He takes my hand from his cheek and kisses my palm, the stubble tickling, before lowering our joined hands to his lap. “I think your decision to leave for a while is…”
His hesitation fills me with hope.
“A good idea.”
My heart stops. “I’m sorry?” I must have heard wrong. “But I thought—”
“It’ll do us both good.”
He made some other excuses, but they drifted away the moment they left his lips. Excuses. Logical reasons for a separation. After last night? What was that all about then?
Maybe I should have pushed to know what, exactly, his issue was with Alexis Andrews.
* * *
I haul all the suitcases I can find from the basement and take two of them to Taylor’s room. She sits on her unmade bed, sleepy-eyed, Rambo nestled in the V of her folded legs.
“Okay, Tay. Let’s get you packed.”
“We can’t go today. Josh is coming over.” She rubs Rambo’s ear and makes no move to get off the bed.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to work out.”
“But I don’t get it. Why are we leaving? I just got home.”
“A little vacation. Tricia’s very excited to see you.”
Michael leans in the door, scowling. “Dad says you’re leaving.”
With a sigh, I tug on Taylor’s arm. “Help me out here, kiddo. I don’t know what you want to take.”
“Nothing. I want to stay here.”
“You love Carmel.”
“Mom,” Michael says. “What’s going on here?”
“Taylor, get started, please. I’ll be in my room packing my things.” I pass Michael on my way out, fully expecting he’ll follow. I’m not disappointed.
“Are you and Dad getting divorced?” He sounds like a four-year-old.
I toss my own two suitcases on the bed. “No, Michael. We thought this would be good for Taylor. She can focus better on her schoolwork and rehab.”
“So, you’re just going to bail on me?”
“Look at it as an opportunity to reconnect with your dad.”
He snorts. “Whatever.”
“Attitude,” I throw at him over my shoulder. Wrenching at the zipper, I mutter a word better left unheard under my breath. Why am I so upset? This was my brilliant idea. Shouldn’t I be thrilled that Paul’s backing me instead of fighting me?
“Why can’t I go on independent study and come with you?”
“Hmmm. Let’s see.” I pretend like I’m actually thinking it over. “For one, you just started working at Craig’s. Not to mention it would be pretty tough for you to deal with whatever issue you have with Dad long distance.”
“I could say the same for you.”
Smart aleck. I glare at him, fully prepared to set him straight, but he looks so little-boy-lost, shoulders hunched, mouth downturned, I don’t have the heart. “It’ll be okay, sweetie. This is just temporary.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. And I do think you should use this as an opportunity. Whatever it is that has you angry with Dad, you need to work it out.”
He scowls, cramming his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “What if it can’t be worked out? What if he did something…you know…that can’t be forgiven.”
So, there was a reason behind his behavior. Folding my arms, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Is that why you vandalized the school last year?”
He drops his eyes, staring at the vicinity of his size 11 shoes.
“You want to tell me about it?”
“No,” he mumbles.
Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than my own sordid past. “Give him a chance to explain, kiddo. Then remember that we’re all guilty of unforgivable sins of one form or another.”
His head snaps up, brow furrowing. “You don’t want to know what he did?”
“It’ll come out sooner or later,” I say with a sigh. “It always does.”
Chapter 25
Corey
Springtime in Carmel-by-the-Sea is as close to heaven as I’ve ever been—as long as I stay away from the tourist radius around Ocean Avenue. Once I’ve maneuvered Highway 1 at turtle-crawl pace, the back roads to Tricia’s is a snap. Her “hobbit cottage,” as I like to call it, sits back from the quiet street, shaded by majestic Monterey cypress. And for a brief moment, I’m Frodo.
Pulling into Tricia’s narrow cobblestone driveway behind her red Mini-Cooper, the tension from my shoulders eases, and I inhale the tang of the sea, less than a half mile away as the crow flies. Taylor’s asleep in the passenger seat, her head lolling at an odd angle that has my own neck aching with sympathy pains. Rambo, sensitive to the lack of movement, yips from the back, galloping across the bench seat to check out the view from both windows.
“Hey, Tay,” I whisper. “We’re here.”
Raising her hands, she rubs at her pink cheeks, eyes blinking at the sun spotlighting down through the branches of a tree overhead.
I reach behind her seat and snatch up my purse. “Do you smell the ocean?”
“Mmmm,” she groans, stretching her arms high enough to touch the headliner.
The arched, weather-gray plank front door opens, and Tricia comes out, shouting words of welcome. Faded jeans and a fuchsia-colored sweater hug her trim body as she runs down the walkway on bare feet. My frump-factor rises several notches as I climb out of the car to accept her welcoming hug. When was the last time I felt as young as she looks?
“It’s so good to see you.” She gives me a quick squeeze, eyes darting to Taylor through the windshield. “How was the drive?”
“Long.” I push the mop of hair behind my ears. “The air feels wonderful here.” A soothing balm to a wounded soul. Okay, maybe a little melodramatic.
“You brought great weather with you. We’ve had lots of rain the last few days, but today—hey, have you lost weight?” She takes my hands, opens my arms, and inspects me.
