by Irene Hannon
How should she respond if her parents got all huffy again, Greg retreated—and they ended up back at square one?
Rachel’s already crumbling composure eroded another notch.
She didn’t want to deal with this.
Not yet.
But with her parents waiting in the next room, what choice did she have?
All she could do was pray she wasn’t walking into a minefield that would further fracture her relationship with the people she loved most.
Rachel was trembling.
As they crossed the kitchen, Greg tightened his grip on her hand.
For a woman who’d once been as close to her mom and dad as a daughter could be, the eighteen-month estrangement had to have hurt.
Deeply.
And it was his fault.
He’d been the impatient one, unwilling to wait to tie the knot. Succumbing to his selfish impulses, he’d cajoled Rachel into choosing him over her parents.
But never had he regretted sweet-talking her into marrying him fast—until the IED changed everything.
If they’d waited, as John and Marie Stewart had asked, Rachel wouldn’t have been tied to him by her marriage vows. Maybe she’d have stuck with him, maybe not. But at least her choice would have been unencumbered by promises made before God.
Yet despite the guilt that continued to plague him—especially during the sleepless, dark nights when the taste of all they’d both lost was bitter on his tongue—he couldn’t be sorry about the marriage. Those first few months with Rachel as his wife had been the happiest of his life.
And the last eight?
Endurable only because she’d stuck by his side—even if he’d never told her that.
He stopped short of the door to the living room, where he’d left her parents stiffly sitting on the couch. “Ready?”
“No . . . but I won’t be even if I stand here all night.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise. Trust me on this?”
She looked up with those wide, emotive hazel eyes that had sucked him in from day one. Searched his face. And despite the slight tremble in her lips, she nodded.
At her vote of confidence, warmth filled his heart.
In spite of the trauma of the past few months, she hadn’t lost her faith in him.
That was a gift beyond measure.
Keeping a firm grip on her hand, he straightened his shoulders and led her into the living room.
John and Marie jumped to their feet the instant they entered.
Her mom took a step forward. Caught herself, as if unsure of her welcome. Twisted her hands in front of her. “Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Mom. Dad. This is a surprise.”
Silence.
Marie nudged her husband.
“Since we, uh, couldn’t connect by phone, we thought it might be easier if we all sat down together in person.” Rachel’s father shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you can spare us a few minutes, of course.”
“You came all the way from Texas to talk for a few minutes?” Rachel stared at her parents.
Another beat of silence ticked by.
“Why don’t we all sit?” Greg urged her forward, toward the unoccupied section of the L-shaped couch, and tugged her down, close beside him.
Very close.
And he didn’t relinquish her hand.
Once again, quiet filled the small room.
When the stillness grew painful, John cleared his throat, leaned forward, and clasped his hands between his knees. “So . . . we have some catching up to do.”
“We’ve missed you more than words can say.” Marie’s eyes began to shimmer. “And we’d like to reconnect. Your dad and I have had some long talks over the past few months.” She groped for her husband’s hand. “Right, John?”
He picked up the cue.
“Yeah. We have. You both know we weren’t all that thrilled about how fast you decided to get married.”
Greg stifled a snort.
Not that thrilled?
Appalled had been more like it.
But he bit back the retort that sprang to his lips—for Rachel’s sake.
There was too much enmity between all of them already.
“It had nothing to do with you personally, Greg. We want to make that clear.” Marie leaned into her husband, as if she needed to feel some physical solidarity.
Or she could be sending one of those silent wifely messages.
Like, Watch what you say, or we could blow this whole visit.
“That’s right.” John patted her hand. “We were just concerned that a rash decision might backfire and end up hurting Rachel. But you’re an adult now, sweetie. We know that here”—he tapped his temple—“but it’s hard not to think of you as our little girl here.” He touched his chest. “We shouldn’t have been angry that you chose not to take our advice. And we’re sorry we weren’t there for your wedding.”
A tiny shudder passed through Rachel. “It was hard for me not having you there too. A bride and groom should be s-surrounded and supported by the people who love them.”
The tear brimming on Marie’s lower lash spilled over. “Oh, honey, I’ll always be sorry you didn’t have the big wedding you used to dream about, with the beautiful white lace gown and flowers and music, and all our friends and family there to witness the happy event.”
Greg’s gut clenched.
The simple ceremony he and Rachel had shared had been nothing like the beautiful wedding her mother had described.
There’d been no lace gown.
No music.
No family or friends in attendance.
No flowers to speak of, other than a tiny nosegay he’d picked up en route to the ceremony in a parson’s parlor, where the man’s wife and son had acted as witnesses.
Apparently he’d robbed Rachel of her dream wedding as well as her relationship with her parents.
The knot in his stomach tightened.
One more regret to add to a growing list.
The squeeze Rachel gave his fingers somehow penetrated his shroud of misery, and he looked over.
She didn’t utter a single syllable, but he heard her message loud and clear as they locked gazes.
