Happily Ever After

by Susan May Warren

  Liza’s voice was gentle. “You were, to him.”

  A familiar rawness filled Mona’s throat. She grabbed her pillow and clutched it to her chest, ready to bury her face in it should any tears resurface.

  “Joe reminded you of him, didn’t he?” Liza handed Mona the picture and held her gaze.

  Mona tucked the picture into the drawer of her nightstand. She didn’t answer.

  The bed creaked as Liza settled on it. “You can’t bring your father back. I know you want to. But you have to stop blaming yourself. It was an accident, and I know he’d forgive you.”

  Mona’s eyes misted at Liza’s targeted words. “Yeah, I know.”

  Liza ducked her head, searching for Mona’s eyes.

  Mona looked away.

  “Mona,” Liza said firmly, “you have to let it go. You have to stop trying to make everything perfect. Only when you realize you can’t erase your mistakes will God be able to heal you. You have to trust Him to repair your life.”

  Mona blinked back tears. “I don’t deserve His help.”She winced at the despair in her voice.

  Liza’s silence betrayed empathy. Finally, she reached out and fingered a strand of Mona’s blonde hair. “The Footstep of Heaven. You know what I think of when I say that? I think of sitting at Jesus’ feet. I feel Him wrapping His arms around me, and I hear Him telling me it’s okay, that I don’t have to be perfect, that He loves me just the way I am. Even when I make huge mistakes.”

  “You don’t make huge mistakes, Liza.” The bitter words spurted out.

  Liza dropped her hand. “Is that what you think?”

  Mona wiped an escaping tear and nodded.

  “I’ve got news for you, Mona Reynolds. I’ve made huge mistakes with my life. Girlfriend, you’re talking to a woman who quit school in the tenth grade.”

  Mona blinked in shock.

  “I didn’t go to college, and I can’t read an entire book like you can. It’s only by the grace of God that I hooked up with you. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be waiting tables at the Big Sub. You showed me that if I had a dream, I should stick to it, just like you did.” Liza’s eyes sparkled. “You idiot, have you forgotten how I met you? A double order of Italian subs down the back of your sweatshirt?” She grimaced so crazily Mona had to stifle a chuckle. “But you forgave me. You taught me how to be a friend and to receive forgiveness.”

  Mona cocked a finger at her. “I did get a free meal.”

  “Well, this is true, but at the least, it cost you your favorite outfit.”

  Mona shrugged; then her smile faded.

  “Let it go, Mona. God’s already forgiven you. You need to forgive yourself and let God love you. Be His child, and embrace His grace. You can’t create your own heaven on earth. That’s His job. If you try to do it yourself, you’ll never experience the love of God fulfilling your wildest dreams.”

  Liza’s eyes flashed, like light hitting an opal, and Mona heard in her words something eternal and priceless.

  Mona had opened a door to her heart, let Joe enter her private world, and now the empty space inside ached as if he’d ripped out a part of herself and taken it with him. Her heart throbbed every time she caught sight of her mended ceiling or blooming poplar sapling. When she drank her coffee on the porch, she remembered the feel of his strong hands around hers when he helped her hold the jack. When she wandered into Liza’s pottery shed, she thought of that first day when he’d suggested there were treasures to be found at the Footstep. Late at night, Mona longed to hear him return from his loud midnight runs with Rip. And when the waves scraped the shore, all she could think of was being cocooned happily in his arms.

  She had been such a fool to fall for a rootless drifter.

  If she wanted to heal, she had to expunge him from her life. She knew it, but it still required all her grit to ascend the stairs to his tiny apartment with a mop and broom.

  She was about to defrost an already immaculate fridge when she found a journal wedged behind, as if Joe had set it on top, then accidentally knocked it off. It was a small, thick notebook with tattered corners, each page indented by the weight of the pencil, and perhaps the thoughts impressed upon it. Mona rubbed the cover with her palm. Joe kept a journal. That fact only added to his baffling personality. She would have never guessed that rumpled, rustic Joe, with a soft spot for homeless strays and a competitive streak, would find solace scribbling his feelings down on paper. A lump formed in her throat.

