by Lisa Jordan
“Yes, I’ve been blessed. Enough about me. How are you doing? Honestly.”
Lindsey tucked her feet under her and shrugged. “Tired of waiting.”
“I know, hon.” Aunt Claire reached for Lindsey’s hand. “Waiting is the toughest part. I’m sure there will be news soon. In the meantime, keep praying. Your mom’s in God’s hands.”
“Right.”
Aunt Claire laughed. “Could you be any less convincing?”
“Dad was in God’s hands, remember?”
Aunt Claire smiled and finger-combed Lindsey’s hair behind her ear. “When I lost Ben to that drunk driver and learned I’d never walk again, I hated God. He took my fiancé. Bound me to a life as a cripple. I wanted nothing to do with Him. In fact, I threatened your grandma that if she prayed over me one more time, I was moving out.”
“Seriously?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But you’ve been preaching to me for years that God is in control. What changed?”
“Twenty-five years of prayer. But it wasn’t always that way. When I first learned I’d never walk again, I had to attend therapy sessions to learn how to use my upper body. I met a woman—Kathy Armstrong. She lost both legs to infection. She wheeled over to me, invited herself to my pity party and told me something I’ll never forget for the rest of my life.”
“What’s that?”
“She looked at my lifeless legs, back to where hers used to be and quietly whispered, ‘At least you can wear shoes.’”
“Reality check is the worst guest at a pity party, isn’t it?” Here Lindsey was feeling sorry for herself while Mom was in surgery, her aunt in a wheelchair and that lady went through life without legs. Oh, yeah, and now Stephen’s son may have broken his arm. Great reality check.
“Yeah, I realized how fortunate I was to be alive. Little by little, those tough times drew me closer to God. It was no walk in the park, mind you, but He softened my heart. I realized others had it worse. I could move my hands and arms, so I put them to use.”
“Your sewing.”
Aunt Claire nodded. “Faith and trust, hon.”
“It’s not easy.”
“Oh, girl, no one said life was easy. Give it time.”
“Time. The healer of all wounds.”
Grandma and Granddad returned to the surgical lounge. They stood in the doorway talking to a silver-haired man. Maybe he was the doctor with news. Lindsey’s heart picked up speed. Until she realized how he was dressed—jeans, a light blue polo shirt and a distressed leather jacket. Not exactly surgical garb.
“Aunt Claire, who’s that guy talking to Grandma and Granddad? He doesn’t look like a doctor.”
“That’s Max, silly.”
“Max who?”
“What do you mean, ‘Max who?’”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
Aunt Claire stared at her as if she had just announced she was going to perform her own lobotomy. “Oh, honey.” She lowered her gaze and twisted the diamond ring on her right hand. “I didn’t realize Grace hadn’t told you about him.”
“Tell me what?” Judging by Aunt Claire’s expression and tone, Lindsey knew—beyond a shadow of doubt—she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear.
“Max has been courting your mom for the past six months.”
“Courting?” A dull throb pounded behind Lindsey’s eyes. She massaged her forehead. “She’s been dating him for six months? And never told me? Unbelievable.”
Really, Mom? Not a single “By the way, I met someone.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lindsey waved away the apology. Tears scalded her eyes. “Don’t be. Not your fault.” She laughed without finding humor in the situation. “This day keeps getting better and better.”
Stephen grabbed a clean tack cloth and wiped it over the curved headboard of the red oak cradle. A puff of sanding dust sailed to his nose, making him sneeze. The Christian radio station blared in the background as he worked, competing with the noise of the rain pounding on the garage roof.
A gift for his soon-to-be niece or nephew, the cradle needed to be ready for Melissa’s baby shower next week. He’d promised Ma.
At one time, his promises were empty statements used to entice until he got what he wanted. But he was a man of God now—a man of honor who kept his word.
The cradle would be ready. Even if he had to stay up late to finish it.
Satisfied that the cradle was clean and dust-free, he ran a hand over the wood, checking for any rough spots. Finding none, he stroked the finish. Smooth as a baby’s cheek. Or Lindsey’s skin.
