Was any of what he’d learned even relevant in a grown-up world, facing the stark reality of adult-size problems? From what he’d seen, there was a lot of going through the motions without ever letting Jesus’s words touch the heart. A lot of people’s faith seemed to be nothing more than a platform from which to judge the rest of the world. If having a relationship with God didn’t make any difference, why bother?
But it made a difference in Jami’s life. Something drew him to her in a way he found irresistible. And that something had faith at its core. It colored everything she did and was the source behind the sense of peace and contentment she radiated.
But he was too cynical for that kind of blind trust, too jaded. Life wasn’t that simple. Of course, Jami had had her own issues to work through. But she’d succeeded. Was there hope for him, a chance he could experience some of that peace and contentment himself? Was there something he could grasp hold of that would bring joy and meaning to his life?
He stood, then offered her his hand. “It’s getting late. I’d better go so you can get some sleep.”
He helped her to her feet, then pulled her into his arms. After a lingering good-night kiss, he still didn’t release her. The problem was he didn’t want to go home. The more time he spent with her, the harder it was to say good-bye, even overnight. He’d put his travel plans on indefinite hold. And when his sabbatical was over and it was time to return to his life in New York . . . He didn’t even want to think about that.
After a final kiss, he released her and made his way to his car. Less than five minutes later, he drew to a stop next to the defunct fountain. The lights flanking both sides of the double front doors cast a soft glow over the entry area. The huge, old place was growing on him. Sometime in the past couple of weeks, it had begun to feel less like an inconvenience and more like home. His roots were here. His father had played in these rooms.
But it was more than that. Murphy was where he’d found himself again, where he’d rediscovered his joy. It was the place where a beautiful, sweet young lady had sent life coursing through a heart that had turned to stone.
And he didn’t want to leave.
But if he worked up the courage to take the leap he was considering, maybe he wouldn’t have to.
The following afternoon, Grant watched Brenda escort the well-dressed couple down the sidewalk toward her SUV, then closed the front door. He hadn’t been there the first time she’d brought them. He should have made himself scarce this time also.
The guy was all right. The woman hadn’t taken her nose out of the air the entire time she was there. Even though it was clear in the listing that the place was being sold “as is,” she’d come up with a whole list of demands, repairs she expected to be made before closing, at the expense of the seller. He’d politely let her know she could look elsewhere.
Grant smiled. His only prospect for a sale had gone up in smoke, but he was actually relieved.
Because now he knew for sure. He was going to do it. It was so impractical, so out of character for him. He didn’t make life-altering decisions without weeks of consideration. But nothing had ever felt more right. Excitement coursed through him at the thought. In two more hours, he’d pick up Jami, and over dinner, he’d tell her.
He moved to the entry table, where the Scout waited for him, untouched since he’d picked it up in town this morning. This was the week Jami’s Humane Society article would run, featuring Morgan and Bailey, two rescue success stories. He headed toward the parlor with the paper.
Once he had settled onto the couch, he thumbed through the pages, searching for the story. But instead of dark eyes looking out from brown-and-black faces, a familiar young couple smiled from the page. What were his grandparents doing where Jami’s article was supposed to be?
Other photos occupied the page, interspersed among the text. He recognized them. Some came from the photo albums he’d cast aside. Others Jami had taken. He read the headline and drew his brows together in confusion. The McAllister Legacy: A Tale of Triumph and Tragedy. She’d said the McAllister feature wouldn’t run until next week. Did she lie about it?
He scanned the article, impressed with the quality of the writing. But his positive thoughts didn’t last long. She’d written a poignant piece, all right. Lots of emotion. Descriptive settings. Amazingly in-depth reporting. But everything she’d promised not to print was there, every last detail.
He sat motionless, mind reeling. He needed to talk to her. There had to be some misunderstanding. Just like when he’d thought she was engaged.
No, this was no misunderstanding. She’d promised she wouldn’t use anything she found in the box without his permission. Yet, here it was, in black and white. Pain shot through him, that white-hot streak of betrayal. Did she think he wouldn’t find out? Or did she believe she would have him so enamored by the time he did that he wouldn’t care?
Well, she was wrong. Trust was everything. It didn’t matter how hard he’d fallen for her. If he couldn’t trust her in this, he wouldn’t be able to trust her in anything. If she professed her love, like Bethany once had, he’d never know if she was sincere.
Grant pushed himself to his feet, decision made. He would move ahead with his original plans, the ones he’d made weeks ago. Plans that didn’t include Jami. A vise clamped down on his chest. Walking away would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. But she was leaving him with no choice. Whatever they’d shared, it was over.
Because without trust, they had nothing.
Jami moved to the front window and once again glanced at her watch. It was four fifty, so Grant was only twenty minutes late. Not that late, at least by her standards. They could still get there on time. Asheville was only two hours away in good weather. Unfortunately, what bore down on them now looked more ominous than good. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and heavy gray clouds rolled in, blanketing the landscape in premature dusk.
