When Love Returns

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She took a step into the bedroom, reminding herself she was not an intruder, no matter how her stomach churned in discomfort. She went to the dresser first and pulled out several pairs of underwear and socks, which she laid on the dresser’s uncluttered top. Then she moved to the closet and slid the door open. It moved soundlessly on its well-oiled rails. They might not live in a brand-new house, but Glenn took pride in keeping everything they owned in working order, even closet door fittings.

  Sadness—a sadness she couldn’t even define—struck. She crushed a half-dozen sweaters together between her palms and unhooked their hangers from the rod, then shifted to place them with her other items.

  A shadow moved across the floor toward her. A man-shaped shadow. She shrieked, threw the clothes in the direction of the intruder, and dove into the closet. Her palms slid along the smooth wood as she scrambled to close the door behind her. Why didn’t the inside have some sort of handle? Her frantic motions stilled when she heard a familiar male voice say, “Cyn, what are you doing?”

  She peeked out, her heart still pounding. Glenn stood a few feet away, his face pinched in puzzlement. She also couldn’t help noticing he looked very, very tired. Guilt and sympathy tried to push aside the fear she’d just experienced, but she drew on anger instead. What was he doing here? “I was escaping what I thought was a burglar.”

  He emitted a brief huff of half laughter, half derision. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She knew what he meant. “I needed some more clothes, and I didn’t think anyone would be here.” She inched out of the closet but stayed well away from him. “Why aren’t you at Bible study?”

  “Want to know the truth?”

  Hesitantly, she nodded.

  “Because I couldn’t make myself go in alone. It didn’t feel right.”

  His answer stole her manufactured anger. She crouched and began collecting her tossed sweaters. He knelt and put the pink fuzzy one—the one he’d bought her last year during the after–Valentine’s Day sales—back on its plastic hanger. They rose at the same time, and he held the hanger out to her.

  She swallowed a knot of sorrow and took it. “Thanks.”

  They stood in silence for several seconds, Glenn looking somewhere beyond her shoulder and her trying to look anywhere except at him. Her gaze landed on the bed. The shams rested at an angle against the headboard and the throw pillows were fluffed and centered on the bed. Words slipped from her mouth without effort. “You did a good job on the bed.”

  “No, you did.”

  She frowned in confusion.

  A sad smile curved his lips. “I haven’t slept in it since you left.”

  Something in her chest fluttered. “Y-you haven’t?”

  Furrows etched his forehead. Deep grooves formed a line from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth. Dark circles smudged under his eyes. “Nope.”

  “Where have you been sleeping?”

  “On the couch.”

  Little wonder he looked so worn-out. The lumpy, old couch was at least six inches too short for his frame. She clicked her tongue on her teeth, shaking her head. “Glenn, you can’t get a decent night’s rest out there. Sleep in the bed for heaven’s sake.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “For the same reason I couldn’t sit in the church pew tonight. Because you aren’t in it.”

  His words took the strength from her legs. She sank down on the bed, the armful of sweaters flopping across her lap. “Oh, Glenn…”

  He stood still as a statue for several seconds, then his body jerked into motion. One wide stride brought him to the bed, and he sat, smashing one of the pink sweater’s sleeves. “When I saw you at the closet, I hoped you were putting things away, not taking things out.” Pain laced his tone. Pain and disappointment and a hint of resentment.

  Cynthia hung her head.

  “When are you going to come home, Cyn?”

  She glared at him, her chin quivering. “Do you really want me to?”

  His brows crunched together. Anger glinted in his eyes. “I didn’t tell you to go.”

  “No, but you didn’t ask me to stay.”

  He propped his elbows on his knees and stared downward.

  “And you told Brother Gary you wished you hadn’t hired the PI to find my daughter.” The hurt returned with such force she pressed her feet firmly on the floor to keep from toppling. “How could you tell him something like that?”

  Glenn angled a weary look at her. “You didn’t hear everything. You missed me saying I wished I had spent time in prayer with you before I hired the PI. I wanted to surprise you with the gift. But instead the kids and I got the surprise. We got pushed to the side while your entire focus turned to this girl none of us know.” The lines in his forehead deepened. “That hurt, Cyn. It hurt a lot.”

