Sitting at the kitchen table, we set up the chess set. I’d taught both boys the game on a rainy Saturday afternoon that included one too many rounds of Candy Land.
“Do you remember teaching me how to play?” Drew asked, reading my mind.
I nodded. “It was after the twenty-fifth time I got stuck in Molasses Swamp.”
“You never liked that game,” he said, laughing.
I shrugged. “The first three hundred times were okay.”
Drew laughed again. “Do you remember coming to school on Friday mornings for chess club?”
I smiled. “Of course. What ever happened to the chess club after I left?”
Drew moved his bishop to E5, right in the path of my pawn. “Mrs. Tate took over, but it wasn’t the same. She had her own way of doing things.”
I looked down at the chess board and tried to decide whether or not to capture Drew’s bishop. On one hand, Drew was just a kid and it was important to encourage his love for the game by keeping the mood light and friendly. On the other hand, I’d never been the kind of dad who babied his kids or supported trophies for participation.
“Your move, Dad.”
“Right.” With a deep breath, I replaced Drew’s bishop with my pawn. “Sorry, buddy.”
Drew grinned. “Ah, that’s okay. I was just making sure you still remembered how to play.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, but from here on out, no more Mr. Nice Guy, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
With that, Drew moved his queen into position and declared, “Checkmate, and that’s game.”
Chapter 14
Lyla
After dinner, Lyla sat on the front porch, sipping a glass of iced tea while Avery rode her bike up and down the sidewalk. Each time Avery passed the house, she jingled the bell on her handlebars and gave a big, enthusiastic, “Hi, Mom!”
“Hi, baby,” Lyla replied.
Happy, Avery pedaled off, her training wheels whacking against the sidewalk. Lyla returned her attention to the e-reader Hank had given her. She’d been surprised by how much she’d come to enjoy reading on a digital device. While she loved the look and feel of physical books, there was an ease and convenience to the e-reader she hadn’t expected.
Right now, she was reading about Keith Foster in the digital edition of the local newspaper. According to the article, Keith had been shot by a twenty-two-year-old drug addict. Doctors were confident in Major Foster’s physical recovery, but there were rumors he was suffering from severe memory loss.
Memory loss? Everything inside Lyla froze. What exactly had Keith forgotten . . . and more importantly, what did he remember?
Did he still remember the secret that could bring about Ronnie’s ruin? And what about Lyla’s own demise?
She’d first met Keith while working as an embedded reporter with one of the deployed combat units from Rose Island. That job had given her the unique opportunity to closely interact with the troops, including Keith and his brother-in-law, Specialist Marcus Morgan. Marcus had been such a sweet kid. Young and scared to death but determined to be brave for his country, his wife, and their three-year-old son.
Lyla had been scared, too. It was her first big assignment and proved harder than anticipated. If Ronnie hadn’t been there to support and encourage her, she might have quit. But Ronnie was easy to talk to, and they quickly became friends over a shared interest in Teddy Roosevelt and jazz music. Despite her attraction to him, she maintained a professional distance, even after he alluded to his impending divorce.
When Specialist Morgan died, everything changed. The tragedy drove Lyla into Ronnie’s arms. She’d clung to him for comfort, and in the days that followed, their relationship took on an intensity she’d never experienced before. By the time they returned to the states, she was both heartbroken and pregnant.
At Marcus’s memorial service, Keith had been a drunken mess. He’d confronted her about what really happened. Needing to confess her own guilt, Lyla had driven him back to her house so she could talk to him about how Marcus had actually died.
The truth had devastated Keith. Sitting across from her in the living room, he’d grown angry, insisting she join him in bringing charges against the commander. Lyla had refused to betray Ronnie. She was afraid of how those consequences would affect her.
For hours, they’d argued. Would Keith’s memory loss change his silence?
