by Lisa Wingate
I sat down in the chair next to him. “Is Amy doing all right?”
Hanging his cowboy hat on his knee, he rolled his head toward me, still resting against the wall. His dark hair was saluting the new day in several different directions—evidence that he’d been sleeping in the chair awhile. “She’s a little better this morning. Mama B finally kicked us all off the third floor so Amy could get some rest. She put up a pretty good fight when those guys hauled her and Clay out of the Proxica plant and put them in the car. She got away for a minute, but the guy caught up to her and knocked her down a flight of stairs. If I’d had any idea she and your brother were planning to sneak into Proxica last night, I would’ve put a stop to it. I never would have agreed to either of them taking a chance like that, even as bad as I wanted to see Proxica stopped.”
Even as bad as I wanted to see Proxica stopped. When he said it, I could see the passion, the burn behind the words. It bothered me that he’d kept that hidden from me, that there had been a wall of secrets between us. What other secrets lay hidden? “I wish you’d told me what was going on.”
The soft, earthy brown of his eyes pulled me in. I wanted to fall, to let all the questions fade away, but if the last sixteen years had taught me anything, they’d taught me that the questions you don’t resolve are the ones that hold you prisoner. “You made it hard not to,” he admitted. His hand lifted from the chair and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of my face. “But it wasn’t my secret to tell. I made a promise, and I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. I never wanted to hurt you, Heather. I didn’t set out to lie to you, or sidetrack you, or anything else.”
“What did you set out to do?” I tried to make it sound like a quip, but I felt myself hanging in air, waiting for the answer. Some small part of me was still afraid, still clinging to the past, still convinced that Blaine Underhill was too perfect to be real. Too good to be meant for me.
His fingers slid over my cheek, into my hair. “Just to spend time with the girl I missed out on in high school.”
My mind swirled with a heady mix of emotions. I knew he was going to kiss me, and I wanted him to. “I’m not that girl anymore,” I whispered against his lips, and in that instant, I knew it was true. This journey back to Moses Lake had brought me full circle, broken me open in a way that made all things possible.
“You’re better than that girl.” Blaine’s words slid over me, and then his lips met mine. The kiss transported me from the hospital, to a rock ledge by the water, and for a moment we were dancing.
When his lips parted from mine, I laughed softly.
Blaine’s eyes narrowed, those thick, dark lashes forming a narrow slot. “What’s that look for?”
“I was thinking about the Blue Moon,” I admitted. “About the two-step.”
“We could do it again sometime.” He grinned.
“Okay.” A tingle of anticipation lit up my body, chasing the weariness away. “I will if you will.”
A movement in the corridor, then a quick flash of darkness against the morning sun pulled at my attention. I looked up and saw a man in a dark coat crossing the hall to the stairway door. Even from this distance, something about him was unmistakable.
I stood up, moved a step closer to gain a better view against the light. My thoughts lost their misty edges, coming quickly into focus. Why was he here? What did he want? What questions could he answer?
“Heather?” Blaine shifted in the vinyl chair.
“I’ll be right back.” My heart sped up and I hurried down the hall, walking, then running as the stairway entrance slowly closed, the hydraulic cylinder hissing softly. I caught the knob just before the latch could click into place.
“Wait,” I called, pulling back the door. “Wait. I want to talk to you.”
The man paused at the bottom of the half-flight of stairs, his thumb and fingers resting on the handle that would allow him to exit. For an instant, I had the sensation of being with my father, but I knew it wasn’t him. The stranger turned slightly, so that I could see the profile of his face beneath the shadow of his baseball cap.
“Everything’s taken care of,” his voice echoed against the stairwell. “The men who took your brother and Amy will be prosecuted, and Proxica is finally going to get what has been coming for a long while. It won’t matter how many congressmen their CEOs take on island vacations. They’re not getting out of this one.”
“You caught those men—the two from last night?” I asked, anxious to confirm that the men who had come after my family were locked away somewhere. “Are we safe now? Is my brother safe?”
He nodded, his fingers relaxing on the door handle. “Your brother did a good job. Your father would be pleased. This was what he wanted.”
The mention of my dad left me numb. “I saw you the day . . . when my father was killed. You were there with my mom, earlier that day.”
His head dropped forward, his cap and the collar of his coat hiding him again. “I shouldn’t have let it go as far as it did. I wanted to crack Proxica. I was driven, ambitious. I just needed a little more. He wanted out, you know—your dad. He wanted out that last day. He was a family man. Said his wife and his kids came first. I should’ve just let him go, but we needed someone on the inside, so I squeezed a little harder. I told him there wasn’t any way back to the life he had before—the only way out was through Proxica. Then, of course, we lost him, and we lost Proxica.”