No, don’t even go there.
But thoughts of her were embedded in his brain. The pain and anger in her eyes as she told him to leave her alone sliced through him like a band saw.
Why hadn’t he apologized and kept on walking? Or at least kept his hands to himself? Seeing her again was like giving a thirsty man salt water to drink.
He’d keep his distance like she asked.
If only it were that easy.
Stephen ripped a section of a faded blue cotton bedsheet with more force than necessary, folded it into a small square and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. As he uncapped the shellac, the acrid scent rose from the can like an escaping genie. It singed his nostrils and glazed the back of his throat. He took a quick gulp of lukewarm Mountain Dew to wash away the bitterness.
He applied shellac to the folded pad. Beginning at the bottom of the cradle, he slid the pad along the surface in long, uniform strokes, appreciating the way the liquid seeped into the wood and brought out the rich reds of the oak.
Tires crunched the gravel in the driveway.
Probably Dad bringing Tyler home.
Thunder cracked again. Soccer practice was canceled, so there was no rush bringing Ty home. With his bum arm, he may have to sit out the rest of the season. That would be the icing on the kid’s cake. He had aspirations of being the next Beckham.
A door slammed. Stephen paused, expecting to hear two doors, but the second one didn’t come.
Someone rapped on the door frame. He looked up. Oliver Kendall, his partner and friend, stood in the doorway, shaking rain out of his gelled hair. Kendall dried his hands on the legs of his jeans. “Hey, man. ’Sup?”
“Working on the cradle. Waiting for Ty to come home.”
With the first layer finished, now was a good time to stop. He had to wait a couple of hours for the cradle to dry anyway before starting the next step. He dropped the used pad into a jar, tightening the lid so it wouldn’t dry out.
Stephen peeled off his gloves with a snap. Grabbing his Mountain Dew, he wandered to the open doorway to where Kendall leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “You can come in. Want a soda?”
Kendall shook his head. “No, thanks. Can’t stay. Amy and the twins are waiting for me to get home so we can head to Mel and Nate’s. Heard about Ty. Sorry, man. Just dropped by to check on things…and give you some news.”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? What’s the news?”
“Dude, don’t play me like that. You were engaged to the chick. You see her for the first time in five years and you’re fine?”
“How’d you hear about Lindsey?”
“Duh. Your sister is married to my brother? Remember that?”
“Right. What’s this news?”
“Fine. If that’s how you want to play it—”
Stephen held up his hands and shrugged. “What do you want me to say, man? Just as I was getting my life back on track, seeing Lindsey knocked me to my knees? Okay, fine. I can’t get her out of my mind. You know how that makes me feel?”
“Human?”
“My wife hasn’t been gone a year yet, and I can’t stop thinking about Lindsey.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong, man. You honored your wife. Cared for her deeply. But she’s gone. You need to move on.”
“So easy for others to say.” Stephen rubbed a thumb and forefinger over
his eyes, and then realized his mistake. His eyes stung from sawdust. He sighed. “I miss Bethany’s friendship. You know? And Ty’s laughter. How long before my son learns to love life again? We’re taking it one day at a time. The last thing I need is being reminded of my past mistakes. Seeing Lindsey, thinking about her, brings all that back.”
“Stop beating yourself up over it. It’s in the past. God forgave you. Why can’t you forgive yourself? Are your standards so much higher than His?”
“No lectures, Kendall. Not today. Okay?”
“All right, man. Whatever you say. I gotta head out anyway. I heard a rumor that Lieutenant Delaney requested a transfer, so Chief Laughton needs to fill his spot in the next few weeks.”
Stephen shrugged. “You know I don’t go for rumors. I’ll wait until I hear something concrete. Or straight from the chief.”
“Delaney told me himself. Figured you’d want to know.”
“Are you applying for it?”
“You kidding, man? I’m nothing but a lowly corporal. Not enough seniority or street time. You’re the sergeant. With your Corps experience, you’re more than qualified to move up the ladder.”
