter filling the creases of her scars.
Tears bubbled up.
“Wait, here, for the final look.” Ruby-Jane dashed for Ginger’s small, wired bouquet of roses and gypsophila. “Perfect, so per—” RJ’s voice broke so she finished her thought with a sweet, weepy smile and a nod.
A tender knock echoed from the door. “Ready?” Maggie Boyd peeked inside. She’d returned home from Ireland two months ago, demanding to be Ginger’s wedding director.
So much favor came when she accepted love. When she accepted God. And her destiny.
“Ginger, oh, Ginger,” Maggie drew a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “We’re going to have to pick Tom up off the floor.”
“Let’s hope so.” Ginger grinned, winking. She had a bit of confidence because he’d seen her scars. He’d asked two days ago to see her side and back, so tonight, when they became one, she’d not fear him seeing that part of her for the first time.
He traced his fingers along every jagged, rugged crevasse of her disfigurement, whispering prayers of healing, peace, and joy.
Not only for her body but for her heart.
His tenderness and care, as he ran his hand over the damaged flesh that would become his on their wedding night, along with his weepy, whispered prayers created an emotional exchange between them that nearly overwhelmed Ginger.
She could never doubt God’s love for her. She saw it manifested every day in Tom.
Tucked deep in her heart, that odd January day it snowed in Rosebud and Tom had reappeared in her life would always be one of her sweetest treasures.
“Baby, it’s four-thirty.” Mama popped into the room. “The sanctuary is filled to the brim.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I think my heart is about to burst. Ginger, sugar, you are so beautiful.” She said it plainly, without stuttering.
Mama was changing too.
Ginger took one last glance in the mirror. She’d chosen a sleeveless gown because she loved it. Because it fit like a glove. Because if she didn’t have wounds on her arm and back, this would be her dream dress.
Go for it . . . Tom. Always Tom. The voice of truth and courage.
“Ah, I hear the orchestra, the music is starting.” Mama had worked double shifts at a diner after her city day job to earn money for a fifteen-piece orchestra. It was her way of, as she put it, “doing my part.”
“RJ, maid of honor, get going.” Maggie shoved Ruby-Jane toward the door. “Don’t forget this.” She snatched a bouquet from the nearby table.
Ruby-Jane’s heels thunked against the wide hardwood. “Shifting gears from helping the bride to being maid of honor.” She grinned at Ginger. “See you down there.”
Michele also slipped out the door, blowing Ginger a kiss. “Going to find Alex and the kids. Go get ’em, Ginger.”
“I’m proud of you.” A corner tear glistened in Mama’s eyes. “And I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt you.”
“Mama, no, no,” Ginger soothed away Mama’s tears. “Today is my wedding day. A fresh, new start. And you know what, we’re going to bury all the junk of the past in the past. You’re forgiven. It’s all forgotten. From this day forth, we’re going to create so many good, new memories, Mama.” Her own speech made her cry. “Now, are you walking me down the aisle or not?”
“I am, yes, ma’am, I am.” Mama snatched a tissue from the box by the mirror, the folds of her chocolate trumpet chiffon skirt with the lace bodice and ruffle beading flowing about her legs. “I’m sorry your daddy didn’t see his way clear to make it.”
“Last apology, Mama. That’s on him. I still love him. It’s just, well, life doesn’t always turn out like we hoped but—”
Mama traced Ginger’s arm. “We find ways to make it our own kind of beautiful.”
“All right, I hate to break up the love fest but the orchestra is a minute into ‘Unchained Melody’ and we’ve only got another minute and a half so if you want to walk down the aisle I suggest you get a move on.” Maggie gestured toward the door.
Mama offered Ginger her arm and together, they made their way to the sanctuary doors, Ginger’s heart palpitating with electric excitement.
The ushers pulled the doors wide at Maggie’s command. Ginger rounded to the entrance, catching her breath to see her handsome groom at the altar, waiting for her.
Mama trembled slightly as she escorted Ginger down the aisle. All eyes were on her now. Seeing her scars. What were they thinking? That she was hideous? Crazy for exposing herself? The thought shot a bolt of panic through her.
Then she saw Bridgett and Eric, their faces like beacons among the sea of guests. Smiling, Bridgett clasped her hands together in a “victory” pose. Eric gave her a vigorous thumbs-up.
Maybe, just maybe, she could join the bold and the beautiful.
Ginger continued down the aisle, shifting her gaze from the people to her groom. The man she loved so deeply and desperately. What did it matter what the guests thought? His opinion was the only one that mattered.
She met Tom’s glistening gaze. He approved, she could tell by his expression and his trembling chin.
By the time she arrived at the end of the aisle and the music faded, the sanctuary echoed with feminine sniffles and masculine throat-clearing.
