by Irene Hannon
She inspected the blooming hydrangea beside her. Plucked a single sky-blue petal. Cradled it in her hand.
“What happened wasn’t J.C.’s fault, though. He tried his best to keep Nathan and me on the straight and narrow. He could never reach Nathan, but he had better luck with me—for a while. I believed what J.C. told me—that if I worked hard I could have a better life. So I did. And it paid off. I got a scholarship to college. The day that letter came was one of the proudest of my life.”
She stopped, and Christopher bit back the question that sprang to his lips. He had to give her the time and space she needed to get through her confession. And there was no doubt in his mind that’s what this was.
Marci traced the edge of the fragile petal and continued. “Freshman year was great. I made excellent grades, and for the first time in my life I began to believe I had more to offer than a great body. Then I met Preston Harris III.”
She lifted her hand. A few seconds later the wind plucked the petal from her palm and flung it to the ground. Wrapping her arms around herself, she studied it for a moment before transferring her gaze once more to the sea.
“Pres was the big man on campus. Good-looking, football jock, wealthy family. He noticed me for the same reason men always notice me. But he seemed different than the rest. His gifts and invitations didn’t come with strings or expectations. He was the kind of man I’d always dreamed of finding. A true gentleman. I fell in love.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and Christopher’s heart contracted. When they spilled over, he lifted a hand to brush them away. But the instant his fingers connected with her cheek, she jerked away.
“Don’t.” Her voice was raw as she swiped at the tears herself. “I won’t get through this if you touch me.”
“Okay.” He backed off, sensing she was holding on to her self-control by a thin, precarious thread.
She took a shuddering breath. “After a while, he said he loved me, too. That we’d get married when we finished school. But in the meantime, he wanted to take our relationship to the next level.” She looked down at the discarded petal, which was already beginning to shrivel. “I knew it was wrong. J.C. had drummed that into me from the day I turned thirteen. But then Pres began to suggest I was using him. Taking all his gifts and dinners without ever intending to follow through. In hindsight, I realized he was manipulating me. At the time, though, I thought it was important to prove to him my love was true. So I…I gave in.”
Cold anger coursed through Christopher. He’d never considered himself a violent man. But if Preston Harris III was standing here right now, he’d punch him. In a heartbeat.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Marci. But you’re not the first woman to be taken in by a smooth talker. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Looking back to the sea, she continued in a flat tone. “I’ll spare you all the gory details. But a month later, I overheard Pres talking to one of his buddies about me. And discovered he’d never had any intention of marrying me. I was just a ‘cute chick to have some fun with,’ as he told his friend.”
Marci blinked several times. When she resumed speaking, her voice was less steady. “I was devastated. And angry—at him and myself. I broke things off immediately and resolved never again to let anyone use me. I was also determined to move on, to consider the mistake tuition in the school of experience.
“And then I found out I was pregnant.”
In the quiet that followed her whispered words, the pounding of the surf echoed the pounding of Christopher’s heart. Marci’s story had taken a twist he’d never expected. But shocked as he was by the news of her pregnancy, he sensed the worse was yet to come.
“When I told Pres, he suggested the baby wasn’t his. That he’d always been ‘careful.’ And he went on to say that someone like me must have ‘gotten around,’ as he put it, so the father could be anyone.” Her voice broke, and she sucked in a lungful of air. “But I hadn’t. In fact, he was the first guy I ever…got close to.”
With an abrupt move, Marci rose, crushing the discarded blue petal beneath her foot as she put some distance between them. She refolded her arms across her chest and angled slightly away from him, her fingers clenched tight on her arms.
“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell J.C. I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me. So I talked to Nathan. He gave me some money that was probably stolen and advised me to get rid of the baby.”
She was trembling now. Christopher could see that even from several feet away.
“I didn’t want to do it. But I couldn’t see any other option. The responsibility of a baby freaked me out. I had no way to support a child. So I had an abortion, thinking that would solve my problems. Instead, that’s when they really started.”
She bit her lip, and another tear began to trail down her cheek. “I thought I could handle things afterward. But I was wrong. It tore me up inside. I dropped out of school. Drifted from city to city, working odd jobs to eke out a living, sampling the drug scene, looking for escape, running from what I’d done. That was how I lived for five years—until finally I couldn’t run anymore. Couldn’t deal with the emptiness of that lifestyle. In the end, I came home. Got a job at Ronnie’s Diner. Went back to school. In the eyes of the world, I had my act together at last.”
She bowed her head. When she continued, Christopher had to strain to hear her muted words. “But you know what? The regrets never went away. To this day, I still have dreams about the baby who never had a chance to live—because of me.”
Christopher felt like someone had punched him in the jaw. He could understand how Marci had been misled by a smooth-talking campus hot shot. It happened. But as a doctor, he spent his life trying to save lives—including the most innocent of all life. That’s why he’d become involved with Birthright. It was a cause in which he passionately believed.
Now he understood why Marci had looked resigned and sad earlier. She’d known her revelation could be a deal breaker.
