“Really?” She was teasing him, feeling him out.
“Really.” He held out his hand, and she came willingly. When she was close enough, he pulled her onto his lap and brought his nose up against hers. “You like New York, right?”
“I like glass slippers too.”
Suddenly the moment changed, and Luke’s words got stuck in his throat. He wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her until they heard footsteps in the hallway outside.
“He’s coming!” Reagan breathed the warning against Luke’s face and jumped back to her place by the window.
At the same time, Luke flew out of the chair and tried to strike a casual pose a few feet away. They were both out of breath when the door opened.
“Meetings!” Mr. Decker gave them each a quick glance and circled back behind his desk again. He set down a portfolio and clapped his hands together. “Okay . . . you two hungry?”
Luke glanced at Reagan. The man had no idea. He turned back to Mr. Decker and shrugged. “Sure.”
“All right, then. Windows on the World it is.”
When they passed by the office next to Mr. Decker’s, Luke pointed to the nameplate, shot a glance at Reagan, and mouthed, “Luke Baxter.”
And in that moment, he had no doubt that one day it would be true. Not just the nameplate, but everything—the job, the wedding, the place in New York City.
Even the glass slipper.
Chapter Eleven
God was honoring her.
As Kari walked to Pastor Mark Atteberry’s office that Tuesday afternoon, she had no other way to explain her feelings. Days had passed since she’d stayed up late into the night, dreaming of how to use her painful experience to help other women. And her heart had felt lighter every day since.
In the weeks after Jessie’s birth, there had been times when Kari cried with joy—and other times when fear and loneliness loomed large. Her husband was dead, after all, and somehow she would have to survive. Even with her faith, even with her family nearby, there were entire days when the task felt daunting—or worse.
And her feelings for Ryan Taylor complicated matters. It was a good thing he lived in New York. At this season in her life it would have been unbearable to see him on a regular basis, to shoulder the constant reminder of all she and Ryan had once shared. Just thinking about him made her feel unfaithful, like she was cheating on Tim’s memory.
But now that God had planted new purpose in the soil of her life, Kari could talk to Ryan and enjoy herself. She no longer depended on a phone call from him to ease the burden of grief at the end of a day of caring for her fatherless child. Indeed, God had taken her to a separate place, a place away from the pain and anguish. Away, even, from the brief flashes of pleasure she felt when she spoke with Ryan.
Her place now was clear and close and constant, as though God had drawn her into his very being. She’d read in the Scriptures about the Lord being a mighty fortress, a tower, a hiding place. But only now was she realizing those truths in her own life. She was there now, safe in a place she had longed to find since she was a young girl.
But she never would have guessed the ticket there would cost so very much.
Kari rounded a corner in the church hallway and held Jessie’s infant carrier against her body, careful not to disturb her tiny sleeping daughter. Jessie was nearly three months old now, and Kari could see a routine developing in her sleep patterns. If the routine held, Jessie wouldn’t wake for another hour.
Pastor Mark’s door was open.
“Kari, come in.” He stood and gave her a side hug as he positioned himself behind Jessie’s carrier. “Let’s take a look.”
Kari beamed, letting her gaze follow that of the pastor’s. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“Oh my.” A soft breath came from Mark’s lips. “She’s beautiful. No question she has her mother’s face.”
The corners of Kari’s smile softened some. “And her father’s eyes.”
“Yes.” Pastor Mark nodded, squeezing Kari’s shoulders once more. “I was going to say that.” He gave her a glance. “You doing okay?”
“That’s why I’m here.” Kari moved to a small sofa a few feet away and sat down. She set Jessie’s carrier on the floor nearby, rocking it gently.
“So . . .” Pastor Mark returned to his desk chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “How’s your family?”
“Good.” Kari smiled, reminding herself to be patient. She had known this wouldn’t be a short discussion. “Mom got a good report from her doctor last week. Still no cancer. It’s been nearly ten years now.”
