Destiny by Chance
A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel
By
Margaret Ferguson
Cover Design and Layout
Alex Tsatsos
Editing & Proofreading
Cathy Moeschet
Marcia Rebrovich
eBook and Print Formatting
Kat Kramer
Technical Consultants
Bobby Adair
Kat Kramer
For my mother
So very, very different; yet, so very much the same…
Thank you for all the gifts you’ve given me, tangible and intangible.
They mean so much… yet never as much as you do.
I love you, Mom.
Preface
I’ve dreamed of being a published author since I was eighteen years old. Unlike my first two published novels, Meeting Melissa and Letters from Becca, this story was originally written in the early 1980s. It was the first story that I wrote entirely by hand. It has been thirty years since I’ve even looked at it. When I turned the first page, it brought back a flood of memories, and before I started rereading and editing, the story unfolded again in my mind. It’s a story of loss and love, destruction, deception and passion, faith lost and faith renewed.
Destiny is a combination of several women I know, women who are strong, both in their faith and in their character. Through her, you experience overwhelming pain and loss, anger and hurt. She draws you into her struggles on many levels. You’ll champion her as she strives to find her way through.
Bill was born from my perception of the character traits of a particular performer whose career I’ve followed through the years: personable, approachable, down-to-earth, incredibly charming, and of course, extremely attractive.
In every book, one character stands out and takes over the pen, and once again, it’s a supporting character. Justine, who started as a minor, annoying character, was initially created to bring a little tension and stir the pot. However, once she took over her part, she became, well, I’ll just say, more than I originally intended. I think I had the most fun writing her part because, once again, she became key to the plot and even took the novel in a new direction. And wow! Watch out when you meet her because you never know what she’s going to do next!
The places I’ll take you in the book are imaginary, but they are real in my mind. I have created the ultimate Bed and Breakfast inn called the Kemper House, in honor of one of the most influential people in my life—a mentor, mother, and one of my dearest friends, Charlotte Kemper Nations. Oh, how I wish I could have shared my stories with you!
Writing is my passion, right behind serving God and playing with my grandkids, and I am so excited to be able to share this part of my life with you. I hope you laugh, and I hope you cry. I hope you love the characters in this book as much as I do. I hope you will read to the end because not all of their stories end there.
—Margaret Ferguson, March, 2016
Crystal rain fell bright and sharp
Leaving scars upon my heart.
These were the tears I shed
To mourn my first love’s loss
Futility (Dust in the Wind, 1952 by Marie Sien Halpenny)
Loss
Prologue
It was a beautiful day. A perfect day by all rights. However, the beauty of the day was overshadowed by the ashen mood of those standing before the dark holes dug into the cold, hard ground. Though surrounded by dozens of family and friends, the green carpet of fake grass and the green manufactured canopy that sheltered them from the sun were a bitter reminder of why they were there—what had to be done.
Brother Bob refused to look down at her as he spoke. It’s God’s will, he repeated over and over in his head. How could he even entertain, much less utter those words ever again? Words that he, as a pastor, now questioned. He stood over them, speaking words of amenity to the mourning crowd. He prayed for strength. For her, for their family. He prayed silently for strength for himself. There were those who heard his words as babbling and would find no value in them. And then there were those that would take comfort in them, finding strength and encouragement in their meaning. His eyes finally looked down at the young widow. What could he possibly say to diminish her grief?
She sat perfectly still, numb from the events of the day. She didn’t want to be there. She couldn’t believe. It was too much. The words the preacher spoke were jumbled mutterings, falling silent around her. Her eyes rested on the thin embroidered, cotton handkerchief clutched between her fingers, moist with her tears. A hand touched hers, and she looked up, if only for a fraction of a moment. The face seemed oddly familiar, sweat delicately dampening his furrowed brow. His hand squeezed hers gently as he smiled just slightly though it seemed a forced, sad smile. How could he smile? How could anyone?
Faces knelt before her, and talked above her, around her. More words; scripted, contrived, formulated, all saying the same thing. Prepared speeches and condolences, spit out over and over, pathetic attempts meant to comfort were simply verbal vomit that made her want to scream. Hands touched her and patted hers, making her feel uncomfortable. She shuddered and wrapped her hands around her arms, hugging herself tightly as she rocked forward.
“Destiny?”
Slowly she raised her head and looked into the eyes of her best friend, one of two people other than her husband she ever truly trusted; now one of the few people she had left in the world.
“Destiny?”
She tilted her head as if trying to understand what was said, as though it would make clearer what she was doing there.
“It’s time.” Lisa held her friend’s face between her hands, nodding slowly. “It’s time,” she repeated, moving her hands to her friend’s, feeling them tremble in her grasp.
Somehow, Destiny couldn’t stand. Not because of the air boot that she wore from her broken ankle, suddenly, she just didn’t have the strength. Or the will. As if Lisa knew, she stepped back and took one arm as someone else took the other, and they helped Destiny to stand. The sea of strangers and familiar faces before them parted. Destiny looked ahead and gasped. Her knees suddenly buckled but the arms around her caught her, holding her up.
