A Blessed Life

A Blessed Life Dana Corbit THERE ARE ANGELS AMONG US AND SOME RIDE MOTORCYCLESSingle mother Serena Jacobs stopped praying for miracles when a year of battling her daughter's illness took its toll on her spirit. But even though Serena's faith was shattered, she turned to the church for solace–and found a Harley-riding youth minister waiting with open arms and an open heart.Andrew Westin was determined to restore Serena's faith and heal her troubled heart. But despite the growing love between them, the past still haunted him. Would their newfound love be enough to also mend Andrew's wounded soul? “It’s not a mansion, but it meets my needs.” Serena could feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she took in the view of his apartment, but he didn’t try to interrupt her. His scrutiny made her neck feel warm. Serena smiled, her flush creeping higher. “It looks great.” The simple awareness of him made her so uncomfortable that she scanned the room again for a distraction. Her gaze caught behind the door on a Harley-Davidson poster that seemed so out of character for the stereotypical youth minister she’d created in her mind. She got the feeling there was more to Andrew Westin than she’d originally guessed…. DANA CORBIT has been fascinated with words since third grade, when she began stringing together stanzas of rhyme. That interest, and an inherent nosiness, led her to a career as a newspaper reporter and editor. After earning state and national recognition in journalism, she traded her career for stay-at-home motherhood. But the need for creative expression followed her home, and later through the move from Indiana to Milford, Michigan. Outside the office Dana discovered the joy of writing fiction. In stolen hours, during naps and between carpooling and church activities, she escapes into her private world, telling stories from her heart. Dana now makes her home in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with her husband, three young daughters and two cats. A Blessed Life Dana Corbit www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never permit the righteous to be moved. —Psalms 55:22 Dedicated to the little angels of my heart, Marissa, Caterina and Alexa—especially to Caterina, whose painful journey inspired this story. Also to Randy, who makes me believe in miracles. A special thanks to GDRWA and MMRWA members, for endless support; to Melissa Baxter, for always believing; and to Dr. Celia D’Errico, D.O., and Dr. Hilary Haftel, M.D., for your answers and for your hope. Dear Reader, I started writing my debut novel, A Blessed Life, when my own heart needed healing. Like Serena, I have a daughter who lives with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I experienced some of the same guilt and hopelessness Serena feels and a similar joy when my child began to thrive. Also like Serena, I have struggled with giving up control to God. I hope you enjoyed meeting the members of Hickory Ridge Community Church as much as I enjoyed creating them. Some of my favorite memories are from growing up as part of a large church family. Because these characters live on in my thoughts, I hope to meet them again in a future story. Contents Prologue 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 Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Epilogue Prologue The waiting room stretched for miles in shades of warm tan and cheery peach, with pastel ocean scenes dotting the walls. Every bit of it was a lie. There was nothing sunny or happy about sitting in this sanitized holding cell. Not when Serena would have given anything to be on the other side of the wall…with Tessa. Instead she was forced to wait in here, helpless, while someone jammed a needle into her daughter’s hip, examining the bone marrow there, looking for the worst. “If this is a charmed life, I’d sure hate to see a cursed one.” Serena didn’t care if the other parents and grandparents in the room overheard her mumbling. She squeezed her eyes shut but could still see her little girl, so far from her arms. At least the three-year-old was slumbering away her mother’s desertion and the medical assault on her body. Unable to sit any longer, Serena stood and stretched her stiff legs, pacing the length of the room. She passed the television screen that had switched from a morning talk show to the midday news. Even the smell of this place—stale chips and soda—added to the nausea that had been building since this morning when she’d brought Tessa for her bone marrow biopsy—alone. She stared by turns at the pay phone and her watch. Where was Trent? He’d promised to be here. This time at least…if none of the others. As frustrating as it was to admit, she knew if he walked through the door that minute, she’d forgive him for everything. For every time he’d failed her and their daughter since Tessa first became ill. Even for the indiscretions she suspected. If he’d be a stand-up husband just this once, she’d find a way to work through the rest of their problems. Finally, she gave in and dialed. “Deirdre, this is Serena Jacobs again. May I speak to Trent?” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs still isn’t in. I checked his schedule, and he’d planned to be out most of the day. Is there a message I can give him when he calls in?” “Yes, please tell him I’m still waiting at the hospital.” She hung up the phone without waiting for the pleasantries. Shuffling back to the upholstered chair she’d claimed as hers, she wrapped her sweater tightly around her shoulders. Outside, the July heat had turned southeast Michigan into a steam bath, but here inside, she was chilled to the bone. She fought the fog that was clouding her vision, but the tears came anyway, dampening her face before she could grasp for control. Trent, please show up. Tessa needs you. I need you. Serena pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes, ending up with a soggy tissue that had done nothing to stem the flow. Glancing up, she caught the other people in the waiting room trying not to stare. She had to get control of herself. It would terrify Tessa if she saw her mother looking as if she’d just come from a funeral. In many ways she had, but that didn’t matter. Not now. Tessa needed strength from her parents, at least from the one who wouldn’t fail her. She straightened in her seat and rubbed her thumb along her lash line, clearing the smudged eyeliner. No matter what the hematology oncologist told her today, she planned to stay strong for Tessa’s sake. Leukemia was an unlikely diagnosis; the physicians had made that much clear. They were only ruling out the last of the “ugly” diseases before they could trust their earlier suspicions. And those weren’t all that beautiful themselves. Please, God, let it only be JRA. She stared at the floor, keeping her eyes open for fear she would pass out if she shut out the light. Her stomach clenched and sweat gathered under her bangs. What was she saying? Had she lost her mind? She shook her head. Here she wasn’t just hoping, but begging, that Tessa would have to live with a potentially crippling chronic illness like juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. How could she wish that on her own child? But that answer was as simple as that most wonderful word she kept repeating like a mantra: life. No matter how difficult a diagnosis of JRA was, it, unlike several of the diseases the specialists had ruled out in the past few months, was something Tessa could live with. Recent medical advances even made it possible for her to have a high quality of life. Serena realized she didn’t have the luxury of worrying about levels of contentment yet. When she straightened, a renewed strength filled her. “Mrs. Jacobs?” The anesthesiologist stood before her, waiting until she looked up. “Tessa’s in Phase One Recovery, which means she’s still sleeping, but I’ll go ahead and allow you into the PACU—that’s the post-anesthesia care unit—if you’d like to wait with her.” When she reached the unit, Tessa was lying very still in the hospital bed, looking even tinier than when the anesthesiologist had taken her away. Her need to make physical contact with her child was so strong that Serena leaned over and brushed the mass of dark curls from Tessa’s forehead. She traced the line of thick lashes resting against the child’s cheek. Tessa started, showing she was returning to consciousness. Serena pulled her chair close to the bed, leaned her head against the rail and poked her arms through the bars, simply to touch her daughter’s hand. She should not have allowed the doctors to take Tessa away. A better mother would have insisted, no matter what the hospital’s ridiculous rules, on being allowed in the operating room. She might have been too numb to fight earlier, but she had to scratch her way out of this void now. Tessa needed her. That was the important thing. Staring down at her little girl, Serena felt the lullaby they sang together each night come from somewhere deep inside her. “Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry, go to sleep, my little baby. When you wake, you will have all the pretty little horses.” She wanted to sing away all of the pain and the broken promise that she’d always protect Tessa. The child awoke in slow, groggy increments, moaning as she returned from that dark place of unnatural sleep. “Hi, angel-cookie. Mommy’s here.” Serena used the singsong voice that had always calmed her daughter’s bad dreams until now. But those visions had been only of monsters that inhabited closets or toys that made mischief. She wasn’t at all sure she had any remedy for Tessa’s very real nightmares today. “Do you want Mommy to hold you?” She took that moan as a “yes” and lifted Tessa from the bed, wrapping her in a thin white blanket. The child’s gown was still unsnapped from when it had been removed for surgery, so Serena carefully closed the fasteners while she held Tessa close. Serena had no idea how many minutes or hours had passed—only that she’d been exactly where she needed to be—by the time the hematology oncologist took the other seat in the curtained cubicle. Tessa had become more coherent but was crabby and was fighting against her bunny hospital gown. Her mother calmed her with touch and kept rocking. “Has my husband checked in with you?” The question seemed to be her last defense, as it delayed the verdict a few seconds more. Could she live with the answer the doctors had tried so hard to find? She had to. Tessa would need her now more than ever. