The Renewal

by Terri Kraus

  Ava was disappointed, a little, but happy for her small victory.

  “Can I have some milk?” she asked, sitting at one of the small tables near the kitchen.

  Leslie did not want to take any milk from the restaurant.

  “I’ll go upstairs and get a glass for you. Are you okay down here by yourself?”

  Ava looked at her mother with that look that said, “Of course I am. I’m in kindergarten, remember?”

  Leslie hurried back upstairs, found a glass, spilled the milk, poured another, and spilled some of that.

  That’s what I get for being in a hurry, she said to herself as she mopped up the third little puddle. She hated spilled milk because it immediately got invisible and sticky.

  As she made her way carefully down the steps, she heard voices. A bit alarmed, she wanted to run downstairs but didn’t want to spill more milk. And hopefully it was Frank or Alice, she thought, returning for some forgotten item.

  No … that’s Jack’s voice.

  She stopped in the doorway for a moment, listening, unseen.

  “I came back for my drill. Didn’t want it to be sold by accident. Where’s your mom? Or did you come here all by yourself?”

  Ava giggled. “No. You’re being silly. My mom is upstairs getting me a glass of milk.”

  “Milk and Mrs. Alice’s cupcakes. That must taste great,” Jack said.

  “It does,” Ava replied, with great enthusiasm. “And you can eat the flowers. Do you eat cupcakes, Mr. Kenyon?”

  Jack pulled a chair up next to Ava. “Not so much anymore.”

  “Why?”

  Jack hesitated. “Well … I had a little girl. She loved cupcakes too. But she’s gone now.”

  Leslie could see the back of Ava’s head as she turned to Jack.

  “Like to Wisconsin?”

  “No,” Jack answered, then added, “she’s in heaven.”

  Leslie’s hand went to her throat. She had no idea. She knew he had a past …

  “What happened?” Ava asked.

  “She died in a car crash … with her mom.”

  This had been the first time Jack had ever told any of this story out loud to anyone. Leslie listened, wanting to weep, her heart breaking for him, for his long silence, for his heavy burden.

  “That is very sad, Mr. Kenyon.”

  “It was, Ava. It was very sad.”

  “Did you get hurt?”

  “A little. But I was hurt mostly where you can’t see the hurt. Inside.”

  Like a small sage, Ava nodded. “Are you better now?”

  “I’m trying, Ava. I’m trying very hard to be better. It’s hard, though, sometimes.”

  Ava finished her cupcake. “Can I have another one, Mr. Kenyon?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  She carefully unwrapped the fluted paper, then took a small bite, leaving a bit of chocolate frosting above her lip. “I think my mom really likes you, Mr. Kenyon. Maybe you should get better for her. I think she needs somebody.”

  If Jack had been surprised, he didn’t show it, or at least not that Leslie could see from the shadows.

  “But what about Mr. Reidmiller. Doesn’t your mom like him?”

  Ava shrugged, her shoulders almost touching her ears.

  “But don’t you like Trevor? If Mr. Reidmiller was here, Trevor could be your brother.”

  “Eeewww,” was Ava’s loud and emphatic response. “I don’t want him as a brother. I like him as a friend, but he’s weird sometimes.”

  Ava ate while Jack sat almost motionless. “So … are you going to ask my mom out on a date or something? Like for ice cream? I love ice cream.”

  Jack only waited a second to answer. “Maybe I will, Ava, maybe I will.”

  Leslie all but kicked the back door, making her entrance unmistakable to both her daughter and Mr. Kenyon.

  Jack stood up.

  “I came back for my drill,” he said, holding the tool in the air like a captured animal.

  Leslie’s eyes found his, for a long moment, full of knowing, full with meaning.

  Then Jack spoke softly. “How are you tonight?”

  “I’m good, Jack.”

  “The grand opening went very well.”

  “It did. Everyone was asking about who did the work here.”

  “Not everyone,” Jack said.

  “Well, maybe not everyone. But a lot of them did. I talked to at least a dozen people myself. And your stack of business cards was all taken. You’ll be busy now.”

  “I think I will be,” he said, agreeing with her assessment. “But not that busy. I mean … not too busy to call you. Maybe take you and Ava for ice cream. If that’s okay with you, that is.”

  Leslie smiled. “That sounds really good to me.”

  Jack appeared as relieved and as happy as a man might be. “No more locked doors, Leslie. No more secrets.”

  “No more,” Leslie agreed.

  Their eyes locked again until Ava said, “Can I have another cupcake?”

  EPILOGUE

  IN THE COMPLETELY RENEWED APARTMENT over Alice and Frank’s place, Jack reached into the freezer and extracted a half gallon of vanilla ice cream—the good kind, from Cunningham’s. He took out three bowls and began scooping out generous amounts of smooth creaminess into each bowl.

  “Do we have any chocolate sauce, Ms. Assistant Museum Curator?” he asked.

  Leslie came up behind him, wrapped her arms tight around him, and hugged him with a loving ferocity. “Don’t we always have chocolate sauce?”

