“I’m glad to hear it. But why?”
“The whole point of the career charge was to put down new roots, to grow as a person, and to serve God. There’s no doubt I’d grow and serve God with a one-year commitment, but what about the roots? That wouldn’t happen.”
“I see what you mean.”
“There’s more.” The most important aspect to Mia. “Going overseas for a year would add time to the application process. I checked with Sheryl. When I got back, I’d be . . . older.”
“Not that old!” Grinning, he rose slightly from the bench and pretended to inspect the crown of her head. “I don’t see a single gray hair.” Next he studied her neck and face. “No wrinkles either. And no chicken neck—”
“Jake!” Mia broke out laughing. “I’m being serious here.”
“I know you are. So am I.”
“Good, but you’re forgetting that I worked in women’s health. I know what happens when women wait until their late thirties, even their forties, to have kids. Some women have no trouble at all, but others do. I’ve seen the hormone treatments, the in vitro, and the disappointment when science fails to trump nature. I’m not pushing a panic button or anything. I am only thirty. But a woman can’t put off having a family for as long she wants without some risk to her fertility.”
“No,” Jake agreed. “I can see that. But where does God come into this?”
“At the beginning,” she said firmly. “His will. Not my will. Which is the main reason I’m trying so hard to make the right decision here. When I make a promise, I keep it. And I made a promise to God to serve Him in a new way.”
Jake looked toward Pirate, took a long sip of coffee, and remained silent for several seconds. When he turned back to her, she saw a calm light in his eyes. “You need to be sure, Mia. It’s who you are.”
“It is.” She couldn’t stand loose ends of any kind, especially when she felt responsible for tying them up. “That’s why this is all so upsetting to me. After Brad, I prayed hard. When I was at my lowest, God opened this door. And now—” I’m in love with you, and that scares me to death.
Mia couldn’t look Jake in the eye, or even too closely at her own heart. Had God truly called her to serve Him through Mission Medical? Or was she using the job to avoid the risks that came with falling in love? She didn’t know, and she desperately needed to be confident in her decision.
When Jake didn’t speak, she finished with a sigh. “I just don’t know what to do.”
She started to ease to the side, but he stopped her with a hand on her knee. “I love you, Mia.”
“Oh, Jake.” She longed to say the words too, but she couldn’t push them past the lump in her throat.
He studied her face, waited, then matched his mouth to hers in a kiss so searing she trembled.
Easing back, she looked into his eyes. “I can’t say it back—not yet. But I want to. I think you know I feel.”
“Do I?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But I have to be certain about Mission Medical before I say the words. If they take me, how can I back out if God opened that door? And if they don’t, I don’t want you to feel like a consolation prize. That wouldn’t be right, or even accurate. It’s just—” Mia rolled her eyes. “I’m babbling again.”
“If it helps, babble away.”
“I don’t know if it helps or confuses me more. Or if it sends mixed messages and confuses you.”
“Me?” He huffed through tight lips. “I’m not the least bit confused. I know exactly what I want—you and me, a couple of kids, just a normal life. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
“No. But it is for me.”
He looked away, took a long drag of coffee, then spoke without meeting her gaze. “Being a cop taught me not to rush into situations I don’t fully understand. I’m not this patient by nature. But I love you, Mia. I won’t say another word about us until you’re certain about your future.”
Say it. Tell him you love him! But the only words to stumble off her tongue were a faint “Thank you.”
Jake raised his cup in a toast. “To certainty.”
“To certainty,” she toasted back. They both took long swallows. The hot milk and caffeine cleared her mind, enabling her to focus on Jake’s news about the camp. “Enough about me right now. I want to hear more about Camp Connie. Have you picked an official name?”
“Not yet.” When he stared back across the dog park, she followed his gaze to the stream, where Pirate was nose to—never mind—with another dog.
Mia laughed. “I’m sure glad people shake hands.”
Instead of smiling, Jake sighed. “They don’t always. At least not Hatcher. I told you we won the zoning change, but I didn’t tell you what happened later.”
