It Had to Be You and All Our Tomorrows

by Irene Hannon

  But just as he reached for a piece, Maggie stepped in his way. “If everyone eats their turkey in the kitchen, I’ll end up having mine alone in the dining room,” she complained good-naturedly. “And that’s no way to spend Thanksgiving.”

  “Well, I have to nibble on something,” Jake declared. Without giving her a chance to elude his grasp, he reached for her and pulled her into a dip. “I guess your ear will have to do.”

  Abby giggled. “You two act like you’re still on your honeymoon.”

  Jake’s eyes, only inches from Maggie’s, softened and he smiled tenderly. “That’s because we still feel like we are,” he replied as he held her close.

  Abby sighed dramatically. “That’s s-o-o-o romantic. I sure hope I meet somebody like you when I’m ready to get married,” she told Jake.

  “I hope you do, too, honey,” Maggie agreed before Jake muffled her lips in a lingering kiss.

  “Mmm,” he murmured. “I like this idea. Start with dessert.”

  Maggie laughed softly. “That’s all you’re going to get if you don’t let me up before everything burns.”

  “That’s all I need,” he countered, raising one eyebrow wickedly.

  She blushed. “Well, I don’t think the others would agree to defer dinner until after you have...dessert.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, he slowly released her. “Oh, all right. I suppose I have to be a good sport about this.”

  “Pop’s on his way,” Allison informed them as she breezed back into the kitchen.

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road, then. Everybody grab a dish and let’s eat!”

  It took a few minutes for everyone to settle in, and then they joined hands and bowed their heads as Jake spoke.

  “Lord, we thank You today for all the blessings You’ve given us this past year. For the joy You’ve sent our way, for good health, for the family ties that bind us to one another with deep, abiding love. Thank You also for watching over us and guiding us through each day, for letting us feel Your loving presence so strongly in our lives. Help us always to be grateful for all that we have, not only today, but every day of the year. Amen.”

  As Maggie raised her eyes, she was filled with a sense of absolute peace and deep contentment. All of the people she cared about most were with her today, and that alone made her heart overflow with gratitude. Her gaze moved around the table. Pop, who loved living in his own little cottage and now had a thriving woodworking business. Allison and Abby, still incurable romantics, ready to launch their own careers. And Jake. She gazed at him lovingly as he carved the turkey. Every moment with him had been a joy. Each day their relationship grew and deepened and took on new dimensions.

  At that moment, one of those dimensions began to loudly demand attention, and Maggie’s gaze moved to the high chair next to Jake. Her lips curved up softly and her eyes took on a new tenderness as she gazed at the newest member of their family. For the last nine months, Michael had joyfully disrupted their household, and they’d loved every minute of it. True to his word, Jake had gone out of his way to make sure that this time raising a child was a shared experience. He’d attended every childbirth class, coached her through labor, took most of the night feedings and changed more than his share of diapers. And Maggie loved him more every day.

  As Michael demonstrated his hunger in a particularly vocal way, Jake turned to him with a smile. “Hold on there, big fella,” he said, reaching over to tenderly ruffle the toddler’s auburn locks.

  Then he glanced at Maggie, and they smiled across the table at each other. It was a smile filled with tenderness, understanding, joy and love. Especially love. Because both of them realized how very blessed they were to have been given a second chance to find their destiny. And how close they’d come to losing it.

  Though no words were spoken, Maggie knew what Jake was thinking. She could read it in his eyes. And it mirrored her thoughts exactly.

  It didn’t get any better than this.

  * * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  When my husband and I were married, the priest who officiated at the ceremony spoke about the extraordinary gift of ordinary love—how remarkable it was that love could flourish amid the stresses and tribulations of day-to-day life. He went on to point out that it was the everyday kindnesses and caring gestures—more than the fleeting euphoric moments—that formed the solid foundation of lasting love. And he said that this “ordinary” love was to be celebrated and held up as an example to others.

  Although I was too caught up in the “euphoric moment” of the wedding to fully appreciate his message that day, ultimately I recognized its truth—and broadened my definition of romance. Yes, it’s still that enchanted evening when you see a stranger across a crowded room. And it’s still that heart-stopping moment when two hearts touch for the first time. But it’s so much more! It encompasses all of the levels on which two lives intertwine—intellectual, emotional and spiritual, as well as physical.

  I try to capture this multidimensional nature of love in all of my books. But it is perhaps especially present in It Had to Be You, which focuses on growth and change in a long-term relationship. I hope you enjoy reading about Jake and Maggie’s reawakening love as much as I enjoyed writing about it.

  Sincerely,

  ALL OUR TOMORROWS

  He has made everything appropriate to its time.

  —Ecclesiastes 3:11

  With thanks and gratitude to the Lord for

  the many blessings that have graced my life.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Questions for Discussion

  Chapter One

  “You’ll never guess who I saw today.”