I love you, Greg. None of those trappings mattered to me because I had you.
The room blurred, and pressure built in his throat.
Sweet heaven, how he loved this woman!
Blinking to clear his vision, he folded his other hand around their entwined fingers and rejoined the conversation.
“I wish we could all go back and change history, but the best we can do is make our peace with the past and move forward. I know both of us want the two of you to be part of our lives again. I’d like to get to know you better, and Rachel would love to have her parents back.”
“We were hoping you’d say that.” John swiped the sleeve of his sweater across his eyes, his own voice none too steady. “We booked a room for four nights at the Seabird Inn B & B here in town. We don’t expect you to change your schedules for us, but we’re available whenever you are.”
“You’re welcome to stay here.” Greg didn’t know where, exactly . . . but it seemed the hospitable thing to suggest.
“No.” Marie shook her head. “We wouldn’t think of intruding, especially since we came without any warning. And the Seabird Inn is charming.”
“You’ll stay for dinner, though . . . won’t you?” Rachel’s invitation was sincere—but it was underscored by a trace of worry.
Not surprising.
Throwing together a decent meal for four people at the last minute would be a challenge, based on what he could recall of the provisions in the kitchen.
And Rachel would want to do this right.
They also needed to talk before they spent an extended stretch with her parents, make certain they were on the same page about how much they wanted to share.
Thankfully, her mother had the wisdom to decline. “Do you think we could have a rain check and
come tomorrow? It was a bumpy flight, with a long drive down from Portland on top of a time change. We’re kind of wiped out. We’ve also disrupted your life enough for one day.”
Rachel’s relief was almost palpable—to him, anyway.
“That would be fine. I have a job at the local newspaper, but I’m sure my boss will let me off early.”
“We don’t want to cause problems,” John chimed in. “Asking off in a new job might be frowned upon.”
“I only work part-time, and my boss is understanding. It won’t be an issue.” Rachel tightened her grip on Greg’s hand and shot him an uncertain look.
He hesitated—but her parents would soon find out he wasn’t employed. No reason to hide it. “My schedule is open. I’m still recovering.”
“Rachel told us you’d suffered an injury.” Marie’s tone was cautious. “I hope you’re improving.”
How to respond?
Her parents must have noticed his limp—but for whatever reason, Rachel hadn’t told them about his leg. Would she mind if he did?
He glanced at her, and she gave a small nod of assent.
“I’m making progress—but the injury itself is permanent.” He braced himself for their reaction. “I lost my leg below the knee in an IED explosion.”
Shock ricocheted across her parents’ faces, and her mother’s hand flew to her chest.
“We had no idea it was anything that traumatic. I’m so sorry.” Marie transferred her attention to her daughter. “Why didn’t you tell us? You two didn’t have to go through that alone.”
Greg would have answered for Rachel if he could, but her reasons for withholding that information eluded him too.
“There wasn’t anything you could have done.” Rachel picked at a piece of lint on her slacks.
“We could have sat with you. Offered moral support. Done whatever routine chores needed to be done.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. We got through it. But we’re glad you came out now.” She slid her hand from his and stood. “I’ve got cheese and crackers—and some fresh fruit. Let me put together a snack for us.”
“Would you like some help?” Greg prepared to lever himself to his feet.
“No. I’ve got it.” Rachel backed away. “You three go ahead and visit for a few minutes.” She fled to the kitchen.
Much as he wanted to follow her, Greg resisted the temptation. It was possible she needed a few minutes alone to regroup.
This evening, however, he’d have her all to himself—and he intended to keep his promise to talk through their situation.
No matter the outcome.
What a remarkable day.
Rachel pulled the towel off her hair and blotted her wet locks in the steamy bathroom.
Greg’s suggestion that she take a long shower after her parents left had been spot-on. The relaxing, hot spray had been just what she needed to soothe her taut muscles, clear her mind, and lift her spirits.
How incredible was it that her parents had journeyed all the way from Texas to say they were sorry and try to mend the relationship?
And how wonderful to once again be able to call them at will, without the specter of their unhappy parting hanging over everyone’s head.
Greg had gone above and beyond during their visit to present a unified front—and as far as she could tell, her parents hadn’t picked up on the strain between them.
But if it had been nothing more than an act, it would be difficult to sustain during the four days her mom and dad would be around. They’d soon realize not all was perfect in paradise.
So working through a few issues tonight, as he’d promised they would, was necessary—even if the thought of that discussion ratcheted up her tension again.
Rather than fussing with her hair, she combed it back to air dry. No sense delaying the inevitable. She might as well hear what Greg had to say.
She found him at the kitchen table, brow pinched, two beer cans in front of him.
Her heart sank.
“They’re full, Rachel.” He picked one up to demonstrate. “These are the last two in the refrigerator. I’m not going to drink them—and I’m not buying any more.”
That was the best news she’d had in weeks. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Why don’t you sit?” He motioned to the chair beside him and pushed the cans to the side.
