by Leah Atwood
This was his time, seven years in the making.
He took the keys from the ignition and singled out the house key. Exited his car, walked to the front porch and unlocked the door. The house had the bare necessities inside. He’d closed on the property yesterday and moved in the few pieces of furniture he’d brought from Scranton. He’d go shopping later today for the rest.
Reality hadn’t hit him yet. Being back in Maryville was surreal after leaving seven years ago. He’d gone to college, then found a job as a finance manager at a car dealership in Scranton after his parents had moved there three years ago. He didn’t doubt it was divine intervention that opened up the same position at the sister dealership in Maryville only one month after he’d decided he had to return.
He flicked the light switch, relieved to see the lights brighten the interior. Only an hour had passed since he’d left the power company after having the utilities set up in his name. The representative had said turning on the electricity could take one to six hours. After sleeping in a dark house with no water last night, all he wanted was a hot shower.
In the kitchen, he turned on the faucet and tested the water. Cold. He’d have to delay his shower a little longer until the water heated. While he waited, he opened a memo app on his phone and made a shopping list. There were several big-ticket items he would put off purchasing for a short time. He’d gone online a few days ago and scanned the Black Friday ads. He’d picked out a living room set that would go on sale the Sunday of Thanksgiving week, and a dining room table. In the meantime, he had his recliner.
He’d moved his bedroom furniture with him, but he had to buy a new metal frame for his bed since his had twisted beyond hope during transport. If he could find a good deal on a desk, he also wanted to set up a home office in the third bedroom. Perhaps he would check the thrift stores—he wasn’t above buying used furniture for an office. Finally, he’d stop at the children’s furniture store.
Hope against hope, he had to believe he’d be given the chance to correct his wrongs, as much as possible. Nothing could make up or excuse what he’d done, but he could choose to start clean today and move forward. He was twenty-five years old, more than old enough to accept responsibility.
His chest tightened with an onslaught of nerves. He’d ready the house first, then go to the next order of business. He might get a well-deserved slap in the face, but he would try anyway.
Closing the app, he climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. The master bedroom sat to the left, with his and hers walk-in closets, along with dual sinks in the bathroom. Four laundry baskets held the majority of his clothes. He lifted a shirt to hang it in the closet—and found no hangers. Another item to add to his list.
Along with a washer and dryer set. How had he forgotten that? Maybe he should use a laundromat for a few months, let his depressed savings account recover first. No, he needed every advantage to put his plan into effect. He wouldn’t let the lack of a washing machine break the deal before it started.
He set the clothes aside and went to the master bath. Tested the water again. Hot water spilled from the faucet. He pumped his fist in the air, then pulled it back. Did it really warrant that level of excitement? Yes, yes it does, when I haven’t had a shower in two days.
Forty minutes later, refreshed and clean, Scott locked up the house and drove in the direction of the furniture store—the same one his parents had frequented when they still lived in Maryville. On his way, he passed several churches. He’d visit one on Sunday and hopefully find a church home soon.
His parents hadn’t been churchgoers. They didn’t follow any religion and hadn’t raised him to believe in any one faith. Only this year, when a coworker invited him to church, did he begin to learn and understand about God. After attending for several months, he’d made the decision to become a Christian. He hadn’t looked back since.
He’d faced a backlash from his parents, who didn’t think he needed God, nor did they agree with the changes in his life that becoming a Christian required. During his many conversations with them about his newfound faith, he’d listened to them with respect, but remained unwavering in his beliefs.
A large neon sign, a relic from another decade, flashed the name of Hargrove’s Furniture in orange letters. The sign might be outdated, but Mr. Hargrove maintained a solid reputation for maintaining both trendy and traditional inventories. Few vehicles in the parking lot. Had the business gone downhill since he’d left town? Then again, early afternoon on a Thursday wasn’t prime time for furniture shopping. Scott found a parking spot in the front row.
The bell chimed when he walked through the front door. A man approached him, and Scott immediately recognized him as an old school friend, Russ Walden.
Recognition lit Russ’ eyes. “Scott Lamar, I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“How’s it going, Russ.” He raised his hand for a high five.
Russ slapped palms with him. “Can’t complain. Where’ve you been hiding out? Marc Owens and I were just talking about you a few months ago.”
Scott arched a brow and smirked. “If Marc was in on the conversation, I’m sure it couldn’t have been anything good.”
Laughter erupted from Russ. “I don’t think he still holds that senior prank against you. But seriously, no one from school has heard from you since your parents moved.”
“Wasn’t sure I’d be welcomed back in town.” The truth was out before he could stop it.
Russ sobered. “Everyone makes mistakes. No one here will hold a lack of judgment from your youth against you.”
“One person will.”
“Have you talked to her recently?” Russ reached into his pocket to silence his ringing phone.
“Not since the papers were signed years ago.” Aching guilt tore at his stomach’s lining.
“Tanya’s done all right for herself from what I hear.”
“Good to know.” He tugged subconsciously at his ear. He’d find out for himself soon enough.
Russ must have sensed the change in his demeanor. “I’m sure you didn’t come in to play catch up with an old friend, so what can I help you find today?”
“A queen sized metal bed frame, and a desk if you have any good sales on them.”
“Do you mind a few scratches? We just marked down a floor model to seventy-five percent off the suggested retail price.”
Scott smiled. “Either you’re a terrible salesman, or you know I’m cheap.”
“A little of both.” Russ winked and laughed. “Come this way. It’s in the other showroom.”
Along the way, Scott spotted a section of children’s furniture. “When did Mr. Hargrove start carrying children’s things?”
“About three to four years ago, when he realized modern parents are willing to shell out big bucks for cutesy beds and dressers.”
Scott arched a brow. “Did you just use the word cutesy?”
“Hey, if the word fits.” Russ shrugged.
“Mind if we take a detour to them?”
Russ gestured toward the area. “You’re the customer.”
His chest constricted as he walked toward the u-shaped displays of children’s beds. One, in particular, caught his eye. It was a simply constructed design painted white, but a line of purple flowers entangled in green vines was painted on the headboard and footboard. It was delicate and feminine and made him think of the daughter he’d given up. A quick scan of the area revealed a matching dresser with the same design painted on the front of each drawer.
He pointed toward the bed. “I’ll take that set. Are there any other pieces that go with it?”
“The entire collection has a bed, nightstand, dresser, and wooden toy chest.”
“I’ll take them all.” An impulse based on hope.
“It’s one of our priciest pieces for children.” A mild hesitation rested between Russ’ words.
“You really are a terrible salesman.” Scott covered his nervousness with a laugh. “But I want them, regardless.”
“We had them in stock earlier this week. Let me check the computer to make sure they’re still in the warehouse.”
“Thanks, and I still want to see the desk.”
“Right this way.”
When Scott carried his receipt out the door a half-hour later, he refused to think of the total he’d spent. It would be worth it in the end, wouldn’t it? But what if Tanya didn’t agree? What if she refused to allow him time with his daughter? She’d be well within her rights, but he prayed she’d extend grace and mercy.
He’d find out soon enough. Once he had everything in place, he’d visit Tanya, present his proposal. No warning, no call beforehand. If she had time to prepare a response, he knew she’d say no immediately without a second thought. He wanted her to see the sincerity in his eyes, the remorse for his past decision. He needed to have this conversation face to face, so she could see he was a changed person.
