Falling for You

by Becky Wade

  He stared at the hearth and imagined puzzle pieces locking together in ways he hadn’t seen until now.

  God had brought him to Shore Pine. God had brought his father here, too, to this place that had been good for his dad. He’d given them work. He’d brought Willow and connected her to Corbin through Charlotte. God had made a way for Corbin to forgive Willow and Willow to forgive Corbin. He’d made a way for the two of them to resist the mistakes that had caused Willow to break up with him the last time. And then, after she’d gone, God had remained. He’d been offering Corbin something better than Willow’s presence or his dad’s health or football. He’d been offering Corbin Himself.

  Gratitude clutched Corbin’s heart. God had been showing Himself to be trustworthy for a long time now. He’d been far more faithful to Corbin than Corbin had ever been to Him.

  This God of his was a God who was determined to set broken things right.

  Corbin was a broken thing.

  From now on, he’d let God set him right.

  Three days later, Willow unlocked the door of her LA home and pulled her rolling suitcase inside behind her.

  She hadn’t been here since last spring, so she’d hired a housekeeper to wash sheets and dust so that the house would be pristine when she arrived. Indeed, everything looked immaculate. She’d decorated and stocked this house to the brim. It hit just the right notes. Stylish and relaxing. Cozy and inviting. Gracious.

  It also reverberated with silence.

  She’d always had a deep hunger for home. She’d done her best to fill that need through countless shopping sprees. She’d put time and heart and money into making this house as fabulous as it could possibly be and, even so, this showplace wasn’t home.

  Home was God. Home was the people He gave you to love while you were on this earth.

  She made her way through the familiar rooms that felt oddly unfamiliar. They hadn’t changed. She had.

  When she reached her kitchen, she set her purse on the counter and extracted from it the newspaper article she’d been reading on the plane. She stuck it on her refrigerator with a magnet, then took a step back to read it one last time.

  The headline proclaimed, Wife of Missing Man Accuses Senator Foster Holt.

  The photo showed Senator Holt in profile, hurrying into his limo, surrounded by his attorneys.

  Washington, D.C.—Richard Reynolds, 55, Senior Analyst at American corporate giant Sierra, Inc., went missing two years ago. Yesterday, his wife, Angela Reynolds, came forward with material he left for her in their safe deposit box before his disappearance.

  According to Mrs. Reynolds and substantiated by sources close to her, the safe deposit box contained audio tapes, photographs, and a zip drive of financial documents that implicate Senator Foster Holt.

  “Richard grew increasingly anxious in the weeks leading up to his disappearance,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “He confessed to me that he’d been funneling money from Sierra to Foster Holt through campaign donations as well as private payments, and he feared that the FEC was growing suspicious. When he informed his superiors at Sierra and Foster Holt that he wanted no part of it any longer, neither would allow him that option. He was afraid for his life, so he began compiling evidence. He told me he wanted me to have it, in case anything happened to him.”

  When asked why she waited two years to make the material public, Reynolds said, “I was afraid for my own life. Also, Richard was a wonderful man, and I’ve been reluctant to share his part in all of this. I’ve dreaded the media frenzy I knew this would cause. But when I met with a team of private investigators last week, and they told me about some of the other things they suspect that Foster Holt has been involved with, I couldn’t remain silent any longer. Senator Holt needs to answer for his role in my husband’s disappearance.”

  Local authorities are studying the material that Mrs. Reynolds has supplied and are said to be reopening the missing persons case of Richard Reynolds.

  Ross Levy, attorney for Senator Foster Holt, had this to say when asked for a comment: “Senator Holt has been a respected and hardworking public servant for four decades. This so-called evidence was likely manufactured by Mrs. Reynolds and insiders from the opposing political party. These accusations are both false and outrageous.”

  No, Willow thought. Not false. Not outrageous.

  It had taken time, but Corbin’s team of private investigators had done what they’d set out to do. Corbin had kept her abreast of their investigation, and last week she’d been one of the first to learn that the team had finally found a chink in Senator Holt’s armor. Willow had no doubt that an arrest would ensue, followed by months, if not years, of legal battles. But she also believed that, in the end, Senator Holt would experience the sting of justice.

  She was sorry for Marjorie Holt and her children and grandchildren. Yet the truth she’d considered the day she and Corbin had sat together on John’s dock—that actions had consequences—kept circling through her mind. The senator had managed to evade the consequences of his actions toward Josephine and Stan Markum and Vickie Goff and others for years. But no longer.

  She rustled through the pantry until she found an unopened box of After Eights that she’d bought for a friend’s bridal shower long ago. Gazing out her kitchen window, she nibbled on the mint chocolate square.

  Yesterday she’d completed her last modeling assignment. She’d fulfilled every single one of her outstanding work obligations, which left her feeling a hundred pounds lighter and also slightly . . . unmoored.

  She’d left one destination behind. However, she was stuck in a kind of purgatory, because she’d yet to reach her new destination. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she was where she wanted to be: beside Corbin in the storm of his dad’s decline. For the time being, her whole focus, her only goal, was to return to him.