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jacobs. We haven’t heard from him, although we asked the waiting room volunteers to send him in when he arrives.” She smiled with a comforting expression that tinged a bit too much on pity. “I do, however, have some good news for you.” Good news? Serena’s heart rate must have tripled. Her oxygen supply seemed to be temporarily blocked. While questions whirled through her mind, she was able to choke out just two words. “Excuse me?” “The bone marrow biopsy shows that your daughter does not have leukemia.” Chapter One Twelve months later Coming here had been a really bad idea. Turning around and heading home sounded like a perfect one. Serena hesitated a second longer before climbing the last two steps leading into Hickory Ridge Community Church. Once inside the heavy, twin glass doors and past the sanctuary, she headed up the stairs toward Andrew Westin’s office. What had she been thinking when she’d set up this appointment last week? Why had it sounded so much better to visit with a youth minister? Even one who, because of his training as a clinical counselor, frequently met with church members to discuss problems. This way, though, she had not been forced to admit, even to herself, that she was going to a shrink. Right now, the anonymity of a private counseling relationship sounded preferable by loads. If her parents were still living, or even if she’d developed some close friendships in her twenty-eight years, she wouldn’t be in this position. Then she would have had someone to talk to. More useless “what ifs.” What good had they done her so far? Pushing forth with more confidence than she felt, she knocked on the door, hoping the youth minister had forgotten about the whole thing. Then she could forget to reschedule, and all would be well. “It’s open,” said a baritone voice behind the door. She shrugged. Well, at least the meeting was cost free. She used that thought to bolster her courage as she opened the door, plastering a smile on her face. “Mr. Westin, I’m Serena Jacobs. We talked on the phone.” She crossed the room with her right hand outstretched, but he stood and met her halfway. Out of his usual Sunday costume of a dark suit, he was dressed in jeans and a beige polo shirt that offset his tan. “Call me Andrew, Mrs. Jacobs. ‘Mr.’ makes me feel old.” He gripped her hand with a firm shake that was just shy of painful. At five foot eight, Serena wasn’t accustomed to having to look up to anyone, but Andrew’s height of well over six feet forced her to lift her head to meet his gaze. He smiled down at her, though, and she found it easy to smile back. It was the first time she’d seen Andrew up close, instead of across the church sanctuary where he and the Reverend Bob Woods sat, so she was surprised at how quickly he put her at ease. He probably had to take a whole class on that in his training for the ministry. He sat in his upholstered executive chair, motioning for her to take the chair opposite the desk. Funny, he didn’t much fit the picture she had of a member of the pastoral staff, even if he wasn’t the church’s head minister. His sandy brown hair was a tad too long, threatening to curl at his nape. And his dress was too casual for a game of golf, let alone for what she’d come to expect of a church leader. She lowered herself into the armless visitor’s chair. “Call me Serena. Mrs. Jacobs doesn’t…fit anymore.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you were…divorced?” The way he stressed the last word made it a question. The sadness in his gold-colored eyes appeared genuine. She nodded. “It was final just last week.” With nervous tension weighing on her and making it difficult for her to sit still, she looked about the room, conscious how plain it was. There were no pictures on the wall, short of Andrew’s Master of Divinity degree. The dark paneling shone with a recent waxing, but still it held no warmth. Even his desk was surprisingly clear of clutter, personal or work-related. No pictures of the girlfriend back home, of parents, a kid brother or even a Labrador retriever. It was odd to be opening her personal life to someone who didn’t seem to possess one himself. “And that’s the reason for your visit?” Another statement-question. She would get really annoyed if he kept that up. “No, I’m handling that fairly well—as well as anybody can handle failure.” He didn’t respond immediately, but must have swallowed hard because his Adam’s apple jerked. She wondered if he had choked back a retort about her divorce. “Then, what brings you here today?” Andrew leaned forward on his desk and steepled his fingers in a thoughtful pose. “I’m guessing from the way you always slip out the back door so quickly on Sunday mornings that it’s not to get to know your pastoral staff better.” One side of his mouth tipped up in a smirk, but his eyes twinkled to soften it. A chuckle was out before she realized it was building. How long had it been since she’d laughed about anything aside from some of Tessa’s antics? It felt good, really good. “You guessed right.” “Why don’t you give me a break and tell me what I can do to help you. I’m trained as a counselor and a youth minister, but I’m terribly under-qualified as a mind reader.” Serena nodded and gathered all of her courage into a tight ball before tossing out, “I can’t seem to shake this depression.” “Divorce will do that.” “No,” she said, shaking her head so hard her neck ached. “The divorce isn’t what’s causing it, at least not all of it. My daughter’s condition is just getting to me. She has juvenile rheumatoid arthritis.” There. She’d said it. Strange how even admitting her depression aloud felt better than the guilt of keeping what she considered her selfish little problem bottled inside. “I don’t recognize that one. Can you tell me a little about it?” “JRA is a chronic illness where the patient’s body attacks her joints. There are three types of JRA. Only systemic-onset JRA—the rarest one and the type that Tessa has—can also affect internal organs.” “What would that mean for her future?” Serena leaped off into the rote speech that she used whenever anyone asked for details. If she kept it exactly the same—didn’t change a single word in her dialogue—she promised herself, it would feel no more personal than a memorized poem. Rather than a description of agony. “In extremely rare cases, JRA can cause severe crippling and blindness, but we try not to think about those things.” She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. “With proper medication, most kids do very well. In fact, seventy percent go into permanent remission by the time they’re adults.” “That must give you so much hope. How did you recognize that something was wrong?” “It started about a year and a half ago when she began to have fevers every day—really high fevers that never turned to the flu or colds.” She folded her hands in her lap, trying hard not to wring them. “Whenever Tessa had them, she’d also get this rash on her hands. Fevers and rash are symptoms only seen with systemic JRA. It wasn’t until months later that she started having hot, swollen joints—the true arthritis.” Andrew nodded. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.” “Not me. My little girl.” This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come here. Talking about it wasn’t helping at all. It was only making her feel worse. “The illness itself is not the half of it. There were six months where the doctors didn’t know for sure what was wrong with her.” She waited for Andrew to speak, to ask questions, but he only nodded for her to continue. “They tossed around words like tumor, leukemia, tuberculosis and lupus.” With each word, the memories flashed through her mind more clearly. The screams from so many needle pokes. The fear in her child’s eyes that Serena couldn’t soothe. “She went through all kinds of tests—chest X rays, a ton of blood work, ultrasounds. They even tested her bone marrow for leukemia. We didn’t know for a long time if she would…live or die.” The last was too much for her. A sob escaped her, though she tried with all her strength to hold it in. It wasn’t like her to lose control. She was usually better at keeping it all boxed in. But this time she couldn’t stop the tears from raining down her cheeks. Andrew pushed a box of tissues to within her reach. When she looked up at him, he shook his head slowly. “And you wonder why you’re depressed? Look at all you’ve been through—not just your daughter, but you. The fear, the pain, the frustration. Not to mention a divorce, no matter how well you’re handling it. All of that adds up to some very explainable blues.” She crossed her arms to hug away a chill, despite the July heat pouring through Andrew’s open window. “But it doesn’t make any sense. She was diagnosed a year ago. She’s even doing a little better lately. So why am I depressed now? Why not when she was going through all of the tests, when we had no idea what was wrong? Why not right after the diagnosis?” Andrew shrugged. “Some people operate in crisis mode. During the most difficult times of their lives they simply handle whatever is happening without really sitting back to analyze it.