A Journey by Chance

by Sally John

  He ran.

  She could not have walked the entire distance yet. Could she have? He had to reach her before she went into the house.

  He flew along the park’s sidewalk, over the curb and across the quiet street, between parked cars and down another sidewalk. End of the block, end of the block, end of the block. His feet pounded out his only thought.

  He swerved at the block’s last front yard, ran through the grass and jumped a hedge, narrowly missing a tricycle. He was on Lottie’s street.

  Where was she? Where was she?!

  There! Just beyond the street light.

  “Gina!” he shouted as he raced toward her. “Gina!” Three more houses.

  She turned and spotted him, but didn’t stop until at last he reached her side, breathless. They were almost to Lottie’s front yard.

  “Gina.” He stared at her face, unreadable in the shadows.

  She gave her head a slight shake.

  What could he say? He gulped a deep breath, then crooked his elbow toward her.

  “I’ve told you,” she clipped her words, “that I don’t need an escort.”

  “But I do,” he whispered the plea. “I do, Angelina.”

  She just stood there.

  He waited, his arm still bent in hope. He had no choice. There was nothing else to say, nothing else to do. Would she let him love her? The moments ticked by. Only his labored breathing broke the silence. His arm tired.

  Slowly she took half a step toward him, then seemed to hesitate, her head bowed.

  Brady closed his eyes, blocking her hair from view, lest he reach out to touch it. At last he felt her hand, strong, soft against his elbow…cool fingers slipping along the inside of his forearm.

  Gratitude flooded through him. He covered her hand with his, bent forward and rested his cheek atop her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her soft hair.

  She gave an imperceptible nod, not enough to break their contact, but enough to say she understood.

  It was a long, perfect moment, eyes closed against the precipice that he knew lay before them. Whatever happened, his life would never be the same again.

  “Your hand in mine, I’ll walk alongside ’til life’s journey is complete…”

  He inhaled deeply the scent of her hair. When he held her in the cornfield, he had fought to ignore it. Now he drank it in, a garden of sweet summer flowers flooding his senses. His throat ached at the nearness of her, and his heart hammered. He swallowed and heard her shallow breaths.

  He let go of her hand and traced his finger along her chin. As he cupped her cheek and tilted her face, his only regret was that he could not clearly see the spring green eyes…nor those exquisite lips. But he knew she was looking at him and that the Miss America smile was hiding, waiting…

  He lowered his mouth to hers and thought for certain he felt the earth move.

  They sat on the old wooden swing that hung on Aunt Lottie’s front porch. The only lights came from the row of citronella candles placed on the railings alongside and behind them, a few stars twinkling between treetops, and the street lamp half a block away. Like most of the other houses, the windows were dark. It was well past midnight.

  Gina sat in one corner with her bare feet curled beneath her, facing Brady, who sat in the other corner. He sprawled with an arm flung across the back of the swing and his long legs stretched to the wooden slats of the floor, gently pushing the swing back and forth.

  Earlier, out on the sidewalk when their kiss ended, she had at last found her voice and wondered aloud if maybe they should talk. Arm in arm, they walked to the porch. She had stuck her head inside to dim the lights and call out to her mother that she was going to sit outside for a while. Her hands trembled when she lit the candles, but that was no surprise. Her entire body still trembled from Brady’s touch.

  They had sat in silence for a while, unsure where to begin. Finally she asked, “Now what?”

  Brady’s low voice was huskier than usual. “I don’t have a clue.”

  Gina didn’t have a clue as to how they had come to this, let alone what it meant. She had just reached the point of admitting to herself that her feelings for this man were developing beyond the point of reasonableness. He was unlike any she had ever met. Physically, of course, he was the type that attracted her: tall and slim. Beyond that, though, he was so totally different in his demeanor with his goofy jokes and his kindness. And then there was his log cabin of a house and his woods and his writing profession and his spiritual depth.