  Defensiveness seared her insides. She snapped, “It hurt that you couldn’t be excited with me—that you couldn’t want her as much as I do.”

  He sat up abruptly and let his head sag back. He spoke toward the ceiling. “I do want her. For your sake, I want her.” He slowly lowered his head and met her gaze. “But I don’t want to lose you to her.”

  She huffed. “That isn’t going to happen.”

  Glenn raised one brow. “You have to admit, ever since you opened that gift, your whole focus has been on finding your daughter. When the search went well, you were happy. When it went poorly, you were impatient with the kids and snappish to me. The search”—he crunched his lips closed for a moment as if seeking the right words—“consumed you and changed you, and there wasn’t anything left of the mother and wife Darcy, Barrett, and I have always known. We felt like we lost you before you walked out the door.”

  “I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t felt like I’d lost you.” Her voice rose, taking on a childish whine.

  Glenn returned to his low-slung pose. Silence descended, each second rife with tension and unsaid words. The washing machine buzzed, announcing the end of the cycle.

  Cynthia rose and set the sweaters aside. “I need to transfer my clothes to the dryer.” She waited, but he didn’t say anything. She sighed and headed for the door.

  Feet pounded behind her. Arms closed on her shoulders and spun her around. He cupped her jaw in his hands and lifted her face the way she’d seen a hero do in one of the late-night classic movies. She sucked in her breath, expecting Glenn to kiss her. But he only stared at her with his blue eyes blazing.

  Frozen within his light hold, she whimpered, “G-Glenn?”

  “Do you love me, Cyn?”

  She did. Or it wouldn’t hurt so much to be away from him. “Yes.” She swallowed, tears clouding her vision. “Yes, Glenn, I do.”

  “Then don’t run off again. Stay here with the kids and me.”

  Oh, how she wanted to stay. But she couldn’t go back to the way it had been—with her on one side and him and the kids on the opposing side. She needed them to be a family, one united team again. She gripped his wrists. “Will you support my search instead of resenting it?”

  “Will you keep it in perspective, remembering Darcy, Barrett, and I need you, too?”

  She blinked, clearing her vision so she could see him clearly. No bitterness lingered in his expression, only longing. Her heart swelled with love for him, for their children, for her baby girl, making her chest go tight. “I’ll try.”

  “And we’ll try, too.” He lowered his face and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet kiss of reconciliation that melted her remaining frost of resentment. Then he stepped aside. “Go transfer your wet clothes. I’ll put these things away”—he waved at the stacks on the bed—“and then we’ll go pick up the kids together, okay?”

  Cynthia cringed. “Will they be mad to see me?”

  “Probably. At first.” He spoke gently, but his words still pained her. “They’re mad because it hurt them when you left. But they’re good kids, and they love you. They’ll forgive you.”

  She no
dded and headed for the laundry room. Her feet plodded as if she dragged a heavy load behind her. She and Glenn had chosen to make up, but she wouldn’t be completely free of her burdens until she’d also made things right with her children. Glenn had said they’d forgive her, and she believed him. Hadn’t she always forgiven her mother when Mom broke down and sobbed about how sorry she was for hitting Cynthia, pushing her, ignoring her, bringing yet another worthless man into her life? Of course she had, because it was her mom, and despite everything, she loved her. So she forgave her. But Cynthia never forgot the hurtful things.

  Darcy and Barrett might forgive her, but she’d walked out on them. They’d never forget. She prayed she hadn’t permanently cracked the foundation of her children’s security. Because if she had, she would never be able to forgive herself.

  Franklin

  Alexa

  Alexa awoke with a start, wide eyed and fully alert. The room was still dark. Her alarm clock’s glowing numbers showed 5:37. Why was she so awake this early? Especially considering she hadn’t turned in until almost midnight. She and Mom had talked until her cell phone battery died, filling each other in on the past day’s events. Alexa could hardly believe Mom spent a whole day with Paul Aldrich, most of it away from Arborville, and then admitted she loved him. Alexa chuckled, bouncing the mattress. Wow, leave for two weeks and see what happened? Maybe she should’ve left Mom in charge of the B and B a long time ago.

