by Deb Kastner
“Today. With the car.”
Phoebe’s heart lurched as she saw the mixture of emotions on Chance’s face. She wanted to reach out to him, comfort him, but she could see the strength and determination warring for dominance with his grief, so she remained still with her hands clasped in her lap.
“You want to talk about it?” she asked softly.
Chance’s gaze took on a faraway look, and Phoebe knew he was reliving the horrific car accident in his mind.
“We were on our way home from a church potluck,” he began huskily. “It was the dead of winter in the middle of a bad snowstorm—a blizzard, really. In hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have gone out that night, except that, as you know, the church is only a mile or so from the house. I thought we’d be safe enough even with the bad weather. Not that many people travel along these roads.
“I was behind the wheel.” He paused and cleared his throat. “There was a drunk driver coming toward us, some guy from a neighboring county that we didn’t even know. He was weaving all over the road, only I couldn’t tell because of the thick fog that had set in while we were at the church.”
He stopped and swallowed. Phoebe reached for his hand, caressing it gently with the pad of her thumb. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat and her eyes burned fiercely from holding back a hot stream of tears.
“I could only see a few feet in front of me, even with my high beams on. The truck was on top of me before I had time to react.”
He scrubbed his free hand down his face and groaned deeply.
“I stomped on the brake and steered the car toward the curb. I didn’t care about myself. I was only praying that Lindsay and Lucy wouldn’t be hurt.” He squeezed his eyes closed and shuddered.
Phoebe envisioned the scene in her mind and could only sympathize with how Chance must have felt in the split second that had changed his whole life.
“I didn’t turn fast enough to avoid a collision. The truck clipped the back of my car. It spun out—right into a telephone pole. The whole passenger side of the car was totaled.
“They tell me Lindsay died instantly. Lucy was in the middle of the backseat and suffered only minor cuts and bruises, thank God.”
“And you?” Phoebe asked, thinking she might already know the answer to her own question.
His gaze gripped hers as he reached for the black bandana he always wore around his neck. A muscle twitched in the corner of his jaw, the only hint of what this revelation was truly costing him.
Pulling in a deep breath, he tugged on the bandana, revealing a deep, ugly scar that ran from his jaw to his collarbone. “I got this.”
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: I am in way over my head. Instead of calm and peaceful, I’m in the middle of a tempest. I’m just beginning to realize I’ve spent more time with pastry dough than I have with human beings. Keep praying.
Chance’s breath caught and blistered his lungs as he waited for Phoebe’s reaction to what he’d told her.
Shown her.
He’d never felt as vulnerable in his life as he did in that one second. He had opened himself up, revealed his heart and his scars for her inspection, knowing she would now see how tarnished he really was.
She stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Her expression was unreadable. At least if he’d seen the shock and revulsion he’d expected, he would know what to do with it.
Suddenly her face softened and her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He was prepared for her revulsion, for her to draw away from him. But he couldn’t handle it if she cried for him. His heart slammed into his chest, forcing the breath right out of him.
“I don’t want your pity,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “And I certainly don’t deserve your tears.”
Phoebe straightened and looked him directly in the eye. “My heart is breaking for you, but it’s not pity I’m feeling. You’ve come through so much, and yet you still labor to make a good life for your daughter, in spite of how you feel yourself. That takes real courage.”
“Courage?” The single, strangled word came out an octave higher than his usual tone of voice. “How can you even say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
Chance leaned back and jammed his fingers through the curls on the back of his neck, rubbing the tight muscles there. He glanced at Lucy, thankful to find she was still asleep, her ear buds tucked in her ears and her face having lost most of the stressful expression she’d been wearing earlier.
“What’s true is that I killed my wife,” he hissed through his teeth.
“No, it’s not. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for something that was out of your control.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this argument. Aunt Jo had confronted him numerous times about it. But it was the first time he had actually really listened.
“That’s just it. It was in my control. I was driving. If I’d just hit the brake sooner or turned a little faster—” He let his sentence drift off into an awkward silence.
“You know what I think?” she asked thoughtfully.
He groaned. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“It’s just—well, have you ever considered that it might be easier for you to blame yourself and live in the past than it is to accept God’s forgiveness and face the future head-on? You’ve trapped yourself in an early stage of grief and haven’t allowed yourself to move forward with your life.”
“Move on to what?” he snapped.
“To peace. To a happy life with your daughter. I know it’s cliché, but I mean it with all my heart—don’t you think that’s what Lindsay would want for you?”
“I’d rather not think about it.” She was drudging up all kinds of latent emotions he didn’t want to face, never mind deal with. There was a reason he lived the way he did. Maybe not a good reason, at least not to Phoebe, but it was what it was, and he wasn’t sure he could change even if he wanted to.
“That’s exactly what you’ve been doing for far too long now. You deserve better than the paltry excuse for a life you’ve chosen to live. Lucy deserves better.”
“Hmm,” he muttered crossly. “Well, I agree with you on that last part.”
