When Love Returns

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Without thinking, she reached across the center of the seat and placed her hand on his arm. “I’ve spent twenty years hauling around a boatload of wish-I-hads. I want so much more for Alexa. I don’t want her to look back someday and say, ‘I wish I had…’ ”

  Paul moved his arm, dislodging her hand. He popped his turn signal on and eased onto the shoulder.

  Suzanne stared at him, confused, as he put the truck in Park and pushed the button for the emergency blinkers. “What are you doing?”

  A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I’m going to pray.” He offered her his hands, and she took hold. His strong fingers, warm and callused, closed comfortingly around hers. He shut his eyes. “Our loving heavenly Father…”

  Suzanne sat transfixed, eyes open, gaze pinned on his face as he spoke to God. Paul’s ease in praying aloud, the expression of complete trust on his face, touched her as deeply as the words he lifted on her behalf.

  “In Your Word You’ve given many promises. You promise never to leave nor forsake us. You promise to give us wisdom when we ask. You promise that when we repent of our sins, You are faithful to forgive them and cleanse us of all unrighteousness. You promise that our sins are cast away the moment they’re uttered. Therefore I know I can come to You holy, clean, forgiven, Your beloved child.” His fingers tightened on hers. “And so can Suzy, both of us forgiven of our ‘wish-I-hads.’ ”

  He had wish-I-hads, too? Suzanne swallowed tears and closed her eyes, the reverence of the moment overtaking her.

  “Suzy’s daughter is Your child, too. You want the best for her, which means living a life devoid of despair and remorse. Guide her right now, our Father. Whisper Your will to her ears and let her heed Your voice only. Erase any chance of choosing unwisely, which would lead to deep regrets, and let her walk forward on a pathway that brings only peace. We place Alexa…and ourselves…in Your capable, caring hands and trust You to bring beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…”

  Suzanne added her voice to his as he quoted the scripture from Isaiah. “That You might be glorified.”

  Paul squeezed her hands. “Amen.”

  She opened her eyes and released a squeal of shock.

  Paul jolted. “What?”

  She pointed at his driver’s-side window. A police officer peered in at them.

  Paul quickly rolled down the window. “Yes, sir?”

  The officer peered past Paul to Suzanne. “Are you all right?”

  Suzanne nodded. “Yes. Just fine.”

  He turned to Paul, his face still set in a stern frown. “What are you doing?”

  Paul cleared his throat, rubbing his finger beneath his nose as if trying to hold back a sneeze. “I was praying.”

  He stared blankly at Paul. “Praying?”

  Suzanne coughed into her hand to keep from laughing. Likely the officer had never heard that excuse before.

  “Yes, sir,” Paul said. “I figured it was better to pull off since I always close my eyes when I pray.”

  The officer jerked his gaze away, pinched his chin for a moment, and then looked into the cab again. Although his lips were set in a grim line, suppressed humor brightened his eyes. “Well, since you’re all right, I’ll leave you to…pray. Have a good day, folks.” He strode off.

  Paul rolled up the window, leaned back with his eyes closed, and released a heavy sigh.

  The bubble of laughter she’d forced down found its way from her throat.

  Paul shot a startled look at her. “You think it’s funny?”

  She nodded, unable to squelch the chortles shaking her shoulders. “Yes, I do. The expression on his face when you said you were praying…” She held her stomach and laughed freely.

  Within a few seconds Paul joined her. He pointed at her. “I wish you could’ve seen your face when you opened your eyes and saw him outside the window. Your mouth dropped so wide I saw your tonsils.”

  They laughed even harder, relief no doubt adding to the levity. After several minutes of uncontrolled mirth, they took a few breaths that brought their chortles under control.

  Paul grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. “You feel better now?”

  Suzanne smiled broadly. “I do. Thank you, Paul.”

  “You’re welcome. Let’s move on now before the officer comes back.” He put the truck in gear and pulled into the traffic.

