“But you never called, not even on my birthday.” Her voice caught on the last word, and hot tears surged forward, stinging her eyes on their way to the surface. She blinked them back, determined to be strong.
“That was a mistake.” He still didn’t look at her. “I felt like such a failure. I hated myself and the pathetic man I had become, and I didn’t want you to remember me like that. I think I was punishing myself, too. I didn’t deserve the wonderful wife and beautiful daughter I’d been given. So I turned my back on you both.” He stopped walking, and when his eyes met hers, they were moist. “That is a decision I will regret until the day I die.”
“So why now? Why come back after all these years?”
“I finally made my two-year goal. I felt if I could do it for two years, I could do it indefinitely. And I believed with two years of sobriety to prove it, you and your mother would see I had changed.” He shook his head and lifted his hands to his face. “I wish to God I had come back sooner.”
She blinked back another surge of tears. The breeze picked up, sweeping aside the last traces of sticky heat that had hung like a heavy blanket all afternoon. It now carried the musty scent of rain. The promise of rebirth, the cleansing wash that would leave the air pure and the landscape vibrant. The morning after a heavy rain always felt like a brand-new start. Unfortunately, fresh starts were much easier in nature than in life.
“So what happened? Something must have gotten you where you are today.”
He began walking again. “It did. The best thing that ever happened to me—I was beat up, thrown in a ditch and left for dead.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That was a good thing?”
“Absolutely. Before that, my life was hell. I was on a destructive downward spiral, with no hope of ever coming out of it. I lost my job and got evicted from my apartment. So I lived in my car. When that got repossessed, I lived under bridges, on park benches and, during the winter, in makeshift shelters of cardboard boxes and discarded lumber—anywhere I could find to help shield me from the weather.”
He shook his head, frown lines deepening at the memory.
“God sent some angels, though, beacons of light in the darkness. Twice a week, a ministry in the area served a hot meal and did a church service while we ate. I just came for the food, but all the while, those words were sinking in. I just didn’t know it at the time.” He smiled, and his green eyes didn’t look so tired.
“Anyway, the night I was beat up, a pastor of a small house church found me. He called nine-one-one, and when I got out of the hospital, he took me in. He told me that ten years ago, he was exactly where I was. That was the first glimmer of hope I had that maybe there was a way out. Those people with that mission were angels God brought into my life, but Pastor Joe was the prince of them all. Through everything, all my failures, all the times I fell off the wagon, he never gave up on me.”
He smiled, eyes alight with conviction. “You know what was the real turning point? Figuring out I had to stop trying to do it by myself. I now ask God for help every day, every hour if I have to. I’ve got a church family that supports me and a small group of Christian friends who hold me accountable.”
“So you made your two-year goal.”
“I did, and I knew it was time to make amends to those I had wronged, you and your mother most of all.”
He looked past her, toward the trees lining that part of Terrace Avenue. But judging from the faraway look in his eyes, he wasn’t admiring the scenery. Some of the strain had left his face, leaving a softness that wasn’t there earlier.
He released a sigh. “Beth was a special lady, gentle, caring, beautiful. I never saw anyone with so much patience and love.”
Jami nodded. Love, patience, empathy, forgiveness and too many other good qualities to name. And a calm confidence God was in control, no matter what life threw her way. It was a confidence nothing could shake, not abandonment, not cancer, not even death. If her mother were still alive, she would know just what to say to guide her through this unwanted reunion with her father. And she would have the wisdom to help her put Grant out of her heart and life for good.
Her mom had always been her best friend—a Sam or Holly with an extra three decades of experience. Almost a year had passed, and the empty space she’d left was still as large and painful as ever.
“You know, Mom never gave up hope. She prayed for you until the day she died.”
“I put her through so much.” His tone was heavy.
She drew in a shaky breath. Their shadows stretched out in front of them, lengthening as the sun sank lower in the sky. Up ahead, the road made a gentle curve to the right, disappearing into the trees encroaching on both sides.
When she looked again at her father, his head was bowed, his shoulders bent, both hands buried deep in his pockets. He spoke without lifting his eyes.
“It’s too late for me to make things right with Beth. I’m probably too late for you, too. I hurt you severely, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I don’t expect you to welcome me back into your life. Even forgiveness is too much to ask at this point.” His shoulders rose and fell in a prolonged shrug. “I just hope over time, you will come to not hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. Tears were pooled on his lower lashes. “You don’t know how happy that makes me. It’s much more than I deserve.”
And it was all she could give. Eventually she would forgive him—God would require no less—but she just wasn’t there yet. And she wouldn’t say the words until she meant them. She turned to head back toward the Mountain Vista Inn, and he fell in beside her.
“Will I see you in the morning before I leave?”
She took a deep breath. She needed time, a chance to digest this sudden addition of a father to her life. “I don’t know. I have a lot going on.”
“Well, let me give you my cell number. Then if you have a spare minute, you can give me a call.”