  She lay on the bed, hands linked over her stomach beneath the puffy comforter, and stared at the gray-shadowed ceiling. One small part of her conversation with Mom replayed in her mind.

  “Would you be able to forgive me, honey, if I married now?”

  Such an odd question. Why would Mom need forgiveness? Alexa already liked Paul and Danny Aldrich. If Mom got married to her long-ago sweetheart, that meant Alexa would gain an instant dad and a little brother. Those were both good things in her opinion. Unless…She frowned. Surely Mom didn’t intend to form a new family that didn’t include Alexa.

  She shook her head, tangling her hair against the pillowcase. No, Mom wouldn’t do that. So there must be some other reason she thought she needed Alexa’s forgiveness. When she talked to Mom next, she’d ask. But for now she should sleep. She rolled to her side and closed her eyes, but her tense body refused to relax. Maybe she’d just get up.

  Grabbing the edge of the comforter, she prepared to toss it aside. But then she groaned and pulled it tight beneath her chin again. She didn’t dare get up. She might disturb Tom and Linda. They’d stayed up late last night, too, going out for pie and coffee after Bible study with some friends from church and then listening to Alexa’s report on Mom’s love life. If she knew Linda, she’d kept Tom up even after they’d gone to their room, talking about Mom. Mom would probably get a call from Linda today with more questions than Mom could possibly answer.

  “Would you be able to forgive me, honey, if I married now?”

  When everybody was awake and Linda was starting her second cup of coffee—it wasn’t smart to pester her with questions before then—she’d get Tom’s and Linda’s opinion on Mom’s strange statement. No matter what Mom meant, Alexa would forgive her. She’d never withhold forgiveness from Mom. But from her birth mother? That was a completely different situation.

  Arborville

  Suzanne

  “If you tell him no, you’re crazier than a pet raccoon.”

  Suzanne burst out laughing. She cradled the cell phone against her cheek and closed her eyes, imagining Linda’s impish grin. “Oh, Linda, you are priceless.”

  “You think I’m kidding?” Humor laced Linda’s tone despite her tart words. “I’m as serious as a courtroom judge. After all these years of being alone, you deserve the love of a good man, and from what Alexa tells us, Mr. Paul Aldrich is a very good man.”

  Suzanne gently rocked in the padded chair Alexa had purchased at a garage sale and reupholstered in a crisp yellow-and-white plaid. She could stay here all day and be content. The cottage was quiet, and being away from the house allowed her to speak freely. A smile pulled at her lips. “Alexa’s right. Paul is one of the best men I’ve ever known. Loving him and being loved by him is a gift beyond description.”

  A soft sigh drifted from the phone. “I’m so happy for you, girlie.”

  She was happy, too, but she—and Alexa and Linda—had to be realistic. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Yes, Paul said he loves me, but he hasn’t officially asked me to marry him. We can’t even court, not with us belonging to different churches.”

  Linda huffed. “I’m sorry, Suzanne, but that’s a ridiculous rule in my opinion. You’re both Christians, saved by grace, aren’t you? You’re both adults, capable of making wise decisions, right? So why does church membership have to bungle things up? Love is love, and that’s all that should matter.”

  “And in most places you’d be right. But this is Arborville.” Suzanne cringed, considering everything she would have to give up for Paul to openly court her—her membership with the Franklin Mennonite Brethren church, her cell phone, wardrobe, and non-fellowship-approved vehicle…and her secrets. That was the hardest—the secrets. She sighed. “Maybe it’s too late for us. After all, we’re both closing in on our fortieth birthdays, and—”

  “And you think you’re too old for love?” Linda’s snort blasted in Suzanne’s ear. “Girlie, you ain’t too old for love until they lay you in a grave. If the Good Lord saw fit to reawaken the feelings you two once shared, then it’d be plain sinful to ignore ’em, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.”

