Come Back to Me

by Carolyn Astfalk

  He glanced at Mrs. Simpson’s silver Toyota and nodded his head in its direction. “Mrs. Simpson saw me standing shirtless out here the morning you kicked me out.”

  Jamie smirked. “I know. She told me.”

  “Yeah?” He recalled the twitchy look Mrs. Simpson had given him. “She thinks I’m hot?”

  The sound of Jamie’s laughter made him forget how tired he should be. “On the contrary, she thought you must be cold. She asked me what you were doing outside without a shirt or a jacket.”

  He chuckled, surprised that he could laugh at something that had brought him so much pain.

  “I think you’re hot though.” Jamie came closer, looping her fingers through the belt loops of his slacks. The same ones he’d been wearing since yesterday’s disastrous interview.

  “Speaking of hot . . .” He could go in so many directions with this. “I believe I was promised a hot breakfast.”

  “A hot breakfast you will get,” Jamie said, heading for the front door. She stopped short, her key in the lock, and kissed his cheek, searing the skin beneath a day’s growth of beard. “Welcome to Chez Jamie.”

  Inside, Alan’s shoulders—his whole body—relaxed. Home. Be it ever so humble and all that jazz. Later, he’d soak it all in, but right now he needed a shave, a shower, a bottle of mouthwash, and some clean clothes.

  Twenty minutes later, he returned to the kitchen invigorated by the shower and this potential new lease on married life. Onions and peppers sizzled in melted butter on the stovetop, and the smell of coffee brewing lured him deeper into the kitchen, where Jamie cocked a hip against the kitchen counter.

  He moved closer to her, toe to toe. “I’m gonna get you one of those ‘Kiss the Cook’ aprons.”

  Her eyes twinkled, and the corner of her lips turned up in a flirty smile. “I don’t need one of those to get a kiss, do I?”

  Definitely not.

  She reached up and crossed her wrists behind his neck, her body bumping his. “If you’re waiting for an engraved invitation, I think I’ve got one of those.” She loosed a hand and waved it in front of him, wiggling her ring finger encircled by her white gold wedding band.

  His pulse sped. Alan was different now, and this kiss should be different too. Not a cursory kiss given as one of them ran out the door. Not an obligatory part of foreplay. Not one of the many sloppy, drunken kisses they’d shared. Or the rote kisses that had become routine between them.

  What he poured into this kiss needed to be just right—the perfect melding of passion and purpose. The kiss of a man who was ready, willing, and able—scratch that, eager—to be a husband and a father, with a clear understanding of the sacrifices those roles demanded.

  Jamie must’ve sensed his earnestness because the smile fell from her face and the gaze of her blue eyes locked onto his. Her chin lifted on a breath, and he slid his hand along her jaw and cupped the back of her head. Her eyes closed, and her implicit trust spurred him on.

  His hand sunk into her hair, and he inched closer, their bodies touching, his lips so close to hers that the hitch in her breath fanned over his jaw. “And the two . . .” He feathered a kiss over her lips. “. . . shall become . . .” Another kiss, her lips soft and pliant beneath his.

  One more shallow breath.

  One more moment of exquisite tension.

  He reached his other hand around her waist. “. . . one.” His lips met hers, and he poured every ounce of love from his heart into hers, a soul-deep fusion. In a blissful moment no longer than the flutter of a heartbeat, he lost track of where he ended and she began.

  23

  Mercy

  April

  Megan avoided staring over the oak-stained coffee table at Chris by fixing her gaze on a painting of whom she assumed must be Jesus and his mother. She angled her head to the side. Yep. The halos were a dead giveaway. Intimate and pious. So unlike the scene between Megan and her mom two weeks ago.

  Despite the dread that had pooled in her belly, Megan had initiated a long heart-to-heart talk with her mom. After forcing out two admissions and one apology with no more response than a deriding stare and a clenched jaw from her mom, Megan had been tempted to abandon her reconciliation tour before it’d gotten underway.

  Chris sat still, his sleeping baby pressed against his chest. One arm cradled the baby’s bottom covered in a yellow terrycloth sleeper while the other hand rubbed circles on the baby’s back. He lifted his chin as his eyes darted toward the kitchen. “Rebecca will be right back.”