  Caroline reached for a roll and gave her mother a bemused glance. She never won at this game, which had become a standard part of their weekly dinner. Judy James knew more people than the President of the United States. Or so it seemed. “I haven’t a clue, Mom.”

  “Guess anyway.”

  Instead of responding, Caroline popped a chunk of the crusty roll into her mouth, savoring the fresh-baked flavor. No question about it—her mom was a whiz in the kitchen, even if she did have a few idiosyncrasies. Like her penchant for outrageous hats. And her eclectic taste in decorating, thankfully confined to the family room, which had done time as a South Seas beach shack, a Japanese tea house and a Victorian parlor—to name but a few of its incarnations. In light of those eccentricities, Caroline supposed this silly guessing game was a tame aberration. And it was one she felt obliged to indulge, considering how much she owed her mother, who had been a rock during the difficult months when grief had darkened Caroline’s world, blinding her to everything but pain and loss. She couldn’t have made it through that tragic time without the support of the older woman sitting across from her.

  “Okay. How about...Marlene Richards.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Judy’s face. “Goodness, I haven’t had any news of Marlene in quite a while. Whatever made you think of her?”

  “I reviewed an obit today for a Maureen Richards for the next edition of the paper. No relation, it turns out. But it made me think of Marlene. She was a good Sunday school teacher. A bit unconventional, but all the kids loved her. I wonder what ever happened to her?”

  “When she retired, she went on a mission trip to Africa. Liked it so much, she st
ayed. Last I heard, she lived in a little village somewhere back in the bush and taught school.”

  At her mother’s prompt and thorough response, Caroline smiled and shook her head. “How in the world do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Keep tabs on so many people.”

  “I make it a point to stay connected. And speaking of staying connected...do you want to guess again?”

  “Nope.” Focusing her attention on the appetizing pot roast, Caroline cut a generous bite and speared it with her fork.

  “All right. Then I’ll tell you. David Sloan.”

  The hunger gnawing at Caroline’s stomach suddenly turned into an ache that spread to her heart, and her hand froze halfway to her mouth. “David Sloan?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that a strange coincidence? I was at the post office, and as I was leaving I must have dropped my scarf, because the next thing I knew this nice young man came up from behind and handed it to me. He looked familiar, but it took me a few seconds to place him. He didn’t remember me, of course. We only met that one time, just for a few minutes and under such sad circumstances. But when I introduced myself, the oddest expression came over his face.” Judy tilted her head in the manner of an inquisitive bird. “Kind of like the one on yours right now.”

  Caroline lowered her fork to her plate, the pot roast untouched. David Sloan. Her fiancé’s brother—and the man who bore at least some measure of responsibility for his death. For a moment, the taste of resentment was sharp and bitter on her tongue, chasing away the fresh flavor of her mother’s homemade roll. But then her conscience kicked in, dissipating her resentment with a reminder that she bore the lion’s share of responsibility for the tragedy—and triggering a crushing, suffocating guilt that crashed over her like a powerful wave, rocking her world.

  “Anyway, he took a new job and moved to St. Louis a couple of months ago. Still, it’s a big city. Seems strange that I would run into him, doesn’t it?” Judy prodded.

  “Yes.” Caroline could squeeze only one word past her tight throat. With a shaky hand, she reached for her glass of water and took a long, slow swallow, struggling to rein in her wayward emotions.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Distress etched Judy’s features as she studied her daughter’s face. “I had no idea the mere mention of Michael’s brother would upset you.”

  “I didn’t, either.” Denying the obvious would be foolish. Her mother knew her too well for that.

  Reaching over, Judy patted her hand. “Well, we just won’t talk anymore about it, then. Except I did promise him I’d give you his regards. Now that I’ve done that, tell me about your day. Any hot news at the Chronicle?”

  Switching gears wasn’t easy. But Caroline appreciated her mother’s efforts to distract her. It was a technique that had helped keep her sane during those first few weeks after Michael’s death, as her world disintegrated around her. So she tried to change focus. And prompted by Judy’s interested questions, she was able to maintain the semblance of a conversation. As the meal ended, her mother even elicited a smile or two from her with an entertaining story about her latest passion—square dancing—and the lessons she was taking with Harold, her reluctant partner and steady beau.

  “So I said to Harold, ‘Just listen to the caller. He’ll tell us what to do. It’s like assembling that glider in my backyard. You just follow the directions and it all comes together.’ And he says, ‘I didn’t read the instructions for the glider.’” Judy shook her head in exasperation. “Now I know why the thing seems a little lopsided. And why he ended up with all those leftover parts.”

  By the time Caroline left, with her almost untouched, foil-wrapped dinner and an extra piece of dessert in hand, she felt a bit more settled. But as she drove home through the dark streets of St. Louis, a shiver ran through her—one that she knew was prompted by more than the damp cold on this rainy March night.

