Jami sighed and turned back to her own work. If only her Grant would let her use the information she needed for her article. She opened the green file folder and looked at the papers inside, all stained in red. Next week probably wouldn’t yield anything more usable than what she already had.
Unless . . . Her eyes flared as a new idea settled in her mind.
For the next two hours, she pounded the keyboard, fingers flying as sentences, then paragraphs, filled the screen. Once finished, she proofread what she’d written, then sat back with a satisfied smile. Oh, yes. It was good.
The next task would be to choose pictures. She’d already scanned some great ones from the photo albums. And her camera’s memory card held dozens more. By the time she finished, it was after three. She did a final save, then printed what she’d done.
Bernie glanced over at her. “You’ve been pretty intent there for a while.”
“I’ve finally got an article on the McAllisters that I’m happy with.”
She gave Bernie a broad smile and slipped the pages into the green folder. It was time to leave for her dentist appointment, so final edits would have to wait until next week. Once she was confident the article was the best it could be, she would show everything to Grant.
He would see how tastefully she’d handled it and would give her the go-ahead.
She was sure of it.
Grant stabbed two small cubes of cheese with a toothpick and put them on a plate next to the crackers and cantaloupe already there. His plan had been to finish the art walk, then take Jami to one of the local restaurants for dinner. But after being encouraged to sample the snacks at most of the places they visited, he was beginning to rethink the remainder of their evening.
Jami moved to the side to admire an amber-and-blue-beaded necklace. Matching earrings were affixed to a card in its center. She ran a finger over one of the shiny beads. “My mom used to make stuff like this.”
He stepped up next to her. “My mom has never made jewelry, but she picked up watercolor a few years ago. She’s pretty good.”
“I tried it for a while. One of my paintings is hanging in my office at home.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“Neither does anyone else.” She grinned at him. “I didn’t say I was any good at it.” She turned and made her way back toward the door, scanning the pieces displayed as she passed. “My painting stage was about six years ago. That would have been after scrapbooking and before stained glass.”
“Wow, a jack of all trades.”
“And master of none. Before I could get really proficient at anything, something else would always catch my attention.”
As he headed down the sidewalk, bluegrass music drifted to him from the prior block, one of the local bands performing for those who had come out to enjoy the evening’s activities. Besides the music, food and variety of art on display, the event had offered demonstrations of painting, weaving and sculpting. He’d been impressed with the level of skill.
He led her into the next store. “What about your novel writing? Have you pulled one out and dusted it off?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
He gave her a look that was playfully stern. “Remember, you promised. I’m holding you to it.”
“I know. I’ve been busy.”
“That was my excuse.” He gave her a nudge. “You’ll have to think up one of your own.”
“So I guess ‘lost interest’ is off the table, too.” Her smile faded, and her gaze grew wistful. “No matter what my next craze was, my mom was always my biggest supporter. It didn’t matter that in six months I’d probably lose interest and be on to something else.” She shook her head. “She was awesome.”
“I can tell you miss her.”
“A lot. You’re lucky you still have yours.”
She stopped in front of a watercolor of two deer frolicking in a meadow. Though her gaze was on the painting, the faraway look in her eyes told him her thoughts were elsewhere. She finally turned to face him.
“Have you talked to her?”
“Not since the night I confronted her.” It was something he needed to do. She was probably going half crazy, wondering if her lies had cost her the relationship with her only son. She had friends, and she had her painting. Other than that, she had him. He really should call her. And he was going to. When he was no longer angry and could think about her without his insides drawing into a knot.
That time hadn’t come.
And it wasn’t because he hadn’t made an effort. He’d tried to let go of the resentment, to put it all behind him and start fresh. How had Jami done it so easily? How had she been able to forgive her father for all the wrong he’d done? Actually, it hadn’t been easy. She’d told him that. It had taken years. And lots of prayer.
Whatever she’d done, it had worked. She didn’t have a bitter bone in her body. That open, loving attitude radiated from her, pouring over onto everyone she met. If only he could find some for himself and bottle it up. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for sale in any store.
But maybe what Jami had found was offered 100 percent free.
Maybe if he let her God work on him the same way He had her, he wouldn’t have to try so hard.
Morgan and Bailey lay stretched out on the living room floor, eyes closed, and the mellow tones of Kenny G’s sax came from the stereo, giving the atmosphere in the house the air of a lazy Saturday morning.
Jami swiped a cloth across the coffee table, removing that week’s accumulation of dust, along with a couple of stray popcorn kernels. Grant was taking care of business at his place and wouldn’t be picking her up until after lunch, which was giving her the perfect opportunity to get all her weekend chores done.
She moved to the bookcase and reached up to dust the front edge of the top shelf. The one below it held two somewhat lopsided vases and a variety of bowls that she’d made at a pottery class sometime back. After ensuring that shelf was dust-free, she moved to the next. Halfway across, she hesitated. A burgundy-colored binder stood in the midst of the how-to books occupying the shelf. It wasn’t labeled, but even though months had passed since she’d last opened it, she knew what was inside.