The sound of tires crunching on pavement broke Lyla’s reverie. She watched her neighbor, former fashion model, Justine Nelson pull into the driveway next door. Justine stepped out of her car carrying a garment bag from Mrs. McMahan’s Dress Boutique, an upscale women’s clothing store located on Market Street. Ladies from all over the country commissioned custom-made dresses from the talented seamstress.
Avery rode over to Justine and began chatting as she gestured at the streamers on her handlebars. Lyla couldn’t exactly hear what her daughter was saying, but at some point, Justine shot a glance at Lyla and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Your daddy gave you that bike, but you’re not supposed to tell his real wife?”
Lyla closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. Avery had no filter. No matter how many times Lyla explained that Ronnie’s real wife was a secret, Avery couldn’t—or wouldn’t—grasp the concept. She continued talking about it, and now that the surgery had improved her speech, people could understand what she was saying.
Avery hunched over her handlebars. “I go fast.” She pedaled away, her long strawberry blonde hair flowing behind her.
Justine hesitated before heading across the yard to Lyla with her fancy shopping bag.
Lyla’s gut wrenched, but she offered her best non-adulterous, “Hello, Justine.”
Justine stopped in front of Lyla and peered down with disapproval. “Avery’s father is already married?”
Lyla bit her cheek to stop from telling Justine to mind her own business. Except for the occasional wave hello and “Merry Christmas,” they barely spoke.
“Yesterday,” Justine continued, “Avery told me her father is famous and she’s supposed to keep his name a secret. If that’s true, I’m worried it’s only a matter of time before she tells everyone. If he’s already married—”
Anger shot up Lyla’s spine. “Yes, I’m very aware of Avery’s tendency to over share. We’re working on that.”
Justine bristled at Lyla’s defensive tone. “I’m only trying to help. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Lyla disagreed. Intruding seemed to be exactly what Justine meant to do.
At that moment, Justine’s husband, Caleb, came onto the front porch holding their adorable, perfectly healthy baby girl. “Honey, can you take Madison? I want to mow the lawn before it rains.”
“I’ll be right there.” Justine turned back to Lyla. “I’ve offended you and I’m sorry. I just thought you might want to know what Avery’s been saying.”
Lyla’s throat ached with shame. Maybe Justine was sincere in her intentions, but Lyla felt attacked. Standing, she called for Avery to come inside.
“Don’t want to,” Avery replied.
“Lyla,” Justine said, “please don’t leave.”
Lyla blinked hard, not wanting to cry in front of Justine. “I’m sure it’s difficult for someone with your perfect life to understand my situation.”
“I don’t have a perfect life.”
“No? You don’t have a perfect husband who’s home every evening, mows the lawn, and takes care of your daughter while you shop? You don’t have a perfect daughter who’s never required special care or extensive surgery?”
Justine opened her mouth to speak, but Lyla cut her off. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m trying to change. I’m trying to break things off with Avery’s father, but you have no idea how difficult that is. You have no idea how challenging it is to be a single parent of a child with special needs.”
“Mommy.” Avery pushed her bike up the walkway toward Lyla. “I stay out
side.”
“No, it’s time to come inside.”
“Don’t want to.”
Avery’s whiny voice struck a nerve, causing Lyla to speak more harshly than intended, “Avery, get in the house now!”
Her little girl’s eyes filled. Lyla never lost her temper, and it was more than Avery could handle. Bursting into tears, she threw her bike on the grass and stomped inside the house.
Lyla swiped at her own tears, ashamed of how she’d just acted. Ashamed of how Justine’s words had caused her to mistreat Avery. But mostly, ashamed of her life and the situation she couldn’t seem to escape.
“I’m really sorry,” Justine said, quietly.
Lyla swallowed hard. Justine’s pity was worse than her condemnation.
Her hand trembling, Lyla escaped inside, closing the door behind her. Avery’s cries echoed down the hall, making Lyla feel like the worst parent in the world. Sick to her stomach, she closed her eyes and prayed.
