Like There's No Tomorrow

by Camille Eide

  Something sunk in his gut like a rock. If you’re selfish for fearing Grace’s harm, then I’m evil incarnate. “You’re not selfish.”

  “Yeah, I am. You’ve gone out of your way to help them be together. I owe it to Aunt Grace to step up and do the same.”

  Ian stared straight ahead, stunned. His plans had been about helping no one but himself. Perhaps he should confess his real motives on the spot and stop letting her believe lies about him. Make sure she knew what a self-serving jerk he was. And as a bonus, make sure she thoroughly hated him before he left for home.

  And how would she respond?

  You were going to all this trouble for yourself? You wanted Grace to move across the world to manage Maggie so you could be free to go off on your own?

  Well, perhaps that particular part of the story could wait until after he’d gone home. At least by keeping it to himself, he would avoid seeing the disappointment in her face.

  Not that Emily Chapman’s opinion of him mattered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Do you think your dad will be home?”

  Ian’s deep voice made Emily jump. He had been quiet for so long Emily assumed he’d dozed off. “On a Sunday night? Yeah, probably.” She tore her eyes from the road long enough to sneak a glimpse of Ian’s steely profile. Maybe he was having second thoughts. She took a deep breath. “Ian, are you sure you want to do this? If you’d rather not, then I totally—”

  “If you want to, then so do I. When a Scot makes up his mind ...” He glanced at her.

  “Okay. Just as long as you know he might not be friendly. I hope it won’t be too uncomfortable for you.”

  Ian pushed back his seat, stretched his legs, and leaned back. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, closing his eyes.

  Emily heaved a deep sigh. Why was he doing this? For her dad? Or for her? How typical of him to want to help.

  Lord, please help the visit with Dad to go well, for Ian’s sake. Soften Dad’s heart. Maybe he’ll loosen up this time, with Ian there.

  She stole a peek at Ian’s resting form. A handsome man, definitely. But the qualities that made her forget to breathe and stirred up crazy kinds of warmth came from deep beneath that handsome surface, from the things she could only see from knowing him.

  His kindness and strength, his enduring love, his sacrifice for others.

  She sneaked one last glance and memorized the look of his slightly parted lips as he snored softly. If he ever found it in his heart to marry again, Ian MacLean was going to make some girl very happy.

  Cheeks burning, Emily fastened her eyes on the road.

  Ian woke to the smell of petrol and no Emily. From the passenger window, he spotted the faded Homemade Jojos! sign he’d seen at this same station the day before. His spine tensed. He visited the lav, and on his way back to the Jeep, he scanned the lot. No big-mouthed dafties lurking about like the ones they’d met the day before.

  Only yesterday?

  Emily returned to the Jeep with snacks.

  “I can drive now if you fancy,” Ian said.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

  As they headed east, Emily pulled drinks from a sack and offered him a choice. “I bet you’re glad this gas stop turned out different from the last one.”

  Ian chose an icy bottle of root beer and focused straight ahead. “Aye.”

  Emily twisted the cap off and slipped his drink into a holder. “But you handled it well.”

  A snicker puffed from his nose.

  “You don’t think so?”

  He didn’t answer. No good would come from her knowing how ugly it could have been, had he truly handled it.

  “I guess you were pretty ticked.”

  “Ticked?” He hacked out a sharp laugh. “A wee bit.”

  She took a few swallows of her raspberry tea and screwed the cap back on. “Okay. If you had a chance to do it over, what would you do differently?”

  Without taking his eyes from the road, he shook his head. “I don’t think having the chance to do it over would make a difference.”

  “Really?”

  He reached for his soda and took a long drink.

  “Ian, I appreciate that you tried to get them to apologize, but I’m even more thankful that no one got hurt. You stayed so calm. I mean, I know you probably didn’t feel calm, but you had a lot of self-control. It really could have been so much worse.”

  You have no idea.