  She never gave it a thought that he felt anything toward her. His odd behavior at the band concert indicated he did, after all, consider her immaterial to his life and she better just nip in the bud any sort of trust or warm feelings she felt.

  And then out of the blue he chased after her, said he needed her, and then kissed her. Her response almost scared her to death, but there was no getting around it. No one had ever kissed her like that before.

  “You don’t have a clue?” she had repeated his words.

  He shook his head.

  It was all so illogical. She had no response except a tickle in her throat that soon turned into uncontrollable giggles. Brady’s deep laughter joined in. Soon the swing was wobbling as their bodies shook with laughter. The matter was settled. They had nothing to talk about along those lines, but spent the next few hours learning a myriad of details about each other.

  At the moment they were discussing favorite childhood books. Brady wasn’t hungry, but Gina was just finishing off a can of honey-roasted peanuts, a follow-up to a bag of popcorn.

  “You certainly eat a lot, Dr. Philips.”

  “Only at certain seasons.”

  “Like fall or winter?”

  “Um, not exactly.” She grinned, unable to contain how delicious it felt to be so comfortable with someone. “More like, um, when someone has captured my attention in,” she shrugged, “a special way.”

  “Oh, Gina.” He ran a hand across his somber face and took a deep breath. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “California.”

  “No. Now that I think about it, you’ve been here all the time. Since I was 19, anyway.”

  “Nineteen? What are you talking about?”

  “I remember you visiting the summer I was 19. You must have been almost 15.”

  “Did we meet?”

  “Not exactly, but I knew who you were.”

  “That Lindstrom girl.”

  “Mm-hmm. I watched you hanging out with Lauren and Liz. You looked like such a snob.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “Nothing in particular. You were just too cute to be for real. Between that and your heritage, I concluded you were a snob.”

  “You thought I was cute?”

  He chuckled. “Cute as a bug’s ear with a Miss America smile.”

  Her skin tingled. “Hmm, I see. And being cute made me a snob?”

  “Well, all three of you were snobs. After all, you were Lindstroms.”

  “I never stood a chance.”

  “Not really. Anyway, that was probably the beginning of this love-hate feeling for you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyelids were half closed. “I heard your real name was Angelina. It didn’t fit the family reputation. How could a Lindstrom be an angel? But…you looked like an angel. Bright and flawless. Thus, the love-hate feeling.” He paused. “And now since the hate is gone—” He stopped.

  Only love remains, she silently completed the thought and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Those are strong terms, love and hate.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “We hardly know each other.”

  “Mmm. How about intense dislike and intense infatuation?”

  “I don’t know if I can put it into words.”

  “We don’t have to.”

  “It’s been a rough year. My life is a tangle of loose ends.”

  “I know.�
��

  “Good grief,” her voice rose, “I’m leaving in two and a half weeks!”

  He took her hand and squeezed gently. “Shh. I know.”

  “Oh,” she groaned, “this was definitely not in my Day-Timer.”

  “I find life is much more interesting without those things. God fills in more of the blanks that way.”

  “Brady, that is such a foreign thought to me, it’s incomprehensible.”

  “You’ll learn.” He stroked her hand with his thumb.

  She rested her head against the back of the swing, watching his face in the flickering candlelight. They sat that way for a long while, holding hands, at times conversing quietly, at times dozing. Reluctant to let the moment of this awakening end.

  Twenty-Four

  It had been such an ugly time. There was no reason on earth to ponder it 35 years later, but Maggie couldn’t shake the memories. They had slithered in before dawn and now clung to her, as thick and heavy as the muggy air that filled the upstairs bedroom. Weighted down by them, she lay in bed long past her usual rising time, literally unable to begin a new day.

  The face and voice of Neil’s mother remained startlingly clear after the dream. Maggie recalled her uncharitable, teenage comparison. Dottie Olafsson always reminded her of a bulldog with her square face, jutting jaw, forehead etched into a permanent frown. The harsh, unyielding personality didn’t stray far from the image.

