Come to Me Alive

by Leah Atwood

  Now she regretted her own hasty conclusion about Bryce. He had a valid point, one that she’d already accepted. “True. And honestly, I’m okay now because I recognized that. Your song helped.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” His elbows rested against his knees when he leaned forward.

  “I guess.”

  “I’m glad you and this Ryan guy broke up.”

  His words made her blush. The wink after he spoke them rendered her speechless.

  He opened his mouth, then shut it again just as quickly. A few seconds passed, and he nodded toward a hole in the clouds where the sun was trying to peek through. “Looks like the rain’s stopped.”

  Aimlessly, she scanned the scope of the park, wondering what he had wanted to say. Sure enough, the rain had stopped, but large puddles remained throughout the park. “Get ready for a dose of Louisiana humidity.”

  “What time is it?” Bryce asked.

  She looked down at her watch. “A quarter past eleven.”

  “Oh man. Gracie and Gram will be home for sure, even if they went somewhere after berry-picking. Gram never misses watching the midday news.” His eyebrows crinkled with indecision. “I should get going.” He took a step but didn’t move his other foot to match.

  The knowledge that he had other responsibilities, she had her own also, didn’t make leaving any easier. She wanted to know him better, listen to him talk, and hear him laugh again. Bryce was an enigma. At times, he was so serious, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but then he’d find something amusing and his dark eyes would brighten, his laughter ringing out liking a healing melody. Conversation between them came too easily and what should have felt awkward, didn’t.

  She didn’t tell him all of that—some things didn’t need to be mentioned. His own hesitation to leave spoke enough.

  “There’s a special event at church tomorrow night for kids, similar to a vacation bible school. Gram and Gramps always teach a class and will be taking Gracie, so I’ll have some free time. I want to see you again. Are you free?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes.”

  “May I take you to dinner?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Does five work? It’s early, but I want to work around Gracie being home. What’s your address?”

  “Five is fine. What’s your number and I’ll text it to you.” She pulled out her phone, typing in the numbers he rattled off.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He reached out, giving her arm a light touch, then left.

  She needed to call her best friend, Kate. She wanted to tell someone about Bryce and tomorrow’s date, but there was an implicit agreement to remain quiet, for privacy’s sake. Oden Bridge was a refuge for him, where he and Gracie could have a normal life away from the limelight. So instead, she sent Kate a simple text.

  —Met a guy at the park. Going on a date tomorrow.

  A few seconds later, her phone vibrated. She looked at the screen, expecting a reply from Kate, but the message was from Bryce.

  —Got the address. Thanks for the morning.

  She tried to think of what to write back, settling on a bit of humor.

  —I enjoyed it. Especially the not being chased by a duck again part. :).

  Another text a few seconds later.

  —But you were so adorable running from it. Okay, need to start driving.

  Done texting, she slipped her phone into her pocket, crossed the park, and made her way to her car on the other side. She walked along the perimeter of the pond where she’d first met Bryce last week. A turtle was making its way over the bank, its pointy head with a red stripe on the side poking out and moving side to side.

  “Did the rain bring you out of your shell, little guy? Yes? Me too.” Well, not the rain, per se, but Bryce. Conversation with him came as natural as breathing once she’d gotten over the surprise of his identity.

  Still uncomfortably wet, she stopped her one-sided conversation with the turtle and hurried back to her car. From the trunk, she pulled out the blanket her mother insisted she keep in case she ever broke down in freezing weather. Temperatures cold enough to worry about that rarely happened in South Louisiana, but the blanket sure came in handy right now. She draped it over the driver’s seat to protect the fabric from getting wet as she drove home.

  The house she rented was an older, two bedroom, simple brick home with narrow windows reminiscent of the style when it was built. Nothing fancy, but it was clean and fit her budget. Decorated casually with light-colored furniture to brighten the dark rooms, it was cozy and comfortable.

  She had no tutoring sessions today, but had to pay bills and take her car for an oil change, which she’d intended to do while out earlier until the sudden rain and soaked clothes had changed that plan. While her computer booted, she sat down at her desk and looked at her notebook which listed all her bills. The web browser opened, and she clicked on the bookmark to her financial institution’s website. The credit union recently redesigned the site and the time to load her account seemed to take longer. In the meantime, she opened another browser—curiosity got the better of her.

  In the search bar, she typed Bryce Landry. She deliberated before hitting enter, struggling to decide if googling him was an invasion of his privacy. The enter button called her name—she decided she was only looking up what was already public. Hundreds of pages hit, and scrolling through the first few, she realized Bryce hadn’t exaggerated about his time on the road last year. There were countless articles, from both tabloids and respected publications, outlining his debauchery.

  Her heart sagged. What was she getting into? Before she freaked out and cancelled their date, she closed out the browser. That was all before he’d found Christ, she reminded herself. Was it fair to judge him for that time? It’s not like he’d tried to hide anything from her. Quite the opposite, he’d been completely transparent and open.

  Her bank account finally loaded and she balanced her checkbook, paid her bills online and wrote checks for the one she had to mail. She reached for the book of stamps and discovered it was empty, then added the post office to her list of errands.