“That’s wonderful. I hadn’t talked to your father yet. He was worried.”
“He was?” Her father hadn’t said anything about being troubled by her mother’s test.
Pastor Mark shrugged. “He’s always worried when your mom goes in for tests. Anytime people battle cancer, there’s a chance they’ll have to battle it again.”
“Well . . .” Kari pushed the thought from her mind. “Her doctors say she looks great.”
“Good.” The pastor crossed his legs. “How about the others? Brooke, Erin, Ashley, Luke?”
“They’re fine. Brooke’s little girl is still sick a lot, and Erin and Sam are moving this fall. Ashley took a job at Sunset Hills—that small adult care home off South Walnut.”
“Yes, we’ve had church members wind up there on occasion.”
“Heaven’s waiting room, Dad calls it.” Kari tilted her head. “Sweet people, from what Ashley says.”
“She must be glad Landon’s okay.”
“Yes,” Kari sighed. “I think God has something special planned for those two.”
The pastor cast her a curious look. “So she’s finally decided to let him catch her?”
“Ashley?” Kari laughed quietly. She stopped rocking Jessie and leaned back. “Not my sister Ashley. She’ll do everything the hard way, including falling in love. She cares for Landon, but she’d be the last to admit there’s any kind of romance.”
“What about Luke?” Pastor Mark stroked his chin. “I haven’t seen him around for a few weeks.”
“He’s in New York City visiting Reagan’s family.”
“Reagan?” The pastor raised a single eyebrow. “So it’s serious, huh?”
Kari grinned, picturing her brother and Reagan. “They’re beautiful together. They study and laugh and pray. The two of them remind everyone watching that love is still a good thing.” She nodded. “I’d say it’s serious.”
“Is she from New York, then?” Conversations with Pastor Mark were always like this—several minutes of Baxter news before anything serious could be discussed. It wasn’t small talk to the pastor. It was news the man actually cared about, as though he, too, were part of the Baxter family.
“Her parents lived there a long time ago; then they moved to North Carolina. Last year her father was hired by a big accounting firm in the city. He works in the clouds, from what Luke says. Near the top of the World Trade Center.”
“Must be an amazing view.” Pastor Mark smiled. “Nothing quite like it in Bloomington, I’m afraid.”
“Luke’s getting the full tour this week.” She smiled. “The other night my sisters and I figured out the whole scenario. Luke will graduate, marry Reagan, and the two of them will move to New York. Then Luke can have an office right up there in the sky beside Reagan’s father.”
“Could happen.” The pastor winked and drew a slow breath. “But I don’t think that’s what you came to tell me.” His eyes grew deeper, more intent. “It sounded important when you called the other day.”
“It is.” Kari could feel her eyes come to life. She’d been wanting to talk about this since that night. “Okay.” She held out both hands. “I know what God wants me to do with the rest of my life.”
“Well”—the pastor’s kind chuckle filled the room—“that’s more than most of us can say.” His eyes narrowed in a thoughtful way. “Tell me about it.”
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p; Kari tried to sit on her enthusiasm. She would need to be calm and concise in order to give Pastor Mark a clear picture of her vision. “I’m thinking there are other people like me in the church. I mean, people who are hurting. The walking wounded. Am I right? I’m not the only one?”
A sad smile punctuated the pastor’s expression. “You’ve been bugging my phones.” He leaned back in his chair a few inches and raised his brow a notch. “There are more wounded people than most care to guess.”
Kari bit her lip. “That’s what I thought.” She drew a steady breath. “Before Tim died . . . before he told me he was having an affair . . . I pictured the two of us working with married couples, people struggling to make it work.” She uttered a rueful laugh. “People like Tim and me, I guess. Obviously, that didn’t work out.”