  Maybe Joe’s secrets were in this book, everything he couldn’t tell her. Everything she longed to know about him. Answers, perhaps, to why he’d abandoned something good and maybe even lasting in the middle of the night like a bandit. She trembled, remembering Joe’s crooked smile, the twinkle in his jeweled blue eyes, the fresh smell of soap and flannel that trailed him. Tears pricked her eyes. Maybe Joe’s little book even held solutions.

  Mona turned the journal over in her hands, biting her lip. Then she slid down to the floor, propped her back against the refrigerator, and invaded the privacy of Mr. Joe Michaels.

  Joe’s story peeled away the hours. Mona read until the setting sun painted long shadows across the uncarpeted floor. She discovered between the pages a man who had been around the world but always longed to come home. He’d managed to see Red Square, Winchester Abbey, and the Berlin Wall, but woven among his words she detected a desire to kill the wanderlust. He had a family—that news startled her. A brother named Gabriel.

  At least he is happy, Joe wrote of his sibling, but the tone pulsed of melancholy. She also noted a spiritual quest. Joe’s psalms were copied down in modern-day prose next to David’s, their hearts entangled into one. Joe obviously loved God, yet he ran, like David, from an enemy. She sensed its insidious presence filtering through his thoughts: the fear of unworthiness, of rejection. Tears ran unhindered. She understood all too well.

  Then on the last page she discovered her name, neatly penciled in a week after his arrival.

  Mona is everything I want. Her determination to see the Footstep work delights me, and I am actually envious she has found her niche. I want this niche also. And . . . do I dare say it? . . . it would be nice to have it with her. Today she stood on the porch, leaning against the railing with a coffee mug in her hands. The wind teased her hair as she stared out toward the surf, and I saw in her gaze a hint of peace. I believe she will find her peace here. And mine . . . ?

  Mona turned the page, but the last page remained blank. She ran a finger down the empty space and wondered why he had stopped writing.

  Joe sat in the cool grass, watching the breeze ripple over a sapphire Lake Calhoun, fingering a stick in his hand and wishing he had Rip to toss it to. He missed Mona. He more than missed her—he ached to see her. The pain was so blinding that at moments he actually thought he had a gaping wound in the middle of his chest. It didn’t help that her image and the hurt written on her beautiful face when he announced he was leaving haunted him like a specter.

  After his abrupt flight, he’d found a hotel room in Minneapolis. And when he collapsed on the bed, staring at the white ceiling and listening to the hum of the air conditioner, his wounded heart began to throb.

  He’d left the best part of himself in northern Minnesota.

  Drawing up his knees, he buried his face in his folded arms. Why had he ever thought freedom was more precious than the smell of Mona’s fresh-perked coffee, the sound of her laughter, or the prospect of waking up to her smile every day for the rest of his life? Maybe if he could find the guts to crawl back to her and beg her forgiveness, he might recover from this terrible lesion in his heart. He’d even assume the role of handyman forever if only he might repair everything his cowardice had destroyed.

  Right, she would surely open her arms to him after he’d abandoned her with repairs the size of Texas. She was probably singing his praises right now as she tried to hot-wire her rattletrap car for a quick trip to the hardware store.

  She’d trusted him, and he’d repaid
her with lies. He felt ill with shame. She deserved better. She deserved someone who wasn’t afraid to love, regardless of the cost. Not someone who lit out on a run at the first hint of trouble. Yes, he’d had plenty of reasons to weave together a facade, and even better ones to escape before that facade blew up in his face like a cluster bomb. He’d categorized and rationalized those reasons in his mind during the five hours it took to race south on I-35. By the time he hit Highway 694 and the loop around the Twin Cities, he’d known he’d become a pretty good liar, even to himself.

  He’d left because he was a coward when it came to issues of the heart.

  Joe stared at the lake. Sailboats flagged in red, white, yellow, and sky blue skated over the pristine surface, and a squadron of ducks dodged them and scolded their impudence. The aromas of fresh popcorn, corn dogs, and french fries saturated the air, mixed with the heady perfume of blooming lilacs.

