Diamond Lake Series: Complete Series (Bks 1-7) Boxset

by T. K. Chapin

  Her head tilted, her face flashing a look of confusion.

  "The flowers on your table. I saw them the other day."

  Her tightened and twisted face loosened. She looked relieved. "I don't know what to do, Brody." Her eyes traced the kitchen walls, eventually finding the doorway to the other room where the children were playing. "Their father wants to be a part of their life, and I get that. I'm just worried he's not going to be around forever. If he takes off again, it’s going to break their little hearts."

  "Is he trying to win you over or just trying to see the kids?"

  Turning to me, she glanced at my lips and then up at my eyes. "He wants to be with me. To be a family again."

  "Is that what you want?" I asked carefully as I went back over to the stove and stirred the sauce, removing it from the burner.

  "No. Not at all." Shaking her head, she continued as she came closer to me. "I'm just worried about the kids. They just barely got their father back, and if he freaks out and leaves again . . . it’s going to hurt them."

  I knew we shared the same faith as she attended service weekly. "Does worrying add one hour to your life?"

  She beamed and looked at me appreciatively. "I know. To worry is natural though."

  "Probably why God tells us not to do it. He knows our weakness and knows we needed that instruction." My eyes shifted to the doorway. "It's time for dinner."

  Esther came closer to me, resting her hand on my chest. She smelled of a flowery perfume. Leaning up onto her toes, she kissed my cheek. Leaving to the other room to retrieve the children for dinner, she left me curious as to what the future held for the two of us.

  As I loosened my watch and set it on my nightstand in my room that night, I caught sight of my closet door. The door made me recall the box of keepsakes of my past I kept on the shelf above my shirts, and I decided to go and see if there was anything about Jess or a way to get a hold of her in there. Maybe I could talk some sense into her about Peter, come to an understanding over the phone.

  Flipping the light on in the closet, I spotted the corner of the orange Nike box and a smile crept onto my face. My sister, Janet, had visited from New York a month ago and laughed when I told her what it was. She was hunting for a pair of running shoes that her husband could borrow since his got lost with his luggage on the flight over.

  Reaching up, I pulled the box out from the clutter, but not without unsettling everything that had somehow been perfectly placed to not fall. Junk rained on top of my head like a Texas summer downpour. Squeezing my eyes tight for a moment, I then opened them. Peering down, I saw a sleeping bag, some random piece of clothing, and then my old worn-out baseball mitt. My body suddenly didn't have aches and pains anymore, and I was a kid again with my dad in the backyard.

  Bending over, I grabbed the mitt and took it, along with the box of keepsakes from the closet, over to the bed. I couldn't stop smiling as my eyes drank in the memories that went along with the glove. My dad worked a lot of hours down at the factory, but when summer came, he would take a few vacation days around my birthday and we'd play catch for hours.

  Reminding myself of the time, I turned my attention to the keepsakes. Popping the lid off the box, I fished through old photographs of girlfriends in the past, and then I came to a small worn phone book. A soft chuckle escaped my lips as I thought about the fact that people used to be required to use their brain. Picking it up, I smoothed my thumb over the soft yellow cover and opened it up. Maybe there's a number for Jess or her parents somewhere in here. Setting the phone book onto my nightstand, I saw the red digits of my alarm clock and my soul felt faint. I needed sleep or I'd drag tomorrow.

  Chapter 11

  WORK WASN'T IN ME THE next day. The day before wore me thin, and all I could think about down at the precinct was getting off early and taking Peter to play baseball. I overslept through my alarm that morning and spaced on grabbing the little phone book I had found in the box last night. Getting ahold of her wasn't as big of a deal to me as getting enough caffeine to keep my eyes open.

  My eyes sagged with exhaustion as I sipped my cup of coffee. I got lost in a full-on stare with the baseball snugly fitted in the pocket of my mitt on the corner of my desk. I could smell the freshly cut grass in the outfield at the park near my house as a boy, taste the sweat dripping down onto my lips, and hear the faint sound of a lone mower running in the far distance. It was the summer of 2003 all over again, my dad lobbing baseball after baseball as I knocked them into the field down at the Newport Park. I missed baseball, but I missed my dad more.

