by Delia Latham
16
Logan forced himself not to look back on the way to his vehicle. He got in and drove away, pain squeezing his heart with all the power and malevolence of a boa constrictor. Once out of sight of the lodge, he pulled to the side of the road, forcing air in and out of his lungs in rough, hitching huffs that raked his throat with sharp, painful talons. He raised his face toward the heavens. It was the closest he could come in that instant to actual prayer.
The top of the car’s interior became a movie screen, playing out all his memories of Summer from his dreams to the time he’d spotted her, in flesh and blood, on the beach. He remembered every sweet meeting in vivid, living color. As he replayed the evening in his mind, right up to its final, ultimate crash, the movie screen unraveled, raining little shreds of colorful dreams all around him—dreams that turned to gray ash as they fell.
Logan closed his eyes. They burned with the sting of salt, and he wished the stubborn tears would go ahead and fall. Maybe if he cried like a teenage boy in the throes of his first heartbreak, the awful tightness in his chest would be relieved. Opening his eyes, he stared at the roof of the car. Bitterness ate at his soul and curled his lips into a disillusioned grimace. Pain sat like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. All alone in the night, Logan lifted his voice and yelled his intense sorrow into the emptiness that surrounded him, body and soul. “Why, God? Why have You forsaken me?”
****
Tucked into a mountain of soft, comfortable bedding, Summer prayed for sleep to claim her, to carry her in comforting arms to a place where every heartbeat didn’t cause another shooting spear of intense, soul-shattering, unbearable misery. But she was still staring wide-eyed into the darkness when Deah arrived home an hour and a half after Summer had crept between the sheets, fully clothed, her entire being wracked with loss and pain.
The front door opened and then closed with a quiet click, and she made a wry face. Thoughtfulness was so out of character for Deah.
A sharp prick of the Spirit shook her to the core. She knew what she had to do, but still she lay there, hoping her cousin would go straight to her room and to bed. Instead, her ears were assaulted by the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to be quiet while rattling pans and clinking glass.
Deah was puttering around in the kitchen.
With a sigh, Summer got up and tied her robe around her waist. Time to be obedient, no matter how difficult the task.
“Oh, you’re awake!” Her cousin looked up from where she stood beside the stove, clearly surprised. “Are you feeling better? I’m making hot tea. Would you like some?”
“I am better, and tea sounds wonderful, thank you.” Summer curled up at one end of the sofa and watched Deah move around the kitchen. How had she failed to notice the change in the other girl’s overall demeanor?
Deah no longer wore the over-confident, haughty, unpleasant expression that had been her standard face to the world as far back as Summer could remember. Her eyes had lost the razor-sharp edge that made her appear cold and unfeeling. Even the set of her mouth lacked its usual hard line. When had it happened? And how? Surely just being Miss Angie’s guest couldn’t conjure up such drastic change in a personality. Could it?
Could Deah be surrendering herself to God—even though, to Summer’s intense sorrow, she hadn’t been truly introduced to Him until her stay with Miss Angie? Shame burned her cheeks. She had failed God, and her cousin. Somehow, she had to make it right.
“Here.” Deah brought in a mug of steaming tea and set it on a coaster near Summer. “I added a little honey. Maybe it’ll soothe your stomach.”
“Thank you.” Summer sipped at the hot liquid. “Mmmm. It’s heavenly, Deah.”
“Good.” She settled in on the opposite end of the sofa and studied Summer. “You look better than you did when you left Maddy’s.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Summer smiled. “Let’s talk about you instead. You’ve changed.”
“Have I?” Deah smiled over her mug. “How so?”
Put on the spot, Summer’s cheeks warmed. “You’re…softer. More approachable. Easier to be around.” She grinned, striving to make the conversation less difficult. “Miss Angie seems to have worked some kind of miracle on you.”