*
Later, Lyla sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and apologized. Avery wrapped her arms around Lyla’s neck. “Let’s get ice cream.”
Lyla wiped her eyes and laughed. She wasn’t in the mood to venture out and chance seeing Justine or anyone else, but she didn’t want to spend the evening staying home feeling sorry for herself, so she agreed. Besides, if they slipped through the back gate and followed the alley, they could be downtown and home in no time.
Her tears forgotten, Avery skipped ahead until they reached Market Street where music, voices, and the smell of delicious food greeted them.
“Party!” Avery’s eyes danced as they took in all the sights, sounds, and scents.
Lyla had forgotten the Farmer’s Market stayed open this evening until nine. Had she remembered, she wouldn’t have come because she often avoided crowds, not wanting anyone to recognize her from her days as a reporter.
“Mommy!” Avery ran ahead. Left with no other choice, Lyla followed, taking solace in her daughter’s enthusiasm and delight. They went into the ice-cream shop where Lyla bought a scoop of chocolate for Avery and a cup of coffee for herself.
Back outside, they wandered through the market until Avery found a pair of ladybug barrettes she had to have. Lyla paid for the purchase. Gently, she slipped the barrettes into Avery’s hair.
“I pretty?” Avery reached up to touch the barrettes.
“You’re gorgeous.”
“I want show Daddy.”
Daddy. Why did Avery have to be so obsessed with Ronnie?
They continued up the street until Lyla spotted a wooden sign painted turquoise with bold black lettering that read, “It is well with my soul.”
The statement hit her hard because nothing was well with her soul. Not her pathetic career, not her lack of friends, and certainly not her relationship with Ronnie.
Picking up the sign, she studied it carefully. Maybe this could be her new mantra. Do only what sat well with her soul.
Before she could change her mind, she opened her wallet and handed over her debit card. The older man with the words “Ollie’s Signs” embroidered on his shirt smiled as he swiped her card through the square on his device. “I’ve been praying this sign would go to the right person.”
Lyla blinked. “You have?”
Nodding, he turned the screen toward Lyla so she could sign for the purchase. “Do you know the story behind those words?”
“Is it from an old hymn? I think we sang it at my grandmother’s church when I was a little girl.”
“That’s right.” The man gave a quirky grin and rubbed the scar at his chin. “The lyrics were written by a man named Horatio Spafford after his four daughters tragically drowned while crossing the Atlantic.”
“That’s horrible.” Lyla glanced at Avery who stood safely nearby, completely enthralled by a display of hermit crabs in a glass tank. “How could anything be well with your soul after losing four daughters?”
The man gave a knowing smile. “Faith.”
“What?”
“Faith. It’s all in the lyrics. Spafford put his trust in God. Look up the lyrics and you’ll understand.”
Lyla thanked the man and joined Avery to watch the hermit crabs.
“I want.” Avery gestured at the crab in a pink and purple shell. “Please?”
“Not today, sweetheart.”
“You did,” Avery whined, pointing to the sign.
Lyla touched the ladybug barrettes in Avery’s hair. “You did, too, remember?”
Avery ran a finger over one of the black and red barrettes. “Can’t see.”
“You may not be able to see them, but I can see them. If you want, I can take them out of your hair.”
“No,” Avery cried, clasping her head with both hands. “I want crab.”
“I can sell them to you for half price,” the man behind the counter said.
“Please, Mommy. Please. Half price is good.”
Lyla shook her head and reminded herself to be consistent with her parenting. If she caved now, she’d only be teaching her daughter that whining and begging worked. “I’m not going to buy you a hermit crab today. Maybe next time, but I already bought you something.”
“I love him, Mommy. Please.”
Avery’s begging only reinforced Lyla’s resolve. She knelt so she was eye level with her daughter. “You can’t always have everything you love, sweetheart. Sometimes you need to let go of what you love so there’s room in your life for something even better.”
