Love Inspired June 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Single Dad CowboyThe Bachelor Meets His MatchUnexpected Reunion

by Brenda Minton

  “No, it’s just Sobo’s calendar cover. We were trying to decide whether she really wanted to sell it or if Pop had put it in the box by mistake. My guess is it’s too pretty to sell. I would want to keep it.”

  Savannah followed her gaze to the silk-stitched cover in Gray’s hands. “What a coincidence. That design looks exactly like the purse that belongs to the elegant Asian woman who came in here last week. You know, the one who bought Mrs. Bristow’s doll.”

  Gray’s head jerked up, and his gaze met Ruthie’s. He obviously had the same thought she did.

  She grabbed Savannah by the arm. “Are you sure those dragonflies are exactly like the ones on that woman’s purse? It doesn’t just sort of look like it, does it?”

  Savannah looked down at Ruthie’s hand on her arm, and Ruthie let go. “Not sort of like it. Exactly like it. She set her purse on the counter right here,” she said, and motioned to the area where the boxes had sat just minutes ago. “And she proceeded to rummage through the boxes, which I thought was funny because of the way she was dressed.”

  Ruthie tilted her head in a wordless question.

  “She was dressed in a super-nice designer suit, carrying a museum-quality hand-stitched purse. Even her voice and the way she carried herself were elegant,” Savannah said, “but there she was, digging through a box of dusty hand-me-downs, looking for all the world like she’d found a priceless treasure.”

  For one thing, the items in the box had not been dusty. Ruthie could attest to that. Sobo would have been horrified if Pop had passed along anything to sell that was in less-than-perfect condition. As for a finely dressed customer searching through previously owned items—yes, treasures—in her shop, that kind of thing happened all the time. The Carytown shopping area drew customers from a wide variety of social backgrounds and economic means.

  “When she found the doll,” Savannah continued, “she got so excited and her hands shook so bad I thought she was having a seizure. Once we settled on a price, she couldn’t get the money out of her purse fast enough. She dropped her lipstick, her cell phone, then her keys. It was almost comical to watch.”

  By now Ruthie’s hands were starting to shake, and she noticed that Gray’s brows had drawn together. Perhaps he’d made the same connection she had.

  “Do you suppose she might have dropped the case while she was getting out her money?”

  “Honey, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had dropped her teeth, she was that excited.”

  Ruthie turned to Gray. “How rusty is your Japanese? Can you see if her name is in the book?” With a name to go on, they’d have a starting place when they searched the phone book.

  Gray turned the book over in his hands and scanned the front pages for the writing that was as meticulous as Savannah indicated the customer had been. He shook his head. “There’s no identifying information in the front of the book.”

  “What about the calendar entries? If she had a hair appointment, perhaps the stylist could tell us who she saw that day that matches our customer’s description. Better yet, maybe she has an upcoming appointment, and we can meet her where she’s scheduled to go.”

  Savannah stepped back dramatically. “Way to go, Miss Marple.”

  Gray’s finger stopped on yesterday’s date. “This is the last entry. Looks like we missed it.”

  Ruthie’s hopes fell. Miss Marple, indeed. They were so close, and yet the possibility of finding the doll seemed so far away. “We can’t give up yet,” she said, more to encourage herself than to convince him to keep trying. “What does it say?”

  “Obasan. That means aunt.” He squinted as he struggled to make out the meaning of the rest of the characters. “One o’clock. And the rest is an address on Belmont Avenue.”

  “Maybe that’s where her aunt lives.”

  “Or it’s where she takes her aunt’s poodle to be groomed,” he said, a note of defeat edging his voice.

  “On a Sunday?”

  He scowled at her as if to say, “That again?”

  “Whatever the reason she had for writing that address in her book, it’s at least worth a try.” While she was at it, she wanted to suggest he give God another try.

  And her.

  He shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to see what’s there.”

  For one crazy, illogical moment, Ruthie thought he was responding to the thought she dared not voice. That he wanted to give God another try. Maybe see what still existed between her and him.

  Savannah flipped her wrist and checked her watch. “If you two are going to check out that address before the prayer vigil begins, you should leave now.” The rational side of her brain kicked in and reminded her that he was still talking about the address, and her heart took yet another plummet.

  “Go. I’ll take Cali home with me.” Savannah wiggled her fingers to shoo them along.

  At mention of the prayer vigil, Gray made a small noise in the back of his throat.

  Every Monday, their church held a prayer vigil for those in special need, and this week Sobo’s name claimed the top of the list. Ruthie and her friends had already planned to attend, and Pop and the rest of the family would certainly be there. All believed in the power of prayer, and they were determined to do whatever they could to help.

  They all loved Sobo...Pop the longest and strongest, and of course Gray. But judging by the sound he had made, he wouldn’t be at church tonight.

  * * *

  The address on Belmont Street belonged to a modest-looking café that sat next to an orchid shop. The logo on the flag over the neighboring store drew Ruthie’s attention and called up a long-ago memory of Gray showing up at the Bristows’ house the night of her junior prom with a delicate white flower in a plastic box. He had wrapped the orchid around her wrist and planted a chivalrous kiss on the back of her hand.

