by Amy Miles
It was her smile that got him in the end. Grade school grudges soon turned into silly antics, vying for her attention. Later he suffered sweaty palms and an unsettled stomach as he worked up the nerve to ask her to the prom. He never dreamed that Abigail Renalt would one day accept his hand in marriage not long after leaving school, but it was the happiest day of his life. Timothy used to be able to think about their lengthy past and smile, but these days it’s just too painful.
Timothy sighs and tucks his leg under as he sits on the bottom step of the altar at his church. He hasn’t spent nearly enough time here recently. He’d like to say it’s due to his crazy work schedule, but the truth is…he’s afraid.
Afraid of facing the pain head on. Of finally admitting that Abby is lost to him. He is terrified of the thought that there is a chance for a future without her.
Looking up at the wooden cross that hangs just above the baptismal, Timothy can feel the familiar ache in his chest. Nearly a year since he laid Abby to rest, and he still feels on the brink of a panic attack every time he thinks about hearing the news for the first time.
Life altering. Shattering pain. These words hardly come close to the desolation he felt when the truth sank in that she was gone forever. Hanging his head, Timothy allows the tears to come as he thinks about the fact that he never got the chance to say goodbye, to tell her he loved her one more time. Usually he fights against the tears, tries to ignore their presence, but today he lets them fall. That is why he’s here after all, isn’t it?
“I guess you know I’m still trying to figure things out, huh?” he asks the empty room. The sunlight that filters down through the stained glass windows is far warmer than what he felt while trudging here through the blustery winds that fought to hold him back from his mission. Winter has arrived and with it a sense of impending doom and no small amount of gloom. Can it really have been a year ago today?
He supposes he should have gone to her graveside instead of the church, taken her a bunch of flowers or something, but it didn’t feel right. His wife isn’t there. Not really.
“I know that I can talk to you whenever I want to,” he begins but is forced to pause and clear his throat. It tightens on him, constricting his words. “It’s not like it used to be, though. I remember when we would sit on the front porch for hours, just chatting about nothing at all while we watched the thunderheads build out to sea. Half the time I never even knew what you were talking about. Something about your day at work or some new project you were going to be helping out with here at the church probably.”
“I just liked to hear you talk. Always did.” He wipes away fresh tears. “I miss your voice. Some days, when I first wake, I can almost remember what it sounded like. Others I’ll catch a hint of flowers on the air that remind me of your perfume. You always did smell nice.”
Timothy sinks off the step and leans over the stair, pressing his forehead to the carpet. “I miss you, Abby, more than I ever thought possible. You took a part of me with you when you left.”
His lips grow moist with the salty tears that roll down his cheeks and chin. “I spent those first few months working. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you,” he chuckles weakly. “I always hid behind my work. As long as I was busy all was right with the world.”
Fists clench beside his head as anger begins to simmer low in his belly at the thought of all of the hours he spent on the job when he could have been home. Back then he’d been a fool. Money had meant everything to him. Making sure they had a good home, a decent car, and a business that could hold its head above water. He felt responsible for so many things back then.
Now he knows there is so much more to life than work. Than seeking after things that you can’t take with you once you pass on. Time, that’s what I would wish for if given the chance. Time to lie in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, and enjoy a late morning. Time to finish the house renovations. Time to take the honeymoon I could never find time to take. Time to spend with our unborn child.
He has never wanted to blame Abby for keeping this secret, choosing instead to believe that there simply hadn’t been enough time for him to hear of her pregnancy. The doctor said she was only four months along at the time of the accident. Maybe she didn’t even know herself.
He unclenches his fists and wipes his nose as he lifts his face and stares up at the cross. “Would our child have been a son? You know I always wanted one, don’t you, Abby? We used to dream of creating a nursery together, of buying clothes and books and gobs of toys that he would never need, but we’d do it anyways because it’s what excited parents do.”
His voice breaks and his shoulders slump. “I lost more than just you that night,” he whispers.
A footstep on the carpet behind him startles Timothy. He whirls around to find Justin standing several feet back, his hands clasped atop his cane. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Timothy wipes at his eyes and rises. “No, it’s fine. I was just rambling, really.”
Justin gives him a look of understanding and motions toward the pews. “Would you mind if I sit with you for a while?”
He pushes up off the step and sinks down onto the front pew, moving aside a box of tissues and a stack of song books so that Justin can sit. The pastor sinks down slowly, groaning as he falls the final foot. “I keep thinking that’s going to get easier but I feel as stiff as an old log.”
“Jonas might even say you look like one,” Timothy says with a pained smile. He wipes at his eyes, embarrassed to have been seen crying.
“I reckon he just might.” Justin turns his gaze upon the cross and breathes out slowly. “It’s a tough thing to lose a loved one.”
Timothy glances over at him. “You sound like you know that first hand.”