She pulled the binder from the shelf, carried it to the couch and folded back the cover. Seven index tabs poked out from the pages inside, each bearing handwritten letters. She touched the first tab. Jasmine novel. All of her stories were assigned titles based on the name of her heroine. She hadn’t gotten far enough on any of them to come up with creative titles.
She moved to the second tab. Bethany novel. Okay, maybe she should change the name on that one. She continued flipping pages. One section was thicker than the others. The Dani novel was her favorite, the one she’d gotten the furthest on. She began to read the typed words. Not bad. Could she pick up where she’d left off and see the story through to completion?
Yes, she could do it. She’d made a promise to Grant. Maybe it was time to work on fulfilling that promise. She picked up a pen from the end table next to her. First she would read through what she’d done, making notes. The story was too old to be on her laptop. But there was a flash drive somewhere. If she could find it, she’d save herself having to retype it.
By the time she finished reading, handwritten notes filled the margins on several of the pages. Thanks to a couple of creative-writing electives she’d taken in college, she knew more now than when she’d penned the words.
She glanced at the clock, then leaned forward to place the binder on the coffee table. Grant would be picking her up in less than an hour to go gem mining, and she needed to fix herself some lunch and take the dogs out before he arrived.
As soon as she stood, Bailey and Morgan perked up, their eyes following her. When she walked into the kitchen, they were right behind her.
“No second breakfast.”
She moved toward the refrigerator, and her gaze fell on the calendar hanging adjacent to it. Robert was due back late last night. But she didn’t ne
ed the calendar to know that. He’d left on his three-week trip the day she met Grant, and yesterday marked the three-week anniversary of that meeting.
She heaved a sigh, guilt chewing at her insides. Seeing her with someone else so soon after their breakup would devastate Robert. He didn’t need to run into the two of them together in town or get the information through the rumor mill.
Putting her planned ham-and-cheese sandwich on hold, she bypassed the refrigerator and retrieved her phone from the living room end table. She paced the floor while Robert’s phone rang one, two, three times. Midway through the fourth ring, a sleepy voice answered.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”
“No. I was thinking about not answering it.”
She closed her eyes. That wasn’t sleepiness she’d heard in his voice. It was sadness. “I’m so sorry. I never intended to hurt you.” And now she was getting ready to rub salt in the wound she’d inflicted three weeks ago.
“Better now than after we were married.”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. At least he could see that. She drew in a deep breath. “I met someone.”
“Already?” It was just a single word, but the pain behind it sent shards of glass through her heart.
“I know it’s sudden. And it may not even work out.” In fact, chances were good it wouldn’t last any longer than Grant’s extended vacation, that when it was time for him to resume his old life, they’d part ways with little more than a friendly farewell. “But I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I should have known I’d never be able to hold on to your heart.” His tone didn’t hold criticism or bitterness, just a sort of somber resignation. He released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I hope you find it.”
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “So do I.”
After a stiff good-bye, on both ends, she laid the phone back on the end table and headed for the kitchen. Except now she wasn’t hungry. Anger she could handle. Knowing she’d hurt someone always crushed her spirit. She knew how it felt. She’d been in his shoes too many times.
And it probably wasn’t over. Sometime soon, they’d be in the same boat—both with broken hearts.
Why did love have to hurt so much?
Grant shook hands with the elderly man standing just inside the door of MountainView Community Church. He was a whole lot more comfortable walking in this time than he’d been a week earlier. What a difference seven days could make. Actually, it wasn’t just the time. It was the fact that he was spending it with Jami.
He’d dropped her off at home last night after an afternoon and evening out. Gem mining had been especially enjoyable. They’d bought a couple of what the mine called “rock-hound bags” and some gold ore pay dirt. The gold panning yielded several gold flecks, which they’d each stored in a vial provided by the mine. Jami’s gem bag contained three tiny semiprecious stones. When he’d washed all the dirt and mud from his own, a decent-sized emerald lay against the screen. At least that was what the mine operator had said it was. Only its slight greenish tint distinguished it from any other dull, rough rock. He planned to have it tumbled and set into a necklace, then surprise Jami with it.
He moved into the sanctuary and scanned those sitting in the chairs, waiting for the service to begin. He found Holly and Sam immediately. The wavy blonde hair and the dark ponytail pulled through the ball cap were dead giveaways. Beulah Fines sat two rows up, adorned in another gaudy hat, this one covered in purple, orange and green flowers. Was Jami’s ex there somewhere?
Last night, she’d told him about the guy. He’d been back in Murphy for two days. She’d called him yesterday to warn him about them. After all the criticism she’d taken from Robert over the years, Grant would rather she not talk to him at all. But the fact she’d felt the need to make that phone call said a lot. A lightness swept over him, and his mouth curved into an easy smile. Maybe there was a chance of something deeper between them than a brief friendship.
He moved down the aisle toward Holly and Sam. Jami hadn’t arrived yet. Holly saw him first, and her face lit up. She slid down one chair and motioned Sam to do the same, leaving two empty seats on the end.