  In the kitchen, she pulled out a frozen dinner. While her lunch cooked in the microwave, she poured a glass of sweet tea. The timer dinged, and she took her mac and cheese to the table. Despite not eating anything for breakfast, she still wasn’t hungry. After shoving the noodles around the container, she covered it up and put it in the fridge for later.

  Bryce was occupying too many of her thoughts. She’d never been around anyone as open as he, yet she knew that he wasn’t so with others, evident by the fact Gracie was still a secret to most people in his life.

  What did she do with this thing happening between them? There wasn’t a label to put on it, but its sheer strength was impossible to ignore. They came from two different worlds. Was there any way to combine them? There was no way to know unless they gave it a try, and that meant jumping into it with blind faith. Whatever it was. She couldn’t say for sure what it was, but she realized it would be something powerful. She could reason that it was only one date, but she knew better. Prayer is what she needed.

  Dear Lord,

  Please give me direction about Bryce. I just met him, but I really like him despite all the reasons I probably shouldn’t. I also understand it’s only one date he asked me on, but I’m not foolish enough to deny I want more—I feel that you’ve brought him into my life for a reason. Please give me the wisdom to follow the path you’ve set for me.

  In your name,

  Amen.

  No sooner than she had whispered amen, her phone buzzed. She walked to the counter where it was vibrating and picked it up. A message from Bryce. Her gaze turned heavenward, and she laughed. “Very funny.”

  —I’ve never seen so many strawberries in my life.

  She smiled at the casual text, sent like they were old friends. —I hear ducks like strawberries.

  —Want to come with me and feed them :)


  —I’ll pass. I’ve seen how ducks react to you :P The memory of the duck chasing her made her laugh.

  —Guess I’ll have to change the pre-dinner plans for our date.

  —We can feed some elephants instead.

  —Elephants?

  She shrugged, though there was no one to see her. —I don’t know. It’s the first thing that came to mind. Lol

  —Can I call you tonight?

  —I’ll be here.

  —G’s usually in bed by 8. I’ll call after.

  —Ok She dropped the phone into her purse, grinning as she grabbed the stack of envelopes off the desk. After snatching her keys from the hook by the front door, she went to her car and left for her errands.

  The post office had a line out the door, as usual. Why a sleepy little town like Oden Bridge always had such a long line at the post office, she didn’t know. When she finally made it inside, her memory was quickly jogged.

  Mr. Anderson, the postmaster, felt it his personal duty to hold a full conversation with every customer who came to his counter. The line could be trying at times, but the personal touch was always worth the wait and reminded Sophie how much she enjoyed small-town living. Her hometown of Lafayette wasn’t a huge metropolis, but it was quickly growing, and although she’d always hold it in her affections, Oden Bridge was becoming home.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Thatcher. Summer keeping you busy?” Mr. Anderson asked when it was her turn to purchase stamps.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There were children in here earlier today, talking about the great teacher they had this past year. Said she was the prettiest teacher they’d ever seen.” The old man cast a mischievous wink, his red cheeks high from a smile. “They must’ve been talking about you because my teachers were never as pretty as you are.”

  He was a charmer to be sure. “You flatter me, Mr. Anderson. I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Anderson you said that,” she teased, returning his wink.

  “Go ahead dear. My Louella knows she’s the prettiest woman in my world.” His face beamed with pride when he spoke of his wife.

  To find a love like that. Sophie almost sighed with the thought, then remembered where she was. “Ask Mrs. Louella if she’d like to have lunch one day next week, my treat.” The Andersons went to the church she’d been attending, and sh had become close with Louella over the past two years. She was a quirky, interesting lady full of life’s wisdom.

  “I’m sure she’d love that. I’ll have her give you a call and set up something. Now, what can I help you with today?”

  “Just a book of stamps, please.”

  “Here you go. Will there be anything else?”

  “That’s everything.”

  “Your total is nine dollars and eighty cents.”

  Sophie handed over exact change and took the stamps Mr. Anderson slid across the counter. “Have a good day.”

  “You too, Miss Thatcher.”

  Stopping by the entry counter, she affixed stamps to her envelopes and dropped them off in the outgoing slot. Next, to get her oil changed, or reading time as she called it to make the task less ominous. These were the times she missed living near her parents. Until she’d moved, her dad had always changed her oil and did the maintenance for her. One of the perks of having a close family and a dad who could fix cars.

  Finally, back home after all her errands, she carried her bible, devotional and a cup of ice cold sweet tea out to her covered patio area. Humidity still hung heavy in the air, creating a high heat index, but this sheltered area remained several degrees cooler, which kept the temperature bearable.

  Today’s scriptures were from her favorite verse about mounting up with wings as eagles. She meditated on the words, why they were given to her today, how she could apply them to her life. To her thoughts, she was fairly content. She enjoyed her job, her home, the little life she’d carved out for herself. But there was some reason God placed those words with her, perhaps in reference to Bryce? She tucked them securely in her heart, having long ago committed them to memory. After a time of prayer, she went back inside. With her house clean, bible study completed and tutoring lessons prepared, she grabbed her book and settled into the recliner.

