Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  Mom had been gone for almost twenty years. What had Nana been thinking?

  “E said it was hard to get her home. She kept insisting she had to find Janie. He was pretty ripped up about it.”

  So Nana’s slips from reality weren’t harmless. The bakery could have burned to the ground—even taking the little shops on either side of its location with it. Nana could have been lost—how did E even know to go looking for her by the peak? Neither of them had left a boot imprint on a trail anywhere near Rabbit Ears in decades.

  “You okay, Sherbert?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed, slumping until her elbows rested on her knees. “I’m just trying to piece it together. I don’t understand why she’d do that.”

  “The mind is pretty powerful.”

  “Why would she slip back there though? It was so long ago.”

  Brock shrugged and settled beside her. “I don’t know. They say memories have a way of surfacing…songs, smells, someone who looks like the person from the past. Maybe it was the time of year. I don’t remember—when did your mom die?”

  “Late summer, right after the tourist season.” Cheryl twisted her fingers, focusing her energy on holding on to indifference. This long passed, it shouldn’t balloon her emotions to talk about her mom’s death. It happened, they got through it, and there’d been a long stretch of time since. “It was really weird—freak accident. She wasn’t even climbing one of the more difficult routes.”

  Brock’s hand brushed along her spine. “What happened?”

  Cheryl sat straighter. His gesture was sweet, but she was a big girl. She didn’t need to lean on his shoulder for this. “She was going for one of the trickier transition holds, and the volcanic rock chose that moment to crumble. Her harness failed, and she dropped. Impact crushed her ribs and punctured her lungs. Her climbing partner scurried down to help her, but by the time the emergency responders got to them, Mom was gone.”

  Brock moved to hold her hand, but Cheryl stood, stepping out of his reach.

  “I’m sorry, Sherbert.”

  Not looking at him, she shrugged as she sealed off the nudging emotions deep in her heart. “She lived on the edge and loved climbing. I guess we’re happy she died doing something so important to her. What do you do?”

  He didn’t move, but she could feel his stare. Maybe the question really was, what would he do with her? She hated counseling sessions and didn’t want to start one with him. Her dad had forced her into them for months after Mom died. Cheryl didn’t see a point. Mom was dead. Talking about it wasn’t going to bring her back. Exploring her feelings about it wasn’t going to put her life back on the path she’d been on before. It happened, it was over, and life moved on. The end.

  But Brock, he was the probing kind. Maybe that’s what this whole thing with him was about. He saw her hardness, thought she was wounded and needed some fixing, and he had a Fix-It-Felix syndrome going on.

  She didn’t need that. Didn’t want it either. Crossing her arms, Cheryl turned to look at him, intending to say good-bye and mentally making plans to catch the early flight tomorrow morning. This time, she wouldn’t let a few hiccups keep her on the ground.

  Brock’s eyes met hers. “She misses you.”

  “What?” Her dead mother missed her? He was crazy.

  “Nana Grace. She misses you. More this year—at least she shows it more this year—than ever. I don’t know why, what triggered it. But she talks about you often. Her sweet girl—says she’ll come home soon and everything will be okay. That you’ll find your way back.”

  Cheryl clenched her jaw. That was exactly what Nana had said in her delusional slip the other night.

  “Maybe she’s talking about my mother, not me. She’s a little nuts, you know.”

  “She’s a little heartbroken.” His eyebrows hiked. “And when she describes her girl, it’s her little raven-haired sweetie. That wasn’t your mom, was it?”

  Mom had light-brown hair and amber eyes. Cheryl favored her dad, who in his younger years had looked like Tom Selleck. Mom had always said that Cheryl had been twice blessed from her father—Hollywood good looks and an Einstein IQ. Both were wildly exaggerated, and sometimes Cheryl got the feeling that her mother wished just a little bit that her daughter had inherited her crazy thirst for adventure, and maybe at least her hair color.