If he wanted this relationship to have a chance, he knew what he had to do: get up, close the distance between them and pull her into his arms. Tell her that her past didn’t matter to their future.
But it did.
For how could he reconcile her actions with everything he believed?
Seconds ticked by as he grappled with that dilemma.
Too many.
Marci turned toward him, the abject misery and despair in her eyes ripping at his gut.
He rose slowly. Searched for words. Came up empty.
“I need to go.” Without giving him a chance to respond, Marci picked up her purse and half ran across the yard.
He started to follow. Stopped.
Less than a minute later, he heard her car engine come to life. Listened as it receded into the distance.
Christopher grasped the upright of the gazebo to steady himself as quiet descended in Henry’s garden, save for the muted boom of the nearby surf. Most of the time, he considered the sound soothing. But tonight it reminded him of the distant, ominous rumble of thunder. The kind signaling an approaching storm destined to turn the world black and send sensible people scurrying to find shelter and safety.
That was how he felt now. On the precipice of a storm. The only way to remain safe, to avert the darkness Marci’s departure would bring, was to welcome her into his arms.
But could he live with all the baggage she brought to the relationship?
Christopher tried to process all he’d heard. Tried to think through his options logically. But as he crossed the lawn toward his own cottage, he couldn’t get the left side of his brain to cooperate.
Only his heart spoke to him, loud and clear, telling him he needed Marci in his life.
Yet making a decision this big based on emotion wasn’t wise. So, as he often did when facing a monumental choice, he turned to a greater power for guidance.
Lord, please, show me what to do.
Chapter Fourteen
Someo
ne was banging on her door.
Groaning, Marci rolled onto her back and squinted at her watch. Eight-thirty a.m. Since tears had kept her awake until dawn, that meant she’d gotten all of two hours of sleep.
“Marci! Are you in there?”
It was J.C.
She groaned again. The last thing she needed was her brother interrogating her. But why put off the inevitable.
“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” she called.
Swinging her legs to the floor, she shoved her hair out of her eyes, padded to the door and pulled it open.
After one sweeping glance, J.C.’s grin faded. “Did I wake you?”
She tried to smother a yawn. “Yeah.”
“Sorry. I figured eight-thirty was safe. I seem to recall you telling me not long ago that only slugs slept this late.”
“And as you reminded me, it’s okay to sleep in on vacation. It’s supposed to be a time to rest and relax, right?”
“Right. Except you don’t look like you’ve done either.” He planted his fists on his hips and scrutinized her. “In fact, to put it bluntly, you look awful.”
She made a face. “Thanks for the ego boost. And the purpose of this visit is?”
“Ornery today, aren’t we?”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine. I get the hint. This came for you yesterday.”
As he handed over an envelope, she noted the Illinois postmark. Nathan. He’d been writing to her every week in care of The Devon Rose.
“I also wanted to remind you about having dinner with Heather and me on the beach before the fireworks,” J.C. added.
She stifled another groan. She’d accepted the invitation for the Fourth of July festivities two weeks ago. But she was in no mood to celebrate after last night’s conversation with Christopher.
“You know, J.C., I appreciate the invite, but I think I’ll pass.”
He gave her a hopeful look. “Better offer?”
“No.”
He propped a shoulder against the door frame, apparently in no hurry to end the conversation. “So, how is the good doctor these days?”
“Fine.”
“He was at the welcome-home dinner for Henry last night, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t suggest getting together for the holiday.”
He wasn’t going to let this go, Marci realized. So she might as well end his speculation. And Henry’s. And Edith’s.
“I doubt I’ll be seeing him anymore, J.C.”
Her brother’s brow puckered. “Why not? I got the distinct impression he was very interested in you.”
“It’s not a good match.”
“Why not?”
“We’re too different. I had dinner with him and his parents a few nights ago. They’re Boston high society. His father owns a law firm. They jet all over the world. Need I say more?”
His eyes narrowed. Just as they had years ago when she’d come home from school one day crying after some girls made fun of her threadbare, thrift-store coat. “Did they snub you?”
“No. Just the opposite. They went out of their way to put me at ease. But they live in a different world, J.C. I wouldn’t fit in.”
He studied her in silence for a moment. “You don’t think you’re good enough for people like the Morgans, do you? Well you know what? That’s garbage. You’re every bit as good as they are. Maybe better. You overcame tremendous odds to get where you are. It’s a testament to your character that you succeeded.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Why can’t I convince you of that?”
“Trust me, J.C. It wasn’t meant to be.”
Anger built in his eyes. “I have a good mind to go and talk to Christopher myself. Tell him what he’s missing if he lets you get away.”
“No! Don’t even think about it! It’s my life. And my decision.”
Several beats of silence ticked by as he scrutinized her. “I’m picking up some strange vibes here. Why do I sense there’s something you’re not telling me?”
“Because you’re naturally suspicious. It must go with the detective badge. I want you to promise me you’ll leave this alone.”