  Although her numbing, debilitating grief had ebbed over time, the mention of Michael’s brother had dredged it up from the deep recesses of her heart. Along with all the other emotions she’d wrestled into submission these past two years. Guilt. Anger. Blame. Resentment. Some of those feelings were directed at her; others, at David Sloan. But none of them were healthy. As a result, she’d tried her best to suppress them and to move on with her life. Yet it took only the merest incident, like the passing reference to David tonight, to remind her that they hadn’t been tamed, just subdued.

  The rain intensified, obscuring her vision, and she flicked on her wipers. With one sweep, they brushed aside the raindrops, giving her a clear view of the road ahead. Too bad she couldn’t banish the muddled emotions in her heart with the same ease. But they clung with a tenacity that rivaled the ivy creeping up the side of her mother’s brick bungalow, imbedding itself with roots that sought—and penetrated—even the tiniest crack.

  As she pulled into her parking spot, the light in the front window of her condo welcomed her with its golden warmth and promise of haven. Set on a timer, it came on faithfully every day at five o’clock, lessening the gloom of coming home to a dark, empty apartment. It might be a poor substitute for the warm embrace of the man she’d loved, but that glow buoyed her spirits, which had a tendency to droop after she left the office. Her hectic days at the newspaper kept her too busy to dwell on her personal life during working hours, but it was harder to keep thoughts of the past at bay when she was alone.

  It was getting easier, though. Each day, in tiny increments, the past receded a little bit more. It had been months since she’d had to pull the car over because her hands had begun to shake. She didn’t choke up anymore when she heard a song on the radio that reminded her of Michael. She didn’t cry herself to sleep every night. And, once in a while, a whole day passed when she didn’t think about what might have been. That was progress.

  She knew Michael would have wanted her to move on. He, of all people, with his love of life and live-for-today attitude, would have been the first to tell her to get over it and get on with her life. To live, to love and to laugh. To make every day count.

  Caroline was doing her best to put that philosophy into action. But it didn’t take much—as tonight’s brief conversation proved—to remind her that she still had a long way to go before she reached that ideal.

  And to make her wonder if she ever would.

  * * *

  David Sloan angled into a parking place, set the brake and rested his hands on the steering wheel as he read the sign a few doors down. County Chronicle.

  A wave of doubt swept over him, and he hesitated. Was he making a mistake coming here? He hadn’t seen Caroline since Michael’s funeral, and her attitude toward him then had been chilly at best. Not that he’d blamed her. If he and Michael hadn’t argued, Michael would have been more focused when he’d gone to meet that contact in the marketplace. His brother had always had great instincts. That was why he’d been such a successful photojournalist, why he’d risen through the ranks of the Associated Press to be one of their top shooters. It was why they’d sent him to the Middle East, knowing that he’d be able to get into the thick of things, make great images and emerge unscathed. Until that fateful day in the marketplace, when he had no doubt been distracted by their argument, and by concerns for their mother. So David understood why Caroline would blame him for Michael’s death. For turning her world upside down. For destroying a man they’d both loved in the prime of his life. He blamed himself, too.

  For almost two years he’d grappled with his complicity. But finally he’d come to terms with it—at least as well as he would ever be able to, he suspected. And some good had come out of his struggle, too. After much prayer, he’d reevaluated his life and made some dramatic changes, following a new path the Lord had revealed to him. The work he was doing now might not offer him the kind of income provided by the high-stakes mergers and acquisitions he’d brokered in his previous j
ob, but it paid dividends in human terms. And even though it had been hard for David to let go of the financial security his former position had offered, he’d put his trust in the Lord three months ago and made the change. So far, he hadn’t had a single regret.

  But he had plenty of regrets about his role in Michael’s death. And one of them involved Caroline. He’d always felt the need to contact her, to express his sorrow, to apologize. Though they’d sat side by side at Michael’s funeral, her grief had been too thick for words to penetrate. When he had reached out a tentative, comforting hand to her once during those terrible few days, she’d recoiled, staring at him with a look of such profound loss and resentment that it was still seared in his memory. That was the main reason he’d never tried to contact her. Not the only one, but the main one.

  As for the other reason...he wasn’t going to go there. Until yesterday, it had been irrelevant, since he’d never expected to see her again. Yet the chance meeting with her mother, and the medallion resting in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, its weight pressing against his heart, had prodded him to do what he should have done months before. If she brushed him aside, so be it. He still had to make the effort to reach out to her and apologize. And then he would move on—and do his best to forget about her.

  From the outside, the County Chronicle looked like any other storefront on the busy Kirkwood street, which still retained a small-town flavor even though it was a close-in suburb of St. Louis. On his way to the front door, he passed Dubrov’s Bakery, Andrea’s card shop and Fitzgerald’s Café, all of which seemed to be family operations instead of the chain stores that were multiplying like rabbits around the country. He liked that. Liked the notion that even in this modern age of megastores and conglomerates—many of which he’d helped to create in his previous job—the entrepreneurial spirit continued to flourish. That people with enough drive and determination could still create a successful business to pass down to the next generation.