Jessie cooed lightly and stretched a tiny fist. Kari leaned over and set the carrier gently in motion once more. “Anyway, last week I practically felt God tap me on the shoulder and tell me there’s still something he wants me to do. Women who are hurting—I mean really hurting—won’t necessarily seek help from a weekly Bible study.” She locked eyes with Pastor Mark. “What they need is, well, sort of a mentor. Someone who will meet with them one-on-one, study the Scriptures with them, cry with them, and listen when they bare their soul. Sort of an anonymous friend who can keep their secrets. Someone who can look them straight in the eye and say, ‘I made it through the fire, and you can too.’ You know, to bridge the gap between pain and progress.”
Kari spread her fingers across her chest, her voice soft but filled with holy passion. “Someone like me.”
Pastor Mark nodded. “Hmmm.” His eyes filled with understanding. “People trapped in their pain, you mean? Sort of an anonymous way to find help and support.”
“Yes.” Kari’s heartbeat quickened. “From someone who’s already walked that road. At least in one form or another.”
The pastor snagged a pen and paper from his desk and began jotting something down. “I can think of a woman right now who would jump at the chance to meet with you. Her husband’s on the verge of an affair. He’s already talking divorce. She’s a very private person. Doesn’t want anyone at church to know.” He tapped the pen on his knee, staring at his notes. “Meanwhile, she’s wasting away spiritually. If I called her and told her about your offer, I’m sure she’d be interested.” Then he put down the pen and turned toward Kari. “But something tells me it’s a bit soon.”
“Soon?” She gave a polite sniff. “My feelings are fresh enough to make a difference.”
“But they could be too fresh. I think you might need a little more time to heal before you start counseling someone else.”
The excitement leaked from Kari’s heart like air from a punctured tire. She fell back against the sofa.
“Healing takes time, Kari. It takes remembering—sorting through the pieces of your past and savoring what was good, learning from what wasn’t. In that way you honor your yesterdays. After that”—he smiled—“I have a feeling God will use you to help more people than you can imagine.”
“You really think so?” Hope stirred within her.
“Definitely. But it’s crucial you don’t rush this, Kari. You and God have a lot to work through before you can take on a ministry.”
At the end of the hour, Pastor Mark wrote a list of books Kari could read, studies on healing and learning from the memories of a painful time or difficult loss. They prayed together, committing Kari’s dream to God and asking for his guidance in the coming months.
Kari left the pastor’s office with a renewed peace and a purpose that filled her from her ankles up. Maybe this wasn’t the time to start helping other women. But that time would come. How glad Tim would’ve been to see where God was taking her—first through the memories that made up her past and then into a future where all her remembering would help in the lives of other women.
If only you knew, Tim. God is so good; he’s giving me another chance at life.
On the way home she turned left instead of right and wound up at the cemetery.
The day was decked in bright blues and vibrant greens. Sunshine streamed through the clusters of trees and splashed light over the quiet sea of death. Kari gazed across the field. On a summer day like this, the rows of gray cement tombstones appeared almost warm.
She grabbed a bottle for Jessie, took the sleeping infant from her car seat, and cradled her close. “Come on, little girl.” She nuzzled her face against her daughter’s. “Let’s go talk to Daddy.”
Kari had come here a handful of other times since Tim died. For the most part she did her grieving at home, a Bible in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. But sometimes she just needed to remember, needed to connect once more with all that would never be again.
She drew a deep breath and crossed the parking lot. Give me strength, God.
Carefully she maneuvered past stones of varying shapes and sizes until she found one that looked newer than the rest. Around its base, fresh grass poked up through the dirt—a sign that life was pressing on. The stone was simple, traditional, but it expressed the way Kari had felt about Tim. The way she still felt: Timothy Allen Jacobs. Loving husband and father.
It was true, no matter what people said. Tim had made some awful mistakes, and yes, she’d been angry at him—angry enough to hate him at times. But he had also come to his senses. He had moved back home and committed himself to a full course of counseling sessions with Kari. In the months before his murder the two of them had grown closer than Kari had ever dreamed possible.