That stopped Stephen. If this wasn’t just a rumor—something with substance—then maybe he had a shot. He’d have to talk to the chief first thing in the morning.
If he were promoted to lieutenant, then he’d be the first in line when Chief Laughton decided to retire in a few years. Becoming chief would show his family that he was an honorable man. Worthy of their trust and respect again.
“Why’s Delaney leaving?”
“Not my place to say. That’s Delaney’s story.”
“Fair enough. So why tell me about him leaving in the first place?”
“He said to let you know. I guess he knew you wanted to work your way to the top.” Kendall fished his keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his finger. “I gotta hit the road, man. Catch you tomorrow.”
Stephen nodded and lifted his hand in a wave as Oliver jogged through the storm to his yellow-and-black ’67 Mustang. He guzzled the rest of his soda.
Water ran off the roof and gurgled into the gutters and down the eave spouts. Rain forced the heavy-headed sunflowers alongside the house to bow to its force. Bethany and Tyler planted them last summer before Bethany’s cancer forced her to bed. Death snatched her last breath at the end of October.
Behind him, a singer on the radio crooned about his stains being washed away when grace fell on him like rain.
Unfortunately, some stains were permanent. Forever. No matter how much of a wash they went through.
If he had made better choices while in the Corps, instead of being a cocky jarhead, his life would have turned out differently. One night of drinking had changed his life. A week before his wedding to Lindsey, Bethany had showed with their two-year-old son—the kid he hadn’t known existed. He’d been forced to choose between love and honor.
Stephen chose honor.
Losing the one he’d loved, he married the one he dishonored by getting her pregnant. Even though sleeping with Bethany happened years before he and Lindsey had started dating, his choices at that time ended up turning his life upside down.
Lindsey’s heart wasn’t the only broken one when he ended their engagement. He prayed someday she would understand his choices and forgive him. But judging by the way she reacted to seeing him today, forgiveness was not coming anytime soon.
Her eyes held so much sadness. He was good at fixing things. Broken chairs, old china closets, warped cabinets. But sad eyes? Or broken hearts? Nothing on his workbench could fix those. He had tried before. Not with tools, but with promises. He had failed miserably.
Stephen pushed away from the doorway and pitched the empty bottle into the recycling bin in the corner of the garage.
Headlights flickered through the square panes on the garage doors as someone else pulled in the driveway. A door slammed, followed by another. A moment later, Tyler and Stephen’s father, Jared, appeared in the doorway. Rain dampened their hair and dotted their shirts.
“Dad! I’m home.” Tyler dropped his Spider-Man backpack near the door and crossed the room to the workbench. He scuffed his shoes through a small pile of sawdust. “Can we take flowers to Mommy today?”
Stephen gave Tyler a one-armed hug. “Not tonight. It’s raining and it’ll be dark soon.”
“But you promised.” Ty yanked on Stephen’s arm.
Stephen pried his arm out of his son’s constrictor hold and picked up Tyler. He set him on the workbench. “I didn’t promise. I said maybe. Let’s check the weather tomorrow, okay?”
“I guess.” The boy’s shoulders slumped.
Stephen trailed a finger along a dark brown stain on the front of Ty’s red T-shirt. “Let me guess—chocolate ice-cream cone?”
Ty nodded. “Papa said I could have anything I wanted. I had one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of bubble gum. Hey, did you know bubble gum was invented in 1928? It was called Dubble Bubble. There was a sign at the ice-cream shop.” Ty turned to his grandfather. “Papa, were you alive back then?”
Dad laughed and ruffled Ty’s hair. “Just how old do you think I am?”
Ty cocked his head and stared at Dad, lips twitching. “At least a hundred.” He giggled.
“If I was a hundred, could I do this?” Dad scooped up Ty and tickled his ribs.
Ty’s laughter seeped through Stephen like shellac over wood, filling in every gouge and crevice of his heart.
Dad set Tyler on his feet and playfully twisted one of his ears. Tyler leaned against him.