She pulled her phone from her purse, ready to program in the number. At the name field, she hesitated. She didn’t even know what to call him. He’d walked out of her life when she was eight. Back then, he was “Daddy.” Now, fifteen years later, “Dad” didn’t feel right, and neither did “Father.” He’d been neither to her. She finally keyed in Carlisle, B.
When they reached the parking lot, she turned to face him. “I’m glad you’re doing all right.” It was a stiff prelude to farewell, but it was all she could muster. She couldn’t tell him she was glad he’d come back, and she couldn’t say she’d missed him. At least not while being totally honest. And a hug was out of the question.
“I hope you stay on the right track.”
He gave her a stiff nod. “Thank you for coming.”
He turned and headed toward his room. As she opened her car door, he called her name. When she turned around, he stood framed in the open doorway.
“You’ve grown into a young lady that would make any father proud.”
She gave him an almost imperceptible nod, feeling disappointed but not able to put her finger on why. He’d answered her questions. He’d explained why he’d left, shared his struggles, even told her how sorry he was for leaving. But she had come with more than questions. When she’d stood on the stoop, working up the courage to knock, it had been with a heart full of yearning, the hope talking with him would somehow make everything all right.
But it hadn’t. The hurt was still there, the damage borne of years of rejection.
She slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. As she reached for her seat belt, her gaze swept the front of the building, past door 112. Her father still stood there, watching her. He was probably holding out as long as he could, not knowing if he’d ever see her again. She didn’t know herself. She cranked the car and backed from the space.
Before she even made it out of the parking lot, her cell phone rang. It was Sam. Jami pushed the events of the past h
alf hour to the back of her mind and injected some cheer into her voice.
Sam wasn’t fooled. “Are you okay? You sound a little . . . off.”
“I just visited my father.”
“Oh.”
The single word was heavy with unspoken questions. During minigolf yesterday, she’d filled Sam and Holly in on both Grant’s return and the visit from her father.
“Things went all right, I guess. I mean, there weren’t any cross words. He told me how sorry he was for everything, and he explained a lot of things I didn’t understand before.”
“So it went well, all things considered. But you sound disappointed.”
She pressed the “Speaker” icon and dropped her phone into the cup holder. “I don’t know.” She pulled out of the parking lot to head for home. “I think I somehow expected more. I mean, it took me four days to work up the courage to get over there and confront him, and I guess I thought once I did that, all the struggle would be over. Instead I feel like it’s just beginning.”
“You honestly thought just talking to him would somehow erase all those years of hurt?”
Jami smiled sheepishly. “Not very practical, huh?”
She eased to a stop at a red light just as a heavy gust swept through, blowing debris across the street in front of her. A stray leaf landed on the windshield and stayed behind, trapped against one of the motionless wiper blades.
Sam continued. “Things like this take time. And lots of prayer.”
“I guess I want it to be instantaneous. I encouraged Grant to let go of the bitterness he’s been hanging on to, and now I’m having a hard time listening to my own advice. I feel like a hypocrite.”
“You’re the least hypocritical person I know. You just need a little time, that’s all.”
The light changed, and she made a right onto the highway, some of the heaviness lifting. Sam was good at that. She was tough—growing up with three brothers, she’d had no choice. But in spite of her sassy attitude and sarcastic sense of humor, her well of compassion ran deep.
“Thanks for the encouragement. So what’s up with you?”
“Well,” Sam began, stretching out the word, “I was planning to send another e-mail to Hank tonight and wanted to run it by you. But if you don’t feel like doing it right now, that’s fine.”
“I don’t mind.” Something to take her mind off both her father and Grant would be a good thing. “I’m having second thoughts, though.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”
“It’s not that. It just doesn’t seem to be working. With every e-mail, she’s adding another quality to her secret admirer, and the picture she’s got now doesn’t bear the slightest resemblance to Hank. I ran into her in town yesterday, and she had brochures from a company that does African safari tours. One advertised the opportunity to explore remote areas on the back of a camel.”
Sam giggled. “I can’t picture Hank on horseback, let alone bouncing along on the back of a camel.”
“My point exactly. I think it’s time to just throw them together and see what sticks before our plans go any further off base.”
“Sounds good to me. What do you have in mind?”
“I say tonight or tomorrow morning we send them each an e-mail to meet at the park Tuesday evening.” She eased to a stop in her driveway and shot a glance at the sky. She’d beaten the rain, but not by much.
“That sounds good. When no one shows up except the two of them, they’ll probably accuse each other. They’ll both claim ignorance about the notes and gifts, but neither will believe the other’s denials.”
Jami smiled. Maybe their scheme would work out after all. “Are you going to be there to see where the pieces fall?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Jami sighed and doubled back toward Ingles’s paper-goods aisle. She needed paper towels and had even been thinking about it when she entered the aisle the first time. Then she’d walked right past them. And she’d done the same thing with the ketchup and hand soap.
Focus. But the silent scolding didn’t do any good, because her brain wasn’t listening.
She’d done what she needed to do yesterday. She’d talked with her father and sent him home with at least some hope there might be reconciliation in the future. There were a lot of years of hurt, and healing took time. Maybe somewhere down the road, she would be ready to see him again.