“I do.” Timothy notices lines of weariness around his eyes. Justin is hardly a year or two older than Timothy yet there are initial signs of gray hairs beginning to crop up along his sideburns. “My parents were both taken from me at a young age. I don’t really talk about it much. My grandmother was a wonderful lady. She raised me from the time they died. I credit her unshakeable faith for helping me work through the pain.”
“Does it ever get easier?”
“No.” Justin turns in his seat to look at Timothy. “It just changes. What was once a stabbing pain that would take my breath away became a dull ache. In time, I was able to enjoy the memories that we shared, but pain never truly heals. It is always a part of us, though it evolves and what once felt like misery can become something healing.”
Timothy looks down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap but says nothing. He can feel the pastor’s gaze on him before Justin speaks. “What brought you here today, Tim?”
“It’s the one year anniversary.”
“I know, but I suspect there is more to it than that.”
Timothy blows out a weighted sigh that he feels like he’s been holding for months. “Hannah’s foot twitched yesterday.”
“That’s wonderful news!” Justin says with genuine delight. Timothy knows that Justin has been praying hard for her recovery.
He nods in agreement but feels none of his excitement over this new development. “She will be leaving soon. I’m sure her parents will see to it that she is sent back home…”
“And you don’t want her to leave,” Justin finishes for him.
“No…and yes.” He runs his hand through his wavy hair, feeling small tangles the winds created during his trip from the car. “I’m confused. I care for Hannah, probably more than I should, but I feel like revealing that information to her would be betraying Abby.”
“Ah,” Justin scratches his jaw. “I figured something like this would come up.”
“You’ve experienced this one too?”
The pastor chuckles. “No, not personally, but I’ve been a preacher for enough years to know that this is pretty typical after a death of a spouse.”
“I wish I could say I find comfort in that, but now I just feel sorry
for those other guys.”
Justin smiles and pats Timothy on the arm. “Let me ask you this…do you think Abby would want you to be happy?”
“Of course she would.”
“And do you think she would have liked Hannah if she’d had a chance to get to know her?”
Timothy lowers his head and smiles. “They would have been great friends.”
“And do you believe that Hannah is someone that you can trust to protect your heart? To show you respect and honor you, even if things get hard?”
“I don’t see how things could get much worse than what we’ve been through together these past few months. She’s amazing. I wish that I could have half her faith and a double dose of her optimism.”
When Justin says nothing, Timothy lifts his head to see the man grinning back at him. “What?”
“She completes you. Do you honestly think that is by mistake?”
Timothy leans back, pressing against the pew. Although there is a cushion against his back, the seat is firm wood beneath him. “I never really thought about that.”
“Well, perhaps now is a good time to.”
“But what if she doesn’t feel the same way about me? She’s been spending a lot of time with Draven Young at the hospital…”
“And why is it that you feel inferior to him?”
Timothy shifts in his seat. He has never been one to really care about looks. Money no longer holds any sway over him, but what if Hannah is drawn to that? He’d like to think that her kind heart is not tainted by greed but it’s a possibility. Is he really willing to put himself out there, to bare his heart and risk being crushed again?
The thought of that happening turns his stomach, but the thought of losing her completely makes him feel empty, as if returning to his barren home one more time might bury him in loneliness.
“I can’t lose her,” he whispers.
“Then don’t. Tell her how you really feel.”
Timothy looks up at the cross. “Do you think Abby will forgive me?”
Justin clasps Timothy’s arm and smiles. “How do you know she’s not the one who helped prepare the way for Hannah to come into your life in the first place? God always has a plan, even when we are too blind to see it.”
NINETEEN
All for Love
Draven stares out his bedroom window, not seeing the sunlight that peers around the spotty clouds high in the sky or the gulls that swoop low on the wind currents. He doesn’t hear the waves crashing in the distance through his partially opened window. Doesn’t feel the cold that settles into the recesses of his room.
He is lost in thought, just as he has been for several days.
He misses Hannah and that upsets him. He doesn’t want to miss her, to miss spending time helping her, rooting for her even though the odds are not in her favor. The past two weeks have been empty and dark but also strangely enlightening. His feelings for Hannah have finally become clear, though it’s probably too late now.
His stepfather came to see him the night he broke Hannah out. The storm clouds were already well along in their development when Kevin walked in, but when he found Draven curled on top of his covers, tears rolling down his cheeks, his stepfather just sat beside him.
Neither of them spoke. They didn’t really need to.
Draven has never been one to share his pain. Not the pain of being abandoned by his real dad. Of feeling neglected by his mother after she and Kevin got married and she became enraptured with her new husband, leaving Draven to fend for himself far more than a young boy should. Nor the pain of knowing a grave secret, unable to tell anyone the truth, to lighten his load.
He has spent a year trying to forget the night of the accident. To push it aside and move on with his life, but he can’t. Nightmares plague him, driving him to the point where alcohol and a girl in his bed can only seek to numb the pain, but at least it is something.