  “Nana’s not stable. She could have easily gotten us confused.” Because she and her mother were so much alike.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when she went to look for Janie, she was specific about it. When she talks about you, there’s no confusion about who she’s thinking of, just about where she actually is physically.”

  And he was such an expert. “I think you should stick to things you know. Riding the slopes—you were good at that. Psychology? You’re not really qualified.”

  He folded his hands and leaned against his knees. For a moment he held her look, and then his attention moved toward the floor.

  Man, she was a razor sometimes.

  “I’m going.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she shimmied around the table as she moved toward the exit.

  Brock, still sitting, straightened, and when she came near enough, he reached to grasp her arm. “Stop running, Sherbert.”

  She stopped but held herself stiffly. “This is dumb. I don’t even know why I’m here. And stop calling me Sherbert.”

  “Will you stay if I stop?”

  “No.”

  His thumb brushed the inside of her forearm, and the tension drained from her muscles. Her traitorous body. Certainly he felt her relax, because his hand slid down her arm until their palms kissed and his fingers clasped around hers. With a gentle tug, he pulled her toward his lap, and she couldn’t fight the gravity that set her on his thigh.

  But she didn’t have to look at him.

  “Cheryl.”

  No. Not going to meet those deep, beckoning eyes. She was leaving. He wasn’t going to change her mind. “What do you want from me, Brock? I told you already—I can’t stay. I can’t fix Nana, and you and I aren’t going to work.”

  “Why?”

  Why…to all three things? Cheryl sighed and pressed her lips together.

  Brock didn’t wait for her to answer. “I saw you the other day, in the grass, under the sun. You smiled. The kind of smile that people have when they go home.”

  “So? Lots of people smile in the sun.”

  “Do you?”

  She rolled her head to the side to look at him. “Stop this. I’m not a project. I don’t need you to fix me.”

  “I didn’t think you needed fixed.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  His mouth closed, but he held her look.

  “Why would you want to be with me? What did you call me that first night at the bonfire? An ice princess? Why would you want that in your life?”

  “That’s what you were acting like. That’s not who you are.”

  He knew this how…because he saw her smile the other day? That was ridiculous. But her heart scrambled after his claim, longing for it to be so. Couldn’t it be true, if Brock Kelly saw something other than a stone-cold woman in her, couldn’t it be so?

  Probably not. Because she’d worked too hard at indifference to let anything else be a part of who she was.

  “I think you want me to be the girl you remember. But I’m not. Brock, trust me. You don’t want this.”

  “I think you’re scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “That you’re wrong. About all of it. I think you’ve got that woman—the one I know is in you—locked up for some reason, and you’re afraid to let her out because she might get hurt.” He leaned his forehead against the spot just above her ear, and his voice dropped to a whisper that danced across her cheek. “And I think you’re terrified of this.”

  Cheryl swallowed as the hair on her arms prickled against her skin.

  “Am I right?”

  Wh
y was she still sitting there? She pushed away, determined to leave, but one arm snugged around her waist, and with his other hand, Brock grazed her chin and turned her to look at him.

  “No lies, Cheryl. Are you scared?”

  Did anyone ever lie to this man? It didn’t seem possible as she suddenly felt hypnotized in his steady gaze.

  “Yes.” The hushed word left her mouth before her discipline could stop it. She squeezed her eyes shut, too cowardly to see his reaction.

  He shifted her so that she curled against him and then cradled her head into the curve of his neck. “Me too, Sherbert. I promise, though—I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Tension pulled on the base of her skull. Threads of pain began to stitch their way into her brain. She knew he was sincere. Brock wouldn’t hurt her—not on purpose.

  She wished desperately that she could give him the same promise.

  ~*~

  Preteen kids filed off the bus, one after another, their initial responses to the ranch almost universally the same. They’d drop down off the final rise of the bus, take one or two tentative steps forward, and then stall. Adjusting their backpacks, they’d survey the scene—the pond, the cabins, the lodge, Brock’s cabin, and finally the sky. Before they moved off toward the lodge with the others who’d gone before, they’d look back at the bus as if they were leaving one world and entering another and were unsure if that was a good thing.