  Today, she’d write and mail a letter to Joe because this she knew: The road between LA and Shore Pine was blocked by cantankerous Joe Stewart, a man who was the antonym of her biggest fan.

  Letter from Willow to Joe:

  Joe,

  I realize that I’m not your favorite person. I hope you’ll do me the honor of reading this letter and hearing me out, anyway.

  I’ll begin by apologizing. I know you feel animosity toward me because of how my relationship with Corbin ended four years ago. A few months back, I might have responded to your animosity by pointing my finger at Corbin and angrily listing all the things he did wrong. But my feelings couldn’t be more different now. At this point, when I think about our breakup, I primarily see before me the things that I did wrong.

  I turned my back on my own beliefs for a time, which made me anxious. When Corbin couldn’t make me feel secure, I distanced myself. When he didn’t say the things I wanted to hear in a TV interview, I distanced myself. When I was given a reason to feel betrayed by him, I snatched it. To protect myself, I ended things with him and refused to give him the second chance he asked for.

  I’m a Christian, which means the gift of grace I’ve received allows me to live forgiven. However, until recently, I couldn’t find it within myself to forgive Corbin. After hanging on to bitterness much, much too long, I finally did forgive him. And I believe that he’s forgiven me.

  I apologize for hurting your son and for the hurt I caused you, too. I apologize for the pain Corbin went through because of me after our breakup. I apologize for my unforgiving heart.

  You see, I came to love Corbin (again) this past fall. In the months since I left Washington, through our phone conversations, I’ve come to love him more and more and more.

  I’ve fulfilled my modeling contracts and haven’t accepted any future assignments because I’m very eager to return to Washington. In all honesty, I can’t stand not to be there with Corbin during this time. I don’t want to cause you frustration or anger. I just want to be there to support Corbin and do whatever you’re comfortable with me doing to support you.

  I haven’t returned sooner because I’ve been
very cognizant of the promises I made to you that day, sitting on the porch outside your house. Will you please release me from those promises and allow me to return?

  Please?

  I’ll make you a new promise. I’ll promise to love your son wholeheartedly. To help him find his keys. To make sure he continues to order chocolate for dessert. To laugh at his sense of humor. To look past his charm when he tries to use it as a smokescreen and dig deeper to discover what’s really going on beneath. I promise to protect him. And if we marry one day, I promise you that I’ll stay true to my vows all my life.

  I’ll await your decision.

  You can reach me at the following phone number.

  Sincerely, Willow

  Chapter

  Twenty-six

  Only a week and a half had passed since the day he and his dad had finished renovating the house. In that short amount of time, Corbin had watched the health drain from his dad’s body.

  Corbin had been working to place his trust in God. And to place his trust in God. And again, to place his trust in God.

  In addition to the hospice specialists who checked in with them daily, Corbin had hired round-the-clock nurses. He’d flown in every one of Joe’s family members and friends who’d wanted to visit. Whenever Dr. Benton made a house call, Corbin asked him whether his dad was receiving the best possible treatment. The doctor always assured him he was. Even so, concern gnawed at Corbin.

  Was his dad in pain? Should he have moved him into a hospice facility for his final days? He hadn’t done that because it wasn’t what his dad had wanted. His dad had wanted to stay in his bed. In his room.

  Should Corbin have forced his dad to participate in a clinical trial? Could that have saved his dad’s life? Could Corbin’s life ever be good again without his dad in it?

  Corbin lowered into the chair positioned nearest his dad’s bed. It was still warm from the last occupant, his dad’s sister Donna. Corbin had been downstairs in his office just now, hiding from his relatives. Every time he came within ten feet of one of them, they tried to talk to him, and they all looked at him like they pitied him and like they were painfully eager to help. It was suffocating. When Aunt Donna left his dad, she came downstairs to his office door and let him know his dad wanted to see him. So here he was.

  His dad gave him a welcoming look that crinkled his eyes with affection. He extended a hand. They’d never been a hand-holding pair before, the auto worker and the football player. But then, these past few days their relationship had been different in many ways. Corbin gripped his dad’s hand. It felt cool and dry and breakable.

  His father was turning into a skeleton before his eyes. How much time did his dad have left? Two more weeks? Two more months? He didn’t know.

  “I’m glad we finished the house,” Joe said.

  “I am, too.”

  “It’s a good house.”

  “Yes.”

  “A good . . . legacy.”

  “Yes.” Grief tightened Corbin’s throat.

  “Will you live here for a while? Will you keep it?”

  “I never plan to sell the house.”

  “You could marry and raise your family here. This would be a nice place to raise a family.”

  “It would.”

  Late afternoon sunlight flowed into the room, illuminating Max, who was curled at the foot of his dad’s bed. Duke sat on the floor, his chin resting on the mattress.

  “Do you . . . think you might ask Willow to marry you? One day?”

  “If she ever gives me a reason to think she wants to marry me, then yes.”

  His dad frowned as he rested more deeply into his pillows. For several moments, he said nothing. He appeared to need the time to gather strength. “I made a mistake,” he finally said. “With Willow.”

  Corbin furrowed his brow.