  She turned him around in her arms and kissed him. He let the scoop fall back into the opened carton of ice cream as his embrace and kiss met hers.

  From the living room came Ava’s voice. “Eeewwww.”

  And everyone in that apartment knew Ava didn’t mean it—not at all. Not even a little.

  After a long, tender minute passed, Jack called out, “Who wants to go for a motorcycle ride?”

  POSTSCRIPT

  EARL PASSED AWAY SIX MONTHS after first being admitted to the hospital. He came home after a three-week stay, and that is where he died. Jack was at his side. Even though Leslie never considered herself a computer whiz, using her new laptop, she located Earl’s son, who was living in California. She took it upon herself to call Earl Jr., and three weeks before his father passed away, they connected via a telephone call. His mother, Earl’s ex-wife, had been dead for more than a decade. Both men were cordial, but cautious. Earl Sr. apologized for what he had done and what he had not done in his son’s life. His son did not grant him forgiveness but acknowledged what his father had said and thanked him. So Earl passed away in peace, having done his best to atone for his past mistakes.

  Mike took Leslie’s decision hard. He spent a lot of Saturday mornings drowning his sorrows at the Krispy Kreme doughnut store in Cranberry, fifteen miles north of Butler, alone, so no one could observe his unhappiness, leaving Trevor with his Aunt Denise. It was there, in Cranberry, that he met Susan Mallen, a divorced mother of six-year-old twin girls. Between chocolate-frosted doughnuts—the ones with the crème filling and not the custard—Mike talked and Susan laughed and they began dating. They are now engaged and planning a small wedding, with just family in attendance, in the spring.

  No further legal action for custody of Ava was taken by Randy Ruskin. He and his new wife, Lisa, relocated to Florida. Ava sees them a few times a year.

  The money from the sale of the antique safe was used to begin a college fund for Ava.

  Alice and Frank’s Take Two became an instant success. It became even more popular when outdoor seating was added, with cozy bistro tables and wicker chairs lining the wide sidewalk—just like a café found in Europe, making it the first restaurant in Butler to offer seasonal e
ating outside.

  Leslie has done well in her job as assistant curator at the museum and occasionally walks to the elementary school to have lunch with Ava. Jack sometimes takes a break from his latest renovation projects, including a historic house he’d bought on Taylor, just a block from the Maridon Museum, and joins them. The three of them enjoy their Sunday morning walks through the renewing downtown to Grace @ Calvary Church.

  The diary of Amelia Grace Westland Middelstadt still has its home on Leslie’s nightstand, along with Amelia’s Bible. She continues to find great inspiration from her great-great-great grandmother’s writing.

  The highest pleasure of the human race is for God to reveal Himself to us. This is more pleasurable and intoxicating, wondrous,

  and terrifying than any other thing in the universe.

  We were made to experience His depths, to search the vast ocean of His Deity, to mine the treasures that creation longs to look into.

  —Allen Hood

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  After eleven coauthored books with husband, Jim, Terri Kraus has added her award-winning interior designer’s eye to her world of fiction. She comes to the Project Restoration series naturally, having survived the remodel, renovation, and restoration of three separate personal residences, along with those of her clients. She makes her home in Wheaton, Illinois, with her husband; son, Elliot; miniature schnauzer, Rufus; and Siberian cat, Petey.

  Visit Terri Kraus at her Web site: www.terrikraus.com.

  Other Books by

  Jim and Terri Kraus

  MacKenzie Street Series

  The Unfolding

  The Choosing

  Scattered Stones

  The Circle of Destiny Series

  The Price

  The Treasure

  The Promise

  The Quest

  Treasures of the Caribbean Series

  Pirates of the Heart

  Passages of Gold

  Journey to the Crimson Sea

  Project Restoration Series

  The Renovation

  His Father Saw Him Coming

  The Micah Judgment

  The Silence

  … a little more …

  When a delightful concert comes to an end,

  the orchestra might offer an encore.

  When a fine meal comes to an end,

  it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

  When a great story comes to an end,

  we think you may want to linger.

  And so, we offer ...

  AfterWords—just a little something more after you

  have finished a David C Cook novel.

  We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Turn the page for ...

  • A Note from the Author

  • Discussion Question

  A Note from the Author

  Writing a novel set in the world of the restoration of old buildings has always been a dream of mine. The idea of renovation is in my family’s blood. I’m an interior design professional. My brothers are rehabbers. My husband, Jim, and I have survived the renovation of three houses.

  I know the upheaval well, the despair of having no control, the agonizing over style decisions, the budget constraints, the disagreements between contractor and owner, and the emotional roller coaster of unexpected problems and unanticipated gifts along the way. Together my clients and I have accepted big disappointments, celebrated tiny successes, and experienced the inexpressible elation at seeing what was once in ruins—old, broken, useless—become, with all its quirks, a beautiful, completely renewed, and usable place for people to share life again. Looking back on all those projects, I can echo the sentiment in the opening line of Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

  Many of you are probably, like me, HGTV fans who watch the many shows about fixing up old houses. You find yourself glued to the glimpses of contractors and owners engaged in the process. You live vicariously through the rehabbing, renovating, and restoring.

