Marshall hadn’t been to church since the day of Laney’s funeral. But it was Easter Sunday and his sister was persuasive.
Or, rather, the cute voices of his niece and nephew on the phone last night were impossible to resist. They’d begged him to come to the morning service and lunch afterward, both talking at once. Beth had set him up good.
He slid his finger under his collar. Either he’d wound his tie too tightly or he’d grown way too used to not wearing the thing during his weeks in Iowa.
Beth elbowed him in the side. “The service hasn’t even started and you’re already fidgeting?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t that enough?” His nephew climbed onto his lap, holding a hymnal, looking like a little man in his gray vest and clip-on bowtie.
“You may be here, but you’re not here.”
Up on the stage, choir members were filing onto a set of risers.
“I thought it might feel weird—going back to church after so long. But I felt strangely at home.” Back in Wisconsin for nine days and he still couldn’t get Mara’s voice out of his head. He’d mostly stopped trying.
If only he could stop reliving those final moments over and over.
They’d stood on the porch, his bag at his feet, Captain Wagner waiting in the car. Mara had hovered in the doorway, hugging her arms to herself, resignation written all over her.
“Mara, are you sure I can’t convince you to take the money? If it’d make you feel better, it could be a loan instead of a gift. Complete with interest. We could get one of those generic legal contracts and make it all formal and official and everything.”
She’d shaken her head through all of it. Just like she had the night before when he’d asked if she wanted to talk about the phone call from her father. Nothing stubborn or angry in her refusal. Probably just self-preservation.
Because if she felt for him even half of what he felt for her then she most likely needed the emotional distance.
He should’ve followed her lead, heeded his own caution, instead of reaching for her then. Pulling her into a goodbye embrace despite her closed-off stance. But she’d eventually given in, dropped her arms from around her torso to encircle his.
Finally, he’d dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Bye, Mara. Thank you for everything.”
She’d nodded against his chest and stepped back.
And that had been that. He’d walked away without a backward glance, heart numb as he dropped into Captain Wagner’s car.
His nephew dropped the hymnal to the floor now, its thump enough to jerk Marshall to attention. His sister was staring at him. Drove him crazy how perceptive she could be. It’s the reason he’d avoided her so much since returning to Milwaukee. He’d had supper with her family his second night home, but other than that, he’d stuck around the townhouse.
Brooding, she’d say.
But that’s not all he’d done. He’d cleaned out a couple of closets. Found some of Penny’s belongings—items she must’ve forgotten about. He’d boxed them up and written her name in marker. Impressed himself by not feeling the mix of anger and rejection he usually did at the mere mention of her name.
“You know, I’m actually a pretty good listener, Marsh.” Beth scooted Makena off her lap and onto Alex’s on her other side.
“The service is going to start in a few minutes.”
“Not now, obviously. After dinner? You’ve hardly said a word about Iowa. I’d love to hear about—”
She broke off. Probably because she’d just seen what he had.
Penny walking down the church aisle with a man who must be her fiancé—or maybe even husband by now. Not as tall as Marshall, but older, more distinguished. He held a baby carrier.
“Marsh—”
“I’m fine, Beth.”
“I didn’t realize she’d be here. I thought she usually came to the late service.”
He glanced at his watch. Still another couple minutes before the opening song. “I’m going to get a drink.” He shifted Ethan off his lap and onto the pew. He gave Beth a strict look. “I’m fine.” He just needed a second.
Yet as soon as he crossed into the church foyer, the temptation to keep walking right on past the drinking fountain was simply too much. He already had his tie loosened when he spotted the exit, all the way off by the time he pushed through the glass doors.
“Marshall!”
He halted, eyes closing, fingers tightening around his tie. He made himself turn. “Hey.”
Penny hurried up to him, her heels clicking on the cement sidewalk. She wore a light green sweater over a simple sundress with a flowery pattern. Not one he recognized. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t leaving because . . .” She pushed a wayward curl behind her headband. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“You didn’t chase me away, Penn. I just needed some air.” The faint strains of music drifted from inside the church.
“You’re sure?” She tugged her sweater closed despite the warmth of the April breeze. The gold band around her ring finger glimmered in the sun.
Well, that answered that question.
She caught his stare. “Um, we had the ceremony a week ago. Not even a ceremony, really. Just a quick thing at the courthouse.”
“But . . . you’re happy?”
“You care?”
“What? Penny, of course, I—” He pressed his lips together, bunched his tie in his hand. There’d be no salvaging it at this point.
Once he would’ve been able to read the collection of emotions that trailed through Penny’s eyes as she watched him. He could’ve sorted through them to find the one she felt the deepest and truest. And he would’ve known how to respond.
