He claimed he didn’t have a choice. That it was an opportunity he was handed and he had to make a split-second decision. He said he’d only done what he felt God was leading him to do. But that wasn’t an excuse for completely rearranging her life, was it? Even if he did think God told him to. It sounded to her like an excuse to do what Chase wanted to do. And she would not let him set a precedent like that in their marriage.
* * *
Audrey sank into the overstuffed chair in the master bedroom and gave in to the tears that had threatened all day. “I’m sorry, Grant. I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Soft strains of Mozart from Grant’s iPad only made her melancholy deeper. She punched a feather pillow and hugged it to her chest, feeling like an angst-ridden teenager.
He peered at her over the e-book he was reading. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because!” She punched the pillow again. “We spent our life’s savings fixing up this place. You sacrificed everything, Grant, and it looks like this might have all been a horrible mistake and—”
“Mistake?”
She stared at him. “Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Just look how it turned out!”
“How it turned out? What are you talking about?” Grant looked incredulous. He closed the cover on his iPad and tucked it into a shelf on his nightstand.
Audrey fingered the hem of her pillowcase. “Seriously? With Landyn showing up in the middle of it all, Huck running amok, the whole Fred fiasco . . . We’ll probably get sued, and—”
“Audrey.” He slipped off his reading glasses, put them on the nightstand too, then drew her into his arms.
“I thought the cake was a little dry, too, didn’t you? I don’t think I’d use that recipe again unless I add—”
“Babe, babe . . . ” He laughed. “Everything turned out fine. And I have never been happier in my life.”
“What?” She shifted in the bed to look up at him. “Are you crazy?”
“Probably.” He chuckled. “Okay, certifiably. But . . . I don’t know . . . something about today just felt so right. All our hard work really paid off. I—I guess I never thought about this part when I was scraping popcorn off of ceilings and hanging from the roof attaching twinkle lights.”
She giggled, the image of him hanging off the eaves all too real. They’d had a huge fight that day. “But—”
“Did you see people’s faces when they saw the transformation? And how many nights did you book today?”
“Seventeen . . . Maybe eighteen.” She was still in awe that people had committed dates to their calendar on a whim like that. “Of course, half of them will probably cancel, and the rest are getting such a huge discount that we won’t make a penny on—”
“Shh . . .” He placed a finger gently over her lips. “Can’t you just enjoy our success? Just for tonight.”
Raucous laughter floated up through the furnace vent from the room below . . . Link was no doubt regaling his siblings with stories of their childhood escapades. Audrey smiled. “It is kind of nice having all the kids under our roof again.”
He affected a look of horror. “Just for the weekend, remember.”
“I know, I know.” Well, except for Landyn. But now wasn’t the time to tell Grant about that. “But you’ve got to admit it’s nice.”
“You did see the grocery bill, didn’t you?”
She furrowed her brow. “Now that was scary.”
“I’ll say.”
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, Audrey looked around her “empty nest.” How was it that she’d shooed five kids off to college and now there were six adults in pajamas at her breakfast table—seven whenever Landyn finally got up—and three unattended toddlers crunching cornflakes into the brand new Berber?
She laughed and flipped another griddle full of pancakes. Bree had come back to have breakfast with them and help with the clean-up. Audrey couldn’t have loved that girl more. Her sons-in-law, too. They’d been so lucky—no, so blessed—with the people their kids had chosen as mates. Of course, they’d prayed for the ones their children would marry since each of them were born.
She watched Link playing with the kids—a big kid himself—and her heart filled. Even at twenty-eight Link exhibited the symptoms of “middle child syndrome,” often seeming to feel overshadowed by the other kids’ accomplishments. Tim’s heroic death on a windblown hill in Afghanistan had only made that worse. How she prayed Link would find a wonderful girl who could help him appreciate his amazing qualities.
For a while she’d dared to hope something might develop between Link and Bree. A few months ago, she’d even suggested he invite Bree out to dinner.
But when he figured out she meant on a date, he’d been furious. And disgusted. “She’s Tim’s wife, Mom. She’s . . . practically my sister. What are you thinking?”
“She’s not his wife. She’s his widow.”
Grant had taken Link’s side, though, chiding Audrey for interfering. So she’d stayed out of it since. But sometimes when she thought about Bree finding someone else, grief consumed her as if it had only been yesterday that the uniformed officers had brought the devastating news to their door.
Landyn was now the same age Tim was when he’d died. The thought sent a pang through her. Audrey wasn’t superstitious, but she’d be glad when Landyn celebrated her next birthday. Too many reminders.
As if reading her mind, Grant looked up from his newspaper. “Are you going to let your youngest daughter sleep her life away?”
“She wasn’t feeling very well last night. It won’t hurt anything to let her sleep in.”
“How long is she here for, do you know?”
Audrey shook her head. “I barely got to talk to her yesterday.” Though it was true, it felt like a lie.
“Well, I hope she’s not planning to unload that U-Haul in my shop.”
Audrey winced. “I think that’s exactly what she’s planning. At least she used the word storage.”