She turned away from the window and checked her reflection in the large oak-framed mirror hanging over the living room couch. This was the first time she’d dressed up for him. For over half an hour, she’d fussed with her hair, trying it up, down, pulled to one side, adorned with various jeweled clips and pins. It was a good thing she’d started getting ready an hour earlier than what she thought she needed, because she’d used every minute of the extra time.
And she was happy with the result. Her hair looked as if she’d just come from Precision Cut & Color. She’d swept the reddish-brown locks into an elegant French twist, leaving two spiral curls to frame her jaw. And she’d spent almost as much time with her makeup. It was tastefully done, but much more than her usual quick swipe of blush, lip gloss and eye shadow.
She stepped away from the mirror and once again glanced at her watch. Now it was almost five. She tried to ignore the uneasiness swirling in her gut, the little voice warning her something was wrong.
But it couldn’t be. When they’d parted last night, everything had been perfect. He probably had a good reason for being late. But he should have contacted her.
She marched to her purse and pulled out her phone. There was no need to work herself into a tizzy when a simple call would put her mind at ease. But Grant didn’t answer. What was going on? Had he taken a nap and overslept? That had to be it. Nothing could have happened between now and when he left her house last night.
Of course, that was what she’d thought the last time. She closed her eyes and tried to silence that persistent little voice. But as time passed, the whispers grew to shouts, too loud to ignore.
“Okay, I’m going to his house.” Once she saw his car sitting in the driveway, she could put her silly insecurities to rest.
She grabbed her keys and headed out the door. As she made her way up the kudzu-bordered drive, lightning danced across the sky. A long rumble followed. She rounded the bend, and her heart fell. The driveway was deserted, the house dark.
Grant was gone.
She shifted into park and sat motionless for several minute
s, engine idling. Without his presence, the house seemed cold and lifeless. As she sat in the grayness of the dreary afternoon, it projected that emptiness right into her heart.
Grant was gone, had disappeared without warning. The whole situation thrust her back to the other time in her life when someone had left in a similar way. He hadn’t said good-bye, either. She’d just gotten up one morning, and he’d been gone.
But Grant wasn’t her father. And she wasn’t an eight-year-old girl anymore.
She circled the fountain and drove slowly back down the drive. Once home, she plopped onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Bailey and Morgan jumped up to crowd onto her lap. Wet, pink tongues offered sympathy, slurping noisily up each cheek, wreaking havoc with the makeup she’d applied with such care.
She pulled them close and stared out the front window. Thunder echoed off the mountains, creating a constant rumble that rose and fell but never completely gave way to silence. The storm was closer, threatening to come through with all it had promised and then some. But it didn’t matter. She was going to stay locked inside, safe and dry.
And alone.
Bailey and Morgan snuggled closer, alternating between nuzzling her hands with their noses and staring up at her with huge brown eyes full of concern. She had no answers for their questions, because she had no answers for her own. How could he do it? How could he make those unspoken promises, then walk out without even saying good-bye? Why did the most important people in her life just walk away?
The first heavy raindrops slapped against the window, driven by the gusts riding the front of the storm. She slouched forward to hug both dogs to her chest, an overwhelming sense of loneliness engulfing her. Her mother had left her, but she’d had no choice. She’d fought long and hard, giving up only when she’d had no more strength left to fight.
Her father had had a choice. He’d walked away without a second thought while an eight-year-old girl had cried herself to sleep and asked God why her daddy didn’t love her. And while a nine-year-old girl had checked the mailbox, praying for a card or letter, he’d moved on with his life and written off the family who loved him. And while he’d done whatever it was that men like him did, a ten-year-old girl had closed off her heart and simply stopped loving.
Suddenly she was once again that little girl, lost and alone. And the tears she’d sworn to never shed again escaped their restraints and rushed to the surface. No matter how hard she fought to hold them back, they kept coming. There were too many, flowing from a bottomless well that had burst open after being sealed for so many years.
Outside, the sky split apart with a flash and a deafening crash, spilling its own grief and rage in a torrent likely to continue into the night. Both dogs tried to crowd onto her lap, little black bodies quivering in fear. She buried her face in their fur.
How could he do it? How could a father walk away from his eight-year-old child without a backward glance? Had he really been able to blot her from his memory as if she’d never existed? Or did she sometimes slip unexpectedly into his thoughts, stirring at least a smidgen of regret? Fifteen years later, did he even remember her?
She slid her hands down both dogs’ backs, wet with her tears. When they looked up at her, those big brown eyes seemed to hold sympathy, a silent show of understanding. Someone had cast them aside, too. After seven years of being a part of someone’s family, something had happened that had landed them in the shelter. She cupped Morgan’s face in her hands, then Bailey’s. “He at least owed me a good-bye.” The complaint applied to Grant as much as her father.
Well, she had learned her lesson. Grant had disappeared from her life not once but twice. The first time, he’d just clammed up and shut her out. The second time, he’d physically left. Though she could overlook a multitude of wrongs, being abandoned wasn’t one of them. So what if he could make her pulse race by walking into a room? It didn’t matter that his kisses left her breathless, that simply being with him gave wings to her dreams and made her heart soar.
