by Becky Wade
A soft knock. “Leah?” Dylan asked.
“Hmm?”
“Everything cool?”
Their roles had reversed. She was the one hiding in her room and he was the one checking on her. Affection lumped in her throat. “Yes. Everything’s cool.”
“Sebastian called earlier, wondering where you were.”
“I saw him. It’s all good.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“’Kay.” His footsteps retreated.
Internally, she shook her fist at romance and called it a string of bad names, because it turned out that she was going to cry like a lovelorn girl. Her immunity to men had been disproven. Her feelings of superiority regarding her singleness had been humbled.
When you met a man you couldn’t help but love . . . it changed everything.
She’d kept it together while talking with Sebastian. But just now, while driving home, the spent drama had heavied her body. Subtle shaking had overtaken her limbs. The reality of Sebastian’s words had crushed down.
“I can’t get any more involved.”
Every step of the way, she’d been very cautious about dating him.
He’d overcome her barriers by treating her beautifully, respectfully, devotedly. By speaking vows with his kisses.
Was it possible that she’d misinterpreted the depth of his feelings? She was not gifted at reading people. Maybe she’d ascribed meaning to his words and actions that wasn’t there—
No.
She’d asked him to be direct with her and he’d honored that request. She’d stake money on the fact that he cared about her a great deal. If she had to guess what had happened between them this afternoon, she’d guess that he’d been propelled over the dividing line between his affection for her and his wounds.
She’d given him a reason not to trust her. And he’d pulled away. She’d been clear-eyed about his issues and limits from the start. Which is why she’d prayed again and again, asking for God’s guidance concerning Sebastian. God had remained stubbornly silent.
“Why did you put me through this?” she asked Him softly. “This is exactly what I was afraid would happen.”
God had stood back and allowed her to follow Sebastian into a trap. He’d let her feelings for Sebastian break free of the box where she’d wisely been trying to keep them.
In the past, God had always steered her. Always defended her.
Why not this time? I don’t understand why you didn’t answer when I repeatedly asked you to show me your will. She’d been poised to obey Him, willing. But He had not spoken.
For the first time since she’d believed in Him, He’d let her down, and now she’d landed herself in a wretched predicament. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d promptly broken up with her. She was experiencing the pain she’d seen other women endure when their relationships ended, a pain she’d planned to sidestep.
She truly couldn’t stand to think about facing the lack of Sebastian’s phone calls, smile, presence, conversations. He was loneliness and staggering success and childhood sorrow. He was a brilliant brain in a rugby player’s body. Inky hair and uncompromising features.
She’d done what she had to do for Claire today. Yet it devastated her to think that her actions had cost her Sebastian.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Never. That’s when Luke Dempsey had planned to return to his hometown of Misty River.
But here he was.
On Friday morning, an elderly woman unlocked the door to the apartment she’d listed for rent. She went in ahead of him, eying him suspiciously.
She was right to be suspicious. He could snap her in half.
He’d found this place the old-fashioned way, by buying a newspaper out of one of the few machines left in town and scanning the For Rent section. This landlady was old-fashioned, wearing tight gray curls and an apron over a faded dress. The apartment was old-fashioned, too.
Green carpet that stank of dust stretched from wall to wall. The kitchen had yellow Formica countertops and wooden cabinets with brass handles. He entered the one bedroom. More green carpet. The bathroom hadn’t been updated since the fifties.
He returned to the living area, which felt big to him after the jail cell that had been his home for the past seven years. The ceilings were at least twelve feet high. Square panes of glass divided the tall rectangular windows that let in views of the town and mountains.
Having grown up in Misty River, he was familiar with this building. It had been constructed for commercial use more than a century ago on the edge of the historic downtown. A warehouse currently occupied by a lumber company took up the bottom floor. The next floor, offices. The top floor, this floor, contained a few apartments that had probably once housed either the original owner’s family or supervisors.
“Are there hardwood floors under the carpet?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“If I rent this place, can I pull up the carpet and refinish the floors?”
“Yes.”
“Can I renovate the kitchen and paint all the walls?”
A frown wrinkled her forehead. “I’m not paying for that.”
“Can I do it if I pay for it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take it.”
Despite his many sins and failures, Luke was a man of his word. He’d returned to his hometown to fulfill the promise he’d made to his friend and fellow inmate, Ed Sutherland.
When Ed was dying, he’d begged Luke to protect his only child, Finley—who wasn’t even aware of the danger her father’s actions had brought to her door.
Luke had told Ed that he’d keep her safe.
He hadn’t yet met Finley. He didn’t care about her. And he didn’t care about working for her animal shelter. He only cared about one thing.
Doing what he’d said he’d do so he could finally be free.
After a night of shredded sleep, Sebastian woke to overcast weather and a black mood.
He spent hours in his media room watching violent movies. Finally, unable to take another movie, unable to take the thoughts in his head, he hauled himself to his feet and made his way to his bedroom for shoes.