“Miss Angie is amazing. I mean, seriously, if any human being could be called an angel, that lady would be the one.” Deah smiled, her fondness for the older woman evident in her dewy eyes. “She’s incredible, and she made me want to be something more than I am, but she didn’t change me. I know that. God did.”
Summer blinked. “God did?”
“Well, He’s working on it.” Deah shrugged. “I’m probably a more difficult makeover than most people, but I guess He’s making progress, since you seemed to notice a change of sorts.” She grinned.
Summer was startled to recognize a hint of shyness in Deah’s pink cheeks, and in the way she bit at her bottom lip.
“He’s doing a great job, Deah.” Summer sighed. “I haven’t been much of a Christian where you’re concerned. I’ve already told God how sorry I am, but I owe you an apology, as well.”
“What?” Deah’s brown eyes widened, total disbelief painting them almost black. “You’re the most Christian Christian I’ve ever met!”
Summer managed a little laugh. “Well, thank you, but if I’d been the Christian I should’ve been, I would’ve shown you the same kind of godliness Miss Angie did. I didn’t, because I didn’t think you’d welcome it. I’m really, truly sorry, Deah.”
“It wasn’t you, Summer. Nothing you could’ve done would’ve made a difference, because I wasn’t ready. It’s hard to explain because I don’t really understand it myself, but something inside me changed when I realized Miss Angie needed me.” Her lips curved into a shy smile. “I never felt needed before, not once in my life. And just so you know, the reason I always tried to look so wild, and behaved in such an awful manner was that I was crazy jealous of you.” She held up a hand when Summer’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to reply. “No, wait. I need to say this. You’re so beautiful, and you don’t even know it. Everyone loves you…and you don’t know that either. You could have any man you want, and yet you don’t play into that role. I could never be the kind of beautiful, kind, sweet person you are, and I hated knowing that. So I mistreated you and made an idiot of myself. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Deah, I…” Summer shook her head, and tears once again overflowed and made little paths down her cheeks. This seemed to be the day for emotional waterworks. “I had no idea you felt that way. Honey, you’re a beautiful woman!”
“See? That’s what I mean. You’re always kind. Seriously, even if I looked like a gorgon…or a harpy...” Deah giggled, but something deep in her gaze clutched at Summer’s heart. “You’d still find something nice to say.”
Give her a mirror, Daughter.
Summer closed her eyes. All right, Lord. I get it. She stood. “Don’t move, OK? I’ll be right back.” She’d ended up with a couple of extra little jewel-dusted tokens. After the spirit nudge God had given her earlier to present Deah with one of them, she’d chosen one and turned it over and over in her hands before putting it back in her dresser drawer. She simply hadn’t felt capable or willing to share any part of her mother with the cousin who’d made her life uncomfortable at best. Now…maybe she could. Back in the living room, she sat close to Deah instead of returning to her place at the opposite end of the sofa.
“Several days ago, God told me to give you this, and to tell you the story that goes along with it. I couldn’t do it until now. I hope you’ll forgive me for that.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Deah eyed the small, velvet sleeve Summer held in her hand. “What is it?”
Summer pulled the small object from its protective covering and handed it to her cousin with the jeweled, blingy side up. “Don’t turn it over until I say so.”
“OK.” The younger girl’s eyes shone like those of a child anticipating a bedtime story.
/>
Summer launched into the bit of her past she’d shared first with Logan, and then with the teens at Chrysalis. By the time she asked the ending question—“Want to know what God finds beautiful?”—tears dampened her cousin’s cheeks.
Summer ran a finger over the cluster of fake stones on the back of the mirror in Deah’s hands. “What you see here is pretty enough, but it’s just surface bling. Sparkle and shine from stones that aren’t even real. It means absolutely nothing.” She reached out and brushed away a tear from her cousin’s face. “Turn it over, Deah. I want you to see what is, in our Father’s eyes, of unbounding beauty and infinite value.”
Deah swallowed hard and then turned the little bauble over and looked into the mirror. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks as she peered at her own face.