“Maybe your aunt’s accident was meant to be a wake-up call to you. Could it possibly be that God is trying to get your attention?”
“By hurting my aunt?” he snapped, and then immediately regretted having done so. Phoebe wasn’t being cruel. She was just being—well, Phoebe.
“That’s not what I meant, and I think you know it.
He sighed and rubbed his palms against his eyes, where a tension headache was building. He was in a tailspin, an emotional overload he just couldn’t handle right now, not on top of all the other things that had happened today.
He needed time.
Space.
He was suffocating.
He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she beat him to the punch.
“I’m so sorry,” she said hastily, clapping a hand over her lips. “Me and my big mouth. This is the absolute worst moment in the world for me to be voicing my opinion and giving you a veritable lecture, when here you are worried about how your aunt is doing in surgery. I can’t believe how insensitive I’ve been.”
She slid closer to him, appealing to him with a self-deprecating grin and those amazing hazel eyes of hers—eyes full of tears. Again. The woman cried about everything.
“Forgive me?”
Chance hooked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against his chest.
“It’s okay, honey,” he murmured, smoothing down her hair. Somehow the tables had been turned. She’d offered him her support when he needed it most. Now it was his turn to do the same for her, and in the oddest way, comforting her comforted him as well. And it was okay that she’d spoken to him as she had. It might have hurt a little, but her words had chipped into the frozen glacier that was his heart in a way he hadn’t experienc
ed before.
Granted, she’d used an ice pick, but he doubted she would have been able to get through to him any other way. No one else around him seemed to have been able to pierce the armor he’d built around himself. Not even the family he loved.
“The stress has taken a toll on all of us, I think,” he added, gesturing toward Lucy. “I want to thank you again for being there for her, and for Aunt Jo. I know how much they must both appreciate what you did today.”
“I was glad to be there. I care for them, you know.”
“I know.” He swallowed hard.
Phoebe pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, but continued to huddle in Chance’s embrace. He didn’t mind. Her soft, sweet vanilla scent had a calming effect on him right now.
They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence until Aunt Jo’s surgeon emerged from a set of double doors. Both Chance and Phoebe sprang to their feet at once.
“How is she?” Chance asked hoarsely, stalking forward. He let out the breath he was holding when the surgeon smiled.
“Jo’s surgery was successful and she’s resting comfortably in the recovery room. I’ll send a nurse out to let you know when she gets transferred back to her room and is up for visitors,” the doctor advised.
“Thank You, God!” she exclaimed ecstatically. As soon as the man walked away, Phoebe whooped happily and unexpectedly launched herself into Chance’s arms. Not that he minded.
“Yeah,” Chance agreed with a shaky chuckle. He hugged her back, awash in relief and sharing the same rush of joy Phoebe was obviously experiencing.
Her arms were clamped around his waist and her shoulders shook with emotion. He leaned back so he could see her expression.
She was crying. Again.
“Hey there, honey, it’s good news,” he crooned, framing her face with his hands and brushing the wetness from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.
“I know,” she said with a wobbly smile.
Her tears unnerved him. He didn’t know why she was crying. Everything was well in the world. But even if he didn’t understand it, he still very much wanted to comfort her and ease whatever turmoil she was feeling. If he knew how.
Which he didn’t.
He pulled her close again, resting his chin on the top of her head, lending her his strength. She’d been through a lot today, enough to make even a resilient person like Phoebe waver and shake.
“You know, I think that even if God wasn’t trying to get my attention today, He sure was trying to get to Aunt Jo. That woman is as stubborn as the day is long. She would never have gotten surgery on her own.”
Phoebe’s breath hitched, and then she chuckled.
“I think you’re right about that.”
Chance grinned, but he didn’t let her go. Not before he had to, anyway. Ultimately, Phoebe was the one who stepped away from him.
“Do you think we should wake Lucy and tell her the news?” she asked, brushing stray tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. The girl hadn’t stirred despite the clamor around her.
His gaze traveled to his daughter, who was still lying motionless across the small couch. “No. Let’s just let her sleep until we’re able to visit Aunt Jo.”
Phoebe nodded in agreement and they both resumed their seats. Phoebe became engrossed in the program on television, or at least she pretended that she was, maybe to have the opportunity to pull her emotions together. Chance could give her that, at least, so he remained silent.
His attention, however, was not so easily drawn to the crime drama on TV. He kept glancing at Phoebe—surreptitiously, he hoped. Once he even reached for her, fingering a stray lock of her silky chestnut hair before he brushed it back behind the delicate curl of her ear. If she noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it, which was probably just as well.
She was a remarkable woman, and he could no longer deny that, for whatever reason, he was drawn to her in a way he’d never been to anyone else—not even Lindsay, who had been his high school sweetheart.
This connection was different, though he couldn’t have explained why. He just knew it was.
He couldn’t fathom how she’d landed, of all places, in his little country kitchen in tiny Serendipity, Texas. She was a phenomenal cook, and an extraordinary person altogether. What was she doing here?
