When I Fall in Love (Christiansen Family)

by Susan May Warren

  Max had looked at her that way. In the park, before his phone call.

  He could look at her that way again.

  Oh, she loved him. Standing here beside Eden, the sense of it could send her to her knees, make her weep.

  She took a breath, kept her smile. Oh, God, I love him. But I’m afraid.

  Do you love Me?

  The voice rumbled through her, the question filling her so she could almost taste it. You know I do.

  Then feed My sheep.

  “Jace Maynard Jacobsen, do you take Eden Joy Christiansen to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Give him your heart.

  She stilled, hearing the voice twine through her like a whisper.

  “I do,” Jace said.

  Grace couldn’t help her tears. I will, Lord. But how—?

  Walk with Me. Trust Me.

  The words settled over her like a breath, a fragrance. Walk with Jesus. Trust Him. Yes. It would be, in truth, the only way. But perhaps that was the point. The more she needed, the more she would lean into Him. The more of God she’d discover.

  More.

  Could it be that Max was part of God’s more for her?

  She glanced at her mother, sitting in the pew just a few feet away. Oddly, Ingrid’s smile was not on Eden, but on Grace.

  Live dangerously.

  Maybe living dangerously had more to do with faith in a big, unpredictable God than it did doing something foolish. And maybe she didn’t have to do this alone on earth, either.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Jace leaned down and sweetly kissed his wife, catching her face in his hands. “I love you,” he said, loud enough for Grace to hear.

  More.

  Yes, being with Max, loving Max, would fill her life with more, not less, even when their days turned dark and difficult.

  Grace handed Eden her bouquet, casting a look toward the back of the church, where Casper and Owen stood sentry on either side of the door, both looking like they’d rumbled for the Sharks and Jets.

  Eden and Jace walked up the aisle, Grace following with Jace’s friend Sam. Amelia came out of the pew and followed behind.

  Grace nearly broke into a run when she reached the narthex, handing Amelia her flowers. “I gotta get to the reception.” She turned to Casper. “Give me a ride?”

  “With pleasure. Let me grab my stuff.” He took off down the hall, clearly as anxious as she to escape.

  She did notice, however, that he stopped and kissed Eden on the cheek, shook Jace’s hand as he dashed by.

  “You’re still wearing your dress,” Amelia said. Thankfully, Eden was a smart bride and had let Grace pick out her own attire. She could easily hike up her short blue dress for the motorcycle ride. Sure, it might not be ladylike, but at least she’d get to the reception hall before anyone burned the place down.

  Casper reappeared, holding a backpack and his helmet.

  Grace hooked his arm. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t look back as he headed outside. Nor did he say a word as he retrieved an extra helmet from his seat. He turned to fasten it on her head. “I’m leaving, Grace.”

  She caught his hands. “Wait—what?”

  “I gotta go.”

  But—

  “I was asked to be part of a treasure diving crew in Central America this fall, and I kept putting it off because . . . well . . .” His jaw tightened. “I thought I might be sticking around. But I can’t.”

  “Casper,” she said softly, “don’t run away.”

  His expression bore more pain, more truth in it than she could bear. “No. I’m just . . . changing scenery for a while. I’ll be back. I promise.”

  “Mom and Dad?”

  “They know.” He kissed her on the cheek, then fitted on the helmet.

  She blinked back the bite in her eyes.

  He got on the bike, held out his arm for her.

  Grace climbed on, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Be safe, Casper. And come back to us.”

  She felt him sigh, his rib cage rising and falling hard as he gunned the bike.

  She hung on to him, her eyes closed as they drove through Minneapolis toward the warehouse. It pulsed inside her to tell him that Raina needed him, but they weren’t her words to say. And who knew where Raina had vanished to?

  Keep him safe, Lord. Heal his heart.

  Casper dropped her off at the warehouse. Flipped open his visor. “Don’t burn anything.”