  Megan nodded from her seat on the blue-gray upholstered chair opposite the couch and gave a polite smile. She’d bet given the chance, he’d bolt, but he was stuck. Trapped by the infant snoozing against him. His shoulders had the same uncomfortable slant as her dad’s last week when he’d excused himself from their conversation twice to tend to his wife’s obnoxious purse dog.

  Although Megan’s palms had turned cool and clammy as she rehashed her string of I’m sorrys, Dad had mellowed more quickly than Mom. He’d listened to her series of mea culpas, asked a couple of excruciating questions, lobbed some excoriating criticism, and then squeezed her in the same style side hug he’d perfected on her brothers.

  “How’s it going?” Chris’s question snapped both Megan and the infant to attention. The baby’s arm jerked, and Chris steadied him with a palm to the little guy’s back.

  “Good.” She crossed her legs, smoothed her plum slacks, and bobbed her foot nervously. “I won’t take much of your time.” She’d nearly gotten these apology appointments down to a science. No aching chest or churning stomach today, only some general nervousness.

  After a satisfactory visit with Mom and an encouraging détente with Dad, she’d invited Tim and the Hollister—uh, Holly—to her apartment for dessert. She’d learned to manage the anxiety-induced symptoms these conversations created, knowing that the long-term peace outweighed the short-term misery.

  She faced a giddy-in-love Tim and Holly over a piece of pineapple upside-down cake. “I’m sorry I’ve not been very welcoming to you, Holly, and so hostile to your . . .” She swirled her hand in the air, searching for the right words. “Your life changes, Tim.”

  Tim shoved back his chair, its legs stuttering against the floor, and in two strides stood at her side, pulling her from her chair and hugging her. Hard. Megan didn’t even fight the tears. And when Tim used the opportunity to talk to her about Jesus, she didn’t flinch. He hadn’t sold her on the concept—not completely—but for the first time, she didn’t resent the effort.

  She turned her thoughts and attention back to Chris, who gave her a nervous smile and glanced toward the kitchen. The baby stirred, and Chris nuzzled him, murmuring softly.

  She’d yet to get a good look at the little guy although Jamie had shared some pictures. He must be three weeks old now. “What’s his name again?” Alan or Jamie must’ve told her, but she couldn’t recall.

  “Sebastian. Sebastian Christopher.”

  Sebastian squirmed, and Chris repositioned him, turning him around so she could get a good look. Wide blue eyes and a few wisps of dark hair. He yawned, his little body shuddering.

  “He’s beautiful.” Delicate skin, button nose, and innocent blue eyes that wheedled their way into Megan’s decidedly non-maternal heart.

  Sebastian twisted toward his dad, his little fist clenching. His tiny, pink mouth opened and closed, and he rubbed his face against Chris’s t-shirt.

  Megan had thought she’d exorcised all her feelings for Chris over the past several weeks, all the old infatuation. One look at him cuddling his baby, and it came rushing back. There wasn’t anything sexier than a man with a baby. That little ball of pudgy perfection held by muscular arms against a sturdy chest. Did Rebecca have any idea how lucky she was?

  When his mom entered the room, Sebastian lifted his head and started rubbing furiously against Chris.

  “Sorry to make you wait, Megan.” Rebecca had a little post-partum paunch, but otherwise you’d never guess
she’d given birth only a few weeks ago. Her eyes appeared tired, but her voice seemed perky enough. “I’d been waiting all day for that callback from the restaurant. We want to have a little reception after Sebastian’s baptism next week.”

  Chris glanced at Rebecca. “Hey, he’s rooting. I think he’s hungry.”

  “Again? Didn’t I just feed him?” She ran a hand over Chris’s shoulder as she passed behind the couch and then sat next to him, squinting at the clock on their entertainment system. “I guess it’s been almost two hours.”

  At the sound of her nearby voice, Sebastian broke into a howl, and Chris handed him over.

  She took the baby, settled him on her lap and undid something under her shirt.

  Every movement between them was so familiar and easy. Utterly free. Megan quashed an unexpected surge of envy.