But he wasn’t her husband anymore. And for once, the thought didn’t feel so fraught with jagged edges. When had that changed? He’d certainly still felt enough anger toward her when she’d come to the Everwood weeks ago.
But now? He couldn’t read his own thoughts any more than he could hers. “The service is about to start. You should get back inside.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be in in a sec.”
She turned to walk away.
He felt the breeze lift his hair and billow his shirt. The smell of lilacs drifted from a nearby bush.
“Penn?” He didn’t mean to say her name or drop his tie while rooted to the sidewalk. He should let her go, follow her back into church. Slide into the pew before Beth came looking. But unbidden need pushed out his next question before he could stop it. “How’d you do it?”
She turned back to him, a clump of clipped grass tumbled over the sidewalk in between them. “Do what?”
“How’d you move on?” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and his clean-shaven jaw. “I can’t figure out how to do it. I thought maybe I was getting closer when I was in Iowa, but then . . . the hospital . . . it made it all come back. I can’t even talk about her. Mara asked questions sometimes and I couldn’t even . . .” Was he making any sense at all? “What do I need to do? Go to counseling or something? Take more time off work? I don’t know what to do.”
She neared him once more. “I don’t know, Marsh. I—”
“Think, please.” Voices were singing inside the church now, a drumbeat nearly matching the rhythm of Marshall’s racing heart. He thrust one hand in the direction of the building. “Was it this? Church? God? If so, I need you to tell me how in the world you can keep trusting God after everything that happened.”
She watched him for a long, quiet moment. Finally, she took a breath. “I did see a couple of counselors, Marsh. The first one—he wasn’t so great. At our first session, after I told him all about losing Laney, I asked a similar sort of question—how could a good God take away my child? The counselor launched into this theological analogy about God being like a father who helps a child learn to ride a bike.” She rolled her eyes. “He asked if it’s the father’s fault when the child tips off the bike or if it’s just gravity, and he said living in the world we do is like living with the reality of gravity and yada-yada, and I’m telling you, I left that appointment even angrier than when I’d walked in.”
Marshall crossed his arms. “Because how’s a lame analogy supposed to help?”
“Right. But later, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not the analogy, but the memory it brought to mind. Of Laney learning to ride her bike.”
Oh, Laney had loved riding her yellow bike almost as much as she’d liked running. He still had that bike in the garage, hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Like the sled he’d rescued from his totaled truck.
Penny pushed her blowing hair out of her face. “I remembered this one time when Laney was out riding on the driveway and I was raking leaves and you were inside. She fell off, started wailing. And you came sprinting from the house.”
“I remember that.” Laney had cried more from the shock of it than actual pain, though she’d scraped both knees and one elbow plenty good. He remembered his relief as he’d checked her over—no broken bones. And like the brave little thing she was, she’d been back up on the bike twenty minutes later.
“That’s what I couldn’t stop thinking about, Marsh. The way you ran toward her. It was this vivid, alive image in my head. And I started thinking, what if that’s like God? What if when we’ve fallen, when we’re hurt, when we’re in our greatest pain, He runs toward us?” Penny’s soft tone reached toward him. “What if it’s not about me pulling myself together and getting up, but just . . . looking up? To see Him. Running to me.”
Her voice caught. She swallowed. “I think maybe that’s how I kept going. By clinging to that picture in my mind until I believed it. And felt it. And experienced it.” She touched his arm, just barely. “It’s not that I’m over losing Laney, Marsh. It’s not that I’ve moved on. Laney will always be a part of me. But when I was in my deepest pain, God came for me. He didn’t leave me in an injured pile on the sidewalk nor did he stand around waiting for me to get up and move. He came running for me.”
A hot tear trekked down his cheek. Another. And another. And he saw himself just like Penny said—a broken heap on hard, cold cement. Just look up. See Him. Running.
Could he believe that? Could he look past all the hurt in his heart, the stubbornness in his head, and let himself see a God who still cared? Cared enough to come for Marshall, kneel beside him, touch him with His kindness and presence.
He wanted to try. Oh God, I want to try. Help me see you. Somehow . . . help me see.
He swiped the back of his hands over his eyes. “I have so much I need to apologize to you for, Penn.” He choked out the words.
“We both hurt each other. But it’s Easter today. A day for grace and forgiveness and new life.”
“Penny?” The voice came from the church entrance. Penny’s new husband stood in the doorway, one arm holding the door open, their baby propped in the other.
Marshall’s breathing hitched once more. But he made himself exhale. “You should go in.”
“You coming?”
