“Is it?”
“Maybe I’m simply a terrible person.”
Julia shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’ve had the scales ripped from your eyes. The question is; what are you going to do now?”
Chapter Fourteen
Nate dropped into the metal folding chair in the basement of the church. He’d taken the last empty seat. A full house. The number of people attending the Families With Cancer Support Group ebbed and flowed according to the members’ needs. Every seat filled meant a bad week had been had all around.
A stout older man with a balding head leaned closer. “How are you holding up, Nate?”
Nate sighed.
David Connor interpreted the gust of air as only a man whose wife was battling breast cancer could. The older man laid a strong but gentle hand on Nate’s shoulder. “That bad, huh? You’ve come to the right place.”
Nate forced himself out of his own dark hole and held out a hand to the man who’d taken on the role of father in the last couple years. “How is Olivia?”
“She’s—” He hesitated and something shifted in his brown eyes.
“What?” Nate asked, his pulse kicking up a notch. “Not bad news?”
David’s gaze softened. “No. Good news. She’s in remission.”
Happiness soothed the racing beat in his chest. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“It seems almost cruel to rejoice about our good fortune when your mother—” Again David stopped the thought.
“My mother would be the first to thank God for Sylvia’s recovery,” Nate said. “As far as I’m concerned, anyone who can beat this monster called cancer does it for all of us.”
David’s eyes filled, and he squeezed Nate’s shoulder. “You do your mother proud, son.”
Nate’s throat closed, and he blinked to clear his own vision. He shuffled his feet, trying to compose himself before he ended up bawling like a baby in front of the entire room.
Of course, bawling happened to be a common occurrence during these meetings. Especially once Seth Graham went to work.
The minister started the meeting with prayer. “Lord Jesus, descend on this room right now. We come to You for our strength. We look to You for comfort and guidance. Shower Your blessings on everyone here and show us Your mercy. In Your name. Amen.”
Seth surveyed the room, making eye contact with each man and woman. His gaze stopped on a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties. Nate started when he recognized the newcomer. He’d painted the guy’s house last year.
“We have a new guest tonight,” Seth said. “This is Brett.”
“Hi, Brett,” they all chorused.
Seth leaned forward. “Brett, do you feel like sharing?”
The man cleared his throat. “Not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
“Take your time,” Seth said.
“My daughter Kendra—” He blew out a breath and coughed. “She has… leukemia. She’s only five.”
The news slammed into Nate like a Mack truck. Little Kendra. He remembered her, too. She had the most amazing Shirley Temple curls. She used to ride a purple tricycle up and down the street every afternoon. He’d taught her how to paint the siding on the house.
Brett swiped his eyes. “We’ve had the whole family tested, and no one is a match. Not even her cousins. Some kind of rare blood marker. We’re gonna be heading down to Jackson Hospital in Miami next week. Rachelle will stay with Kendra while she’s getting treatment and waiting to find a donor match. I’ll have to fly down on weekends. I can’t be away from work indefinitely.”
Seth steepled his fingers together. “I bet you’re feeling guilty because you won’t be with Kendra and Rachelle every day.”
Brett let out a short, desperate laugh. “One more thing to feel guilty about, you mean. I can’t help thinking I could have stopped this. Maybe we didn’t give her enough milk, or maybe we gave her milk with chemicals and hormones. Did she get enough vegetables? Kendra’s a picky eater. Should I have pushed her to eat the green stuff? Was she around smoke?”
A woman to Brett’s left spoke. “No one knows what causes some cancers. It’s not your fault.”
“Thank you, Marianne,” Seth said.
“But I’m her father,” Brett said. “I’m supposed to protect her.”
“You are protecting Kendra,” Seth said. “You’re going to the best hospital you can find. You’re working hard so you can have insurance to help pay for treatments. You’re here.”
“I’ve never been able to get my husband to come to a meeting,” another woman across the circle said. “He says he can handle our son having Hodgkin’s lymphoma on his own.”