  Maggie flushed now as she replayed sniggering conversations with the other cheerleaders as they spied her boyfriend’s mother sitting primly in the bleachers. They had been shameless. On the other hand, the woman seldom smiled and never cheered for her son. To Maggie’s motherly heart that seemed the greater sin.

  Neil, the youngest child and only son, obviously took after his father in every way. Their life was farming and basketball, their needs few, their personalities undemanding, their faith practical. When Maggie met Neil Sr., he welcomed her as easily as turning a page in a book, as if she were quite simply what came next in his son’s life.

  Dottie felt threatened, forcing Neil to choose. His fierce, adolescent loyalty to Maggie pitted him at odds against his mother, even more so than did his sports, which she viewed as straight from the devil. Years later Maggie realized that it was another hint suggesting she and Neil would never make it. Were his actions more in defiance of his mother than those of true love?

  The two of them had been too young to know true love. They had tried, at least, to take responsibility for their actions and married, determined to make a go of it. Maggie had attempted building a relationship with her mother-in-law. She called her, kept her updated on the doctor’s reports. When Neil came home for Christmas break early in December, she joined the Olafsson household until Rosie was born on the twenty-seventh.

  Her own parents had been greatly disappointed in her foolish choices. They didn’t hide that, but neither did they hide their love and support. Aunt Lottie had been a tremendous comfort in those days as well. Still, it was Dottie’s negativism that coated the memory. Every chance she had, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, she condemned Maggie. During the short while they lived under the same roof, the tension became unbearable. Maggie was not faultless in the situation. At 18, she didn’t possess an ounce of graciousness, nor did she know the power of holding her tongue. Sometimes Neil sided with his mother. In the end, the woman wore her down.

  An ache now clutched in her midsection, twisting quickly upward, squeezing her chest, clamoring into her throat. Maggie buried her face in a pillow, catching the sob just as it burst forth.

  Rosie was born too soon.

  Grief pummeled Maggie like ocean waves. It felt as raw as if it had all happened last week. Tears soaked her pillow. The grief only intensified.

  “It’s your fault! She died because you’re guilty. It’s all your fault…” Dottie’s accusations filled her head.

  “Dear God.”

  Slowly the prayer formed. Little by little it absorbed the other voice.

  “Dear God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. If Dottie—”

  Don’t blame her.

  The tears stopped.

  I don’t blame you. Don’t blame her.

  It wasn’t an audible voice, just new thoughts. Incredibly new. “What can I do to make up for it all? So that You’ll forgive me?”

  Jesus already did it. All you have to do is ask.

  Yes, it was what Marsha kept telling her. So simple… “Please forgive me.”

  You’re forgiven. Now forgive her.

  Maggie wiped tears from her face. “What?”

  Forgive her.

  She froze. The impression of those two words gripped her. Her sister’s gentle voice came to mind. What had she said? Forgiving simply meant letting it go. Don’t demand payment from the one who wronged you.

  “I can’t.”

  I’ll help.

  It will free you.

  Dottie was wrong, but then so were you.

  Maggie sat up and shook her head. This was too, too extreme.

  Too extreme.

  But…this was, after all, a season of extremes. And I am so very, very tired of clinging to this. It’s so foolish. She’s dead.

  “I forgive her. Oh, Lord, help me.”

  She took a deep breath. Then another. The morning air promised rain. Good. It would wash away the heat, clean the dry, dusty landscape, add a fresh sparkle to the air.

  Maggie smiled to herself. That was kind of the way she felt.

  “Gina, what’s with you?” Lauren eyed her cousin over a forkful of garlic chicken and rice.

  “What?” Gina raised her brows and bit into a steaming slice of garden pizza.

  They sat in the food court at the mall, taking a lunch break from shopping. Their mothers stood in line at one of the other restaurant counters, waiting for their orders.

