HF01 - Almost Forever

by Deborah Raney

  “Right across from the old one, right?”

  “That’s right. She’s probably there now.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Terrigan. I appreciate it. If you’re sure she wouldn’t mind, I might try to catch her there yet this afternoon.”

  “You go with a paintbrush and some elbow grease, I guarantee she won’t mind.”

  Garrett chuckled and thanked him again. He replaced the phone in its cradle, an idea beginning to form. But entertaining it, he laughed out loud when he realized it wasn’t his idea at all, but one Hugh Terrigan had planted as deliberately as if he’d had a shovel and a load of dirt.

  The realization gave him courage, and he headed to the bedroom to change clothes.

  Paintbrush in hand, Bryn stood back to admire her handiwork. The new woodwork in the room that would serve as one of the shelter’s family quarters gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Everything looked pristine. Bryn inhaled. The sharp scent of paint added to the effect of “fresh and clean.” A few touchups to the paint job, and a couple of days to let everything dry, and the room would be ready to furnish.

  They’d had quite a few donations of furniture—beds and mattresses, some old sofas for the dayroom. But Susan had invited her to go scavenging at garage sales on Friday. They needed end tables and lamps and other items that would make the place feel homey.

  Susan had poured herself into getting the shelter reopened, and though she often expressed frustration at how long it was taking to get things ready for the opening, Bryn was amazed at the progress they’d made even since she’d come on board.

  She fell into bed exhausted every night, but she truly looked forward to returning to the site each day, eager to see what miracles they could accomplish in the next eight or ten hours.

  A quiet knock behind her made her do an about-face.

  Her breath caught. “Garrett?”

  He stood in the doorway wearing ragged jeans and a T-shirt, wielding a paintbrush in one hand and a broom in the other. “I wondered if . . . you needed any help in here?”

  She tried to speak and only sputtered. “How did you . . . ? Did you know I . . . ?”

  “Your dad told me I’d find you here,” he explained. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  She shook her head, a little in shock, and a lot curious about why he’d come. She nodded toward the broom and paintbrush he held. “Did you talk to Susan”—she pointed down the hall—“about where she wants you . . . working?”

  He leaned the broom against the wall in the hallway and stepped into the room. “I told Susan I wanted to talk to you.” He looked as if he thought she might ask him to leave.

  Bryn waited, not knowing what to say, but not inclined in the least to ask him to leave.

  “She said I should try to talk you into taking a break. She suggested coffee and maybe some dinner—” He hesitated, looking at the dust-streaked floor. “It was her idea, but . . . I like it. Would you want to go get something to eat? With me? Just for a little while? I—I’d like to talk to you, Bryn.”

  Something about his demeanor made her want to cry. He was different. Something had changed. “I had a sandwich earlier,” she said, “but coffee sounds good.” She looked pointedly at his clothes. “You look like you came prepared to work. Don’t feel like . . . just because Susan said—”

  “I did come to work, but I mostly came to talk to you. Coffee would be great. You look like you could use a break.”

  Suddenly aware of how she must look, she tucked a wayward strand into her ponytail and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “Um . . . maybe we could do a drive-through?”

  He smiled. “You look great, but . . . yeah, drive-through’s a good idea. I didn’t exactly dress for the occasion.” He flushed and held up the paintbrush in his right hand. “Well, I did, but—” He shrugged. “Different occasion.”

  Her mind went a million different directions. Why had he come? What did he want? She followed him down the corridor to the entrance area. “Wait here. I need to let Susan know where I’m going.”

  “Sure.” He tucked his fingers in the pockets of his jeans and hooked his thumbs on the belt loops. He looked like a shy little boy. It was a nice look for him.

  She found Susan in the kitchenette arguing politely with the guys who were putting in the new cabinets.

  “Oh, hey, Bryn, Garrett Edmonds was here looking for you . . .”

  “Yeah, he found me. You okay if I take a short break?”

  Susan looked at her as if she must have heard the question wrong. “Would you please take a break? Good grief, if that man can get you to rest for two seconds, I have half a notion to hire him on for that purpose alone.”

  Bryn gave her a sheepish smile. “We—I won’t be long.”

  “Take your time. Take the rest of the night off if you want. It’s Friday night. You’ve put in your time this week. More than.” She motioned toward the cabinet installers. “I think I’m heading home myself as soon as these guys are done.”

  “Okay . . . see you next week, if not tonight. Have a nice weekend.”

  But Bryn knew Susan would be there until ten or later, like she was every night. Funny that Susan worried she was the one who needed to take a break. Bryn suspected Susan was using work as an escape. Or, more likely, that she was counting on her work at the shelter to fill the empty place that only David Marlowe could fill.

  But she was the pot calling the kettle black on that count. Mandatory or not, her work here wasn’t motivated by entirely the right reasons.

  She waved and went to find Garrett, her heart lighter than it had been in a very long time.

  Being here with him

  brought back memories that

  were better left buried.

  40

  So, do the hours you’re putting in at the shelter fulfill your community service?”