  As often as he’d seen this patterned reaction, Brock couldn’t guess the thoughts running through those little minds. He wished he could know…were they excited to be here? Or maybe indifferent. It was one more place they had to try because home didn’t really exist. Had they been coerced into coming? Probably—they didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Did that make them mad? Had they ever been in the heart of the mountains before? Had they ever seen anything so wide and big? Did it thrill them? Scare them?

  He couldn’t tell. They kept an emotionless mask firmly in place. A skill acquired by necessity.

  He stood on the deck, watching the unloading scene, and his thoughts drifted back to Cheryl. Music floated softly from the dining hall behind him—he’d managed to talk Cheryl into staying, into playing while he finished his preparations for the week. He’d been shocked when she did.

  Her thoughts were about as evasive as those kids’. Crazy, he could predict the pattern of her actions, but the thoughts behind them? That was the key. He’d never be able to understand her unless she stopped closing up.

  The accusation she’d thrown earlier continued to chase through his mind. She wasn’t a project, and she didn’t need him to fix her. Fixing wasn’t his business anyhow, so that seemed irrelevant. But did he see her as a project? Did he see these kids as projects?

  He saw them as his calling—both the kids that came to the ranch and now Cheryl. That wasn’t the same thing as a project, was it?

  The sound of two car doors shutting one right after the other cracked through the thin air, drawing Brock’s attention from the growing circle of kids and the four counselors who’d arrived on the bus with them. Brandi circled the familiar Isuzu Trooper that had just parked near his cabin and moved to the passenger’s side, where Ethan waited, his hand stretched out to her as she came near.

  Lovebirds. Brock grinned, even as his stomach twisted a bit. A weekend trip to Denver was hardly a honeymoon—and he knew for a fact that Brandi had squeezed in a meeting with the overseeing office while she was there. What a way to begin their marriage. He wished he could have changed it. When she told him about the wedding, he’d told her that he’d call the office and cancel the group that week and ask them to reschedule her mandatory check-in. She’d insisted that he didn’t.

  “Ethan and I have our whole lives together,” she’d said.

  Brock had tossed that one back and forth in his head for about a week, and then he’d gone to Ethan about it. It was true they were committing to a lifetime together, but still…

  If it were him, he’d want a little bit of time alone with his bride. More than a weekend littered with business meetings.

  Ethan hadn’t seemed as confident in his answer when Brock finally brought it up. But he didn’t contradict Brandi either. “She’ll feel guilty about letting the kids down,” he said, and then he changed the subject, asking about which flies Brock was tying in his limited spare time.

  Guilt swirled as those conversations replayed. Brock watched as the newlyweds moved hand in hand toward the lodge. When they neared the group, Ethan kissed Brandi’s forehead, released her hand, and continued toward the deck. She stayed, shaking hands with the counselors—two of which had been up before—and then began introducing herself to the kids, one by one.

  Ethan climbed the hill and took the steps to the deck. Brock stuck out his fist when E came near, and after a bump, he moved for a man hug.

  “How’s the groom?”

  E grinned. “Married.”

  “Yeah. Is that good?”

  “So far, can’t complain.”

  Brock chuckled.

  “Dude, is that my sister playing in there?” Ethan tipped his head backward, indicating the lodge.

  “Yep.”

  “How’d you swing that?”

  Brock didn’t answer, and he bit back his smile.

  “Hmm…” Ethan rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. “Been taking up a different kind of fishing while I was gone, eh?”

  “Like you didn’t set that whole deal up. Fresh-baked rolls. You’re such a dog.”

  “I expect gratitude, man, not insults.” He faked a jab-hook combo and then bumped Brock’s arm. “And she’d be as good for you as you’d be for her.”