They helped her hobble forward, inch by inch. There was no more talking, no more sounds, except occasional sniffs and soft sobs behind them.
“It’s okay,” Lisa whispered.
It will never be okay; Destiny screamed in her mind. It will never be okay again! She didn’t know how she was standing; how she was moving. Tears rolled down her cheeks onto her black polka-dotted widow’s dress. They walked, pressed to her side so that she would not falter, holding onto her arms as she arrived at the coffin. Tentatively Destiny reached out and touched the hard surface. Dark cherry wood. Phillip had picked it out himself when they had purchased their plots five years before. Phillip was a planner, always had been. And more than that, he loved a bargain. So when the lady called and told them that they could get their plots for just $150 apiece as long as they paid the small perpetual care fees, he was hooked.
Destiny’s hand caressed it, brushing over its detail, carefully touching the etched engraving. As she turned to her brother Andy, who held her other arm, his forehead fell against hers, and he closed his eyes. Destiny thought he looked tired. When he opened his eyes again, they were moist, filled with sadness. Slowly they moved her to the side, away from Phillip’s casket, and she suddenly stopped. They urged her forward, but her body refused to move. Gently they pulled her and she shook her head.
“I can’t,” she muttered, shaking her head more fervently.<
br />
“It’s okay, Honey,” Lisa prodded. “Whenever you’re ready.” They stopped beside her, patiently waiting. As one they began moving slowly again; stepping purposefully to the right and then stopping. She looked down, the tears momentarily blinding her. Destiny’s hand trembled as it reached for the smaller casket that matched Phillip’s. All of a sudden she was able to hold it in no more. The sobs came in short gasps, then deeper and louder. Emotions of the past two weeks that she had buried so deeply somehow burst from her throat, and she fell against the small casket, heaving sobs that convulsed her body. A moment later, Andy wrapped himself around his sister, turning her in his arms.
Destiny collapsed against him, crying repeatedly. “Oh, my God!” She held onto him tightly. “This isn’t happening,” she bawled.
Tears poured down Lisa’s face as she rubbed her friend’s back. She looked into Andy’s eyes, which were brimming with tears as well. Lisa turned to the other friends and family. They averted their eyes, looking down or away. One by one they turned and walked from the graves until only the three of them and Brother Bob were left. When Lisa looked at Andy again, she began to sob, too. But, ever the stoic one, she suddenly drew in several deep calming breaths, then blew them out before facing Destiny. Lisa grasped her hand tighter, looking deeply into her eyes. Destiny stopped just as abruptly as she started, drawing strength from the simple gesture. Drawing courage. Lisa’s hands moved to her friend’s face, pulling her nearer until they were inches from one another; their gazes locked on one another’s. There were no words. None were needed. Lisa nodded.
Destiny drew in a deep breath and began nodding as well. “Okay,” she said under her breath, wiping her nose with the handkerchief. “I can do this.”
Lisa kept nodding. “Yes, you can, Honey. We’re right here with you.”
Andy huddled closer to the two women. Destiny turned to her brother once more. Gently he took his sister’s face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Destiny shook her head and sniffed, then nodded and used her handkerchief to wipe her nose again. Stepping toward the coffin again, she slowly released Lisa’s and Andy’s hands. Destiny stood before her son’s coffin and smiled a sad smile, her chin trembling. She unclasped her hand, took his favorite blue Matchbox car from it and set it on the spray of blue flowers. Her fingers delicately traced the copper handle; then she slowly and carefully leaned over and kissed the wood.
“Goodbye, my loves.” Destiny stepped to Phillip’s coffin and kissed it as well. Then she turned and smiled sadly at her brother, before collapsing into his arms.
Grief
Chapter 1
Andy loved Phillip like a brother. This loss had been devastating on so many levels. He looked down at his big sister as she slept. Only two years older than him, she had been his best friend all his life. She had watched over him, been his confidant and his sounding board. When their parents both died within a year of each other from separate illnesses, they were suddenly each other’s only living relative. Andy was just fifteen. When Destiny married Phillip two years later, it was Andy who walked her down the aisle and gave her away.
Andy brushed back Destiny’s dark auburn hair. How could he even begin to comprehend how she was feeling? When he took the call from the Orange County Sherriff’s Department that they had been in an accident, he was told they were all still alive. In fact, they were. Phillip, more seriously injured, died just after arriving at the hospital. Rhett, his nephew, alive, but unresponsive, remained on a respirator until Destiny was coherent enough to make the decision to let him go. It had been Andy, when he arrived hours later, who bore the unfathomable burden of telling her, when she awoke, that her husband and only son were both clinically dead.