“In a minute.” He looked from Penny to her new family and back again. “Maybe after church I could, um, meet Jason and . . . the baby. You said his name is Noah?” It would be awkward and uncomfortable for all of them.
But like she’d said, it was Easter. A day for forgiving and being forgiven.
There was something healing in Penny’s smile. “After church then.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Jen dumped one sugar packet after another into her Americano. “I don’t mind sticking around. Really. Otherwise, all I’m going to do is shop and spend way too much money on a pair of leather cowboy boots. Preferably red ones.”
Mara laughed despite the nerves that’d kept her from ordering a drink of her own at the small Nashville coffee shop. The last thing she needed right now were extra jitters.
“You don’t have to stay, Jen. Shop to your heart’s content. Dad’ll be here soon.”
He’d texted a few minutes ago that he was running late. But he’d be here. He wouldn’t have bought her the plane ticket if he planned to back out on her.
She still couldn’t believe this was really happening. His phone call had been stunning enough.
“Hi, Mara. It’s Dad.”
She’d been waiting years—decades—to hear those words.
“I’m sorry to call out of the blue. I just got your email. I wish I would’ve seen it earlier. I’m horrible about reading my messages. But I’m so glad to hear from you.”
She hadn’t known what to say. It’d been a brief, awkward call. Crammed with uncertainty on both ends of the line.
The next one two days later had been just as stilted. But the third one, just a few days ago, had been a little better. That’s when he’d asked if he could see her. He’d offered to fly to wherever she wanted or pay for a ticket for her to come to him.
Considering how lonely the Everwood had become, she’d chosen the latter.
And of course, as soon as Jen had gotten wind of it, she’d asked to come along. A perfect chance to visit Nashville for the first time, she’d said. But really, it was a show of friendship for which Mara had been grateful every minute of the three-hour plane ride.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky to end up with a friend like you,” she said, giving Jen a quick side hug as they moved away from the coffee shop counter.
“I’m the lucky one. Do you know how long I’ve had to put up with two males for best friends? It’s just not the same as having a female kindred spirit.” Jen took a sip of her drink and winced. “And this coffee is not the same as Coffee Coffee’s.” She gave Mara a measured look. “Nor is our little friend group the same without Marshall. I still say he deserves a kick in the pants for leaving.”
“No, he really doesn’t.” Surprisingly, she meant it.
In the little over a week since he’d been gone, she might’ve finally begun to understand why he’d left. He’d said he’d been living in a bubble. The more she thought on it, the more she could almost see the truth of it. She’d done the same thing for months after first arriving in Iowa.
The Everwood had been a haven but it’d also been a hideout. Maybe that’s why Lenora had asked her now and then about her hopes, her dreams, where she’d be if not there. She’d been trying to pop the bubble.
Maybe that’s what Marshall was doing in leaving. And though Mara’s fragile heart yearned for a love that might’ve been, she kept thinking about what Lenora always said—that God was with her.
“He’s been with you all along . . . even in the hallway. His love is an always and everywhere kind of love.”
If that was true, then Mara had never been fully alone or fully abandoned. When Dad had left and Mom stopped seeing her and Lenora disappeared and Marshall went home . . . she’d still had Him. Even if she hadn’t seen him.
Could she find comfort in that now? I’m trying. She was trying and waiting and listening for His voice, His assurance despite such a painful closed door.
Jen’s purse swung from her elbow. “You have to defend Marshall because you’re in love with him, but—”
“Am not.” At least, she was trying not to be.
“Kindred spirits don’t lie to each other. And when kindred spirits pry, it’s only because they care.”
“Well, then from one kindred spirit to another, how about we talk about Lucas for a minute?” The moment the teasing words left her lips, her attention hooked on the figure walking through the coffee shop’s door. Dad.
Eighteen years had marked their presence upon him—in lines on his face, in the gray he hadn’t bothered to hide in his hair. He didn’t seem as tall as she recalled.
But then, she’d been twelve when he’d walked away the second time.
“Why would we talk about Lucas?” Jen asked, oblivious.
“Uh, Jen, that’s my dad.”
“Ah, okay. Right. Do I meet him before scramming or just disappear now?”
It was too late for the latter. Dad had spotted her straightaway, and he made his way to her now. His grin was almost too wide. As if he was trying to rally a confidence he didn’t feel.
They met near a waist-high table. Empty. Two chairs. “Hi, Dad.”
His smile faltered. “I didn’t know if you’d—”
“Show up?”
“Call me Dad.”
Was he actually blinking away tears? Mara shot a help me look at Jen. She didn’t know what to say or do. Shake his hand? No, that seemed too formal. But she wasn’t ready for a hug either.