“No,” is my automatic response. But…my jeans have been looser. Who can eat with all the stress? “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“No ‘maybe’ about it, girl,” she says as she rushes to open Taylor’s door.
“Hi, Auntie Trish.”
“There’s a rumor going around that you were in a car accident.” She takes Taylor’s hands and repeats the inspection process. “Must be a lie. You look great.” She pulls Taylor in for a hug as Rambo hops off the passenger seat.
Taylor steps back and looks at the house. “I remember here.” The smile and excitement in her eyes are a good sign.
“Of course you do,” Tricia says. “You’ve been here a hundred times.”
I don’t bother pointing out that she didn’t remember the house she’s lived in for eight years.
We get everything unloaded from the car, and Tricia shows us to our rooms. It’s luxurious living, bordering on the decadent. A four-poster queen bed sits in the middle of Taylor’s room, covered in a white, embroidered quilt and about a million pillows in bursts of color. Three windows, all covered in cream-colored wooden blinds, allow slatted sunlight.
“I’m going to lie down, okay?” Taylor doesn’t wait for an answer, but plops into a wing-backed chair in the corner to remove her shoes.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Tricia asks. “I have lunch.”
“No, thanks. I’m really tired.”
We leave her to her nap.
Tricia closes the door as we exit. “Must be the excitement, huh?”
“She sleeps a lot. The stimulation’s hard on her.”
We deposit my bags in another guest room. Slats of sunshine filter through the blinds here too. Soft green and white—like mint ice cream.
“You sure know how to live.” I run a finger across the pine footboard and fight the urge to snuggle into my own nap, like Taylor.
Tricia leads me to the kitchen, Rambo following. “Are you hungry?”
I wince at the spread laid out on the table in the dining nook. “Not so much.”
“That’s
okay. It’ll keep. Let’s get something cold to drink and go out to the back deck.”
The backyard, like the front, is cocooned in its own little world by cedars and foliage. Easing into the cushioned deck chair, I sigh. “It wouldn’t take long to get used to this.” Rambo explores the fence line, making himself right at home.
“It’s little compensation for no husband.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes, Taylor-like. “You could have a husband like that.” I snap my fingers. “Just look at you.” I take her in from her blonde bob to her fuchsia-painted toenails. “It’s been what, six, seven years since Steven died?”
“Eight,” Tricia says. “Having all this,” she spreads her hands out to encompass the yard, “is little comfort.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to move on? Surely there must be someone out there who’s husband-worthy material.”
“Yet you have one and don’t seem much interested in keeping him.” Her tone is light, but I don’t miss the admonishment, and it stings.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sips at her iced tea and shrugs. “Aren’t you a little concerned about leaving Paul in the clutches of that Alexis chick?”
“A little.”
“Then why?”
“I didn’t know what else to do. It was an impossible situation. Or at least I thought it was.”
“So, where do you go from here?”
“I don’t know.” Did I make a mistake? I was so sure last night it was God’s voice urging me to do this, but now… “I thought Paul was going to talk me out of it this morning, and I was ready to let him.”
Tricia’s eyes soften. “What happened?”
Shaking my head, I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “He agreed it’s a good idea.”
“Well, maybe he’s right. A little time apart…”
Or maybe “that Alexis chick” has more to do with it than I want to believe.
* * *
Paul
When Corey said she was leaving, the bottom dropped out of my world—for the wrong reasons. Concern over what others will think—Simpson in particular—left a pit in my gut. What kind of a husband am I? Guilt softened my attitude. And it hit me—Corey and Taylor are better off gone, out of the line of fire.
“So, why’d Mom really go?” Michael stares me down from the doorway of my home office, brow furrowed, arms crossed. If he could, he’d blame me for all the ills of the world.
“What’d she tell you?”
He snorts and swipes at the hair hanging in his eyes. Time for another trim. Or, if I had my way, a buzz cut. “Said it was better for Taylor. She can focus.”
Good as any reason. “There you have it.” Conversation over, I shuffle through my sermon notes.
“The other night,” he waits until I’m looking at him again, “you said Taylor won’t be graduating because of Mom. You meant the accident.”
I know better than to throw Corey under the bus a second time. “People say things they don’t mean in the heat of an argument.”
He shakes his head, hair slipping to cover one eye again. “You meant it.”
“No, Michael. I didn’t.” Why is it this kid pushes every limit of my patience? “Things have been a little tense is all. Your mom had no more to do with Taylor’s accident than I did.” Now if only I can believe it.
“It seems like you’re mad at everyone. Except Taylor.”
I can’t argue with that. “There are things you don’t understand, more complicated than you think, Michael.”
“Yeah? Well, explain it to me then.” He crams his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leans on the doorjamb. “You’re always preaching truth and love and forgiveness. But all I get is lies and anything but forgiveness. You know what, Dad? Stuff’s more complicated than you think on this end, too.”
“Yeah?” I flick a hand to the chair across my desk. “Sit and explain it to me, then.”
“Forget it.” He turns to leave.
I push up from the chair. “Michael. Michael.”
