“Thanks. That one was near and dear to my heart. Makes you want to run right out and adopt a pet, doesn’t it?”
Hank’s brow folded in confusion. “Adopt a pet? Why?”
“Well, I thought—” she stammered, feeling like the amateur she was. If her article didn’t tug at the heartstrings, she didn’t do a very good job of getting her point across. Hank was quiet, but he wasn’t slow. “Bailey, Morgan, all the homeless cats . . .”
Hank shook his head. “I must have missed the part about dogs and cats. But I’ll read it again.”
Missed the part about dogs and cats? That was the whole article. Unless . . . A cold lump settled in her gut. She’d printed the draft of the McAllister article on Friday, and Bernie had seen her slip the hard copy into the folder.
“Bernie? My Humane Society article went in, right?” She’d been too busy the past two days to even look at a paper.
Bernie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, barely able to contain her excitement. “After you left for the dentist Friday, I just had to see what you’d done. It was so good. You had some great pics, too. I went ahead and uploaded everything to go in this week. I was planning to tell you on Monday, then got sick. Your Humane Society article will run next week.”
Jami groaned and covered her face with her hands, a lead weight filling her stomach. Between the time Grant left her house Tuesday night and when he was supposed to pick her up for dinner the next afternoon, he’d read the article. And he believed her promise to not print his family secrets was nothing but a lie.
“Jami?” A rare hesitancy filled Bernie’s tone.
She lowered her hands. “That wasn’t supposed to run.”
“But you said you were happy with it. And I know why. It was brilliant. David even said so. There was nothing you could have done to improve on it.”
“There was information in there Grant didn’t want me to use. And I gave him my word I wouldn’t. I’d decided to write the article the way I wanted to, sure once he read it, he would be fine with it.”
“And what did he say?” The hesitancy was still there, multiplied times ten.
“Nothing. I did a final edit yesterday and was going to show it to him last night.” She’d made a promise. And he’d wanted to believe her. She’d seen it in his eyes. Trust didn’t come easily for him. His not letting her use the information was a test. And she’d failed it miserably.
Somehow, she had to make things right. Not to salvage lost love. She’d already tossed that aside last night. But she couldn’t let him go through his life believing she’d betrayed him. He had to know that, at least once, his trust wasn’t misplaced.
“So now who’s the doofus?” Hank’s tone was soft. And instead of the usual mocking glint reserved solely for Bernie, his eyes held nothing but sadness.
Jami unclipped the leashes and hung them on the hook near the front door. As she walked to the kitchen, the dogs bounded ahead of her. They knew the routine. When she got home from work, the first thing on the agenda was taking them out. The immediate second was dinner.
At least someone in the Carlisle household felt like eating tonight. For half the afternoon, the pizza she’d eaten with Bernie had lain in her gut, an indigestible lump. After Grant ran out on her, she hadn’t thought things could get any worse. Finding out the McAllister article had run had proven just how wrong she’d been.
Three different times, she’d tried to call Grant, twice from her cell phone and once from the Scout. All three times it went to voice mail. The last time, she left a message asking him to call, saying that there’d been a misunderstanding. So far, he was ignoring her message the same way he’d ignored her calls.
After feeding the dogs, she stood in front of the open refrigerator for a good half minute, hoping that something already made would somehow materialize. It didn’t. She’d eaten up the last of her leftovers with the prior night’s supper of tuna casserole. Finally, she took out ingredients for omelets and closed the door. Breakfast for dinner. It would be convenient, tasty and fast.
Fifteen minutes later, she headed to the living room with her steaming supper, cheese oozing from its curved edge. Tonight would be a good movie night. Instead of sitting at the table and moping over Grant, she would turn on the TV and find something to cheer her up. Or at least occupy her mind for a couple hours. Maybe a good disaster movie—a ginormous asteroid barreling toward earth at a billion miles per hour, or the granddaddy of all earthquakes swallowing California and marching eastward across the United States. Or maybe even one of those alien-invasion movies. Anything but a romance.
She plopped down on the couch, and her gaze fell on the binder lying on the coffee table. The Dani story. Saturday morning, she’d gotten as far as reading what she’d written and making some notes. Since then, after a thorough search of the house, she’d located the flash drive that held the file. That was as far as she’d gotten.
She laid her plate and fork on the table and picked up the binder. Finishing one of her novels was a promise she’d made to Grant. But Grant was gone. He’d taken off and wasn’t coming back. She crossed the room to stand in front of the bookcase. When she’d slid the binder halfway into its slot on the shelf, she stopped.
Her promise wasn’t just to Grant. It was to herself. Writing was her dream. Not his. Just because she’d given up on a fairy-tale prince sweeping her off her feet, there was no reason to throw away her dream of writing a novel. Besides, it would be good for her. Therapeutic. Creative endeavors were always therapeutic, the same as being in nature.
She turned from the bookcase and crossed the living room to her office, snatching up her omelet on the way. Forget the disaster movie. She had a book to write. She plopped the binder on her desk and laid the plate next to it, then put the flash drive into the port on her computer. A minute later, she had the file saved to her hard drive and opened, ready to work.