  The glowing taillights on the truck in front of them came to a standstill. When traffic began to move, Ian inched the Jeep ahead, his shoulders tense.

  Emily said no more—perhaps she’d decided to drop it.

  After a few miles, traffic picked up and moved along at a good highway speed and he loosened his shoulders.

  “I’d like to hear about it.”

  “About what?”

  “How you got a handle on anger.”

  How’d you figure that one out? He glanced over and caught her smiling faintly. “Ah. You’re laughing at me again.”

  “No, I’m serious. You say it could have been worse, so obviously you made a real effort, and I’m curious. Because not everyone is able or willing to do that.”

  Somehow, the Jeep had suddenly gotten far too small. “I’m not sure what you want to know.”

  “Have you always had that kind of control?”

  Ian pulled in a deep breath. With miles of road still ahead, little hope existed for escape. His cheeks puffed with the exhale. “No.”

  “You’ve never talked about this before, have you?”

  “I have.” His hands gripped the wheel. “With Katy.”

  “Oh. Right.” Emily looked to the passing woods.

  For a while, neither one of them spoke.

  Right. “It began when I was growing up. We moved a lot.”

  A quarter mile passed before she responded. “Why did you move so much?”

  “My da ...” Couldn’t stay sober long enough to pick road litter. “His drinking always cost him jobs, so we never stayed in one place long. I blamed him, and he knew it.”

  She didn’t answer.

  As he followed the curves of road that snaked through towering evergreens, he felt her waiting eyes on him. Oddly, the darkening forest, old and dense like the wooded braes behind the farm, reminded him of the night he and his da nearly came to blows.

  And so he told the story, beginning with the family’s move to his grandparent’s farm. He and Claire started school, where he met Katy. At sixteen, he’d begun to stand up to his dad’s drunken tirades, which came with increasing frequency. And they went round constantly. One night, Claire begged him to leave before someone got seriously hurt. But he had to stay—because of Katy. He tried to keep out of his da’s way long enough to finish school, tried to shove the anger down, keep it under control. But that only made it worse.

  One night his da told the family he’d found a job in Aberdeen and they would be moving again. Ian’s anger rose, paralyzing him. He felt settled for the first time in his life. And he was in love. Moving so far away for a job his da would lose in less than a week was stupid and unfair.

  Something inside him had snapped.

  Ian could still see his dad’s purple face, the spittle flying from his slack, whisky-wet lips. He could still feel the heat of his own young fury.

  “All my packed-down resentment erupted, all aimed at him. I was so blind with rage, I was scared of what I might do.” I believe I could’ve killed him. Ian drew in a slow, steadying breath, but didn’t look at Emily. He couldn’t. “So I took off. I ran into the woods and didn’t stop running until I was miles away.”

  “That’s good. You got out of there before anything happened. You knew you needed to do something about it.”

  “Maybe. But I didn’t know what. Katy had been talking to me about Christ, but I didn’t know how much of that I really believed. I stormed through the woods and shouted some nasty things at God. I guess I wanted to see if
He was listening. I wanted Him to prove He was real. So I dared God to take away all my anger.”

  She stopped sipping her Snapple mid-drink. “Are you serious?”

  He still could feel the wet grass soaking through his jeans as he knelt near the churchyard, rain hitting his face in the dark, no one round for miles. The scene slipped easily into his mind, like the words of a familiar song. “Then I headed back to the farm, but halfway home, God was there. I felt peace wash over me and I couldn’t move. When I thought about my dad and all the things he’d done, not a bit of anger came. Just peace. I started walking again, but then it hit me: God did exactly what I’d asked Him to do. I think—” Ian let a cluster of headlights pass while he chose his words. “I think He wanted me to know without a doubt He was real.”

  “I think you’re right.” Emily’s voice softened. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  His mind replayed things he hadn’t thought about in years. How he’d fallen to his knees, muttering incoherent thanks and promises. The look on Katy’s face when he told her. The years following that he spent devoted to prayer and Bible study.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Emily said. “So what about now? Are you afraid your anger is getting out of control again?”

