by Judy Duarte
Amy suspected that the highlighted verses might have helped Ellie through some of the trials or struggles she’d had over the years, that they’d given her peace and assurance.
Be still and know that I am God.
Trust in the Lord.
Joy comes in the morning.
She might have taken time to read through them all if she hadn’t stumbled across a couple of pieces of stationery that had been folded together and inserted between the pages, where a single passage had been highlighted. The words, “Ask and it shall be given unto you,” rustled over her as she unfolded the paper and saw a list of names.
Each person mentioned had a handwritten explanation underneath.
Was this a prayer list of some kind? It certainly appeared to be.
Maria—
Lord, at times the young woman who lives next door to me is more like a daughter than the one I bore. Please bring a special man into her life, a man who will love her the way Harold loved me, a man who will respect and honor her in a way her ex-husband never did. Let him also be a good father to her kids, the kind of daddy they need.
And bless each of her children, Lord. Especially little Danny. He was the one who was more affected by his father’s crime and imprisonment, the one who was hurt the most.
Amy could certainly say “Amen” to that. She wanted the same things for her new friend.
As she continued to peruse the familiar script, she noticed a name she didn’t recognize.
Chuck—
I know that he was once hell-bent, Lord, but he’s a good man now. And he’s turned his life around. He’s always got a ready smile and a servant’s heart. He needs the money, yet look at all he does for the folks down at the soup kitchen. I know that I don’t have to tell You that, but I pray that he will reconcile with his son. And while You’re at it, will You please heal that stomach problem he has? I had an uneasy feeling when he told me about it and fear that it might be serious. Don’t let him die before making amends with his only child. My heart goes out to them both, and You know why.
Amy had come to trust Ellie’s intuition, so she added her own prayer for Chuck and his son before reading on.
Angel—
Dear God, bless that dear child, as well as her family—her parents, her siblings, and any children she might have. You, Lord, are the only one who knows the tears I’ve shed since handing her over to that woman from the adoption agency. I would have given anything to raise Angel as my own daughter, and I hope someday she will realize that. Please make sure that she was given to a family who was able to love her—perhaps even more than I would have if Barbie hadn’t been so dead set against it.
After reading Ellie’s journals, Amy had no doubt that Ellie had loved and wanted the baby Barbara had given up, the little girl who’d grown up to be Susan Rossi.
Was that when the rift between mother and daughter had begun? If so, it had been going on for more than forty years, which was a long time to hold a grudge.
Still, Ellie’s prayer for “Angel” had been answered many times over. It was just too bad that she hadn’t been aware of that. It would have done her heart good.
Her own faith buoyed, Amy whispered, “Thanks for answering that one, Lord.” Then she went on to read the other prayers on Ellie’s list.
Joey and Cynthia—
Please continue to bless my dear grandson and his darling wife. He’s been such a good boy, Lord. My only regret is that he never knew he had a younger sister, that the two of them didn’t grow up together.
When Angel does indeed come home, as You’ve promised me time and again that she will, I pray that Joey will welcome her with loving arms, and that the two will become close.
Now, there was a prayer that gave Amy pause for reflection. There was no way that Joey would ever be able to meet his sister, but he could certainly meet his niece. The trouble was, Amy wasn’t so sure she wanted to become a part of the Rucker family. Maybe, if Ellie had still been mentally alert, she might have felt differently.
But Ellie was no longer a factor. And Barbara seemed cool, aloof, harsh. Not at all like the daughter she’d given up.
Susan Rossi had been warm and loving. Playful, too.
And speaking of Barbara…
Barbara—
I don’t even know what to ask for when it comes to my daughter, the heart of my heart. I loved her and doted on her to such an extent as a little girl that she grew to believe the world revolved around her and her needs. Funny how that happens. A mother can try her best to raise her child, and while we all make mistakes, we don’t usually recognize them until it’s too late to correct them.
I have no idea where that girl got her stubborn streak, Lord, but it will be her downfall if You don’t step in and teach her how to temper it. At one time, as a little girl, she was close to You. I pray that she will turn her heart and her life back over to You, Lord. That she will come clean, with You and with Joseph.
Yes, I know why she’d like to keep things a secret, but as Pastor George said in his sermon a couple of Sundays ago, she needs to own her mistakes so she can move on. Otherwise, she’ll be like that little hamster Joey used to have, running like crazy on a wheel going nowhere.
Interesting, Amy thought as she began to connect the dots. If Barbara needed to “come clean” with her husband, then it stood to reason that she’d betrayed him somehow.
Had she hidden the fact that she’d given up their child? Or that she’d been pregnant with another man’s baby?
Maybe it had been a matter of infidelity, although it would have been tough to conceal a pregnancy. Wouldn’t it?
Amy pondered the possibilities, then shook them off.
Did it really matter?
She supposed it did, if she were to actually approach Barbara and reveal that she was “Angel’s” daughter.
But did she even want to broach the subject at all? Did she owe it to her mother to do more than just find the Ruckers?
