Accepting Elijah's Heart

by M. Michelle Derosier

  “Subtle.” Reina laughed. “I hit the jackpot in the best friend department.” Walking back arm in arm, she finished, “Make sure you save me some cookies.”

  Eli popped his head into his father’s office. “Dad, you have a minute?”

  His father, seated in a cognac-colored chair, looked up from his paperwork. “I have nothing but time for my son.”

  Eli dropped into the matching leather chair kiddy corner to the desk. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait. Your sister wanted me to review her newest book contract but that’s not needed for another couple of weeks.”

  “Little Lizzie, the successful author.”

  “Thank God I didn’t get my way.”

  “Liz is so smart. She would have made a top-notch lawyer.”

  “Without a doubt. And she would have been miserable. The same is true for all of you.”

  “We each managed to carve our paths.”

  “You’re much better for it.”

  Charles regarded Eli, who was fiddling with the gavel paperweight on his desk.

  “What’s on your mind, son?”

  Eli returned the gavel to its place.

  “Reina wants to talk.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Somewhat?”

  “Things are good.”

  “Are they?”

  “They could be better if I asked her to marry me again.”

  “Ah.”

  Eli raised a brow in suspicion. “That sounded more like mom’s ‘ah’ than yours.”

  His father guffawed. “Maybe she’s wondering.”

  “She’s not the only one.”

  “Reina?”

  Eli nodded. “We’ve been tiptoeing around the topic, but I can tell she wants to know if it will happen again.”

  “Will it?”

  When Eli took too long to respond, his father furrowed his brows and posed a different question. “Do you want it to?” He forced Eli to hold eye contact. “Do you still want to marry Reina?”

  “More than anything.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Dad, I put myself out there for a year and when I asked her to marry me—well, let’s just say the conversation damaged what little was left of my ego.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  Eli looked surprised. “Dad, what do you know about rejection?”

  “Son, your mother was as hard-headed as they come.”

  Eli responded with a deep laugh.

  “Last count, she turned me down four times before accepting my proposal.”

  His disbelieving look freed a chuckle from his father.

  “Dad, I mean this with all the respect and love in the world. You were pitiful.”

  His father smiled at him as if he were the one to be pitied.

  “Pitiful, maybe. But pride makes for a very lonely and sad companion.”

  Eli bristled. “It's not about pride.”

  He watched his father school his face to hide his response.

  “It's not.” Eli passed his hand roughly through his hair, disappointed to be met with the very short strands from this morning's haircut.

  “Well, it was about pride for me.” His father shared honestly. “It took the Lord's bending for me to propose again that final time.”

  Eli stood abruptly, marched around his father's study as if caged and searching for an escape, gave up when none was found, and sat back in the chair, defeated.

  His father relaxed in his seat and allowed him the time to struggle with his thoughts.

  “She responded to my proposal by throwing her love for another man in my face.” He admitted with shame. “How do I get over that?” Eli asked.

  When Eli seemed unable to choose between holding on to his stinging pride and letting go and moving on with a real future with Reina and Nate, his father jumped back in to finish his advice.

  “After that fourth no, I told your mother I wouldn’t be back. I stormed out of there fully intent on burying that ring, packing my bags and driving as far out of Boston as my disappointment would take me.” He grinned. “If my grandfather hadn't caught wind of my plans, I would probably still be driving.”

  Eli cracked a brief smile. “From what I've heard, great-grandfather wasn't known for his empathy. I'm afraid to ask what he said.”

  “In his usual gruff manner, he reminded me that I ‘loved the girl’.” Charles laughed. “Your mother always hated the way he called her girl but gave him a pass when I told her he was the one who urged me to try again. I went back and listened to your mother and finally understood her hesitation about marriage. We worked through it together. I traded my stinging pride for years of love and care with your mom and you children.”

  Charles stood up, walked to his son, and patted him on the shoulder. At five, his father would wrap him in his arms and let him cry out his pain. Eli could feel a different approach coming this time. Something told him that he was going to get a dose of great-grandad’s medicine.

  “I don’t know if I can do the same. I’ve put myself out there already.”

  “You don't think God knew man's heart when He said pride goes before destruction?”

  Eli worked through his muddled brain to remember that reference came from Proverbs.

  His father walked to his desk and pulled out a tattered Bible and handed it to Eli. Eli thumbed quickly through the pages and saw several highlighted verses.

  “This was my grandfather's gift to me on that day he stopped me from making a lasting mistake. Look at the inscription on the front.”

  Eli flipped to the page.

  You're not the first Cooper who's ever dealt with this specific sin and you probably won't be the last. Get over yourself. Ask your Father in heaven what to do next.

  Eli more carefully scanned the pages and chuckled when he realized the common denominator of all the highlighted verses: pride. “No new inscription needed, Dad. I get it.”

  His father grinned broadly. “Happy the Lord blessed you with so much sense.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll go see what my wife and future grandson are up to.”

