Happily Ever After

by Susan May Warren

  “Oh? Maybe I can help.”

  Jacqueline gave him a flirting look and laced her manicured finger over his arm. “Darling, if I knew desperation would attract your attention, I’d wear sackcloth and ashes.”

  He chuckled politely but pulled out of her grasp and leaned back in the chair. “So what’s her problem?”

  Jacqueline shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Her crimson lips formed a confused pout. “She was a mess, really. She mentioned something about losing her main attraction for some special event she was having. I think it was her bookstore’s grand opening. . . .” Jacqueline waved her hands as if shooing away a bad dream. “Anyway, she begged me to help her find an author.” She scooped up her napkin and dabbed her lips. “I told her no one would want to go that far for a reading to a bunch of tourists and retirees.”

  “Where is this place?”

  “Some sleepy little tourist town on the North Shore. Deep Haven, I think she said.” She paused, then shot him a sharp look. “Reese, what’s the sudden interest in this little hick bookstore? I can barely drag you to a signing in the largest mall in America.”

  “Did I say anything about going?”

  Jacqueline pointedly ignored him while fishing around in her bag. Whipping out a tube of lipstick and a compact, she frosted another layer of gloss on her lips. While Reese watched her pucker and smear, the salmon steak he ate for lunch squirmed in his stomach. He wasn’t relishing the next three months in her company.

  She glanced up at him, smiled broadly, and snapped the compact closed. “Now, tell me about your next book.”

  Reese made a face and scanned the café for an escape route. His spent advance for his signed book contract suddenly rose, taunting, like the ghost of Christmas past. He took a sip of his diet Coke and dredged up his voice. “Ah . . . well, it’s not quite . . . plotted.”

  “It’s not done.” Jacqueline pursed her shiny lips. “Is it close?”

  What could he say? He hadn’t even managed to scribble an opening line. “No.”

  “I see.” She raised her eyebrows, those skinny ones that made him think of Morticia Addams. “Well, I guess we’ll have to hope you get inspired—and soon—or we’ll be talking breach of contract.” She grinned as if she hadn’t just dropped a grenade on his future and threatened to pull the pin. “Meanwhile, you have a book to promote.”

  Reese managed to nod, despite the fact that his bones had turned to ice.

  “Listen, baby,” Jacqueline said with the suave of a psychologist, “you have two days before your first appearance. I know how you love that privacy of yours. Try not to destroy it by making any unscheduled appearances. Stay low, cultivate the ‘fresh from the backwoods’ aura we love, and show up on Monday with a wild look and a bit of a stubble. We’ll sell books like hotcakes.” She winked at him. “And just maybe, if you play nice, I can get you out of hot water with the head honchos.”

  Reese clenched his teeth and forced a smile. “Thanks, Jacqueline. I’m sure I can come up with something with the right inspiration.”

  “Oh, honey, I just wish that were me.” Jacqueline batted her eyes, and for a panicked moment, he wondered if she was serious. Reese quickly scanned the room for the waiter, caught his eye, and signaled for the check.

  Jacqueline was already dialing her cell phone. She snapped the bill from the waiter. “My treat, Reese.”

  Reese frowned, but she waggled a long finger at him. “Be a good boy,” she purred, “and stay out of the news.”

  Reese stood up and made his escape.

  “Oh, Reese,” Jacqueline called as he strode away from the table. Thirty heads turned in their direction. So much for lying low. “I love your new haircut!”

  He let the door of the café slam behind him.

  27

  Mona watched the birch-tree shadows lurch across her ceiling and pondered Liza’s easy words from that morning. We need a little grace.

  Grace. Accountability and forgiveness in one shot, just as Joe had suggested so long ago on the windswept beach. God’s perfect plan, worked out through the sacrifice and love of His Son. For what purpose? To show God’s love to the world. To draw men to Himself, so they could worship Him, enjoy Him, delight in Him, so He might shower them with His unfathomable love. A love that brought the dead to life, that gave children to the barren, that reunited man with his Creator, and that resurrected hope and fulfilled dreams.