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his chin in the cradle of his palms. “It’s only when things are better that they can allow themselves to collapse under the weight.” As if a lock suddenly had been fitted with a key, she felt a freeing click inside. “Maybe that’s what I’ve done.” “Maybe. As well as all of the other changes in your life, haven’t you also just moved?” He waited for her nod. “Why did you pick Milford?” “It’s fairly close to Ann Arbor, so I could take Tessa to C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital at the University of Michigan. There are only a few hospitals with pediatric rheumatologists on staff.” Her sacrifice had been small when she thought of the pain that Tessa faced daily. “Did you find work here?” “I’m a freelance writer. With a modem and my stable of regular contacts, I can live anywhere. Besides, Milford is such a quaint little village. And it’s clear across the state from my former husband and his new bride.” He chuckled. “You’ve had so many changes in such a short period. Until now, you’ve hardly had the time to be depressed. Now that your world has slowed, you’re having these feelings, and I’m glad you’re talking about them. That will help a lot.” Was there some neat little order that these feelings could fall into, like dividers that create order in a junk drawer? Somehow she doubted it. No, for once she was positive about something. It would never be that simple. “I just feel so guilty.” She buried her face in her hands, allowing the blame to cover her like a dark, scratchy blanket. Seconds ticked by as she tried to tuck the feelings back into compartments where she could face them again. “For not being a stronger parent, for not being able stop Tessa’s pain, but, most of all, for mourning the loss of my perfect daughter—our perfect life.” Andrew planted both hands on the desk, then lowered them and rocked in the chair. His actions confused her. “What do you mean, perfect?” He pressed a crooked index finger to his lips. She chuckled at both herself and his counselor’s pose. “I know it sounds silly, but I used to believe I led a charmed life. I had a good home, a nice family—everything anyone could ask for. And then the whole thing fell apart. Tessa got sick, and Trent cheated on me and left me for someone else. No more charmed life.” He studied her for several seconds. “I wish I had met you several years ago.” To her humiliation, the skin on her arms began to tingle. She couldn’t allow herself to consider how meeting a nice guy like him years earlier might have changed her life. She rubbed her damp palms down her skirt, resisting the urge to smooth her blouse, as well. “Why is that?” She choked out the words. “Because this is what I would have said to you then—‘You believe your life is charmed? Just wait, because nobody gets out of here free.”’ Serena chuckled. How right he was. “And I wouldn’t have bought a bit of it back then. It’s only now that I would have realized you were a genius.” “If we’ve just met and you think I’m a genius, then we’d better avoid getting to know each other better. I’d hate to see my I.Q. plummet in your mind.” She laughed again, a real, honest laugh that felt wonderful. And to think that lately she’d wondered if she would ever laugh again. He was so easy to talk to. And he made her feel as if everything was going to be all right—for the low, low price of free. Andrew tapped his fingers on his desk a few times until she finally looked back at him. “It’s okay to feel sad, you know. About Tessa’s illness. About the divorce. Even about the loss of your charmed life.” “Then, why do I feel so guilty about being sad?” “This is just a guess, but I think you’re used to being in control. You haven’t been able to control any of these things, and it’s making you crazy.” She raised an eyebrow. “Crazy? Is that a word a counselor should be using?” “I’m a youth minister these days. I’ve forgotten all of those rules.” “So I’m supposing you’ll be recommending me to real counselors now?” She’d done it—used a sentence as a question. Great, now she was talking like him. He shook his head. “So you’re having a bit of a pity party after a really rough year and a half. Who could blame you? I’m not saying never to seek professional help, but you probably could wait for a while. Treat yourself really well and wait to see if the blues subside. If not, then seek further help.” “Is that your professional advice, Mr. Westin?” She stood to indicate she was ready to leave. “Absolutely, Mrs. Jacobs.” He followed her to the door. “Now let’s discuss that little matter of payment.” Serena looked over her shoulder at him and chuckled. “I gave at the office—I mean, in the offering plate.” “Oh, well then. See you Sunday.” Andrew closed the door on his most nerve-racking day since starting his fellowship at Hickory Ridge Community Church six months earlier. Had she noticed that he’d swallowed hard every time she pushed her shiny, dark hair behind her ears, letting the sun dance on its auburn highlights? He’d thought she was beautiful, having only seen her from across the church. But up close, she was amazing. At least he’d known enough the past few Sundays to be glad it was Reverend Bob’s job to deliver the sermon and not his. Otherwise, he was sure Paul’s admonishment to the church at Corinth would have been full of warnings about long, wavy hair and full lips. Now that he’d had a good look at her, the image in his head this Sunday would be more vivid. He would see eyes that were a combination of delicacies—shaped like almonds and the hue of dark chocolate. He would know that her face was a little too square, her nose too straight, to earn her the title of classic beauty, but that somehow made her more appealing. He couldn’t allow himself to think about the way she looked in her prim white blouse and that skirt/shorts thing, even now, without breaking a sweat. It would surely require a prayer for forgiveness, but he’d been thankful when he’d learned she was divorced. It should have made him want to step back from her, but it didn’t. Pushing those dangerous thoughts away, Andrew pulled the monthly youth calendar up on his computer screen. Immediately, he felt tired. In theory, it was great to keep the youth too occupied in the summer to get into trouble, but all of those activities required chaperoning. The finger for that job pointed right back at him. Trips to the Detroit Zoo and Michigan’s Adventure Park in Muskegon, plus pizza night—that would be enough without tonight’s youth lock-in. That was all he needed—spending twelve hours in a house full of adolescents. Eating too much junk food. Getting no sleep. Even with reliable fellow chaperones Robert and Diana Lidstrom and Charlene Lowe, it would be a harrowing night. He walked to the window and stared out across the field to the older farmhouse that served as both his home and the temporary Family Life Center. The deacons had been fortunate that the prior owner had been ready to retire to Florida when they’d searched for property on which to build a new center. Architects were already planning the shiny, modern structure that would stand there after the house was razed, but as he looked at the existing building—majestic in its own utilitarian way—he wished they’d just leave it alone. It had such character. Such history. The house spoke to a time when Milford had been a farming area instead of a bedroom community for Detroit. Twirling the blind control, Andrew darkened the room and returned to his desk, wondering why the old house was so important to him. No one had promised him a permanent job in Milford. He was still only in the “hope” phase. But if he could prove himself indispensable to the deacons here, maybe he could finally convince the naysayers in his life that he was at least a little worthwhile. And maybe he could convince himself. Another image of that willowy brunette became a castaway in his thoughts, making him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Even if this wasn’t a true doctor-patient situation where he needed to avoid personal involvement. Obviously, it had been too long since he’d had a real date, if he was allowing their conversation to take on this much significance. He had to get out more. But a feeling deep in his gut made him wonder if he’d still be having these same unsettling feelings even if he’d had a month’s worth of interesting dates. The phone rang and saved him from the uncertain implications of his thoughts. He didn’t need or want the complications of an involvement now. Especially not with a troubled woman. She had as many problems as he did. “Hickory Ridge Church, this is Andrew Westin. May I help you?” “Andrew, this