I grimaced. “Only hurts later. Bad habit, I guess.”
James moved closer and our thighs touched. The rug was cozy and I was completely warm all over, but the awareness of his every movement, every breath was completely unnerving.
“My dad is overseeing an oil rig in North Dakota right now. My mother—well, she died last summer. That’s why Lydia came to Snow Valley to be with me. All of a sudden I’m parenting a teenage girl. Thank goodness your brother Sam is a pretty good kid. I don’t have to worry about them too much—at least I hope not.”
“He is a good kid,” I said softly, thinking how I’d had tiny prickles of envy over his sister the other night. I felt foolish and stupid. “I’m sorry about your mother. What—what happened?” I shook my head and held up one hand. “That was crass of me. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
I watched James fidgeting in the seat. His face had a faraway expression. “My mom had diabetes and was trying some new medicine. She had an unexpected reaction and it ended up putting her into a coma. She never came out, no matter what the doctors tried. After a few days she died. It’s been rough, especially for Lydia. Even when a girl declares that her mother drives her crazy, she still needs a mom.”
My chest grew tight. Tears of empathy burned the corners of my eyes. “I’m so sorry. How awful that must have been. So unexpected, too.”
He reached out to squeeze my hand and turned toward me. “Not as sudden as your Michael. But I know a bit about what you’re feeling. I keep wishing we’d never tried the new medicine. I even yelled at one of the doctors. My dad is so strong and amazing, but I’ve done my share of accusations and blaming all the wrong people. It hurts and it’s unfair. My mom should have lived another thirty years. Finish raising Lydia, seen her get married, all that stuff.”
My throat burned listening to him. I couldn’t help squeezing his hand in return and we looked at each other in silence for a few moments, knowing the other person’s suffering. The deaths we’d gone through did hurt. And they were unfair. And for once, it was really, really nice to know somebody understood me.
“Hey, Jessica,” James said, suddenly changing the subject. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that this isn’t an actual date. But I want to take you out on a real date. Like the Christmas Ball next week. Or the Christmas Eve pageant and program, if you’re into more spiritual things. Or, I’ve got an even better idea—how about both?”
“Now you’re laughing at me again.”
“I’m never laughing at you.” He brushed one finger against my face, wiping away the tiny tear that had trickled from my eye.
Horror washed over me knowing that James Douglas was watching me cry.
“I know what you’re feeling more than you realize.”
I shook my head. “Losing a mother and losing the boy you’re going to marry are two completely different things. Two different kinds of pain. But still a lot of pain.”
He nodded quietly. “I know you’ve been grieving for a long time. Running away from home to escape the pain. And it was terrible. I’m not diminishing that. But life is for the living. And I’m interested in you, Jessica, more than you realize.”
“I—I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me. Have you no compassion?”
“Jessica. Michael is gone. He’s not coming back. Ever. I know that sounds like harsh words, but you’ve known this for three years. Please take a leap of faith with me. A tiny leap. Heck, just a baby step.”
“I promised myself to Michael since third grade. I can’t just push him out of my life.”
“He already is out of your life.”
I squirmed under his perceptive blue eyes. “I’m not ready. And I don’t care for your ‘insight.’”
His voice was still patiently gentle. Any other guy would have stomped off already. Part of me wanted James Douglas to stomp off already. Because then I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Or answer his questions. Or examine my own heart.
“When will you be ready?”
“Maybe never.”
“You are one stubborn woman, Jessica Mason. So you’re going to mourn Michael for the rest of your life? Berate yourself and your mistakes? You’re not going to admit that Michael has blame for that night, too?”
“How dare you speak of him like that when he’s dead!”
“And you keep insisting that you were in love with him . . .”
I hesitated for the first time in my life. My pulse pounded in my throat. I felt raw, exposed.
Of course, I’d been in love with Michael. Ever since grade school.
“We were best friends!” I said, my temper now seething. “We were engaged!”
James lifted his eyebrows. “Were you? Really? That’s not what I heard.”
“Have you been talking about me to the rest of the town? Behind my back? You’ve got nerve, buddy! Let me out of this sleigh right now!”
We were already back at the carnival. The trip probably wasn’t more than a mile around the bend of the river, and the horses had probably taken the path a million times tonight.
The bright, pulsating lights of the rides hurt my eyes after the shadows under the moon. I blinked, chewing on my lips like a desperate woman.
I threw back the rug and jumped out, ready to stomp off. Ready to never speak to James Douglas ever again.
But before I could move, James slipped his hand under my arm and I whirled, fighting off another bout of tears.
“I’ll let you go, Jessica, if that’s what you really want. But I want you to know that I haven’t been talking about you or asking questions behind your back. That day I first saw you—at the cemetery, you looked so sad, so lost, so fragile. I asked John who the beautiful girl was. To me, you were brand new to town. You hadn’t been home in three years. He told me the story of you and Michael. How he watched you two grow up, best friends, caring for each other, doing everything together. True friends to the end. He told me that it had broken his heart to see you suffering so much. And that he’d prayed nonstop for you. Even when you stopped talking to him. Stopped attending church. Stopped loving yourself and blamed yourself for everything.”