  “What do you mean, what? You haven’t stopped grinning all morning, and your eyes look like a raccoon’s, like you didn’t sleep last night. Something’s up.”

  What could she say? That she and Brady were now on kissing terms? They hadn’t seemed to define any terms other than that. “Well, Brady and I talked a long time last night after the concert, on the front porch.” She grinned. She couldn’t help it.

  “How long?”

  She shrugged. “Two.”

  “Two hours?”

  “Uh, 2:00 A.M. Actually, 2:45 A.M.”

  Lauren’s eyebrows shot up. “A quarter to three?”

  She nodded.

  “And?”

  She tilted her head. “And…and we’re having dinner tonight.”

  “Okay. That’s nice.”

  “Mm-hmm. Dinner.” In an effort to contain another grin, she shoved more pizza into her mouth.

  Lauren’s brown eyes narrowed as she studied her. “Did you sit together on the swing or did one of you sit in the chair?”

  “Swing. Together.” She took another bite.

  “Ha! You are avoiding this subject. Obvious giveaway, cousin.” She leaned across the table and enunciated each word. “Do you like him?”

  “Sure. He’s a nice guy.”

  Lauren burst out laughing. “It’s written all over your face!”

  The other women set their trays on the table and slid onto the two empty chairs. Maggie asked, “What’s written all over her face?”

  “She has a crush on Brady.”

  Crush? Gina took another bite of pizza and thought about it. That was probably an appropriate enough description.

  “Brady Olafsson?” Maggie’s face looked stricken.

  Aunt Marsha laughed. “Yes, ma’am. There is no other Brady in Valley Oaks. Gina, all I can say is, welcome to the club.”

  “Olafsson?” her mother repeated. She still hadn’t picked up her fork.

  “What do you mean, Aunt Marsha? What club?” Gina asked.

  “The Brady crush club. One out of every two females in Jacob County feels that way. He is the best-looking, friendliest, most eligibl
e bachelor around.”

  “Does he know this?”

  Aunt Marsha laughed again. “He always has some female hanging on his arm. I would suspect he is aware of it.”

  This was a new twist. An unreasonable stab of jealousy poked her. “Does he date any of them?”

  Lauren giggled. “Not the married ones, but he often has a companion with him at different functions. I thought he was with somebody last night, but evidently not, since he spent half the night with you.”

  Maggie’s styrofoam cup slipped from her hand and coffee sloshed over its sides. “Half the night?”

  Gina sopped the liquid with her napkin. “We talked on the porch, Mother. So,” she turned back to Lauren, “he’s not serious about anyone?”

  She shook her head. “Not since Nicole left him. That woman really did a number on him. She had a gorgeous diamond, and they looked so happy together. Then she started traveling with her job, and one day she called him from California and said she wasn’t coming back. Aaron said he was pretty shook up over the whole thing. He swore off serious relationships with women. That was four years ago.”

  “Gina.”

  She looked at her mother.

  “How serious are you?”

  “Mom, I just met the guy two weeks ago, and I didn’t like the first thing about him then. And now…” She raised a shoulder. “He’s just a friend.”

  “And you’re eating like a horse.” Maggie raised an eyebrow. “I think I’d better meet him.”

  Twenty-Five

  Gina felt like a teenager. Evening plans, which included Brady picking her up and meeting her mother, reeked of official first date material. She rolled her head, relaxed her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

  She had spent a long time at the mirror and in the closet. She wasn’t ready when she heard his knock downstairs. Maybe she was avoiding her initial reaction to him? Evidently from Lauren and Aunt Marsha’s discussion, she was the latest in a long line of females who eagerly held his proffered arm. Of course he would attract many. No reason for her to get too starry-eyed. And besides, she was leaving in two weeks.

  Careful not to muss her French twist, she slipped on a short-sleeved black knit dress. It was midcalf length and dressy without being too fancy. She added pearls and heels and took a deep breath, fighting down the anticipation.