Seth nodded. “Yes, Annabelle, I think men often find it harder to let themselves feel pain or fear. I know I wanted to bury my head in the sand when my wife was battling her disease.”
Brett put his face in his hands and wept. Marianne reached over and rubbed his back.
Nate swiped his eyes and fought back a roiling anger. The pain of losing his mother couldn’t begin to compare to what it would feel like to lose a child. What could God be thinking? What possible purpose could be served by taking little Kendra? Nate started to wish he hadn’t come tonight. He’d hoped to find comfort. Instead, he wanted to hit something.
Seth took in the circle again. “Anger is natural. You want to rail at God. Curse him.”
Nate caught his breath. How did the preacher always know what they were thinking?
Seth sat up and folded his arms. “I’ve been there, ladies and gentlemen. The truth is death is unnatural. We were created as eternal beings, but because of the fall from grace we were all punished with death. Our only hope is we know there is an eternity. It’s just not here on earth. Our lives are nothing but a moment, but we’ll be in God’s presence always.”
An enormous African American man on Nate’s right stirred. “Tonight, I don’t care squat about eternity. My Bonnie is losing all her hair and throwing up her insides. She won’t let me touch her. I can’t comfort my own wife. Where is our loving God when her head is hanging over a toilet?”
“God is in you, Wally,” Seth said. “Bonnie may not be able to accept your comfort, but she knows you’re there.”
Wally’s hands clenched around the metal seat, and a vein throbbed at his temple. “So what?” he spat. “What good is my being there if Bonnie still dies? What good is my faith then? I can pray and beg God for mercy, and He still might not listen.”
“God listens,” David said. “I’ve heard Him more powerfully since Olivia got sick than ever before.”
“Good for you,” Wally retorted, aiming dark, anger-filled eyes in David’s direction. “God’s gone pretty silent in my world. Seems He’s gone quiet in Brett’s life, too. It’s not enough my Bonnie might have to go, but a little girl? A defenseless baby?”
Pastor Seth shot to the edge of his seat. “Wally, do you believe God loves you? Do you believe He loves Bonnie?”
Wally blinked. “I guess.”
“Not, you guess. Yes or no? Do you believe He loved you and Bonnie enough that He sent his only son to die for you both?”
Wally’s big hands shook as he rubbed his head. “I want to believe, Pastor. I want more than anything to believe, but I gotta’ tell you if God takes my Bonnie, I’m not sure—” He choked back a sob, and with a dark curse he sprang out of his seat with enough force to send the metal chair clattering to the floor. The clanging still echoed in the room when the door slammed shut a moment later.
Nate felt the vibration in his soul. Knew the same fury and helplessness.
Seth took a deep breath. “I’ll visit with Wally later, but I suspect all of you feel like knocking a chair across the room. I did my own share of tearing things up when Beth was sick, but I want you to hear me and listen—” He paused and made eye contact with everyone once more. “Be scared. Be angry if you need to be. We are in a relationship with God, and just like in any relationship, there are storms. I’m engaged to the most incredible
woman I could imagine, but sometimes she makes me want to strangle her.”
A ripple of surprised laughter rolled out around the room in a gentle wave.
“Julia is not God. She’s not perfect, but He is. He knows what we need before we even conjure up the idea. He knows what Wally desires, what you, Brett, and Marianne and Annabelle and David and Nate need. We get frustrated because we can’t see the plan. We don’t know why our children, our spouses, our parents, get sick. We don’t know why some of them have to leave us, and we get angry. Anger is understandable. It’s human, but you must all hold on to God’s promise. Because if you let go of hope, then you will be lost.”
Nate tried to take in Seth’s words. Wanted to hold fast to the truth in them, but right now his faith was stretched thin like a wire and he didn’t know if he could hang on anymore.
Chapter Fifteen
Emily liked causes. They gave her something to fight for. A purpose. A needed distraction from the almost obsessive focus on her newfound character flaws. So, when she was asked to join a committee to help raise funds for a new roof for the library, Emily jumped at the offer.