  Suzanne leaned into the seat and basked in the wonderful feelings coursing through her. Paul’s prayer had soothed her and given her an element of hopefulness that Alexa would make the right choice concerning her birth mother. And the shared laughter had revived her. She looked at Paul, who drove with one wrist draped over the steering wheel and a relaxed smile curving his lips.

  He glanced at her and caught her looking. “What?”

  She didn’t turn away. “Nothing. I’m just…happy.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “Me, too.” They drove on in companionable silence with their fingers linked. The way “just friends” didn’t.

  Indianapolis

  Alexa

  She couldn’t say what she’d been expecting, but Mr. Mallory’s office took Alexa by surprise. Although housed in a historic building, the character of its past had long since been stripped away, leaving a soulless shell behind. Dull gray painted walls, gray-speckled tile on the floor, two gray file cabinets standing sentry in one corner…Alexa shivered. Maybe the gray surroundings had also colored the man. He greeted her when she came in and even shook her hand, but he spoke with such a flat, emotionless voice, she hadn’t felt welcomed. Not one bit.

  He turned his steel-gray gaze on Tom and Linda. “Are these your parents?”

  Alexa gestured her friends forward. “No. This is Tom and Linda Denning. They’re friends of the family.”

  He didn’t bother shaking their hands. He headed for a massive desk, made of gray metal, that stretched nearly from one wall to the other in the narrow space. He angled himself sideways to get behind it and then plopped into his chair—one of those tall, etched-wood ones with a leather seat like bankers used a hundred years ago. The antique chair offered the only touch of charm in the entire room.

  Mr. Mallory held his hands toward the two chairs facing his desk. “Come in. Sit. Let’s talk.”

  Alexa wrinkled her nose. The chairs had hard plastic seats shaped like a snow shovel’s scoop. “I’ll just stand. Tom and Linda can sit.”

  Tom, ever the gentleman, took her elbow and guided her to one of the chairs. “You sit, honey-girl. I don’t mind standing.” He moved behind her and placed his warm hands over her shoulders. Linda perched in the second chair, grimacing when its metal frame squawked. As soon as they were all settled, Mr. Mallory leaned forward and pinned Alexa with an intense look she suspected he hoped would intimidate her.

  “All right, young lady, suppose you tell me how you came to leave me that message.”

  Alexa opted for the basic facts and told him about her adoptive family in Arborville mentioning his visit and then Ms. Reed indicating he’d also visited the home seeking information.

  He nodded, seeming to accept her answer. “All right. But what makes you think I’m searching for you?”

  She took a deep breath and offered the explanation she’d practiced on the drive over. “My adoptive mother told me she found me behind the garage of the home.” She shivered, partly because the stark surroundings left her cold inside and partly because the image of the cracked concrete and age-worn garage flashed in her memory. “She took me to the hospital to make sure I was all right”—something her birth mother hadn’t bothered to do—“and then she gave me a loving home.”

  “Where?”

  Alexa blinked. “Where…what?”

  “Where was your home?”

  “At first we lived in Indianapolis, and then we moved to Franklin when I was six years old.”

  “You didn’t live in Kansas?”

  His narrowed, steely gaze made he
r want to fidget. If it wasn’t for Tom’s strong hands on her shoulders, she might wriggle out of the uncomfortable seat. “No, not when I was growing up. I do live there now, though, in the B and B you visited.”

  “So Suzanne Zimmerman is your adoptive mother.” A statement, not a question.

  Alexa nodded anyway. “Yes.”

  He leaned closer, his eyes glinting. “What about Anna-Grace Braun?”

  She thought for a moment, trying to decide the best way to answer. Then she shook her head. “She doesn’t have anything to do with me and my birth family. Don’t worry about her.”

  Very slowly he leaned back until he’d angled the chair into a semireclined position. Its springs released a long, low whine, sending another chill up Alexa’s spine. The way he eyeballed her through barely opened eyelids reminded her of a snake waiting to strike. She reached up and slid her hand underneath Tom’s, gaining comfort from his stalwart presence.

  Mr. Mallory gently rocked the chair, a steady squeak-squeak from the springs accompanying the movement. “You realize it’s very simple for me to prove you aren’t the person I’m seeking with a DNA swab. DNA doesn’t lie.”

