Share with Me: Seaside Chapel Book 1

by Thompson, Jan

  That’s me.

  Ivan’s mind played back his entire bottom-feeding life, from being abandoned by his parents as a little kid to losing the McMillan family home to foreclosure to sustaining a career-ending wrist injury.

  Yeah. Eating crumbs.

  Pastor Gonzalez was standing on the other side of the blazing fire now. In the firelight, sparks rose up and danced in the coastal wind.

  “Everything that has happened to me in the past is a stepping stone to my future,” he said. “I try not to underestimate the power of God over my own stupidity and failures. If you ask Olivia, she can tell you my horror stories.”

  “A tell-all memoir is in the works,” Olivia quipped from her camp chair. She was surrounded by her stepdaughters. Her son, Lance, was somewhere in the vicinity. Ivan had seen him earlier.

  Everyone laughed. Pastor Gonzalez went to his wife and held her hand. Ivan thought that was touching.

  Wish I could hold Brin’s hand too. Like that.

  “Ask yourself a simple question when you wake up every morning.” Pastor Gonzalez seemed to be wrapping up his sermonette. “Are you more spiritually mature today than yesterday? Than last week? Last month? Last year? A decade ago? I hope so. Grow spiritually in the Lord, and see what amazing things He’ll do for you, in you, and through you. That’s all I have for you tonight.”

  Pastor Gonzalez closed with a short prayer for good fellowship the rest of the evening.

  When Ivan opened his eyes, Matt Garnett and a couple of other Seaside Chapel church members were standing up with their guitars. They played a medley of quiet hymns, the music from their guitars interspersing with the crackling of the fire and the crashing of the ocean waves.

  The hymns of old calmed his spirit and soothed his soul.

  On the other side of the fire-pit, Brinley wasn’t talking with Skye and Emmeline anymore. She was just sitting there, a paper plate on her lap.

  Here goes.

  Ivan got up and went around the back of the circle toward Brinley. She didn’t seem to notice him because other people were walking about too. Somewhere in the undulating human voices, someone started to play guitar again.

  “May I throw that out for you?” Ivan pointed to her plate and fork.

  Brinley lifted her chin. “Thank you.”

  Something shimmered in her eyes.

  “Would you like me to get you something else?” Ivan asked.

  “Nothing. Thanks.”

  Nothing from me?

  No! That can’t be what she means.

  As Ivan walked across the sand to the nearest trash can, he cautioned himself not to read too much into what Brinley said. They had been separated since the week before Valentine’s Day. He had broken her heart. She had every right to think nothing of him.

  I have nothing to give her.

  Nothing—

  A realization hit him, the same way the other epiphany slapped him in the face in Atlanta when he had his heart-to-heart talk with Willow when she reminded him that in spite of his woe-is-me whining, his bad wrist was still attached to him. The broken wrist was temporary. He had mourned it like he had lost his wrist permanently.

  I have nothing to give Brin.

  Nothing but the love of God.

  He doubled back to Brinley. She was getting up to go. “Brin, wait.”

  Brinley looked back.

  “We need to talk.” Ivan’s words came out in spurts, totally asynchronous to the backdrop of ocean waves. Only a musician would have noticed that, he thought. “Walk with me?”

  * * *

  “I lied, Brin. You didn’t ruin my life,” Ivan said as they settled onto the wooden stairs of some beachfront hotel behind them.

  Brinley kept her eyes on the ocean. Under the full moon, the Atlantic waves were shimmering silver and blue interspersed with dark and foreboding waters. Above the roar of ocean and the distant laughter and singing outside Seaside Chapel’s pavilion, Ivan’s words echoed in her head.

  You didn’t ruin my life.

  “I don’t hate you. In fact, I fell in love with you halfway through Bach that evening at your sister’s birthday party. Do you remember that?”

  Of course.

  But Brinley couldn’t speak. Something in her chest or throat or whatever, she didn’t know, had reminder her of her feelings on that Thursday evening when Ivan had walked her back to her parents’ cottage.

  They memories slammed into her equipoise or what was left of it before Ivan had shredded it to bits.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been stupid,” Ivan tried again. “Forgive me?”

  Brinley said nothing.

  “We may never get together again, but I want to walk away knowing you have forgiven me.” Ivan touched her hand, but she pulled away. “Okay, then. This is going to be hard for both of us.”

  “You think?” Brinley glared.

  “She speaks.” Ivan chuckled.

  “Be serious, Ivan. Do you know how long you’ve inflicted your stupidity on me?”

  “You counted?”

  “Roughly forty-two days.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He seemed to genuinely mean it, but Brinley had had it with people’s recurring apologies—

  Seventy times seven.

  The last verse that Yun McMillan had read to her only days before she passed away was Matthew 18:21. It stuck in Brinley’s mind, but she hadn’t expected to be reminded of it now.

  Not now, God. I’m trying to be upset with Ivan here. Gimme a moment.

  Still the words were clear. She could recite every word from the Bible that Yun used.

  Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.

  But—

  “I pray that someday you will forgive me, Brin. I can see I’ve hurt you.”

  “More than you can see.”

