by Sara Davison
“Que lo disfrutes.” She set the paper cup down, hard enough that a few drops sloshed through the tiny hole in the lid.
“Gracias.” He most certainly would enjoy it. Díaz grabbed the plate and cup and scanned the small coffee shop. The most prudent thing would be to leave, to not give Summer Velásquez any more time to memorize his features than he already had. But he’d thrown caution to the wind already, why stop now? The armchair by the fireplace looked too appealing to resist and he strolled over and dropped down on it, setting the plate on one arm and the cup on the floor at the side of the chair. The bed in his motel was lumpy and overly soft, so he hadn’t slept well in weeks. Díaz sank into the chair with a groan of pleasure. Good call not to head back out into the sub-zero temperatures just yet.
Grasping the fork Summer had set on the plate, he used the side of it to cut into the cinnamon bun then shoved the bite into his mouth. If the people sitting at tables near him hadn’t glanced over at his first groan, he’d have emitted another. The bun might have been the best sugary treat he’d ever tasted. Díaz closed his eyes and reveled in the sweet cinnamon taste on his tongue. After several seconds, he bent forward to retrieve his coffee cup and took a swig.
He was so immersed in the sensory experience that he barely noticed the jingling of bells. When he tilted back his head to take another drink, he nearly spewed out the mouthful of hot liquid. McCall was here. It was only eight in the morning—what in the world was he doing up and about this early? Díaz cursed softly in his head. If McCall saw him in the café, no doubt he’d put two and two together and figure out that he was following Summer. Maybe he’d even be able to fit all the pieces into place and guess why. Which would be very bad.
Thankfully, the man hadn’t shot so much as a glance around the place as he’d strolled toward the counter, his eyes on Summer. Díaz grabbed the cinnamon bun. Still clutching his cup of coffee, he pushed to his feet and casually strolled for the door. McCall said something to Summer, who laughed as she poured him a cup of coffee. Neither of them looked at him as he passed by, a few feet away. If either of them glanced at the door when the bells jangled, Díaz didn’t see them. He didn’t look back as he reached the sidewalk and scurried down the street.
When he was a few blocks away and confident that no one had followed him, he ducked into an alleyway and leaned against a wall so he could take another bite of the bun. No way he was wasting that, not when treats like those had been denied him growing up. His wife and daughters still rarely got anything like this to eat. Which would change when he brought them here to live. A smile crossed his face as he swiped the back of his hand across his chin, wiping off a drip of icing. Once they were all together again, he’d take them out for cinnamon buns every Saturday morning if they wanted.
None of them would go hungry or rush out of a place so they wouldn’t be seen and recognized. As soon as he finished this, his last job for the boss, and brought his family here to be with him, everything would be different. They would be safe. He’d have gotten hold of the dangling carrot and everything else he’d ever reached for in his life and never been able to grasp.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Summer set the novel she’d been reading on the arm of the chair. A fire crackled in the woodstove and she breathed in the fragrant scent of maple and sighed. She and Nancy had come into the living room after dinner and Summer had been curled up in the chair for almost two hours, absorbed in her reading. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so relaxed.
Nancy looked up from her knitting. “Everything okay, darlin’?”
“It’s pretty much perfect. I’m not sure I’ve ever spent an evening like this in my life.” Summer yawned and stretched her arms above her head. Charles Dickens, sitting on her lap, lifted his head and meowed in protest at the movement. “Sorry, kitty.” She scratched the big calico cat behind its ears and he lowered his head again, purring loudly.
Nancy rested the knitting needles and wool across her knees. “You didn’t have nights like this in your home growing up?”
If the question didn’t hurt so much, Summer might have laughed. “Not like this, no.”
“What was it like for you?” The words were gentle, as though Nancy understood they might cut a little and was trying to make them as painless as possible.
Summer exhaled. “In Mexico, and then again in Toronto, my parents and I lived in a big, cold house, kind of like a castle, only nothing like a Disney one or anything. Much more cold and sterile. And my parents didn’t spend a lot of time with me—if they spoke to me at all, it was usually to tell me not to make so much noise when I was playing or to turn down my music. Mostly, when I think about it, the word that comes to mind when I think about my childhood is quiet.”
“Funny, the first word that came to my mind was lonely.”
Summer winced. “Yeah, I guess it was that too.”
Nancy tilted her head and contemplated her. “How did you manage it, then?”
“Manage what?”
“To grow up to be such a sweet, loving person?”
She shook her head slightly. “I don’t see myself that way.”
“Well, I do. And when I was in the Taste of Heaven Café the other day, Daphne certainly gave me the impression that’s how she sees you. And from what she said, so does a certain handsome writer who’s taken to hanging out there whenever you’re working. So there you go, you’re outnumbered.”
Summer’s cheeks warmed at the mention of Ryan. What else had Daphne and Nancy talked about? “Of course, if you count my parents, it would be a tie.”
“Then we’ll let Charles Dickens be the tie-breaker. What do you think, Charlie, is our Ana a sweet and loving person or not?”
