“After this incident with my father, I’ve decided I can’t listen to either my heart or my head. I need to ask for God’s direction, like I used to do before I was so burned.” The words nearly stuck in Marissa’s throat but she struggled to get them out, determined to take positive steps toward a new future—one full of life, not of fear. “But after tonight I don’t know if Jacob will forgive me. He poured out his heart, and I practically stomped on it and ran away.”
“He’ll forgive you. Jacob can’t hold grudges for long.” Liz picked up her mug and took another sip.
Marissa’s fingers worried the blanket threads. “I don’t know, Liz. You didn’t see his face.” Or his eyes. That haunted expression of regret and heartache. Jacob had been her knight in shining armor the entire night, going above and beyond the call of duty for her dad and for her, and she’d reacted by shoving his feelings back in his face and storming away. How heartless could she be? It was obvious how much he risked for her—and yet she gave nothing in return other than rejection.
Again.
“I’m sure he’ll understand. You’ve had an emotional night.” Liz shifted positions on the couch, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward to punctuate her statement. “But you can find a way to show him how you feel. Maybe through something at the festival?”
“Maybe.” Marissa sighed. “But the other issue is my father. Even though it’s been my own fear that’s kept Jacob at a distance, Jacob said all along my dad wouldn’t like the idea of us together. He’s right.” She shook her head. “I can’t allow Jacob to ruin his career and let you guys down because of me. It isn’t right.”
“Listen to me.” Liz grabbed Marissa’s hand and squeezed it between her own. “The only thing that would let me down now is if you and Jacob sacrificed any more than you already have. It’s not Jacob’s job to provide for my family. We’ve gratefully accepted his help, but it’s ultimately God’s job to take care of our needs. I’m trusting Him for that—not Jacob.” Liz smiled and released Marissa’s hand. “So take me and Ryan and Olivia out of the equation. This needs to be a threefold decision.” She pointed to Marissa and ticked off on her fingers. “You, Jacob and God. That’s it.”
Liz was right. If Marissa was truly going to put her fears behind her and allow a fresh start for her and her dad, and for her and Jacob, she was going to have to go all out. Either God was leading her down these paths, or He wasn’t. Her heart assured her He was—and that meant He would eventually take care of the details.
If only she’d step back out of the way long enough to let Him.
Jacob stifled a yawn, his long night at the hospital shading his thoughts with scribbles of gray dejection. He’d come home and napped for a few hours, but his talk a few hours ago with the chief echoed in his mind and wouldn’t allow his brain to slow down for deep sleep, despite the lingering fatigue. He threw open the storage shed door and grabbed his Weed Eater, determined to be productive if nothing else. The festival was tomorrow, and while the yard was already in good shape, it could stand another trim.
He roared the motor and welcomed the buzz interrupting the drone of his own thoughts as he mowed around the edge of the shed, the noon sun beating down on his shoulders and neck. The crew of vendors and volunteers would be arriving that evening to set up their booths for the big day, and the festival would start at ten o’clock sharp the next morning. He’d get to see Marissa—that is, if she wasn’t too busy running around like a headless chicken all day—and then what? After the festival, he’d have no reason to see Marissa on a daily basis, unless he purposefully risked his heart a second—no, third—time and continued to pursue her while she dodged his every advance. He’d thought obtaining the chief’s blessing would put things in motion, but if Marissa was determined never to get involved with a fireman, what choices did he really have? Would knowing she had her father’s blessing even matter? And where did Owen come into play?
He finished trimming around the shed and moved toward the house, pausing to whack a stubborn patch of weeds at the end of his driveway. Stubborn, just like Marissa. But also just like himself. If he really loved her, he wouldn’t stop trying to win her, regardless of how insane it might seem. Because no matter how crazy it was to continue to throw his heart out there for a beating, he was crazier about Marissa. He wouldn’t give up—couldn’t. But without a change, his efforts could easily stay in vain. What choices did he have?
Other than quitting his job.