  “I know. Again, I’m very sorry. I would spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I could, but considering this is the end of the road for us I guess you’ll have to settle with the fact that I have tried to make peace with you.”

  “You talk a lot.”

  “I’m trying to apologize here.” The wind ruffled Ivan’s hair. He looked cute as he tried to fix his hair so it didn’t come down his forehead and into his eyes.

  Cute?

  Brinley glanced away.

  “Even though we’re going separate ways we’re going to run into each other every now and then, and I’d rather not have this hostility between us.”

  Brinley zipped up her hooded cardigan. “I thought you live in Atlanta now.”

  “Well, I was until I felt convicted to come home to make amends with you.”

  Home? He considers St. Simon’s Island his home?

  Brinley might be upset, but she was also inherently curious. This I have to hear. “Did your sister kick you out of the house?”

  “Strangely enough, not this time. Grandma’s death had reconciled us.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  “However, I do believe that had I stayed another month, I would have worn out my welcome.”

  Brinley laughed.

  “Made you laugh.”

  “And made me weep too, Ivan.” Oh, so many times she had lost count.

  “I know.” He lifted a strand of hair away from Brinley’s face. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said I’m sorry, Brin.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “I’m glad I got through to you.”

  “You didn’t. Jesus got through to me. All I know is that He has forgiven me for my sins, so it would be wrong of me to withhold forgiveness from you.”

  “Sounds like something Grandma would say.”

  Brinley placed her head on Ivan’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. “I miss Yun very much.”

  “I miss her too.”

  “Now will you forgive me
?” Brinley asked.

  “Of course, but for what?”

  “Fixing your commode. Giving you a Strad. General interfering.” She then realized there were more things she’d spent money on that she wasn’t prepared to tell him about at this time. Too much for her to explain, too little time to do it properly.

  “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve said thank you instead of making a big stink out of everything you were trying to do for me, everything God was trying to bless Grandma and me with.”

  “We’re all learning,” Brinley said. “How is your wrist, if I may ask?”

  “You may. I’m still in pain about every day, but I’m handling it. My fingers can slide down the strings now, but I still can’t do the vibrato. I can’t play the—uh, any Bach, really.”

  “Sounds like you need to give it time.”

  “It’s not happening.”

  “Patience, Ivan. Want me to kiss it and make it all better?” Brinley teased.

  “Maybe.” He seemed serious. “I still have the coupon you gave me at Christmas for free hugs and kisses for a year. I must confess that when I got mad at you I tore up the bookmark, but I repaired it. Does it still count if it’s taped together with packing tape?”

  “Well, considering your behavior the last two months, I’m not sure if you’re hug-worthy.”

  “Point taken. I’m sorry I handled things poorly.”

  “I did too. Not just you.” Brinley shrugged. “Are you back in town for good?”

  “I’ll try to stay out of your way, but I do like going to our church.”

  Our church?

  “No need to find a new church, Ivan. Seaside Chapel is big enough for the both of us.”

  “I’ll go to a different Sunday School class so we don’t have to run into each other.”

  Brinley thought about it. “That could work.”

  They sat in silence, watching the night, listening to the ocean. In the distance, the singing around the fire-pit was dying down.

  “I may never play violin again,” Ivan finally said.

  “It’s not the end of the world.”

  “I tried teaching voice, but my vocal cords are wretched.”

  Why is he so negative? “You can always teach piano.”

  “I now work in Matt’s thrift shop.”

  “At least you have a job.”

  “I only earn minimum wage.”

  “Income is income.” Brinley thought Ivan could do better than roughly eight dollars an hour.

  “And I’m homeless.”

  “You what?” Brinley recoiled away from Ivan.

  “For now. Actually, I’m buking with Matt temporarily. Once I earn enough income I can rent my own place.”

  Brinley shifted on the steps. “As you know, I’m in the real estate investment business. Just so happens I have a house for rent.” One of many, but there was one particular house she had in mind.

  “A house?” Ivan shook his head. “I can’t afford to rent a house. A trailer, maybe.”

  “I’ll rent you one room in the house. I’ll even throw in a complimentary stove. Two hundred a month.” Brinley would have to pay the eighteen-hundred-dollar remaining rent amount each month herself, but it was nothing if it meant that Ivan had a place to stay.

  “Two hundred dollars for one room? That’s cheap. But why?”

  “I don’t want to see you living under a bridge.”

  “So you do care. For the record, I’ve never lived under a bridge, at least not yet.”

  Brinley dug up her iPhone from her jacket pocket and swiped it a few times. “I’ll have my rental manager call you. How can she contact you?”

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  “That bad, huh?” Brinley wanted to say that reloadable disposable cell phones were cheap these days, but she didn’t want him to think she was telling him what to do. He’d rather learn it by himself.

  “Have her call Matt’s shop.”

  “That’ll work.” Brinley studied him. “Are you ever going back to music?”

  “Maybe someday.”

  “God has given you a gift, Ivan. I can’t imagine His letting it go to waste. He began a good work and He’ll complete it. Trust God.”

  “Yes, I’m learning that.”

  “I’ve heard very few people play the violin like you do. Well, there’s—never mind. You’re better looking.”

