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

by Jennifer Rodewald

  That was the message of the cross. Truth didn’t change, and right was right no matter what people tried to do to manipulate it. But ultimately, the power of God was most astonishingly revealed in His unparalleled love.

  Teach me to love.

  The Spirit moved with an immediate surge, pouring into his heart both the emotion and strength that he hadn’t possessed two seconds before. Closing the space between them, Brock brushed her cheekbones with his thumbs, ensuring that she was listening.

  “I love you.” His ragged voice wobbled.

  Cheryl’s lips trembled, and for a moment, he felt her lean into him. But it was a fleeting response. In the next heartbeat, she stiffened again, swallowed, and took a step back. “You can’t.”

  Air rushed from his lungs as if she’d just kicked him in the chest.

  “Leave, Brock. You don’t want me.” She turned, shoulders drawn tight and straight, and walked to her bedroom. The sound of the door latch clicking into place magnified in his ears, as if she’d just slammed a prison door, locking herself inside.

  Iron seemed to lodge in his chest, and he slouched back against the wall, drawing a long, shaky breath. Thoughts swirled with dizzying contractions. Why did she keep rejecting him? He couldn’t win with her. Love was supposed to win. She needed help—wanted help. Refused help. Why was she determined to live in misery?

  He couldn’t do this.

  Pushing away from the wall, he stalked to the exit and jerked it open. His feet wouldn’t move though, and with a hand still on the doorknob, he stood frozen.

  If he left this time, that would be it. They would be done. He glanced down the hall where Cheryl had retreated, met by empty silence. Being with Cheryl was going to shatter his heart. It would be easier to walk away.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. God, I’m afraid it’s going to hurt too much.

  I redeem.

  The two words from heaven steadied his heart. With a soft push, he closed his path of escape, turned, and slid to the floor. He dug his smartphone from his back pocket and pulled up the information he’d searched out before on PAS. As he scanned the website, he thought over the trip to the crisis center. Seemed like a good idea at the time. What better way to show her that he was in this—that he’d be with her through this process, than to go with her to get help?

  Apparently it was a terrible way—all it showed her was that he thought she needed fixed.

  He didn’t. Healed and fixed weren’t the same thing. One was a project, the other was a person. One was about him, the other, about her. Not even close to the same.

  Scrolling down to the ministry contact link, he tapped twice, and the screen opened to an e-mail form. After a moment of hesitation, and a quick prayer for wisdom, he typed out a short explanation of their situation ending with a simple, I need help. What should I do?

  Who knew if he’d even get a response. But options being what they were—which was pretty much nil—he tapped the paper airplane Send icon and dropped the phone onto the floor next to him. Tipping his head back, he shut his eyes against the hard silence.

  Except it wasn’t silent. He could hear a small rustle coming from Cheryl’s room. Sniffing. He sat forward. Cheryl was crying, reminding him that always lurking beneath the ice princess who drove him crazy was the heartbroken woman he loved.

  He climbed to his feet and strode to the shut door of her room.

  “Sherbert.” He tapped on the wood. “I’m coming in, okay?”

  Not a sound. With a firm breath, he fortified himself. She was like an unpredictable day on the slopes. Sometimes there was warm sunshine and great rides. Others…bitter winds and hard edges. With snowboarding, he could at least check the forecast. Cheryl… He’d have to take her as she came. He twisted the knob, and the door eased open. There on the edge of the bed, curled up in a tight ball with her hands covering her face, lay his heart, sobbing. Within four steps he was on his knees, taking her into his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, her voice breathless. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know why I do the things I do.”

  “I know.” He smoothed her hair away from her face and then tucked her head against him. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I should have talked to you—asked.”

  She leaned into him, one fist twisting a grip into his shirt as if she were afraid he’d go. Leave her.

  He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. This well inside his chest sank deeper, love filling it with a surge of strength that he was certain was beyond himself. Love her. That was the heavenly whisper. He did. With everything in him, he did, and he wanted to take her as she came. The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

  How could he show her he was all in?

  There was one way he could think of. So many would misunderstand though. His parents. Her brother. To them, it wouldn’t make any sense. And he’d already acted on impulse with an idea, and it proved to be completely the wrong move.

  Better wait on it.

  “Tell me what to do.” He nudged her away so that he could cradle her face with a palm. “I’m lost here, but I’m desperate to make things better. What should I do?”

  Her expression mirrored what he’d just said—that she was lost as well. How were they supposed to move forward when the path seemed indiscernible?

  Three more tears rolled over her cheeks, and with the thumb he held closest to her face, he wiped one of the trails. He dipped his head, leaning it against hers. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want.”

  “Don’t leave me.” She raked a hand into his hair and held his head against hers. Her voice shook as she whispered. Pleaded. “No matter how frustrated I make you, don’t leave me.”

  “I promise.”

  She pulled in a shuddering breath and moved to tuck her head into his neck. “Take me home.” Her arms circled his neck. “I just want life to move forward. Please, Brock, take me home.”

  Back to the place where she’d insisted she couldn’t stay. Brock didn’t bother dissecting the irony. He’d promised her anything. Home was an easy place to start.