Even if he did come back, she wasn’t interested.
Jami sat on the couch, a book open in her lap and a quivering ball of fur attached to each hip. Almost an hour had passed since her meltdown, but the heavens still waged war outside, with no cease-fire in sight. Crashes of thunder punctuated the roar of rain, the accompanying flashes casting the landscape in virtual daylight.
At least she’d washed her face, so she was no longer wearing mascara from her eyelashes to her chin. And she’d had some supper—reheated tuna casserole. It likely didn’t compare to the fare at Crest Mountain, but it was all she could muster up. She didn’t even bother trying to feed Morgan and Bailey. During storms, they were too uptight to eat.
She flipped the book over, then ran a hand down each of the dogs’ backs. Tension tightened their bodies, and their heads raised simultaneously. Then both dogs flew off the couch and ran, barking, to the front door. An instant later, the bell rang.
She drew her brows together. Who would venture out in weather like this?
When she peered through the panes of glass making up the top of her door, a familiar figure stood on the front porch, clad in a dripping yellow rain slicker. Jerry. What was her cousin doing there?
“It’s okay, girls.” She gave each dog a pat, then reached for the lock.
Her next thought sent panic shooting up her spine. Something had happened to Aunt Lily. Why else would Jerry come out in weather like this? She threw the lock and swung open the door, her heart pounding in her chest.
A hand came up and pushed back the rubber hood, revealing brown hair tinged with gray and dark eyes in a lined face. This wasn’t her cousin.
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob as a sense of familiarity nibbled at the edges of her mind. “Can I help you?”
“Jami?”
It was a single word, but enough to confirm the recognition she’d been trying to deny. Cold crept through her, and her brain shut down. Thunder rumbled, and the downpour continued unabated, a tension-filled backdrop to the heavy silence stretching between them. The vinyl-clad visitor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Rain slanted in under the porch roof, pelting him and spattering the hardwood floor inside the house.
She swallowed hard and tried to kick her mind back into gear. The floor was getting soaked, and so was he. She could towel the floor dry later. But she couldn’t care less about her unwanted visitor. No one had asked him to come, especially on a night like this.
He finally spoke the words she knew were coming.
“Jami, I’m your father.”
She nodded—she hadn’t yet found her voice—and another heavy silence passed. Long ago, he’d walked out of her life. Back then, she would have given anything for a visit, even a phone call. Now she wanted neither.
He cleared his throat and dipped his head, seemingly as much at a loss for words as she was. And she had no intention of making it any easier for him, even if she’d been able. There was no excuse for what he’d done, nothing he could ever do to make it right.
He shifted his weight once more and began. “I’m here to beg your forgiveness. I’m not asking to be part of your life. If you say you hate me and never want to see me again, it’s what I deserve. I let alcohol control me, and I’ll always regret the decisions I made because of it.”
So he felt regret. When had that started? Not early enough to have come back and been a father to her.
“I’m different now,” he continued. “I haven’t had a drink in over two years. I even team lead an AA group. But part of healing is making amends to those you’ve wronged. And there’s no one I’ve wronged more than you and your mother.”
At the mention of her mother, Jami’s already-frayed nerves unraveled even further. Year after year, her mother had held on to her faith, never giving up hope her wayward husband would one day straighten out and return to the family he’d abandoned. Well, she’d finally gotten her dream. Too bad she hadn’t lived long enough to see it.
Jami s
ucked in a shaky breath. “You’re too late.”
He heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping with the motion. “I don’t expect you to be able to set aside everything that happened in the past. I only hope that over time you’ll find it in your hearts to forgive me. I wronged you both, and I’m so sorry. I’d do anything to make it up to you.”
Realization trickled through her, and her jaw sagged. He didn’t know. “You came back too late. Mom died a year ago.”
His eyes widened, deepening the creases in his brow, and the color leeched from his face. “Beth is . . . gone?”
He turned away, face toward the rain, and stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jacket. Soon his shoulders jerked with silent sobs. A pang of tenderness tried to nudge its way into her heart, but she slapped it aside. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. He’d walked out and stayed away fifteen years.
It was a year too long.
Her mother would have offered the forgiveness he sought. There wasn’t a bitter bone in her body.
“The breast cancer came back.” Of course, he wouldn’t have known about the first time, either. Her mother had fought both battles with the support of her sister and friends while he’d drowned himself in a bottle.
He turned back around to face her, his features drawn and his posture stooped, grief now piled on top of the regret he’d carried for so many years. He started to reach for her, then dropped his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t respond. The past hung between them, dark and ugly, too many wrongs on the one side and too many hurts on the other.
“Can I take you to breakfast?”
Jami shook her head. “You’ve already said your piece, and I have nothing I want to say to you.” She turned, offering him a cold shoulder. He’d come back because they told him in AA he needed to make amends. Tough. She had no intention of making his little exercise in assuaging his guilt successful. Regret for the choices he’d made should hang over him until the day he died.
Trust My Heart Page 19