  Bryn swallowed the sip of coffee she’d just taken and looked at Garrett. He sat angled behind the steering wheel, one elbow resting on the wheel, the other clutching a tall mocha.

  His question took her by surprise, yet she could see in his expression that he hadn’t meant to hurt her by bringing up the subject of her sentence.

  She took another sip of her latte. “Do you mind if I roll the window down a little?” They’d gone through the drive-through and come around to park in front of the coffee shop.

  “Not at all.” Garrett turned the key in the ignition and waited for her to lower the window before he turned off the accessory.

  The evening sun warmed the right side of her face, but she had a feeling the sun wasn’t entirely to blame for the overheated cab. Being here with him brought back memories that were better left buried.

  “Hey, how’s Sparky?” It was an obvious attempt to change the subject he’d broached, and she was grateful.

  “He’s out at my dad’s in the country. Dad’s got him so well trained you wouldn’t know him. He’s been really good for Dad. How about Boss?” she risked. “Or . . . do you still have him?”

  “I have him. He’s been really good for me, too. Those two dogs must have been conspiring.”

  Bryn laughed at the thought.

  A brief silence fell between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “So tell me about the shelter,” Garrett said after a minute. “The place looks good. You seem to like it there.”

  “I do. Sometimes I feel a little guilty that—well, it doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like a reward.”

  He picked an invisible piece of lint off the upholstery. “The paintbrush and broom weren’t just props, Bryn. I’d like to help.”

  “That would be great. We could use your help, we really could.” Why had he suddenly decided to be a part of the shelter project?

  “I’ve got the rest of the summer off. If there’s a place for me. If you don’t mind me . . . horning in, I’ll be there whenever I can.”

  “There’s plenty of work to go around. And Susan will be thrilled to have an extra set of hands. She’s sho
oting to reopen by September 1. A couple of the shelters in Springfield have people they’d like to send us by then—to get them closer to their families and support systems. There’s still so much to do before we open.” She hesitated, then plunged in. “But . . . why, Garrett? I don’t understand why you’re—” She shrugged.

  He nodded, as if he’d expected her question. “A lot of reasons. I . . . I need to explain some things, Bryn. I need to ask your forgiveness.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. So she waited.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. For a minute she thought he might be praying. When he looked at her again, there was pain in his eyes. “I’m not even sure where to start. I’ve been . . . so wrong about so many things.”

  She felt on the verge of tears. She shook her head, willing her voice to steady. “I don’t understand. Garrett, I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness. What . . . what are you doing?”

  “But you did ask forgiveness. In every way possible. Your letter . . . what you said in court that day. I just wasn’t . . . I wasn’t willing to give it. But I am now. I’m sorry . . . I should have started by saying that. I forgive you, Bryn. You can’t even imagine how much I understand, how much I empathize with you now.”

  “Garrett, you don’t need to—”

  “No. Please, Bryn.” He held up a hand. “Let me say what I came to say. I need to apologize. And”—he gestured toward her coffee cup and gave a self-deprecating smile—“you might want to sip slow. The list is long.”

  She tried to muster a smile but was shaken deeply by his drastic change of heart.

  His expression turned serious again. “First of all, Bryn, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there that day at the courthouse.”

  “Garrett . . .” She waved him off.

  But he shook his head. “No. I should have been there. Susan sent us all a letter and asked us to come and support you, but . . . I just couldn’t face you yet. Or maybe it was myself I couldn’t face. I was . . . confused. I didn’t know what to think about the whole thing. But . . . I know God wanted me there, and I flat out ignored Him.”

  “Garrett, it’s okay. I understand. I do. I would have had the same questions if the tables had been turned.”

  He shook his head. “No . . . I’m not sure you would have. I think you have”—he shrugged—“I don’t know . . . a little more faith in people than I do. I could never have worked at the shelter like you did. I mean, sure, I can paint and clean, but when it comes to the people . . .” He shrugged. “It takes a special gift to treat those people with dignity, the way you treated Charlie. I don’t have that gift.”

  She smiled. “And I could never teach a class of fifth graders. Ever.”

  He laughed at that but quickly sobered. “I need to tell you something. Something happened about a week ago that . . . changed everything for me.”

  Bryn sat, enrapt, as he told her about a science experiment he’d conducted during summer school. She was no scientist, and she wasn’t sure where he was going with this story. Was he trying to make some sort of analogy to the chemical reaction? Her face must have told him she didn’t get it.

  He smiled at her confused expression. “Hang with me . . . You’ll understand why I’m telling you all this in a minute.”

  She didn’t think the waver in his voice was from humor, and as his story went on, she grew concerned.

  The sun dropped quickly behind the building, and the neon lights flickered on along the little strip of shops beside the coffee shop. Garrett set his coffee cup in the holder on the console, reached across the cab, and touched her arm briefly. “I left the room—just to go get coffee.” He dropped his head.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, Garrett . . .” She could guess what was coming, and her heart broke for him.

  “I should have known. Every year some kid wants to toss in a bigger chunk of sodium. It was foolish to not put things away, lock stuff up where the kids couldn’t get to it. And beyond foolish to leave the kids alone with that stuff.”