  There were things far worse than getting angry. He didn’t answer.

  “Is it your dad?”

  “No. We get on now, from a distance. My parents live in Peru.”

  “So whatever anger you struggle with now, does it make you doubt God or what He did for you that night?”

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. God certainly had no use for a man bent on harboring a mortal grudge. “No, I don’t doubt God. He can do anything. But I believe there are things He won’t do, and I can’t blame Him for that.”

  “I know one thing He won’t do,” she said softly.

  He glanced at her.

  “He won’t give up on you, Ian. He loves you too much.”

  Ian didn’t argue, but a cold certainty sunk in, numbing his gut. He’d have to see that one to believe it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time they reached her dad’s place, shadows blanketed the compound, cloaking the house and ponderosa pine grove in darkness. As the Jeep rolled to a stop in the gravel, Emily held her breath and searched for signs of life.

  Ian studied the house. “Doesn’t look like he’s home.”

  True. Not one light shone on the grounds. No pole lights lit the perimeter and no house or porch lights burned. But Emily knew better. She squinted hard at the front room window.

  A faint glow came from somewhere inside, maybe the kitchen or a bedroom.

  She nodded. “He’s in there.”

  Ian cut the engine. In the sudden quiet, a chorus of crickets burst into crescendo, filling the void.

  “Ian, are you sure?”

  He rested his back against the door and faced her, but didn’t answer.

  “Okay, sorry. I’m not second-guessing you, really. I’m just ...” She leaned against the headrest. Warning you. Because I know what to expect. And because I don’t.

  “Emily, if you don’t want to do this, we can keep going.”

  “No, I do.” She flipped down the visor and checked the mirror. She’d inherited her mom’s big, brown eyes and long, loose curls. She couldn’t do anything about the eyes since it was too dark for sunglasses. But the hair ... In two swift moves, she twisted her hair up and secured it with a clip. Checked the mirror again. Maybe this time things would go smoothly. She hoped.

  Ian had followed her movements and studied her new look in silence, but he didn’t question her. “All right, then. Let’s go in.”

  They climbed the steps to the front door, knocked, waited, knocked again. From where they stood, Emily could see her dad’s Suburban parked behind the house. She caught Ian watching her. Straightening, she knocked harder.

  The door opened.

  At the look on Dad’s face, her hope fizzled.

  He stood in the doorway and stared at her for several long seconds. Other than a fleeting flash of surprise, his face gave away no emotion.

  “Hi, Dad.” She forced a bright smile.

  “What do you want?”

  I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you ... “We were in the neighborhood. I hope you don’t mind us dropping in. Just for a minute.”

  Dad’s gaze shifted to Ian. He gave him a brief once-over with the same impenetrable look. He shrugged, turned, and went inside, leaving them to follow.

  Stacks of books, newspapers, dirty dishes, and brown, glass bottles cluttered the dark living room, making the barely furnished space feel more like a cave. A combined odor of stale beer and moldering trash hung in the air.

  Emily winced. “Dad, this is Ian MacLean, Aunt Grace’s nephew from Scotland. Ian, my dad, Ray Chapman.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Ian held out a hand.

  Dad lobbed a glance at the offered hand.

  Emily held her breath.

  After a moment, he took it without looking at Ian.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t give any warning.” Emily repressed the urge to see if Ian was taking in all the clutter. “We were just heading back from Newport. Ian needed to meet Aunt Grace.”

  For the first time, her dad looked Ian directly in the eye. “Where are you staying?”

  “In Juniper Valley. At the High Desert Inn.”

  With a frown, her dad just stood there studying Ian. Dad wasn’t quite as tall as Ian, but he had a similar build. At fifty-six, he was still lean and strong, but it suddenly occurred to Emily how much he had changed in the last few years. His graying, brown hair reached past his collar, untended like a wild thicket, and his jaw sported more than a weekend’s worth of coarse, graying stubble. The lines in his forehead and around his mouth had grown deeply etched, giving him a grim look.