  “I love you, Bro.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

  And then he was gone.

  She stood on the sidewalk, watching him go. Oh, Casper.

  Just before she turned away, she caught sight of her car, parked down the street away from the warehouse. Or at least, what looked like her car.

  Raina? Grace ventured toward the car, peered into the window.

  Raina stared straight ahead, hands cupped to her mouth, tears running over them. She stared in the direction Casper had driven.

  When Grace knocked on the passenger window, Raina nearly jumped through her skin. Her bloodshot eyes widened.

  “Can I come in?”

  Raina wiped her cheeks. When she leaned over to unlock the door, Grace saw that her hair looked greasy. Had she slept in the car?

  Grace slid into the front seat. “Hey.”

  “I’m sorry I stole your car.”

  Grace gave her a smile. “In the scope of things that happened today, trust me—you can have this old clunker.”

  One side of Raina’s mouth tweaked up. Then it vanished and she looked again in the direction of Casper’s exit. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. Central America, he said.”

  “Roatán. There’s some sort of pirate dig there.”

  “He was always a treasure hunter.”

  “He said that.” She closed her eyes. “I hurt him. I really hurt him.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Grace said. “But . . . that’s the risk we take when we love someone. He’ll be okay.” She touched Raina’s arm. “What about you? Are you . . . ? Did . . . ? I need to know, for my parents’ sake. Did Owen do something to hurt you? Should we know about anything?”

  “Just that I’m stupid and fall hard for Christiansen men. Although Owen was just a weak, stupid mistake. Maybe it was the wedding and I was lonely, and you were going to Hawaii and I felt sorry for myself and . . .”

  “And Owen is dark and troubled and needed someone too.”

  She nodded. “I never meant to fall in love with Casper—I especially never meant to hurt him.”

  “I know,” Grace said. She took her hand. “So the baby is Owen’s?”

  Raina nodded.

  Oh, boy. “You should have told me. I would have listened.”

  “How could I tell you that? I was so ashamed, and you love your family so much. You’d do anything for them.” She glanced at her. “Even agree to be a maid of honor and cater your sister’s wedding.”

  “Agreed; that was a bad idea. But . . . I am not ignorant of my brother’s mistakes, believe me. I am on your side. I would have listened. Where did you go? I was so worried.”

  Raina looked away, out the window. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have taken off. I know you needed me.”

  “It’s okay. But . . . are you okay?”

  “Maybe I should just . . . leave.”

  “Raina, you don’t have to leave. You’re not alone—”

  “But I am, see? Aunt Liza will be furious with me, and besides her, I have no one. I certainly can’t ask your family for help—”

  “What are you talking about? Of course you can! You’re a part of our family now.”

  Raina shook her head. “No, I’m not . . .”

  “Yes, Raina, you are. With or without Casper—or Owen, for that matter.” Grace couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, pulling Raina to her in a tight hug.

  Raina surrendered with a shudder.

  “It’s going to be okay.” G
race smoothed her hair. “We’ll figure it out.” She put Raina away from her, met her eyes. “God is going to do something good, something more with this, I promise.”

  Raina tried a smile, but it fell.

  “Are you still up to catering? Because I fear they’re falling apart in there.”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I thought I saw smoke coming out through the double doors earlier.”

  Grace didn’t wait for Raina to get out of the car.

  “Perfect—191.3.” Max pulled the thermometer out of the pig’s hindquarters. The skin had roasted to crimson, the scent of the pork enough to reduce him to caveman. He could nearly taste the meat, juicy and succulent, dripping off the bone.

  “Let’s get it onto the platter and cover it with foil until the party gets here.”

  The sauce simmered on the stove. Max went into the kitchen, lifted the lid. The juices had soaked into the carrot and onion, the smell a mix of spice and sweetness. He stuck in a wooden spoon, tasted it. Tangy and sweet, but it lacked something. The flavors seemed too different, too unique to meld together.

