by Amy Wallace
Tom stopped near her and his harsh glare froze her heart. “It’s not over.”
Clint shoved Tom forward and into the patrol car, slamming the door.
Steven followed, head down, shoulders drooping. He ran his hands through his thick brown hair and stopped in front of the gas station.
She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, shaking. “Steven, I can’t believe you got him. He’s going to jail where he can’t escape, right?”
Steven didn’t look up. Didn’t move.
So she pulled back and cupped his face in her hands, making him turn his eyes to meet hers.
“I wanted to kill him, Gracie. In cold blood. I almost did.”
Rubbing his arms, she prayed for the right words. “But you didn’t, Steven. And you saved me.” She tried to smile.
He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’re okay?” He touched the bruise on her left cheek.
She flinched.
“We need to get you checked out at the hospital before we head home.” Steven put an arm around her shoulders and walked toward one of the police cars.
“Where’s the nearest hospital?”
A short, stocky officer motioned them over to his cruiser. “I’ll give you an escort there.” He looked Gracie over. “We’ll make sure they take the very best care of you too, ma’am.”
“The owners? Are they okay?” Gracie scanned the parking lot.
“Deputy took them to be checked out too. They’ll be okay, no doubt. But I reckon they’ll be home before we make it to the ER.”
“We’ll follow you over.” Steven’s voice was hollow, lifeless.
No one spoke the entire drive. And by the time they arrived at the little community hospital, Gracie had decided two things.
One, she had a piece of her mind to let loose on God the minute she had some time alone.
And two, she was going home to Atlanta again. Maybe for good.
Far away from haunted looks.
Far away from the smell of blood.
And as far away as she could run from anything related to guns.
39
Thanksgiving yesterday had come and gone in a total blur. Steven had wrapped up the Kensington case and handed it over for prosecution. He’d have to testify but that wouldn’t be for a while. As for today he was on vacation.
With nothing to do but fix chocolate chip pancakes for his son and wonder why Gracie wouldn’t take his calls.
Still, something was thawing inside.
Whisking the pancake batter, he checked the clock. James would be up soon.
Over Thanksgiving dinner, his dad’s prayers had included Steven, James, and Gracie. Angela too. Then his sister, Hanna, had hugged him and told him she’d missed him.
Steven had started to realize how much he missed himself too. The young man who had talked—and listened—to God. The man who had held his crying newborn boy and realized all life ultimately rested in God’s all-sufficient hands.
Not in Steven’s.
When had he forgotten? And when had he become a man who’d actually consider killing in cold blood?
“That’s not who you are, Steven.” Clint had spoken those words over and over the last few weeks. He’d also said that feelings weren’t truth. Maybe it was starting to sink in.
Steven poured batter onto the hot griddle and then pushed Play on his sister’s portable CD player. She’d insisted he borrow her favorite CD, Casting Crowns. He understood why as the third song hit him with utter clarity The words lined up with all Clint and Gracie had been trying to tell him. The passionate and smooth lyrics spoke of all the voices crying out, saying he’d never win.
Steven could relate. Even felt like the warriors quaking in their armor wishing for the strength to stand. But the words that registered the loudest brought to mind a mountain peak and watching an eagle fly right into the storm clouds and soar.
“Listen to the truth, Steven.” God’s voice came to him with the distinct Texas drawl of his best friend. Listen. To the voice of truth.
Then, as if to pen an exclamation point on the story being rewritten inside of him, the next song was titled, “Who Am I.” The answer was straight from his dad’s Old Testament teaching on Jeremiah and Isaiah. “I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have called you by name; you are Mine.”
No matter how long it took Steven to listen.
Little-boy steps hit the stairs running and interrupted his thoughts. Steven poured milk and set out the maple syrup.
“Hey, Dad!” James stopped at the table with wide eyes. “Wow, pancakes. Just like Grandpa fixes.”
Steven smiled. It felt good to be compared to his dad again. They sat at the table and Steven held out his hand. “Let’s pray.”
James blinked a few times before bowing his head.
“Lord, You are good and You are in control. Guide our hands and words today. Amen.”
His son inhaled the first plate of gooey chocolate pancakes and asked for more.
Steven flipped two more onto James’s plate and sat down. “Chew, James.” He ruffled his little boy’s still sleep-rumpled hair. “What say we go cut down a Christmas tree today?”
“Woo-hoo!” James shoved a sticky fist in the air.
“And take it over to your mom’s condo.”
“But she left weeks ago.” James sucked in his bottom lip. “And never called.”
“She’s at the condo packing it up to sell.” Steven knelt by his son’s chair. “I think we should take her a tree and let her know we’d like her to stay in our lives. She’s your mom, after all.”
James hugged his neck hard. “I love you, Daddy.” Big blue eyes searched his. “Does this mean it’s okay if I like her? I mean, if she stops drinking, then she can be my mommy?”
“I’m praying she’ll get the help she needs, son.” He picked up James. “And I think she will. She loves you. And she’s talking to some good counselors who help people deal with tough things.”
Wiggling out of his arms. James ran to the door and stopped. “I’ll get dressed fast. Then we can take the ornaments I made when I was little. Mom will like those, right?”