Jacob pulled up the Weed Eater, not wanting to risk whacking the side of his house and damaging the machine as the ugly thought invaded his mind. It seemed to be the only answer to calm Marissa’s fears, but how could he give up his retirement and benefits? Give up being able to help his family in need? Firefighting was all he knew. He didn’t have a degree to fall back on, had no other means of providing besides his lawn business, and that wasn’t nearly enough income alone.
He could take the promotion to driver, and advance his career. But without the promise of extra pay, he’d rather stay where he was, in the midst of his passion—firefighting. The career of a driver would be different. He’d only be doing the duties he loved now if the station was understaffed or in the middle of a big emergency. However, if Jacob ever hoped to make it to Captain, he’d have to go through the process.
And if he went through it now, Marissa might be willing to go through it with him.
His cell vibrated in his pocket, interrupting the flow of thoughts, and he turned off the Weed Eater before yanking the phone from his pocket. “Hello?”
“Jacob? It’s Marissa.” Her timid voice sent tremors through his body and he dropped the Weed Eater on the ground.
“Are you all right? How’s your dad?” Now it was his turn to panic from the other end of a phone line. A fresh burst of sympathy wafted through him at what she must have felt when he called her the night before.
“He’s getting to come home tonight if all goes well today with the remaining tests.”
Jacob’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled with relief. Thank You, Lord. He picked up the Weed Eater and switched his phone to his other ear as he began to cart the machine back to the shed. “That’s good news. I’m glad you called.” He swallowed the knot in his throat, hating the awkward silence pulsing through the connection. Had he ruined things between them forever with his kiss? That hadn’t been his intention. But the memory of her lips still burned.
“There’s more.” Marissa’s voice lifted in excitement. “They caught the arsonist. Dad got a call earlier at the hospital with the good news. It wasn’t a family member or a fireman like I feared.” She snorted a humorless laugh. “I feel ridiculous now for ever suspecting, but my dad’s paranoia was contagious.”
Gratitude flooded Jacob’s body as he shut the shed door. He knew it couldn’t have been any of his friends or coworkers, but to have their names cleared was a relief. “So who was it?”
“Some local jerk seizing an opportunity for publicity.” Marissa’s tone hardened. “According to the detective who called my dad, this guy just wanted his fifteen minutes of fame and knew the public would assume it was related to the layoffs. Some people are so sick.”
“It’s an ugly world,” Jacob agreed, locking the barn door. “But I’m glad our men are off the proverbial hook.”
“Me, too.” Marissa hesitated. “Dad is actually looking forward to the festival tomorrow. I can’t believe how much has changed, literally overnight.” A smile lit her voice. “God is good.”
Jacob stopped short, nearly tripping over the ramp leading into his shed. “I’m glad you’re realizing that again.” Although glad didn’t even begin to touch his level of joy. But exactly how much had changed? If Marissa was finally in the position to let go of her past and embrace her faith again, maybe her calloused heart would soften toward him, too. Maybe if she knew her father wasn’t an issue between them anymore, they could take a step forward. Hope sprung in Jacob’s chest and his pulse began to beat a hard rhythm in his veins
. It was definitely worth a shot. “Marissa, I need to tell you something. Last night after you left, I talked to—”
Something clicked from Marissa’s end of the line.
“Uh-oh. My mom is beeping in on the other line. I better take this, might be about Dad again. I’ll see you tomorrow at the festival. Tell the volunteers tonight if they need anything to call my cell, okay? I’m going to be finishing up some stuff from home but I can come out if there’s a dire need.”
“All right, but Marissa—”
But she had already disconnected. Jacob slowly slid his cell into his pocket, leaning back against the side of the shed and resting his head against the rough wood. He’d have to wait until the festival or maybe even afterward to talk to her. And yet again, he’d be taking a huge risk that it would do any good. What if Marissa knew they had her father’s blessing and didn’t care? What if she was truly never able to get past his career? What if even his sacrifice of switching jobs to become a driver didn’t matter?
What if she rejected him once and for all?