“I take it Bill was upset.”
“It’s more than that.” He drummed his fingers on his paper cup. “Camp Connie is a good idea. So why do I feel like a jerk? Kids need what it will offer. I’m sure of it. But people I’ve known all my life, good people like Charles Blackstone, are sincerely unhappy about it.”
“That’s true.”
“Was I right to push it through?”
She had asked herself the same question. When did a righteous cause become a hair shirt or an albatross? How did a person judge God’s will for their lives? The chilly air pricked against her cheeks. “To be honest, I’ve been worried about the entire situation. On the other hand, you won fair and square. That’s a pretty significant go-ahead.”
“But it came at a cost.”
Mia loved Jake too much to be less than completely honest. “I’m all for fighting for a cause, but I can understand why people are upset. Echo Falls is their home, and they want to feel safe. Right or wrong, they see the camp as a threat. I’m not at all worried about kids making trouble. But how well can Camp Connie function if there’s such hostility?”
“I’m worried about that too.”
“You’ll be a target. So will the kids you want to help. With the current atmosphere, they’re going to be watched. Your motives are the best, but I have to wonder what Connie would say.”
“I don’t know. I just want to do something to honor her. I want her life to count for something.”
“And yours,” she said carefully.
“Mine?”
“Camp Connie gives you a purpose. That’s good. Human beings need that, but maybe you could do something else. Have you thought about that?”
“Now and then.” He glanced again at Pirate, now barking and chasing after a big black dog of some kind. I’d have to go back to school for a year, but I could teach.”
“You’d be great. High school?”
“Definitely. Maybe history.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Mia waved her arm to indicate the grass and sky, the row of trees, the faraway mountains. “We’re sitting together in this beautiful place God created, wrestling with our dreams, and thinking about giving them up—not for each other, but because they don’t fit anymore. Like old shoes.”
“Maybe your dream doesn’t fit. Frankly, I hope it doesn’t. But mine fits me perfectly.”
Mia said nothing.
“I’m still committed to the camp. I just hope the Stop the Camp group mellows out.”
“Maybe they will.” Though Mia doubted it. “Any news on the vandalism? Did they check out that girl who came to my office?”
Jake huffed. “I forgot to mention it to you on the phone. Brian called last Tuesday while you were gone. You were right about the fake ID.” He gave her the details. “The story hit the newspaper yesterday, so you can imagine the talk.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Mia felt terrible for him. “With the zoning meeting over, maybe things will calm down.”
“I hope so, but people are still wearing those orange T-shirts. I tried to talk to Hatcher again yesterday, but it was another bust.”
A breeze stirred the aspen leaves into shimmering gold and brought a sharper chill to the air. Jake pulled the blanket hi
gher on her legs. When she snuggled closer, he reached into his other pocket, took something out, and slipped it to her. “Here.”
Mia knew the bag by feel. “Skittles!”
She tore open the bag, and they shared the candy, playfully fighting over the red ones. Mia watched the sunshine on the dancing leaves, wondering whether her dreams were worthy or selfish, a call from God or an escape hatch. No matter what happened, she knew one thing with certainty. There was nothing sweeter than sitting on a park bench and sharing Skittles with the man she loved and trusted, even if she couldn’t say the words.
Chapter
24
On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Mia finished seeing patients early and drove to the Tanner house. Frank and Jake were stocking vending machines, leaving Claire, Lucy, and Mia to work on Thanksgiving dinner.
Mia trotted up the front steps and let herself in. Following the warble of laughter to the kitchen, she walked in on Lucy and Claire dressed in matching aprons decorated with quilted turkeys. An apple peeler was clamped to the counter, a bowl of Pippins awaited their fate as pie filling, and Claire was using the rolling pin on the crust while Lucy made car sounds. They didn’t hear Mia, so she sneaked up behind them and honked like a car horn.
Claire and Lucy both hugged her, laughing at her lame joke as if she were the real Mary Tyler Moore, until Mia pointed to the aprons. “Those are adorable.”