Jen plunked her coffee cup on the table. “Hi. I’m Jenessa. Mara’s friend.”
Whoa, that warning tone. Jen had gone on the offensive and defensive at the same time.
Dad blinked again and gave her a simple nod. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad Mara didn’t have to make the plane trip alone.”
“Well, she would’ve been perfectly fine on her own. She’s used to it.”
Oh dear. “Uh, Jen, weren’t you going to do some shopping? Remember? Red leather boots?”
Jen lifted her cup once more. “Yes. But if you need me—”
“I’ll text you.”
Jen squeezed her arm before moving away. Finally, they were alone. Well, alone in a crowded coffee shop. But surely this was better than someplace private. If it got too weird or something—
“Mara?”
It was somehow comforting to see her own hesitation mirrored in her father’s expression.
“Should we sit?”
She nodded and towed herself into the high chair. She should’ve ordered a drink. It would’ve given her something to fidget with. The strums of a country song hummed along behind the chatter of the shop and the groan of coffee machines. Sunlight streamed in the long windows, interrupted by people walking past on the busy sidewalk.
“I’m so happy you were willing to come all this way,” Dad finally said, breaking their strained silence. “Your email alone was more than I’ve hoped for in years now. So to actually be sitting here across from you—”
“What do you mean you hoped for an email?” The purse on her knees slid forward. She barely grasped it before it dropped to the floor. “You were waiting for me to reach out? You could’ve emailed. You could’ve called.”
“Mara—”
“I deserve an explanation, Dad. I deserve to know why I wasn’t worth sticking around for. Birthdays, holidays, graduation—you missed all of it. You didn’t even come to Mom’s funeral.”
“I tried to.”
Her knuckles were white around the strap of her purse. “What?”
“I thought I could do it. I wanted to be there, I did. I started the drive, but . . .” He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. “I relapsed on the way. Didn’t even make it as far as Kentucky. Ended up in a hospital. I was so bad off that time they put me in the psych ward.”
Were Mara’s lungs still working? “What do you mean you relapsed?”
Dad’s pale eyes met hers. “She really never told you?”
Did he mean Mom?
“Mara, I was in treatment. On and off for years. I’m an alcoholic. Seven years sober now, but—”
“What? No . . . that can’t . . . You’re a country music singer. You’re a Grammy-winning songwriter. You went to Nashville to chase your career.”
“I went to Nashville to enter a rehab center to get help for my addiction.”
Too many questions clogged in her throat. Words that didn’t seem to compute knocked into each other. Alcoholic. Addiction. Treatment. None of it matched up to the image of her father in her head.
“It was a year-long program. I stuck with it all the way through the first time. Then I came home, remember?”
“Remember? I’ve relived that night a thousand times, Dad. We dressed up. We made pot roast. It was all a plan. To try to get you to stay.”
He scooted his chair closer to her. “I wanted to stay. But your mom. She could tell I’d already been drinking before I showed up at the house. One week out of rehab and I was already at it again. She told me to leave and I don’t blame her.”
“But why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The tears were back in his eyes. “I wish we would’ve. I was so ashamed at the time. I have to believe your mother thought she was doing what was best for you.”
“She let me believe you didn’t care. That you’d walked away.”
“She was hurting too. Hurting people do inconsiderate things sometimes.”
Inconsiderate? “But your career . . .”
“There was a volunteer at the center who had connections at The Bluebird. He heard me playing guitar at chapel one night. The rest is history.” He placed one palm on the table, close to where her hand now gripped the table’s edge. “I lost my family because of my addiction and my shame. The career happened somewhere along the way, but it’s nothing to me compared to what I lost.”
Too many emotions pressed in. Hurt so long buried. Confusion. Disbelief and realization knotting together. How could Mom have let her think . . .
She shook her head. Mom wasn’t here. Dad was. “I still don’t understand why you haven’t tried to contact me. You said you’ve been sober for seven years.”
He cleared his throat. “I told myself I didn’t want to intrude on your life. That it wouldn’t be kind to you. That you were better off. But I think the deeper truth is that I was just a coward. And a fool. I may be sober but . . .” He lifted his gaze. “There’s no excuse. Not for any of it. If I could change the past decades, I would, but all I can do is sit here now and try to tell you how immensely sorry I am. How much I’ve missed being your father. How many times I hoped that you’d hear one of my songs and know . . .”
His voice cracked and he looked away as he pulled a tissue from his pocket.
“I hoped you’d hear one of my songs and know that your dad loved you. Even if he was too much of a mess to ever show it.”