Having no solid answers, she continued to read the last entry on the prayer list.
Me—
Last, but certainly not least, Lord, I pray that You look out for me. The elderly tend to become forgetful at times, so I hope that’s all it is with me. But I’m afraid that some thing else is going on, and it frightens me.
I don’t want to get dementia and become a burden on my family. Please don’t let that happen to me. But if it’s part of Your plan, I pray that You take me home before it gets bad.
A bevy of goose bumps chased up and down Amy’s arms. She wasn’t sure how God would choose to answer that prayer, because Ellie’s mind was all but gone, and she was still here.
The familiar tone of Amy’s cell phone rang, drawing her from her musing. So she tucked Ellie’s list back into the Bible and went for her purse to answer the call.
It was Brandon, and his voice seemed to be lugged down by something. Despair? Weariness?
She gripped the phone tight and pressed it against her ear, trying to pick up background noises or some clue as to where he was and why he was calling. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. I need to talk to you. Let’s have dinner tonight.”
“We’re talking now,” she said.
“Not over the phone. I need to see you in person. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Whoa, she thought. Slow down, Brandon. A conversation over dinner sounded way too much like a date, and she wasn’t up for it. Not if he had candles, soft music, and a bottle of wine in mind.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.
“Why not?”
Because she didn’t want to go soft, didn’t want to back down from the decision she’d made to go forward with her life. She still had feelings for him, but they were no longer strong enough to even attempt to work things out.
“I’ve already told you how I feel about reconciling,” she said.
Silence stretched across the phone like a bad connection.
“Is there someone else?
” he finally asked.
“No.” She never would have cheated on him, and even now that they were separated, she wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone else. It was too soon.
“Then why won’t you go out with me?” he asked.
“Because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
The silence returned, and the line sparked with unspoken feelings, pain, and disappointment, creating an imaginary static.
Brandon blew out a restless sigh. “I’ve never met a woman as stubborn as you, Amy.”
That was too bad. He might see her determination and resolve as a flaw, but she considered it an asset. She was sticking to her guns, doing the right thing. Protecting herself and her daughter from untold disappointment in the future.
“I’m sorry, Brandon. I care for you. You’re the father of my daughter. But I want so much more than you’re willing to give me.”
“I’ve given you everything I possibly could. What more do you want?”
“We’ve been over this before. I wanted your time.”
“That’s not a problem. You can have it—”
“Your promises aren’t good enough anymore.”
That prickly silence returned, threatening their conversation.
When she’d had enough of it, when she’d sensed a change of heart, when she was just about to roll over and agree to meet with him one last time, even if it was over a candlelit dinner and a glass of wine, Brandon said, “Fine. Have it your way.”
His receiver slammed down like the lid of an airtight casket, and the next thing she heard was silence—the cold, shuddery kind that followed death.
Tears welled in her eyes, and a long, hard ache burrowed deep into her heart.
The first time she’d told Brandon their marriage was over, she’d been angry. But now that it was truly over and buried, all she felt was a deep and brutal sense of loss.
At his wits’ end, Brandon stared at the telephone in his office, slammed his hand down on the desk and uttered a curse.
It was over. It was really over, and there wasn’t anything he could do to fix it.
His heart rate was raging out of control, and he had the urge to get some fresh air, to escape the confines of the room that seemed to have sucked all the life out of him.
The red light on the intercom flashed and the familiar buzz sounded. His world might be spiraling out of control, but life as he knew it at the law firm was going on as usual.
He pressed the button, accepting the call from his secretary. “Yes, Kara?”
“Are you up for lunch? You don’t have any appointments this afternoon, and you came in early.”
That was because he’d hoped to have a dinner date with Amy tonight, and he’d wanted to cut out before five so he could pick up flowers and take a shower.
He glanced at the clock across from his desk. 1:23. He really wasn’t hungry, but he wasn’t going to be able to focus on anything other than Amy if he stayed here one minute longer.
Before the walls closed in on him, he said, “Sure. Why not?”
Moments later, as he was slipping on his jacket, a light rap sounded at the door he’d closed in order to have some privacy during his call to his soon-to-be ex-wife.
“Come in,” he said.
Kara, a petite brunette in her mid-twenties, poked her pretty face into his office and smiled. “I thought it’d be fun to try that new bistro that just opened up down the street, Jazzy Blue’s. What do you think?”
Brandon had wanted to try it, too. “Sounds good to me.”
He closed his office door, then followed Kara down the hall and into the reception area. His gaze first lit upon the glossy dark curls that she sometimes wove in a twist. Today she wore her long hair loose, and it danced along her shoulders when she walked.
And speaking of walking, her hips swayed seductively side to side.
Had his secretary always been that attractive?
If so, when had he stopped noticing other women?
Chapter 16
The sun cast a lazy summer glow over the San Diego streets as Brandon walked with Kara to Jazzy Blue’s.