  Mona’s lilac tree was probably in full violet bloom right now. The thought was so vivid Joe lifted his hand to bat it away.

  A gaggle of girls walked by. One peeked at him, her eyes shining. He tugged his baseball cap lower on his head and turned the stick in his hand, avoiding her gaze.He wanted to hide, and Lake Calhoun seemed just the place for it. Roller bladers whizzed by, their headsets pumping out rhythm. A Frisbee landed yards from him, and a teenager scooped it up and flung it back to his partner.

  His broken heart ached.

  Spearing the stick into the dirt, Joe dug the note from his pocket. Ruby, the persistent. He opened the note and read it again. She’d written an address—whose, it wasn’t hard to guess—and a verse. He’d looked Isaiah 41: 9-10 up so many times over the past two days he had it memorized: “I have called you back from the ends of the earth so you can serve Me. For I have chosen you and will not throw you away. Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you with My victorious right hand.”

  Joe closed the note and creased it. Tapped it against his leg. Ruby wanted him to forgive his dad. The initial step in coming home. For the first time in his life, he had a good idea of what homecoming meant. Family. Something to hold on to, someone to love, who loved the real you, not some fantastic phony.

  What kind of liar was he? Mona didn’t have a clue about his identity. He had to admit, however, neither did he. The real Joe Michaels lurked behind a persona he thought he needed. Perhaps, safe inside the Footstep of Heaven, the real Joe Michaels had made his first appearance in years, wrapped inside a cloak of deception, but still there, aching to be freed. Aching to be seen, to be confronted, to be loved, and to return that love.

  Maybe confronting his dad, the man who’d run from his fears, could help Joe face himself, confront his own guilt, perhaps even forgive. And if he could face himself . . . maybe the real Joe could find the backbone to face Mona and unravel his web of lies, including introducing her to Gabe.

  And just maybe she’d surprise him, like he hoped.

  Ruby’s words, spoken in the cover of twilight after the glorious fishing trip with Gabe, rushed back to him.Perhaps, if you stood your ground, you’d find the strength to forgive and let someone in your life. Maybe you’d even find the thing you’re always searching for.

  Yes, he’d found what he’d been searching for. Found it, turned, and ran for the hills. And he’d keep running until he discovered a way to fight the demon on his tail. Until he could stand his ground . . . and forgive.

  He’d learned that from Gabe. Forgiveness gave Gabe power. It didn’t stop the hurt, but it released him from revenge and allowed him to reach out. Gave him room in his heart to love. Until this moment, Joe hadn’t realized how much space anger had occupied in his heart.

  Ruby had said that God would help him forgive. Do not fear. Joe reread Ruby’s script and knew she had nailed him—he wasn’t calloused to his father; he was terrified of him. He’d crack open his heart in front of the old man, and out would pour a decade of hurt. And he’d be left with a gaping hole in his chest.

  But didn’t he already have that?

  Fear had been his master for too long.

  Fear had cost him a home.

  Fear had cost him Mona.

  There was only one way to face his fear. He had to track down Wayne Michaels and forgive him. Forgive him for abandoning his family. Forgive him for ripping Joe’s world to pieces, forgive him for teaching his son that the only option to problems was to punch the gas and leave a cloud of dust.

  And maybe learning to forgive would give Joe the internal fortitude he needed to unlock his heart and risk letting God be in charge of his relationships. To risk loving and finally find a place to call home. To finally have peace.

  If Joe ever wanted to be free to embrace all God had for him, as Ruby suggested, he’d have to face his past like Mona faced her home repairs—with dignity and the boldness of Joshua tackling the fortress of Jericho.

  Joe sunk his head in his hands. He wasn’t Mona, and she had about ten times the courage he did. Ten times? She had more tenacity in her little toe than he had in his entire body.

  “Chip, no!”

  Joe raised his head a second before a large Samoyed plowed him over. A teenager, dressed in a blue Windbreaker and wearing a horrified expression, ran up to him and dove for the dog’s collar. “Sorry, mister,” he said, wrenching the dog away. The Samoyed had his treasure, Joe’s stick, clamped firmly in his mouth.