  Suzanne smiled. She was fairly certain, given time, Linda would say plenty more on the subject. “Well, as I said, it’s too early to speculate on what will happen. Paul and I have asked for a meeting with the deacons.” Her throat tightened and a stone of worry settled in her stomach. “Depending on their reaction and advice, we’ll decide our next step. But I’m preparing myself to give up on the idea of becoming Mrs. Paul Aldrich just in case.” The stone rolled over and she grimaced.

  “And I’m telling you right now, Tom and I are gonna be praying our hearts out that those deacons look past their silly rules to the precious gift of love rekindling between you two. I’d start singing that song Diana Ross used to belt out about ain’t no mountain high enough, but I’d probably pickle whatever you ate for breakfast.”

  “Toast and jam,” Suzanne said. “I cooked this morning.”

  Linda tsk-tsked. “You can’t be just throwing toast at a husband, you know, so start practicing some of Alexa’s recipes. Because, girlie, unless God didn’t make little green apples, you an’ Paul Aldrich are gonna be husband and wife someday. Now…” She pulled in a breath and whooshed it out in Suzanne’s ear. “Before I start breaking into some other song from the late, great sixties, I better let you go. I need to take a shower and gussy myself up for a trip to town. That girl of yours is wantin’ to go into Indianapolis and visit her friend at the home again this afternoon, and she asked me to go along. Alexa’s got some idea I can maybe talk sense into the little gal, although where she got that idea, I’ll never know.”

  Fondness welled in Suzanne’s chest. “Alexa can talk you into anything, can’t she?”

  “Yes, she can, even taking her to that crazy concert that’s creeping up on us. I’m still hoping one of those bands will actually play something I know so I can sing along and embarrass the soup out of her.”

  Suzanne’s laughter rolled. She shook her head, hugging the phone in lieu of hugging her friend. “Linda, what would we do without you?”

  “I don’t know, so let’s hope we never have to find out.”

  Indianapolis

  Alexa

  Ms. Reed let Alexa and Linda in, then performed her customary check of their coats and purses. Alexa was used to it already even if it bugged her, but Linda glowered at the woman. She muttered in Alexa’s ear, “Do I look like some sort of druggie to you?”

  Alexa whispered back, “Rules are rules. S
he does it to everybody.”

  Linda huffed, but she didn’t grab her belongings and storm out.

  Ms. Reed finished her inspection and turned a weary smile on Alexa. “Melissa was afraid you weren’t going to visit her anymore. It’s been a full week since you were here last.”

  Alexa cringed. She’d been busy, but she should have at least called. “I’m sorry. I hope she’s free to visit today.”

  “She is. She’s in the library, but the other girls are there, too. How about I send her to the front room? The three of you can visit there.”

  Alexa had hoped they could go to Melissa’s room again. The old parlor wasn’t exactly private with its wide doorway opening into the large foyer, but if they kept their voices low, they might be able to have some semblance of privacy. She smiled. “That sounds great.”

  Alexa led Linda to the parlor. Linda’s wide brown eyes scanned the room. She didn’t hide her dismay. “My heavens, what a sad place. Looks like none of the furnishings have been changed in the past thirty years.”

  Alexa sat in one of the mismatched chairs. “I doubt they have the money to fix things up. Places like this are probably moving toward extinction. These days, people hardly blink when a girl turns up pregnant out of wedlock. Not like it was when Mom got pregnant.”

  Linda sighed and plopped onto the longer of the two sofas. “In some ways maybe that’s good—that we don’t trundle people off in disgrace. But on the other hand, there doesn’t seem to be much shame at all anymore. People do whatever they want to without a thought for the consequences. Seems like there oughta be a balance somewhere.”

  A movement caught Alexa’s attention, and she jumped up as Melissa entered the parlor. She rushed toward the girl, smiling, but Melissa didn’t smile in return. Her large eyes looked sad, and her hands lay listlessly on top of her round belly. The girl had never been openly gregarious, but it appeared something inside of her had withered in the past days.