by Amanda Cabot
There was no reason he should be worried about Gillian, and yet he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that something was wrong. She had filled his thoughts tonight and set his nerves on edge. Perhaps it was only because he felt so empty inside that he was projecting his feelings onto Gillian.
TJ walked slowly along the edge of the lake, trying to concentrate on the way the stars reflected on the almost still water. It was a beautiful spring evening with a crescent moon rising over the horizon, the lightest of breezes wafting the scent of cedars through the air. It was an evening to rejoice, but TJ wasn’t rejoicing. He hadn’t rejoiced in a long time, just as he hadn’t felt complete in a long time.
He kicked a pebble, smiling when it landed in the water with a satisfying plop. That was good. What wasn’t good was being unable to remember the last time he’d wakened without that horribly sickening feeling of emptiness inside him. Teaching hadn’t filled it. As he’d told Gillian, TJ knew he was a good but not a great teacher. Even marriage hadn’t satisfied everything. Being married to Deb had been wonderful and had filled many of the empty spaces, but even then TJ had had a sense that something was still missing.
He stopped and stared at the lake, as if the answers were hidden in the ripples, and as he did, memories flashed before him. Life had changed when he and Deb began to spend their summer vacations traveling in an RV. They’d both enjoyed the adventure of discovering new places, of meeting new people, but the turning point had come the day TJ had led a Sunday worship service. That day he’d felt as if the last empty space had been filled. But now . . . now he was once again empty, and it was worse than ever, because he could remember what it had felt like to be fulfilled.
He walked slowly, his feet moving without conscious thought. When he reached the end of the Rainbow’s End property, he turned around, intending to return to his cabin. But though he couldn’t explain why, he did not turn down the small path to his front porch. Instead, he continued along the lake’s edge, paying little attention as he passed the main lodge. It was only when the dock came into sight that he paused. There, sitting on the small bench, her shoulders slumped, was Gillian.
TJ stared at her, his heart aching at the sight of her obvious distress. Should he approach her? He might be intruding, and yet he could no more bear the thought of her unhappiness than he could stop his feet from moving toward her.
“Bad night?”
34
Gillian turned, startled by the sound of TJ’s voice. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
She hadn’t expected anyone else to be out, or she wouldn’t have come to the dock. When Mike had dropped her off by her cabin, her only thought had been to climb into bed and bury her head beneath the blankets, but instead she’d changed into jeans and a shirt and had walked to the dock.
As a child she’d found the rhythm of Lake Erie’s waves relaxing. Bluebonnet Lake had no waves, nothing more than ripples, and yet there was something mesmerizing about watching those ripples form and vanish. She’d been staring into the distance, trying to make her mind a blank, when TJ arrived.
“I’m not sure you would have heard me even if I’d been on my bike. You looked lost in thought.” He came closer but didn’t take a seat on the bench until she nodded.
“Just lost is more like it.” Gillian wasn’t certain why she’d admitted that. Though she’d tried to pretend nothing was wrong on the drive back from Austin, she wasn’t certain she’d convinced Mike. And when she’d practically sprinted from the car to her cabin door, giving him no chance for a good-night kiss, she knew she’d disappointed him. But now she was telling TJ more than she’d intended.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m not sure.” On Monday she had known that talking—some would call it venting—was the only way to ease the pain. Tonight she was not so certain. Though Gillian had considered knocking on the door to Kate and Greg’s apartment, she had reconsidered. Kate would listen. Gillian knew that. But she also knew that her friend needed more sleep and fewer worries. She wouldn’t burden her, and she had no intention of asking TJ again. Twice in less than a week was too much.
“Sometimes it helps.”
Gillian looked at TJ. Though he was dressed as casually as ever, something about him seemed different. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but she thought she saw uncertainty in his eyes. It hadn’t been there on Monday.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “Sometimes it helps. It did on Monday, but sometimes it doesn’t.”
He nodded. “You won’t know which one this is unless you try.” He cupped his ears again, reminding her of the almost playful gesture he’d used in the park. “I’m ready to listen.”
Gillian was silent for a moment, considering. TJ had opened the door, his question and gentle persuasion announcing that she wouldn’t be burdening him with her revelations. Remembering how much he’d helped, she nodded.
“Once again you’re right. What you called my hot date turned out to be a mistake.”
“Did Mike . . . ?” TJ broke off, as if he feared his question might be too personal.
“It wasn’t Mike’s fault,” Gillian said quickly. “If I didn’t realize how difficult it would be, how could he?”
“Where did you go?”
Gillian wasn’t certain why he was asking, because she’d mentioned her plans the previous day. “We went to dinner in Austin, then to the symphony.”
TJ nodded. “And you weren’t ready to be reminded of the times when you were one of the performers, not a part of the audience.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Exactly, but how did you know? I had a few misgivings when Mike first invited me, but I didn’t expect it to be so bad.” She turned to face TJ directly. “You nailed it on your first guess. How’d you do that? And how did you know just what to say when I was so upset on Monday?”