“Here.” Lucy handed her one. “This is the official uniform for Team Turkey. I found them at Walmart.”
Mia slipped her turkey apron over her head, tied the strings in a bow, and thought of the first time she had clapped eyes on Jake in that Las Vegas coffee shop. In less than six months, her life had come full circle, in part thanks to the voice mail she received late this morning from Mission Medical. She had been with her last patient of the day and missed the call. Alone in her office, she played the congratulatory message from Sally Richmond and felt no excitement at all—only a stabbing pain at the thought of leaving Jake and Echo Falls.
Surely God would have given her peace if she was meant to take the job? She had squirmed even more when she read Sally’s follow-up email containing the formal employment offer. In the absence of that deep inner peace only God could give, Mia had murmured a prayer and decided to say no. She was still restless inside, but she planned to tell Jake about her decision tonight and compose a reply to Sally’s email over the long weekend.
She straightened the apron with a quick tug. Mission Medical could wait awhile. Right now, she wanted to enjoy the preparations for her first Thanksgiving dinner with home-cooked food and a happy family around a big table.
“So what should I do?” she asked.
Lucy indicated a deep bottom drawer labeled Cookbooks. “We need Claire’s apple pie recipe. It’s probably in her recipe box.”
Mia found the metal card file, set it on the counter, and spoke to Claire. “I love apple pie.”
Rolling pin forgotten, Claire beamed. “So does Randy.”
“Who’s Randy?” The question was out of Mia’s mouth before she caught Lucy shaking her head.
“Randy is . . .” Claire’s brows clamped down, carving deep furrows on her forehead.
“Randy’s your brother,” Lucy explained to Claire.
“Oh, that’s right.” Relieved, Claire opened the recipe box and fingered through the cards.
With Claire occupied, Lucy whispered to Mia. “She probably means Jake. She calls him Randy now. She doesn’t remember, but Randy died last year.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is, but don’t tell her. It’ll be news to her, and she’ll grieve all over again. There’s no reason to put her through that.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Mia was learning a lot from Lucy—both about Alzheimer’s disease and choosing to be kind rather than right. “Does Jake look like Randy?”
“Yes. Quite a bit.” Sadness washed over Lucy’s face. “At least she recognizes Jake as someone she cares about. The other day she didn’t know Frank at all. He walked in from work, and she threatened to call the police. It freaked them both out—especially him.”
“Poor Frank.”
“As much as it hurts, he’s great with her. He gets impatient with her, of course, we all do. But even when it’s awful, I can see how much he loves her. I can’t imagine what this is like for him.”
Neither could Mia. Frank’s commitment to his wife both inspired her and left her aching inside. She stole a glance at Claire leafing through the recipe box, not seeing the cards but somehow knowing she needed something.
“Do you need help?” Mia asked.
“No, dear. I’m fine.”
Mia and Lucy traded a look, then watched as Claire removed the recipe cards one at a time, setting them down without really seeing them. When the box was empty, she held it upside down, shook it hard, and looked back inside.
“Are you looking for the apple pie recipe?” Lucy asked as a reminder.
Relief washed over Claire’s face. “Yes. The recipe. Mama has it memorized, but I don’t.”
She said Mama as if her mother were in the next room and not deceased for twenty years.
While Mia fought a lump in her throat, Lucy stepped to Claire’s side. “Let’s look together, all right?”
Picking up the cards one at time, she read the recipe names out loud, with Claire occasionally announcing, ”Oh, I remember that one!”
The poignancy stole Mia’s breath. Memories were such fleeting things, yet the human brain stored them like food for the winter of old age. Claire wouldn’t remember this day, but Mia would—her first Thanksgiving with Jake. The first of many to come, she hoped.
Lucy set the last recipe card aside. “It’s not here. We’ll find a recipe in a cookbook.”
“Cookbook!” Amazement flashed across Claire’s face. “Mama’s cookbook!”