  Eli motioned to get up, but his father directed him to stay. “I’ll let Reina know you need some time.” He turned the knob. “Stay. Talk to the Lord.”

  Eli heard the door close and lock behind his father.

  That evening, Reina and Eli strolled the garden, hands intertwined.

  They stopped and sat on his mother’s favorite bench.

  “If I were Lauren I’d come right out and ask why you haven’t proposed again.”

  “If you were Lauren, you’d have me in a headlock while asking it.”

  “I can if that’ll help you answer.”

  “I’ll speak. No need for violence.” He grinned but remained silent. When he was silent for too long, she gave serious thought to the headlock. Dismissing that idea as silly, she shifted uncomfortably hoping he’d take the hint and get on with it.

  Eli stood up and pulled something out of his pocket. He spoke as he sat down. “I thought I had let everything go on New Year’s.”

  “You didn’t?” Her voice cracked with concern.

  “I didn’t.” He sounded apologetic. “Not all of it.”

  “What are you still holding on to?”

  “Have you ever been bitten by a dog?”

  A moment went by before her brain processed the question, trying to make sense of it.

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “I have. In the third grade. Jessie Plummer, Mike Plummer’s older sister, had the most gorgeous Siberian Husky. One with ice blue eyes and snow-white fur. The thing strutted around like royalty.” She said nothing. He continued. “Anyway, I was walking into the house for a sleepover when it attacked me out of nowhere.”

  “Vicious.”

  “Turns out something had frightened it right before I came into its
sight.” He showed her a faint scar on his left bicep. “The dog thought it was protecting itself. I didn’t understand back then that a wounded animal’s first instinct is to strike—even if it’s not aimed at its attacker.”

  “Are you comparing me to a wounded dog?” she asked incredulously.

  He smiled. Before she could scold him, he finished his point. “All these years later, I’m still wary of dogs.”

  “I think I see where this is going.”

  “You bit me when you threw my proposal back in my face.”

  “And now you don’t trust me.”

  “I trust you. I had a hard time trusting my heart to you in marriage.”

  She didn’t want to hear those words but needed to.

  “I’ve carried this ring around with me for the last three months working to push past the memory of the first proposal.” He opened the box and set it down between them. Despite the stunningly brilliant shine, all she could focus on was his three-month hesitation to propose.

  “I bit harder than I realized.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have spent all these months wondering if you could trust me not to do it again.”

  He nodded. “It’s not all about what you did.”

  “What else is it about?”

  “What you did didn’t help. But my pride was alive and well before you turned me down.”

  “And I trampled on it with my continued rejection.” She glanced at the ring and then back up to face him. “Are you punishing me for it?” He was quick to answer, so she stopped him with a hand resting on his forearm. “Be honest.” She stroked his arm lightly. “Please.”

  He looked like he wanted to put an end to the conversation but continued. “Truthfully?” He smiled sadly. “A small part of me was. I had to confess that as I spent time in prayer today.”

  “Thank you for being honest.”

  “Honesty is not the challenge we Coopers struggle with. Pride is the sin that chokes us.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Turns out I come from a long line of men who have almost allowed pride to cost them the love of their lives.”

  “I’m the love of your life?” She couldn’t help the amazed, hopeful tilt in her voice.

  “Now and forever. If you’ll have me as your husband.”

  His earnestness blanketed her heart. She felt warmth creeping from the very strand of her hair down to her toes. “I want so badly to say yes…but…”

  “But?”

  “Have you truly forgiven me for everything?” she asked. “I need to know that your heart is free to commit to me without the past.”

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you if you’ve let go of the past?” Reina could see his regret as soon as he spoke the words.

  “If you still need to after what we shared months ago, we don’t have a future.”

  He responded without hesitation. “I don’t.” He rubbed an invisible knot in his neck. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “I’m sure that you love me.” His voice sounded sincere. “It’s my hurt pride that tried to fill my head with doubt.”

  “Did it succeed?”

  He looked ashamed. “For a bit, yes. I was holding back afraid you might change your mind.” He gently tugged her hand to join his. “I’m not now.”

  She sniffed back tears.

  “Everything in me now knows I can trust you. That you won’t hurt me again.”

  “I can’t promise I won’t ever hurt you.”

  “No. You can’t. Just like I can’t promise the same.” He agreed. “But we both can promise to pray to always consider each other’s feelings and never hurt one another if it can be avoided.” He responded to her smile with one of his own. “And if it can’t, we’ll ask God to comfort the other through it.”

  The tears made up their mind to flow. “I can promise the same.”

  “Can you also promise to love me, support me, make me laugh, tell me the truth even when I don’t want to hear it?” He stopped to search for a tissue. Finding none in his pockets, he wiped as much of her tears as he could with his hand. “Can you promise to keep being the best friend I never knew I needed, to continue being the amazing mother to our rambunctious son and any brother or sister that could join him?” He moved off the bench to face her on one knee. Grabbing the box from the seat, he officially presented it to her. “Can you promise to accept my heart and be my wife?”