  I never considered what my leaving cost you.

  How much it would have hurt.

  The shame was so heavy. I thought I’d die if you knew, and I couldn’t look at you with the truth lurking in my heart.

  But now that you’re gone, I hate that I left.

  I’m so sorry that I broke your heart.

  You never quit hoping, praying, believing.

  I’m coming home. I think that you know that already, and you are rejoicing with the God you have petitioned on my behalf.

  He is drawing me back, sending His help, showing the way.

  I am coming home.

  ~28~

  Cheryl paused on the front step, her hand halfway to the doorknob. She inhaled, savoring the cool mountain air tinged with a hint of freshly mowed hayfields. The smell of summer in Hayden. Home. Her hand fell to her side, and with the other, she tugged her earbuds from her ears. The soft, high-pitched warbling notes of a mountain bluebird floated on the early morning air. Tomorrow she’d run without the earbuds. Maybe she’d go off road, take the footpath down by the river.

  A small smile played against her lips. It’d been years since she’d paused like this, taken in God’s nature and let His peace touch her heart.

  Almost as soon as the thought formed, she folded it and tucked it away. She didn’t deserve God’s peace. Or this beautiful moment.

  Or Brock.

  Was this all a big tease? Maybe one of those crazy hallucinations where people who screwed up got to see what life could have been like if they hadn’t been so stupid? Just to make reality that much more bitter.

  Her phone vibrated against her hip, where she’d secured it in the waistband of her running tights. She tugged it free and checked the screen. New Text. From Brock.

  Morning, love. Can you come out here for coffee?

  And then there was that. How could he love her? Her? She’d seen his expression when he put that
awful word over her name two weeks before. She’d thought it was hate, and maybe condemnation, that passed through his eyes. The typical response coming from a lifelong pro-life crusader. Replaying that horrible night a million times since, she was coming to see that his look wasn’t contempt. It was agony.

  And yet he loved her. He’d promised her anything, and then at her request brought her home. Did he mean anything beyond that? As in more? As in forever…

  A hope she couldn’t dare grasp. How painful would it be to feel the burgeoning promise grow strong and warm within her fingers, only to have it decay and crumble like dust falling from her hands.

  Was God’s anger that harsh? Was His punishment so cruel as to wrap her with the security of love, lead her out into the open, only to strip her bare before all to see?

  Trembling, she turned and pushed quickly inside the house. After slamming the door closed, she leaned against it as panic seized her soul.

  What if Brock didn’t mean forever? What if he told her heinous secret to other people? She’d left the only other life she knew—granted, a miserable one, but it was safe. Here? Hayden was a small, tight-knit community. If Brock exposed her…

  Stop. He wouldn’t.

  She fought through the raging thoughts, desperate for an anchor. Deep breath in. Long breath out. Just breathe. Steady. Easy.

  God, do You hate me? Her bottom lip quivered. Surely You hate me.

  She slid downward against the door until she was a crumpled mess against the wood floor. God…

  The phone she still held vibrated again. Through blurred vision, she made out the new text.

  I love you.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she lay against the cold planks, aching for it to be so. Without the ice around her heart numbing her to all emotion, she couldn’t deny it. She was utterly desperate for those words to be true.

  Of both God and Brock.

  ~*~

  Brock wiped down the length of the stainless steel countertop while Cammy finished loading the last of the dishes.

  “You’re sure this is a good move?” Cammy talked while she worked.

  Brock stopped pushing the cloth, and he looked up at her. She looked tired. No wonder. He’d pretty much abandoned her and Brandi and Ethan last week, leaving only an explanation that he needed to take care of some personal stuff and wasn’t sure when he’d be back. And oh, by the way, he was looking to hire a manager for the camp.

  Talk about insecurity. And worse, he still couldn’t give them an explanation, because doing so would betray the heart he loved.

  So he had only to fake some confidence. “I’m sure. We could use all the help we can get.”

  “But you manage this place just fine.”

  “Thanks.” His chest tightened. He really didn’t want to give it up. But right now… “I just need more full-time help. It’s going to be good for all of us, I think.”

  Cammy rested both palms against the counter and sighed. “Okay, Brock. My selfishness and aversion to change aside, I’m worried about you. What’s going on?”

  Brock held her look. What if she knew? The Cammy he loved would take Cheryl in. Show her the compassion and grace of God.

  His tongue nearly unhinged, until he imagined Cheryl’s reaction. Brutal anger. Followed by a torrent of tears. It wasn’t his story to tell, and he couldn’t force Cheryl to, nor could he betray her.

  “Brock?” Cammy frowned.

  “It’s personal, and I really can’t share. I need you to trust me right now, okay?”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  Some days he felt like he was drowning. That wasn’t what she meant though. “No. Just working through some things, and they’re going to take some time.”

  Cammy’s concern etched into her expression, and the ache to share pressed harder. What if Cheryl had a friend, besides him, and she could see that life was messy for everyone?

  “This has something to do with Cheryl, doesn’t it?”

  Obviously. He’d left without explanation and came back with her, a moving truck, and all of her things.