  God was so worthy of her delight. Suddenly the verse Joe had spoken to her the night she’d sat crumbling at the bottom of his stairs crying over her soggy Footstep, rushed through her mind. “Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires.”

  The first step in delighting in God was delighting in His forgiveness—something that in ten years she’d never, not even once, allowed herself to do. Why not? Because she didn’t deserve to delight in a forgiveness that was easy. Somehow, she couldn’t get past the idea that forgiveness had to be earned, had to be painful.

  But hadn’t she been forgiven because of Christ’s payment for her sins? And that gift had certainly been painful for her Savior. To not delight in His forgiveness was to betray Jesus’ excruciating sacrifice for her salvation. No wonder she felt so bereft. Not delighting in God’s forgiveness was like opening up a priceless gift, setting it aside, and demanding to pay for it. It cheapened the gift and offended the giver. What she should be doing is throwing herself into the arms of her Savior.

  Grace.

  Mona slipped out of bed, her heart in her throat, and knelt down. The wood floor chilled her knees, and she trembled, though not from the cold. The awkwardness of folding her hands and summoning the boldness to speak aloud the secrets burrowed in her heart overwhelmed her, nearly stifling the flow of words. But she choked them out and willed herself to approach the Lord in prayer, something she’d become woefully unaccustomed to doing.

  “Dear Lord, I am so sorry I haven’t embraced Your forgiveness. I know I have offended You by not accepting the fullness of Your grace. Please, please forgive me.”

  Beloved, I’ve already forgiven you, long ago.

  The sense of God, close and listening, pushed tears into her eyes. “But I still hurt, Lord. Why is the grief so raw?”

  You have not forgiven yourself. You hang on to your pain, wallowing in the familiarity of its thorny grip, unwilling to accept that you cannot work your way free. I must pluck you out of this painful place. But only if you allow Me. Let Me heal you. Let Me lavish upon you My love. Give Me your pain, your tears, your grief, and I will give you peace.

  Mona nodded, bunching the covers into her fists.

  Delight in My forgiveness. Delight in My power.

  Delight in My wisdom. Delight that I Am, and Was, and always Will Be. Delight in Me and My ability to free you and fulfill your dreams beyond your imagination. Delight in My fatherly, agape love.

  Delight in His love, in being His child. Yes. Mona let the tears drip off her chin. “Lord, help me delight in Your forgiveness, believe in Your love. I need You. I know I can’t make this dream happen without You.” As she said it, the bindings holding her together for the past ten years snapped. She dug her fingers into the bedclothes and sobbed. “This bookstore has been my dream for so long, I can’t remember when it started. And I know You’ve helped me.”

  She gulped. “You sent Joe.” His name came out as a moan, but somehow with it, her courage bolstered. “No matter where he is or why he left, I thank You for him.” Her words somehow balmed the shattered pieces of her heart. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Please, watch over him, and bless him.”

  She inhaled, gathering strength. “Lord, I know You’re the only one who can make my dreams come true.” Mona forced herself to surrender the next words. “I give You this dream, and all others, right now into Your hands for You to handle however You see fit.” Her last words emerged on a shudder of pain. “And please, Lord, help me forgive myself. Pluck me free.” She buried her face in the sheets and wept.

  An unear
thly stillness entered the room. Suddenly Mona imagined sitting at the footstep of heaven just as Liza had said. And next to her sat Christ, His eyes filled with tears, embracing her. Next to Him stood her father. Smiling. A glow on his face that could only be the look of rapture. For the first time Mona realized that the grief she’d harbored was for her loss, not her father’s. Her father had been ready, and he’d gone home to a glory she couldn’t even imagine. Living blissfully with his Savior. Unrestrained, perfectly delighting in his God.

  All at once a cleansing fullness drew through her, as if God had breathed into her. The magnitude of it made her cry out. The breath lingered and filled every pore, every corpuscle, with an unearthly peace. Solid. Complete. Eternal. Then a voice rumbled in her heart: Be not afraid, for I love you, and she realized how much she had missed the touch of her heavenly Father.

