Coming Home
Winds of Change [1]
Stacy Hawkins Adams
Zondervan (2012)
* * *
If forgiving your ex-husband was easy, everybody would do it. Brent had cheated on Dayna and coldly said goodbye to her seven long years ago---dashing her hopes of having children or growing old with the love of her life. Working hard to make herself successful as a hospital executive, Dayna has moved on, finding comfort in a new dating relationship with a faith-filled colleague, Warren. But when Brent resurfaces on her doorstep at just the wrong time, Dayna's heart threatens to come unglued. Why is Brent asking for forgiveness now? And why are he and his new wife, Tamara, interested in reconciliation with Dayna? The unbelievable answers begin to surface in the ebook download of Coming Home as Brent boldly asks Dayna to support him at the most crucial time of his life. While Tamara's heart brims with guilt, both women will discover what it means to reach beyond pain and baggage to love unconditionally, leaving the consequences to God.
// the winds of change series //
COMING
home
a novel by
stacy hawkins adams
This book is dedicated to my friend and mentor,
Dr. Bobbie Walker Trussell,
and to women everywhere
who seek to gift themselves, and others,
with deeper levels of unconditional love.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
forty-one
forty-two
forty-three
forty-four
forty-five
forty-six
forty-seven
forty-eight
forty-nine
fifty
fifty-one
fifty-two
fifty-three
fifty-four
fifty-five
fifty-six
fifty-seven
fifty-eight
fifty-nine
sixty
sixty-one
sixty-two
sixty-three
sixty-four
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise
Copyright
About the Publisher
Share Your Thoughts
one
Dancing alone hadn’t been an issue for Dayna Wilson in recent years, and tonight was no exception.
The habit marked her choice to live again, and on evenings like this, a sense of delicious freedom and rightness with the world returned. She two-stepped around her bedroom in her purple silk robe to the up-tempo melody pouring from her surround-sound speakers, singing along to the chorus of a Tina Turner classic: “What’s Love Got to Do with It.”
Ms. Tina’s career had peaked well before Dayna’s birth, but this song revived it during Dayna’s early teen years, so she considered herself as big a fan of the ageless rock star as her mother and grandmother had been.
Dayna sashayed to her sitting area and sank into the caramel-colored leather loveseat. She closed her eyes and mentally rehearsed her speech for tonight’s benefit gala.
Introducing Spencer wouldn’t be a big deal; she could recite his credentials as easily as her own. Plus, this would be a friendly crowd. Most of the guests would write checks because he had personally invited them. Few business leaders and socialites in this community would snub the CEO of Chesdin Medical Center. Not only was their attendance a networking and power-play obligation, it was an informal insurance policy. Many of them surmised they’d eventually need the medical care Chesdin Medical provided, and when their turn came, they wanted to be treated like VIPs.
Dayna visualized herself introducing her boss, then opened her eyes and stretched. Time to get up and get to work. That meant sliding into her Spanx without breaking a sweat, and stepping into her dress before Warren arrived. He would be ready to go the minute he showed up, but she was certain he’d pause when he saw her in the apple-red, floor-length gown. Shoot — looking at the formal and accepting that she, the always-wear-black, stay-on-the-safe-side executive, had ignored her comfort zone and bought the dress, made her pause. She had come a long way, thank God.
Dayna chuckled. Between being more daring with her wardrobe and dating a man like Warren, she was on the verge of becoming unpredictable, and it was fun. What wouldn’t be out of the norm were the questions she and Warren would receive from colleagues tonight about the status of their relationship. As usual, they would share very little in an effort to maintain the fine line between their professional and personal lives; but whenever they showed up as a pair for a work-related event or social gathering in the community, speculation over when they would tie the knot raced through the hospital with virus-like speed. So far everyone had lost the bet.
Dayna wondered when he’d ask her too, but she could be patient. With what he’d been through, Warren couldn’t, and shouldn’t, be rushed. He was wise to take his time, and so was she, for that matter. Half the battle of winning his heart and getting the ring would be making it obvious that choosing her was his decision, and his alone. The way he gazed at her when he thought she wasn’t looking told her it wouldn’t be much longer.
The thought of walking down the aisle to become Mrs. Avery didn’t fill her with the youthful excitement she’d exuded the first time she’d wed; she knew now how much work marriage was. But after all these years of being single, she craved the daily companionship that marriage offered, and Warren was someone she could see herself working with through the thick and thin times. Her desire to be a mother hadn’t waned, but having a baby was no longer a must. She loved Warren’s boys and would be happy helping raise them.