  He put the top on. Stared at the mess he’d created.

  “Max?”

  He turned, and for a second, his heart stopped. Grace stood in the doorway, her hair in waves, tied up with flowers and ribbon, beautiful strands cascading around her face. She wore a blue dress, short, V-necked, and from her fingers dangled a pair of gold high-heeled sandals.

  “You look . . . beautiful.”

  She came into the kitchen. “What are you making? Did something burn in here?”

  He stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. “Listen. I got this. I know I was gone, but I’m back now—”

  “Gone. Max . . .” She shook her head. “You left me.”

  True. “I’m so sorry—I wanted to call, but my phone died and—”

  “Shh.” She held up her hand. “It’s okay. I don’t care.”

  She didn’t?

  He stood there like an idiot, hoping she couldn’t hear his heart drumming in his chest. “Grace, I have to talk to you—”

  The sauce bubbled over, out of the pan.

  “Oh!” He turned and took off the lid while she cut the flame.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s a red onion, carrot, and citrus glaze.”

  “For the . . . ?”

  “Pork.”

  “What happened to the gingered-mango sauce?”

  “It burned. And then we ran out of mangoes.”

  She stared at him, undone.

  “But we found oranges and carrots and onions, and Max put it all together . . . ,” Ty said.

  Grace looked at Ty, and he slunk back into silence.

  Raina appeared at the door, her face red, puffy.

  Max wanted to ask but decided to keep his question to himself as Grace picked up a wooden spoon.

  She tasted the sauce. Rolled it around her mouth. “It’s good, Max.”

  He wanted to drop with relief.

  “It just needs to be . . . hmm . . .” She turned to Raina. “Don’t we have a blender somewhere?”

  Raina fetched it from one of the racks, brought it to her, and plugged it in.

  Grace ladled in some of the sizzling mixture from the pan. She put the top on. Glanced at Max with a smile. “Look at you, living dangerously, making mistakes.”

  “Nothing’s a mistake with you, Grace.” Oh, he wasn’t sure what desperation drove him to say that, but he let his words hang there. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “I forgive you,” she said quietly. Then she hit Blend.

  The sauce whirred together, the onions and carrots juicing into the mixture. She kept it going until it was blended. Then she turned it off and removed the top. Took a spoon and tasted it.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she said and handed him a fresh spoon.

  Yes, he just might. Nothing bitter, just smooth and delicious, with a hint of ginger, garlic, the tangy sweetness of the carrots and oranges, blended so perfectly that they made an exquisite sauce.

  “You amaze me,” he said. “You need to know that.”

  “But you’re the one who made the sauce.”

  “No, I just brought the ingredients. You added the magic.” He took her hand. “Really, please, I need to talk to you.”

  “We have a pig to serve.”

  Oh, for . . .

  “I got this,” Raina said. “Ty—let’s get this pig onto the serving table. Someone finish blending the sauce, and then, please, people, let’s make sure we don’t forget serving spoons.”

  She reached for her chef’s coat as Max tried to pull Grace out of the kitchen.

  “Max, I need to be here. We have so much left to do; we have to get the bread and salads on and—”

  “Your team has this. You’ve trained them. Besides, Raina’s here.”

  “Yeah,” Raina said, putting on her coat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “See?” Max said. “It’s time for you to get out of the kitchen and into the party.”

  Grace glanced back at Raina, but Max still had her hand, pulling her out into the reception area. He could hear voices, people starting to arrive. In the corner, the band was setting up.

  He found her gaze, lost himself for a moment in it, then conjured up the words he had to say.

  Courage. Focus on life. “You need to be here. With me. We never finished our conversation at the park, and there’s something you need to know—”

  “I already know, Max.”

  She did?

  And then he saw it on her face, the truth in her smile, sad and edged with pity.

  “Jace told you.”

  She nodded. “You should have told me.”