The old cat stretched a little before settling himself a little more comfortably on Summer’s lap. Nancy laughed. “There you go. You can’t argue with a cat. They have impeccable instincts about people. They’re much more reliable than humans are at judging one another. Or ourselves.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” Summer gently shifted the cat to the side of the chair. “I should probably get to bed, though. I need to be at work early in the morning.”
“I suppose I should, too.” Nancy set her knitting on the couch beside her and stood. “It gets easier, you know.”
Her right foot had gone to sleep and Summer tapped it on the floor. “What does?”
“Believing the things the people who care about you say about you. Accepting their love.”
“Does it?”
Nancy rounded the coffee table and stopped in front of her. “Yes. But only if you decide to let them in. That’s the scary part, I know, but it’s also the part that makes life worth living.” She wrapped her arms around Summer and pulled her close.
Summer couldn’t remember either of her parents ever hugging her. The gesture was as warm and comforting as the crackling of the fire and, after a few seconds, she allowed herself to give in to it completely.
When Nancy stepped back, she patted Summer lightly on the cheek. “Good night, sweet girl.”
“Good night, Nancy. And thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel so welcome, so cared for.”
Her landlady’s face crinkled into a wreath of smiles. “You are cared for, darlin’. I’m glad you can feel that. The way I see it, you need some hugging, and I’ve got lots of hugs stored up and no one to give them away to. We’re a match made in heaven, is what I believe.”
“I think you may be right.”
“I am right. It’s no accident that you’re here, you know. God knew we needed each other. Knew we needed to be each other’s family.”
Unable to force words through a throat that had gone tight, Summer could only nod before heading up the wide staircase to her room. Nancy’s words echoed around in her mind, finding a place to settle in. She was right. Summer did need to learn how to let down her guard and allow people to get close to her. For a long time, when she was a teen
ager and in her early twenties at least, she’d guarded her heart as closely as her parents had guarded her when she was growing up. Likely because her early attempts to reach out to them, to show them affection and ask for it in return, had all been rebuffed. What kid wouldn’t stop asking, eventually?
Still, if people like Nancy and Ryan and Daphne could see good in her, could believe that she was worth spending time with, possibly even worth loving, then maybe it was true. She wasn’t sure what had happened during the years she couldn’t remember that had changed her so much, but she suspected it had a lot to do with her newfound faith. And possibly whoever it was that had introduced it to her?
Summer frowned as she closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned against it. The frustration of not knowing who that was, of having no idea who had been in her life the last few years, who had coaxed her to open up her heart and let them in, was maddening to her. Would she ever know? Would her memories return one day and, with them, the life that she suspected had been a lot fuller and richer than the one she could remember?
A fierce anger swept through her. The man who had broken into her home had stolen a lot more than her peace of mind. He’d stolen that life from her. Her jaw clenched. How dare he? If only he was standing in front of her now. Enough rage pumped through her body that Summer was sure she wouldn’t have any trouble neutralizing the ongoing threat he posed. Permanently.
Except that wasn’t her job.
The anger drained from her as though someone had pulled a giant plug as the pastor’s words from last Sunday came back to her. Vengeance was God’s to exact, not hers. God, don’t let me forget that. Help me to give up my desire to get back at this person, whoever he is, and trust that you will take care of him for me. She pushed away from the door and dropped to her knees beside the bed, lowering her face into her hands. And please help me to remember. Something good, someone good, had happened during the years she had lost. All at once she knew it, deep in her bones, as strongly as she knew that she believed in the one she called on now.
But if her memories didn’t come back, whatever or whoever it was would be lost to her forever.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jude wet his fingers under the tap and shook off the water before running them through his hair. Ever since he’d followed Summer to town, he’d been a little concerned that someone might recognize him. It wasn’t a huge threat. They had only moved to Elora a couple of years before he’d left, after his mother had fallen in love with the place on a shopping excursion with friends. Even after moving here, he’d continued to work at a factory in the nearby city of Cambridge, where he’d grown up, so he hadn’t gotten to know a lot of people in Elora.
Still, he’d taken to leaving more stubble on his face than usual, hoping that would help. And he tried to stay alert at all times, when he wasn’t distracted watching Summer, anyway. The café was the most dangerous place. If someone called out his name while he was sitting there, he’d have to do some fast talking to explain why he’d told her his name was Ryan. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened yet, although he had lowered his head to his hand and ducked behind his laptop a couple of times when someone came in who looked familiar.
Small towns. It had been so long since he’d been here that he’d almost forgotten what they were like. Although he had driven through Elora once, with Summer. After he’d told her about what had happened with Tessa, and that his mother, brother, and sister lived here, she’d wanted to see the town. She had tried to get him to stop and see his family then, but he hadn’t been ready. Had that memory, even buried deep, influenced her decision to come here somehow?