is Charlene.” She spoke in that heavy New Jersey accent that made her identification unnecessary. “Got bad news. My mom’s having emergency gall bladder surgery. I hate to bail out on you, but…” “Of course, Char, you have to be with your mom. Don’t worry a bit about us. I’ll find someone else to fill in. Let your mother know we’ll be praying for her.” He lowered the phone to the receiver, feeling a new weight on his shoulders. Did he know anyone who was crazy enough—or naive enough, to agree to chaperone a youth all-nighter with less than eight hours’ notice? A few faces flickered in his mind and disappeared, but one unlikely image showed up and refused to fade. Chapter Two Still digesting that unsettling meeting with Andrew Westin, Serena pulled her Ford Taurus station wagon to the curb. Their conversation wasn’t going down easily. She needed more time to ponder it, but, as always, other needs came first. “Hi Mommy,” Tessa chimed, stepping cautiously down the front steps of their next-door neighbor’s home with Mrs. Nelson at her heels. “We made chocolate chip cookies.” As if that wasn’t obvious from the ingredients pasted to the front of her formerly pink T-shirt. “I bet that was a lot of fun. Thank you, Mrs. Nelson. For everything.” The feisty retiree rolled her lips inward to stifle a laugh. Despite the added laundry challenge, Serena was grateful her neighbor with an overbooked social calendar had been available to sit. Her appointment, and the resulting panicked search for child care, had reminded her how important it was to find a regular sitter. “Can we go to the park, Mommy? Please?” That pleading head tilt was the one that often worked on Serena. She was being played like a song, and she didn’t mind the melody. A glance at her watch told her there was enough time to play awhile and have lunch before Tessa’s nap. “Okay, but let’s change your shirt first.” Only fifteen minutes after their arrival at Central Park and its special playground, River Bend Playscape, Serena wondered why she’d even changed Tessa’s clothes. She looked as if she’d lost a fight with a dust storm, but that impish grin showed she was an excellent loser. She sat wide-legged in the sandbox, having traded the cleaner play of digging with the permanent bulldozer contraption for the joy of sinking her bare feet in the sand. Serena felt as happy as her daughter looked, here in this moment of no sickness, no visible pain. If she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d felt lighter ever since leaving Andrew’s office—even if she was having a difficult time figuring out what to do with that weightlessness. His words had shown her a flash of light at the end of the dark tunnel that was her life. “‘Nobody gets out of here free.”’ She repeated his words under her breath and grinned. If he’d said that to her two years ago, she would have laughed out loud at his bleak predictions. How had he come to know so much? He looked to be only a few years older than she was. But somehow, talking to him had made her feel less alone in her misery. Did the comfort come from realizing everyone had pain, or from knowing that Andrew cared about hers? Answering that question would force her to analyze several of today’s wayward thoughts, so she drew no conclusion. Even if she were ready to consider a relationship again—which she wasn’t—Andrew wouldn’t have been her choice. He was a youth minister. In her wildest imaginings for the future, she’d never once pictured herself as a minister’s wife. Those women wore buns in their hair and played church organs. “What’s so funny, Mommy?” Serena looked at her sand sculpture of a daughter, embarrassed to have been caught in her musings. “I remembered a funny joke, honey.” Tessa raised a quizzical eyebrow in an expression destined in her teen years to be perfected into a smirk. “Can I play on the slides?” Swallowing the knot of anxiety in her throat, Serena reminded herself that the doctors wanted Tessa to remain active. They promised Tessa would set her own limits, based on the pain, and Serena hoped they were right. “Which one do you want to try first?” She need not have worried. Tessa was timid enough for the both of them. Serena took her position at the bottom of the play structure, watching her child amble instead of run across the polyvinyl-coated bridge toward the curly tube slide. Serena caught her at the bottom. “Here, jump to the ground.” Tessa shook her head and lifted her arms. Serena’s throat felt dry, and her eyes burned. But she would not cry. She couldn’t allow that. She lifted her frail child, wondering if that fearless toddler, the one who had once scaled monkey bars and jumped off front porch steps instead of walking down, still existed. She had to be hidden in there somewhere. The same way Tessa’s puffy cheeks and swollen belly—side effects of her steroid medications—merely covered the healthy child beneath. Serena shook away her sadness over their losses. Mourning didn’t do a bit of good. Besides, there was so much to be thankful for. Tessa’s skin no longer carried that ghostly pallor of anemia, meaning the medication was doing something. And the new medicine had helped so many other children. Hopefully it would have the same success with Tessa’s condition. When her child crawled up in her lap as she sat on the bench, Serena knew it was time to go home. Exhaustion often hit hard, making daily naps necessary. She fastened Tessa into her car seat and drove home for what was always the hardest part of the day. “Quiet time” left Serena with too many minutes alone with her thoughts. Like usual, she’d spend most of it feeling sorry for herself. She barely had time to tuck Tessa into bed and kiss her the pre-ordered three times, before the phone rang. A freelance career wasn’t always what it was marketed to be. What sounded like freedom often turned into career captivity when your home was your office. Sometimes she wished she could turn off the phone and hide until she was ready to do business again, but she couldn’t afford to lose any clients, especially now that she was a single parent. Her freelance income paid the rent. “Serena Jacobs. May I help you?” It was a funny way to answer her home phone, but lately, her calls were more often business than personal. “Hi, Serena. It’s Andrew Westin.” She swallowed hard. What if he’d reconsidered his advice this morning and wanted to suggest that she seek counseling as soon as possible? “Hello, Andrew…” Not sure what to say, she hoped he would fill in the gap. “It was good meeting you today.” “Nice meeting you, too,” she mumbled, her nervousness growing exponentially. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your situation, being down in the dumps.” She took a deep breath. Here it comes. Maybe he was going to suggest something even worse, like she wasn’t stable enough to care for Tessa. When he hesitated longer than she could handle, she prompted, “Yes?” “One way to get out of depression is to get involved in helping someone else.” She smiled into the receiver, feeling silly over her worries. “And just who did you have in mind?” “Me.” Andrew paused. “And about thirty of my closest friends.” Trying hard not to be flattered, she waded through his words, searching for some deeper meaning. Was this his roundabout way of asking her out? If it were, what would she answer? “Are you still there? I just asked if you’d ever worked with kids.” Serena brushed her hand back through her wind-tangled hair and blushed, glad he couldn’t see her. Obviously, she was letting her imagination get the best of her. “I taught toddler Sunday School for about a year after I graduated.” Why did she feel like she was being hooked here like a bad act in a variety show—only she was being dragged out onto the stage, not off. “Perfect.” He made a sound into the receiver as if he’d snapped his fingers. “Then, I have just the job for you—chaperone for tonight’s teen lock-in.” “Oh, I don’t really—” “Please, before you say no, hear me out.” She had no business even thinking about volunteering for something like this. Her focus needed to always be on Tessa. Still, it would be rude not to at least give the youth minister a chance to explain. “Go ahead.” His words came out in a rush, blending excitement and desperation. “Well, you see, there’s this lock-in tonight. It will be about thirty kids, from seventh to twelfth grades. They play board games, have organized activities, listen to clean music, watch approved videos and eat junk food.” She carried the phone into her bedroom, past the bed and dresser that were pressed so closely together she could barely open the drawers. When she reached her messy desk by the window, she sat and pushed through the pile of works in progress. “Yes, I know what a lock-in is. We had them all the time in our youth group.” “Well, the special thing about this particular lock-in is that it’s my first one as youth minister. I thought I had the whole thing under control, with four chaperones—myself included—lined up. Only, Char had a family emergency, and I haven’t been able to find a replacement.” “How many people have you asked before me?” “About a dozen.” She smiled into the receiver. “Glad to hear I was your first choice. What did the first twelve say?” “They pretty much wished me the best in finding someone who was…available.” “Then, I’ll have to do the same, I think.” “Are you saying you’re not available?” She could feel the tightrope swaying beneath her toes. Could she decline carefully without lying? “I never said that. But I do have one small complication—a four-year-old one. I’m new here. I don’t have any regular baby-sitters for Tessa, even if I could get someone on such short notice.” “I wonder what would have happened if Simon, Peter and Andrew had been too busy casting nets on the Sea of Galilee to follow Jesus so he could make them ‘fishers of men.”’ “That’s not quite fair.” “I’m just kidding. If you’re willing to chaperone, you’re more than welcome to bring Tessa. She’ll be the hit of the party. And later we can put her to bed in my room.” “I still don’t think—” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Hey, if you’re looking for baby-sitters, this is the place to be.” An overnight party, filled to the walls with potential baby-sitters—what could be the harm in that? She shook her head and stared out the lace-curtained window, glancing down at the street lined with old elms and maples. She wasn’t really considering this, was she? It would take no more than one hand to enumerate the things she knew about teenagers, and at least four of those things she’d learned while living through that misery herself. “I just don’t think it would be the best idea—” “Do you think I’d be calling you—a new attendee, not even a church member yet—if I weren’t desperate? I have all these kids coming and not enough adults to chaperone. If you say no, I guess I’d better cancel the whole thing.” He sighed. “Please, Serena. You’re my last resort.” “Since you put it that way…” “Thanks, Serena. You’re a lifesaver.” As she hung up the phone, she couldn’t help wondering if she was also a daredevil. Being in close proximity to Andrew Westin was probably not in her best interest. But for some reason, she couldn’t resist. Andrew opened the front door to the temporary Family Life Center and led Serena and Tessa into a huge, nearly empty room. Funny, he almost wished the space had a matched living room group and heavy draperies instead of mini-blinds on the windows and folding chairs stacked against the wall. “This is our main gathering place. We meet here on Sunday mornings for singing and prayer before Sunday School and again for youth group on Sunday nights.” “Doesn’t anybody use it during the week?” Serena looked about, seeming less than overwhelmed by the old house’s decor. “Sure. Tuesday morning Bible study. The monthly men’s breakfast. The Christian women’s group. The church quilters. It’s almost always in use.” “Didn’t you say you live here?” He nodded over his shoulder as he strode toward the kitchen. “I only use part of it. Hey, Tessa. Want to see the rest of the house?” He looked back to see the child timidly investigating each room. The resemblance between the dark-haired pixie and her mother was amazing. She would be beautiful when she grew up. Although she’d been opening and closing the dining room blinds, when he spoke, Tessa accepted his hand and went with him to the kitchen. “Mommy, there’s a refrigerator…and a stove.” Serena watched the two of them—already buddies—feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks. Maybe volunteering was a good idea, after all. “You’re right. Do you think there might be dishes in those cabinets?” “Let’s see—” Tessa jerked the first door open. “Just pans.” The disappointment in her voice made both adults grin. Andrew scooped Tessa up in his arms as if he’d done it every night of her life, whirling her about the room and stopping before each upper cabinet door so she could look inside. “They’re probably not as pretty as your mom’s dishes, but they work okay for me.” “For you?” Tessa stopped opening doors long enough to look down at him. “Is this your house?” He nodded. “Want to see my room?” “Where is it?” She was already squirming to get out of his arms and investigate. He pointed to the closed door off the kitchen. “There.” He fished a key out of his pocket and laid it in Tessa’s hand. She’d reached the lock, worked it and turned the knob before the grown-ups caught up with her. Through the open doorway, Serena saw a smallish, blue-carpeted bedroom that had been converted to an apartment of sorts. On one wall was a roughly constructed wooden loft bed with a plaid recliner and end table beneath it. Both faced a little TV balanced on milk crates. On the opposite wall was a set of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, built with the same primitive materials as the loft. The shelves were loaded, most of them stuffed two books deep. No more than three feet from the loft was a card table and chairs—a makeshift dinette. Serena could feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she took in the details, but he didn’t try to interrupt her. His scrutiny made her neck feel warm. “It’s not a mansion, but it meets my needs.” She smiled, feeling the flush creep higher. “It looks great.” The simple awareness of him made her so uncomfortable that she scanned the room again for a distraction. Her gaze caught a Harley-Davidson poster behind the door that seemed so out of character for the stereotypical youth minister she’d created in her mind. She got the feeling there was more to Andrew Westin than she’d originally guessed. She glanced back to find him leaning against the door, his arms crossed in a casual pose. “It’s really nice, but why don’t you use the rest of the house?” she asked. As far as she could tell, the little bathroom, the kitchen and his multipurpose room formed his apartment in only one-quarter of the square footage. He shrugged. “There’s something about having my own space. You know what I mean?” How odd that she did understand what he was saying. A few months ago she wouldn’t have had a clue. Now it was clear. Personal space was about being in control—taking control—when the world all around was going crazy. She would have said that to him, or at least tried to relate the connection that she felt, if not for the crash that came from the other side of the house. “Duty calls.” He ushered them out of his room and turned the key before gesturing toward the locked door. “It never hurts to keep this room locked. It prevents the bed from mysteriously ending up short-sheeted and keeps my underwear from getting hung on the church flagpole. I wasn’t born yesterday. Thirty-three years ago, to be exact.” He headed toward the door. “We’d better greet the inmates.” Serena followed behind him, pulling a suddenly shy Tessa. Curious about his comment, Serena spoke to his retreating back. “Do you know that stuff from personal experience?” He looked back at her over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. She’d have to ask him about that later. She was pretty sure it would be a good story. “All right, who banged the door?” he asked the crowd rushing through the entry. A chorus of “not me” rang out, loud enough to rattle the shingles. “Everyone, this is Serena and her daughter, Tessa.” He indicated the baker’s dozen of teens already filling the living room. “Serena, Tessa, this is everyone.” A couple followed the kids through the door, their smiles as round as their middle-age waistlines. Assuming them to be the other two chaperones, Serena nodded to them, liking them on sight. She reached down to brush back her daughter’s hair—Tessa had attached herself to her leg. “And Serena and Tessa, I’d like you to meet Robert and Diana Lidstrom, the coolest soon-to-be grandparents east of Lake Michigan.” Andrew gripped Robert’s hand and planted a kiss on Diana’s cheek in a single fluid motion. “I wouldn’t have considered tonight’s adventure without them.” Diana winked at Serena. “We wouldn’t have volunteered for just anybody, either. I think it was Kentucky’s loss and Michigan’s gain that Andrew ended up here.” Serena turned to him. “You’re from Kentucky? You don’t have the accent.” He shrugged. “It’s Louisville. And I’ve worked hard to mask that accent.” He said “accent” with an exaggerated Southern drawl. Seeming not to notice the other adults around him, Robert dropped to a crouch to be eye-to-eye with Tessa. “Hi, Tessa. Is this your first slumber party?” Her shy nod led him to list the night’s fun activities. Tessa released her grip on her mother’s leg bit by bit, finally accepting Robert’s outstretched hand and his offer to go find the potato chips. Diana gestured toward their retreating backs. “It will be just like that when she grows up. Some boy’s going to lead her away from you.” Serena shivered at the thought of that eventuality, reminding herself this was the normal course of things. She couldn’t protect her daughter forever. “Don’t remind me.” Diana patted her shoulder with a mother’s sympathy. “Oh, that’s months away from being a problem. How did Andrew twist your arm into being here tonight?” “He bribed me with my choice of baby-sitters.” Diana winked knowingly. “I hope he didn’t play on your sympathies and beg or anything.” Andrew whisked through the room, his arms loaded with pizza boxes. He returned from the kitchen a few minutes later with a slice in hand. “Guilty as charged. A desperate man, you know. Did what I had to in order to get what I needed.” Although he had spoken about her being a last-minute chaperone, the brief look he cast toward her made Serena wonder if there was something more to Andrew Westin’s interest in her, more than his need for a volunteer. She could have sworn the ball of nerves rumbling inside her was from anticipation. And she knew better than to allow herself to feel that way. But knowing was powerless