  “Haha.”

  “And if you need a job in a music studio—”

  He lifted a hand. “You’ve helped me enough, Brinley. Let me figure out my career on my own.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “You going back to therapy?” Brinley asked.

  Ivan nodded feebly.

  “You have to if that wrist is going to get back into shape.”

  “I know. I’ll find a way.”

  Brinley prayed that he would. She decided to make sure he did. East Beach Therapy Center was in the phonebook. If her memory served her right, she had seen its CEO at some of the historical functions in town. A generous grant for a rehabilitation program for injured musicians would move his mountains. Seriously, she didn’t have to go that far to get Ivan back into therapy, but it would help many more musicians than Ivan alone.

  The wind picked up. It might be early April, but the night air was still cool.

  “There’s a reason for the fire-pit, Ivan. We’re too far away to stay warm. And don’t tell me we have each other.” Brinley got up, brushed the sand off the back of her jeans, and faced Ivan.

  “Your fifteen minutes are up, Ivan. I’m glad we had our little talk. I wish you God’s perfect will for your life.”

  Ivan frowned at Brinley’s outstretched hand. “You want me to shake your hand?”

  “Friends, right?”

  Ivan’s eyes widened. He looked confused. “I’m not sure if I want to be just friends.”

  His hand warmed up Brinley’s and disinterred images of their weeks together that seemed to stretch forever. She had kept it all in throughout their little talk, trying to remain as objective as she could about his apologies and his being back in town.

  Ivan didn’t let go of Brinley’s hand. Instead he stood up and drew her close.

  “I thought we had a good thing going.” She put her face against his flannel shirt. She loved the warmth of his chest and the sound of his heartbeats. “What happened to us, Ivan?”

  “I had too much on my plate.”

  “We could’ve been there for each other.”

  “I know, Brin. I’ve done many regrettable things in my life, and that’s one of the worst ones.”

  “That’s a reason we have family, friends, community.”

  “Maybe I’ve been alone so long that I didn’t know how to not do it on my own.” Ivan rubbed her shoulders. “I wish you were with me through my dark days. I wasn’t there when you grieved over my grandma. I blamed you for everything when deep inside I wanted you so badly. I didn’t think I could be good enough to be your h—uh…”

  “Husband?” Brinley asked.

  Silence.

  “Why didn’t you fight for us, Ivan?”

  Silence.

  “What is wrong with you and me together?” Brinley asked.

  “I guess I couldn’t get past myself. But now I have.”

  “I got saved, Ivan. I’m attending church. Going to a Bible Study. Aren’t you happy for me?”

  “I am. I started praying for you that night you came home to Sea Island.”

  Oh yes. She remembered that night. “I appreciate your prayers.”

  “It was all going swimmingly until I broke my wrist. I failed that faith test. I lost my fellowship with God. I lost you.”

  “You haven’t lost God or me, Ivan.”

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Nor I you. And neither of us deserves God. Yet He chose to give us life and salvation out of His own love.”

  Ivan stared at her.

  “What, Ivan?”


  “Your spiritual growth is amazing.”

  “And it’s because of you. Because you dumped me—”

  Ivan winced. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Truly, I needed time away from you to grow in the Lord as a new Christian. If you were around, I wouldn’t have been sure whether I believed in Jesus because you did. Since you weren’t around, I knew without a doubt that my salvation is genuine.”

  “Yeah. I would’ve been in the way.” Ivan kissed her forehead, accepting, welcoming.

  “God worked it all out for our good.”

  “Romans 8:28.” Ivan held her hand. “Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? I have about an hour between shifts.”

  “Hang on.” Brinley checked her calendar on her iPhone. “My schedule is packed all day Thursday. Maybe you can take the time to talk to my rental manager. How about lunch on Friday?”

  “Friday lunch it is. Noon okay with you?”

  “Sure. Name the place.”

  “Meet me at the foot of the lighthouse.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Ivan McMillan stood there. Just stood there.

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The yard was immaculate. The grass cut, the bushes trimmed. The live oak trees with their Spanish moss hung lower and looked fuller in the afternoon sun.

  And was it his imagination or had Grandma Yun’s house expanded?

  The carport was gone, replaced by a two-car garage with carriage doors. The roofline extended all the way over two new windows above the garage. Ivan walked around the garage and came face to face with a garden that Grandma Yun had spoken about, but no one had the wherewithal to execute. Butterflies were everywhere on various bushes, and the air smelled of gardenias. He faced the back of the house. Walls of windows were everywhere overlooking the garden.

  He wished Grandma Yun could see all this. Under the two o’clock afternoon sun, the entire property brightened in natural light on this sunny, rainless Thursday.

  Too bad Grandma is not here to see this beauty.

  Then again, heaven is even more exquisite.

  Ivan heard a vehicle door slam and he made his way to the front of the house. Parked right behind the car he had borrowed from Matt was a big SUV. A well-dressed lady tumbled out of it.

  “Hello! You must be Ivan McMillan. I’m Meg Zimmerman.” The rental manager with the name tag and a thick folder shook his hands. “Did you have any difficulty finding this place?”