“Yes.”
Steven cleaned the kitchen and thought back over all the Christmases James had spent without a mom to bake cookies with or sing him carols at bedtime. Steven had tried, but there were things that moms did best. That huggy, mushy, soft stuff, wrapped in warm vanilla.
He wasn’t ready to give Angela overnights or school vacation weeks yet; she still had a lot of treatment ahead. But the time had come to let the past go, to move ahead. To try for peace in a challenging situation.
Angela had left him for another man, and he’d spent the better part of their marriage and the five years since trying to prove he was good enough. A man. But today he’d experienced the words he’d heard growing up at his dad’s knee.
God was the only One to whom he stood or fell. And He’d already paid for the fall so His children could stand. With Him. No matter what.
“Daddy! Let’s go get a tree!”
Bundled in warm jackets and wool hats, they left to find what Steven hoped would be the perfect bridge. A tree had served that purpose two thousand years ago.
Maybe it would again today.
“Hi, Mom! We brought you an early Christmas present.” James jumped around, totally missing his mother’s open-mouthed stare as they stood outside her expensive ground-floor condo.
Steven held his breath and kept the big, prickly tree standing upright.
“We want you to keep your house here so I can visit.” James looked back at him. “Daddy says we’ll work it out as we go.”
Angela knelt down and touched James’s coat sleeve.
“Please, will you stay?” James pointed to the tree Steven held. “I even brought my ornaments to decorate it.”
Angela smoothed her expensive black running suit and looked over their son’s head, meeting Steven’s eyes. Questions filled the silence between them.
“You’re his mom, Angela. We both want you to be part of his life.” He didn’t try to figure out the undefined parameters of this new journey. That could wait.
Today was for forging a new path.
She stood and opened the door wide. “Come on in. I think I have the perfect place for that beautiful tree.”
James ran next to the large stack of packing boxes and tore off his winter bundling. Gloves and scarves flew across the floor. At least there were no pictures or fragile things sitting out to break.
Angela touched his arm. “Thank you. This … this means more than you know.”
He nodded with a half smile. “So where would you like your tree?”
She pointed to an empty space beside the sliding glass doors and held the tree while he took off his coat. James helped him secure the tree in its base.
“Where’s Gracie?” Angela asked.
He searched for the right words. They were especially important in front of his son. “She’s had a rough couple of months, and she’s back in Atlanta taking it easy for a little while.”
Better to avoid the details of her kidnapping and that Steven didn’t know when or if she’d ever come back to Alexandria. He wanted to hold her in his arms again. Longed for it so much it hurt.
But this time, he’d pray.
Something he hadn’t done when he fell in love with Angela. He hadn’t waited much with his career either. Pushing, solving cases, depending on his own abilities—he’d forged ahead without much thought for God.
That was changing.
And so, he’d wait.
Because the best was always worth waiting for.
40
It wouldn’t snow in Georgia. Not in December.
It hadn’t for any of Gracie’s childhood. Except for three years ago. Looking forward to celebrating her seventh wedding anniversary she’d thought the snow was a sign of good things to come. Everything white and beautiful.
Now white reminded her of hospital sheets. Not beauty. Or hope.
She walked across the cemetery lawn under foreboding gray skies. Weather reports hinted at a possible snow flurry but she doubted it.
Her dad took her hand and stopped next to a bare maple tree swaying in the wind. “Honey you know we love you and we’ve enjoyed having you home for Thanksgiving. Beth too, and the twins.”
Gracie tried to smile. It had been good to be around little ones over the holidays. Then again, it also increased the ache inside to have what her baby sister had—children. A strong sense of family Laughter. Hope and a future.
Beth’s live-in boyfriend had even hinted at a ring for Christmas.
Something Gracie would never have again.
If she was really honest, what hurt the most wasn’t the past. Though memories of the man who killed her family still haunted her. What hurt to the core was a fear of the future. Fear that she couldn’t handle the life Steven represented. Guns and danger. That he could die on any one of his assignments. And yet she missed him with a longing that took her breath away.
“Remember your moms wise words: ‘Face the past and you’ll find your dreams for the future.’” With a kiss on her head, her dad left her to her thoughts and made his way to the other side of the grounds to visit his mother’s grave site.
Gracie sat between the headstones marking her husband and children’s resting places. The wind whipped the loose hair around her face, and she pulled her leather coat tighter.
She fingered the velvet petals of the white and red roses she’d chosen for today Similar flowers had graced her family’s markers every month she’d lived in Atlanta. Mark had always brought home red and white roses on special occasions. Red for the fierce love he felt for them and white for the purity he saw when he looked at Elizabeth and Joshua.
“I miss you so much.” Tears stung her eyes as she fingered the lettering of their names.
Elizabeth Anne Lang. Dearly loved daughter of Mark and Gracie Lang. Resting in the arms of Jesus. Little roses decorated the words carefully chosen during the darkest days of her life.
Joshua Allen Lang. Dearly loved son of Mark and Gracie Lang. Resting in the arms of Jesus. Simple strands of metal ribbon flowed around the words.