The question that had plagued me for sixteen years pressed to the surface. “He didn’t . . . Did my father . . . ? It was an accident . . . wasn’t it? He didn’t mean to . . .” Air seared my throat. I heard each heartbeat inside me, the tempo seeming to slow, bending the seconds into impossible, painful spans of time.
The latch on the street door clicked, and the stranger pulled it open, letting in a gush of winter air. “Like I said, your father was a family man. He wanted to do what was right, but you kids mattered to him more than anything else. He was just trying to keep all of you safe. He wanted to protect you, and that’s why he had the shotgun. What happened in that cellar wasn’t intentional. Just a tragic accident, but it was my fault it got to that point. It was my case.”
He opened the door then and stepped out, his words playing again in my head as he disappeared against the glare.
My body felt light and numb as I turned to walk away, uncertain how to process, after all these years, the answers I’d waited so long to hear. My father had loved us more than anything else. He’d only been trying to protect us. His death was an accident. Neither I, nor my mother, nor his job had pushed him to it. In spite of the ways I’d been difficult, immature, self-centered, and unkind, he’d loved me and was willing to sacrifice anything to protect me. He wouldn’t have left us willingly, no matter what.
Looking up, I saw Blaine coming from the lobby, closing the distance between us in confident, even strides. I moved toward him one step, then two, then three, freedom settling over me with each one—as if the burden I’d carried for so many years was being cleared away, like a cache of debris trapped in an inlet along the lake, swept clean when a good rain finally comes along. At last I’d found the answers I needed. God had brought me to them, to Moses Lake, to the only place where He could lead me through the fire into everything that lay beyond.
“Who were you talking to?” Blaine craned to see through the stairwell window as we met.
“Just someone who knew my dad,” I answered, waiting as we turned to walk back up the hall. Slipping my hand into Blaine’s, I felt myself walking into life, a new life that was like nothing I had ever imagined. Suddenly I knew the answer to the tinker’s riddle. I understood it in a way I never had before.
The future is a blank page, but not a mystery.
The truth of that small phrase, of that plain-spoken proverb from the wall of wisdom was so clear to me now. Though we only read the story in due time, the books of our lives have been already written. God has drawn us in shades of charcoal and pastel, known our
hours, seen our days, laid down our paths, created each of us as unique and uniquely loved. Our lives come as a blank canvas only because we cannot see as He sees. Before we can conceive our stories, He has watched them in His mind’s eye, and not the stroke of a pen happens at random.
Above the book, the Architect watches with a broader eye, a greater plan. He knows what is to be written on every page.
Acknowledgments
In returning to the little town of Moses Lake, I’d like to thank a few people who helped to make this trip possible. Every book is an adventure that begins long before bookshelves and book covers—usually with a writer tapping on the doors of friends and strangers, trolling for research material.
First and foremost, thanks to long-distance friend, BJ Holley, for answering questions and sharing a few funny stories about owning a family funeral home. You helped to bring that big white house at Harmony Shores to life. Thank you to Kathy for letting me pick your brain about real-estate development issues while sharing ice cream in the Free State of Menard. Teresa and I are still laughing over the story about headlights in the pasture. Thanks again to my favorite Wingate fisher-boys for answering fishing questions and lending funny fishing phrases to the wall of wisdom at the Waterbird Bait and Grocery. You’re welcome to stop in for a game of dominoes with the Docksiders anytime.
As always, I am grateful for the loving, supportive family God has blessed me with. Thank you to my mother for being a right-hand man . . . errr . . . woman, who can aptly critique a manuscript but will still tell me to eat my vegetables. Thank you to my sweet mother-in-law for helping with address lists and feeding my big boys when I’m away on book trips. Thanks also to relatives and friends far and near for everything you do to make me feel loved and nurtured, and for stopping people in the checkout line and at the doctor’s office to talk about books. I’m incredibly grateful to my favorite digital designer Teresa Loman for being such a sweet-spirited soul sister and gal pal, and to Ed Stevens for constant encouragement and help with all things technical. The world needs at least five million more of both of you. Thanks also to my friends and fellow Southern gal bloggers at www.SouthernBelleView.com. What a hoot to be sharing a cyber-porch with you and blogging about all things southern. Thanks also to all those who stop by the blog and share your stories. It’s amazing these days, how big a front porch can be!
In terms of print and paper, my undying gratitude, cheers, and shout-outs go to the incredible group at Bethany House Publishers. To Dave Long and Sarah Long, thank you for being such talented editors and just plain fun to work with. Julie Klassen, I will miss you as an editor, but I look forward to many more of your wonderful books. To the crew in marketing, publicity, and art, thank you for everything you do. Without your vision and hard work, books would be loose leaf pages in black-and-white, sitting on a desk somewhere. To my agent, Claudia Cross at Sterling Lord Literistic, thanks again for all that you do.