If only she could get a hold of Grant. If he wasn’t roaming the countryside, thinking she’d betrayed him, it would be much easier to put the past four weeks behind her. But setting him straight was going to be impossible when he refused to accept any call coming from the 828 area code.
But maybe he wouldn’t reject 706, especially with the Georgia location.
Smiling, she hurried to the living room to retrieve her phone. Within moments, she was seated back at her desk, fork in one hand and phone pressed to her other ear. Holly answered on the second ring.
“How about a round of minigolf at the Lilly Pad Village Saturday?”
“Sounds good. But why Blue Ridge when we’ve got minigolf right here in Murphy?”
“I need to use a pay phone.”
“What’s wrong with yours?”
“Nothing. I’m on it now.” She drew in a deep breath. “I found out why Grant took off.”
When she’d filled Holly in on the details, Holly released a low whistle. “Whoa. Bernie really messed up this time. She had a match that actually worked, then ran him off.”
“I’ve got to straighten it out. I can’t stand the thought that he thinks I lied to him. I’ve tried to call him to explain, but he won’t accept any calls from this area code.”
“But if you call from Blue Ridge . . .”
“That’s right. I’m hoping he’ll see Georgia and not even connect that Blue Ridge is only thirty minutes from Murphy.”
“Once he finds out what really happened, he’ll be back.”
“I don’t want him back. I just want to straighten out the confusion.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Grant wasn’t the type to stick around. At the first hint of trouble, instead of hanging in there and talking it out, he clammed up and took off. She couldn’t live like that.
“Well,” Holly said, “count me in for minigolf.”
“Excellent. I’ll get a hold of Sam.”
As she disconnected the call, the weight that had been bearing down on her seemed to lighten. If everything went as planned, in
another forty-eight hours, it would all be over. Grant would be on his merry way, enjoying the sights, knowing she hadn’t betrayed him. And she would be moving forward with her dreams, conscience clear.
Unfortunately, that simplified scenario didn’t take into account the time it would take to heal her heart.
SIXTEEN
Waves crashed against the shore a few yards from where Grant walked, sending cool water swirling around his bare feet at regular intervals. He’d left New York shortly before noon, then spent the next several hours speeding down the interstate, trying to outrun the loneliness dogging him. But no matter how he tried, it overtook him anyway. Loneliness had no speed limits to obey.
Except for one brief gas and bathroom stop, he’d driven straight through to Virginia Beach. He’d never been there, but it was a coastal town, as different from Murphy as a place could be. And that was what he needed—something to help him forget his experiences of the past five weeks, not remind him of Jami at every turn.
And that was why he no longer wore the pewter heart. He couldn’t bring himself to part with it, though. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he’d tucked it into the bottom of his suitcase. Someday he would get rid of it. Or wait to wear it until it meant nothing more to him than a cold piece of metal.
Three times, Jami had tried to call him, twice from her cell and once from the paper. The third time, she left a message. It was short—“Grant, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. Please call and let me explain.” Her tone had held urgency, and an underlying sadness had tugged at his heart. But he wasn’t ready to talk to her.
He hadn’t wanted to care for her. He’d wanted to wrap everything up and walk away, no attachments, no regrets. But every hour they spent together, she’d wheedled her way further into his heart, right past all his defenses.
And look where it got him.
He stopped walking to face the surf, and a wave sucked sand from under his feet on its return to the ocean. At shortly after nine on a Thursday night, he had the beach to himself. Even the seagulls had settled in for the evening, their raucous calls silenced. A warm sea breeze whipped his clothes against his body, and the roar of the ocean surrounded him, advancing and retreating.
Nothing to remind him of Jami. Yet everything did.
He’d had her pegged so wrong. The sweet, wholesome air was nothing but a ruse, the unwavering honesty that assured him he could finally let down his guard and trust, a bald-faced lie. And he’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Jami’s burning goal was career advancement, getting the story at any cost. She’d put it above everything else, even her own integrity.
Even his heart.
He pulled his feet from the sand that had molded around them and resumed walking. Yep, he’d been duped. The first time, he’d been young and inexperienced. He hadn’t been knocked down enough to realize everyone had an agenda and that agenda came first.
Now he had no excuse. He’d been there, experienced those hard-earned lessons. And he’d still let down his guard and blindly allowed a beautiful woman access to his heart. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Well, it wouldn’t happen again. The temporary facade of happiness wasn’t worth the betrayal that followed. Two years ago, that black hole had almost swallowed his soul. He wasn’t going back there ever again.
Or maybe he’d never left.
Maybe he was still stuck in the deep abyss, where the darkness was so thick it leeched all joy and meaning from life. He’d been there so long. How would he ever break free?
An image flashed through his mind—an old man, tired and spent. Bank accounts bursting and no one to share them with. His zest for life gone, his soul sucked dry. He moved away from the pounding surf and sank onto the soft sand. He’d just been visited by Dickens’s Ghost of Christmas Future.
Jami’s advice intruded into his thoughts again—life’s a lot better when you let it go. She was right, but he was no closer to figuring out how than when she’d first spoken the words. Jami’s answer would be a relationship with God. In spite of her faults, she possessed a peace that had eluded him most of his life. And he still didn’t know where to find it.