against the hope that sprouted in her heart. Chapter Three “Go, horsey, go.” Tessa cracked a pretend whip on the shoulder of the make-believe stallion racing with her through the room. The equine creature more closely resembled a teenage girl with a long golden ponytail that bounced as she galloped. With a few waves and a whinny, horse and rider were off on another adventure. “Giddy up, horsey, don’t be slow. Take my Tessa to the rodeo.” Serena smiled, hearing her daughter repeat the rhyme they’d often say together. Tonight, her shy, clingy child of two hours before had transformed into the life of the party. The group’s new mascot, Tessa already had played Ping-Pong, her head barely over the table, and had been on a team in the game of Life so she could get help collecting “paydays.” They had even let her pick the next contemporary Christian CD for the boom box. It felt so good to see Tessa laughing, having fun, just like any normal child. Serena felt almost normal, too, and it seemed like a first gasp of fresh air after years of holding her breath. “Did I mention a truckload of potential baby-sitters would be here?” Andrew asked from over her shoulder. She shook off the tremor that his closeness produced and insisted that the hairs on the back of her neck lay down. This was ridiculous. She was a grown-up here, not one of the kids. “Why do you think I’m here? Who is that with Tessa now?” “Only seventeen-year-old baby-sitter extraordinaire, Hannah Woods.” He turned to face Serena, watching her as if expecting her to react. “Think…Reverend Bob Woods.” The preacher’s daughter. That couldn’t hurt. It already was obvious that Hannah was great with children. This night was turning out to be more successful than Serena had expected. “Does she baby-sit a lot?” “I’m sure she will for you, if you need her to.” Serena knew he was right. It was obvious Hannah adored Tessa. The two of them looked like old friends. Just seeing them together made Serena think about how nice it would be to get out of the house alone, once in a while, to run errands or grab a cup of coffee. Tessa would be in good hands. “Hey, little cowgirl, do you need a fresh horse?” Andrew was already crouched low to prepare for a rider. “Your other one’s wearing out.” A chair climb later, a successful exchange was made and they were off again, with Andrew in full trot. Seeing the two of them together tugged at Serena’s heart, her thoughts bittersweet. How much did Tessa miss having a father in her life since Trent had deserted them both for that other woman? Had her memories of her dad begun to fade? Serena certainly hadn’t forgotten. It was just so much easier not to remember. As she watched Andrew and his rider, she remembered Tessa and Trent laughing together over a bathroom flooding with bubbles, and Daddy and daughter napping together on the sofa. Tessa didn’t ask questions about her father, at least not yet. What would Serena tell her when she did? Was there a gaping hole in Tessa’s heart where a daddy should have been? Maybe someone like Andrew could fill that hole a little, or at least cover it with a bandage of compassion. Watching the horse and his rider, Serena missed things she’d never had, longed for things she had no right to. Dreams emerged and danced off in various directions. She needed to shut away these thoughts before they led her to their only possible end—disappointment. She’d experienced enough of that to last a lifetime. “Look at them go,” Diana said, coming up behind Serena and patting her shoulder. “Andrew’s such a doll. I’d do anything for him. He’s going to be a wonderful father one of these days.” Serena stiffened. Was she so transparent that even an acquaintance could read her thoughts? How could she be considering only herself? She had no business entertaining selfish thoughts when Tessa needed to be her focus. What would happen if the JRA flared again? She couldn’t allow any distraction from her duty to her child. “Look who is queen of the mountain.” Andrew approached, carrying Tessa on his shoulders. “Say something to your loyal subjects.” Serena reached up and rustled Tessa’s already wild hair. “Better wave and turn over your scepter, sweetheart. It’s time for you to go night-night.” She prepared herself to have to drag away a kicking and screaming miniature queen, but Tessa climbed from one set of arms into the other and hugged her mom. Tessa waved as Serena carried her through the house to the back bedroom that Andrew had unlocked. Once inside her Pooh sleeping bag, Tessa was asleep before they reached the last page of her bedtime story, but Serena read to the end, anyway. Brushing hair from her daughter’s face, Serena dropped a kiss on her forehead and slipped from the room to return to the party. Her exhausted body begged for a spot beside Tessa in that minuscule sleeping bag, but she’d made a commitment and she planned to follow through. Maybe she could convince a few of the youth to watch that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory video, so she could catch a few winks in the back of the room. What a great idea. Serena gave the shrill whistle that her mother had always called “unladylike.” “Thanks for the attention grabber, Serena,” Andrew called from across the room. “It’s nine-thirty. The party needs a fire built under it. Who wants to play Twister?” It was well past noon by the time Andrew stared at his reflection in the bleary medicine cabinet mirror. It confirmed his suspicion. Even a Mack truck would have done a gentler makeover on his face. He should have slept like a baby after the last doughnut was munched and the last chip was sucked out of the carpet with the archaic vacuum. But no, he just lay there in that pitiful square of a room, a series of still images flashing behind his eyelids in unending succession. Serena performing an award-worthy “parting of the Red Sea” clue in boys-versus-girls charades. Serena gathering that sweet little girl of hers into her arms in an embrace singularly shared between mothers and their children. Serena sneaking a look at him with what he couldn’t help but interpret as attraction. He smiled into the mirror. That was the way he wanted to interpret it. The message she wished for him to read was probably something else. Something with the words Forget it attached firmly at the end. No, the look was probably just gratitude for his helping her climb out of the dumps. She’d even smiled a few times tonight, although never at him. It was beautiful all the same. With the Father’s help, she could get through this difficult time in her life. She had only to ask for His help—something Andrew guessed was about the hardest thing ever for Serena to do. Why was it so important to him that she find her way? And why did he feel such a tug to be part of that path to discovery? He yanked open the medicine cabinet and grabbed his toothbrush, not wanting to see that face in the mirror anymore. He couldn’t allow himself to think of her this way. She was a divorc?e—a recent one at that—with a child. It didn’t matter at all to him, but he would have been naive not to realize some church members would consider a youth minister dating a divorc?e to be scandalous. Besides, Serena had so much baggage. Would he be able to handle helping her carry it? Of course, he knew better than to try. He’d even tasted the inevitable pain that an ill-advised relationship could cause. That knowledge, which had come courtesy of Marnie, had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The sting felt fresh sometimes, despite the few years’ buffer since their breakup. He didn’t want to feel pain like that ever again. No, he could have no romantic fantasies about Serena Jacobs. His only interest in her should be spiritual. He sensed that she had a personal relationship with God, but it was obvious she wanted the Lord to take a hands-off approach, a plan that wasn’t working well for her. Maybe his interest in her was God-sent, making him a vehicle for her spiritual guidance. That was all it could be. Last night’s party had given him an idea of a way to help Serena with her depression and to jump-start her spiritual growth at the same time. He shouldn’t have to feel guilty that this ingenious plan—convincing her to teach Sunday School in the youth department—also happened to make his life a few hundred times easier, right? A knot that formed in his stomach made him wonder if regularly being that close to Serena, within reach but still so far away, wouldn’t also make his life a lot harder. Turning on the shower faucet, Andrew kept the water temperature a few degrees below comfortably warm. He shivered as he stepped under its spray and tipped his head back so the flood covered his face. This would be a good way to clear his mind of all unnecessary thoughts. Then he could focus on his calling to help the whole church community, not just one troubled young mother and her sick child. He hoped beyond hope that the water would also remove thoughts of dark, shiny hair and a sweet, feminine smile. The knock had to be from miles away, somewhere in her dream, but it dragged Serena helplessly to consciousness, anyway. She heard the knock again, not ten feet from the sofa where she’d collapsed what seemed like only a few minutes before. She tried to lift up, but had to roll Tessa off her chest before she could move. How and when had Tessa gotten out of bed? She remembered putting her slumbering daughter to bed before giving in to exhaustion. At