  Joe didn’t reply. He was twenty-five years in the past, staring at the dripping jaws of Jerry Hopkins’s purebred white Samoyed, Blizzard. His heart locked, just as it had then, and he saw himself raise the newspaper, whether to deliver it or throw it at the dog, he didn’t know. Even now he couldn’t remember what he’d done with that Star Tribune. What Joe did remember, in painful lucidity, was the wind screaming through his ears as he turned tail and sprinted across the yard, beating out a race with the growling beast for the next yard. Hot breath licked his neck;teeth nipped his feet. He pumped his ten-year-old legs and arms and flew over the grass until he was airborne. He ran full speed over the five-foot retaining wall, then pitched face first onto the neighbor’s gravel driveway.

  The next few minutes blurred into a smear of pain. Somehow he recalled the sight of the Samoyed, drooling and perhaps even laughing as he stared down at him like a king from his yard. Then Mrs. Allen had popped out of her house to inquire why her paperboy sprawled bloody and crying on her driveway. Joe had limped home, climbed into bed without washing, and sobbed until he slept.

  The memory burned in his chest. The fear sent his heartbeat on turbo and felt as real today as it had twenty-five years ago. Sweat even greased his palms. He’d let terror take control and send him running.

  He obviously hadn’t changed much since then.

  Joe wiped his hands on his pants and sucked a calming breath. Propping his arms on his knees, he clenched and unclenched his fists as the memory continued.

  His father had found him curled in his bed. He’d rubbed his back until Joe awoke and poured out the story in hiccupping sobs. His father had listened, face etched with concern and determination. Then he’d tucked Joe in, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “We’ll tackle it tomorrow.”

  Warmth spread through Joe’s chest, recalling how his father had met him halfway through his paper route the next afternoon. He must have been white-faced, for his father had clamped a hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and said, “Don’t be afraid, Son.”

  They’d walked together to the Hopkinses’ house, and when Blizzard tore out of his pen, unchained and smelling fear, his father tucked Joe behind his back and lunged at the dog, crying out a thunderous roar. The stunned animal skidded to a halt, and at the second roar, retreated into the dark safety of his doghouse. Joe peeked around his father and spied the dog cowering, blinking at him with sheepish eyes.

  “Go ahead, Joe. Deliver that paper. The animal just needed to be met head-on.”

  Joe’s mouth had felt as d
ry as the Sahara as he tiptoed toward the door, and he could still hear the roar of his pulse in his ears as he jammed the paper into the box. But his father stood sentry behind him, and the dog only flicked a wary eye in their direction.

  Blizzard never bothered him again, and eventually, with the right number of dog biscuits, the Samoyed became his friend.

  Joe gripped the back of his neck, kneading a tense muscle. If his earthly father, who failed him, could stand in the gap and help him overcome his fear, couldn’t his perfect heavenly Father do so much more? Ruby’s well-chosen verse trumpeted in his head. “I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you with My victorious right hand.”

  Joe rubbed both hands through his hair and stood up. Maybe it was time to let God uphold him. His jaw tightened as he considered the implications. I don’t know if I can do this, Lord.

  “ God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self- discipline.” Joe frowned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started for the truck. “Perfect love expels all fear.” His truck keys jingled as he fumbled through his pockets. “Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

  Joe looked toward heaven, eyes burning. The steady echo of verses kept beat with his pounding heart. “When the people heard the sound of the horns, they shouted as loud as they could. Suddenly, the walls of Jericho collapsed.”

  Joe threw his hands in the air. “All right already!”

  26

  Five days before opening day, an aura of anticipation drifted through the Footstep of Heaven as the lilac tree, then the jasmine bush in the front yard, flowered, signaling the onset of the tourist season. Mona had planted an abundance of mums, asters, and gladiolas in the bed along the front porch, and she sang to the peonies that flanked the newly paved side driveway, in hopes they would bloom early. She packed wooden planters full of impatiens blossoming in every shade and arranged table centerpieces with dried hydrangeas, eucalyptus, and day lilies.