When he clamped his jaw shut, she shot him a warning look. “Promise, J.C.”
Heaving an exasperated sigh, he rubbed his neck. “You are one stubborn woman, you know that? Okay. Fine. I’ll stay out of it.”
“Good. Now go home to Heather. Enjoy your day while I get some more sleep.”
“The invitation is still open if you change your mind about joining us later.”
“Thanks.”
Closing the door, Marci wandered back to the bed. It had been difficult enough to drift off in the early dawn, despite her exhaustion. No way was she going to be able to go back to sleep now, in broad daylight.
After scrunching up the pillows, she propped them behind her and sat cross-legged on the bed. Even though she’d expected rejection after Christopher heard her story, it still hurt. Badly. But that was her own fault. She’d allowed herself to believe he might be able to overlook her yesterdays. To forgive her mistakes and love her for who she was today.
His reaction last night, however, had proven what a pipe dream that had been. She’d never be able to escape her past. It was part of who she was, and it always would be. Perhaps if she’d met an accountant or an engineer, or someone who didn’t have such a strong faith, things might have worked out better. Instead, she’d fallen for a doctor, a man committed to healing the sick and saving the unborn, whose faith was the guiding force in his life.
And if that was the kind of man who attracted her, the future looked bleak. Because based on Christopher’s reaction, his kind of man wouldn’t want anything to do with her kind of woman.
Overwhelmed by that depressing thought, Marci tried to take some consolation from the letter in her hand. At least she’d repaired her relationship with Nathan. If nothing else, her brothers would always be there for her. Heather, too, she reminded herself. She was grateful J.C.’s wife treated her like a sister.
Tearing open the envelope, she withdrew the single sheet of paper and scanned the note.
Hey, Sis. Hope this reaches you by Fourth of July. I’m looking forward to celebrating my own independence day in ten months and fourteen days. (Can you tell I’m counting?)
I had a letter from J.C. last week. He mentioned you were dating a doctor on the island. That was good news. Until our talks during your visits over the past year, I never realized how my bad advice twelve years ago had affected your life. I’ve been praying about that, seeking forgiveness for my role in your problems. And I’m beginning to find release from the guilt.
Here’s the thing, Marci. I know you feel guilty, too. And I wanted to encourage you to give it to the Lord, like I did. Let Him forgive you—and then forgive yourself. Even though none of us can change the past, I’ve come to believe that through prayer, we can build a better tomorrow.
You know how J.C. was after me for years to seek the Lord? Well, I’m glad I finally took his advice. It’s made a huge difference in my life. It could in yours, too. If this doctor is important to you, please don’t blow him off without giving the Lord a chance to touch his heart—and yours.
Take care of yourself, okay? And keep in touch.
It was signed, Love, Nathan.
Setting the letter in her lap, Marci closed her eyes. It would be wonderful to find the forgiveness Nathan spoke of. To let go of the pain and anguish that still had the power to twist her stomach into knots. But she’d never considered seeking absolution from God. She’d always felt she wasn’t good enough even to ask for that.
Yet Nathan had done bad things, too. And he’d established a relationship with the Lord.
Perhaps it was worth a try.
The service she’d attended with Christopher had been a good experience, Marci recalled. There, in that small church, she’d felt the presence of a power, a force, greater than herself. And she’d also
felt hope.
Rising, she tucked Nathan’s letter in her purse. There was a holiday service this morning at nine. Edith had mentioned it. While there was no way she could get there in time for that, she could slip into the church afterward and visit privately with the Lord.
And maybe—just maybe—He would give a prodigal daughter the guidance and comfort she desperately needed.
The welcome aroma of fresh-brewed coffee greeted Christopher as he stepped onto Henry’s back porch, bleary-eyed after his sleepless night. A shower and shave would help wake him up, but first he wanted to check on his neighbor.
Before he reached the door, Henry pushed it open. “Good morning. I saw you crossing the yard.” Her gave his visitor a keen perusal. “Grab a cup of coffee and we’ll sit a spell in the gazebo. You look like you could use a jolt of caffeine.”
“You’re right.” Christopher crossed the kitchen and pulled a mug from one of the hooks under the cabinet. “But I can’t say the same about you. You seem very perky this morning.”
“Haven’t slept that well since before I fell. Nothing like being in your own bed. Hospitals and rehab places aren’t very restful.”
“True.” Christopher filled his mug and rejoined Henry by the door. “Take hold of my arm while we cross the yard.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“And I want to keep it that way. You’re recovering from major surgery, Henry. No one’s as steady as usual after an operation. Use some extra caution for another couple of weeks.”
His neighbor took his arm. “You’re one smooth talker, you know that?”
Christopher’s gut clenched. “Not always.”
The older man squinted at him. “I’m not liking the sound of that. You aren’t going to tell me you couldn’t convince Marci to stay, are you?”
They’d arrived at the gazebo, and Christopher helped Henry step up to the platform. He waited to respond until they were both seated at the café table.