Scotty went over and grabbed bowls from the cupboard.
“Thank you, Scotty,” Ingrid said, putting a handful of spoons on the table.
Scotty set the table, elongated to fit the entire clan.
The conversation died when Casper entered. Ingrid put down the salt and pepper and went to hug him.
His eyes seemed reddened, and he tucked his face into his mother’s shoulder.
Not unlike Owen when he’d come home, needing something to hold on to. Their mother.
Scotty turned away, grabbed the salt and pepper, and added them to the table.
Raina came in, her eyes swollen. “I’m going to put Layla down in the den; is that okay?”
“Why don’t you put her in the girls’ room, Raina?” Ingrid said. “I put a porta-crib up there this morning. It just needs to be set up.”
See, that’s what mothers did—thought of everything. But maybe that kind of thinking wasn’t beyond Scotty. Hadn’t she made cookies yesterday?
“I’ll help,” she said to Raina and carried up the diaper bag.
Raina closed the door behind them and found the porta-crib in a zippered bag in the corner. While Scotty wrestled it open, Raina changed a cooing Layla, then set her on the floor to help with the crib.
“These things can get tricky,” Raina said. “You have to pull up the sides, then push down the bottom.” She had it snapped into place in a second.
“You’re such a pro,” Scotty said, adding the sheet to the crib.
“Hardly. I have no idea what I’m doing. If anyone is a pro, it’s Casper, having this huge family.” She picked up Layla, rocking her against her shoulder. Layla stared at Scotty with big eyes, sucking on her pacifier. “I was completely freaked out at first. But now . . .” Raina bit her lip, turned away.
“Raina?”
“No, it’s nothing.” She swallowed, looked back at Scotty. “You know, I’m glad Owen found you. Or you found Owen. Whatever. Casper’s right—he does seem changed. Not so dark and broken, maybe.”
The jealousy monster died right there as Raina smiled. “We were never . . . Well, I was barely a moment to Owen. But you . . . you are everything to him.”
She was?
Scotty’s expression must have betrayed her because Raina laughed. “When Owen looks at you, it’s like he’s seeing a sunrise for the first time. Casper looks at me like that sometimes. Maybe it’s a Christiansen men thing.” Her eyes filled. “It’s breathtaking to be at the center of that.”
Yes. Yes, it was.
“I’m sorry,” Raina said, wiping her cheeks. “I have to get Layla to bed.”
Scotty nodded and headed back downstairs, where Owen, Max, and Jace were recounting last night’s game to Casper. As if any of them really cared, but maybe it gave them a chance to do exactly what John had suggested. Take a breath.
She helped serve the chili in bowls; then Raina came downstairs and Scotty found herself seated beside Owen, across from Casper and Raina. On her other side were Max and Grace, who sat opposite Darek and Ivy.
Her spot there, smack in the middle of the family.
Ingrid held out her hands for prayer, and Scotty slipped hers into Owen’s, then Max’s, and with the rest of them, bowed her head.
She listened as John thanked God for family, food, home. Ordinary things that suddenly didn’t feel at all ordinary.
They chorused an amen as if breaking for a play and began passing the condiments.
Not a word about the trial. Plenty about the resort and the upcoming town events, and chatter about the youngest, Amelia, off in Africa.
“We should Skype with her this weekend,” Grace said. “She doesn’t even know Owen is home yet. And she could meet Scotty.”
No hint about her leaving. Scotty wasn’t going to bring it up.
Across from her, Raina ate quietly, Casper, next to her, deeply silent.
The conversation around the table dimmed as if everyone, after trying so hard, hadn’t the energy to continue.
John pushed up from his chair. Ingrid said his name, but he answered, “I’ll be right back.”
He walked to an end table near the sofa, then returned, holding a book.
A Bible.
He sat, opened it, and without preamble, began to read. “‘I look up to the mountains—does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth! He will not let you stumble; the one who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps.’”
