“Fair enough.”
Be on the same page.
The thought wasn’t lost on Brinley that when she married—someday, maybe—she would like to be on the same page as her husband. She could name nobody in her family who was on the same page as their spouses. Dad and Mom were usually on Mom’s page. Dillon and Isobel—oh well. They’d been divorced two years. Definitely not on the same page. She hoped and prayed that Zoe and her new husband, Quincy, were on the same page for the baby’s sake.
Somehow Quincy reminded her of Ivan.
Though their relationship had been short, having begun in December and ended in February, it had been a mixed bag, Brinley thought. Some days she and Ivan had been on the same page on things. Some other days, not.
Lord, help me let Ivan go.
Chapter Forty-Nine
It ticked off Brinley to no end that in spite of her pep talk, Tobias and Meg were still late in finishing up her new house on the beach. The rain that had lasted three or four days didn’t help though she thought that was an excuse for the conspiring pair to get away with it. Brinley thought she might threaten to yank the Pelican Road project from them, but reno people she could trust were hard to find.
She decided that after they were done with the house, she’d invite the two over for a debriefing dinner. Surely they could evaluate the situation and find ways to improve on timely delivery in the next project. After all, she owned Brooks Renovations now, all of it, and the last thing she needed was to fail Dad.
And possibly God.
No one was at home this Valentine’s Day at the Brooks family cottage. Mom and Dad were now traveling through Italy celebrating love. Zoe and Quincy were in Paris with their morning sickness.
Dillon was at work in Atlanta. Dillon was always at work. Someday he’d burn out and crash. Wait and see.
She prayed she didn’t have to step in to cover for him in Brooks Investments. She had a full hands with her own company.
Lunch was a simple bowl of organic salad with slices of grilled beef on top. Brinley thought she could cook the beef herself if someone showed her. Maybe she should learn to cook. Or maybe she should call Skye, the personal chef. That’d be the easy route. Skye would probably love her new gourmet kitchen.
As soon as Toby installs my countertops.
Then I can move in.
Sigh.
Sitting on her favorite barstool at her parents’ kitchen island, Brinley studied the music sheet she had placed across the island. She was going to learn this piece today. She had played it a couple of times since she had bought it at a music store in Paris, but had lost interest in it after Ivan had dismissed her abruptly.
Well, Mr. McMillan, you don’t own Bach.
She adjourned to the foyer, mercifully cleared of Christmas pine trees. Instead, a soft wash of faux suede taupe treatment covered the walls surrounding the Steinway concert grand. Brinley propped up the piano lid before she sat down on the piano bench. She lifted the fallboard and spread the music sheet across the rack, put her iPhone next to it where she could see—so she couldn’t accidentally sit on it and crack the screen—and began to play.
Falteringly at first.
Then it all came back to her. Those years and years of piano lessons that Mom and Dad had paid for her. She had been the only one who had taken piano lessons through high school. Dillon had stopped at eighth grade, having been more interested in football and girls than piano auditions and recitals. As for their sister, Zoe, she had always been into woodwind instead.
After getting the bass clef notes down, Brinley sight-read the treble clef notes until she could play the entire Air on the G String from memory. That didn’t take too long because it was such a simple piece.
Over and over she played it, remembering that December evening at Zoe’s birthday party when Ivan had played it solo.
Our song.
What was happening with Ivan? Wasn’t he supposed to be a Christian example to her? Why had he fallen apart when the bottom dropped out? Did real Christians do that? What about trusting God?
Pray for Ivan.
Those were the same words she felt in her heart the day she accepted Jesus.
“How do I pray for him, Lord Jesus?” Brinley asked aloud. “What do I pray about?”
Her iPhone leaning on the music rack chirped, and Brinley jumped off the piano bench yay high.
She swiped the screen. “Yes, Malik?”
“The answer to your question, Miss Brinley, is yes. I do know a decent Honda dealer. He has some new models in this weekend. I told him to expect you.”
Brinley sat back down on the edge of the piano bench. “Thanks. Appreciate it. How late are they open?”
“Only until midnight. You don’t have a lot of time.”
“Funny, Malik.”
“Do you need a ride over there? I’m free this afternoon.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have a date or something?”
“No, I don’t.”
He didn’t say more. Brinley was in no position to suggest that the widower change his status. Malik had his reasons for deciding not to remarry, and there was nothing Brinley could do about the war wounds and angst he still carried from his Special Forces days in Afghanistan nor about his lovely wife who had died of a brain aneurism a few days after their first wedding anniversary. Some things were best left buried.
“I’m busy running Brooks Security.” Somehow Malik felt the need to explain. “There’s no time for frills.”
Perhaps he was rationalizing his life to himself, Brinley thought. “Frills, Malik? All right. No need to explain.”
“I was thinking that if you wanted to drive a hybrid crossover—or whatever you said you wanted—off the lot today, I could drop you off. Save you a trip.”
“And maybe hang around to make sure they don’t mess with me?”
“That too.”