  Darkness fell as he continued his story, telling her how he’d come back down the hall a few minutes later to hear what sounded like a gunshot.

  A rush of emotion rolled over her, and her hands began to tremble. Please, God. Oh, please, no . . . Don’t let this story end the way I’m afraid it’s going to end.

  But Garrett must have read her mind, for he hurried to reassure her. “No, no . . . it’s okay. Everything’s okay. Nobody even got hurt. It all turned out fine.”

  The relief she felt for him drained every ounce of energy from her. To her horror, everything she’d been through came back in a tidal wave of memory. She put her face in her hands and wept.

  Garrett scooted across the seat, and, as if no time at all had passed since that day they’d skated at Ferris Park, he took her in his arms. She didn’t resist and leaned her forehead against his chest, grateful for his presence.

  He stroked her hair and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t think how it might affect you, to hear that.”

  She looked up at him. “I’m glad everything turned out okay. I . . . I don’t know why I’m blubbering . . .”

  He loosened his embrace on her, as if he’d just realized he was holding her, as if giving her a chance to “escape.” But she didn’t want to escape, and when she didn’t move away, he put his arms around her again.

  “My point is, Bryn, the only difference between what happened to you and what happened to me is that no one died on account of my carelessness. But they could have! I’m not one ounce less guilty. Maybe more! Those were children in my care. Their parents trust me to keep them safe.” His breathing quickened as if he were reliving the incident in his mind. “When I think about what could have happened . . .”

  She felt him shudder, and she wanted to somehow erase the memory for him. Neither of them could ever do that. Yet she knew now that God could somehow take those awful memories and harness them for good. He’d already begun to do so in her life. And she suspected the fact that Garrett was here with her now demonstrated that God was working in his life as well.

  “I just wish I’d been more understanding of what happened to you. I’m ashamed of the way I handled it. I’m sorry for so many things.”

  She pulled away now, leaned against the passenger door so she could look into his eyes. “We’re all different, Garrett. None of us knows how we’ll handle something until we’re in the thick of it.”

  “That might be true, but I think our faith—or lack of it—comes out when we’re . . . tested. I’m not very proud of what came out of me. The way I treated you—” He hung his head for a minute before he met her eyes again. “I’m ashamed,” he said again. “And I’m sorry. Do you think you could forgive me?”

  “Of course I forgive you, Garrett. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who wouldn’t understand why you felt the way you did about what happened . . . about what I did.”

  “I’d like another chance . . . to make things right. I don’t think it was my imagination that we had something special between us. At least something . . . promising.” He drew back and looked at her, as if he might see the answer in her eyes. “Do you think we could be friends again?”

  She thought about the way it had felt to be in his arms, and she wanted to say yes, a thousand times yes. But something niggled at her. She closed her eyes and tried to think how to voice her fears. “I keep thinking . . . if we’re friends—if we someday become . . . more than that—how many times in our lives will we be asked to tell the story of how we met?”

  “Oh.” He shook his head slowly and gave a humorless smile. “I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “I don’t mean to borrow trouble. But will we—will you feel bitter every time we’re reminded? To have to relive it all over again? It makes me shudder to think of having to tell the whole story to casual strangers. Or to always have to tiptoe around the truth—because it will make people uncomfortable.
”

  His smile turned genuine, and he pulled her into his arms again. “I guess we’ll have to make the ending to our story so great that it makes them forget all about the beginning. Are you willing, Bryn? To let God write a new ending to our story?”

  She smiled up at him. “I think maybe He already has.”

  You will know the truth,

  and the truth will set you free.

  JOHN 8:32

  Dear Reader,

  The research for this book took me far out of my comfort zone, especially when it led me to volunteer in our local homeless shelter. I began my stint as a volunteer for completely self-centered reasons: seeking accurate information and details for my novel. But God—as I suspected He would—is using my ongoing experience to build character in me, sometimes painfully. Not only have I been forced to recognize a judgmental spirit, and a tendency to store up my treasures here on earth rather than in heaven, but through this experience, I hope I have grown in faith and compassion for others.

  This novel explores a tragedy that devastates a small town, and the life of one woman in particular. When tragedy strikes, it’s hard to imagine where God could possibly be. How could a loving God allow the kinds of tragedy and pain that we all eventually experience if we live long enough? And yet, the Bible tells us, “In this world you will have trouble.” Even more difficult to understand is that this trouble serves to make us stronger in our faith and more compassionate toward others.

  We shouldn’t be surprised when trouble strikes. Since that fateful day in the Garden of Eden, we have lived in a world of tragedy, sorrow, and pain. Some of it is present simply because we live in a fallen world, and some of it is the result of our own sin, or sin in the lives of those we love.

  None of us are immune, but the difference Christ makes in our lives means we don’t have to walk through trials and tragedy alone. God has promised to be with us every step of the way, comforting, healing, listening to our cries. And redeeming not only those tragedies that strike us when we’ve done nothing to deserve them, but redeeming even the sins and mistakes we’ve committed that have brought well-deserved pain.