Jacob’s throat closed at the idea of never getting to see Marissa again, never getting to watch the sunlight turn her hair to the color of honey, never getting to tease Owen or slap him a high five. He wanted so much more than that. He wanted to eat dinner with the two of them every night, wanted to push the shopping cart for Marissa through the grocery store, wanted to check the oil in her car and hound her for not going to get her tires rotated on time. All the things good husbands did.
God, I know this situation is in Your timing, but this is getting really hard. He couldn’t sit still another minute, not with the urgency to capture Marissa’s heart for his own strumming through his veins. But what could he do? Pushing her before she was ready wasn’t the answer—he’d proven that much last night with his impromptu kiss. Jacob released a tight breath and cast a cursory glance around his yard, frustration gripping his spirit and refusing release.
Maybe one more round with the Weed Eater wouldn’t hurt.
Chapter Nineteen
Dozens of red-and-white-striped tents dotted Jacob’s yard, sunshine slipping off their canvas roofs and painting the pristine yard with stripes of amber. At least one hundred people milled the manicured grounds, snacking on giant corn dogs and trying their hand at the midway games lining the edges of the roped-off gravel drive. Several children bent over their chalk squares on the road, away from the parking area, scribbling designs onto the warm pavement and giggling as they traded colors. To Marissa’s right, one particularly brave church member sat atop a collapsible seat in the dunking tank. To her left, another courageous volunteer balanced atop stilts.
So far, so good. Marissa surveyed the scene before her with a mixture of relief and anxiety, fingers itching to clutch her ever-present planner. But Liz had insisted Marissa stop working and enjoy herself now the carnival was finally here, going as far as to toss the planner into the glove box in Marissa’s car. “If you forgot something, it’s too late now anyway,” was Liz’s not-so-reassuring but logical explanation. “So eat cotton candy and have fun with Owen.”
The order wasn’t that hard to follow. Marissa pulled a tuft of sticky blue candy from her cone and let the puffed sugar dissolve in her mouth as Owen attempted to knock over a pyramid of pins with a plastic ball. His first throw missed, and he frowned as the worker retrieved the ball. “It’s okay, buddy. Try again,” she urged. Owen nodded, concentrating so hard his tongue peeked between the center of his lips.
CRASH! The pins toppled to the ground and Owen jumped up and down with excitement. “I did it!”
“Good job, Owen!” Marissa slapped her son a high five before he raced to retrieve his prize—a small stuffed alligator.
“Here, Mom.” Owen tossed the animal to her and she fumbled to catch it without getting the cotton candy stuck to its green fur. “I need both hands to play again.”
Marissa couldn’t help but smile as Owen handed the worker another red ticket. Logical and determined, that was her son. How much of that did she pass down to him, honestly? And how much was built in from Kevin’s genes? There were plenty of qualities she hoped he inherited from his dad.
But there were plenty she’d love for him to learn from someone else. Marissa’s eyes darted once again to Jacob, drawn like a magnet as they’d been most of the morning. Jacob was under a tent across the yard, helping a group of young children with their blooming cacti. The sight brought the memory of their time together at the Boardwalk to the forefront of her mind. Marissa briefly closed her eyes, allowing the memory to sweep her away. Jacob, his hair catching the breeze from the river and eyes sparkling as he looked down at her. Jacob, goofing off in the party supply store with the princess paraphernalia. Jacob, sharing the honesty of his hero heart as he assured Marissa every woman needed to be a princess for a day. Past circumstances had taught her to fear heroes, not seek them out. But somewhere along the way, Jacob had changed that mindset. And she had the feeling it had started the very second he popped the tire off her SUV over a month ago.
Marissa opened her eyes in time to find Jacob staring at her from under the striped tent. He lifted his hand in a hesitant wave, and she waved back. They really needed to talk. She couldn’t just pull him aside in the midst of the festival chaos and have a heart-to-heart conversation. What if Liz was wrong and he couldn’t forgive her? What if it ended badly? She’d have nowhere to go to nurse her broken emotions or hide the inevitable rash of tears. No, she needed something more subtle, but something Jacob would understand. How could she show him her change of heart without risking public humiliation?