The other members of the committee included Miss Elsie, Seth Graham, which made Emily wonder if the minister was required to be on every committee in town, Lauren Nelson from the bookstore, Catherine Manning, the mayor’s wife, who surveyed the room and its occupants as if she were wondering how they’d come to be breathing the same air as her. Addison’s fiancé Ethan Thomas, and two English teachers from the high school — Marjorie Shannon, a fortyish woman with red-gold hair and freckles, and Andrew Laughton who taught British Lit — rounded out the group.
Andrew Laughton even possessed a British accent, along with an abundance of charm, which Emily discovered when he raised her hand to his lips as they were introduced. He placed a brief kiss on her knuckle, and a lock of ink black hair fell over his forehead, while penetrating blue eyes regarded her with frank masculine appreciation.
Good grief, Lord Byron had come back to life. Emily studied the odd assortment of people who made up the committee and began to assign each a role. In addition to Byron, they had a Miss Marple (Miss Elsie), a Prince Valiant (Seth), the White Witch (Mrs. Manning), Gatsby (Ethan Thomas), a grownup Laura Ingalls (Marjorie Shannon), and Lizzie Bennett (Lauren Nelson).
Miss Elsie tried to lead the meeting, but Catherine Manning took over the proceedings before the older woman finished her hello and thank you for coming introduction. Since no one wanted to get into a tussle with the mayor’s wife, they let her.
“A charity auction is the best way to raise enough funds,” she said, her gimlet eye sweeping around the table like a hawk searching for a hapless mouse in a field. Clearly, anyone who objected would do so at his or her own peril.
“The bachelor auction at the spring carnival was quite the affair,” Andrew Laughton said, ignoring the real threat that he could be dive bombed and carried off in Mrs. Manning’s sharp talons at any second.
The mayor’s wife rounded on him with a ferocious scowl. “We will not be selling men at my auction. We do not make a habit of trafficking human beings in Covington Falls.”
“I found Addison through that auction,” Ethan Thomas said. “I have fond memories of it.”
Sparks shot from her dark eyes. “No people. We will sell high-quality items. Antiques, vacations, services such as house maintenance, gourmet meals, that sort of thing.”
Boy, Mrs. Manning sure did work herself up into a passion. Emily thought she saw spittle fly from the woman’s mouth. She glanced at the man who’d started the fireworks. Andrew winked and put a finger to his lips in a shhh gesture.
Startled, Emily burst out laughing.
Her merriment evaporated when she found herself in the cross hairs.
“Did you have something to add, Miss Sinclair?” Mrs. Manning asked, one pencil-drawn quirked eyebrow letting Emily know she too was seconds away from being disemboweled.
Emily gulped. Good grief. If the woman raced into battle with that expression, even hardened warriors would fall back into full retreat.
“No, I think an auction would be nice,” Emily said. “In fact, I’ll put up the first item. The first printed copy of Kingdom of Dreams. Signed of course.”
“Is it worth a lot?”
Worth a lot? Emily fought the urge to reach across the table and snatch the hair from Mrs. Manning’s head. Arrogant cow.
“Miss Sinclair’s offer is more than generous,” Pastor Seth said in an even tone meant to restore order.
Even the mayor’s wife took the hint. She nodded and flashed a vote-for-me half smile. “We’re grateful to be sure.”
Okay, the mystery of why Prince Valiant had been named to the committee became clear. Holy men had powers to quiet even the foulest of beasts.
“A signed, original E.J. Sinclair will bring an excellent price, I’m sure,” Marjorie Shannon piped up.
Especially if E.J. never found her inspiration again, Emily mused.
“The tome will be a collector’s item for certain,” Andrew added. “Particularly when the people of our fair town have made her acquaintance and have come to realize how utterly charming she is in real life.”
Every head swiveled around. Emily should have gotten used to being embarrassed by now, but still she fought the rising tide of heat in her cheeks without success. When the committee returned to duty, she shot Byron a peeved glance. The cheeky pot-stirrer grinned at her.
“Getting back to the duty at hand,” Catherine Manning said. “We will have to set a date and begin collecting auction items. Someone will need to be in charge.”