  Flashing out of the memory, I checked the time on my watch. It was one o'clock. That's enough of a Saturday. Setting my pen down, I got up from my desk and grabbed the mitt, leaving my office. The trip to the amusement park a couple of days ago taught me something important about myself that I was just now beginning to realize. Though I was aging, graying, and randomly getting aches in my body, my soul was still young, still timeless. Many would say I was still young, but I was the oldest I had ever been. There was something to be said about being around smiles, laughter, and children that was like medicine to the soul—and I wanted more of those experiences.

  On the way home, I picked up everything we needed down at Tom's Hardware—a few baseballs, a bat, and a glove for Peter. When I handed him the mitt in Esther’s driveway between my car and hers, his eyes grew wide and his face brightened with joy. That look he flashed was more than a smile could ever show. Patting him on the shoulder, I said, "Let me visit with Esther for a minute and then we'll head out. Just you and me."

  He scampered off to the side yard to show his newly acquired baseball glove to Shawn. The oohs and aahs from the other kids made me let out a short laugh as I traversed up toward the front steps of the porch. Esther caught my eyes as she stood in the doorway, just on the other side of the screen door. She was turned to one side and looking down as she chewed on her thumbnail. Sensing something was amiss with her, a strange and dark feeling set into my chest.

  "What's wrong, Ess?" I asked, not touching the screen door's handle as I came closer and saw tears.

  Bringing index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose, she let out a cry. Her voice cracking, her words stumbling, she shook her head. "He left town. Who knows when or if he’ll ever come back for his kids?"

  Cascading fear for Esther’s well-being rippled through me as I jerked my head to see the kids coming around the side of the house in hot pursuit of the porch. She turned and went inside and I walked over to the railing on the porch. "Go play, kids."

  "Aren't we going to go play baseball?" Peter asked.

  "Soon." My eyes followed the other kids as they were leaving back to the side of the house. "Go play with them. Please, Peter."

  Disappointment pulled his chin down to his chest and he turned. Slowly, he walked back over to join the kids. He'd get over it. Going inside the house, I let the screen door slam and my eyes surveyed the living room. A half-lit incense burned atop the entertainment stand, filling the air with a strong smell of lavender. I went deeper into the house. "Esther?" I called out, glancing in the kitchen for a second. Dishes were stacked a depressing foot high in the sink, not like the other day when I was over when everything was clean.

  Esther’s broken voice sounded behind me. “What, Brody?” Turning around, I saw her standing in the dimly lit hallway that led back to the bedrooms, leaning a shoulder against the wall and tears of brokenness running down her face. Her hair was more visible now. Unkempt, the once dirty blonde strands of highlighted gold were frazzled, much like her eyes. I took a step closer.

  "He'll come around . . ." I offered, raising my hand to touch her arm.

  She frowned—something I hadn’t seen before. It hurt to see her pain. "Then what?" Her voice rang in a hopeless tone. “He leaves again when I still don’t want to be with him?”

  I came closer, pulling her into me and letting my touch soothe her aching heart. She cried into my shoulder for a few minutes.

/>   Releasing from our embrace, she wiped her eyes. "Thanks for being here for me. And Peter was really good today."

  Tilting my head, I caught her eyes. "I'm worried about you, Ess."

  “I'll be okay." Her words were laced in sorrow, seasoned with a deep sadness.

  "Call me if you need anything." Leaning in, I kissed her forehead and then left outside to get Peter.

  When my shoes touched the dirt near home plate, a warm and familiar feeling of the past sank into my bones, removing any of the dirtiness of work or drama that was attempting to hold on. Taking in a deep breath of the crisp but slightly chilled air, I grinned. As I stood there quiet for a moment, Peter was nearby staring at me.

  "What are you doing?" he inquired.

  Turning to him, I said, "Baseball. It's what connected me and my pops."

  "How?"