But this evening, it wasn’t her father who kept intruding into her thoughts. It was Grant. And he had no business there. She’d told him a final good-bye Saturday morning, when he’d shown up at her house. Each word out of her mouth had shredded her heart a little further, but she’d gotten them out and hadn’t caved to his pleading words and incredible blue eyes. Now she needed to just pick up the pieces and move forward.
She skidded to a stop just past the paper towels and turned her buggy around. She’d almost done it again. She sighed and tossed a three-pack into her cart. Now for the oregano. When she stepped into the baking aisle, Hank was in front of her, hurrying to catch up with Bernie halfway down.
Hank chasing Bernie? That looked promising. Jami smiled. Maybe she and her coconspirators were giving up too soon. Just last night, she and Samantha and Holly had composed the e-mails. If everything went as planned, Bernie and Hank would both show up at the park and be convinced the other was the secret admirer. Samantha had promised to be there. It was easy to picture her hiding out in the bushes in full camo gear. Jami and Holly would be there, too. But without the fatigues.
Hank had caught up to Bernie, and they stood in the center of the baking aisle, heads tilted together. Maybe Operation Bernie Match-Up was bearing some fruit after all. And Jami wasn’t above eavesdropping to find out. She ducked behind an ethnic-food display.
“I can’t be at Doyle’s. Something came up.” The voice belonged to Hank.
“You have to.” Bernie was speaking in an undertone, a rare occurrence. Of course, an undertone for Bernie carried two aisles over instead of five. “One of us has to be there, and I got something important going on at the park. It’s something I can’t miss.”
“That’s where I’m going to be.”
“What are you doing at the park?” Suspicion laced her tone.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
Jami peeked around the display. They both stood in profile, facing each other.
Hank crossed his arms and affected a stubborn stance. “I’m not telling. What are you doing at the park?”
Bernie matched his stance. “If you’re not telling me, I’m not telling you.”
He stood in silence, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and leaned toward her as if ready to spill some big secret. “I’m meeting a woman.”
Bernie didn’t even try to match his hushed tone. “You’re meeting a woman? Who?”
“Shh! You don’t have to announce it to the whole county.” He took a step back and again crossed his arms. “It’s not anybody you know.”
She stared at him, brows raised behind her jewel-framed glasses. Then a slow smile crept up her cheeks. “I’ll be. Hank’s got a girlfriend. Well, I’m meeting a man.”
His jaw dropped. “You are?”
She sniffed and raised her chin. “Don’t look so shocked. Someone out there thinks I’m a real catch, whether you believe it or not.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe it.”
“Well, one of us has to be at Doyle’s and make sure everything goes down like it’s supposed to. And since you were the first one to mess everything up, I think it needs to be you.”
“Why does it have to be Doyle’s? Why not the park?”
Bernie’s eyes widened. “Hank, you’re brilliant. I could kiss you. We’ll set this up at the park. Then you won’t miss your date, and I won’t miss mine, either.”
Jami straightened and approached them. Bernie saw her first. She started and reached a nervous hand to
her hair. “Jami!” False cheer infused her tone. “How are you?”
Jami looked from Bernie to Hank, who seemed intent on taking a mental inventory of the cake mixes. “Fine. What are you two up to?”
“Oh, nothing much. Hank and I were talking about a project we’re working on together. Weren’t we, Hank?”
His head bobbed. “A project. Yep, that’s right. Well, I better finish my shopping.” He gripped the cart handle with both hands as if waiting for the starting gunshot, then ambled off down the aisle.
“And I’ve got to get going, too.” Bernie followed Hank’s retreat, but turned the opposite direction when she reached the end of the aisle.
Jami shook her head. What was Bernie up to now? And how in the world had she dragged Hank into it?
EIGHTEEN
Jami arched her back, enjoying the satisfying crack of the bones loosening up. She’d been sitting too long, but it was worth it. Another article written and ready to upload. Although she was getting more confident with her journalism skills, she would probably still have Bernie do a quick read through.
If Bernie ever got there.
It was almost ten thirty on Tuesday morning, and no one had seen or heard from her. She’d been known to lose track of time at the Grind, but even Bernie couldn’t stretch out a coffee and Danish for three hours.
The lobby door swung open, and surprisingly, it was Donna’s voice that reached her first. “Wow, Bernie. You look . . . nice.”
“Thank you, Donna. It’s a special day.”
Jami swiveled her head that direction and watched Bernie approach. Her steps were light and faltering. Jami put her hands on her hips. “All right. Who are you, and what have you done with Bernie?”
First was the makeup. The fact she was even wearing any was earth-shattering in itself. But eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara and lipstick? Bernie had fun coloring her hair, but referred to the daily beauty routine as nonsense. And her sentiments on dresses weren’t any better. But here she stood, decked to the hilt in a deep forest-green tea-length dress, cream-colored high heels and several pieces of clunky costume jewelry that were over the top, even for Bernie. The hair added to the fashion fiasco. It was teased into a tangled mass large enough to hide a pen, her checkbook and a couple of small children.
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