The clock told him it was late afternoon. He still wore the track pants and long-sleeved athletic shirt he’d pulled on this morning. His face was unshaven, his hair a mess.
His phone rang.
He checked it. Ben.
Since it wasn’t Leah, he didn’t answer.
Almost as soon as it stopped ringing, it started ringing again. Ben.
“Yeah?” He wedged the phone against his shoulder while he laced his Adidas.
“You didn’t respond to my morning or my lunchtime text, which isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”
“Everything.”
Ben hesitated, then said, “Good grief, Sebastian.”
Sebastian could tell that his friend had already diagnosed his mental state.
“Where are you?” Ben asked.
“On my way to the cemetery.”
When miserable, Leah became maniacally industrious.
Last night she’d reorganized every closet in her house, including Dylan’s (which he had not appreciated). She’d gone on a late-night run to the grocery store and prepped her pantry for doomsday. Then she’d stayed up until 2:30 a.m., making so much chicken noodle soup that she’d frozen three-fourths of it for future dinners.
The frenzied activity had kept her body busy but, to her dismay, it hadn’t mitigated her heartache, confusion, or disillusionment.
As soon as school let out this afternoon, she’d changed into yoga pants and a hoodie, then driven to the heart of town to power walk the concrete footpath that followed the curving course of the river.
Her breath came in huffs. With an edge of desperation, she increased her speed, wanting . . . What? To outrun her sorrow? Burn off her churning feelings? Punish herself for loving someone who didn’t let people in?
She had no track record with boyfrien
ds and didn’t understand how to handle something as crucial and devastating as their current impasse. Should she leave Sebastian alone? If so, for how long? Forever? Should she go to him and insist they work through this?
Arms pumping, she stormed forward—
Her phone rang.
She freed it from her arm strap. The caller’s number originated in Oxford, Alabama.
She stopped, moving off the path onto nearby grass as a middle-aged man jogged past.
“Hello?” Her breath jerked in and out.
“Hi, I’m calling from the Calhoun County Post. We spoke yesterday?”
Leah recognized the woman’s friendly voice. “Yes. Thanks for following up.”
“My pleasure. I wanted to let you know that I was only able to find one mention of Bonnie Byrne in the back issues of our paper. Her birth announcement.”
“I see,” Leah said, trying to hide her disappointment.
“I was also able to find just one mention of Ian O’Reilly.”
“Oh?”
“It’s from thirty-some years ago. It ran on the Gallivanting About page we had back then, where we’d publish pictures of people and events from around the county. All I have is a photo and a caption.”
“I’d love to see both the birth announcement and photo, if possible.”
“I have pictures of them loaded into an email, ready to go. If you’ll provide your email address, I’ll shoot them straight over.”
Leah supplied her email address and profuse thanks.
She opened her email app and waited for it to download new email. Several things populated, but nothing from the Calhoun County Post.
Chewing the edge of her lip, she tried again.
Still no.
And again.
This time, an email from the newspaper appeared. It took a few seconds for the birth announcement to load.
Sean and Ellen Byrne announce the birth of their second daughter, Bonnie Theresa Byrne. She was born on January 20th and weighed seven pounds, eight ounces.
The only new piece of information provided: Bonnie’s birth weight.
The second attachment, a photograph, showed a group of at least twenty people of various ages.
Sean and Ellen Byrne hosted a family reunion this past weekend to celebrate the graduation from college of their grandson, Ian O’Reilly (center in the above photo).
Leah turned her phone horizontal so the image filled the entire screen. The man in the center, Ian, smiled out from the picture with gentle eyes, handsome young features, a lean build. He appeared full of life. Hopeful.
A few of Ian’s elderly relatives sat on folding chairs in front. The rest stood. Surely Bonnie had been present for a reunion held in her son’s honor. Carefully, Leah assessed the faces of the women in the photo who were the right age to have been Ian’s mother. Several fit the bill. Unfortunately, even if one of them was Bonnie, she had no way of knowing which one—
Except no. That wasn’t right.
Because . . . she did. She did know which one was Bonnie.
Surprise rolled into Leah like a heavy boulder.
One of the middle-aged women pictured here had blond-gray hair cut into severe horizontal bangs with straight sides. An assertive nose and eyes that tipped downward at the outer edges.
The woman in this picture was younger than the woman Leah knew, but unmistakably recognizable, nonetheless. The woman in this picture, the one whose hand rested on the shoulder of her son, Ian O’Reilly, was the woman Leah had long known as Tess Coventry.
Sebastian came to a stop next to his mother’s grave.
Her small rectangular marker lay flat against the earth. Denise Marie Grant and the dates of her birth and death had been engraved into dull black stone.
He’d stood here just three times before.
The first time, the day they’d buried her. Vaguely, as if the scene had come from a movie he’d watched decades ago, he recalled her coffin lowering into the ground. Then someone tossing dirt on top of her.
He knew he’d worn a plaid suit Mrs. King had given him that had been too small and itchy. He knew their old lady neighbor and his social worker and his teacher and several strangers had been there.