  Reina leaped off the bench into his arms knocking them both to the ground. Hiccuping, laughing, and soaking his shirt, she cried a happy “yes” in response.

  They kissed a long while. When he looked up, he laughed and said, “Glad we avoided that headlock.” He helped her up from the ground while they continued to laugh together. “Let’s go share the great news.”

  Smiling at him, she took the hand he offered. “Let’s.”

  * * *

  *****

  Also by M. Michelle Derosier

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  Thank you for making the time to connect with Reina and Eli.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, join the mailing list at writererosier.com. Be the first to receive updates about the coming books in The Grande Pearl series, exclusive content, and promotions!

  * * *

  In the meantime, check out Joe and Josie’s story in Book 0.5: Christmas at The Grande Pearl. Keep reading for an excerpt.

  * * *

  Thanks,

  * * *

  Michelle

  Excerpt: Christmas at The Grande Pearl

  Joe Cantonelli inched away from the reception desk holding his breath. He balanced the set of crystal table-top fir trees in his hands, praying against the misstep that would shatter each intricately designed figurine.

  “Phew,” he said and placed them on the equally delicate table. “It would take a year’s salary to replace the decorations just in this corner.”

  Now that this tiny section was done, it was time to tackle the real beast.

  He moved boxes around, careful not to block the entryway as residents filed in and out of the building.

  “Please add more lights, Mr. Joe,” said seven-year-old Emma snuggling a doll with her matching outfit.

  “We can’t thank you enough. You’ve made Emma’s year,” her mother added and waved goodbye.

  Joe’s spirit brightened considerably.

  “Christmas has come early to The Grande Pearl,” he declared.

  “Don’t let Bitter Beatrice hear you say that.”

  Joe turned to find Mr. Arthur marching toward him, much too sprite for a man knocking ninety.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Joe remarked. “I trust you enjoyed your walk, despite trudging through the mound of snow.”

  “Joe, you should know better. No self-respecting New Yorker hides from a blizzard.”

  Mr. Arthur adjusted his cashmere scarf and wrapped it a little tighter around his neck.

  Joe chuckled quietly. The weather doesn’t care how thick Mr. Arthur’s accent is.

  “So they finally did it, huh?” Mr. Arthur continued.

  “Did what, sir?”

  “Got that old biddy to agree to move up the date for decorating.”

  Joe hid his laugh. “Everyone compromised for the kids.”

  “Diplomatic, just like Joe Sr.” Mr. Arthur laughed at his own joke. “Never a bad word about any of the residents. You know she’s difficult.”

  “He knows no such thing, you cockalorum,” said the approaching voice of Mrs. McFarland.

  “Woman, don’t you know any one-syllable insults?” Mr. Arthur responded to her.

  “I should get back to work,” Joe said and rushed to the other side of the foyer. Those two can’t be in the same space together without threatening to set the other on fire.

  When they finally realized he was gone, they followed him, bickering with every step.

 
“Well, honestly, Joseph, what are you doing?” Mrs. McFarland demanded. The octogenarian lifted a bony finger encased in an off-white lace glove.

  Joe swallowed his smile, lest she should believe he was enjoying his work. “Decorating the lobby, ma’am.”

  “It’s much too early. Why, it’s not even the first of December.” She raised her tone slightly, yet so soft spoken, it barely registered. “If I must endure these tinsels and garlands strewn about this lobby, I insist it does not happen until the agreed upon time.”

  “Leave the man alone, Beatrice.” Mr. Arthur defended him. “It’s not his fault the co-op board has finally put an end to your tyranny.”

  “Ma’am, they voted to change from December to right after Thanksgiving,” said Joe.

  “I am aware of that wretched vote.” She bristled. “After all, I am the board president. It’s shameful how all these young people cannot abide by tradition.”

  “I know, Mrs. McFarland, but the rest of the board meant well. The young families have been requesting the change for a while. The children were jumping for joy when we made the announcement.” Joe repeated the same thing he’d told her days ago.

  “The parents need to teach their children everything in its proper place and its proper time.” She harrumphed. “Now I must go. My grandniece Josephine is due any minute from Boston. I cannot possibly receive her in such a disheveled state.”

  “Beatrice, there hasn’t been a hair out of place on your head since the War of 1812,” said Mr. Arthur, his hoarse laugh catching in his throat causing a momentary coughing spell.

  “Must you behave so ungentlemanly?” She scolded.

  Joe agreed with Mr. Arthur. Mrs. McFarland could never look anything but put together. He remembered her the same way from his childhood, when he would come into work with his father, Joe Sr.

  Today, her gray hair fell in soft curls that fanned the collar of a creamy lace blouse tucked neatly into a tea length pleated skirt.

  “Come off it, Beatrice. You’ve dressed in your Sunday best since the day you stepped foot in this building seventy years ago—on a Tuesday.” Mr. Arthur continued to aggravate her.