  Alexa looked directly into his hard gaze. “Neither do I.”

  To her surprise he burst out laughing. He rose in one smooth movement and approached the closest file cabinet. “All right then, Alexa Zimmerman. Let’s see if you are who you say you are.” He rummaged in the top drawer and returned with a plastic-wrapped cotton-topped stick in hand. “Open wide.”

  Arborville

  Suzanne

  Paul parked next to Suzanne’s car and left his truck idling while he jogged around the hood and opened the door for her. As she turned to climb out, she looked into his eyes—his brown-sugar eyes—and impulsive words left her lips. “Why don’t you and Danny join Mother, Anna-Grace, and me for supper tonight?” What was she doing? Hadn’t she instructed Sandra to act as a buffer between them? Yet here she was, bold as a peacock, inviting him to supper. But

  she owed him. A home-cooked meal could be her thank-you for him buying her lunch, praying with her, and cheering her up. He drew back, uncertainty replacing the tenderness his eyes had held only moments earlier. “Are you sure? It’s not Sunday, our fellowship’s regular visiting day. People might…talk.”

  Mother would have plenty to say, but at that moment Suzanne didn’t care. She was tired of worrying about what people would think, about might-have-beens and wish-I-hads. She couldn’t change the years that had passed, but she owned today. And today she wanted to enjoy a meal with Paul and Danny. She smiled. “Good. If they’re talking about me, they won’t be gossiping about somebody else.”

  He laughed. “All right then. What time?”

  “Six?”

  “Perfect.” He took the keys from her hand and unlocked her car door, then opened it for her. When he placed her keys in her palm, his fingers brushed the tender place at the base of her thumb, sending a tingle all the way to her shoulder. “We’ll see you then, Suzy.”

  She drove straight to the little grocery store in Arborville and bought two pounds of fresh chicken breasts, a bag of baby spinach, and a small container of feta cheese. She was pretty sure Alexa used a mix of asiago and goat cheese for the recipe she intended to make tonight, but the store didn’t have asiago or goat cheese. She hoped feta would do.

  To her surprise when she arrived home, she found Mother in the kitchen peeling potatoes. She lowered the grocery sack to the counter. “Where’s Anna-Grace?”

  Mother continued flicking brown peelings into the waste can. “She borrowed the car and drove into town. She said something about decorating bulletin boards at the school. Then she and Steven plan to grab pizza at the convenience store with another young couple from the fellowship.”

  Warmth eased through Suzanne’s frame as she thought about her daughter finding her place of belonging in Arborville. “It’s nice she and Steven are already settling in and making friends.”

  “Mm-hm.” Mother peered at Suzanne over the top of her glasses. “I told her to go because I thought we might need to talk.”

  Suzanne chuckled. She crossed to the worktable and picked up a potato. “What are you making over here?”

  “Potato soup. I’ve been craving it for days.”

  “Oh. Well…”

  Mother lowered the paring knife and half-peeled potato to her apron-covered skirt. “What?”

  “I sort of invited someone to supper.”

  “Sort of? How do you sort of invite someone?”

  Suzanne sighed. “I flat-out invited someone to supper, and I was going to make one of Alexa’s recipes—chicken and spinach pinwheels in cream sauce.”

  Mother didn’t blink. “Paul?”

  Suzanne nodded.

  “And Danny’s coming, too, then?”

  She nodded again.

  Mother plopped the potato and knife in the bowl with the other peeled potatoes and pushed the bowl aside. “I can wait another day for potato soup. Make your chicken pinwheels. And after supper”—she jabbed one finger in Suzanne’s direction—“we are going to talk.”

  —

  Alexa’s recipe came out perfect, and Suzanne couldn’t help feeling a burst of pride as she carried the platter of pinwheels drizzled with a buttery cream sauce to the table.

  Paul’s eyebrows rose. “That looks amazing, Suzy. Almost too pretty to eat.”

  Danny licked his lips. “I’ll eat it. We were just gonna have potato soup. That looks lots better.”