Andrew braved censure again and raised his hand like any proper schoolboy.
“Yes, Mr. Laughton?” Mrs. Manning asked, ice returning to her voice.
His smile widened. “I nominate your more-than-capable self to head such a monumental challenge.”
“Second,” Ethan Thomas said without missing a beat.
Mrs. Manning hesitated. “Oh… I am flattered, of course, but my duties as mayor’s wife preclude me from—”
Then Miss Elsie, in a rare moment of gumption, cut in. “All in favor of Catherine Manning heading up the auction say aye.”
“Aye!” the room chorused as one.
Miss Elsie beamed. “Bless you, Catherine. Talk about generosity. We will, of course, assist you any way we can. Now, shall we discuss possible dates?”
Check. And mate.
Emily covered her mouth to hide a grin. Catherine Manning hadn’t bargained on having to work at anything, which was why Andrew had cornered her into the job, of course. Their eyes met again, and she tipped an imaginary hat in his direction. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. As the meeting continued and dates flew around the room, Emily settled back to watch. At one point, something hit her in the arm. Startled, she looked down to find a folded piece of paper on the table. She picked it up.
Join me for coffee after we’ve solved the pressing problem of the library roof? —A
Emily’s pulse sped up. Who wouldn’t be flattered at such an invitation? She caught Andrew’s eye and nodded.
Once the meeting concluded, Emily waited around until everyone cleared out. Andrew went to the door and then jerked his head, indicating he’d meet her outside. She found him in the parking lot. He was leaning against her car and grinning like a kid who’d made off with stolen candy.
“The Old Diner is a short walk,” he said. “Or would you rather drive?”
Emily took in the clear blue sky. “Walk.”
He fell in step beside her.
“Of course you realize the White Witch had no intention of volunteering anything except her opinion,” Emily said.
He gave her a bemused glance. “White Witch?”
“From The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Mrs. Manning reminded me of her.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “How appropriate, and yes, I knew exactly her intention. Women like Mrs. Manning always want to rule the peasant
s and make them do the actual work while they take all the credit.”
“It was a neat trick.”
“Tell me, E.J. Sinclair, did you come up with nicknames for all our committee brethren?”
Emily coughed.
“Ah, you did,” he said. “Even me?”
She nodded.
“I’m curious,” he said.
“Byron, of course, as though you’ve never heard the comparison before.”
His eyes twinkled. “Oh, surely. What about the rest? Our lovebirds, Pastor Graham and the principal, Ethan Thomas?”
“Prince Valiant and Gatsby.”
He nodded. “Hmm, yes, I see it. The ladies? Don’t tell which name applies to each. Let me guess.”
Emily played along. “Miss Marple, Laura Ingalls, and Lizzie Bennett.”
He stopped for a moment. He didn’t even bother to guess. “Amazing. What shall we call you then, Miss Sinclair? You must have an alter ego.”
“I already have one,” she said. “She writes books about fairies.”
“So you do.”
At the diner, Andrew held the door open and ushered her inside with a gallant bow and wave. She ordered coffee and blueberry pie. He reverted to his heritage and ordered tea, but acceded to her choice of pie.
He honored their waitress with a smile when she returned with their order. The kind of smile a rogue of old must have used as he climbed through a bedroom window to visit his lady love. The waitress responded as any innocent damsel would. With pink cheeks and stammering tongue. Judging from the woman’s response, she would not have been averse to a secret tryst.
Emily watched his performance with amusement and a touch of awe. “I think you enjoy reveling in your reputation as a modern day Lord Byron,” she said as soon as the waitress drifted away.
“I enjoy making a lady feel beautiful,” he responded, as he stirred cream in his tea. He glanced up through thick, dark lashes. “I enjoy watching a woman laugh. Seeing a spark appear in her tired eyes. Besides, I find a little extra attention can make a woman’s day. Our poor waitress might have faced complaining customers or been slighted in her tips. Now, she has something more pleasant to think on.”
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