  She jerked her thoughts back to the present and shaded her eyes against the late-afternoon sun to squint at the little bistro. The striped awning provided a quaint, homey feel, and a sign in the window welcomed diners with promises of seafood and vegetarian fare.

  “I don’t think her obasan lives here,” Ruthie said. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  But Gray had already removed the key from the ignition and walked around to open her door. “They offer Sunday brunch until two,” he said, pointing to the sign in the window. “The note on the calendar was for one o’clock. Perhaps she and her aunt came here for brunch.”

  “Good point.”

  She followed him into the dimly lit interior, where they were met by a college-age fellow who offered to seat them at a booth.

  “Actually, we’re not here to eat,” she said. “We came to ask about a Japanese woman and her aunt who had brunch here yesterday.”

  “We had a lot of people come in yesterday.”

  “She may have been driving a vintage Mazda Coupe,” Gray said, zeroing in on the facts a man might notice.

  That got the guy’s attention. A smile stretched across his face. “Yeah. Pale green. It was pretty sweet.”

  Unfortunately, that was all he could tell them, but confirmation that the woman had been here gave them something to go on. Ruthie flagged down a passing waitress and gave her a description of the woman who’d bought the doll.

  “Yeah, the older lady is a regular. The younger one, her niece, offered to take her anywhere she wanted for lunch, but Tomiko insisted on coming here.” The waitress straightened her posture. “She always asks to sit at my table.”

  A breakthrough! Ruthie glanced toward Gray, but his expression revealed only polite interest. This woman had just given them the aunt’s first name. Perhaps she knew more information that she could share.

  Ruthie asked if she knew the niece’s name or where either of them lived.

  “No, but the nie
ce’s house is going to be on the Museum District Mother’s Day tour this year. They’re both really excited about that.”

  Gray tipped the woman for the information and handed her his business card. “Would you call me the next time she comes in? It’s important that we speak to her.”

  The waitress turned the bill over in her hand and gave him an appreciative nod.

  Back in the car, Gray started the engine and cruised slowly through the neighborhood where the car-club president said he’d seen the woman’s vehicle. Unfortunately, the fading daylight quickly made it too dark for a search. Besides, it was probably sheltered in a garage.

  Despite the disappointment of learning neither the name of the doll’s purchaser nor the location of her car and thus her house, Ruthie could hardly contain her enthusiasm. “If I had decent phone reception, I’d look up the house tour on Google right now. Maybe the niece’s address is on the website.”

  “Maybe later,” Gray said. “I’ve got to drop you off at home, then take Pop to church.”

  She might be pushing too hard, but she had to ask, “Will you be staying for the vigil? It would be nice if you could be there for Sobo.”

  He kept his gaze on the road, and for a moment only the twitch of the muscle in his jaw indicated he had heard her.

  It may have been a stupid question, she conceded. If he no longer believed in God, why would he think being there could do anything to help his grandmother? She tried another tactic.

  “For Pop, then. It would mean a lot to him if you went inside and sat with him.” She didn’t even ask him to pray. Just sit.

  This time, he met her gaze, his brown eyes as serious as she’d ever seen them. “I’ll be back to pick him up after the praying is over.”

  Ruthie’s heart sank. He might not stick around for the vigil tonight, but what he didn’t know was that the praying would never be over. Not Pop’s. Certainly not hers.

  If prayers were weapons, she’d aim hers at him until the high-vaulted barriers he’d erected around himself four years ago finally came down.

  * * *

  Gray wished he could have powered past the resistance that held him back from the prayer meeting. Ruthie was right that Pop needed his loved ones around him while they pooled their love and prayers toward Sobo’s healing. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. If duty toward family hadn’t been so firmly instilled in him, Gray would have just pulled up to the front of the church, let Pop out and driven off. But he couldn’t do that. Instead, he pulled into the parking lot and walked with him to the front of the church.

  His grandfather’s normally rugged complexion seemed to have faded over the past week. Although Pop had floated a test balloon and asked if he would stay for the service tonight, there had been no pressure in his question. But his expression told him how strongly he wanted him there. As much as he loved and respected his grandfather, he just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be a hypocrite. Couldn’t lie and pretend to believe in the prayers that Pop found comfort in.

  They were climbing the steps to the portico when one of the heavy front doors eased open and Ruthie leaned out, her red hair draping like a fine silk curtain. “Good, you’re here,” she said to Pop, but her eyes remained fixed on Gray. “We saved you a seat up front.”

  Pop kissed her and mumbled something that sounded like “talk some sense into the boy.” He went inside and shut the door behind him.

  Ruthie pulled the heavy green sweater she wore around herself and leaned against the white porch column. “I’m sorry if I came across a little pushy this afternoon. I was hoping you would come for Pop, even if not for yourself. But you have your reasons, and I respect that.” She glanced down at her fingernail and plucked at it with her thumb. “Whatever the cause, something happened that frightened you away from the church.”