“Mom, I want to get my face painted before we do our chalk square, okay?” Owen tugged at her arm, yanking her back to reality. “Come on!”
Chalk squares. That was another issue of the day. She had no idea what to draw in her and Owen’s square, and he’d already asked her twice. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Maybe she’d just let him pick. It’d been given to them free, anyway, so who cared if the picture didn’t turn out to be a timeless keepsake?
Owen fairly yanked Marissa across the yard to the face painting tables set up by the popcorn stand. “Look, they have fire trucks!” He pointed to the easel of options to pick from, and Marissa bit back an automatic groan. Always a fire truck. Could she never escape it?
Then it hit her. A fire truck. Chalk square. Jacob. Her heart raced with excitement. “Owen, I have an idea!” Now it was Marissa’s turn to grab her son’s hand and tug him away. “We’ll do this next. Let’s do our chalk box first, okay, buddy?”
Owen surprisingly put up little protest, and Marissa knelt beside him on the pavement, the road warming her knees through her jeans, and handed him the sticks of chalk the artist had given them. Red, yellow and white. Perfect. “Here. Draw a fire truck.”
Owen sat up straight and flipped his hair out of his eyes. Doubt colored his expression. “Are you sure, Mom? You seem tired of those lately.”
Guilt pressed against her shoulders and Marissa drew a deep breath against the weight. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” Time for some changes, including her tolerance of the things that interested her son. Forgive me, Lord. The guilt lifted away and she handed Owen the red. “Draw.”
Owen grinned and began to sketch a crude fire truck in their square. While he worked, Marissa drew a stick figure of a blonde woman beside it and a stick man beside her. There was just enough room between them for a little stick boy. She finished at the same time as Owen, and she watched him carefully as he examined their completed square.
“That’s me.” He pointed to the little boy wearing a fireman’s hat. “And that’s you.” He pointed to the stick lady with the blond hair. “But who’s that guy?” Owen searched Marissa’s eyes, his grin fading as confusion replaced his excitement.
A knot centered in Marissa’s throat, and she swallowed. Despite her newfound love for Jacob, if Owen didn’t want him in the picture, she couldn’t allow it. “That’s your fir
eman friend, Mr. Jacob.” She pointed to the white stick man, careful not to smudge the drawing.
“I thought maybe it was time for him to start hanging out with us more.”
Owen tilted his head, his gaze riveted to the picture as he thought.
Marissa held her breath. “Would that be okay with you?”
“Yeah, that’d be cool. It’d make you happy, right?”
Marissa nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat that was now twice as big as before. “It really would.”
“I think Dad would be happy that you were happy again.”
Tears filled Marissa’s eyes and she squeezed Owen into a tight hug. “I think you’re right, buddy.”
Where was Marissa? Jacob had looked everywhere, short of stooping to peek under the tablecloths of the bake sale booth. He stood on his tiptoes in an effort to see over the crowds lingering at various booths, but to no effect. With a sigh, Jacob handed a red ticket to the popcorn vendor and grabbed a handful of the crunchy corn from the paper bag. He hadn’t been able to talk with Marissa all day, just as he’d feared. But if he kept his feelings to himself one more minute, he feared he’d burst like that little kid’s purple balloon just moments ago.
“Jacob.” A firm voice sounded from behind, and Jacob turned to see Chief Brady in full uniform, resting his weight on a cane. Mrs. Brady hovered close to his side.
“Sir, it’s good to see you out and about.” Jacob held out his non-buttery hand, and they shook.
“He was determined to leave that place, regardless.” Mrs. Brady swatted his arm. “Although the nurse did win the war about the wheelchair.”
“Ridiculous policy,” Chief grumbled. “I can walk out of a hospital just fine.” He tapped his cane on the hard-packed ground for emphasis.
Jacob smiled. “I’m glad you made it, cane or no cane.”
“Enough of the small talk. You know why I’m really here.” Chief glanced around as if searching for someone. “What happened with Marissa? Did she shoot you down yet?” The comment earned him another swat from Mrs. Brady.
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