  Brock lifted an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll get her. See past the box of steel she lives in. And she’ll keep your head from ballooning.”

  “My head from ballooning?”

  “Yeah. You know, because you think every woman that comes up here has some ulterior motive that has to do with the great and powerful Brock Kelly.”

  “What?”

  “Bro.” Ethan turned to face him, his eyebrows shoved up into his forehead. “Don’t deny truth. That’s exactly what you think. You stare down your nose at these women, who, for the most part, are just here to do their job. Don’t think for a minute my sister won’t call you out on it. I haven’t seen her much over the past decade, but I can tell you right now, she knows arrogance like she knows the C scale, and she’ll drill you on it.”

  This was turning out to be a great day. “Maybe you should go back to your wife.”

  Ethan laughed. “She is awesome, right?”

  Brock eyed him and a grin poked out.

  Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. “My wife has work to do, and so do you. So I’m going to see my sister.”

  He did have work to do—and apparently a bad image to overcome. Time to meet the help and not assume the worst of them. Moving to the steps behind Ethan, he stalled and caught E before he went into the dining hall.

  “Don’t let her leave.”

  E gave him a suspicious look. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. “Just, seriously. I don’t care if you have to hide her keys. Don’t let her take off.”

  I knew in my gut the truth. I ignored it. Buried it.

  You called to me—beckoned me back. I refused to listen.

  But I didn’t know what else to do. Threatened with humiliation, with loneliness, and with a task I was certain I could not do, I felt trapped. Not like stuck in traffic, but like a doe caught in the iron teeth of a bear trap. The sacrifice would lead to life, even if it meant I left part of me behind.

  Life. That’s what I thought I was walking toward. It seemed my only real option. So though it was dark ahead and I was terrified, I moved forward.

  In my innocence, I had no idea how dead someone could feel.

  I am a cold tomb, a walking cube of lifeless existence. Breathing but frozen.

/>   Trapped in a life that is everyday death.

  ~19~

  “Ethan, my head is screaming obscenities at me.” Her palms covered her eyes as she tried to focus on controlled breathing exercises. That dull ache from before flashed hard and fast into a full-on migraine. “Just let me go home.”

  “Can’t. I promised Brock. I don’t think you should drive like this anyway.”

  She felt his weight compress the cushions beneath her on the small, cheap vinyl sofa she’d curled up on. Ethan’s hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “What’s with the headaches, Sherbert?” he spoke softly. “This is the third migraine that I know about since you got here. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Stop,” she moaned. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’m gonna be sick.”

  He moved again, and she felt something like cold plastic pushed against one hand.

  “Here.”

  She peeked through the small shaft of light made by her squinting lids. He’d given her a large empty yogurt container.

  “I’ll dump it if you do get sick. Just stay here. Can you take an Advil?”

  Like one little tablet would touch this. “Or four.”

  “What do you want to drink?”

  Stop talking. Stop making her think. “I don’t care. I just want my bed. And quiet. And darkness.”

  Quiet. That would have prevented the explosion of pain in the first place. If she’d known a passel of kids was going to burst through the lodge doors while she was playing the piano, she wouldn’t have let Brock talk her into staying. She’d thought they were coming in the evening, not at two o’clock in the afternoon.

  Why hadn’t he said anything?

  “Okay. I’ll go find some meds and see if I can track down Brock.” He squeezed her arm again. “Stay put. I mean it, Sherbert. You’re not going anywhere right now, so don’t move.”

  The cushions shifted again as Ethan moved away. She could hear the faint sounds of Brock’s cook—Cammy?—stirring around in the kitchen. She’d apparently been off visiting her daughter during the small break after the wedding, but now, as the kids would be hungry for supper in a few hours, she worked by herself in the next room. That noise blended with the chorus of shouts outside. The kids were playing some sort of game organized by Brock and Brandi. Something to do with a flag and running and screaming.