“What?” He turns back, a scowl on his face.
“We aren’t going to resolve anything if we can’t talk about it.”
“What’s to talk about? I screwed up. And you’re gonna keep punishing me for it.”
Stepping around my desk, I sit on the edge of it. “I’m not punishing you—”
“Then how come I can’t go to the photography camp? You said it was ʼcause I vandalized the school. That’s punishing me for something I did, like, a year ago.”
Not this again. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Like?”
“Like your attitude for one. You’d think I was the one who messed up. You’re angry, disrespectful, and—”
The phone cuts in. Could be Corey, and without looking at the caller I.D., I snatch up the receiver. “Hello?”
Michael tosses another scowl before walking out.
“Paul?”
“Uh, Marlene?”
“Yes. How are you?”
“Good. I’m afraid Corey’s not here. But you can reach her on her cell.”
She hesitates. Probably because I’m rushing her off the phone. “I’ll do that. How’s Taylor settling in?”
I rub my temples with a thumb and forefinger. Hate to lie, but it’s not my place to explain Corey and Taylor’s absence. “She’s…she’s doing well. Tired, but that’s expected.”
“Well, I’d love to talk to her.”
“Oh, well, she’s with Corey. Like I said, you should try her cell phone.”
“Is something wrong?” Her tone sharpens. Must be mother’s intuition.
“Wrong? No. But Corey took Taylor down to Carmel. We thought it would be easier for her to focus on rehabilitation without all the distractions here.”
“Oh?” She’s not buying it. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll call her cell.”
We finish up with our good-byes and I hang up with a groan. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And speaking of which…my conversation with Michael.
His bedroom door is closed. Two quick raps and I open it. He sits at his desk, textbook open. “Hey, Michael, I want to explain…” He doesn’t acknowledge me. Looking closer, I see ear buds and discern the tinny sound of music. It’d be easier to let it go. Why continue this fight when it gets us nowhere?
What happened to the days he’d follow me around like my constant shadow? Is it teenage rebellion? I’ve been on the counseling end of parents’ complaints about their kids distancing themselves. It’s natural, I’d tell them. And it is. But this…this is something else. If only he’d talk to me.
Stepping up behind him, I tap his shoulder.
He jerks, as if I startled him, and yanks on the wires hanging from his ears as he turns.
“Thought I’d order a pizza for dinner. What d’you want on it?”
“I have to work.” He doesn’t bother looking at me, just turns back to his desk.
I’ve been dismissed. I should know—it’s a tactic I use often myself.
Back in my office, I shuffle through my notes. Where was I before Michael came in? We’ve been working through the book of Acts. It continually amazes me how much the apostle Paul accomplished in his life, given where he started. I struggle to find inspiration for my next message, and he wrote more than half the New Testament.
Glancing at the clock, I do a quick calculation. It’s eight east coast time. Early enough to call Justine. I retrieve my phone from the edge of the desk and punch in her number.
“It’s about time you called, big brother. I’ve left a gazillion messages.”
Smiling at her exaggeration, I sink back in my chair. “Three. You’ve left three.”
“It feels like a gazillion. Is Taylor out of the hospital? How’s she doing? I bet it’s been hard on Corey.”
“Whoa.” I laugh. “One thing at a time.”
Her sigh reaches my ears. “Okay. How’re things going?”
I update her on Tayl
or’s condition.
“Rehab twice a week, huh? Is Corey taking her down to Sacramento for that?”
“Corey’s taken her to Carmel. You know her friend Tricia? They’re staying at her place for a while.”
Nothing. I didn’t think it was possible to stun my sister to silence.
“You there?”
“What’s going on?” Suspicion and a hint of admonishment laces her tone.
“We’ve hit a…rough patch.”
“What’d you do?”
“Me? Why do you assume it’s me?”
“I know you and I know Corey.”
So much for her having my back. “How’s Nathaniel? He must be about done with his first year. Has he declared a major yet?”
“You’re changing the subject? Really?”
“I didn’t call so you could chew me out, Justine. I get enough of that here.”
“You didn’t call to check on Nathaniel. He said you talked to him last week.”
Somewhere along the way, my baby sister grew up. Pride for her softens my tone. “I don’t want to get into the details, but I didn’t do anything.” Not entirely true, but close enough.
“I deal with enough baggage here to know it’s never one-sided. But you gave me some good advice once.”
“Yeah? What was that?”
“Put the past behind you and move forward with a fresh slate. It’s the only thing that keeps things civil between the two of us. So, if you and Corey are having problems—”
“It’s not quite that simple.”
“It never is. There’s something else you once told me. You have to live with the consequences of your actions.”
Somehow, I knew that one would come back to bite me one day.
Chapter 26
Corey
I’m on a deserted island. Not the kind I’d imagine being stranded on after a plane crash or the sinking of a cruise ship. Nothing even remotely romantic. This island looks more like one of those ice floes in the midst of the Alaskan glaciers. And everyone I know is on dry land, watching me float away. I’ve had this dream at least five times since Taylor’s accident. But this time it’s different.
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