  He drew in a long, steadying breath. “I know. But I was . . . I was afraid.” He took her by the shoulders. “And you should be too, frankly. It’s not like cancer. This disease is going to take me from you slowly, like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s put together. I’ll lose my mind and my body one agonizing step at a time. I’ll start dropping things and forgetting things you say to me. I’ll lose my balance, my ability to speak. Then I’ll slowly lose my mind, even become irrational. I’ll stop being able to care for myself. You’ll have to feed me. And in my worst nightmares, I’ll linger that way for years.”

  Her expression had become more solemn, as if finally the truth had sunk in. But there was more.

  “Grace, the worst part is, you’ll have to suffer through this alone. I can’t give you children. I’m sterile—on purpose.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  He winced. “No—every time I look at you, I see family. A home. A long life with the one you love—this is what you want. And exactly what I can’t give you.”

  Suddenly her expression changed again. She smiled, something so tender in her eyes, it could crumple him. She slid her hands up to cradle his face. “Oh, Max, don’t you get it? You can give it to me—just not how I’d planned. We don’t have to have a long life to be happy. The tragedy doesn’t have to steal our joy. Has it occurred to you that maybe God brought you into my life not for your good, but for mine? That maybe it would be my privilege to walk through this with you? There are no guarantees in life, and we can’t keep from living—or loving—just because it might be dangerous. Max, I—”

  “Sharpe, you have about five seconds to get out of here before this gets ugly. And I promise you don’t want that.”

  Max froze as he looked up and saw Owen headed for him. His former teammate, despite being dressed in a suit, wore a patch over one eye, sick and clear evidence of Max’s mistake.

  “Owen . . . man, I’m sorry.” He backed away from Grace. “Listen, we need to talk. I am so sorry about—”

  “Owen, back off!” Grace’s voice shrilled between them.

  Owen stopped short, looking down at her.

  She’d turned her back to Max, stepping between him and her brother. “You’re going to listen to me wheth
er you like it or not. You’re a mess. You’re angry and hurting; we all get that. And we love you. But Max is not to blame for your pain.”

  “Are you kidding me? He’s totally to blame—”

  “No, he’s not. You are. It was a terrible accident; no one is denying that. And Max feels terrible about it. But guess what—your life isn’t over. You’re not dead. You have choices about the way you treat people and how you live.”

  Owen’s face tightened into a frown. “You’re seriously siding with Max? Over me?”

  Grace seemed to hesitate for a second, and Max wanted to step in, to rescue her. No, Grace—

  “Yeah, Owen. I choose Max. Because I love him. I love him more every day I’m with him. Max is amazing. He’s kind and patient and frankly a thousand times braver than you’ve been lately. He’s the kind of guy I was hoping to find someday. He gets me and makes me believe I can do more than I ever thought I could.”

  Max was trying to make sense of her words, but as he looked at her, the truth began to blossom inside him.

  “Most importantly, Max is God’s choice for me. Max is the gift, the more that God has for me, for as long as God will keep him on this earth. So you’re going to figure out a way to forgive him or make the choice to walk away from both of us.”

  Owen’s jaw tightened. “Awesome. That’s just awesome.” He strode away, but Max didn’t care one more second about Owen and his anger, his issues.

  Max is God’s choice for me. Those words he grabbed ahold of.

  Really, God? Even with . . . even with . . .

  Grace turned. Vanished from her eyes was any trace of the pity, the sadness. “If he’ll have me.”

  If he’ll have . . .

  That was it, wasn’t it? Right now, right here, he could choose to share his life—the good, the bad, the ugly—with her, letting himself choose her too. Or he could walk away.

  Courage.

  “Oh yeah, I’ll have you, Grace. For as long as I live. But are you sure? What about kids—?”

  She put her hand to his mouth. “If God wants us to have kids, we’ll have kids. We can adopt, and they will still be our own.”

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I’m God’s choice?”

  “I believe you’ve always been God’s choice for me, even before I sat in 9B.”