Tom’s cheeks glistened. “Hey, babe . . .”
“Hey . . .”
Then Pop, who was officiating, stepped up and asked, “Who gives this woman to be married?”
“Yours truly,” Mama said, placing Ginger’s hand in Tom’s. “I mean it now . . . I said it once, I’ll say it again, you take care of my girl.”
“Always, Shana. Always.”
Taking Ginger’s right arm, she expected Tom to lead her up the altar steps but instead he faced the guests.
“I didn’t plan this but my heart is about to burst. I’m so proud of my beautiful bride . . . the bravest person I know. A year ago, she hid her scars beneath long sleeves and scarves. Even on the hottest summer days. But today, she—” His voice faltered
. “I told you, babe, you are so beautiful.”
Then the guests, one by one, rose up, applauding.
Tom’s glistening blue eyes locked onto hers. “Ginger, I am so honored to be your husband.”
“Husband?” She made a face, grinning. “Not yet. You better walk me up those steps to your Pop and get this thing going. Because I want to kiss you.”
Tom laughed low. “Then by all means.”
He walked her up the altar steps to Pop and she peered sideways at him. “You know I love you, Tom Wells.”
“You know I love you, Ginger Winters.”
Pop led them through their vows and when he’d pronounced them man and wife, Tom drew Ginger to him, his right hand about her waist, his left hand on her scarred arm, and he kissed her with passion, sealing their vows with the sweet brush of love.
Dedication
For the One who makes all things possible, even novellas.
Thank you for entrusting me with this ministry and for equipping me to write each and every page.
Prologue
Josh,
Since I broke up with you, I can’t stop crying. Can you please forgive me? I love you. I’m certain I’ll always love you.
Today would have been our eight-month anniversary. When you left for MIT a month and a half ago, I never imagined that we wouldn’t keep dating or that I wouldn’t see you again at Thanksgiving. The long-distance thing has been miserable but our marathon phone calls and our back-and-forth emails throughout the days were getting me by.
Now I’ve lost all of it, and I’m heartbroken without you.
Here’s what you don’t know and what I can’t tell you. Your mom came to see me. She drove to UT San Antonio, met me in my freshman dorm room, and took me to lunch. She cried, Josh. She cried because she’s so upset over the fact that you’re unhappy at MIT. She said you told her that you wanted to leave and come back to Texas to be near me.
She’s a single mom and you’re her only son and she loves you. My heart went out to her.
You’ve worked so hard. You’re a genius and you’ve earned the financial aid scholarship that MIT offered you. Please understand I don’t want anything to get in the way of that, especially me. You deserve to go there and you have to make the most of this opportunity because your mom can’t afford to pay for you to go to college anywhere else.
She held my hands and, with tears streaming down her face, asked me if I’d break up with you. She said that so long as we were dating, you wouldn’t be able to pour your whole focus and determination into your education. She said you’d always be torn between two places.
Maybe I should have stood up to her and refused to break up with you. Maybe I should have told you about my meeting with her, even though she begged me not to.
Your mom has always been wonderful to me, Josh. I respect her and I care about her and I couldn’t turn her down. So I called you and ended our relationship without giving you any good reason other than that my feelings had changed and that I wanted to be free to date here at UTSA.
My feelings haven’t changed, Josh. I don’t want to date anyone but you. And I can’t stand the fact that I let you think otherwise. Since our breakup, I haven’t taken your phone calls and I haven’t returned your emails and I won’t mail this letter. But it’s not because I don’t love you. And that’s why I can’t stop crying.
You might not know it yet but you’re going to do great things. I know it. I love you. And I’m very, very, very sorry for hurting you. Can you ever forgive me?
With all my heart,
Holly
Chapter 1
The moment Holly had imagined, dreaded, and obsessed over had arrived. Josh Bowen—oh, my goodness it really was him, Josh, um, holy smoke!—was walking toward her down Martinsburg’s Main Street sidewalk. Josh had returned to town temporarily, and thus, she was about to come face-to-face with her high school boyfriend for the first time in eight years.
Holly came to a halt, sensing the coffee inside the three to-go cups in the cardboard tray she held sloshing at the suddenness of her movement. Her heartbeat sped into nervous panic mode.
He hadn’t spotted her yet. She could dash into the candy shop and hide. Or maybe the children’s boutique . . . Only, she’d known for some time that Josh planned to visit Martinsburg, Texas, for Ben and Amanda’s wedding. She’d been giving herself pep talks about this very moment, steeling herself to confront him again, practicing, even, what she would say. She shouldn’t hide. She should deal with this, with him.