“I want to thank you for how you acted while my parents were here.” She slipped into her seat. “I don’t think they suspected we’ve been having issues.”
“It wasn’t an act—and I want to talk about those issues . . . and how to fix them.”
She sighed and tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “I have no idea where to start.”
“I do. We start with me. That’s where the blame for all our problems falls.”
“Losing your leg wasn’t your fault.”
“No, but how I reacted was—and a bunch of things have happened in the past couple of weeks to drive that point home.”
“Like what?”
“Like my brother’s visit. Dan told me I should appreciate the blessing of a woman whose world has also been rocked but who’s stuck around despite my foul moods—and he was right.”
So Dan had read him the riot act that day.
She definitely owed her brother-in-law a call or thank-you note—at the very least.
“Charley had a few words of wisdom to offer too.” Greg pulled a paper napkin out of the holder on the table and blotted up the ring of condensation left by one of the beer cans. “He reminded me that attitude is everything. Made me realize I’d been mired in a glass-half-empty philosophy for too long.”
God bless the taco man!
“I also listened to Reverend Baker’s sermon last Sunday. His comment about physical blindness not being the only way a person can lose their way—or lose sight of what’s important—hit home.” Greg took a deep breath. “And then there was your ultimatum.”
Her stomach contracted. “That was a desperation measure. I didn’t know what else to try.”
“I’m glad you did it. It forced me to take stock of my priorities—and to realize that what I wanted most of all in life was you. Losing my leg was bad . . . but losing you would be like cutting out my heart.”
As he uttered the words she’d been longing to hear for months, the room grew fuzzy.
“I wasn’t even certain you l-loved me anymore.” Somehow she choked out the admission.
He took her hand, his firm grip steady and reassuring. “I never stopped loving you. Not for one minute. In fact, I love you more now than I did the day we got married—which is saying a lot. Someday, I hope you’ll be able to say the same about me . . . and that I’ll deserve it.”
“I never stop—”
He held up a hand. “Rachel, I’ve made your life miserable for months. I don’t expect us to get back to normal overnight. To be honest, I can’t promise there won’t be days I’m frustrated or down and take it out on you again. I’ll try hard not to do that, but it could happen.”
“I never expected you to be perfect, Greg. All I wanted was for you to love me.”
“That I can promise to do. And I’m also going to do my best to turn my life around and be the kind of husband I vowed to be the day we said I do. But I don’t expect you to believe that without some proof.”
“Your promise is proof enough.”
His jaw firmed. “Not after everything that’s happened. Let me back it up with some action too.”
Action?
She arched an eyebrow. “What kind of action?”
His irises darkened for an instant—and then he flashed her a grin. “Not the kind you’re imagining, much as I’d like that.” His manner grew more serious. “I think we need to get comfortable together again before we jump back into full-fledged marriage.”
He was right.
Lonely as she might be, the sensible course was to take things slow and easy. If this ended up being a false start . . . if for some reason Greg could
n’t live up to his promise, or changed his mind . . . it was better to proceed with caution.
She couldn’t go through the heartbreak of the past eight months again.
“So what’s the plan?”
“I’m going to work on the lighthouse project and think about what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m also planning to ramp up my physical therapy routine to get rid of this limp. I’ll take over more of the household chores. And I’m going to talk to you—really talk to you—every single day. I’m open to other suggestions too.”
“I do have one.” She lifted their joined hands. “I think we need to do more of this. Physical affection—even simple gestures like this—help build closeness.”
“That will be an easy request to accommodate.” He stroked his thumb over her hand. “The hardest challenge will be keeping it simple when I want much more.”
“That challenge goes both ways.” She tipped her head. “How will we know it’s time for more?”
“I’m going to let you make that call.”
She rolled her eyes. “No pressure there.”
“You’ll know, Rachel—and if I think you’re rushing it, I’ll tell you.”
“That would be helpful. Because loneliness can override common sense.”
“With your mom and dad back in the loop, maybe you won’t be as lonely.” He studied her. “Speaking of them—why didn’t you reach out to them . . . or tell them about my leg?”
It was a fair question, even if the answer was uncomfortable—and humbling.
“Several reasons.” She dipped her chin and traced the fake wood grain on the Formica tabletop. “Pride and stubbornness are two of them. I felt like the wrong was on their side, and I wasn’t willing to back down and make the first move toward reconciliation. I thought they should do that. On top of that . . . I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if I told them what had happened to you, they might call or come to visit—and I was worried I’d get an earful of I-told-you-so’s about rushing the wedding.”
“In hindsight, they might have been right about that.”
“No, they weren’t.” She lifted her head, willing him to see what was in her heart. “I love you, Greg. I knew it then, and I know it now. Not being married wouldn’t have made me love you any less after the IED took your leg. And without the wonderful memories of our first ten months together to sustain me, it would have been even harder to deal with.”