Sam looked at her watch. “It’s five minutes till time to start, so you’ll see Jami walk in in about four minutes.”
Sam’s estimate was right. Jami slid in next to him and flashed him a brilliant smile. About a half minute later, the pastor picked up the microphone to welcome everyone there, then moved into the opening prayer. Grant slid a sideways glance at Jami. She and her friends reflected the apparently broad range of acceptable attire at MountainView’s services. Jami wore dark pants and a silky blouse with green, black and white swirl patterns. On his other side, Sam was dressed in jeans and a God’s Got My Back T-shirt in the same shade of blue as her ball cap, and Holly wore a knee-length dress.
The same way attendees’ clothing projected a come as you are sentiment, there seemed to be no wrong or right way to participate in the music. The worship band began the first song, and almost everyone rose to their feet. As the song progressed, some clapped, some raised their hands and some sang along with a sense of reverence. Nothing about the service reflected the rigid stuffiness he’d always associated with church. Of course, his perceptions were 10 percent experience, 90 percent conjecture.
As the lyrics to the second song displayed on the screen, he tried to sing along. It was a peppy, upbeat number with a catchy tune. A couple songs later, the tempo slowed and the tone grew worshipful. “Great I Am” displayed on the screen. The next song carried the same theme—the greatness and majesty of God.
When he looked over at Jami, her eyes were closed, and her face radiated contentment and peace. He felt it, too. But while Jami’s joy came from within her, what he longed for seemed to hover just out of his reach. She had something he didn’t. And he was only now becoming aware of the void. Or maybe he’d known it all along. Maybe that void was at the root of the malaise that had overtaken him.
As the voices rose all around him, something stirred inside, a sense of awe and wonder. He lifted his own voice, softly at first, then with more passion. God was here. He could feel His presence. What would it take to truly connect with Him? Was he even ready? When the last strains faded, he still couldn’t answer either question.
As everyone eased into their seats, the title of the sermon flashed up on the screen—God Is Bigger than Our Problems. He couldn’t argue with that. He’d always believed in the greatness of God. But believing with the mind was different from experiencing with the heart. Sure, God was bigger than anything going on with man. But how could that knowledge be applied on a personal level? How could he find reconciliation with his mother? How could he rediscover his enthusiasm for life?
The answers to his questions were somewhere, maybe even within these four walls. Somehow, some way, he was going to find them.
Even if it meant staying in Murphy until he did.
FOURTEEN
Grant leaned back in the wrought iron patio chair and breathed in the tranquility of nature. A soft breeze rustled the trees, and the hum of cicadas rose and fell. The sun had dipped below the horizon some time ago. But he was pleasantly full from the meal Jami had prepared and not in any hurry to go home. The dogs didn’t look interested in moving, either. Both were stretched out on the flagstone patio, one on either side of him, eyes closed.
He reached for Jami’s hand. “I want to take you somewhere special tomorrow night.”
Of course, everywhere they’d been was special. Jami made it that way. She’d capped off an enjoyable weekend with a picnic and tour at Fields of the Wood. Even last night’s stroll with the dogs along the Murphy River Walk had been more fun than anything he’d done in New York recently.
She smiled over at him. “And where might that be?”
“The Crest Mountain Dinner Show in Asheville. I know it’s quite a drive, but their website promises elev
ated entertainment, fine food and spectacular views.”
“That sounds awesome. When should I be ready?”
“Between four and four thirty. Earlier in the afternoon, Brenda’s bringing back the people who looked at the property. They want to see the place again and have some questions for me.”
“That sounds promising.” The words were upbeat, but her tone held thinly disguised disappointment.
And he had his own reservations. He was no longer sure he wanted to sell. With all her talk on pursuing dreams, Jami had gotten him thinking. What had started as a small seed during dinner at his place had sprouted into a whole slew of what-ifs. He’d pondered the scenarios, run the figures and looked at the plan from every angle until his brain had protested from sheer fatigue. But he wasn’t one to make decisions impulsively.
Jami released a soft sigh beside him. She sat bathed in the soft glow of the patio light, her face pensive. What was she thinking about? Was she considering the possibility of something permanent between them? Did she have as many regrets as he did, as many walls to break through to find the freedom to love again?
She tipped her head back, and he followed her gaze upward. A half-moon rested on the tips of the trees, cast against a backdrop of inky black. The sky was cloudless, awash with thousands of tiny points of light. If it weren’t for the soft glow coming from the bulb behind him, he would see thousands more.
Jami drew in a deep breath. “How can anyone look at all this and deny God exists?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never denied He exists. No matter what has happened, I’ve always known He’s there.” He just hadn’t felt very close.
Jami put an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “You’re right. He’s always there. But He’s not just out there. If you let Him in, He’s right here.” She put a fist to her chest.
Yes, he’d memorized those Bible verses and sang those songs as a kid. It was all so simple then. That was when he was young and idealistic, before life had kicked him around a few times.
Trust My Heart Page 18