  "Let's just say there was a lot going on back when I was a kid, and baseball was something that made sense in a world that didn't."

  Peter seemed unaffected by my words. He was, after all, a mere seven years of age. "Can I bat?"

  "Sure." I gave him the wooden baseball bat and headed out to the pitcher's mound. As I turned to face him, I saw him struggling to find a decent grip on the bat. He looked nervous, the bat sat unnaturally in his hands, and his feet were on the mound. Poor kid hadn't ever held a bat, I suspected. "Need a hand?"

  He shook his head a few quick jerks.

  "Step off the base then, and I'll throw you some." He took a step off and I pitched a nice slow underhand ball to him. He swung, jerking his body awkwardly and way after the ball had crossed home plate. I knew Peter wasn't going to get a hit the way he was attempting to do it. Instead of asking, I jogged lightly up to him. "Let me show you." Bending slightly over as I stood behind him, I wrapped my arms around him and helped him with a few practice swings.

  A few more pitches over the plate was all it took for him to slug one. His face elated, he darted for first. Watching him without saying a word, I kept my eyes on him as he rounded all the bases and then back to home. Clapping as he slowed to a walk to grab his bat, I said, "Nice hit. You don't have to run bases with each hit though."

  Leaning over, he picked up the bat and returned to home plate. Slightly out of breath from his excursion, he nodded. "I know. I just always wanted to do it once like they do on TV."

  I threw him a few more until we decided to just toss the ball back and forth. Along with batting, I had to teach him to catch, but his throw was solid. He seemed to be a natural. On our way back to the car after we were done for the day, I turned to him. "You have an awesome throw."

  "I used to throw rocks at pop cans out in the backyard at Anthony's house." Peter's face grimaced, appearing to relive some memory in his mind. He didn't share that next thought though.

  Tossing the equipment in the trunk, I got into the driver’s seat of my car and pulled out my cellphone from the glove box. As Peter fastened his seatbelt in the backseat, I checked my phone—a missed call and text from Esther. Opening up the message, I read it.

  Esther: Sorry about earlier. Can I swing by? Around 9? My mother is taking the kids tonight and I want to talk.

  Smiling, I replied and told her we all have off days and I would love to see her. My heart was leaning toward being interested in this woman, even though she seemed a bit emotional for my taste. There was something about the sweetness in her voice and the hope in her eyes that she had shown to me that kept me latched onto the idea of something developing between us. She wasn't perfect, but she was real.

  **

  With Peter tucked away in his bed and asleep, I anxiously awaited Esther’s arrival. After seeing such a different and sorrowful side of her earlier that day, I didn't know what to expect. Glancing at my watch, I saw there were still another twenty or so minutes before she'd be there, so I took to my Bible on the couch for a helpful dose of God. My fingers danced along the pages of Proverbs, pausing every few pages to drink in the wisdom of old. Then I happened upon a passage that spoke conviction and life into my soul.

  Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe.

  Proverbs 29:25

  My own fears and insecurities had been a snare to me. Leaning into my own understanding, I wasn't fully trusting in God. While I was busy racking my mind on solutions and ways to deal with Jess, I should have been putting my trust in the Lord. The conviction was deep, but not alone. With it was love. Though I knew I needed to strive more to trust the Lord, I knew I was on the right path just by what I was doing in the moment of spare time. Bowing my head and heart, I conversed with God until Esther arrived.

  Esther arrived on my doorstep a few minutes before nine o'clock. Opening the door, I immediately noticed the change. Her gorgeous smile had returned to her lips. She was wearing a cute white pea coat and a pair of heels. "Would you like some tea?" I offered as I stood back, letting her walk inside.

  "That'd be great. And sugar. Please." Nervousness made her speech choppy and short on our way to the kitchen. She veered off to the kitchen table to sit while I proceeded over to the stove. She continued, "I'm sorry if I was a bit of a wreck at my house earlier. I was in a hard spot."

  Steam lifted into the air as I poured out hot water from the teapot and into mugs. Turning slightly, I glanced at her at the kitchen table to get a read. Her eyebrows were raised, and I could tell she wanted me to reply. "It’s okay, Esther. You were upset. It was heartbreaking to see you like that, you know?”