I couldn’t breathe. My heart felt as though it had stopped. “I feel so cold,” I whispered. “Sometimes I feel so dead inside.”
I whirled around, clamping my teeth together, not wanting to say these things. Not wanting anybody to know the bad person I really was. Least of all somebody as good as James Douglas. I mean, what kind of guy lets a girl yell at him, accuse him of trying to run her life, and then sticks around for more?
“Please let me into your life, Jessica Mason,” James Douglas whispered now, his breath warm across my face.
“I—I can’t.”
Then I ran.
Again.
Chapter Thirteen
SPRINTING THROUGH THE GATES OF the carnival, I ignored the shouts behind me. Within seconds, I’d unlocked my car, jumped in, slammed the door, and tore out through the gates of the fairgrounds.
Headlights lit up my rearview mirror. Someone was following me.
Was it James Douglas? Stalking me, or making sure I got home okay?
“Don’t be a jerk,” I told myself fiercely, wiping at my wet face with rough fingers. “He’s not a stalker.”
When I eased into the driveway of my house and turned off the ignition, the car behind me slowly cruised past, and then the headlights disappeared.
“You sure know how to run a guy off. Score zero for Jessica Mason.”
Maybe I was crazy.
Maybe I’d been too harsh.
Maybe I was permanently broken.
I slept fitfully that night, punching my pillow over and over again as I heard my family coming in. A knock at my door from my mother and then my father, which I ignored.
In my dreams that night, I ran and ran and never got anywhere. I didn’t know what I was trying to find. I couldn’t understand why the pit of my stomach was sick and raw.
&
nbsp; I relived the car crash. The days spent in the hospital. The moment when I knew Michael was dead.
Then I dreamed of James Douglas. His soft touch, his kind words, his honesty. Those crystal blue eyes, filled with compassion and understanding sinking into mine, holding me to him in ways I’d never felt with Michael.
How did James know what I was running from? It was uncanny. Like he’d taken a lot of psychology classes. Or was born with some sort of innate talent or compassion.
Or he was a Pastor-in-training and got revelation from God. Or, and this was more likely, he’d been where I was now stuck, because of his mother’s sudden death. Maybe he understood what I was feeling more than I did.
And, even though I didn’t want to admit it, James Douglas was like a tonic to my heart. A friend I hadn’t had for a long time. He’d already become a catalyst for change in my life. He was bringing me back to life in a whole new way.
Maybe it was time to take a step away from my grief, even if it was just the first baby step.
At last, I woke to a gray morning, buried under the warm comforter. But this time there were no tears on my pillow.
I heard the sounds of the shower. My family getting ready for church.
When I staggered to the hall bathroom, Catherine came out dressed in heels and nylons. “You look terrible,” she told me.
“That bad, huh?”
“Were you drinking last night?”
“No! I’m not an idiot. Jeez, thanks.”
“Sorry. Are you sick?”
“No, not really. Just sick at heart.”
“I saw you with James Douglas at the carnival. I think it’s funny Sam’s girlfriend, Lydia, is his sister.”
“Why would that be funny?”
Catherine blinked at me. “I don’t know, just kind of, you know, a coincidence.”
I nudged her aside. “Let me get in the shower now before all the hot water is gone.”
“You coming to church today, then?”
I shook my head, just as Mom came upstairs to help get Amber and Joanie dressed in stockings and frilly red Christmas dresses.
“Oh, honey, really? It’s Christmas week,” Mom said. “You’re not coming to church with us?”
“I have something important to do. Maybe I’ll catch the end of the sermon. Don’t save a seat if that’s what you’re thinking. But I’m planning on attending the Christmas Eve Pageant. ”
“I guess that’s better than nothing,” Mom said with a small smile.
It was a relief when my family was finally running to the car, steam pouring out of the exhaust pipes, then the van disappearing into the morning fog.
I stood at the front windows, staring at cars gingerly driving past the house in the slush of winter.
I bundled up in my heavy coat and gloves and hat and boots.
And walked to church. It was almost two miles, but I needed time to think.
My feet were numb by the time I saw the sign:
Salvation guaranteed or your sins cheerfully refunded.
“Ha!” I burst out.
Was salvation real, or just a feel-good moment?
My sin felt enormous. Heavy as an elephant on my shoulders and heart. I was ensnared for life, imprisoned by my own guilt forever.
I took the long way around the church so nobody would look out the stained glass windows and see me tramping past. The graveyard opened up to my view and I slipped through the stone gates, heading straight to Michael’s headstone.
I knelt in the cold, icy grass. Traced his name with my fingers. Cried a little bit, but not as much as I used to.
“What am I supposed to do without you, Michael?” I finally whispered. “I’ve tried to move on, make a life. I ran away from my family. But no matter where I go, you haunt me. I can’t forgive myself for that night.”
The air was so still, so cold, but the gray of the sky lightened to a pale blue and a weak sun warmed my chilled nose.
Sitting on the edge of my coat, I wrapped my arms around my knees.
“How can I expect to forgive myself when I know I was lying to you for a long time? Because that’s what this was all about. Yes, we’d been stupid that night. But it was an accident, and the roads were bad. We should have never left the house.