“Okay, Malik. I accept. Pick me up anytime.”
“How about now? I’m outside.”
The security office was in the guesthouse next door, but surely someone else had the weekend shifts. “Tell me you didn’t work today.”
“I gave some of my people the day off so they could spend it with their sweethearts.”
“How thoughtful. You need a raise, Malik. I’ll see to it.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Brinley. I should hang out with you more often.”
“Give me five minutes to be decent.”
“I’ll be right here.”
It didn’t take five minutes. Brinley ran upstairs two steps at a time, grabbed her purse from her bedroom, threw on a winter coat, and she was outside locking up the front door before Malik could finish his fries.
“Want some?” Malik pointed the cup of fries in Brinley’s direction.
“Sure. I don’t think it’s good for us, though.”
“Speak for yourself, Miss Brinley. I’ve had fries since I was a little kid.”
The drive to the Brunswick dealership was greasy. Brinley wiped her fingers off on a paper napkin as best she could. “Any word from Helen about my Strads?”
“I talked to her last week. She’s still tracking it. I don’t know why she can’t do it from over here. Costly for her to be over there in person, don’t you think?”
“Sure was, but now that my Mom and Dad have decided to join her, I’d rather she be with them than someone else. You never know what sort of things my parents will get into.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Tell me, is it true Ned used to be some sort of amateur sleuth?”
“In their twenties, before they had Dillon, he and Mom roamed the world, solving crimes. Not sure if they were paid, but Grandpa Brooks used to say that they spent a fortune living the high life.” Too much money in the family. Too little to do after college.
“How romantic.”
“Getting into trouble was more like it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad tracks down the Damaris soon. All he needs is one lead. After so many years, he has it
now.”
“And so much money spent on recovering one old violin.” Malik didn’t say anymore.
Brinley could guess what was going through his mind. “You’re thinking there are hungry people in the world and all that money could be spent feeding them.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, we do feed the hungry and clothe the poor too. Grandpa’s foundation has contributed close to a billion dollars to that over the years.”
“I know and that’s good.”
“Glad you approve, Malik. I do agree, though. Maybe we can do more. Show more of God’s love.” Help people at church and in the community. There were poor people on St. Simon’s Island too, people in poverty—
Ivan.
Why won’t he let me help him?
Chapter Fifty
All Ivan thought about as Matt Garnett drove him and Grandma to church in his van was that he was going to lose his health insurance in about a week. There went his wrist recovery.
Any day now, Grandma’s house would go into foreclosure. No job. No income. He might as well go into bankruptcy.
“You remember my cashier who’s supposed to go on maternity leave for a few months?” Matt asked as they turned into the Seaside Chapel parking lot.
“Yeah.” Ivan felt bad that he had been slow in filling out the job application form.
“She just quit yesterday. So I need someone almost immediately. Maybe you could fill in for her? It’s light work. No heavy lifting.”
Ivan said nothing. Could this be a solution from God?
God?
God has abandoned me.
Or has He?
The battle in his mind and heart confused him. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. All he knew was that he was in a big financial mess and that because he was ashamed of it all, he had broken up with Brinley so she didn’t see him this way.
“It’s minimum wage, if you must know. But if you work full-time you get healthcare,” Matt continued.
“That’s very generous of you,” Grandma Yun said from the seat behind them.
“That’s what friends are for.”
Ivan thought for a bit. Anything to hold them over would work. “After church today I’ll get the forms filled out and email you.”
“You do that.” Matt parked his van.
“You have some sort of on-the-job training?”
“Part of the package.” Matt exited the van.
“Thank you, Matt.” Ivan followed him out.
Matt turned around. “Thank God, Ivan.”
Yes, thank God.
It stuck in Ivan’s mind as he helped Grandma out of the van and into her motorized wheelchair, which Brinley had bought for her at Christmas. She knew exactly what they had needed. His mind ran through some of their events together. The commode. The termites. The wheelchair.
Ivan wondered if Brinley still had—
Never mind.
He couldn’t believe she was now his ex-girlfriend. How did that happen?
What have I done?
He walked into the Sunday School class and almost made a U-turn to get out of there.
Matt didn’t say anything about Brinley in our class!
Sebastian Langston and his sister, Skye, blocked the exit.
“Hey, man! Good to see you back in Sunday School.” Sebastian slapped Ivan’s good arm. “Doing all right?”
“Yeah. Getting better everyday.”
“Excellent!”
Next thing Ivan knew he was sitting down and half-listening to Sebastian chattering. That guy could talk. Ivan was uncomfortably aware that he was across the circle from Brinley. They could see each other eye to eye.
Brinley didn’t seem to pay him any attention, which bothered him. She was talking to several people—men. That bothered him more. When Tristan Rao stood closer to Brinley—
We broke up.
Ivan tried to keep an “I couldn’t care less” face then on, hiding behind his growing beard that was becoming itchier and itchier by the minute.
Ben Ketteridge began to speak. “Hope everyone had a good week?”