  “That day,” his dad said, “you found us talking together . . . on the side porch? Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “I asked her not to let things get serious between the two of you, and I asked her not to come back to Washington when she left.”

  Corbin couldn’t move. His dad had . . . ? Wait. He thought back to that day and everything that had come after. Growing realization shot an icy chill through the center of him.

  “I asked her not to tell you,” his dad said.

  He . . . he’d known his dad had concerns about Willow, but he’d never dreamed that his dad would go so far as to meddle in their lives. His dad had no right to ask her to leave and not come back.

  Willow was kinder than Corbin was. From the first time she’d met his dad, she’d been trying to win him over. The day he’d found Willow and his dad talking on the porch, Willow had known about his dad’s worsening condition. He could imagine why she’d agreed to his dad’s requests.

  Good grief. He’d thought he’d known everything there was to know about his relationship with Willow. But his dad and Willow had known something he hadn’t, and he was having a hard time adjusting to the sudden truth.

  “I never liked her,” his dad said, “after how things ended the last time you dated. I was sure that no good could ever come from your reunion. I wanted you to stay here and finish the house. I wanted you to find happiness with someone else.”

  “There is no one else for me,” Corbin said evenly.

  “What about Macy?”

  “No.”

  “I understand. There was only one . . . woman for me, too. Your mother.”

  Corbin had no interest in going through life alone, the way his dad had after his mother walked out.

  “When Willow left I was hoping things would get back to normal for you,” his dad said. “But they never did. You haven’t been yourself since she went away.”

  “That’s because I love her, Dad. I miss her.”

  He nodded. “I shouldn’t have asked those things of Willow. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I was wrong. Willow—” He broke off on a rattling cough.

  Corbin started to rise to get water, but his dad stilled him with a glance.

  “I’m fine,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Willow kept her promises to me even though that must have been hard. She never told you what I’d asked her to do. Did she?”

  “Never.”

  “She sent me a letter.”

  Corbin regarded him with surprise. “I didn’t see a letter from her arrive.”

  “She typed labels for the outside, and she didn’t add her name to the return address.”

  Once again, Corbin was having a hard time adjusting to the sudden truth. “What did she say?”

  “She rattled off all of her mistakes. She apologized. And here’s the thing. Her honesty and the fact that she really seemed to want my forgiveness . . . it changed . . . something inside me. She’s still not someone I love or anything. Don’t get your hopes up on that account. But her openness made me like her some. A good little bit.”

  The woman who’d once insisted she deserved no more than fifteen percent of the blame for the way things had gone down between them had confessed her mistakes to his dad, who resented her for completely unjustified reasons?

  “I was awake part of last night, son, thinking about her letter and my reaction to it. I could understand . . . all at once, I could understand why God forgives people who come to Him and admit the stuff they’ve done wrong, people who are humble enough to ask for forgiveness. So then I had to wonder what was keeping me from admitting my own mistakes to God. If Willow was brave enough to do it with me, then why wasn’t I brave enough to do it with Him? I’ve always liked to . . . think of myself as brave.”

  “And?”

  “I remembered you telling me that people would rather think of themselves as good than face their mistakes.”

  “I actually said something that impacted you?” Corbin tried to smile.

  “Just that one thing. Everything else you said was nonsense.” His dad chuckled. “That one thing, though—about refusing to face what
I’ve done wrong—that did make sense. It’s just . . . when you’ve messed up as much as I have, it isn’t easy.”

  “I know.”

  “God and I spent a long time talking about it last night.”

  “And? What did you think?”

  “About God?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That He’s forgiving. Plus, I like His book.”

  Was his dad really saying what Corbin hoped he was saying? “You grumble when I make you listen to His book.”

  “Well. It’s grown on me. A man has a right to change his mind.”

  “Yes. A man does.”

  “I just want you to know that I’m all right. With what’s to come.”

  “You told me you believed nothing was to come. Lights out.”

  “I figure it doesn’t hurt to gamble in God’s favor and believe His version of things instead. When I get to heaven, I’ll do some renovation work and get the place ready for you, all right? Just like I did here.”

  Moisture rushed to Corbin’s eyes because he was so overwhelmingly relieved. “Okay.”

  Joe’s expression turned suspicious. “You’re not going to expect me to pray out loud now, right? Or sing hymns? Because I’m still not.”

  “I know.”

  A lifetime of memories of his dad streamed through Corbin’s brain. Big moments. Small moments. So often over the years, Corbin had seen sorrow or pain tangled in his dad’s eyes. Today, all Corbin could see in those brown eyes he’d known all his life was peace.

  “I love you, Corbin,” his dad said hoarsely.

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  “I’m sorry for the things I didn’t do right. Including with Willow.”

  “It’s all right.” And it was. “Thank you for everything you did for me. For all the things you did do right.”

  Humor creased his dad’s cheeks. “There were a few of those.”

  “There were a lot of those. And I remember them all and always will.” His dad was dying, but he was managing to speak more easily than Corbin. Each word Corbin spoke felt like a rusty piece of metal scraping against his constricted chest. “I wish that you’d had more years in South Haven.”