Everything Jami had told him, the things he’d heard at church—it all seemed too simplistic. Faith was for children, starry-eyed innocents who hadn’t yet had their idealistic views shattered by reality. He’d outgrown that kind of faith years ago. But was there such a thing as grown-up faith? Faith that was real, that made a difference in the way a person lived? Jami was as close to the real thing as he’d ever found. But she had no qualms about lying to him, or at least breaking a promise.
Maybe he was expecting too much. Jami had said it herself—Jesus was the only perfect man who ever lived. Maybe he should be looking at Jesus’s example instead of picking apart His church.
Grant pushed himself to his feet and continued moving in the same direction he’d been walking earlier, taking him yet farther from where he’d started. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t plan to return until he’d sorted out everything wrong in his life. He would walk all night if he had to.
Sunday morning, it had seemed much clearer. With Jami standing next to him, a chorus of voices raised in song, he’d felt God’s presence all around him. It was easy to connect with God in a church filled with prayer and praises. But could He be found on a dark, deserted beach in Virginia?
“God, are you here?”
The wind picked up his words and threw them back at him. He drew in a deep breath and tilted his face heavenward. The stars that had shone so brightly in Jami’s sky the other night lay hidden behind a puffy blanket of charcoal. The moon was invisible, too, tucked away in its section of sky.
He lowered his gaze and stuffed his hands into his pockets. God’s presence was hidden from him as surely as the stars and the moon. But God was there. He knew it. The same way he knew the moon and stars wouldn’t hide forever.
“God, please somehow let me know you hear me and you care.”
His own words brought him up short. Even if he received an answer, what would he do? He wasn’t ready to make a commitment, because he wasn’t sure he could live up to it. What if he made mistakes? What if he became one more reason for others to shun Christianity?
He stopped walking and turned to face the water. Waves washed ashore in the unending rhythm of the ocean. Farther out, the black expanse stretched into infinity, melding with an equally dark sky. He pulled his hands from his pockets and stood motionless, a sense of reverence filling him. The vastness of God’s creation never failed to remind him of his own insignificance.
Soft, silver light sifted over him, as if a curtain were being lifted away. Diamond-tipped waves rolled ever closer, and the sand was bathed in a luminescent glow. When he lifted his gaze upward, the clouds had parted, revealing an unobstructed half-moon.
Wonder filled him, and a song welled up inside, a chorus he’d learned just that week. He whispered the words. “How Great Is Our God.” The song had moved him when he sang along with the other worshippers in the comfortably furnished church. And it moved him now, standing in God’s own sanctuary, a floor of sand, a ceiling of clouds, the moon providing His light, the wind and waves His music.
“How great is our God . . .”
He lifted his voice in praise, and the wind carried the words up and away.
“How great is our God.”
And that was his answer. With God’s help, he could do whatever He asked of him. For once in his life, he wasn’t doing it on his own.
He dropped to his knees in the sand and, as he’d been taught so long ago, surrendered his life to God.
Grant turned the book facedown in his lap and looked out over the beach. The shadow of the hotel marched slowly toward the sea, offering some relief for those tourists wanting to escape the blazing sun. From his vantage point on the fifth-floor balcony, he could see all the activity below without hearing most of the noise. Even the excited squeals of the children were muffled by the time they reached him.
He’d arrived in Myrtle Beach midafternoon with a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t experienced in . . . well, ever. A sense of peace had enveloped him from the moment he made his decision on the sand, and he’d slept better last night than he had in months.
After checking in, he’d taken a walk on the beach, then spent the past two hours reading, alternating between the Gideon Bible he’d found in the nightstand and the legal thriller he’d brought from New York.
He hadn’t called Jami yet, but he’d forgiven her. Eventually he would talk to her and let her know he harbored no bad feelings. Just not now. The pain was too raw. He’d given her his heart. And he was having a hard time getting it back. Meanwhile, he would take his walks on the beach, read in the shade of the balcony and wait for her hold on him to loosen. He had found peace. Someday he would find healing.
He closed the book and stood. It was time for another walk. He strode from the room and rode the elevator down five floors. But a thousand walks on the beach wouldn’t ease the emptiness that filled him every time he thought of life without Jami. She was exactly what he needed, her lightheartedness the perfect complement to his own brooding nature, her spontaneity the balance to his rigidity. She’d awakened something in him, softening his hardened heart and stoking to life embers long since burned out.
He heaved a sigh and started down the beach, flip-flops in his hand. The sand was soft against his bare feet, the warm breeze soothing. A couple strolled toward him, hand in hand, and the crushing emptiness became a stabbing pain that shot through him like an arrow. In time, it would dull. It might take months, but eventually Jami would be nothing more than a bittersweet memory.
He sank onto the sand, then crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back on his hands. Children frolicked in the surf a short distance away, carefree and happy, and a little farther out, whitecaps glistened in the late-afternoon sun. A pelican swooped down, dipping its head into the waves and emerging with a fish. In another hour, he would be going in search of supper himself. And eating it alone.
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