Tears pooled in Avery’s eyes, but Lyla refused to change her mind. She’d learned from past experiences that giving Avery everything she wanted only made things worse.
On the walk home, Avery pouted, so Lyla took the reprieve to pull up the lyrics of the hymn on her phone. As soon as she saw the words, she remembered the tune and began singing softly.
Avery loved music and couldn’t help but sing along, copying Lyla to the best of her ability. Lyla sang the song three more times and by the time they arrived home, both she and Avery had memorized it.
“Your song?” Avery asked.
“Are you asking if I wrote the song myself?”
Avery nodded.
“I didn’t, but I really like it.”
“Me, too,” Avery said, taking Lyla by the hand in a gesture that meant all was forgiven.
*
Lyla placed her new sign on the fireplace mantle in the study. “Do only what is well with your soul,” she said aloud.
“Mommy?” Avery looked up from the coffee table where she was decorating an empty oatmeal canister for her ladybug barrettes. Lyla had suggested they make a home for the barrettes and pretend they were hermit crabs.
“I was just reading my sign.” Lyla smiled. “It is well with my soul. Do you like it there?”
Avery tilted her head and nodded before returning to her art project. Lyla patted her daughter’s shoulder and sat on the couch with her laptop to compose the most important letter of her life.
Dear Ronnie,
It’s hard for me to write this letter, but I need to tell you in writing because speaking to you directly isn’t working.
I love you.
I know it’s wrong to love you because you’re married to someone else, but I honestly love you. That’s what makes ending our relationship so difficult. Please understand I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not fair to either one of us. It’s not fair to Avery, and it’s not fair to your wife.
You are a wonderful father, Ronnie. You’ve always treated Avery well, but it has to be over between us. I will never stand in your way with our daughter. You can see her whenever you want, but I can’t wait for you any longer. I hope you will respect my decision and not make this harder than it needs to be.
Below, I’ve outlined Avery’s expenses. I won’t ask that you continue financing my life, only that you help support and raise your daughter.
Sincerely,
Lyla
She reread the letter, debating whether or not she should
include the part about Avery’s expenses. As much as she wanted to break free from him, the reality was she needed his financial support. Unless . . .
Lyla looked around her cozy study. She loved her home, especially this room with its stone fireplace and large picture window overlooking the backyard where Avery often played. Could she honestly sell her greatest possession?
Yes, you can. The thought was so loud and clear she couldn’t deny it.
Staring at the letter, she highlighted the last paragraph and pressed delete. Ronnie had a financial obligation to his daughter, but she didn’t need to mention that right now.
Can I really do this, God? Will you help me?
She waited for an answer but heard nothing. Nevertheless, she didn’t doubt God was with her. Ever since that moment in the hospital chapel when she poured out her heart to Him, she could feel His presence.
She prayed constantly, and although she imagined her prayers sounded trite and childish to a more sophisticated person, hopefully the Lord could see what was in her heart. Regardless, talking to God brought her enormous comfort. In time, she hoped it would bring answers as well.
Placing a hand on her heart, she repeated the words of the hymn, “It is well, it is well, it is well with my soul.”
Avery looked up and giggled. Imitating Lyla, she placed her little hand on her own chest and said, “Well my soul.”
Lyla hugged her daughter. Filled with peace for the first time in years, she sent her e-mail to Ronnie, believing in a better future.
Chapter 15
Jillian
Bryan, Dr. Mitch Norman, Carrie Woodall, and I sat at Bryan’s kitchen table, discussing the details for the upcoming charity gala benefiting Chelsea’s Friends.
During our fundraising meeting last fall, I’d suggested hosting a grand gala at the elegant Carson Mansion down by the harbor. The board was thrilled by the suggestion and gave me the go-ahead to take the lead. Unfortunately, I’d underestimated the time and energy needed to plan such an elaborate event.
Then again, I hadn’t anticipated Keith and his medical issues taking over my life.
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