The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  The Perfect Life

  Other Novels By Robin Lee Hatcher

  Home to Hart’s Crossing

  Return to Me

  A Carol for Christmas

  Loving Libby

  The Victory Club

  Beyond the Shadows

  Catching Katie

  © 2008 by Robin Lee Hatcher

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc. titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

  Scripture references are taken from The Contemporary English Version, © 1991 by the American Bible Society. Used by permission. Scripture references are also taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.,Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

  ISBN 978-1-59554-148-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  07 08 09 10 11 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To the wonderful women who meet to plot, play, and pray

  each summer in the mountains of northern Idaho. Thanks

  for your friendship, dear sisters, as well as your laughter and

  abundance of ideas. I treasure each and every one of you.

  Whatever is good and perfect comes to us from God above, who created all heaven’s lights.

  Unlike them, he never changes or casts shifting shadows.

  —JAMES 1:17

  CONTENTS

  Part One Perfect Life

  One

  Nicole

  Two

  Three

  Brad

  Four

  Five

  Part Two Real Life

  Six

  Hayley

  Seven

  Eight

  Brad

  Nine

  Ten

  Emma

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Hayley

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Brad

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Emma

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Nicole

  Twenty-three

  Emma

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Brad

  Twenty-seven

  Hayley

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Brad

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Brad

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Nicole

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Part Three New Life

  Thirty-seven

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Group Guide

  WOMEN OF FAITH

  Part One

  PERFECT LIFE

  One

  BY TRADITION, SATURDAY MORNINGS WERE SAVORED IN the Clarkson household. My husband, Brad, usually prepared breakfast, and then the two of us—still clad in our pajamas—read snippets from the newspaper to each other while we dined on French toast or omelets or a hash-brown casserole.

  On this particular Saturday morning in April, I’d just taken a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice when I picked up the local section of the paper. I opened the fold, saw the headline, and choked.

  “Katherine?” Brad rose and came to my aid.

  “I’m all right.” I waved at him to sit down again, then wiped tears from my eyes. “But look at this.”

  I laid the paper on the table and turned it toward him, pointing at the headline on the front page.

  BRAD CLARKSON: HUMANITARIAN OF THE YEAR

  In Step Foundation leader says it truly is more blessed to give

  Brad groaned. “Well, if that doesn’t make me sound like a prig, I don’t know what would.”

  “But you did say it.” I tried to hide my amusement. Not very hard, I admit, but I did try. “You told me so.”

  “Some help you are.”

  Smiling now, I stood and rounded the table to stand behind Brad so we could read the article together.

  There were two photos accompanying the article. The first was of Brad and four of the administrative assistants who worked in the foundation’s downtown office. Brad was in the center, his arms around the shoulders of the women on either side of him. All of them were laughing at something. More than likely at something he’d said. The second photo was also of Brad, this time wearing a hard hat, smiling his irresistible smile, and standing in front of one of In Step’s finished remodels. Beside him was a petite woman who looked to be in her early thirties. She held a small child in her arms. I could tell there were tears in her eyes as Brad handed her the keys to her new home.

  Brad had been in the spotlight often in recent years. He claimed it made him uncomfortable, that he wished articles and news reports would focus on what the Lord was doing with the ministry, but I wasn’t completely convinced. He was a natural with the media, and they loved him. He had an easy charm that drew people to him.

  “I wish you’d been with me for that interview,” he said.

  He often said things like that, but he’d given up asking me a long time ago. He knew it was useless. It had been ten years since I’d been involved with the day-to-day running of the foundation; I wouldn’t have anything of interest to say to a reporter. My main role for the last decade—by my own choice—had been as chauffeur for two active teenagers involved in an array of extracurricular activities, as chief cook and bottle washer for my hungry family and many of their friends, and later as mother of the bride at our daughters’ weddings.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Brad continued. “If you were in that photo, no one would notice the stupid headline.”

  Okay, that was one of the reasons I loved Brad so much. He was never short on compliments. He always knew the right words to make me feel good.

  I was a woman blessed with a wonderful life. We worked hard and tried to follow Christ as He would have us. And God had blessed us. I couldn’t want for anything more than what I had—a wonderful husband, two beautiful daughters, and a couple of grandbabies on the way.

  Brad read aloud. “‘Clarkson says he never imagined In Step would be anything more than a small charity he and his wife ran out of their home. Seventeen years later, the foundation has provided remodeled, affordable homes for nearly a hundred “recipient families”—as their clients are called—and In Step now occupies an entire floor of the Henderson Building in downtown Boise, employing a staff of twenty-five.’”