  Mother burst out laughing. “Sit, Suzy, before this better-than-potato-soup dish grows cold. Paul, will you do us the honor of offering the blessing?”

  “Of course.”

  Suzanne listened for the second time that day to Paul speaking to his Lord. Her heart swelled. Back when they were teenagers, she’d sometimes worried that Paul viewed his relationship with God too casually, almost flippantly. But in his prayers she recognized a depth of spirituality. He’d grown and matured in more ways than physically in the past years. Today’s Paul was even more appealing than the eighteen-year-old one had been.

  “Amen.”

  They passed the platter of chicken as well as the bowl of home-canned green beans and Mother’s yeast rolls. Both Paul and Danny loaded their plates, and Suzanne couldn’t help smiling when they dug in and proclaimed the food delicious. Well, Paul said “delicious.” Danny just grinned and said, “Mmm, Miss Zimmerman, you’re a good cook.” His sincere compliment went straight to her heart.

  Danny seemed less tense than he’d been the last time they were together. He contributed little to the conversation around the table, but that was typical of an Old Order child, who was taught to remain silent in the presence of adults unless someone addressed him. But he didn’t sit in sullen silence. His bright eyes followed the speakers the way spectators follow a tennis ball back and forth on the court, and occasionally he grinned at someone’s comment. Quiet, yes, but still involved. She’d been praying for him to settle down, and it pleased her to think her prayers had been answered.

  The four of them went through the entire two pounds of chicken breasts as well as a dozen rolls and an entire jar of beans. Suzanne had inwardly bemoaned not having a dessert to offer, but after watching Paul and Danny consume two full servings each, she decided maybe it was all right. Surely they didn’t have room for anything else.

  Danny drained his milk glass, swiped away his milk mustache with the back of his hand, and leaned back in his chair with a big sigh.

  Paul nudged his shoulder. “What do you say to Mrs. Zimmerman and Miss Zimmerman?”

  Danny sat up straight. “Did you make dessert, too?”

  Paul lightly thumped the back of his son’s head.

  “Sorry.” The boy hung his head and mumbled, “Thank you for supper.”

  Suzanne laughed. “To be honest, Danny, I was just thinking about dessert. After you ate such a big supper, I didn’t think you’d have room in your tummy for dessert.”

&nbs
p; Danny peeked at her from beneath his heavy fringe of eyelashes, his expression serious. “Miss Zimmerman, you need to know something about boys.”

  She swallowed her amusement and matched his serious tone. “What’s that?”

  “Boys always have room for dessert.”

  Mother chuckled. “You’re absolutely right, Danny. I could never keep enough cookies in the cookie jar to satisfy my son, Clete, when he was your age. And I seem to recall”—her eyes became dreamy—“your father ate his fair share of cookies from my old jar, too.”

  Danny zipped a quick look at Paul, whose cheeks bore a slight red streak, then turned to Mother again. “Are there cookies in your jar right now, Mrs. Zimmerman?”

  She pretended to think deeply for a few seconds, then she smiled. “I believe there are. Anna-Grace baked a batch of oatmeal cookies with butterscotch chips and pecans.”

  Paul glanced left and right. “I just realized…Where is Anna-Grace?”

  Suzanne said, “She’s with her beau and some other Arborville young people this evening.”

  A slow smile grew on his lips. “So…she’s settling in.”

  Suzanne smiled her reply. She read in his eyes the same mix of happiness and sadness she always experienced when thinking of the daughter she couldn’t claim as her own.

  Mother cleared her throat. “Well, Danny, do oatmeal cookies appeal to you?”

  He shrugged. “A cookie’s a cookie. Dunk them in milk, and it doesn’t matter what kind they are.”

  Paul gawked at his son. “Danny!”

  Danny looked up at him innocently. “What?”

  Mother’s laughter rang. She pushed her chair away from the table. “You come with me, young man. We’ll put some cookies on a plate and grab the milk pitcher.” She rolled her chair through the butler’s pantry, and Danny bounded after her like an eager puppy.

  Paul watched his son until he turned the corner to the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I really have taught him manners.”