  Rebecca’s hand hesitated at the hem of her shirt, and she cast Megan a wary glance. Probably deciding whether to take care of her baby’s needs in private and risk leaving her husband alone any longer with a reputed man-eater who harbored a long-term near-obsession for him.

  Megan bit back a grin. “Go ahead and feed him. I don’t mind.”

  Rebecca acknowledged her with a stare then proceeded to move the baby into position at her breast and helped him latch on.

  Chris’s loving gaze fell on mother and baby, and he gently stroked the back of Sebastian’s head with his fingertips. They’d been married almost a year, and they still acted like lovesick pups despite the fact they spent day and night wiping a baby’s bottom and losing sleep.

  Megan sighed and averted her eyes. This is what Alan and Jamie craved. And if the ache in her chest was any indication, deep in her heart, she wanted it someday too.

  “Megan,” Rebecca said as she patted the baby’s rump. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” She turned to Chris. “Would you grab that plate of banana bread on the counter?”

  “Sure.” He pinched Sebastian’s toes and kissed Rebecca’s head before he rose, his tired gaze so filled with devotion.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Too late. Chris had shuffled off to the kitchen. Megan had forgotten that besides being Little Miss Perfect, Rebecca was some kind of baking goddess as well. Her recently-revived conscience pricked her, and she reminded herself to be kind, not catty.

  Chris returned, munching and holding a piece of the sweet-smelling bread in one hand and a small plate of it in the other. He set the plate on the table and grabbed a small piece and fed it to Rebecca since her hands were occupied holding the baby in position.

  The scene reminded her of dinner with Alan and Jamie earlier in the week—Jamie had cooked! Alan’s eyes smoldered as Jamie offered him a bite of her dessert. Megan smirked, wondering if they could wait until she left to enact their plans to start a family. She schooled her thoughts and, heart pounding, cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “I value both of your friendships. That’s why I need to be straight with you.” Megan had prepared herself to be lambasted by one or both of them riled by justified anger. Instead, she left their house, heart overflowing, their relationship strengthened rather than diminished.

  Megan squared her shoulders and steeled her courage. Time to get this last one over with. She sucked in a breath, willed the butterflies in her stomach to settle, and prayed?—yes, prayed—she’d get the words right.

  “I’ll keep this short. I have an opportunity to make a new start, and I’ll be moving next month. But before I do that, I’ve been making the rounds, offering some apologies. I’ve already done that with my family, and I saw Alan and Jamie the other night.” She gave them a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. “You two are last on my last.”

  Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Us?” She glanced at Chris, whose expression didn’t betray whether he felt an apology was warranted or not. “You don’t need to apologize to us.”

  Megan shifted in her seat, twisting her hands. “Oh, I do.” She sighed. These apologies were the most humbling thing she’d ever done, but with each one, her spirit felt lighter, the relief fanning the flicker of hope that had ignited in her heart in the cold, dark cemetery.

  “I’ve not respected your feelings, Chris, or, uh, lack thereof. And I didn’t respect your relationship with Rebecca either.” There was more, of course, but nothing more she’d say out loud. Maybe, someday, if she could accept what Tim had been telling her about Jesus, she’d confess it to Him.

  Chris glanced at Rebecca. He opened his mouth and closed it, not seeming to know what the appropriate response might be. Finally, he nodded.

  She shifted her focus to Rebecca, whose brow wrinkled in confusion. “Rebecca, I’m sorry for any unkind thing I have may have done or said to you or about you. It’s obvious to anyone who spends five minutes with the two of you that you belong together.”

  There. She got it out. She braced for Rebecca’s reaction. She could demand to know how she’d failed to respect their relationship or what she’d said about Rebecca and to whom.

  After a moment’s pause, her expression unruffled, Rebecca simply said, “All’s forgiven.”

  Megan forced herself to meet each of their gazes. “Thank you.” The squeaky crack in her voice surprised her, but then everything about these past few weeks surprised her. Tim called it “grace.” Megan figured she was teetering on an emotional breakdown.

  “Um, so, where are you moving?” Rebecca’s face didn’t betray any emotion. Did she forgive Megan or had she said so only to shorten the visit?