least, she thought she had. Again the knock beckoned, louder this time. More insistent. Sitting up, she glanced at the wall clock in the corner. Three o’clock. Had they slept all day? She jogged to the front door and jerked it open. Andrew stood there, his hair damp and combed back straight, but his eyes looking anything but fresh. She steadied herself, refusing to acknowledge the immediate jolt to her system. “It’s about time. If I hadn’t seen your car parked out front, I’d have given up and gone home.” She would have asked him why he was there in the first place, but his unusual demeanor hinted that he was wearing his minister’s “hat” today. Something about this other side of him made her even less comfortable than did his presence as a man at her front door. She self-consciously patted down her hair, thankful that she’d been too tired to change out of her clothes when she’d arrived home. She was rumpled, but at least she was decent. “I was trying to catch up on some much-needed rest. You might be able to relate.” She pulled the door open wide. “Would you like to come in?” She pushed the screen door halfway open and felt a whisk of air past her knees. Tessa, still wearing a pair of baby-doll pajamas, was in Andrew’s arms before he made it through the front door. Immediately he slipped out of his official capacity and became Tessa’s playmate, twirling her around and letting her drag him up the stairs to see her room. Eventually, Tessa deserted her guest to go play “dress and undress” with her dolls, leaving Serena and Andrew to sit across from each other in the living room. The way he watched her today seemed more intense, as if he were looking straight into her soul. The knot in her belly felt as if it were pushing on vital organs. She wondered if he’d find her as vacant inside as she often felt. “You had a nice time last night, didn’t you?” Relief flooded her. Maybe he would make this visit easy on her. “Yes, the kids were great. Tessa had a wonderful time. I’m glad we went.” He looked away, his gaze traveling over the navy-and-burgundy plaid sofa where he sat, then across the three-foot gap to the love seat she was perched on. “The kids were glad you were there, too. And they loved Tessa. You two really fit in.” She tried to forget her discomfort over what he must have thought about the cramped room, stuffed with furniture that had fit nicely in her old Grand Rapids home. Besides, the way he was talking made her uncomfortable. “What are you getting at?” “Have you ever thought about being involved with a youth group?” “Not since I graduated from high school,” she said with a quick smile. “I mean as a teacher.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that what the church pays you to do?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s part of my job, but I’d like to have at least two Sunday School teachers for the youth department—one for junior high and one for high school. I’d take the high school class. Would you consider teaching the junior high class?” “Oh, Andrew, I don’t know about that.” “It would be really easy. The lessons are all broken down in the teacher’s guide. If you have any other questions each week, I’m always available to help you. You’ll feel so much better if you stay busy helping other people.” She shook her head. He wasn’t playing fair. He was making it hard to say no. “That just doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.” “Didn’t you like the youth group when you were a teen?” “I loved it.” “Then, I’m sure you want that same great experience for the kids here in Milford.” Serena chuckled. He should have been a politician. He already had persuasion down to an art. “Yes, I want that, but—” “Did your parents bring you to church when you were little?” What kind of new approach was this? She felt as if she were being manipulated, and wondered how to respond. “Every week. It was a real family affair.” “Did they force you to go?” She shook her head. “No, never. I wanted to go. I was a teenager who looked forward to it. Does that sound strange to you?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Not to me. I just want to know how they did it and how I can pass that information along to the parents of my kids.” His kids. She liked the way he claimed the church’s youth as his own. “Their method was pretty simple. They introduced me to their loving God and helped me to develop a friendship with Him, as well.” Vignettes from happier times filled her mind, full of her parents’ smiles and songs of praise. “It was so easy to love the Lord then.” She was surprised that she’d spoken those words aloud. He said nothing for a long time, then finally nodded. “That would be hard for me to understand if I hadn’t experienced it myself, but I know what it’s like to struggle with trusting God even when I need Him most.” She stared into eyes, her questions finding no answers in his carefully neutral gaze. He straightened, as if he recognized her awakening curiosity about his own box of secrets. She had a pretty good idea that he wouldn’t give her a chance to pry. “Now is your time to trust, Serena. The Father is waiting. You have only to ask.” He spread his arms, hands palms up, as if to demonstrate the simplicity of his seemingly monumental request. “Come on, Andrew. I’ve never said I lost faith. I still believe, just as I always have.” “What have you always believed? That God is this wonderful benevolent spirit who’s there to make the daffodils bloom but can’t be called upon for anything more complicated than traveling mercies or final exam support?” “I don’t think you’re being fair.” “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not.” Andrew shifted in his seat again, leaning forward. “I just want you to see that it’s okay to give up the power, to allow God to carry you through times when you can’t walk under your own steam.” Anguish gripped her in its powerful fist, but she fought for control. Always control. “You don’t understand. I’ve had to walk alone too long. Too far.” “I’m sorry that your former husband hurt you. You never should have had to experience his betrayal. He failed you when you needed him. But God never did. And He never will.” The subject died a quick death then. She didn’t want to reveal all of the humiliating details. Although she could hardly argue with his logic about God, she wasn’t ready to inhale his words like the scent of lilacs, either. It was easier to let it drop. The silence between them disturbing her, she returned to the earlier—safer—subject. “I really did have fun last night. Tessa did, too.” Andrew grinned, seeming to put behind him the intensity of the moment before. “She’s great, you know.” “Yes, I know.” “So are you…especially with the youth group.” Her laugh started somewhere deep inside and bubbled out. She had to give him credit for trying. Besides, she had enjoyed working with the teens at the overnighter. Teaching Sunday School would be fun. Tessa would be in her Tiny Tots class, so it wasn’t like Serena would be deserting her. Being needed wasn’t so bad, either. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Andrew was out of his seat and in front of her before the fourth word left her mouth. He knelt and gripped both of her hands together between his. “Thank you. Thank you. You won’t regret it.” But with the way her hands tingled, as if they were awakening from a numbing sleep, she had to wonder. She suspected that working with Andrew was going to be the best—or the worst—decision she’d ever made. Chapter Four Reverend Bob turned to another passage in his huge black Bible on Sunday morning, the flutter of pages amplified by the microphone. “In the Book of John, did Jesus say to the woman at the well, ‘You are a sinner, so I cannot look at you’? Or ‘Because I am a Jew and you are a Samaritan, I cannot speak to you’?” Murmurs of “no” popped up in the packed sanctuary. “Not my Jesus,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “Not my Lord who loves all us sinners. Instead He told her about His ‘living water.’ Shouldn’t we aspire to our Lord’s type of compassion? Let us all love our neighbors without falling to the temptation to judge.” Reverend Bob shut his Bible with a snap, startling Andrew in his seat just behind the minister’s left shoulder. He hoped no one noticed how far his thoughts had been from the Samaritan woman and how close they were to the lady frowning in the back pew. Serena obviously had been trying all through the service to keep her daughter quiet. Tessa couldn’t have been that loud, or he would have heard her. But how could he have heard anything over the crinkling of candy wrappers, seventh-grade giggles, and what could only have been a snore elsewhere in the sanctuary? Memories of his own childhood antics in church filtered through his mind—of crawling under pews, rustling hymnal pages and faking sneezes. And of spankings and more painful criticism after the services. Somehow, he felt certain Tessa’s reprimand would be a loving one. Heat scaled his neck, so he glanced to the other side of the auditorium, away from Serena, who sat ready to entrance him again. He steadied himself as he rose for the invitation. He had to get out of this service and into some private prayer where he could find perspective. That goal helped him through the closing hymn. Only his regular stint in the greeting line remained; then he’d be free for a few hours until the evening youth group meeting. He pressed through the crowd, but two women became a solid wall of delay. He pasted on his best smile and called for a heavenly gift of patience. “Hello, Mrs. Sims.” He nodded to the elder before turning to the younger. “And Charity.” Laura Sims shook her index finger at him, making a clucking noise. “Now, Andrew Westin, you know you don’t have to be so formal with me. You call me Laura, or at the very least, Sister Laura.” He nodded. “Of course, Laura. Did you ladies enjoy the service today?” It was so much easier to address the two of them jointly rather than speaking to Charity individually and risk accidentally encouraging her interest in him. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Matchmaker Laura always seemed to be pushing her near-spinster daughter in her search for a suitable son-in-law. No matchmaking would have been necessary if Charity had possessed a sweet personality to match her trim figure, golden hair and green eyes. Frustration filled him that he continued to be prospect number one—all because he had chosen a career in the ministry. Charity stepped forward. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found the woman at the well story to be a difficult one. She was living in sin and everything. It would be so hard for me to…you know.” Andrew met Charity’s gaze for the first time in the conversation, and the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her filled him. It was wrong, and he knew it. He should have been concerned with her spiritual growth, just as he was with Serena’s. But her judgmental attitude got under his skin. “Reach out to her, you mean? Didn’t Christ set a great example of what we all should do?” “That He did, Andrew. That He did.” Laura patted Andrew’s shoulder as if they were already related and she were relieving familial stress. “I’d better get to the door. Reverend Bob is waiting for me.” He hurried up the aisle, but most of the members had already gone outside, all except Serena and Tessa. Serena looked as though she were a reluctant captive in her conversation with the minister. Tessa seemed to be having a great time clanging coat hangers. “Hey, Tess.” He swung her up in his arms. “Were you having trouble sitting still in church?” She shrugged, a mischievous look lighting her eyes. “I’m hungry.” He lowered Tessa, squatting before her and trying to keep a straight face. “I’m sure it’s tough when you’re hungry like that. But I bet it would make your mommy happy if you’d try to sit still and be quiet during the service. God would be real happy, too.” “Okay.” Okay. It was as simple as that to a child. Why did everything become so complicated for adults? Serena looked over at him, appearing grateful. The glass door opened and Hannah popped in to relieve Andrew of his tiny charge. The two girls, one quite a few heads taller than the other, darted off hand-in-hand. He wished someone like Hannah had taken him under her wing when he was Tessa’s age. Things might have been different. With someone to smile at him, to express the tiniest bit of pride in him, instead of judgment and disappointment, he might not have tried so hard to prove the dire predictions correct. Maybe then… “Isn’t that right, Brother Andrew?” The sound of his name ripped Andrew’s thoughts back to the present, with only remnants of past pain coming along for the ride. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?” “I was telling Mrs. Jacobs that we usually go to the Big Boy after church,” Reverend Bob said. “Sure thing. I never miss it, especially the chance for an ice cream sundae.” Funny, he’d have given anything to miss it today. He needed to get his head together, to figure out why he felt this need to be near Serena. “Mommy, can we have ice cream?” Tessa asked as she and Hannah skipped past on their way back out the front door. Over her shoulder, Hannah yelled at them. “Yeah, Dad. Me, too.” Reverend Bob turned back to Serena. “Then, it’s settled. You’ll go with us.” Andrew didn’t like the way his insides betrayed him by turning to gelatin. He stiffened, hoping to cover his internal weakness. “Sure, Serena, it’ll be fun, and a great opportunity for your local pastoral staff to grill you about your past.” Serena rolled her eyes. “Sounds great.” Reverend Bob turned to the two women behind Andrew. “You’ll join us, too, won’t you Laura and Charity?” Andrew looked away to hide his grimace. Why did he not want the woman who’d pursued him relentlessly in the same room with the one he wanted to assist through a tough time? It shouldn’t have made any difference. But it did. Charity would see Serena as a threat. Whether the threat was real or fictional wouldn’t make any difference. And he was smart enough to realize Charity wouldn’t be kind to the competition. “Do you have a career outside the home, Mrs. Jacobs?” Reverend Bob asked, after wiping his mouth on a napkin. Several smaller tables had been pushed together forming a table so long that Hannah and Laura, sitting on opposite ends, couldn’t converse without yelling. “Not outside the home, but I do have a job in addition to parenting.” Serena set her fork aside. “I’m a freelance writer.” “What do you write?” Reverend Bob asked. “Oh, everything from advertising copy to magazine articles to text for Web pages—about anything, as long as it pays and it’s legal.” “What does Mr. Jacobs think about you spending so much time at home away from housework and your child?” Charity smiled sweetly as if she had not just asked an incredibly tacky question. Serena swallowed hard, her mind searching wildly for any reply that would somehow keep her dignity, while putting this unprovoked attacker in her place. As much as she wanted to say that Mr. Jacobs was too busy bothering the new Mrs. Jacobs to have any time to annoy her, she doubted it would have the desired effect. “I’m a single-parent. Working at home is a financial necessity. It helps me make ends meet.” Charity nodded and took a drink of her water, making it clear that she’d gotten the message. The way Andrew, sandwiched between Charity and her mother, seemed to be fighting back a grin, told Serena he approved of her approach. Why that mattered, she wasn’t sure. Serena counted the seconds until the can of worms exploded, and her wait was short. “Are you a widow, then, dear? Or are you divorced?” Laura’s distaste was clear in the acidic way she said the word. “Divorced,” Serena answered. “That’s unfortunate.” Unfortunate for whom—for my family because of the difficult challenge we’re facing or for your family because you think I might be competition? Now, why had she thought that? It wasn’t like her to be mean-spirited, but lately nothing about her resembled her former self. Reverend Bob planted his hands on the side of the table, just as he planted them every Sunday on the edges of the lectern, and like magic, all attention turned to him. Instead of making some momentous announcement, he changed the subject. “Serena, I suspect you and Charity are about the same age. She is a nurse at West Oakland Regional Hospital, in Labor and Delivery.” Serena smiled at Charity, pitying any mother who had to deliver a baby under her watch. No, she had to give the woman the benefit of a doubt. Charity was probably just having a bad day. “That must be a great job, watching all of those babies come into the world.” Charity didn’t smile. “Except when it’s not…when there are problems in delivery. Or worse. On those days, I’d just as soon be somewhere else, working checkout at a discount store or something.” Her eyes were suddenly shiny, and she stared out the window at something only she could see. Serena’s eyes burned at the thought of the devastating losses Charity would have witnessed. How had she handled it? Serena couldn’t imagine the pain those parents must have faced. She didn’t even want to. Automatically, she turned to the end of the table where Tessa and Hannah were playing ticktacktoe on the back of a place mat, oblivious to everyone else at lunch. Reaching into her satchel, she withdrew a plastic bag containing Tessa’s medication and a liquid measuring syringe. “Here, Tessa, take your medicine.” “No, I want Hannah to give it to me.” It wasn’t worth the battle right now. “Hannah, will you do it?” Hannah administered the medicine easily. Serena put the supplies away and went back to her chicken sandwich. Reverend Bob finally broke the silence that had settled around them. “Why does Tessa take medication?” Serena filled them in on the major details of Tessa’s illness, surprised that her words produced no more than a small ache. Maybe it would only get easier. Laura watched Hannah and Tessa, who were shoving coins in the candy machines near the exit. “Oh, the poor dear. She’s such a sweet little thing.” Serena warmed just watching her giggling child. “She’s a real trooper.” She tried to stop her thoughts from traveling down their typical dark path of pain. Studying her hands for a few seconds, she looked up to see Andrew watching her, his expression compassionate. Without his moving, he seemed to reach over to touch her hand. She was surprised at how she was comforted by that thought. Who could blame her? It seemed like a lifetime since anyone had offered her support. Andrew pushed back from the table and tucked his hands in his suit pockets. “Have I told everyone that Serena is the newest Sunday School teacher in the youth group? She starts next Sunday.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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