He sighed. Caffeine. He needed caffeine. Grabbing his leather jacket, he swung open the door of the motel and stopped in the doorway. Cash waited for him in the parking lot, a hip propped against the side of his silver Ram truck. He pushed away from the vehicle and met Jude halfway across the parking lot. “Going somewhere?”
“I was thinking of grabbing a coffee.”
Cash jerked his head toward the truck. “Thought we might go to the cemetery. We can get coffee on the way.”
For a moment Jude didn’t move, his brain warring with feet that felt welded to the gravel lot. It’s time, Jude. Past time. He nodded curtly and followed his brother to the truck.
Cash stuck the key into the ignition. “Tim Horton’s okay?”
Not really. The popular chain coffee shop didn’t hold a candle to the Taste of Heaven Café—or its employees—but he wasn’t ready to take Cash there. Not yet. Jude slammed the door and reached for the seat belt. “Sure.”
The truck rumbled south up a hill to the coffee shop and into the drive-through. Then, coffees and breakfast sandwiches in hand, Cash and Jude headed for the outskirts of town, to the small cemetery where their mother’s parents were buried, their sister next to them.
When his brother pulled the Ram into the small parking lot, Jude stuffed most of the sandwich into the paper bag, his stomach churning. He tossed the bag onto the seat and took a deep breath. When he reached for the handle, Cash stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Mom sent this.” He let go of Jude and reached over the back seat to grab a pot with a bright red poinsettia from the floor. He lifted it over the seat and held it out to Jude.
Jude took it from him. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ll give you a minute. Tessa’s stone is at the far end of the fifth row.”
Which I should know. Jude nodded and pushed open the door, clutching the poinsettia to his ribs as he jumped to the ground. The late-winter air held a hint of the snow about to fall from iron-tinted clouds, and he zipped his jacket up to his throat.
Thankfully, the cemetery was small and he didn’t have any trouble finding his sister’s grave. A light dusting of snow covered the top of it and Jude wiped it off then dried his fingers on his jeans. He’d fled before his sister’s funeral and had never been to her grave. Heat crawled up his neck. What right did he have to be here now?
Jude set the poinsettia at the base of the stone and ran trembling fingers over the lettering etched into the marble. Tessa Rose McCall. Forever in our hearts. He touched the dates, the small, thin line that represented her life from birth until the day she had disappeared beneath the ice. Twenty-one years. A line that couldn’t begin to capture Tessa—her athletic achievements, her sense of humor, her random, profound musings on life, her sense of adventure, her refusal to let anything, even rules laid out for her own good, stop her from doing something she wanted to do. His stomach roiled.
“I’m sorry, Tessa. Sorry I didn’t go down those stairs after you that day. Sorry I couldn’t save you,” he murmured, swiping away a tear that had started down his cheek. As ashamed as he had felt since that terrible night, as much as he blamed himself for her death, he’d never had the chance to tell her how desperately sorry he was. Saying the words, here, at her final resting place, even knowing she couldn’t hear them, did help. A little.
On some level, Jude knew Cash was right, that Tessa had made choices that had ended up costing her everything and that he wasn’t entirely to blame. Still, he struggled with letting go of the burden of responsibility that had pressed down on him for five years.
Cash came up beside him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
Jude sighed. “I guess so.”
“Still can’t let it go, can you?”
“I’m trying.”
Cash crouched down and straightened the poinsettia pot, settled it a little more firmly in the snow. “When you said that thing about going to the front of the church and praying, what was that about?”
Jude blinked at the abrupt change in topic. Did his brother really want to hear more about that? “Repentance. Forgiveness. Reconciliation.”
“So you repented and God forgave you.”
“Exactly.”
“But you still can’t forgive yourself.”
He mulled that over. How could he? Jude exhaled. “I guess not.”
His brother
straightened. “So your court is higher than God’s.”
Jude frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It sounds like God made a decision that day, that you were worthy of forgiveness. Only you’ve been overruling that decision ever since.”
He couldn’t breathe. Was that what he’d been doing? Overruling God’s decision? Refusing to accept the judgment that had exonerated him, the mercy that had commuted his sentence? Did his inability to let go of the past mean that he believed the one who had taken the punishment for him did not actually have the right or the power to do so?
Cash raised his hands. “Look, you know God better than I do, but if half of what I’ve heard about him is true, it seems he should get the final say, not you.”
Jude had heard a lot of good sermons since he and Summer had started regularly attending church, but his brother’s had to be one of the best. Not bad for an unbeliever. Cash was right. Jude had been refusing to accept God’s grace. His forgiveness for Tessa’s death. God, help me. Pressing a hand to the top of the stone, he closed his eyes. I can’t carry this burden around any longer.
No wind from on high swirled around him, no thunder crashed, but a slight, barely discernible breeze brushed across his cheek and the weight he’d been shouldering for years lifted slightly.
When he opened his eyes, his brother was watching him. “So you’re good?”
“Better, anyway. Thanks for dragging me here. I needed to come.”
“We all need a push sometimes.”
“Some of us more than others.” Jude offered him a rueful grin.
“Ready to head out?”