It was almost more than her heart could handle. But she put the two small bouquets of roses on each of their headstones.
“Mommy loves you.” She fingered the gold locket, tiny and cold in her coat pocket. Then she moved to the next headstone.
Mark Richard Lang. Dearly loved husband of Gracie Lang. Resting in the arms of Jesus. A simple cross and Bible flanked the words.
Gracie placed the last and largest bouquet of flowers in the heavy vase at the base of Mark’s headstone. Turning over the heavy container and dusting the cobwebs from it had provided a measure of distraction to regain her composure.
She stood and wiped her hands together. The roses were vibrant against the bleak sky She took a deep breath and returned to her children’s grave markers. “So much has happened since last year. In spite of … everything, my job is wonderful. The children remind me of the joy I had being your mommy I miss you. I miss hearing your sweet voices.”
Gracie strained hard to hear the faint sound of her memories. Two little voices singing in church choirs and on long car rides became clearer. ‘Jesus lob me, dis I no.’ A slight smile turned her cheeks upward. She’d loved to sing along with her precious little ones. Her throat stung with unsung choruses, and her arms ached with shadow memories of holding her two little babies.
“I still have the locket you gave me for Christmas.” She rubbed the delicate gold oval now resting in her hand. Placing a kiss on her fingertips, she touched Elizabeth and Joshua’s names again.
It was time to say good-bye, but she would always hold them in her heart.
She moved to her husband’s headstone. “Mark, I miss you more than I can put into words.”
Gracie pictured his gentle eyes caressing her. She could almost feel his thick blond hair beneath her fingertips. In her mind’s eye, she traced his smooth face and muscled arms. She had never loved or been so deeply loved in her life.
She wiped her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time and then wrapped her arms around her knees. So much had happened in the last five months. Meeting Steven. Getting shot. Then getting kidnapped. Learning the identity of the man who had killed her family the one who’d tried to kill her too.
Looking up into the sky she recalled her mom’s words about facing the past and finding her dreams. Words she’d run from. Until now. Today they’d caught up to her. And she was too tired to keep up the grueling pace of fear.
“Step into God’s arms and spill out what you’ve believed about yourself—that you’re helpless, abandoned—and admit you’ve lived trying to prove those lies aren’t real instead of receiving what God says about you. Let yourself feel His forgiveness. And then listen to His truth.”
Was it really that easy?
She’d known God’s comforting arms many times. But this time, telling Him what He already knew and she didn’t want to admit, felt awkward. Like a teenager’s first date.
“Mom’s right. I know You know that. Daddy.” Wouldn’t Mom love to hear this? “I felt abandoned by You for a long time. By my family, too, even though it wasn’t their fault. And I still feel totally helpless.”
She rested her forehead on her knee. “I couldn’t get justice for my family by finding the man who killed them. But he found me and tried to kill me. He almost succeeded too. Because even after two chances, I couldn’t figure out how to escape.”
Anger heated her face and coursed through her limbs.
“I hate feeling helpless. Useless. I don’t know why You still want me to talk to You. I can’t do anything right. I can’t even hear the truth Mom said You’d speak to me.”
Hot tears forced themselves over her eyelids, and she flicked them away.
A picture of Elizabeth as a newborn, wailing in her crib, filled Gracie’s mind. As helpless a
s a newborn. The old saying felt like it’d been spoken over her shoulder.
She knelt and looked around, but no one else braved the cemetery on December’s first cold Saturday morning. Pulling her coat tighter, she studied Elizabeth’s gravestone.
She’d never thought of her children as helpless. Not in a bad way anyway. They simply needed her and she took care of them. Loved them. Took joy in holding them.
That’s how I love you.
Little shivers ran down her arms.
As a mother comforts her child, as she gently cares for her little ones, so I will care for you.
Truth. This was what her mother had meant by listening to God’s truth. Too full for words, she looked up into the sky again. Only this time, joy slipped inside and took root deep in her heart.
A chilly breeze rustled the trees. And the sky blew out a few little drops of rain. She stood and let the blood return to her numb legs.
Her mom’s words about facing the past and finding her dreams finally made sense.
The gentle love of a mother to her newborn baby—God’s love for her—chased away the fear and left in its place a tentative excitement about the future.
There was one thing she had to do first, though, before stepping into that future. A part of her heart was still bolted shut. She wasn’t totally sure how to turn the lock and open it wide.
But now she had the key. And God’s loving arms surrounding her, comforting, caring, and spurring her to step ahead and leave the consequences in His able hands.
She pulled her leather coat around her and headed toward her dad’s warm car. The rain had stopped, but as she brushed the newest wet drops off of her sleeve, she noticed something that made her smile.
The rain had a few tiny snowflakes mixed in.
Gracie parked her parents’ Navigator and stared at the huge flag fluttering in front of a large, dreary gray building. The thick barbed wire of the familiar police headquarters next door did nothing to encourage her feet forward.
She rubbed the arms of her down jacket and put one tennis-shoed foot ahead of the other. Crossing the full parking lot, she walked through the double doors and into a large space with a few fake potted trees here and there and rows of plastic chairs dotting its perimeter. Tall windows streamed sunlight into the open waiting room.