  The healing left her trembling, sobbing, and praising God until a joyous exhaustion drove her to the warmth of her bed.

  Police Chief Sam Watson tapped his pencil on his desk blotter, considering Mona’s plea. “Brian’s not a happy man, Mona. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  Mona smiled at him, glanced at Liza, then leaned forward and placed both hands on his desk. “I know it is a bit unconventional, but I think it might be just what Brian needs to get him to accept a lawyer and pull him out of despair.”

  Sam rubbed a wide hand over his chin. He squinted at her, then at Liza and back to Mona. “Okay. But I’ll be right behind you. Don’t forget, this fella tried to hurt you, not just burn your house down.”

  A wave of weakness swept over Mona as the brutal memory of her breath constricting in her lungs and her lips crunched against her teeth revived and sunk in its painful claws. Brian had confessed to attacking her and to hiring Leo Simmons to set fire to her house. Sam’s reminder raked her bruised heart. It brought to mind Joe’s daring rescue and waking up clasped in his arms. She thought of the way she’d treated her handyman and how he’d forgiven her. The thought bolstered her spirit. She exhaled a calming breath and forced a smile. “Let’s go.”

  County jail visiting hours were once a week, on Saturday mornings, but there were no other visitors present in the barren room today. The breeze filtered in through a barred window. Mona sat down on a folding chair and heard Liza pull one up beside her. Mona reached for her hand and felt her confidence grow in Liza’s warm grip. Sam’s presence hovered behind them.

  The door opened, and a shackled Brian shuffled through. Mona gasped. She could hardly believe it was the same man. The spark in his dark eyes had vanished, his skin hung sallow and dry on his gaunt cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t eaten, bathed, or brushed his hair for the three weeks he’d been sitting in jail. He stared in shock at his visitors, then glared and turned to flee back to his cell.

  “Not so fast, pal,” Sam commanded. “You sit and listen to what these women have to say to you.”

  Mona noticed a muscle in Brian’s jaw tense, but he kicked out a chair and dropped into it like an unruly teenager. Defense glinted in his eyes, the only evidence of life.

  Mona licked her dry lips. Her limbs felt like rubber, but she’d prayed it over and knew this was the right thing to do. She had to free Brian from his prison of guilt, for his sake as well as hers. Deep inside, she could never fully embrace the joy of her own forgiveness if she harbored anger and bitterness in her heart.

  “How are you, Brian?” Mona asked. She noticed the quiver in her voice and fought for control.

  He glowered at her. “How do you think?”

  Liza leaned forward. “Brian, it’s not Mona’s fault you’re here. Listen to her.”

  Liza obviously still had an effect on him, for he softened his expression.

  “I hear you won’t talk to a lawyer,” Mona continued tentatively.

  “No need. My life is over.” He crossed his arms, and Mona caught a glimpse of the flaking scabs on his forearm where she’d clawed away his skin as he’d tried to suffocate her.

  Memory rushed in and filled her throat with the sick taste of fear. She gulped it back and closed her eyes. Please, Lord, help me to say the right thing. “That’s not true. Yes, you did a terrible thing, but it doesn’t mean life has to end for you. You can still have a worthy, meaningful life.”

  Brian sneered.

  “We all do things we are ashamed of . . .” Mona’s voice died.

  Brian’s stance was armor.

  “Brian, I forgive you,” she blurted. His face turned white. Mona nodded. “I know you hurt me and sabotaged my business, but I want to forgive you. In fact, I want to help you get through this. Liza and I have talked. We don’t have any choice in the criminal charges, but we aren’t going to sue you for the damages you did.”

  Mona’s hope lit when she saw the tenseness in Brian’s face ease. His jaw slowly dropped open.

  Mona’s courage mustered. “In fact, we’re going to visit you every week and pray for you and bring you meals. You’re not forgotten.” She pushed against the tears strangulating her voice. “You’re forgiven.”