He paused, looked up at his wife, and recited without reading, “‘The Lord himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night.’”
Owen had found Scotty’s hand, and across the table, Casper’s arm went around Raina.
John looked at Casper then. “‘The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life.’”
Casper’s jaw tightened, but he met his father’s eyes.
“Casper, you need to remember that God has not looked away or fallen asleep on the job. You are a son of the Creator, and He holds your life in His hand. You will get through this. We all will.”
John looked around the table. “Our God is one who brings the prodigals home, gives children to the barren, heals the sick, redeems the sinners, gives us purpose, and fills our world with family and love. This I know to be true, and we will not forget it in the days ahead.”
The words seemed to reach into Scotty, settle through her.
Family. Love. And oh, she wanted it. Every morsel of Owen’s messy, tangled, loud, even bossy family. Wanted to be counted at the table, to help with the dishes, to be on the football team in the backyard and tucked every night into Owen’s arms.
Even if that meant staying in Deep Haven.
Maybe she was turning into marriage material.
“I made cookies,” Ingrid said.
Casper erupted with an incredulous snort. “Mom, seriously?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Ingrid said. “Besides, cookies are good for the soul.” She retrieved the cookie plate from the counter.
“Hear, hear,” Max said.
Casper rose, glancing at Owen. “I’m going to bring in firewood.”
To Scotty’s surprise, Owen stood. “I’ll help.”
John had closed the Bible, was reaching for a cookie. Scotty watched as Owen pulled on his coat and followed Casper outside. She got up to carry her bowl to the sink.
Jace and Max began to discuss the case. “What did the prosecutor mean when he said Casper couldn’t account for his whereabouts on the night in question?” Jace asked.
“He went for a drive, came back here late,” Max said. “He told the lawyer everyone was sleeping.”
“The prosecutor didn’t even ask!” Ingrid said.
Jace mopped his chili with a piece of bread. “I suppose he will for the preliminary hearing.”
“We need to retrace Casper’s steps that night. If we can find someone—anyone—who can verify where he was when Monte went missing . . . ,” Scotty said. “I’m going to find out what he remembers from that night.”
She pulled on her boots and grabbed her jacket, peering out the window. She couldn’t see Casper and Owen by the woodpile. Maybe they were chopping fresh wood.
She was just about to head out the door when she felt a touch on her arm. Scotty startled, then turned and startled again at the softness in Ingrid’s eyes.
“Thank you, Scotty. I don’t know what we’d do without you and your willingness to help us clear his name.” Ingrid pulled her into a hug. A warm, motherly hug.
Scotty stiffened, but Ingrid didn’t let go, so she let herself be hugged.
“You are exactly the kind of woman that I would have dreamed of for Owen,” Ingrid said as she let Scotty go.
Scotty had no idea what to do with that. Except smile, something tentative. Ingrid winked, then headed back to the kitchen.
Huh.
>
Outside, the air had turned brisk, leaves escaping across the dirt parking lot. According to Owen, guests would start arriving tonight. By tomorrow night the resort would be full of tourists, here for the final colors of the season. His family would build a bonfire, hence the pile of chopped wood, and his mother would be in the kitchen—where else?—baking cinnamon rolls.
Scotty would line up for one of those.
“You don’t have a choice, Owen. You have to marry her!”
Scotty froze halfway to the garage, in the gravel driveway, the voices lifting from the back, where it seemed Owen and Casper were having a discussion that had nothing at all to do with firewood.
“No, you’re talking crazy.”
“I’m not, and you know it. I can’t stay. I’ve already talked to Raina, and she’s agreed—”
She agreed? To what? Scotty held her breath.
“No, Casper, you can’t leave. You’re not guilty!”
“It doesn’t matter. Plenty of innocent people go to jail, and you know it. This is best—for everyone.”
“Not for Raina. Trust me on this—you’re what’s best for Raina.”