  “See.” I kissed the top of his head. “It’s a good article. It will bring much deserved attention to the foundation.”

  Pride welled in my heart. Humanitarian of the Year. No one deserved the accolades more than Brad. In the seventeen years since he was first inspired to create In Step, he’d worked hard to b
ring his vision to fruition. And God had honored his desire to serve, blessing the foundation far beyond anything I’d ever dreamed possible.

  I returned to my chair to finish the last of my breakfast.“What are your plans for the day?”

  “I thought I might do some yard work.” He grinned. “Or maybe we should spend the day in bed watching old movies until it’s time to get ready for the banquet.

  I laughed again. “Like that’s going to happen.”

  Not that I wouldn’t mind doing as he suggested, but I knew my husband. Unless he was sick—a rare occurrence—he wasn’t one to be idle for long. Halfway into Casablanca or Raiders of the Lost Ark or whatever DVD we chose, he would get some idea that pulled him out of bed and into his den where he would scribble away on a yellow pad or enter text into his laptop as fast as he could type.

  The telephone rang. I knew without looking at the caller ID that it would be one of our daughters. I answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Mom, have you and Dad seen the paper?” It was Emma, our youngest.

  “Yes.”

  “I like that photo of him in front of one of the remodels. Randy Travis in a hard hat.”

  Brad rolled his eyes, as if he knew what Emma had said. He’d heard it before. Many times. Although he was a fan of country music, he hated people saying he looked like Travis—even though he did. Same square jaw, complete with tiny cleft in his chin, same deep-set eyes, same thin lips, same high forehead, same touch of gray at his temples. Knowing he hated the comparison, the girls and I teased him about it. Unmercifully.

  Our bad.

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  “What time should Jason and I plan to be there tonight?”

  “Six-thirty should be early enough. There’s an open bar before the banquet. The dinner is at seven.” I settled onto a kitchen stool. “How are you feeling?”

  “Getting fatter every day. But at least I don’t have morning sickness like Hayley.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  There were no words to describe how excited I was about becoming a grandmother. And to have two grandbabies arriving this summer? Perfection twice over.

  The Call Waiting sound beeped in my ear. I checked the ID. It was Hayley.

  “That’s your sister calling now. Want to hold on?”

  “No. Gotta run. I’ll see you and Dad tonight. Love you.”

  “You too. Bye.” I clicked over. “Hi, honey.”

  “Hi,Mom. I take it you’ve seen the paper.”

  “Yes.We’ve seen it.”

  “Did Dad notice how much he looks like Randy Travis in that picture?”

  “That’s what Emma said when she called.” I stifled a laugh. “Do you want to tell your dad what you think about the photo? He’s sitting right here.”

  Now Brad definitely knew what we were talking about. He shook his head and waved both hands in a back-off motion.“Give Hayley my love. I’m going to take a shower.” He rose and left the kitchen.

  “Uh-oh. I’ll have to apologize for all of us now.” Not really. I knew he wasn’t upset. We loved to tease in our family. Brad too. In fact, he was the worst of the lot. “Emma said you’re still suffering from morning sickness.”

  “Ugh. It’s awful. I thought you said I’d be over it by now.”

  “No, I said I was over it by four months. Some women are sick throughout their pregnancy. The full nine months.”

  Hayley groaned. “Just shoot me now.”

  “Keep those saltines on your nightstand.” It was poor comfort but the best I could offer.“You’re feeling well enough to come tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Are you kidding? Steve and I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I bought a great new dress for the occasion. No one will guess I’m pregnant.”

  We chatted a few more minutes, making plans to go shopping the following week, then said our good-byes and I hung up the phone.

  I remained on the kitchen stool, staring out the window at our backyard—brushed in shades of spring green and the first appearance of colorful flowers—and thought again how wonderful my life was.

  Absolutely perfect.

  Nicole

  NICOLE SCHUBERT STARED AT THE ARTICLE IN THE morning’s paper. The colored photographs were grainy, but that didn’t obscure Brad Clarkson’s rugged handsomeness. Or his smile. She remembered that smile. She’d seen it hundreds of times.

  He wasn’t as happy as those photographs made him seem. He had troubles just like anybody else. Nicole had seen through the facade of contentment soon after she went to work for him. She’d seen through it and had tried to help.

  And Katherine? She was a throwback to another era, no question about it. Miss Goody Two-Shoes sharing her favorite Bible verses and baking her fancy desserts.