  I can relate. I’ve always been captivated by old buildings. Poring over books about art, architectural styles, and decoration from all over the world has always been one of my favorite pastimes. As I’ve traveled internationally and visited many of the places I’ve studied independently and in the course of my education in design, I’ve become even more passionate about restoration. (I’m the woman you might see sitting on a bench along the wall of the Sistine Chapel, silently weeping as I take in Michelangelo’s magnificent masterpiece in the simplicity of that sacred space.) I can talk forever about the importance of preserving buildings that are testaments to the creative impulse, the hours of painstaking effort, the motivation and dedication of artists, designers, craftsmen, and artisans from previous eras. All were, no doubt, imperfect people—but people used as instruments in God’s hands to create perfectly rendered works of art that endure and can stir our hearts so many, many years later.

  For me, there’s something quite magical about walking into an old place, with all its history, where so much life has been lived, where so many events and significant moments have taken place—the happy ones, the sad ones, and all the everyday moments and hours in between. Imagining who might have inhabited a house, how the family came together, the love they shared, their conversations, the tears and laughter, is irresistible to me. I find inspiration as I imagine how they celebrated and grieved, how they overcame adversity, how they survived tragedy, then moved on to enjoy life within the old walls once again.

  One of the joys of my life was visiting the little northern Italian village, nestled among olive groves high up in the Apennine Mountains, where my maternal grandparents were born, grew up, and married before emigrating to America in 1920. A short lane connects their two families’ farmhouses. In between them stands a small, now empty house of ancient, mellowed stone where my grandparents lived as newlyweds. How full my heart felt as I walked over that threshold! I pictured them as a young couple in the first blush of matrimony, with all their hopes and dreams … before their brave journey (separately) across a wide ocean to a strange land where all was unknown. Within those aged walls, did they speak of their fears as they prepared to leave their homeland, certain they’d never see their parents and siblings again? What kind of courage did that require? What words did they use to comfort and reassure one another? I wondered. I could see, in my mind’s eye, my grandmother stirring a pot of pasta as my grandfather stoked the fire. I could even hear the crackling of the firewood, smell the slight wood smoke.…

  A few artifacts remained of their time there, and I was delighted to be able to take them back to America with me. Now I treasure and display them in my own home because they connect me with that place and time and remind me of my rich heritage—all stemming from that small structure, still standing, solidly built so long ago.

  I love the metaphor of restoration, which is why I came up with the idea for the Project Restoration series—stories that would follow both the physical restoration of a building and emotional/spiritual restoration of a character. Perhaps in the Project Restoration series, you’ll find a character who mirrors your own life and points you toward the kind of restoration you long for.

  After all, God is in the business of restoring lives—reclaiming, repairing, renewing what was broken, and bringing beauty from ashes. I know, because I’ve seen it firsthand. For many years, I’ve worked in women’s ministries. I’ve seen many women—as well as the men and children they love—deal with scars from their past that shape their todays and tomorrows. They all long for restoration—to live hopefully, joyfully, and productively once again—but that also requires forgiveness. Forgiveness of others (whether they deserve it or not) and, perhaps most importantly, forgiveness of oneself in order t
o be healthy and available to God. Clinging to past hurts or “unfairness,” hostility, anger, grudges, resentment, bitterness, or allowing abuse to alter your self-worth renders your life virtually useless. Unforgiveness shapes your perception of yourself, your outlook on life, the kind of relationships you have, and keeps you in “stuck” mode. It leaves you without hope, in a dark, emotionally paralyzing, spiritually debilitating, physically draining state and causes so much unnecessary pain … even addiction.

  Yet God Himself stands and waits, extending the gift of restoration. The light of His love shines on all those dark places deep within us, exposing what needs His healing touch, renewing hope, providing freedom from bondage. This is the type of restoration I’ve become passionate about too. For when our souls are gloriously freed through God’s renovation, we become whole, useful, and able to extend the forgiveness we have experienced to others. Our hope is renewed. Then individuals, families, churches, and entire communities can be transformed!

  What event in your past do you need to let go of? It is my hope and prayer that you, too, will experience the renewal that awaits you through saying yes to God’s invitation of heart restoration … and the life-transforming joy that will follow.

  Discussion Questions

  1. What hints do you see, early in the book, that Leslie is struggling with anxiety? When do you first understand, from her behavior, that her anxiety manifests itself in panic attacks?

  2. From her diary entries, when do you first see that Amelia Westland, Leslie’s great-great-great-grandmother, struggled with anxiety attacks as well? Have you, or has anyone you know, ever struggled with anxiety or panic attacks? If so, tell the story.

  3. When do you know that Jack has an addiction? In what way(s) does he set himself up for failure in staying sober? Do you or someone you love struggle with an alcohol or other drug addiction? If so, how has this influenced your life and your actions?