A frown creased her husband’s forehead. “Did she also use the word temporary? What do they own that’s big enough to need a U-Haul anyway?”
Audrey shrugged, eager to change the subject. She heard Huckleberry at the back door and went to let him in.
“Huck! There you are!” Landyn, still in the long T-shirt she’d slept in, came down the back stairway and made a beeline for the dog. He went into happy spasms, alternately licking her face and barking at her and Grant, as if to announce “my girl’s home!”
“Do you want pancakes, honey? Did you sleep well?”
“I slept okay. And no pancakes. But thanks. I think—” A funny expression came to her face, and she scrambled to her feet and headed down the hall with one hand over her mouth.
Grant gave Audrey a what’s-up-with-her look. She only shrugged. But she was starting to have her suspicions. She wondered if Landyn had told Chase yet.
5
The trees in Central Park were nearing their peak of autumn color, and Chase Spencer chose an empty bench and plopped there, still breathing heavily from his morning run. He’d overslept and had only done two miles today, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to give him a hard time for wimping out.
No, that was Landyn’s job. And from the sound of things, she’d given up on him. He slumped on the bench and tilted his head to look at the massive oak branches overhead, composing a painting in his mind. If only he could capture the true colors and textures on canvas. But his work always fell short of what he saw in his mind’s eye. Sometimes he wished he could shut off the images that were always there. Colors and patterns, light and shadow, ink stippling and watercolor swirls. His profs had called it a gift. And there was a time he’d viewed it that way, too.
But recently, it felt like more of a curse. One he couldn’t seem to escape, but one that dogged him no differently than what he imagined an addiction to alcohol or weed would.
God what am I supposed to do with this?
It was a question he’d asked himself. And God. And Landyn. He and God were usually on the same page. Why couldn’t Landyn just go along? Why was that so hard for her? It wasn’t like he’d asked her to follow him to Africa to be a missionary—though sometimes he thought she might have sooner done that than let him have his dream.
He was an artist. It wasn’t an occupation. It wasn’t a hobby, as Landyn too often referred to it—revealing more than she knew. No, it was who he was. He could no more help that God made him that way than Landyn could help being a woman. It wasn’t his fault that society made it almost impossible to make a living as an artist.
And now he had his chance—his one chance—to make a go of it, and she wanted to throw it away. For security. For money.
He hadn’t seen that coming. Not when they’d been in youth group together growing up, not when they’d worked together in the computer labs on campus for work-study when he was a junior and she a doe-eyed freshman, and she’d brought him empty journals to fill with his ink drawings. Not when he’d taken her on dates to art galleries and dreamed confidently about the day it would be his work hanging there. Certainly not when they were engaged and she went out of her way to sing his praises—Chase Spencer, my art genius fiancé—to anyone who would listen.
But as soon as it meant giving up a nice apartment and moving into a studio, as soon as it meant giving up the security of the paltry savings account they shared, she’d freaked out on him and accused him of sabotaging their marriage and “abandoning” her.
Why couldn’t she understand that this was the opportunity of a lifetime? God couldn’t want him to hide his talent and bury his gifts. He was being obedient to the God they both claimed to believe in, and Landyn was punishing him for it. Even weirder when she’d always been the more spiritual one in their relationship. Oh, ye of little faith, Landyn.
Well, he’d show her. He would prove to her that he’d been right all along. He still loved her. And when she was ready to admit she’d been wrong, that she’d thwarted God’s will in his life—a pretty serious offense as he saw it—then he’d forgive her. And take her back.
Because he missed her like crazy.
His cell phone chirped and he checked the screen. It was the gallery. His heart ramped up a notch, but he forced a nonchalant tone. “This is Chase.”
“Hey, Chase. This is Patrick Everhardt. Miles Roberts probably told you I’d be calling?”
“Yes, he did.” But on Sunday? It still bothered him that the Sabbath was just another day in this city. Oh well, when in Rome . . . “Good to talk to you, Mr. Everhardt.”
“Listen, we’re impressed with what Miles showed us. We’d like to set up a meeting, see if we can get something in the works for you.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I’d be glad to come in and talk to you.” He sounded smooth even to his own ears. It was a good thing they couldn’t hear his heart trying to escape his chest.
“Miles explained how our commissions work?”
Chase frowned. “He said you might be able to get me a little upfront money.” It had shocked him to learn that galleries took a fifty percent commission. “Is that a possibility? Just something to live on while I do some of the pieces he thought we needed to fill out the show.”
“I wish we could, man. But we just set up two other debuts, and we can’t really do anything else right now. But I guarantee you’ll see it on the backside. And we can help you with some of the framing. Maybe you have someone—family or a friend—that could float you a loan to get you through?”
“Yeah . . . Sure, I’ll work something out.” Everhardt was a big dog. Chase wasn’t about to let this chance slip out of his hands. And if Everhardt would cover framing some of his work, that was a huge expense off his back. He was struggling to come up with enough matted stuff for a small show Miles had scheduled for next week.