  Nicole drew in a deep breath through her nose, trying to quiet the anger curling in her belly. Humanitarian of the Year. She whispered a foul word. Oh, how she would like to see him brought down a few pegs. He had the whole city thinking he was a paragon of social justice or something.

  She used to think so too. She used to think he could do no wrong.

  She didn’t think so any longer.

  “I’ll make you sorry. So help me, I will.”

  She read the article a second time, her finger running down the lines, and as she neared the end, a slow smile curled the corners of her mouth.

  Yes, he would be very sorry, indeed.

  Two

  “GIRLFRIEND, YOU LOOK FABULOUS!” SUSAN BALES, MY dearest friend in the world, gave me a hug and an air kiss. “That dress is to die for.”

  I loved Susan for many reasons, not the least of which was her ability to know the right thing to say at the right moment. I’d been nervous about my appearance tonight. I so wanted to make Brad proud. Now those worries were gone.

  “Where’s the man of the hour?”

  “Oh, he’s around.” I let my gaze roam the lobby of the convention center until I found him.He was shaking a woman’s hand and smiling as they talked. On his left were the mayor and his wife. On his right, the governor.

  “I don’t see him,” Susan said.

  “Over there.” I pointed. “With the mayor and Governor Brown.”

  Susan whistled softly.“Wow. Will I get to meet the Honorable Mr. Brown?”

  “Only if you promise to behave.”

  The governor was widowed, wealthy, and beyond handsome. My best friend was twice divorced, attractive, and looking for her next husband. I could see the wheels churning in her head.

  She slapped playfully at my hand. “What fun would that be?”

  “Susan . . .

  ”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I promise not to embarrass you or Brad. I know how much this night means to you.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed a sigh of relief.

  Just then, I caught sight of Emma and Jason entering the lobby, followed by Hayley and Steve.

  “The girls are here,” I said to Susan.

  “You go start introducing them to the dignitaries. I’m going to mingle with the other common folk.”

  There was nothing common about Susan Bales. Everybody was drawn to her laughter, wit, and charm. It had been like that since we were in elementary school. Charisma with a capital C. It was a wonder she hadn’t gone into politics.

  Hmm. Maybe she should meet the governor. It might be a match made in heaven.

  I gave Susan’s arm a squeeze, then headed toward my daughters and sons-in-law.

  “You all look wonderful,” I said when I drew near.

  It wasn’t mere flattery. My daughters were both pretty although very different in looks. Hayley was tall and wispy, Emma, short and athletic. Hayley had an air of elegance. Emma was pure mischief with a dash of rebellion thrown in.

  “You’re right about the dress,” I told Hayley after kissing her cheek. “No one would guess you’re four months pregnant.”

  Emma, on the other hand, had chosen a dre
ss that made her look farther along than her six months. I was certain she wanted it that way.

  “What do you think of the tux?” Jason asked, pulling my attention toward him.

  “You look dashing, dear boy.”

  “Hear that?” Jason placed an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Your mom thinks I’m dashing and a dear boy.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t let it go to your head, buster.”

  “Mom,” Hayley said. “Where’s the ladies’ room?”

  I pointed in the direction of the restrooms. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine. Just pregnant and feeling it.” She turned toward her husband. “I’ll be right back. Wait for me?”

  “I’ll be here,” Steven answered.

  Emma tapped my shoulder. “Mom. I think Dad wants you.”

  I turned around, looking for Brad. When our gazes met, he made a slight motion with his head, one that said, Come join me. I nodded, saying to Emma, “I’d better go. Will you—”

  “Don’t worry about us. This is Dad’s night to shine. And yours too. We’ll just bask in the reflected glory.”

  Awash in good feelings, I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “There’s a table reserved for you four up toward the front. Your father and I will be at the head table.”

  I left Emma, Jason, and Steve and made my way through the crowd, pausing when others spoke to me, thanking them for coming, shaking their hands.

  “We think this is so wonderful, Katherine.”

  “Tell Brad how glad I am for him. I think he deserves this recognition.”

  “Perhaps your husband will come speak at our club meeting in the next month or two. Our group likes to support local charities.”

  As I drew close to Brad, he reached for me with one hand. I took it, feeling the warmth and the strength of his grasp.

  “Here you are,” he said, smiling. Then he looked at the man and woman standing with him. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Katherine. Katherine, this is Henrietta Martinez.” He touched the woman’s shoulder.“Ms.Martinez is the CEO of the Ponderosa Group.”

  “Hello.” I shook her hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clarkson.”