And during those precious months, she’d caught a glimpse of the type of father Tim would have been. He would hold his head near her abdomen and make up songs for their unborn child. Just before he was killed, he’d brought home a tiny stuffed eagle, white and downy soft. Jessie’s first toy—the one Kari set at the foot of her daughter’s crib each night.
Kari stared at the stone. How can you be gone? She glanced at the two dates engraved beneath his name, not nearly enough years spread between them. He had been so young—only thirty-four years old. It was still hard to believe. He lay deep in the ground while his killer sat behind bars in the local jail, winning one delay after another in the trial proceedings. The district attorney had said it could be spring or later before Tim’s killer would finally face a jury.
Little Jessie began to stir, and Kari leaned against a tree. She slipped the bottle into her daughter’s mouth, as a breeze picked up and played through the leaves in a nearby tree. You’re here, aren’t you, God? Kari lifted her chin and closed her eyes, letting the cool air move across her face.
The rustling leaves seemed to answer in response. Always . . . always . . . always.
A Scripture passage from a recent sermon filtered into Kari’s mind like so many more rays of sunshine: “His compassions never fail. They are new every morning.”
Kari opened her eyes and gazed at Jessie. Yes, Lord, they are. Every single morning.
Her eyes moved once more toward Tim’s gravestone. “It’s happening, Tim.” She uttered a quiet laugh. “Just when I thought it never would.” She paused. “I’m learning to live.”
Jessie was more awake now, the sound of her sucking more pronounced. Kari swallowed, searching for her voice. “I’m praying that God will let you know something.” Tears nipped at the corners of her eyes, and a small, happy sob welled up from someplace in her soul. “He’s given me a way to help—a . . . a way to share what I learned with you.” A single tear slid down her nose. Kari wiped it on her sleeve before it could fall on Jessie. She sniffed twice. “I’m going to be okay, Tim.”
Jessie drew back from her bottle, cooed sweetly, and gave Kari a dreamy smile. Kari smiled back, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “We’re both going to be okay, aren’t we, Jess?”
The breeze stilled, and a silence hovered over the place where Tim was buried. “Well . . .” Kari looked back at the stone. “We have to go now. Jessie needs to get home.” She felt
a sudden catch in her throat. “I . . . I wish you could see her, Tim. She’s so pretty. You would have been the proudest father.”
Again Kari sniffed, and this time she stood, staring into the blue. Lord, lead me forward. Please.
Then, with a strength that was not her own, Kari clutched more tightly to Jessie and set off toward the car. One step after another, away from the sadness and sorrow that had gripped her for many months.
And into a future she hadn’t believed in until that week.
Chapter Twelve
Landon was no longer the enemy.
Now that Ashley had been honest and explained how her love for him had nothing to do with commitment or marriage or even dating, suddenly everything about Landon wasn’t bad at all.
It was almost fun.
He was still off work, waiting for his leg and burns to heal, and Ashley had started bringing Cole over to his house on Saturdays to help him pass the time. They would spend the afternoon watching TV or playing games.
Always, on these visits, the mood between Ashley and Landon was light and upbeat—playful even. None of the deep eyes or serious tones that had colored that memorable night at the hospital. Not even the uncomfortable game of pursuit that marked their encounters before that.
Landon was wonderful with Cole, letting the little boy draw with markers on his cast, partnering with him for Uno or Go Fish, and teaching him the difference between a ball and a strike if the Cubs were on TV.
Later, when Cole was busy coloring or playing by himself, Ashley would tell Landon everything about Irvel’s longing for her husband and Edith’s screaming and Helen’s insistence that everyone who entered Sunset Hills was a potential spy.
Landon was a patient listener. He seemed interested in everything she said, and not just because he was a captive audience. In fact, he was the perfect sounding board, and talking with him gave her a way to process her experience at Sunset Hills.
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