Dayna’s sound system looped to another CD. This time the melodies of Ben Tankard filled the air, and she thought of Daddy, who was probably at home this evening, getting ready for tomorrow’s worship service. His “preacher rule” called for low-key Saturday nights, spent at home with no TV or movies, so he’d be ready to deliver the Word during two services on Sunday.
One of his regular means of relaxation was gospel jazz, and Ben Tankard ranked among Daddy’s favorite artists. Funny how she didn’t feel connected to him or Mama in most other ways, but she shared their taste in music.
The sweet, soothing sounds of the saxophone lulled Dayna into a relaxed state, and she reclined on the sofa again, telling herself it was just for a few minutes. They couldn’t be late tonight. Spencer was counting on her and Warren to help greet guests.
She lay there, though, through another full song. When the opening melody of a fourth instrumental tune began, she leapt up and trotted across the carpet to her walk-in closet. The red dress was waiting for her on an outside door hanger. After
wrestling into the girdle that made her thighs thinner and her mid-section pouch disappear, she tugged the gown free and stepped into it with the ease of a model. She straightened to her full height and felt the dress hug every curve.
“Girl, you look good!” Dayna struck several poses in front of the mirror above her dresser and marveled at how comfortable she felt in both the dress and in boasting about herself. Her girlfriends had assured her she would change in exciting ways when she turned forty. Still two years shy of that milestone birthday, she could already appreciate the new level of self-confidence they told her to anticipate.
On a practical note, she had selected the red dress because February was Heart Disease Awareness Month, and the hospital’s efforts to combat this serious health issue would be recognized tonight at the gala. Yet as she turned this way and that in the mirror, she decided she didn’t need a reason to be daring; this was her color and she would own it.
Minutes later her earrings, necklace, and diamond bracelet were in place. She slid into her silver heels and bathed in a spritz of the perfume Warren had given her for Christmas. A light dusting of loose powder removed the shine from her forehead and cheeks, and she looked picture perfect. The doorbell rang just as she applied her final stroke of lipstick, and she glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner.
Was Warren really here at 5:45? He’d be bragging about this all night.
She strode to the door as quickly as her flowing dress and stilettos allowed and swung it open, preparing to tease Warren before thanking him with a kiss for being on time. “Hey, babe —”
The bouquet of red roses that greeted her, and the man holding them, snatched away the rest of her words. He was much thinner than she remembered, but it had to be him.
“Brent?”
two
Dayna and Brent held their doorway poses like statues, frozen in place and time.
“Wow,” he said, taking in her outfit. “Yes, Dayna, it’s me. How are you?”
How was she? That was the best he could come up with?
In those few seconds of recognition, all of the hurt, shame, rejection, and anger she’d worked so hard to escape over the past seven years coursed through her.
“Why—what are you doing here?”
He shrugged and seemed embarrassed. “Let’s just say I had to come. I want to fill you in on everything.”
Somehow she couldn’t form full sentences. “Your wife?”
“Tamara knows I’m here. She helped me find you.”
His baritone was as rich as Dayna remembered, and his ebony eyes as deep. He stared into hers, and extended the flowers toward her.
Dayna wasn’t sure whether to slam the door in his face or invite him in. She knew what shock felt like — it was weightless and numbing, yet caused the heart to race like an out-of-control freight train, unable to anticipate the next curve. The last time she had felt unnerved to this degree, it had been due to Brent. Ironic how his leaving her and his finding her again stirred the exact same emotions.
She tried to process what he’d just said.
What wife in her right mind would help her husband search for his ex-wife? And allow him to show up at that woman’s house alone, with the former wife’s favorite flowers? Dayna wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but what she couldn’t deny was that after all of these years, looking into the eyes of the man who had once been her life still took her breath away.
She fixed her eyes on the roses Brent clutched and tried to steady herself. Whatever happened, she’d never let him know what she was feeling, regardless of why he had come or what he had come bearing.
Brent shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “May I come in?”
“Are you serious?”
Her curiosity wanted to let him in, to find out why he had come, but her rational side stood fast. She had become much stronger since their divorce. He couldn’t sway her with fanciful words or a tender look like he had once been able to do, even when he was cheating on her.
This was her turf and her decision.
Brent seemed to have read that declaration in her eyes. His shoulders slumped. “Look, I know this is crazy, me showing up on your doorstep unannounced and —”
“Uninvited,” Dayna said.
His eyes took another head-to-toe tour. “Obviously you’re getting ready to go out. But may I come in for just a few minutes? I drove up from Cocoa Beach because I had to see you. I need to talk to you. Please.”
How convenient to let it slip that he was staying just forty-five minutes away, Dayna thought. Did he live there, or was he in the area vacationing?