“Dad.” She didn’t know what else to say. Or even what to feel. It was going to take a while to tunnel through all the new details of the past, find her way to new footing in the present.
But for now, maybe it was okay just to be. To be here. With her dad.
“Could I get you a coffee, Dad?”
“So what are you going to do?”
The question burst from Jen before Mara had even closed the hotel room door or the sound of Dad’s retreating steps faded. She slid the chain lock into place and turned to see Jen sitting cross-legged on the queen bed closest to the window, shopping bags spread around her.
“Did you find those boots?”
“We’ll talk about my boots—all three pairs—later. You can’t just text a friend that your dad, whom you haven’t talked to in almost two decades, asked you to move to Nashville and then not elaborate.”
Mara plopped on her bed, muscles still sore from the cramped plane trip earlier this morning, but heart overflowing. She’d talked with Dad in that little coffee shop for more than three hours. In fits and spurts, snippets of their lives shared through the awkwardness of not really knowing one another anymore.
But he loved her. He’d always loved her.
No, knowing so didn’t erase eighteen years of pain just like that. But maybe pain wasn’t a thing to be erased anyway. Maybe in facing it and understanding it and walking through it instead of around it, a person could find new purpose.
He’d be back in another couple of hours to take her and Jen to dinner.
She laid on her back, gaze on the popcorn ceiling. “Apparently he has a really nice guestroom. He offered it when I told him about Lenora selling the Everwood.” She bent her knees, her toes tangling in the bed sheets and her arms crossed over her head. “Honestly, it was pretty weird. He kept looking at me like he couldn’t quite believe I was real. We sort of tiptoed around each other.”
“Now I feel bad for being rude to him.” Jen moved to the edge of her bed, feet touching the floor. “Him looking at you like he couldn’t believe you were real, though? It makes sense. You’re probably a miracle to him. He thought he’d lost you for good.”
And Mara had thought she’d lost him. All this time, if she’d only reached out . . . if he’d reached out . . .
No, she’d already decided not to go there. At least not now. Today was a reunion, a celebration she’d never seen coming. She wasn’t going to get caught up in if onlys.
“So, you could move to Nashville. You could move to Illinois with Lenora. You could stay in Maple Valley.” Jen held up a finger for each option. “You could chase Marshall to Milwaukee.”
“Uh, no.”
“Well, obviously, happy as I am for you and your dad, I have to cast my vote for Maple Valley. What are you thinking?”
Mara sat up. “I have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“Don’t you have some little inkling, though? A gut instinct?”
“I love Maple Valley. It’s the first place that’s felt like home in . . . forever, it seems. But without the Everwood, what would I do there?”
“Move in with me? Help me clean out my parents’ house?”
Mara laughed.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m totally serious.”
Moving to Illinois would be the safe choice. She’d have a new place to belong. Lenora would dote on her and Mara would be the daughter she’d never had. It was the very thing she’d longed for at this time a year ago.
But for some reason, “safe” didn’t hold the same allure now.
“I want to get to know my dad. I really do.”
“You’d move to Nashville? Just like that?”
“I’ve moved plenty of times before.” She turned to the window, the lights of Nashville and the sprawling airport nearby glittering against a sunset abounding in every shade of pink. What did she want?
Marshall’s face filled her mind in an instant. Just like it had so many times in the days since he’d left. Those gray eyes of his—stormy at times and at others as soothing and mellow as one of Dad’s songs. His smiles, so rare when she’d first met him and ever-varied—crooked and teasing, dimpled and sincere.
Marshall Hawkins. Thirty-five. Milwaukee.
But Marshall was a who, not a what. And he had his own road to walk right now. Besides, while it might sound romantic to go chasing after him, there was something else tugging on her soul now. Something urgent and beckoning. Voices, memories rising up.
Jen as she helped paint. “I think there must be something magical about this house. Even Lucas seems happier since he’s come here.”
Lenora as she pointed Mara toward faith. “I think God led you here, Mara.”
And Marshall. “You’re not just saving the Everwood, Mara. Every day that I’ve spent here—with you—I’ve felt a little more whole.”
And one more voice. A whisper. The one she’d been waiting for. I carved out a place for you. Because I love you.
She watched through the window as a plane lifted into the pastel sky. God, who’d loved her with an always and everywhere kind of love, even when she hadn’t seen it, was summoning her from the hallway once more, wasn’t He? It was time to stand up and walk through another door. She didn’t have to know how it’d all work. She just had to take the next step.
Mara reached for her braid, pulled its tie loose and helped it unravel. She brushed her fingers through unruly waves as she turned to Jen. “Come on, friend. Let’s get ready for dinner with my dad.”