Maybe it wasn’t all bad that Landyn had run home to mama. He didn’t exactly have time for a wife right now. He checked the thought, recognizing it for what it was. Him, on the defensive because he knew he wasn’t worthy of her. Had always known it. And if he ever forgot, Landyn’s dad could be counted on to slip in some subtle reminder.
It still steamed him a little what her parents had required him to do before saying “I do” to their daughter. Counseling. Like he was some kind of nutjob. Landyn had been quick to point out that most couples went through some kind of counseling before they walked down the aisle—a lot of pastors required it before marrying a couple. Or so she’d said.
He’d loved Landyn since he was eighteen. She’d been sixteen the first time he saw her, so he’d loved her from afar until Grant finally came around and let them hang out together. But even after they started dating, Chase had spent most of those years figuring Landyn would eventually realize she could do better than him.
But after they got married . . . Well, he’d just thought it would take a little longer for it to catch up with him.
But he wasn’t giving up yet. Maybe this time apart would give him time to prove to her that he could make it as an artist. Even if he had to get a second job and work around the clock. He’d do whatever it took.
* * *
The trees along the creek whispered in the morning breeze, their leaves trembling in rich shades of red and purple and gold that made Landyn think of Chase. He would have been pulling samples off every tree and rushing back to the house to mix paints in an effort to match the incredible beauty on paper. And she would have chided him for the irony of missing a moment while trying to capture it.
She missed him so much. Not the Chase she left in New York. No, she missed the Chase she’d first fallen in love with three years ago on a summer day at Lake Wappapello. But he’d changed. Or maybe she was the one who’d changed.
Her stomach turned somersaults and she folded her arms around herself and slumped down with her back against the rough trunk of the massive Osage orange tree. If there was anything on the acreage that represented the Whitman kids’ childhood, it was this gnarly, spreading hedge tree—“the climbing tree” they’d dubbed it, for obvious reasons.
Huck trotted up from the creek bank and plopped down beside her. Patting his warm coat, she pulled his head onto her lap, not minding that his muzzle was still wet from his visit to the watering hole. “Did you miss me, Huckleberry? Huh, boy?”
He looked up at her, panting, then laid his soggy head back on her thigh.
“I sure missed you.” She pushed his muddy paws away from her jeans and scratched behind his ears.
It had felt strange to be back home, especially inside where nothing looked the way it had when she’d lived here. But down here by the creek, everything was like it should be, untouched by Mom’s wand of change.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t proud of her mother. And impressed with what she’d accomplished. Dad, too, though she knew he’d mostly just executed what Mom had drawn up. What they’d done with the house was truly remarkable. Landyn recognized that. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had any claim on the place—and even if she did, Mom and Dad had only increased the value of the old house.
But it wasn’t home anymore. Not even close. She remembered Corinne, the first time she came home from college for the summer, saying wistfully, “you can never really go back home.” Her sister had graduated college long before the renovation, so maybe Landyn would have felt just as adrift if the house was exactly the way she remembered it. Still, seeing the drastic changes they’d made, realizing that the home she’d loved was gone, left a hollow feeling inside her.
A swell of nausea made her wrap her arms tighter around her midsection and close her eyes. She leaned her head against the tree trunk and let the breeze fan her. She hadn’t told anyone about the baby. She’d hardly admitted it to God, much less talked to him about it. But she couldn’t pretend much longer. “Oh, Lord. What am I going to do?”
The only answer was the trickle of the creek in the distance.
* * *
Grant studied the U-Ha
ul parked across the yard, then looked at Landyn beside him on the bench in Audrey’s fast-fading rose garden. “So what have you got in there?”
Landyn followed his line of sight. “Just some furniture and stuff. It’s not full.”
“What, you don’t need furniture in New York?”
She didn’t giggle like he expected.
“Dad—I’m not going back.” She looked at her hands in her lap, picking at a hangnail.
“What do you mean?”
“Chase and I . . . We had a disagreement. He let our apartment go and rented a hole in the wall in Brooklyn. So I had to—come home. He’s determined to make it big with his art. Some guy promised him a showing in a gallery in Bedford-Stuyvesant and he fell for it.”
“So you just left him? Just giving up on him, like that?” Dad snapped his fingers in that way that annoyed the snot out of her.
“I didn’t leave him, Dad. He pretty much made his choice when he chose to sublet our apartment without even telling me. He didn’t even give me a chance to discuss it. He just signed the contract on the spot. It would have cost me a fortune to commute back to my job from Brooklyn. I would have had to find a job in Brooklyn and start from square one.”
“Wait . . . You quit your job, too?”
“I didn’t have a choice, Dad. I can’t afford to live in Manhattan on my salary alone.”
“And you don’t call this starting from square one?” He motioned between them on the bench.
His youngest daughter’s news hit him like a fully-loaded river barge and he gripped the lip of the bench, feeling the splintered wood beneath his fingers. He’d known something wasn’t quite right with Landyn, but he sure as blazes hadn’t seen this coming. He’d been shocked at the salaries Landyn and Chase were drawing fresh out of college—until he heard how much their apartment rented for. But in this economy it was flat foolish to quit a decent paying job.
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