She wasn’t sure he’d answer, but as an owl hooted and a small rodent scurried through the grass, TJ began to speak. What he said surprised Gillian.
“Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time watching people, trying to figure out what made them tick and what their problems were, then working with them to solve those problems.”
Simple words, and yet the way he uttered them told Gillian there was a story behind them. “I can’t help noticing that you used the past tense. Why did you stop being a counselor?” Knowing this part of his past made her understand why he was so good with the teens. It wasn’t simply his teaching background. He did more than impart knowledge of historical facts and dates to his students; he helped them understand themselves.
“I wasn’t a counselor per se.” TJ’s voice held a melancholy note. “I never had any formal training.” And he regretted that. She could hear it in his voice.
Gillian was determined not to let the conversation die. “It sounds like you counseled anyway. When was that?”
“Summers.” TJ’s fingers gripped the edge of the bench, as if the memories were painful. “You know Deb and I used to travel. We rented an RV, which meant we stayed in campgrounds. Lots of people there with lots of problems. I tried to help.” He shook his head slowly, making Gillian wonder if he was trying to shake the memories loose. “One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I wasn’t just counseling. I was holding informal church services each Sunday, trying to share God’s Word with the other campers. Folks started calling me the RV Reverend.”
As blood drained from her face, Gillian gulped in surprise. That wasn’t just counseling. It was much more. “You were a minister?” The man who said a church wasn’t the place for him had once been a preacher?
“I wasn’t ordained. I was just a man who tried to help folks through their hard times.” Though he made it sound simple, Gillian knew it wasn’t. There was more to his past than TJ wanted to admit.
“But you were really good at it.”
“Why do you say that?”
>
“I’ve seen you with the teenagers. You’ve gained their respect, and that’s not an easy thing to do. You’ve also set a good example for them. The first day we were in Firefly Valley, I heard a lot of profanity and crude language. Someone else might have ordered the kids to clean up their language, but you didn’t. Though you never said a thing, it’s stopped. All you had to do was look at them, and they knew you were disappointed. And because they didn’t want to disappoint you, they stopped swearing.”
“I didn’t even think about it.”
Gillian wasn’t surprised. “It must be instinctive.” She paused to stare at the water, then returned her gaze to TJ. “Why did you stop being the RV Reverend?” Though she believed the reason was his wife’s death, she wanted him to say the words. As he’d proven to her just a few minutes earlier, there was something cathartic about voicing thoughts.
“Why? Because I wasn’t willing to be a fraud. I thought my faith was as strong as a rock, but it wasn’t.”
“Because of how you felt when your wife died.” If TJ wouldn’t say it, she would.
“Yeah. All I felt was emptiness and anger.”
TJ stared into the distance, the set of his lips telling Gillian how deep the hurt was. “People kept reminding me of Jeremiah 29:11. I don’t know how many times I preached from that passage. At the time, I thought I was giving people comfort, but when Deb died, I realized I didn’t believe it anymore. I didn’t see any good things happening.”
The anger and bitterness in his voice made Gillian’s heart ache. Help me, she prayed. Help me find the right words to comfort TJ. She took a breath, searching deep inside herself for something to say.
“You were angry. Maybe you even still are. After all, anger’s a normal part of the grieving process.” Gillian remembered the sessions she’d had with the psychologist. “Believe me, I know all about anger. At first I was angry with the motorcyclist for hitting me, but then I started being angry with myself. I kept telling myself I should have seen him coming, I should have moved more quickly. And when people started quoting Jeremiah to me, I felt the way you did,” she said, hoping she was on the right track. “I still do at times. So many people reminded me of that verse that I started to hate it. One even embroidered it on a little pillow. I can’t count the number of times I was tempted to throw that pillow into the garbage. To this day, I can’t tell you why I didn’t.”
Gillian watched as TJ swallowed, shifting so he faced her. Surely that was a good sign. He wasn’t tuning her out. Instead, he looked as if he cared about what she was saying.
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then continued. “When I felt as if I’d reached the end of the rope, I Googled Jeremiah 29:11, trying to find every translation. I was sure I’d missed something, and I had.” Gillian kept her eyes fixed on TJ, wanting to ensure that he was still listening.
“Some of the translations say God has plans to give us prosperity and good things, but some—including the King James Version—take the approach that what he promised us was peace.”
TJ’s lips tightened momentarily, as if she’d touched a sensitive chord, before returning to their neutral state.
Gillian kept her voice low but firm. “It took me awhile to realize that peace didn’t mean there would be no suffering, but once I accepted that, my anger began to fade. Many days I feel as if I’m still waiting for the peace; others I feel as if I’ve found it. You helped me regain part of that peace on Monday.”
Now that she knew he’d devoted his summers to helping others, Gillian understood how TJ had been able to reach through her pain and touch her heart. Perhaps knowing how he’d helped her would show him he was still the RV Reverend, someone who could touch people’s hearts.
TJ said nothing, and his expression remained impassive. Had she reached him? Gillian didn’t know.
“I feel like a fool telling you all that,” she said when the silence grew oppressive. “You’re the one who used to be a preacher.”