  Brian turned away, but Mona could see he struggled against her words. She understood. Love, in the face of guilt, can be so overwhelming. The words of her favorite hymn filtered to mind: “How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.”

  “Why?” Brian’s wretched voice broke through her thoughts.

  Mona smiled. Tears dripped off her chin. The answer God had given her was for herself as well as for Brian. “Because while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. We can forgive little when He has forgiven us so much.”

  So very, very much.

  28

  Opening day Mona rose early and greeted the rose-hued dawn from her perch on her favorite boulder overlooking Lake Superior. The parchment pages of her Bible rustled in the morning breeze. She’d turned, almost without thinking, to her father’s favorite verse, Jeremiah 29:11, and as she let the words soak into her heart, she realized why he quoted them so often. “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

  Mona bowed her head. Lord, I do believe You have good plans for me and have had them all along. I am beginning to realize that those plans don’t always mean things will be easy. You will allow roaches and floods and fires to help me realize I can’t depend on myself. I have to depend on You. Thank You for forgiveness, for Your grace, and for giving me this dream. But I know now, that even if it fails, I have not failed. You love me and shelter me in Your hands. I know I can depend on a good future from You, no matter what happens.

  She peeked at the brightening sky. Please take this day and do with it what you will. She sighed, feeling hope whisper in her soul.

  She determined to cling to that verse as she opened the doors to the Footstep of Heaven.

  They would just have to open without a spectacular personality to hail their first moments. The Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop would have to make it on its own two feet.

  As soon as Mona returned from her devotional trek, she set up the menu board on the porch, writing the daily specials in chalk. She had made three kinds of muffins for the day—chocolate chip, bran, and strawberry, courtesy of the Garden. Maybe later she would attempt wild blueberry with the berries gathered from the hills around Deep Haven. If she lasted that long.

  As the sun crested over Lake Superior lighting the lake on fire in dimpled brilliance, the aroma of brewed coffee escaped into the street. The music of Chopin tickling the ivories swirled through the bookstore, filling the shop with elegance and a hint of anticipation.

  Liza descended the stairs decked out in a fringed wraparound skirt and a white leather vest. “Just thought I’d jazz up the local flavor a bit,” she explained when Mona eyed her with arched brows.

  Mona acknowledged that they were definitely breeds apart. She had on a decidedly conservative cashmere peach cardigan and a khaki skirt.

  When Mona turned over the O
pen sign, she was thrilled to see a figure on the porch, pacing as if impatient to sample a taste of Heaven.

  It was Chuck, their Realtor. “How’s it going?”

  Mona hunched her shoulders. “We’ve only been open one minute.”

  “Right. Gimme a café au lait.”

  Mona fled to the coffee bar while Chuck wandered through Liza’s pottery collection. He even picked up a couple of pieces and smiled. He bought a chocolate-chip muffin and a Superior Times and sat on the porch.

  After an hour of business, Chuck was still the only customer. Mona stood on the porch and rubbed her arms, worried.

  “Don’t worry, honey; they’ll come. It’s early.”

  But by ten o’clock, the muffins were crusting over, and Mona was desperately clinging to the verse from her morning devotions.

  Liza sat with her on the steps, biting her lip. “I know what we need,” she announced and bounced to her feet. She headed to the porch and wrote on the menu board.

  Mona followed her. “Why did you write that?”

  “To help us keep our perspective.”

  Mona smiled and her heart filled with gratitude for the friend the Lord had given her. The board read “Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires.”

  “Amen,” Mona said. No matter what happened, she would look heavenward and let God, the author of her dreams, delight her with His love.

  “Good morning, Mona dear.” Edith Draper’s voice spliced through her thoughts. The older woman breezed into the coffee shop, dragging behind her four of her cronies dressed in their polyester Sunday best.

  Mona’s enthusiasm dipped. Now her mother would hear all about her failure. Perfect.

  “Is he here yet?” Edith’s gray eyes danced. She exchanged a bright look with a shorter woman who wore a similarly gleeful expression.