The Color of a Promise (The Color of Heaven Series Book 11)

by Julianne MacLean

  The Color of a Promise

  A Color of Heaven Novel

  by

  Julianne MacLean

  The Color of a Promise

  Copyright © 2016 Julianne MacLean

  ISBN-13: 978-1-927675-35-9

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: The Killion Group, Inc.

  Formatting: Author E.M.S.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  PART I

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chicago 1984

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Germany 2007

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART II

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  PART III

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Dear Reader

  Other Books in the Color of Heaven Series

  Also Coming Soon

  Praise for Julianne MacLean’s Historical Romances

  Other Books by Julianne MacLean

  About the Author

  PART I

  Prologue

  Jack Peterson

  It’s kind of embarrassing to come back from the dead and still not get it. One would think, after something as profound as a close brush with death, you would have a greater understanding of your true purpose and how to steer your life in the right direction. I regret to say that’s not what happened to me. It wasn’t until much later—years in fact—that I realized the significance of certain events in my life. Before then, I thought I knew everything. In actuality, I had been living in the dark.

  Now I see how arrogant I was, believing things were a certain way, and that my life was more extraordinary than others’.

  I suppose, in my defense, there was something special about me. Something I kept secret because few people would ever believe what I knew about life. Most people would call me crazy. Professionally, I couldn’t afford to risk being judged or misunderstood because I was ambitious in my career as a television journalist and foreign correspondent for CNN. For appearances sake, I had to keep quiet about my personal beliefs if I wanted to remain in Afghanistan, covering the war.

  But there was, of course, more to my desire to remain in Afghanistan than just my career as a journalist. There was a reason I hadn’t wanted to return to the United States. At first, I thought it was heartbreak that kept me away—because I had been jilted by the woman I’d believed to be “the one.”

  Later, I came to realize it had more to do with my ego, because I had lost that woman to my brother Aaron, who had always been my rival. He had been the one to win her heart, and for a long time, I was angry about that and chose to break away from my family.

  Now I understand the truth. I know that what kept me away was not bitterness toward my brother, nor was it my bruised ego. It was fate—because the timing hadn’t been right. The moment had not yet arrived to fulfill a promise I had made many years earlier.

  Chapter One

  I don’t think anyone can deny that staring death in the eye is a wakeup call. The woman I fancied myself in love with—the one who had jilted me for my brother—had spoken to me about that once. Her name was Katelyn, and she had been involved in a cycling accident where she flew over the handlebars of her bicycle and nearly tumbled over the edge of a steep cliff. By some miracle, she had lived to tell the tale.

  When she described it to me, she explained that in that instant, her life had flashed before her eyes with astounding clarity. A common occurrence for many people.

  Or so I’ve heard.

  In my case, there was no time for reflection in the flashing, terrifying instant of my impending doom. All I recall is the thunderous sound of the bomb going off, and an explosion of dust outside the car windows, followed by a violent jolt as our vehicle flipped over half a dozen times before bursting into flames.

  o0o

  I wish I could report that while I was clinically dead for approximately ninety seconds in the helicopter while the doctor performed CPR on me, my experience was magical and awe-inspiring and provided irrefutable evidence about the existence of heaven.

  The reality is this: I have no memory of angels singing, neither do I recall floating out of my body to watch from above while I was brought back to life. I remember nothing about being pulled from the burning wreck by a team of American soldiers who had been following close behind us on the road. Nor do I remember anything about the trip to the hospital. I don’t know where my mind went during all of that, for I recall nothing but blackness, until the moment I regained consciousness in Germany.

  That is not to say that I didn’t reflect upon my life when I woke. I thought about it a great deal after I opened my eyes and discovered that the person at my bedside—the first of my family members to arrive in Germany—was the last person on earth I wanted to see.

  Chapter Two

  My older brother Aaron was one of those exceptional individuals who seemed to be born under a shining star. Between the two of us, he had always been the better-looking one. He got straight A’s without breaking a sweat, while I was a consistent B student and had to work hard for my grades. While Aaron was captain of the basketball team and went on to become valedictorian of his graduating class, I led a quieter existence as a member of the debating club, where there were no pretty cheerleaders to help us celebrate our wins or take the sting off our losses.