Andy dropped his head to his hands and wiped his face. Slowly he looked up at the family photo on her bedside table. As he picked it up, he sighed. Andy had been at the hospital when Rhett was born. He could remember when Destiny first set the tiny, swaddled infant into his hands. He had been so nervous, holding a new baby for the first time. Andy remembered how Rhett had felt in his arms, how small and fragile he was. Andy smiled. He remembered cradling him and bouncing him like an old pro. That was eight years, one month and eight days ago.
Phillip, being the ever practical planner, had specified that they harvest his organs. Anything they could use, they took. When Andy asked his sister about harvesting Rhett’s organs, she initially told them no. However, just before they disconnected life support, when she looked at his perfect, flawless body, Destiny knew her son would have wanted what his father had wanted: for him to live on in others. Andy was with her when she said goodbye to them both, separately; holding his sister’s hand as she let her family go. He returned the picture to the bedside table.
When he stood and turned, Lisa was leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching him. With a nod of her head and shoulder, she motioned, and he followed her down the long hallway from the master bedroom into the open living and dining area. The house was silent. The guests had long left from sharing a meal after the service. Destiny hadn’t made an appearance. Lisa and Andy had brought her in through the back garden, where there was a porch deck entry to the bedroom. They told those who asked about her that she was resting. In fact, the moment they arrived Andy had given her the last of the sedatives her doctor had prescribed two weeks before, the day after the accident. She’d be out for hours.
God, he couldn’t believe it had been two weeks. The accident had occurred while Destiny’s family was on their annual spring break vacation. This year Rhett had wanted to go to Disneyland in California. Only they never made it. Because the accident was out of state, it took all the different entities involved over a week to release and ship their bodies back to Texas.
When Andy flew out there, he hadn’t known what to expect when he arrived. They had told him the extent of her injuries when they called him at work, but he was in such shock, he couldn’t remember what they said other than his sister was unconscious, but alive and in stable condition. Her injuries were less severe—thanks to her airbags, than her husband and son’s, though she was very bruised and would be sore for weeks. After setting her ankle and running extensive CT scans and other tests to assure there were no internal injuries, she was finally released within three days of the accident. Then Destiny and Andy flew home to make arrangements to receive her family’s remains.
Lisa tossed him a towel as he walked into the kitchen. He smiled weakly and set to work drying the dishes she had already washed. Andy leaned on the counter beside her. “You okay?” she asked, looking over at him.
Andy shook his head. “It’ll be a while.” Then he sluggishly dried the glass in his hands.
“She told me she wants to sell the house,” Lisa sighed.
“Yeah, she doesn’t think she can stay here.”
“I couldn’t if I were her.” Lisa moved to the liquor cabinet, taking out an almost full bottle of Malibu Rum and holding it up.
Andy drew in a deep breath. “Oh, yeah.” Taking the glass he had just dried and one that was wet, he placed them on the counter.
Lisa handed him the bottle as she moved to the refrigerator and took out two Cokes and a lime. While he poured their drinks, she sliced the lime and squeezed it into each glass as the carbon dioxide bubbles bounced inside of the crystal, like minuscule fireworks on the Fourth of July. His hand raised to hers; they tapped the mismatched glasses together. She smiled sadly before sipping. Andy became pensive as he looked into the amber liquid without drinking. Lisa turned to him and could see the hurt in his eyes, the anger stirring in his heart.
“She’s going to be okay,” she said determinedly.
Andy took his glass and threw it across the kitchen, and against the rock backsplash, startling her. Lisa cringed and screamed when the crystal exploded into the corner.
“Nothing’s ever going to be okay again,” he hollered.
She turned to him, startled by hi
s sudden outburst. When Andy dropped his head into his hands, Lisa walked to him and stood before him. It was as though he felt her there, for he turned, moved his head to her shoulder and wept.
Chapter 2
The second morning after burying her son and husband, Destiny woke up to a silent house. It felt like she was in a fog. Usually, the house was bustling at this hour; either Phillip was running on the treadmill or Rhett was playing video games in his room. She looked around, disoriented. The water in the bathroom started running. Then she heard it abruptly stop. Thank God. It was all a horrible dream. Destiny smiled slightly, closing her eyes again. Thank God. “Phillip,” she murmured in a raspy voice. The bed moved around her.
“Good morning.”
Destiny opened her eyes, slowly focusing on the voice as she swallowed hard.
Lisa lay on the pillow beside her, facing her. Her delicately colored locks of turquoise, blue and purple made it look like she was laying on a bed of peacock feathers. “Good morning, Dee.”
Destiny focused on the person before her as her smile faded.
Lisa brushed her hand over her friend’s face, a sad smile on her own. “Hey, Honey.”
A single tear slid onto Destiny’s pillow.
“You have to get up, Dee,” she smiled, brushing the hair from her friend’s cheek. “You have to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she replied meekly.
“Either I feed you here, or I haul your butt to the hospital, and we hook you up to an IV,” Lisa stated matter-of-factly. “Your choice.”
Destiny blinked once. “I’ll eat,” she whispered.
“Good girl.” Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Oatmeal? Biscuits and gravy? Cream of Wheat?”
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