  Her voice grew softer, and he could almost hear the words that remained unspoken: and me. It tore him up every time he thought of how much he had hurt her.

  “I’m not afraid of the church.”

  Ruthie was filling in the blanks as well as she knew how. He owed her an explanation. He needed to justify—to her as well as to himself—what he had done.

  She stepped forward, reached for his hand, then seemed to think better of it and let her arm drop to her side. “Then explain it to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Her tone was as kind as when she had soothed Cali after the injury. Soft. Caring. Infinitely patient.

  She tugged the knitted sleeves down to cover her hands and pressed her elbows to her sides.

  “Go inside,” he said just as gently. “You’re cold.”

  She looked as chilled as he sometimes felt inside. He had heard that when people get frostbite, the thawing of the blackened, shriveled skin hurt more than the actual freezing. All the more reason to stay frozen where he was. If it hurt this bad now, what might his blackened, shriveled heart feel like if he let the warmth back in? Either her warmth or God’s.

  “I’d rather stay out here with you.” She gazed at him, her eyes questioning whether he’d stay here with her or send her back to the others...and to the God he no longer believed in.

  He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The temptation to leave his arms around her hit him hard. It was only with great willpower that he managed to step away.

  “To talk me into going inside with you?” He hadn’t meant to sound so cynical. It was as if that brief moment of physical closeness had pried open a long-shut door to something inside that he felt shouldn’t be examined. Because if he did examine it, he’d start questioning whether he’d done the right thing after all.

  Ruthie blinked at the harshness of his tone but pretended she hadn’t noticed. He hoped she didn’t think it was aimed at her. Even though she reminded him of everything he used to believe and had since given up, he held no grudge against her.

  “To hear what caused you to lose your faith.” She paused, and her thoughts seemed to drift to the past. “Besides your overwhelming need to protect others, loyalty is one of your greatest virtues. Once you’ve committed to someone or something, you don’t turn your back on them. Whatever it was, it must have been big to cause you to shut God out.”

  And to shut her out. She was right. It had been hard. Almost as hard as it would have been to try to play the role of someone who still believed...in both God and the possibility of a relationship with her. Neither was a satisfactory solution as far as he was concerned, but shutting them out was more honest than faking a faith he no longer possessed.

  From within the church, an organ started to play the opening music. Though no one sang the words, he heard them in his head. Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me.

  He had known the day would come when he would have to pull out those terrible memories and go over them with her. But not today. It wasn’t something he could tell her in a sentence or two. If she asked questions, which he was certain would happen, he didn’t know if he’d have the answers. “It’s a long story. Too long to go into here.”

  Come home! Come home! Ye who are weary, come home!

  “You should go inside,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  Ruthie tilted her head, her expression serious. “You’ll tell me everything? Even if it hurts me?” She slowly let out her breath. “I’d rather know the truth than keep wondering.”

  Wordlessly, he nodded his promise to tell her all that she wanted to know. Even if it hurt her...even if it hurt him. He owed her that much. He hadn’t been ready to explain it in the letter, or even after he had returned home. It wasn’t fair to continue to keep her in the dark.

  He had locked away the memory of that fateful day, unwilling to examine the ugliness of what had happened...unwilling to ponder the what-ifs, because examining the event under a microscope wouldn’t bring anyone back. Would
n’t make a tragic situation right. But if opening the door to that memory could somehow make her feel better about the decision he had thrust upon her, then it would be worth the pain of walking through it again so she could see what had made his heart turn cold.

  “We’ll talk,” he promised. “But now you should go inside.”

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, she shrugged off his jacket, turning her cheek toward the collar as it slid off her shoulders. She returned it to him, still warm from her body, and slowly pulled open the door. Then she stepped inside and paused in the threshold, her gaze trapping his as she held the door open behind her...a clear invitation to follow.

  Come home. Come home...

  She turned to face him again. “Even though you rejected God,” she said quietly, “He will never turn His back on you.”

  With that, they parted ways. Ruthie let the door ease closed behind her, all the while looking over her shoulder as if hoping he would change his mind and follow her.

  He watched until the final click of the latch echoed into the night. Then he started back down the stairs he had walked up with Pop.

  At the bottom, he turned and looked back at the familiar building, driven by an overwhelming urge he could not explain. An urge to reach for something he couldn’t express, to ask for understanding with an unanswerable question, to replace the pain and turmoil he had experienced ever since Afghanistan with the peace and acceptance that were so openly visible in Sobo, Pop and especially Ruthie. He imagined her holding hands with Pop, the two of them gathering strength from each other and God, and wished he could draw on that strength. Wished he hadn’t been disappointed in God and that he still carried the confidence that showed in Ruthie and the others in the church...confidence that their prayers would be answered.

  The song had finished, but the refrain echoed in his heart. Come home.

  Automatically, as if pulled by tattered threads of the past that still clung to his heart, he placed one foot on the bottom step and slowly lifted his weight up to scale the first of the four steps. Four years. Four blocks of concrete and brick that separated him from God and Ruthie.