“You’re looking at a picture of God’s favorite child—the one He loves the most.” Summer took her cousin’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “That woman is God’s chosen heir…a princess daughter to the King of all Kings.”
A sob burst from Deah’s lips. She stared into the mirror for a long time. Finally, she laid it carefully on the coffee table and turned toward Summer. “May I h—?” She stopped and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “May I hug you?”
Summer responded by pulling the girl into a tight embrace. Deah sobbed against her shoulder, while Summer rocked her like a child.
“I had no idea you’d been through so much.” Deah spoke through her sniffles. “Dad and Mom didn’t tell me what an awful life you’d had, Summer…and you never gave any indication. I can’t believe you lived through all that, and still turned out so sweet and beautiful.”
Summer laughed softly. “Well, remember, I have one of those ‘photos’—” She nodded toward the little looking glass. “Very much like the one I gave you. If my mother hadn’t been so wise, and so wonderful about instilling in me that my heavenly Father loved me and found me beautiful no matter what my earthly father’s opinion, who knows how I would have ended up?” She squeezed Deah and released her. “Now we both know that we are God’s very favorite children.”
Deah hitched in a breath. “I want to be God’s child.”
Summer drew her brows together, puzzled. “You are, honey.”
“But don’t I need to do something? Miss Angie talked about giving Him my heart. How do I do that?”
Summer grinned. What a way to end the day!
She slipped onto her knees beside the couch and patted the floor beside her. “Come on down here, sweetie. Let’s get you all fixed up with God.”
****
Logan didn’t sleep until sometime after dawn peered into his bedroom. He’d tossed for a while, and then fallen on his knees to pray, repeating the process several times before he finally reached some semblance of peace.
If Summer was meant to be his, as he’d thought from the first, God would work things out. If not, then another reason lay behind his dreams of Summer before he even met her…for allowing him to pull her from the hungry jaws of the Pacific.
If God willed that he should give up the woman he loved with his entire being, he would die a thousand deaths. Having his heart physically ripped from his body couldn’t possibly hurt more than the thought of going through an entire lifetime knowing she existed and he couldn’t have her.
With steel determination, Logan whispered Job’s famous words into the first light of that Cambria morning. Having suffered far more than any human being in the course of history, faithful Job had stated with unwavering trust, “Though God slay me, yet will I trust in him.”
Logan’s choice was clear. God wanted only the best for him. He had to believe that his heavenly Father had a plan and would work all things for his good.
As for Summer, if Logan wasn’t the one God intended her to spend the rest of her life with, then he didn’t want to force a future in which she wouldn’t be happy.
He finally drifted off…not at peace with his decision, but committed to it. He would let God lead.
Logan groaned when he opened his eyes to see his digital clock reading 7:00 AM. He’d have to drag himself through the day. Sleep wouldn’t return for a good many hours. By 9:00 AM, he was settled into his favorite spot on his own beach. The canvas on his easel was in the finishing stages of something he’d never attempted before…and it promised to be his best work yet.
No ocean. No butterfly. No seashell or seal or dolphin graced the scene.
Just Summer, up close and personal. A portrait, which was an all-new area of artistic exploration for Logan.
Once again, he’d worked from memory…this time, the memory of her dancing in the sand after they’d watched a glorious sunset on this very strip of beach.
Her eyes were closed—a decision Logan had tussled with at length. He’d longed to highlight her gorgeous hazel eyes, but his heart wouldn’t let him. Summer didn’t worship with herself in mind. She praised God from the heart, and with her whole being. Her focus was on Him and only Him.
So he painted her eyes closed, though he’d been unable to resist the sweep of long eyelashes against softly rounded, peaches-and-cream cheeks. Her head was raised toward what Logan knew was a stunning sunset—although that glorious event was shown only in the reflective element of background colors. An invisible breeze danced in and out of long, blonde hair touched with the faintest suggestion of sunset glow. Gleaming strands draped over the soft tan of Summer’s shoulders and wrapped themselves around her soft curves.