“And you’re Layla’s father. Like it or not, Owen, you have a responsibility to her, to both of them. They have to forget about me—and you have to do the right thing.”
Scotty’s chest tightened, her breath webbing inside.
Owen’s voice came again. “You can’t go. You can’t leave her.”
“Do you think I want to? That it doesn’t slay me to think of you . . . and her and . . .”
That was all Scotty could take. Because Owen simply fell silent. No But I love Scotty or even a more tepid Scotty and I are together. Just . . . nothing.
Really, what did she expect? Because Casper was right. Owen had a responsibility.
But he didn’t have to marry Raina to accomplish it, did he?
By his silence, apparently he didn’t agree.
Scotty backed up, turning toward the house before Owen could break her heart further.
And before she heard any more of Casper’s plans. Because if he ran . . .
Well, someone in the family—or maybe outside the family—would have to bring the fugitive to justice.
And if she remembered correctly, that’s exactly why she’d come to Deep Haven.
OWEN HAD SPENT ALL DAY Friday and Saturday trying to figure out how he could confess to the murder of Monte Riggs. Because his brain simply couldn’t conjure any other way to make sure Casper didn’t do something stupid.
Like run.
As Owen stood in the pew of the morning service at Deep Haven Community Church on Sunday, he clung to the hope that his words to Casper had dug in, found fertile soil, and convinced his brother that his idea of running—and of Owen marrying Raina—could only end in heartbreak. Disaster. Prison for all of them, figuratively if not literally. Owen could easily follow Casper into jail for knowing and participating in his bail jumping. Most importantly, Raina would certainly pay the price. Casper had to see that.
He had to stop trying to fix things and just have, well, faith.
This morning, the entire Christiansen family had squeezed into two center pews. Owen stood sandwiched between Eden and Scotty, who gave him a wan smile as a hymn swelled through the sanctuary.
“‘Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine!’”
The sense of normalcy fostered in the sanctuary, along with the beautiful blue-skied morning, was exactly what his mother had decreed they all needed this weekend. She’d made them go out for burgers Friday night at the VFW, and he should have expected her announcement during the Saturday night game of Sorry! that she’d wake him for church.
It seemed, however, like the right answer.
He was thirsty for a life he’d seen taking shape over the weekend. A life that looked, if not exactly like, similar to what Eden and Grace and Darek and even Casper had.
His hand slipped into Scotty’s, and he wove his fingers through hers. She held on but not enough.
In fact, ever since they brought Casper home, she’d seemed . . . distant. One second warm in his arms, then oddly . . . cooling. Maybe she’d simply come to her senses. But Friday night, as he’d drawn her onto the dance floor at the VFW while the Blue Monkeys played, she’d clung to him, her arms around his neck.
Later, as he’d kissed her good night in front of a blazing bonfire at the resort . . . No, definitely no cooling there. In fact, he’d had to reel back, remember that he wasn’t the sum of his past but could be a different guy.
So maybe not cooling. Perhaps being dragged along with the family to church had unsettled her.
Except she had caught the tune of the hymn and raised her voice into the next verse.
“‘Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.’”
Love. Yes. The enormity of that word, of his feelings for her, could sweep him under.
And if Casper felt for Raina what Owen felt for Scotty, only a raw desperation could have made Casper practically beg Owen to marry the woman he loved.
I’m leaving. I have to. They’re going to find me guilty, and I’m going to jail for fifteen years, and that’s going to kill us all. It’s better if I just . . . disappear.
That’s when the shouting had begun. Owen didn’t remember the entire conversation, but somewhere in there, Casper had yelled his ludicrous suggestion. You don’t have a choice, Owen.
That stopped him like a sucker punch that still had him gasping.
Because in his head, he had already formed a life with Scotty. Maybe in Deep Haven, maybe beyond, but . . . a life. Someday a family.
But if Casper left, Owen would have to stay. Maybe not marry Raina, but he had to own up to what they’d done.