He shifted on the bench to face her again. “Used to be being the operative words. How can I even think about preaching when my faith is so weak?”
She heard the anguish in his voice. “Do you think you’re the only one whose faith has faltered? What about the apostle Peter? He was confident he would never deny his Lord, but he did exactly that—not once but three times—yet Jesus called him a rock.”
“I’m no rock.”
“Aren’t you? You shored me up twice this week.”
TJ was silent for a long moment, as if he were trying to digest all Gillian had said. Finally he rose, then reached forward to pull her to her feet. “It’s too cold for us to be out here. Let’s get you back to your cabin.”
He slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer, and as he looked down at her, his eyes were somber. “I came out here hoping to help you, but you’re the one who comforted me. To be honest, I didn’t know that was possible. I didn’t think anyone could help me, but you did. Thank you, Gillian.”
She started to respond, but before she could, TJ’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re a very special woman,” he said softly. And then, before Gillian knew what he intended, he lowered his head to kiss her.
It started as the lightest brush of lips, a touch as soft as a butterfly’s wings, but within seconds it intensified. TJ’s hand moved to the nape of her neck, bringing her face closer to his while his lips tantalized her, feathering kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth before recapturing her lips.
Gillian had been kissed before, but never—not even in her dreams—had there been a kiss like this. She entwined her arms around TJ’s neck, savoring the sweetness of his lips and the shivers of excitement the touch of his hand on her neck sent down her spine. Her pulse raced and her heart began to pound, all because of this man and a kiss that was sweet and tender at the same time that it was deeply passionate. If dreams came true, this moment would never end.
Closing her eyes, Gillian etched the memory of each sensation onto her brain and into her heart. Then, without a warning, TJ stepped away.
“I’m sorry, Gillian. That was a mistake.”
35
It wasn’t a mistake. Gillian frowned as she ran the brush through her hair, trying to tame the tangles that somehow managed to appear overnight. The kiss she and TJ had shared was not a mistake.
Admittedly, the evening had not turned out the way she’d expected. When she’d shopped for the dress and later when she’d applied her makeup and styled her hair, she’d thought about how the evening might end. She’d expected a kiss. More than one, actually. She’d expected a romantic interlude with sweet words and even sweeter kisses. What she hadn’t expected was that it would be TJ who gave her that kiss and that the interlude preceding it would be far from romantic.
The way the evening ended had been unexpected, and yet Gillian could not regret it. TJ might not believe in Jeremiah 29:11, but she did. It and Romans 8:28 were among her favorite Bible verses. Although she had yet to discover the good behind her accident, and though she was still struggling to imagine what the future might hold in store for her, Gillian knew that God did work things out for the best.
Last night was a good example. If she hadn’t been distressed by the concert, she would not have gone to the dock. If she hadn’t gone to the dock, she wouldn’t have met TJ there. And if she hadn’t met TJ, she wouldn’t have received—and given—comfort. That was all part of God’s plan, and so was the kiss. It had stirred her senses, but more importantly, it had shown her that TJ was beginning to heal.
As they’d walked beneath one of the resort’s lights, Gillian had seen the difference in his eyes. The pain that had dominated his life had lessened. It might have been their conversation. It might have been the kiss. The cause didn’t matter. What mattered was the result. That was not a mistake.
And the way she felt this morning was not a mistake, eit
her. Though she’d lain awake for hours, replaying her time with TJ and the unforgettable kiss, Gillian had wakened feeling energized, as if TJ wasn’t the only one who was healing.
She frowned again as she glanced at the clock and realized she’d missed breakfast. That hadn’t been her intention, but perhaps it was for the best. She needed more time before she saw TJ again.
Ten minutes later Gillian climbed the stairs to Kate’s apartment, hoping her friend wasn’t going to grill her about her date with Mike but recognizing the unlikelihood of that. At least Kate didn’t know what had happened on the dock. Even if she had been looking out one of her windows, none of them overlooked the dock.
“Do you and Mike have any plans for today or are you still recovering from your big night?” Kate asked when she’d offered Gillian a cup of coffee. She settled back in her chair, glancing at the laptop on the table in front of them. “You certainly caught the paparazzi’s attention. I had half a dozen Google alerts this morning.”
Kate tapped the screen to wake it and read, “‘Has Mike Tarkett found the woman of his dreams?’ Only you can answer that. Here’s another one. ‘A noteable match?’ They spelled it wrong and even put a musical note next to it in case readers didn’t catch the pun. ‘Renowned pianist and Hill Country heir spotted together.’ You get the idea.”
Gillian tried not to wince. “I didn’t think anyone recognized me.”
“You, my friend, were dreaming if you believed that.” Kate slid the plate of pastries closer to Gillian, encouraging her to take one. Though Gillian’s hunger had faded with the realization that she was once again a news item, she knew she needed to eat something before she went to the center.
“Reporters are trained to ferret out names,” Kate continued, “and when that name is as famous as yours, there’s no chance of anonymity. I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple paparazzi showed up here today.”