  It was obvious to everyone that Aaron was athletic and popular, while I was more of a silent, brooding intellectual who, as a quintessential “angry young man,” read Newsweek and The Economist, and studied the classics and political science in college. Aaron, meanwhile, was making a name for himself in the sailing community—buying old boats, refurbishing them and racing them for medals that gained him a reputation that would later pay off in spades. Aaron had always belonged with the elite.

  And yes, I will be the first to admit that part of our rivalry stemmed from jealousy on my part, but not because he was better looking or more popular—and later, far wealthier than me.

  The fact of the matter was this: Our rivalry began eons before all that, with extremely deep roots in the past. But I won’t go back quite that far at the mome
nt, because that’s a story for another day. As far as today is concerned, this is what you need to know about Aaron and me. It’s the thing that truly matters, although I had no notion of its importance while it was happening.

  Chicago

  1984

  Chapter Three

  “This is definitely true love,” I said to my friend Gordon during lunch hour, as we sat down on the bench by the chain-link fence. We each withdrew a sandwich from our lunch bags.

  We were thirteen years old. This was seventh grade.

  We both sat transfixed as Jeannie Morrison pulled a comb from the back pocket of her designer jeans and ran it through her long, gleaming, jet-black hair. She laughed at something one of her friends said, and I marveled at her perfect, straight white teeth and full lips, and how glamorous she was. Then the girls all turned to look over their shoulders at the grade nine boys playing soccer on the field.

  Jeannie flipped her hair, and as she was sliding the comb back into her pocket, she glanced in my direction. Our eyes locked and held from opposite sides of the basketball court, and my heart began to race as she stared at me for a long moment. I swear on my life, I stopped breathing and all the blood raced to a halt in my veins. Then Jeannie lowered her gaze shyly and glanced up at me again with a coy expression, before she winked.

  It was one of those unforgettable, life-changing experiences I knew I would replay in my mind for years to come. I couldn’t believe she had looked at me that way. I’d always thought she was the most beautiful girl on the planet, ever since she moved into the big house at the bottom of our street four years earlier. We didn’t hang out or anything. I never had the courage to talk to her. But it appeared that finally my time had come, probably because I had grown three inches over the summer.

  I decided right then and there that it was time to grow up, because Jeannie Morrison was in the eighth grade. She needed a man.

  Gordon whistled. “Holy cow patty,” he said with amazement. “Did you see the way she just looked at you?”

  “Of course I saw it,” I replied, “but don’t make a big deal out of it. Just eat your sandwich and act cool.” My heart pounded for the rest of the lunch hour while I stole glances at her whenever I could, and hoped for a repeat of that exhilarating wink.

  She did look at me again—only once—but I quickly looked away. She did the same.

  Later, when the bell rang and everyone filed through the double doors for afternoon classes, Jeannie and I bumped elbows.

  “Hey, Jack,” she said with a flirty grin. “I like your shirt.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, making an effort to sound laid back. “I like yours too.”

  She smiled again and nudged me hard with her elbow, knocking me a few steps to the left. I shoved her back and she laughed. Then we went our separate ways down the wide hall, past all the lockers to our respective home rooms.

  I went to sleep that night feeling as if I were floating…miles and miles above cloud nine.

  o0o

  The following day during lunch hour, I sat down with Gordon on our usual bench by the chain-link fence inside the basketball court.

  Normally I was a decent student, but I hadn’t paid much attention in class that morning. This was out of character for me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the spectacular possibility that Jeannie Morrison might talk to me again—or even look at me—during lunch break. If she did, it would be enough excitement to fuel my happiness for an entire year and thrust me like a bullet out of bed each morning to arrive at school on time.

  Sure enough, not long after Gordon and I finished our sandwiches, she came walking over…along the center line of the basketball court with her four friends close behind. I nearly choked on the last bite of my sandwich as I stuffed the crusts into the cellophane wrap and shoved it into the paper bag. Then I balled that up and shoved everything into my backpack.

  “Crap, she’s coming over here,” Gordon said, sitting up straighter.

  “I know. Just act cool,” I quickly replied.

  “Hey guys,” Jeannie said with a smile. “What’s going on?”

  “Not much,” I replied with a shrug.

  She sat down beside me, while one of the girls from seventh grade sat next to Gordon. I was pretty sure he must be wetting his pants by then.

  The other three girls stood in front of us, chewing gum and blowing bubbles.

  “Jack,” Jeannie said, nudging me smoothly. “I wonder if you could do a favor for us.”