Her arms were lifted in a graceful arch, palms outward, as though offering the very essence of herself to the Creator of the sunset—just as she’d done that evening on the beach. Her feet peeked from beneath a full, white skirt. One set of toes disappeared beneath dislocated grains of sand, while the other hovered a foot or more off the ground, tiny toes pointed at the sky.
Around her slim frame, Logan had painted a golden-white aura. He touched his brush to the edge of that aura now, tipping it with delicate color in all the glorious hues of the sunset they’d witnessed together. Finished, he laid down his brush and stared at the painting.
Summer. His beautiful Summer.
He’d already ordered a small, brass piece, engraved with the name of the work: One Summer Sunset.
He shook his head, murmuring into the brisk Pacific breeze, “Father, You painted this one, didn’t You?”
False modesty stood no chance this time. The piece was good…beyond good. It was phenomenal. No amount of money would tempt him to part with it. Not ever. With a sigh, he started cleaning tools and putting things away, so he could carry it all back to the house.
And then what?
He’d been rather harsh with Summer last night. Through his long night vigil, he’d come to realize how Deah’s whispered conversation with him might have appeared to an onlooker, especially one as unsure of herself as Summer. He’d been certain she’d gained some confidence, become a little less inclined to downplay her own talents, abilities—and yes, even beauty—but now he wasn’t so sure.
Or maybe only Deah brought about that kind of over-the-top reaction in her.
Halfway around his tool case, he released the zipper and straightened, staring out over the white-capped waves while his mind replayed everything Summer ever shared with him about her cousin.
Finally, he sucked in a deep breath and finished zipping the case. He slid the painting into a specially designed carrier, made to transport wet canvasses without smudging the paint. Grabbing the tool case in one hand and carrier in the other, he set off up the steps from the beach to the back end of his property. He wanted to take them two at a time, but he didn’t dare—not with the painting in tow.
Besides, Paradise Pines wasn’t going anywhere.
He only hoped Summer would stay put too. He feared he’d find her gone, and the apartment above Miss Angie’s empty of occupants. He wasn’t exactly raring to head off to Three Rivers this afternoon, but he would if that’s what it took to keep Summer in Cambria.
Befo
re setting off for the lodge though, he needed to go hunting.
17
“They’re so soft!” Standing apart from the other teens, Reta’s eyes rounded to huge pools of brown velvet. Her thin, pale cheeks bore a faint, rosy undertone that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived. She stroked a purple praise scarf, gaunt fingers lingering in a gentle caress on the silky fabric.
Summer blinked back tears. The awe in the girl’s voice caught at her heart with the force of a tornado, but she’d done enough crying the night before. Today was all about these young men and women, and she refused to allow her own shaky emotions to ruin the experience for them.
Miss Angie had come through with an astounding number of beautiful worship scarves, complete with elastic rings that attached to the fingers for ease of movement. She’d also sent over half a dozen tunics with angel-wing sleeves, another half-dozen long robes, sashes in an assortment of colors and styles, and an entire box of streamers and streamer rods.
Now it was up to Summer to teach these teens, some of whom had never heard about God until they’d arrived at the shelter, what worship was all about. She wanted them to enjoy the beautiful garments and dance accessories Miss Angie had provided, but before they got all wrapped up in how impressive they would look wearing and wielding them, they needed to understand that praise dancing wasn’t about the dancer, but about the One for Whom they danced.
She clapped her hands, gaining the reluctant attention of the four girls and three boys who’d shown up for the first class. Brady had offered the use of the church for their purpose, to Summer’s intense relief and appreciation. The teens would perform better in the privacy of the sanctuary, without the teasing and bantering of those who’d elected not to participate.
She smiled. “I know you’re all enjoying Miss Angie’s bounty back there, but before you get too possessive about those pretty pieces of silk and satin, we need to discuss some other things. So please, all of you, come on up and find a place in the first two rows. I don’t want to have to yell to make myself heard.”