Nods and amens and positive replies went around the room.
Ivan felt that he was the odd one out. It had been a miserable week. His wrist had hurt most at night. OTC pain tablets hadn’t helped much. It didn’t help his wrist, and it didn’t help his life.
He was acutely aware that he was now jobless and penniless.
His elderly grandmother praying quietly with tears streaming down her face reminded him over and over that he was a failure in life.
A failure!
No. I didn’t have a good week.
Ben looked directly at Ivan. “Glad to have Ivan back with us. How’s that wrist?”
At the corner of his eye, he saw Brinley look his way.
“Slow going, but getting better.” It was one of those things. When people asked him how life was, he’d always say, “Fine.” It was an outright lie.
Was his wrist getting better? No idea. Only God knew. And God, the One who had made him and saved him, seemed to be silent right now.
Why, God? Why don’t You heal me right away?
“We will keep you on the prayer list,” Ben said. “These things don’t heal overnight.”
It may never heal.
Ben looked around the room. “Major praise report, people. You remember the heavy rain this week? Pastor Gonzalez’s roof leaked, and the roof almost came down on some sweet ladies from the Women’s Bible Study Group.”
“I was there,” Skye said. “And so was Brinley and Emmeline. We all saw it. Water coming down the wall like sheets. It was crazy.”
Brinley and Emmeline at the same place? Ivan couldn’t imagine what they could have said to each other.
“Not to worry,” Ben continued. “They have a new roof now, and the wall has been repaired.”
“Insurance took care of it?” Matt asked.
“After the deductible.”
“Do they need help with that?” Matt asked again. “We can all give some.”
“No worries. An anonymous donor took care of it. They’re getting their entire house repainted inside and out. God provides. That’s what we’re going to study this morning if we get going here.” Ben opened his Bible. “Turn with me to Philippians 4:19, please.”
Ivan knew the verse by heart. He followed along as Ben read it aloud. “‘But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.’”
Need? Needs?
Yet something else that Ben had said vied for his focus.
An anonymous donor.
He glanced at Brinley. She was reading the Bible on her lap. That Bible looked like the one Grandma had given her. She looked so sweet, so pretty sitting there with her Bible. Grandma had said that her newfound faith was genuine.
Good for her.
* * *
Ivan was the first person out of Sunday School right after closing prayer. He wanted to go outside and stand for a few minutes to catch his breath, but the February weather was still cold out there and it would bother his wrist.
Stupid wrist! Heal!
After splashing water on his face in the men’s restroom, he realized he looked pretty bad wearing that scraggly beard. But he didn’t feel like shaving it off. In fact, he didn’t feel like doing anything right now, not even attending the church service. He wanted to go home and lock himself up again.
Vanish from the world. Hide in a cave.
Grandma is probably disappointed in me.
Well, it was going to get worse when they were both thrown out in the streets. He had called his sister, Willow, in Atlanta with whatever minutes he had left on his cheap disposable cell phone, and asked if she could take them both in.
Willow had said she had a new roommate taking up the other bedroom, but if Grandma didn’t mind sleeping in her bedroom, and if Ivan didn’t mind the futon in the living room, they could make it work. It pained Ivan to think that h
is poor sister would have to sleep on the floor indefinitely.
Poor sister.
Poor.
Ivan spoke to nobody as he dragged himself to the back pew. When he was a little kid, he liked sitting in the back row because nobody told him not to suck his thumb or sit up straight. Everyone’s back was turned toward him. He and Quincy would sit there pinching each other to see who could handle the pain the longest without shrieking and getting slapped by Grandpa Otto’s big hand.
Quincy had always won.
Ivan had known then, as Vittorio had found out, that he had a low tolerance for pain.
Matt sat down next to him. “Easy to find when you’re sitting in the back row.”
His friend handed a piece of folded pink paper to Ivan. “Read it.”
“Why?”
“I want to know what it says.”
“You read it, then.” Ivan handed the paper back to Matt. “Who is it from, anyway?”
Matt handed it back. “I think you’d better read it. Go on. Service is starting.”
Up ahead the choir was filing in.
Not knowing what to expect, Ivan unfolded the paper. There was a fragrance. A familiar fragrance. Pleasant days.
He held his breath and began to read.
I’m sorry I ruined your life. Please forgive me.
It was unsigned, but Ivan knew exactly who had written it. It was the same handwriting on the Trust God bookmark he had ripped up and thrown into the trash can, and then picked up and taped back together using packing tape, shortly after freeing Brinley from his sorry life.
And yet.
A tenderness touched his heart, the same feeling he had the day they had walked on the pier and climbed the lighthouse. Yet, as quickly as it had come, he dismissed it.
Just a silly emotion.
Must’ve been some strong emotion because Ivan then fought it all the way through the church service, on the drive home, and the rest of the Sunday afternoon, evening, and night. And it spilled over to the next day, culminating in a big, bad headache.
Share with Me: Seaside Chapel Book 1 Page 29