The sun touched down on Michael’s name and the dates of his life, giving sudden clarity to so many things I’d been lying to myself about. Because my guilt was actually based on a lie of my own making.
Michael had died believing in the lie that I loved him. That I still wanted to marry him.
But we had both been lying. Clinging to our childhood promises and fantasy because we had been the very best of friends.
Coming home was giving me a clarity I’d been avoiding. The truth I’d been pushing away for a long time.
That last year of Michael’s life had been the year we’d pulled away from each other, subconsciously—maybe even consciously—but never speaking of it. Never admitting the truth to each other.
My voice was hoarse, the cold making me ache now. I couldn’t feel my fingers.
“I did love you, Michael. I will always love you. But I knew I wasn’t going to marry you. I knew we weren’t meant for that. And I was too afraid to tell you.”
I’d continued to live that lie. Refusing to face the truth. Refusing to let go of the guilt. Refusing to give myself permission to really live again, and allowing myself to love again.
Burying my head in my arms, I sobbed for him. For me. For time lost. For his beautiful life, gone.
“Oh, Michael, will you please forgive me? I wasn’t the friend you should have had. I let you down. We should have talked to each other, even if we knew the worst. We abandoned each other.”
There was silence in the graveyard, but for the first time I’d spoken my lies and fears out loud. It was the oddest thing. Part of me felt as though Michael was actually there listening to the words—for the very first time—and healing my tears. Becuase I’d finally spoken the truth.
Maybe that’s what salvation was. Giving your sins and pain and heartache to God. He could erase them. Ease them. And loved you in spite of your faults.
I lifted my face to the sun, wiping away the tears, rubbing my wet nose against my coat sleeve.
Michael would have been pissed that I’d run away. That I’d been hiding from the world.
I had to give myself permission now, not just to mourn him, but to truly live again, knowing he would always care about me. For that was one thing Michael always said: that he believed in me and my dreams. He always said that I had a great life that was just waiting for me to grab hold of. He’d been trying to tell me, in his own way, that we were free agents. Free to be friends forever, but also free to move on with our lives.
I sat there until I could no longer feel my toes, despite the thick double socks.
I glanced at the time on my cell phone. Church would be over in a few minutes. People would come pouring out soon. I’d thought maybe I’d slip into the last pew, hear the final Christmas hymn. Feel the warmth of my pretty little Montana town.
The warmth of people who loved me. Still loved me despite the pain I’d put them through.
The edge of my lips quirked up into a smile. I rubbed my thumb along the cell phone. Then I pressed the Contact Page.
There was James Douglas’s phone number. Waiting for me to press it.
How daring to call a guy!
Hey, maybe not so daring. After all, I was calling a Pastor. Someone who could help me find salvation in so many ways. The thought made a laugh bubble up my throat.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed the number. When I heard the other end of the line ring, my chest tightened with anticipation.
James answered immediately. “Jessica?” he whispered. His voice was deep with meaning. Light with hope.
I could hear organ music in the background. Perfect timing.
“Are you about to give the benediction?” I asked, unable to not tease him just a little.
; “No. I’m watching you from the window.”
I gulped. “You are?”
I strained to see across the expanse of headstones and angels and gates. I turned away to hunker down over Michael’s grave to stay out of the breeze that was turning my ears into ice cubes.
“Of course. We’re having church inside over here, but I think you just had church by yourself in the cemetery.”
“I never thought of it that way. Maybe I did.”
“So why are you calling?”
“Oh, right. Um, I was calling to accept your invitation to the Christmas Ball.”
I could practically see his smile through the phone. “I think you’ve just made me the happiest Pastor in Montana.”
“Well, that was easy to do.”
“Hey, Jessica, can you stand up right now?”
“Um yeah. Why?”
“Because I’m about to step on you.”
“What?!”
I jumped up and saw James Douglas striding across the graveyard toward me.
A sob caught in my throat. Dang, was I going to cry all over again? I probably looked a complete mess. No makeup. Scraggly hair stuffed into my knit cap. But I knew that Pastor James Douglas didn’t care one little bit.
We stood with our phones attached to our ears, watching each other. He was coming closer with every second, his smile growing bigger and more beautiful with each step. A happiness radiated from his gorgeous blue eyes as big as the Montana skies.
A strange sense of relief streamed through my entire body, and my throat filled with a huge lump, so big I could hardly swallow. Could I do this? Did I have the courage? Could I let go of the past?
A voice whispered in my ear. Yes, you can. Oddly, the voice sounded just like Michael.
I ran.
Only this time I didn’t run away to my car, or the river, or New Orleans.
I ran straight into James Douglas’s outstretched arms, launching myself against him like a child who’d just received the best present ever. He lifted me up easily, and his strength wrapped around me with a warmth I’d never felt before.
“Oh, Jessica, I got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” Then James Douglas kissed my cheek, and then he kissed my tears, and he didn’t seem to mind that I was a blubbering baby. His arms held me for the longest time—right in sight of the entire congregation of Snow Valley Community Church who spilled out the doors at the end of the service.
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