Stephen crouched in front of Ty. “Why don’t you take your backpack into the house and get started on your homework? I’ll be in shortly. I need to talk to Papa about something.”
“Okay. Thanks for the ice cream, Papa.”
Dad leaned over and wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging and lifting him at the same time. “You’re welcome, Ty.”
Ty grabbed his backpack and shot through the open doorway, dodging puddles as he ran for the house. As soon as he heard the back door slam, Stephen crossed the garage to the old-fashioned refrigerator with pull-down handle, opened it and grabbed a bottle of iced green tea and another Mountain Dew. He handed the tea to Dad, and then wiped his damp hand on his dusty jeans.
“Thanks for bringing him home, Dad.”
“No problem. Cradle looks great.” Dad nodded toward the workbench.
Stephen glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks. Any word on Grace?”
“Your ma called Grace’s folks, but there was no answer. Heard you had a run-in with Lindsey.”
Which time?”
“There was more than one?”
Stephen drained a third of the soda bottle, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave Dad a quick rundown of both events. “I didn’t expect her to freak out when I touched her arm.”
“Maybe she misread your intentions.”
“Seriously, Dad? I have a son who cries nightly for his mom. If it weren’t for Ma’s cooking, we’d probably starve. Between Ty, work and stuff around here or Ty’s school, when do I have time for romance? Bethany hasn’t been gone a year.”
Dad held up his hands in surrender. “No need to get all defensive on me.”
Stephen rubbed the back of his neck. “She just—I don’t know—looked lost. I thought she could use a friend.”
“Your heart was in the right place, son, but you two didn’t exactly part as friends.”
Stephen grabbed the push broom and swept the sawdust Ty had scattered into the corner by the stack of two-by-fours. “I had to do what was right.”
“And broke a sweet girl’s heart in the process.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He leaned the broom against the wall. Dropping into a frayed lawn chair, he kicked the metal frame of another, signaling Dad to sit. “What if she leaves before I can talk to her, make her understand why I did what I did?”
“It’s tough, son, I’m sur
e, but you need to understand seeing you was as much of a shock to her as it was for you. That gal will be around for a while. She won’t up and leave her ma in a lurch.”
Stephen frowned. “I doubt she’ll be friending me on Facebook anytime soon.”
“If you were given a second chance, and Bethany hadn’t been dying, would you do things differently?”
“Would I still marry Lindsey, knowing Beth and I had a son together?”
Dad nodded and sipped his tea.
Stephen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared out into the yard. The rain had finally stopped. Slowly, he shook his head. “I doubt it. As much as I love…loved Lindsey, my son needed a father. I made my share of mistakes, but this was one I could fix.”
Dad stood, placing a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You’re a good man. And I’m proud of you.”
Stephen’s throat thickened. He didn’t deserve Dad’s affirmation. Maybe Dad thought he had come a long way, but Stephen still had far to go. And so much to make up for.
Chapter Four
Was she out of her mind?
What possessed Lindsey to make an illegal U-turn in the middle of Center Street—good thing Stephen wasn’t around—and head up Cemetery Hill, instead of going to her mother’s house?
After Aunt Claire spilled about Max, Mom’s surgeon came in with an update about her surgery. Once they moved Mom out of recovery and into her room, Lindsey sat with her for a while. She watched Mom sleep and replayed the conversation with Aunt Claire in her head.
Granddad forced Lindsey to leave the hospital to get some rest. She argued she’d sleep in Mom’s room, but when they reminded her Mom needed her rest, too, Lindsey relented. And now here she was.
Taking a deep breath, Lindsey cut the engine and climbed out from behind the wheel. She closed the door quietly behind her and walked across wet grass to a corner lot beneath a shedding oak tree, her footsteps silent as the tombs.
Granite markers formed symmetrical rows like soldiers in formation. Fiery reds, golden yellows and brilliant oranges splashed against the melancholy sky like colors splattered from an artist’s palette. A gust of wind blew the leaves from their knobby limbs. They whirled, twirled and landed in a kaleidoscopic pattern on the ground.