However, he didn’t know who’d paid for her funeral, burial, plot, and marker. As a kid, the expenses hadn’t crossed his mind. Now that he lived in an adult world full of price tags, it shamed him that he had no idea whom to reimburse.
The second time he’d come here, he’d come because of CeCe. Every Memorial Day, the Colemans left flowers on the graves of their relatives. On the first Memorial Day after the earthquake, she’d insisted that they bring flowers to Sebastian’s mother’s grave, too. When she’d asked him where his mother was buried, he’d had no answer, so she’d made phone calls until she’d learned the whereabouts.
They’d gone first to the Coleman family cemetery, which had rolling hills and big trees. The contrast between that and the flat plainness of this parcel of grass by the freeway hadn’t escaped him.
CeCe had invited him to say a few words. He’d been rigid inside and out, unable to speak, haunted by thoughts of his mom’s decomposing body below the earth. CeCe and Hersh had taken turns praying. When Sebastian looked up, he’d seen Ben watching him with kindness. He’d quickly glanced away and wondered if a good son would have . . . should have . . . died right along with his mother.
He’d come here for the third time after graduating from medical school. That milestone had been a point of sentimental pride for CeCe, which, in turn, had made her think of Sebastian’s mother. The day after the Colemans had celebrated his accomplishment beneath the black-and-gold congratulations banner, CeCe had brought him here again.
That time guilt had made him as uncomfortable as the itchy plaid suit. Guilt because he avoided visiting her grave to pay his respects. Because he’d moved on with his life. Because he wanted comfort to come from his memories of her—but they still brought only hurt. Because he’d found a new family.
Now, on his fourth visit, he stared at his mom’s name for so long that it blurred.
He struggled with abandonment, with loving people, with broken promises. And all of that had started here . . . with Denise Marie Grant.
It would have been nice if his miraculous rescue from the earthquake had fixed what his mom’s death had broken. But reality was more complicated.
His rescue had shown him that God existed and was capable of mighty things. On one hand, he was grateful that God had brought him out of that basement alive. On the other hand, his rescue forced him to acknowledge that God hadn’t chosen to save his mother from her illness.
God had protected Sebastian’s life, so it seemed that God loved him.
God had taken his mother away, so it seemed that God didn’t love him.
In the face of those mixed messages, he’d concluded that he couldn’t count on God. So he’d done everything possible to insulate himself from the kind of vulnerability he’d endured when his mom died.
He’d been certain that his job would give him both security and the ability to right the wrong of his mom’s death with every child he saved.
It hadn’t worked that way.
Isabella Ackerman and his other patients were not his mother. It turned out that what his mother had been to him was irreplaceable. His career and his money couldn’t give him his mother or his childhood back. Nor could they give him safety. Or worth. Or identity. Enough had never been enough.
At this rock-bottom place without Leah, he needed to be honest with himself. The truth? Resentment toward God had been burning inside him like a pilot light for decades. Nothing had extinguished it. Not his gratitude over God’s rescue of him after the earthquake. Not the Coleman family’s support. Not his achievements.
Before he could move forward . . . before he could remember his mother without feeling like a thirty-pound barbell had been placed on his ribs . . . he needed to find a way to forgive God. For stealing his mother from him and, in so doing
, teaching him that loving someone was the worst thing he could do to himself.
In his mind, he tested the words I. Forgive. You.
But he didn’t. Forgive God. His emotions remained jagged. The sentences that formed in his head were the opposite of forgiving. How could you? I was just a kid. Not the best kid, but not the worst. I didn’t deserve what you did to me. You ruined me when you took away all the family I had.
He heard a noise and looked over to see Ben approaching. His friend stopped on the other side of his mom’s grave and observed him levelly, waiting for Sebastian to speak.
“I don’t think I can forgive God,” Sebastian said, his voice hoarse.
“For?”
“For taking my mom’s life and leaving me alone.”
Several seconds ticked by as Ben appeared to process his statement. “God never left you alone.” Ben spoke with calm certainty. “I understand why you felt that way, but sometimes our feelings are liars. Think about everything you’ve been through since your mom’s death, but try to think about it differently. Instead of remembering how alone you were, try to remember how alone you weren’t.”
“Like when?”
“Did God give you a good social worker? Did He provide foster parents who tried their best to be there for you?”
Sebastian grimaced.
“Was God with you in that basement in El Salvador? Did He hold up a wall in order to defend you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did He open every single door for you so that you could attend college and medical school free of charge?”
“That’s enough. I get the point.”
“Then try it,” Ben said. “Try remembering through that lens.”
Frustrated, Sebastian rubbed his forehead.
“I can’t count the number of people who’ve tried to convince you to let them in,” Ben said. “You pushed them all away. Then you turned around and blamed God for your aloneness.”
Ben’s words cut through to the center of him with such accuracy that he couldn’t move.
The cars dashing past on the freeway became moving smudges of color as he forced himself to do what Ben had challenged him to do. To confront his history.