He couldn’t let go of Scotty’s hand, not wanting to think beyond the wild hope that Casper might be coming to his senses right now.
“‘This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long.’”
Owen would like to rewrite his entire story. Figure out a way to make it end happily. Him with Scotty. Casper with Raina—and Layla because that was best for her too.
Instead he might just collapse, put his head in his arms, and weep for the mess he’d made. And for the fact that . . . he agreed with Casper. His brother should run.
After sitting in on the family powwow around breakfast Saturday morning, where they hashed out Casper’s options via speakerphone with Casper’s lawyer, the alternative solution on the table felt brutally raw, painfully reasonable. Bryce had bargained with the prosecutor for a guilty plea to involuntary manslaughter and suggested he’d get Casper no more than seven years, out in five.
Seven years.
“‘Perfect submission, all is at rest . . .’”
As Casper had sat there, drained, his final But I’m innocent had fallen feebly between them.
Even his kid sister, Amelia, who’d joined them via Skype, listening to the evidence from her missionary base in Africa, put her hands over her face, crying.
Honestly, though he hadn’t told Casper this, if Owen were facing those charges, without evidence to defend himself, he would have already disappeared into the night.
“‘Watching and waiting, looking above . . .’”
But that was Owen, and they all knew it. Or maybe it was the old Owen. He wasn’t going to run this time. Not when Casper needed him to stick around.
He closed his eyes, listening to the song rise, Scotty’s sweet, surprisingly soprano voice singing something she probably didn’t believe in the least. “‘Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.’”
Lord, I don’t even know where to start . . . but we need help.
The hymn reached its close, and Owen glanced at Casper, whose expression seemed drawn as he sat down, put his arm around Raina.
As if he sensed Owen’s gaze on him, he glanced his way. Frowned. Gave a shake of his head.
And in his look, Owen got it. Casper hadn’t changed his mind. In fac
t, if Owen knew his brother, Casper probably had a bag packed and would slip out today during the game, before anyone knew.
Before anyone could stop him.
Owen focused on the pastor as he came up for the sermon, trying not to be ill with the ruin of their lives.
Pastor Dan hadn’t changed much over the past ten years—still fit, a full head of dark hair, with warm eyes for his congregation as he took the pulpit. “Today, I want to talk to you about the biggest rebel I know, a man named Jesus Christ.”
Next to Owen, Scotty shifted in her seat.
“I know it’s hard to imagine, but to the Jews, Jesus was a rule breaker. He hung out with tax collectors and prostitutes and Zealots, the dregs of society. He spurned the Pharisees and told people over and over that following God isn’t about how many rules you obey, but rather about how you love Him and others.”
Owen glanced again at Casper. At how he held Raina’s hand, his thumb caressing hers.
“In short, Jesus was trying to show us how to have faith. But faith scares us. As A. W. Tozer points out, we want a manageable God. We want a God we can use, who shows up when we need Him—and not when we don’t. Most of all, we want a God who follows the rules—our rules.”
Scotty pulled her hand away, folded her arms across her lap.
“But the God who created the heavens and the seas will do what He wants. His plans will not be thwarted.”
Was Scotty thinking of the raft, the way the sea had thrown them, helpless? Because suddenly Owen could smell the water, feel the darkness smothering him, taste the drowning sense of loss that had crept in as each hour passed.
“The trouble is that while we might believe God has a plan, we can’t believe He is actually for us. How can He be? We so easily look at our lives and see our mistakes and realize what a fool He must be to choose us. To want us.
“But He does want us. For us, Jesus stood in front of death and said, ‘No. You may not have them. They are what I came for, who I want.’ He proved this by gathering all us wretched prodigals behind Him and spreading out His hands in our defense and paying for our sins.” The pastor’s voice softened. “And with those outstretched hands come victory. The laws that kept us from God are broken; the rules of death are demolished by Jesus, the rule breaker, the rebel.”
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