She looked past Brent, toward her driveway, hoping Warren would pull up, step out of his SUV, and save the day. Based on his track record, he probably wouldn’t be here for another half hour — just in enough time to scoop her into the vehicle and make it to the reception minutes before special guests began arriving.
Dayna glared at Brent. No matter how sad and handsome he looked as he pleaded his case, she couldn’t forget those same eyes holding contempt and coldness when he told her it was over and that he had fallen in love with someone she had considered a friend. How could Tamara really have sent him here today?
She wanted answers, but then again, she had learned to live without understanding Brent or what had happened between them to cause their split. So how would having some resolution now improve her life? Besides, she knew whatever he had to say would justify his and Tamara’s choices. Dayna couldn’t imagine how this out-of-the-blue visit and gift of roses could benefit her.
The Tina Turner song she’d been jamming to less than an hour earlier began playing in her mind. Brent reached for her hand and broke her reverie.
“Please, Dayna —”
Dayna stepped back, out of his reach. She recognized the desperation in his eyes and tone. Was he pleading with her the same way she had begged him not to leave, to give their marriage a chance? Really?
Brent tried again. “I know I don’t deserve your time or have the right to enter your home, but can I please just talk with you for five minutes? Or, if you don’t want me to come inside, would you step outside?”
He was persistent, but there was no way she was crossing the doorstep in her fabulous red dress before Warren arrived. Dayna sighed. Maybe if she heard him out, he’d leave her alone for good. She opened the oak door wider and motioned with her head for Brent to come in.
She left the door ajar and strode to the opposite wall to switch on the chandeliered light. They stood across the foyer from each other with what seemed like an ocean between them. Every second he spent surveying the spacious entrance made her heart beat faster.
But now she understood why, without hesitation, she had written “Return to Sender” in bold, black ink on each envelope when it arrived. Brent’s presence today confirmed that opening his recent correspondences would have been akin to stepping into quicksand. She had blossomed when she’d made the decision to leave Brent in her past, and that was where she intended for him to stay.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Dayna,” he said.
Should she tell him that had been part of her revenge — to thrive without him? She held her tongue and refused to reciprocate his smile. Dayna turned to lead him to the living room so they could sit and talk, but paused midstep. Why make him comfortable?
She faced him again and folded her arms. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Want me to throw you these flowers in a touchdown pass?” Brent chuckled at his own humor and extended the bouquet toward her, with a “please?” in his eyes.
“Still the comedian,” she said, mindful that he had avoided answering her question. She approached Brent to take the bouquet by its cellophane-wrapped stem and laid it on a side table.
“Thanks for accepting them.”
“You’re welcome.” She folded her arms again. “What’s up?”
He took a step toward her, and she took a step back after catching a whiff of the cologn
e he’d always worn and she’d always appreciated. “Just answer the question, Brent: enough of the melodramatics.”
“I’m here because…. I need to share something important with you, Dayna. It’s long overdue, but I need to do this. I sent three letters, and each was returned unopened, even after I verified your address. So I thought I’d come in person and —”
“And force me to hear you out? Is that it?”
He seemed hurt when she laughed.
“How dare you just show up out of the blue,” she said. “Please tell me we’re on candid camera or that the MTV crew is lurking and I’m being punked. This has got to be some kind of joke.”
The pain sizzling in his eyes surprised Dayna. It was clear that her response had doused him like a bucket of cold water.
“Did you know I never stopped loving you?” Brent’s soft question was delivered like a declaration. “I came to apologize for hurting you and tearing apart our marriage.”
Dayna’s knees turned to jelly. She fought to keep her composure.
“The apology I halfway understand — it is long overdue,” she said. “But did you just stand here in my house, wearing your wedding ring, and tell me you’ve always loved me? Please.”
Brent crossed the room, and before she could react, he grasped her hands.
“This isn’t funny,” she said. She tugged her hands out of his and hugged herself. The temperature was the usual February, seventy-ish, central-Florida degrees, so why was she shivering?
In the seven years since their divorce, they hadn’t talked or crossed paths. On rare occasions their once-mutual friends would let it slip that he was still working in IT, or that he and Tamara were still together. Someone must have been giving him crumbs about her life too. How else had he managed to find out where she lived and be confident enough that the address was correct to show up with roses?
The more she thought about his surprise appearance this evening, the more questions surfaced. She wanted answers, but she also wanted him to leave.
“Brent, really, what do you want from me? You couldn’t have possibly sent me letters and shown up at my home just to say you’re sorry. I returned your letters without opening them, so obviously I didn’t want to be bothered. And what did you mean when you insinuated that Tamara sent you here? Do you know how crazy that sounds? Come on, how —”
Coming Home Page 1