  Rough and grizzled, he’d become a stark contrast from the daddy Emily remembered as a little girl.

  He crossed taut arms and waited.

  Waiting for me to get out of his sight, as usual. Lifting her chin, Emily drew in a deep breath. “Ian leaves for the Portland airport before dawn.”

  “When’s your flight?” Dad said.

  “About ten. My plan is to be on the road by three.”

  Ian seemed calm.

  Emily, on the other hand, thought someone had cinched up all her nerves like shoelaces and tied them in a knot. Maybe getting her dad talking about himself would loosen things up a little. “So, Dad, when’s your last day at the high school?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Do you have any plans for the summer?”

  He didn’t answer but continued to stare at Ian, frown deepening. “How are you related to Grace Clark?”

  “Grace is my grannie’s sister. So she’s my great-aunt, same as she is Emily’s.”

  Her dad shook his head “No. Not the same.” He gave a slight nod toward Emily. “She’s only related to Grace by marriage. Through the uncle.”

  She. Emily ignored the pang in her gut. He wouldn’t say her name, would hardly look at her. Which was nothing new. But why point out that Emily and Grace were not related by blood? Did he think Ian should now assume responsibility for Aunt Grace?

  “Whatever the connection, Emily and Grace seem very close.” Ian spoke with a calm, friendly confidence. If he wondered where her dad was going with the topic, he didn’t show it.

  Dad bent down and stacked piled-up books and papers on the nearest chair. “Better stay close to her. Grace isn’t getting any younger. She could die any day.”

  Emily gasped. The quiet steel of his words sliced through her as she forced back angry tears. He doesn’t realize what he’s saying, Em. Let it go. She didn’t look at Ian, but concentrated on keeping her voice from shaking. “You’re right, Dad, Aunt Grace is getting older. But she’s happy. And I will do everything I can for as long as it takes to make sure she stays that way.”

  Stiffening, Dad stopped what he was doing.

  Ian made
piercing eye contact with Emily.

  She couldn’t guess his thoughts. He had assured her he wanted to come, but maybe he was kicking himself now. Please, Lord, let something good come from this visit. I have no idea what Mom thought I could do for him, but this is so not working. How can I help pull him out of this cave-dweller life if he won’t even look at me?

  Ian’s deep voice cut through her thoughts. “No one wants to think about losing those we love.” He kept a level gaze on Emily. “Even though it’s inevitable for us all. Perhaps it helps Emily to know she’s spending as much time with Grace as she can.”

  Dad spun around, but Emily watched Ian. No matter how things turned out, she loved that he tried.

  Her dad looked from Ian to Emily and back to Ian. “You married, MacLean?”

  Emily held her breath. Here it comes ...

  “I’m widowed.”

  “Widowed?” Pain flashed through her dad’s eyes and his face sagged. “When?”

  “Katy died nine years ago.”

  Dad raised trembling fingers to his lips and scanned the room. His eyes lingered on the half-empty beer bottle beside his chair. He walked toward it but then veered toward the picture window overlooking shadowy woods. He stood with his back to them. Moonlight glowed from the window, giving his silhouette an odd film-noir look.

  “Any kids?” The question bounced off the glass with a flat echo.

  Frowning, Ian nudged a yellowing newspaper with his foot. “No. We discovered her cancer soon after we married.”

  The quiet regret in Ian’s voice stabbed at Emily’s heart. What a blow he must have suffered, not only to suddenly lose his wife, but also their dreams for a future, a family.

  Ian turned and locked eyes with her.

  “What’s he doing here?” Dad said, his voice tight.

  “I told you. Ian needed to see Aunt Gr—”

  “No, here. In my house.”

  Definitely shouldn’t have brought Ian. “Dad, I’m just checking in. Like families do.”