  “Cammy, please don’t press this.”

  She examined him closely and then dipped a slow nod. “She’s good for you, you know? You’re softer.”

  “Softer?” He was kind of a wreck, he knew, but soft?

  “With the leaders—especially the women. You talk to them, don’t give them the cold shoulder. It’s like the bitterness from before has finally drained.”

  Cammy saw all of this? “I was that big of a jerk, eh?”

  “Not to everyone. In fact, I think the fact that you’re so kind to the kids made your aversion to the female leaders all the more obvious.”

  Brock tugged on his ear, which felt exceptionally hot, and then shoved a hand into his jeans pocket. “I’m sorry—and thanks, I guess.” He forced a wiry grin. “But I still can’t tell you more.”

  Cammy looked to her hands for a breath and then back at him. “Tell me what you need from me. I won’t ask why, but I want to be helpful.”

  There was the grandmotherly woman he trusted. “Just accept her. Love on her. No matter how hard she pushes against it.”

  Cammy inhaled, her posture stiffening as if she were fortifying her heart for the job. “I can do that.”

  “I know.” He felt a half smile push his mouth. “And it would mean the world to me.”

  ~*~

  Cheryl snuggled against the cushions of Brock’s sofa, a warm mug of decaf cradled in her hands. Brock had gone out to do night check—which apparently had been a standard part of his everyday life. Lights out at 9:30. Night check at 9:45, and then all should be quiet at Kelly’s Ranch.

  After a sip of coffee, Cheryl studied Brock’s world beyond the front window of his cabin. A post lamp near the dock bounced its light off the gently swaying waters of the pond. In the distance the dark outline of the rugged peaks to the west met with the softer black of the night sky, heavily jeweled with diamond stars, each one vivid on this dark, clear night.

  The black sky set the canvas for the shimmering glitter of light. Who knew darkness could be so beautiful?

  I make the night beautiful.

  Was that the divine whisper of God? The words moved in her heart, soft and gentle, like the caress of a loving promise. Could that be right?

  “God…” Her call lifted from her lips, broken and barely audible.

  The door latch rattled, and she blinked, pushing away the rush of emotion. A moment later, Brock stepped over the threshold, letting the screen slap shut behind him.

  “All is quiet.” He crossed the small space of wood floor and lowered onto the spot beside her. When he pressed a kiss to her temple, she closed her eyes and smiled, leaning into him.

  He settled back, one arm secure around her, and a gentle silence cocooned them. Cheryl’s attention drifted back to the night sky outside, and her thoughts pulled the silent whisper back. God made the night beautiful. He pierced the blackness and gave it purpose—it became the canvas for the diamonds of beauty.

  Hope surged through her heart. She settled into Brock’s arm, snuggling against his shoulder.

  A soft, satisfied rumble came from his throat, and he bent his head to rest against hers. “I love you, Sherbert,” he whispered.

  Every time he said that, it was like a precious stone poked through her loneliness. Beauty. In her darkness.

  It stole her breath. Who was she to be loved? To possess real beauty?

  “Why?” Wonder lifted her voice, fringing the question with breathlessness.

  “You make me a better man. You chip away my arrogance and force me to see people—all people—with eyes of compassion. And”—Brock moved, turning her with his arm and lifting her chin so that their eyes met—“I see your heart, Cheryl. It is beautiful. Full of music and laughter and life that is longing to break free. To live.”

  For all her efforts to hide, he saw her. But even though he knew the truth, he didn’t seem to see what she had been afraid to exp
ose. Sudden tears pressed hot against her eyes. “But I…” Her throat closed, cutting off the words. She swallowed and pushed them out. “I killed my baby, Brock. How could I do that?”

  He winced. Her heart tore, and a shudder gripped her body. She didn’t want to talk about it, to see him writhe with the pain of her past, but for some horrible, unidentifiable reason, she had to. “How could you love me knowing what I am?”

  Tears glazed his eyes. Yes, her choice pierced his heart. Deeply. But when she expected him to move away—to reject her at the point of her darkest shame—his hand came to her face, cupping her cheek with a gentle strength that communicated his own ache and desperation.

  “I believe in redemption.”

  ~*~

  Music filled Cheryl’s mind as she slowly awoke. Faint light pressed against the window opposite her bed. Time for her morning run. Today though, rather than her iPod, she’d listen to the melody that played inside her mind, and to the songs that rustled through nature. To God.

  Her chest quivered at the thought. Still, even after Brock’s assurance of his love, of his belief in redemption, Cheryl could not shake the fear that it would all crumble. God would reject her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive her. Not completely. She would live forever with the guilt, this horrible shame of knowing what she had done. Perhaps there were degrees of redemption. If the sin was great, the redemption would only cover so much.

  Maybe that was true. But even if God could forgive her a little, to give her a small portion of life and joy with Brock by her side, it was better than the black death she’d lived with before. Maybe for her, the darkness would remain, but God would see fit to give her small diamonds of light. Little portions of redemption.

  She’d take it. Even small servings of light were more than she deserved, and she’d be grateful.