Thank God, she’d actually taken a bit of time on her appearance this morning. While her jeans, white top, and well-worn-in brown leather jacket weren’t what she’d have picked for this reunion, they were decent enough.
Josh.
He looked much like he had at eighteen, except taller, his facial features less soft, his whole bearing more international. He no longer dressed like a graduating senior from a small-town Texas high school. In a navy pea coat open down the front, gray sweater, and flat-front charcoal pants, he gave off a hip and urban vibe. He was hip and urban now. Since she’d seen him last, Josh had leveraged his brilliance into a ridiculously successful tech company and moved overseas.
A piquant mixture of sweet memories and bitter heartache rose within her.
He glanced at something in a store window, giving her a view of his clean-lined profile. Then he turned his face forward and his attention intersected with her squarely. His expression went blank. His stride faltered.
Oh, boy. Holly attempted a pleasant smile. God had been merciful to her by allowing her to see him first, at least.
Josh seemed to recover himself and continued toward her at a slower pace.
A good number of people, mostly tourists, strolled the sidewalk. At a quarter past ten in the morning on this third day of November, many of the shops on Main had just opened for the day.
Holly stepped to the side, close to a section of brick in between two storefronts. Here, they could say hello to one another without blocking traffic like a boulder in the middle of a stream.
Josh came to a stop facing her.
She could hyperventilate, say something, or run. She chose the second option. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s good to see you again.” The intimacy they’d once shared had been as enormous as China. In the face of that, her paltry sentence felt as small as Luxembourg.
His brown eyes assessed her with a tiger-like intensity that caused all the things she’d planned to say to slide out of her brain. There was something in those eyes that hadn’t been there before. A shadow. A shadow of guardedness and hostility.
What had she expected? They’d loved each other once. Then, without warning or explanation, she’d shut him out of her life.
“Ben told me that you were planning to come to Martinsburg early for his wedding,” Holly said.
“Yes.”
Josh and Ben had met in the ninth grade, become best friends, and remained close. Ben’s dad had never been a part of his life, and Ben’s mom had always been overstressed and cash-strapped. Holly couldn’t imagine her handling any mother-of-the-groom responsibilities for Ben’s wedding. None.
So Josh had relocated to Texas from now until Ben’s Thanksgiving weekend wedding so that he could give his friend the kind of support that counted. Ben had told Holly that Josh had taken over the planning and the funding for both the rehearsal dinner and the bachelor party weekend. Based on the Josh she’d known, his show of generosity and loyalty did not surprise her. “It’s nice of you to make the effort to be here for Ben.”
No affirmative reply.
“I’m Trinity Church’s volunteer wedding coordinator. Since Amanda and Ben have decided to get married at Trinity, I’ll be working with Amanda’s professional wedding coordinator behind the scenes, representing the church . . . Anyway, I’ll be helping out on Ben and Amanda’s big day.”
His tiger eyes continued to assess her with such absorbed con
centration that her mouth went dry. Wrongly, her heart seemed to be gaining speed instead of steadying.
She bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from babbling about the wedding or—at all costs—from blurting out that she was sorry. These many years later, that’s what she most wanted to say to him. It was a sentiment that had often filled the letters she’d written him and never sent, how horribly sorry she was for ruining what they’d had, when what they’d had, she’d realized more and more clearly over time, had been rare and beyond price. “How have you been, Josh? I’ve heard you’ve done very well.”
“I’ve been okay,” he said carefully.
“I’m glad.”
“How about you?” He asked it seriously, like he actually cared about the answer.
“Great.” She gave him a bright smile. He was super smart. He could probably see through it. It was a smile overly, falsely bright. “I write young adult novels.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“I. . . .” How did he know about her novels? “I . . . really love writing. When I’m not on a deadline, or banging my head against my keyboard, or out of ideas. Which is most of the time.”
In answer, his lips indented upward on one side. Josh had a face perhaps a bit too angular and a nose perhaps a quarter of an inch too long to be considered classically handsome. His was an arresting face, grave and interesting, appealing to Holly in ways hard to define. His straight dark brown hair had fallen across his forehead when they’d been dating. Now it looked as though he warmed an expensive men’s hair product in his palms, parted his hair on the side, then combed it back with his fingers to keep it in place.
Holly held onto her cup tray like a kickboard in a choppy sea. She really hoped her mascara hadn’t smudged or that the sip of coffee she’d taken before she’d seen him hadn’t left whipped cream on her lip.
“How’s your family?” he asked.
“They’re all fine. None of them live in Martinsburg anymore. My dad sold his construction business so now he and my mom only stay in their house here a few months of the year. The rest of the time they’re at the lake house or their apartment in Austin cuddling Mark’s baby—did you know that my brother got married and had a little boy?”