Lucy started to speak, but Claire raced out of the kitchen and toward the stairs, mumbling “cookbook” over and over, maybe so she wouldn’t forget.
Mia took one look at Lucy’s pregnant belly and told her to sit. “Take a break. I’ll go with Claire.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Lucy blew out a breath that lifted her bangs. “Cooking a turkey dinner is a lot of work.”
“But worth it.” Oh, so worth it!
Mia followed in Claire’s wake, trotting up the stairs to the second floor. She passed Jake’s sister’s room, then came to another open door. She paused to glance inside, saw one of Jake’s shirts draped on a chair, and realized this was his bedroom.
Pausing, she stole a glimpse into the everyday life she hoped to share. The queen-size bed boasted a navy comforter and was neatly made. No clothes littered the floor, and only a few odds and ends sat on the dresser. His well-thumbed Bible lay on the nightstand along with a bestselling crime novel. Inhaling, she breathed in a faint trace of his aftershave.
They were a lot alike—neat but not too neat. They both read at night, but she escaped into lighter stories. Did he snore? She had no idea and didn’t care. Softly aglow, she broke her gaze from Jake’s pillow and headed for the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Stepping inside, Mia saw Claire on the far side of the room, seated on a small couch. In front of her stood a table stacked a foot high with boxes, magazines, and photo albums.
Where Jake’s room was neat and orderly, this one bore the signs of Claire’s contorted mind. The bed was made, but sloppily. Clothing languished in laundry baskets. Everywhere Mia looked, she saw labels with words like Frank’s underwear and Claire’s socks. Even the closet was labeled. So was the door to the bathroom, with the word Toilet in big letters and an arrow. Mia could only imagine the trauma behind that mix-up. An overwhelming gloom flooded through her, but at the same time, she wanted to cheer for Frank and his fight to preserve his wife’s dignity.
With her heart aching, Mia focused on Claire. Still mumbling, “Cookbook, cookbook,” she shuffled through the clutter on the table.
Mi
a sat next to her, sadly aware that Claire couldn’t answer even the simplest questions. What color is the cookbook? When did you see it last? On her own, Mia went through a stack of photo albums until she discovered a true treasure—Frank and Claire’s wedding album, the old-fashioned kind with hinged pages and mounted photographs.
Mia shoved the other albums aside and placed the book on the table between herself and Claire. “This must be your wedding album.”
Something vaguely troubled flashed in Claire’s eyes, but she nodded and turned to the first photograph, a stunning portrait of twenty-something Claire wearing an off-the-shoulder wedding gown and a ring of daisies in her hair. Her smile beamed off the page.
“You’re beautiful!” Mia exclaimed.
“Was I?” Claire mumbled as she turned the page.
“Yes, you were. And you still are.”
The next photograph showed Claire and her six bridesmaids; the one opposite showed a serious young Frank with his groomsmen.
Claire turned the pages slowly, taking them through the ceremony, the first dance, all the traditions, and finally to a shot of Frank and Claire waving good-bye from inside a limousine, confetti flying all around them.
Mia’s heart swelled to the size of a balloon. “What a glorious day you had.” And a glorious marriage.
Claire stared at the last picture. “That’s Frank.”
“And you.”
“Oh my—” Her voice cracked. “I don’t remember.” Her gaze lingered on the photograph, then shifted to an envelope taped to the back cover. Claire’s name was printed on the front in a strong masculine hand.
A love letter from her husband? Mia sighed at the romance of it. “Would you like to hear the letter?” Nosy or not, Mia was dying to read it.
Claire blinked fast and hard. “Oh, Frank—”
Mia took her answer for yes, slipped a handwritten letter from the envelope, and started to read aloud. “My dearest Claire: Forgive me. I beg you. I never meant to—” Hurt you the way I did.
Mia’s stomach dropped to the floor. Frank hurting Claire? How? What had he done that deserved to be immortalized in a letter taped in a wedding album? Mia glanced down and saw a date in the late 1990s. Her innate sense of privacy urged her to stop reading, but she couldn’t pull her eyes from the words.
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