Last, but not least, I’m so very grateful to reader-friends everywhere, who filled the fictional town of Moses Lake with life and laughter last year when Larkspur Cove hit the shelves. Without you, the stores would be boarded up and the coffeepot at the Waterbird would go dry, and then who would the Docksiders tell their stories to? Thank you for sharing the books with friends, recommending them to book clubs, and taking time to send little notes of encouragement my way via email and Facebook. I’m incredibly thankful to all of you who read these stories and to the booksellers who sell them with such devotion. You are the fulfillment of a silly little dream my first-grade teacher sparked in me when she wrote on my report card, “Keep that pencil moving with that great imagination. I’ll see your name in a magazine one day.” God has blessed that dream and stretched it in ways that only He could have conceived, and I am so very thankful.
I hope you have fun on this visit to Moses Lake. The local folk have been asking about you, by the way. They want you to know they love it when you stop by, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Sit back, dip a toe in the water, and watch the eagles ride the warming afternoon air. Your presence is a joy and a blessing that no words could aptly describe. Welcome!
Discussion Questions
In returning to Moses Lake, Heather is coming home to a place that was special to her as a young child, even though the memory was later marred by tragedy. Do you remember a special childhood place? What makes the places of our childhood live large in our memories?
Heather and Clay have vastly different personalities—Heather being more like their father and Clay being more like their mother. Do you think we’re always more like one parent than the other? How do our connections or missed connections with our parents shape us?
In spending time with her brother again, Heather realizes that there are memories and experiences we only share with our siblings. How are our sibling relationships different from any other relationships? Have you experienced sibling strife in your family at various times? How can we cultivate healthy relationships with our siblings?
Heather resents the past efforts of her aunt and the bridge-club ladies to coach and reform her so that she could fit the parameters of Moses Lake. Why do you think they were so intent on this? Did they mean well, or not?
Heather recalls her past crush on Blaine shortly after she returns to Moses Lake, but when she meets him again, she learns that he isn’t the person she thought he was. Have you ever gotten to know someone you had only observed from a distance, and been surprised at the person inside?
When looking into the past, Heather idolizes her father, while her brother finds fault with him and is more understanding of their mother’s position. Where do you think reality lies? Is it common for siblings to have different views of family history? Have you ever experienced this in your own family?
As she spends time in Moses Lake, Heather begins to recognize that the tragedy in her past has limited her openness to relationships in the present. How does loss in childhood change us and shape us in adulthood? Have you seen evidence of this in people you have known? How can we move beyond past experiences that are painful?
When Ruth tells the story of her sisters, Lydia and Naomi, she ends with the dilemma of which one chose the right path—the sister who compromised herself to feed them, or the sister who clung to her faith. What are your thoughts on the paths chosen by the two sisters? How do you think you would react, if faced with such a dire situation?
In recounting her family history, Ruth says, “Terrible things had happened to us, after all—death, disease, hunger, our family torn asunder, abuses I cannot even speak of. How could a God who loves us allow such things, you might wonder?” What is your answer to this question?
In spite of her cancer and the tragedy in her early life, Ruth is peaceful in her spirit. In what ways, surrounded by a troubled world, can we cultivate a spirit of peace and abundance?
Because Ruth’s sister, Lydia, was brave enough, she was the only one who saw the circus. Ruth seems to regret that her fear kept her on the hill with the other girls. Has fear ever kept you from doing something that you later wished you’d done? If you had the chance again, would you do it?
Heather eventually concludes that she can either love her quirky family the way they are, or not love them at all. Do you think this is true? Should we learn to accept people exactly the way they are, even if we don’t agree with some of the things they do? Why or why not?
About the Author
Lisa Wingate is a popular inspirational speaker, magazine columnist, and national bestselling author of several books, including Tending Roses, Talk of the Town, Good Hope Road, Dandelion Summer, and Never Say Never, winner of the 2011 Carol Award. Her work was recently honored by the Americans for More Civility for promoting greater kindness and civility in American life. Lisa and her family live in Central Texas.
Visit www.lisawingate.com to sign up for Lisa’s latest contest, read her blog and excerpts from her novels, get writing tips, contact her, and more.
Books by Lisa
Wingate
* * *
MOSES LAKE
Larkspur Cove
Blue Moon Bay
DAILY, TEXAS
Talk of the Town
Word Gets Around
Never Say Never
TENDING ROSES
Tending Roses
Good Hope Road
The Language of Sycamores
Drenched in Light
A Thousand Voices
BLUE SKY HILL
A Month of Summer
The Summer Kitchen
Beyond Summer
Dandelion Summer
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
Facebook: Bethany House