He didn’t know. But thank God that she’d come into his life when she did. He had no idea how this day might have played out had she not been there. Lucy most certainly would have been worse for the wear.
Thank God, he thought again, and then he paused. Was that really what he meant, or was it just cliché to think that way? Phoebe had accused him of holding on to his anger at himself to keep from his having to face the future, and maybe she was right.
He was angry with himself. But he’d been angry with God, too, he now realized. The question had always haunted him: Why had God taken Lindsay away from him?
The answer wasn’t simple. Maybe there was no answer for him, at least not in this lifetime. But he’d been raised to believe God was merciful, and that all things worked together for good for those who loved Jesus Christ.
God hadn’t changed. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t disappeared the night Lindsay had died.
Chance had done all of those things. So maybe God had been there all along, even when Chance had been too blinded with grief to see it.
What had Phoebe said back when they were arguing on the road earlier?
God forgives you.
It troubled him to admit it, but maybe it was his own pride standing in the way of his once vibrant relationship with God.
His arrogance, his lack of faith, had damaged more than just himself. He was hurting Lucy and Aunt Jo. And it had taken a caring, sometimes brutally candid woman to make him see the light.
He wished he would have had time to pray about it, but at that moment, a nurse arrived and indicated that Aunt Jo was back in her room and up to seeing visitors.
“Hey, Luc,” he said, gently shaking his daughter’s shoulder. “Wake up. We can go see Auntie Jo now.”
Lucy popped up to a sitting position, her eyes wide. “Is she okay? Did the surgery work?”
“She’s fine, honey,” Phoebe assured her, moving to Chance’s side. “Like your father said, she’s ready for visitors, so you can see for yourself.”
Lucy beamed and Chance’s breath hitched. His little girl—teenager, whatever—meant all the world to him. Most of the time he didn’t even feel like they were speaking the same language, but he loved her just the same. He thought he ought to tell her so.
As for Phoebe—well, he’d have to sort through his feelings for her later.
As soon as they’d entered Aunt Jo’s room, he moved to her side and brushed her salon-curled red hair off of her forehead with his palm.
“How are you feeling?” He asked the question that was at the forefront of everyone’s minds.
Jo scowled, although her outward annoyance didn’t reach her eyes. “How do you think I’m feeling? Like someone just jammed a hot metal poker into my side, if you must know.”
Everyone chuckled in relief. Aunt Jo hadn’t lost any of her sass just because of some old operation.
“And did you know they mean to keep me in here nearly a week to recover? A week! How am I supposed to keep the café running from a hospital bed?”
“Don’t you worry about the café,” Phoebe admonished. “Chance and I will be able to handle it just fine on our own. The only thing we want you thinking about right now is getting well.”
“I hate to be a burden on y’all,” Jo said with a dramatic sigh.
“Apparently you weren’t listening earlier,” Chance admonished her. “You are not, nor will you ever be, a burden to us.”
Aunt Jo smiled weakly. She would never say so, but Chance could tell the surgery had taken its toll on her.
“We should go and let you sleep,” Phoebe murmured, apparently having come to the same conclusion.
“I’m not
the only one who needs to be sleeping. I want you guys to get out of here and get some shut-eye as well. And I will not have you arguing with me on this one. I’m just going to be groggy right now, anyway.”
Chance chuckled and nodded, although the thought of getting back into a car again didn’t thrill him. But now that he’d taken the first step, he knew it was imperative that he continue down the road to recovery. He needed to keep getting back up on that horse until he was no longer afraid of it.
Besides, he had no other way to get home.
“We’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assured her.
“But the café—”
“Will be closed. At least for tomorrow.” He gestured for Phoebe and Lucy to exit. They each kissed Aunt Jo on the cheek before leaving.
“You really don’t have to—”
“Not listening,” Chance informed her in a singsong voice. He leaned over and kissed his aunt on the forehead. “Now get some sleep.”
Chance was out the door before his aunt could argue any further. Phoebe and Lucy met him in the hallway.
“Why don’t you girls head on out to the car?” he suggested. “I have one more quick stop to make.”
Phoebe questioned him with her eyes. He smiled but did not answer her unspoken question.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he assured them.
There was just this one thing. It wouldn’t take long, and he needed to do it alone.
Find the chapel.
He had a life to rededicate to the Lord.
Chapter Eleven
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Thank you all for your prayers. My friend’s surgery was successful and she’s recovering nicely. Now if we can just get her to rest until her wounds are healed…
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: You can use the internet from your cell phone while recuperating in the hospital. Who knew?
Over the course of the next week, Phoebe and Chance tag-teamed cooking the meals at the café and visiting with Jo. Even the hospital staff had a hard time keeping her down—not when she wanted to be up and about.
Once Chance had gotten over his initial reluctance to ride in a car, it hadn’t taken much to get him back behind the wheel, and so he was able to make the daily trip to the hospital on his own. Phoebe was thankful for that blessing.