  I looked up at the three girls who stood before me and had no idea what to expect. “Sure. What is it?”

  Jeannie leaned forward to look at her friend—the one sitting on the bench next to Gordon. “Go ahead, give it to him,” she said.

  The other girl handed me a letter in a sealed envelope. I took hold of it and turned it over. There was nothing written on it.

  “This is Millicent,” Jeannie said. “She just moved here from Arizona.”

  Gordon and I both turned to her. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said, blushing.

  I turned back to Jeannie. “What’s this for?”

  Jeannie leaned closer and whispered in my ear, as if she were about to tell me an important secret. “Millicent has a thing for your brother. Will you give him that letter?”

  Ah. So it wasn’t really me she had come to see. As always, it was Aaron they were after.

  I turned on the bench to glance over my shoulder to where my brother was kicking a soccer ball around on the field with the other grade nine boys.

  “Sure,” I replied as I slid it into the backpack at my feet. “I’ll give it to him tonight.”

  The three girls in front of us giggled and whispered to each other excitedly, then urged Millicent up off the bench and dragged her off to giggle some more on the other side of the court.

  Jeannie sat for a moment, watching them. I didn’t know what to say. I had a lump of disappointment in my gut the size of a watermelon.

  Then she stood up.

  “For the record,” she said, sliding her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, “Millicent’s the one who likes your brother. Not me.”

  I had to squint to look up at her because the blinding sun was directly behind her head. “That’s cool,” I replied.

  She hesitated. “I’ll see you later, Jack.”

  With my stomach doing flip flops, I watched her walk away and rejoin her friends.

  “Did you hear what she just said?” Gordon asked. “She practically came right out and said that she likes you.”

  “No, she didn’t,” I replied, trying to act as if it didn’t matter, while my insides were on fire, because I thought maybe…just maybe…it might be true.

  “Yeah, she did,” Gordon argued.

  Just then, Jeannie glanced back at me again, and smiled.

  Oh, man. I was a goner. “Do you really think—?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Gordon replied. “You should ask her out.”

  “I don’t know. What if she says no?”

  “She won’t. She really likes you. Can’t you tell?”

  Still not ready to believe it and risk rejection by asking out the prettiest girl in the school, I decided to play it cool and wait for more confirmation, in some form or another.

  When the bell rang and we all crowded around the doors to go back inside, I received that confirmation. Jeannie nudged her way closer and passed me a note.

  I immediately unfolded it. As I read it, I found it difficult to keep my balance going up the steps. It said: Walk home with me after school?

  All I could do was stop and turn to her. Feeling completely lost in those bewitching blue eyes, I said, “I’ll meet you outside when the bell rings.”

  “Great.” She smiled, went inside, and disappeared down the hall.

  I don’t remember a single thing any of my teachers taught me that afternoon because I was lovesick the rest of the day.

  Chapter Four

  Thank God Aaron and I were no longer confine
d to the same bedroom. We’d always fought constantly, even as preschoolers, so Mom and Dad eventually separated us and converted the attic into a bedroom for Aaron. Besides being away from me, he preferred it because he could play his music loud and no one would say a word, while Mom was always yelling at me to turn down the volume.

  It wasn’t often that I ventured up those creaky wooden steps to Aaron’s domain. He was surprised to see me after supper that night, with an envelope in my hand.

  I didn’t enjoy giving it to him. Part of me just wanted to burn it, because the last thing I wanted was to hand him something that would make him even more conceited than he already was—because girls always fell for him and he knew it. I hated to watch it happen, but at least in this case, it wasn’t Jeannie who had asked me to deliver a love letter. It was that other girl.

  Aaron was seated at his desk doing homework. When he saw me appear at the top of the stairs, he turned in his chair and set down his pencil. “Hey,” he said, no doubt surprised to see me.

  I flicked the envelope through the air like a paper airplane, because I absolutely refused to deliver it to his desk like a servant. “This is from a girl in seventh grade,” I said. “She asked me to give it to you.”

  I didn’t wait for Aaron to open and read it. I just turned around and descended the stairs, went back to my own room and spent the rest of the night dreaming about Jeannie Morrison—and wondering if she might want to walk home with me again the following day.

  o0o

  My prayers were answered. Jeannie let me walk her home the next day, and every other day that week. Gordon kept asking when I was going to kiss her, but I couldn’t imagine how or when I could attempt something like that, having never kissed a girl before.