  She was silent as I brought the cups of tea over to the table. Smiling slightly up at me, she took the cup. I sat down across from her. Esther’s eyes caught mine and a warmth radiated through me. Leaning toward me, she placed a hand atop mine.

  "It was nice having you there for me. I was super upset that you mentioned God the other day and I often . . ." Her words abruptly stopped and tears filled her eyes.

  "What?" I asked, leaning in.

  "I don't see why God would allow for such a man as my ex to exist in the world. Or at least allow him to keep on existing. He's so selfish and doesn’t care about his kids." Quickly taking her hand away from mine, she latched onto her cup and sipped the tea, then continued. "I mean, why on earth would God allow me to fall in love with a guy who wouldn’t care about his kids?"

  "Is this a time to listen or . . .?"

  "I honestly want you to respond." She laughed. "I'm sorry. I know we women can be confusing."

  I smiled and nodded as I raised a brow. "That's very true. I think God allows us to fall in love with non-ideal people because we all have free will." She set her cup down and I took her hand, rubbing it with my thumb as I continued. "But even if he wasn’t the guy you wanted him to be for his kids . . . it's not all bad, Ess. You have two beautiful children who are a blessing."

  Her face softened and her words lightened at the mention of her kids. "That is so true. I would've never had them if I hadn’t fallen in love with him and had his children." Rubbing her forehead, something popped into her head and triggered another onslaught of sadness. She folded her hands together. Muffled and trampled words echoed from her hidden lips. Her voice was soft, broken by the emotions inside. "Things just feel so screwed up, Brody." A moment of quiet filled the air between us as we both hung our heads. Lifting her eyes a moment later, she put out her hands. "And you! You have a little boy who’s seven when only a week ago, you had nothing. People like Jess and Lon make me wonder what on earth God is thinking. Seriously."

  Pulling back my hand, I grabbed my tea and took a drink. Setting the mug down, I responded. "I understand the frustration—believe me, I'm there—but the thing about it is that life is a beautiful mess and God can help us through it. As far as bad people and sin, that was never God's intention. He specifically warned them in the garden. What we see play out today is just a ramification of the mistake that happened clear back in the Garden of Eden."

  "Yeah. When Eve ate the fruit."

  "Yes, exactly. That was the sin, but she
messed up before that."

  Perplexed, she shook her head. "What? I've read the story a hundred times. It was the fruit."

  "Her first mistake was when she engaged in dialog with the serpent before she ate the fruit. When we allow ourselves to entertain bad company without the counsel of God, we allow sin the possibility to take root and bloom."

  Her inquisitive look urged me to continue.

  Hesitant to continue, I said, "I don't want to upset you again, Esther."

  "No. Please continue. I won't be upset."

  The Spirit of God urged me to speak, wrapping me in a comfort and certainty that it would be okay. "You were the one who decided to be with Lon. Right? You weren't married and you had children with the guy. God forgives your sin, but you were the one who sowed the seeds, and just like humanity had to reap what Adam and Eve sowed, you do also."

  She blinked rapidly for a second and then nodded ever so slightly. In a soft, broken voice, she said, "It's true." Tears welled in her eyes and she folded her hands again. "It's all true."

  Placing a hand on her back, I could feel the warmth of her skin radiate into my palm. A moment later, she lifted herself up and wiped her eyes.

  "Brody . . ." A delicate whisper escaped off her pink lips.

  "Yeah, Ess?"

  "I don't deserve Heaven." Her eyes drifted away from mine, catching on something in the room for a moment before returning to me. "I've been in and out of church my whole life."

  "Church attendance doesn't save you. Putting your faith in Jesus does."

  "I know. I just don't deserve His mercy. I've done some bad things in my life."

  "None of us deserve it. That's what makes His love so beautiful, so perfect. God's grace, mercy, and love are unattainable without putting our trust in Jesus. Life can be and is often messy, but nothing keeps us from His love once He has us."