Hannah took it all away. She made him feel like he could be someone special, someone worthy of trust. Someone who wasn’t a murderer. A man who could still see life as half full instead of trickling out through a crack in the bottom of the cup that he can’t seal, no matter how hard he tries.
Now she is gone…and it’s all his fault.
He’s wondered countless times over the past couple of weeks if he would have still taken Hannah to that church, even knowing that he would be bombarded with guilt, and the honest answer is yes. He would and that’s what scares him.
Draven excels at looking out for number one, of avoiding sensitive topics, and hiding from life when it gets in his face. Church is certainly the last place he should have been, and yet didn’t he feel an odd longing to be there when he heard Hannah praying?
He clenches his arms tightly around his knees, rocking to his side to ease the tension on his tailbone. The window seat may be comfortable but not for hours on end. He’s spent an awful lot of time looking out this window recently, and he has come to the conclusion that his backyard is painfully dull.
The swimming pool is drained. All of the beach loungers are packed away. The once lush green grass is brown. The small cottage-like shed at the back of the yard is padlocked for winter. Everything looks abandoned, dreary.
I thought all I wanted was to be alone, but isn’t that what I’ve been all along? Surrounded by a room full of people I once called friends and feeling completely on my own?
Draven presses his forehead to the cool pane of glass before him. It’s easier that way. Letting people in means you care and that only leads to disappointment.
He frowns. Or does it?
He can count on one hand the number of true friends he’s had in his life, and even then he’d probably have a few spare fingers left over. Hannah is the best thing that has ever happened to him and he blew it.
She probably assumes that it’s all her fault. This thought makes him feel lower than before. He never wanted to cause Hannah any pain. Knowing that he has is unforgiveable.
A knock sounds at his door but he doesn’t look away from the window. “I told you I’m not hungry, Martha.”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
A flare of hope ripples through him as he turns toward the door. Could it be Hannah? Would Kevin bring her to see him?
No. He knows that even though his stepfather has silently watched Draven’s withdrawal, he would never break hospital protocol. It’s not in his nature to do so. That’s what makes him the best man for his job.
“Who is it?”
“A young man. Says he’s a friend of yours.”
Draven frowns. None of his friends have even called to find out why he’s been missing from the meager nightlife that the Outer Banks has to offer. “Did he give you a name?”
“Timothy, I believe he said,” she calls through the door. His eyebrows hike high with surprise. What could he possibly want?
“Should I send him away?”
“No.” Draven glances down at his shirt and wrinkles his nose with disgust. His jawline is heavily stubbled. His hair is flat against his head instead of spiked as usual. His clothes are rumpled and a day old. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be down.”
He listens to Martha’s shoes squeak on the hard wood floor as she descends. In the distance, he can hear murmuring as she speaks with his guest. Draven is curious but hesitant about this impromptu arrival. The last time they spoke did not go so well. Would this time be any different?
Slipping into clean clothes, he runs his fingers through his ruffled hair and decides this is the best it’s going to get on such short notice. He heads downstairs and discovers Timothy standing beside a window in the foyer.
“It’s not like Martha to leave a guest waiting out here,” he says.
Timothy turns. “She offered but I politely declined.”
“Not planning on staying long?”
He watches the other man’s expression closely. A brief tightening in the skin around his eyes. A momentary pursing of his lips but nothing more.
> “I came to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Draven sinks down onto a wooden bench seat his mother insisted on placing near the door for this very reason. The pillows are bold in color and stuffed near to bursting, but they are comfortable enough for him to lounge against, appearing far more comfortable than he really is.
“Yes,” Timothy nods. He looks grave and if Draven is not mistaken, very uncomfortable. Hannah’s friend seems unwilling to meet his gaze for longer than a few seconds. “I know that what I said at the church the other day was upsetting for you. I never meant to do that. Nor did I mean to cause a problem between you and Hannah. I know how much she…she cares for you.”
A hint of a smile tugs at Draven’s lips as he nods. “The feeling is mutual.”
He stares at Timothy, noting the tensing of his hands at his sides. His legs are parted nearly shoulder width apart. He appears as tight as a newly spun coil. “But not nearly as much as she cares for you, I suspect.”
At that, Timothy looks up. Draven smiles as his eyes widen. “It’s no secret that you care for her, Timothy. Anyone can see it.”
The man swallows with great difficulty. His lips part to speak, but he seems at a loss for words. Draven rises and approaches to close the gap between them. “There was a time when I was interested in Hannah, for more than just friendship. I’ll admit that I wasn’t overly fond of hearing her stories of the times you would spend with her but I could always hear it in her voice—that awe that a girl gets when she is smitten.”
Timothy scoffs. “I reckon you’re mistaken there.”
“Am I?” Draven crossing his arms in front of him. “And am I mistaken about your feelings about her as well?”
His guest glances away, effortlessly answering Draven’s question. He takes a step forward and feels Timothy tense. “I care deeply for Hannah, but there is nothing between us. I promise you that.”