After they turned onto Coast Highway, she nudged his arm, as if their outing had made them friends instead of coworkers. “I heard through the office grapevine that you and your wife have separated.”
He really didn’t want to discuss the split, although he wondered where she’d heard about it since he’d tried so hard to keep it quiet. Jake Goldstein might have spilled the beans, but he was usually pretty discreet and not prone to gossip. So maybe it had just begun to show in Brandon’s eyes, in the clothing he wore—Amy used to buy all his ties and would suggest which one he ought to wear, since she was more style conscious and had a good eye for that sort of thing.
Before Brandon had hung up the phone just minutes ago, he would’ve been unhappy to learn that people were talking and making assumptions about his personal situation; he’d had enough of that in the past, when he’d been a kid. But now that he’d faced the fact that the marriage was really over, he supposed there wasn’t any reason to keep it a secret.
Deciding that he’d pondered a response to Kara long enough, he finally said, “I’m not proud or happy about it, but Amy filed for divorce. And I guess we’re going to follow through with it.”
That meant talking to a family law attorney, he supposed, but he didn’t want to retain anyone. Not yet. Amy had been fair so far, and he had no reason to believe things would get nasty. If they did, he’d have to hire counsel, but he didn’t plan to fight.
That was odd, he realized, since he’d had to fight so hard to get to where he was. If he hadn’t, he might not have survived his childhood, gone on to college, or climbed the ranks at the firm.
They walked several more blocks before Kara spoke again. “I’m sorry to hear that, Brandon. You’re a great guy, and a woman ought to thank her lucky stars to be married to you.”
He ought to be flattered by the comment, and actually, he was. But did she really mean it?
In spite of having a reputation as one of the top litigators in the county, he had to admit that he still harbored a few insecurities about his worth—thanks to Chuck Masterson never caring enough to suck it up and be a real father, one a kid could depend upon. So Amy’s rejection and his own sense of failure only seemed to make it all worse.
Brandon had won a full ride to UCLA and gone on to graduate from Cal Western School of Law at the top of his class. He’d also worked day and night to make partner at Price, Feller, Goldstein and now Masterson, but none of it seemed to matter at this point. He’d been with Amy for almost as long as he could remember, certainly as long as his life had held meaning, but she’d thrown a wrench into the well-oiled, carefully crafted works.
And as angry as he was, as much as he wanted to forget all about her and start fresh, he couldn’t seem to let go of the memories, the dreams he’d had, all of which included her and Callie.
He couldn’t help wondering what another guy in his situation might do.
Take off his wedding band, he supposed.
Would a relationship with another woman make him feel better?
He stole a gaze at Kara, noticed her chic profile, the flush on her cheeks, the hint of a grin on lips that had been artfully defined with a glossy shade of pink.
Could someone like Kara help him to set his out-of-step life back on track?
And if so, would she even want to?
As they turned right and continued along B Street, Brandon sneaked another look at the shapely brunette, a woman most men would find attractive.
Why not push the issue, take advantage of the opportunity beside him?
He looked up at the summer sky, caught the ocean breeze on his face. It didn’t make sense, but he just couldn’t do it, didn’t want to.
When he tried to contemplate why, family values came to mind, which was a flat-out-ridiculous reason since he no longer had a family to speak of. Yet he had to admit that his father, wit
h all his faults, had been a one-woman man. So much so, that when his mom had died, his old man had fallen completely apart.
There hadn’t been anything else on the face of the earth that could take Marianne Masterson’s place in Chuck’s life—other than the prescription pain meds he routinely dropped and the booze he chugged.
Strangely enough, Brandon could almost understand why he’d taken that route, since he was having such a hard time calling it quits himself and letting Amy go. And for the first time in his life, he saw just what his mom’s loss had done to his dad—from his father’s perspective. He could see how it had crippled him, at least in the beginning, and he understood how the inability to get over it and move on with his life had eventually taken its toll. Not that Brandon planned to let it go that far, or to drink himself into a stupor each night, but he could see why someone might want to take an easy way out.
Up ahead, he spotted Jazzy Blue’s, the trendy new bar and grill that several of the other attorneys had been talking about.
“I heard that they have an extensive wine list,” Kara said, “and a martini bar. It might be fun to come back some evening after work. I love jazz music.”
Was that an opening he ought to snatch? Should he ask if she’d like to come back with him later today? Maybe take advantage of happy hour?
If it was an opening, he couldn’t quite bring himself to take advantage of it, which was pathetic, wasn’t it?
At the intersection they were approaching, a homeless woman, her shoulders slumped by the weight of her plight, was pushing an overladen grocery cart along the cross street. Then she turned right and continued a slow pace in front of them.
Her unkempt hair and shabby clothes reminded Brandon of the guy named Jesse. And even though the woman hung another right and pushed her cart into an alley, disappearing from sight, his thoughts remained on Jesse.
The words the homeless man had spoken resonated in Brandon’s mind as clearly right now as they’d reverberated on the city street the day they’d shared a bench near the bus stop.