  She became so engrossed in her novel that when her phone rang several hours later, she was startled and jumped. A quick peek out the windows told her the sun was low on the horizon and she’d read straight through when she should have eaten dinner. Come to Me Alive continued to sing from her phone and remembering that Bryce was supposed to call, she sprinted to answer it before the caller hung up the line.

  “Hello,” she answered breathlessly.

  “Sophie?”

  “It’s me.”

  “This is Bryce. Did I call at a bad time?”

  “No. I was reading and lost track of time.” She slapped her head. Why did she tell him that?

  “You really like to read, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Self-confessed bookaholic. You must think I’m a complete and utter dork by now.”

  The line was quiet for a few moments. “Why are you so down on yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Today, at the park, you said you were boring. Now you’re calling yourself a dork because you like to read.”

  “They’re just words. I don’t mean anything by them.”

  “Oh no, Sophie,” he replied, in a mock solemnness. “You never tell a songwriter that ‘they’re just words.’ Words are powerful instruments.”

  “You know what I mean,” she protested nonchalantly.

  “You’re not boring, Sophie. And you’re definitely not a dork.”

  Uncomfortable, she opted for a change of subject. “Have you had your fill of strawberries yet?”

  “Oh man, you have no idea. Gram made strawberry tarts for a lunch dessert and then after dinner, Gracie wanted to make strawberry ice cream. At this rate, I’ll need a whole new wardrobe before I leave just to fit in my clothes.”

  An image of him materialized. She could hardly imagine that he would eat so much he’d outgrow his clothes. He obviously took good care of his physique. “Homemade ice cream, huh?”

  “Don’t dare bring store-bought ice cream into Gramps’ house, unless you want to hear an hour-long dissertation on why homemade is the only ice cream worth eating.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Do you want to know what I learned in the process of cleaning strawberries?” he asked, a lilt of humor in his voice. “Never tell a five-year-old that strawberries are going to grow in her stomach because she ate the seeds.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Father-fail number one hundred and fifty-five. It took Gram and Gramps to convince her I was just teasing.”

  “One day you’ll look back and laugh.”

  “Who would have thought she’d take me so seriously?”

  “Anyone who’s ever been around five-year-olds,” she teased.

  “I felt so bad, I read her two extra stories at bedtime. And can you guess which ones she chose? Strawberry Shortcake.”

  She lost the battle not to laugh, erupting into a full fit of giggles. “That’s too funny.”

  “She’s a trip. Not a day goes by she doesn’t crack me up about something.” His voice softened, taking a different tone.

  “She seems like a sweet girl.”

  “She really is. She’s the best thing to happen to me.”

  The conversation shifted to anecdotes of their own childhoods and the things they put their parents through. Bryce laughed when she told him about the fear she’d had of giants that continued for three years, to the point she wouldn’t go check the mail on her own. In return, he confessed he’d had imaginary friends all the way through second grade.

  Bryce yawned in the middle of her telling a story about when she stuck a wad of gum in her sister’s hair.

  “Am I that tiresome?” she asked in jest.

  “Not at all—I’m sorry,” he apologized, his voice deep with sleepiness.
“I should have been in bed hours ago, but couldn’t bring myself to end the call. Gracie’s been waking up at four every morning for a week.”

  12:13 flashed from her alarm clock. “I didn’t realize it was after midnight. Go get some sleep.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he mumbled, sleep taking over. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she whispered into the phone as she disconnected the call.

  Chapter 4

  Morning came too early. Like clockwork, at four o’clock on the dot, Gracie came to his room, tapping him on the shoulder to wake him up. Less than four hours of sleep. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake his mind and body. Why had he stayed up so late? Then he remembered. Sophie. They’d been talking, and he hadn’t wanted to hang up with her. Still half asleep, a languid grin spread across his cheeks.

  “Daddy, are you going to get up?” Gracie shook his arm.

  “I’m working on it, Sweet Pea. Go get your butterfly blanket and we’ll watch one of your movies.” There was a time, not too long ago, he’d just be going to bed at this hour. Man, how quickly life can change.

  Two arm stretches later, he rolled out of bed and shook his legs, trying to get the blood flowing. He slipped a T-shirt over his head and met Gracie in the hallway. Picking her up, he carried her downstairs. With any luck, he could relax in the recliner with her curled up in his lap for the next hour.

  After he had a dose of caffeine.

  He dropped Gracie off in the chair and padded into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Thank goodness he’d bought Gram the new coffee maker for Christmas. Her old one took until the afternoon to finish brewing a pot. That could have been an exaggeration, but it had taken a long time, especially on the early mornings like these.

  Within minutes, the pot finished brewing. He poured a cup and kept it straight black. Carefully, despite shuffling feet, he carried it with him into the family room, grabbed the remote and sat down in the recliner. Gracie climbed up on him, curling up and laying her head against his chest. He turned on the television and lowered the volume to barely audible. Mornings weren’t made for him, but the time with his daughter was priceless and worth every minute.