  “Down south. My brother, uh, not Tim . . . Randy, who died.” She flicked a glance at Chris, who might not remember Randy but would remember his death. “His fiancée—former fiancée—she invited me.”

  By the end of Megan’s stumbling reply, Rebecca hardly seemed as if she were listening. She scooped her now-sleeping baby from her lap and glanced at Megan, a gleam in her eyes. Megan didn’t understand the look until Rebecca stepped carefully around the coffee table and lowered the baby, placing him gently in Megan’s arms.

  “Oh.” Megan raised her elbow, ensuring she was supporting the baby’s neck and head. His mouth opened as if he were still suckling, his eyelids fluttering in sleep. The warmth of his little body soaked through her cotton shirt, melting her hardened heart in a puddle that sopped up every last trace of resentment she harbored for Rebecca.

  Megan blinked back a few unexpected tears. For all Tim’s trying over the last several weeks, he’d not been able to do what the three-week-old who she was fairly certain had just soiled his diaper had accomplished—convinced her that God was completely, utterly good and had loved her into being.

  24

  Hunger for the Great Light

  May

  The car door slammed, and Alan rushed to Jamie’s side. He peered at the orange brick church with its thin white steeple drawing his gaze to the cloudless blue sky. A row of ornamental pear trees in full bloom scented the air with their tangy fragrance as the sun crept toward its noonday position and rendered his suit jacket unnecessary.

  Jamie had already slid out of the Miata and was tugging her skirt down. The golden tones in her red hair shone in the sunlight. He pictured it fanned across his white pillowcase this morning and smiled. Staying in bed too long had caused them to be late, but he didn’t regret a minute of it. They needed time alone together, lots of it. And if he took the job he’d been offered with its two to three nights’ weekly overnight travel, there’d be a lot less of it to come by.

  They’d been lovers for years, but never had he felt so connected to his wife. Nothing lay between them. No unspoken hurts, no resentment, nothing held back from one another. No barriers. He didn’t know enough Bible verses to fill an index card, but one of the few he did know—the one he’d heard at Chris and Rebecca’s wedding and read in the hospital waiting room the night Sebastian was born—stirred his heart as they walked hand-in-hand into church. Same one he’d whispered to Jamie when he’d kissed her after nearly six long months of separation. “The two shall become
one flesh.”

  Alan pulled open the glass door and allowed Jamie to enter ahead of him. He spotted Chris and Rebecca in the first pew in front of the marble bowl where he assumed they baptized babies. A smattering of people sat scattered in a half-dozen pews, mostly family, but also a few couples Alan didn’t recognize.

  “Made it.” Jamie sighed and squeezed his hand, tugging him up the aisle.

  He caught Chris’s gaze as he and Jamie slid into a pew next to Rebecca’s sister, Abby, and her family. Her three children sat sandwiched between their parents, swinging their legs from their seats in the pew. Her husband Joel’s hair had been shaved close to his head. Had he had the tumor surgically removed? He looked thinner than Alan remembered but as healthy as Alan had ever seen him.

  Chris murmured something to Rebecca, gathered their son from her arms, and walked past their parents, bringing Sebastian to Alan.

  “He was asking for you.” Chris grinned as he placed the baby in Alan’s arms.

  Alan shifted, making sure the baby wasn’t smashed so close to his chest he couldn’t breathe. Sebastian’s eyes were closed, his cheeks ruddy but pricked with small, white blemishes that only made him more adorable. His tiny, pink lips quirked in a momentary smile that Alan reflected back at him.

  Jamie reached over him to squeeze the baby’s tiny toes through his white socks. The long, white baptismal gown draped his body. A matching bonnet covered his fuzzy head, long satin ribbons lying across his chest.

  A swell of emotion caught in Alan’s throat, and he cleared it as he rubbed a hand across his eyes. He loved Sebastian with an intensity he’d never felt before—and the little guy wasn’t even his. What would it feel like to hold a child of his own, his and Jamie’s?

  Jamie nudged him in the side. “You okay?” Her thin whisper made him think she loved this kid as much as he did.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m great.”

  Chris’s gaze flitted between them. “So, you two, uh, everything’s good?”