The day after Max flabbergasted her with his plan to sell the business, the world spun in a different direction for Claire. She was on sensory overload. The sun was nearly too bright, colors nearly too vivid, people nearly too real.
He invited her to dinner. She invited him to her symphony concert. He went, and they ate a late dinner afterward. He wanted to spend the night with her. She said no. He pressed, but only momentarily.
She needed time. Not to decide whether or not they could love each other again, but to wait for the love to sprout again and for the trust to send down roots and take hold.
Two days after Max flabbergasted her with his plan to sell the business, she called Eddie. They met at the beach.
They walked. As usual with their informal support-group style, they explored residue that still clung to their hearts, hiding like the ash in out-of-the-way places and surprising them when they discovered it. Odd dreams here and there. Questions about eternity. Fears over silly things.
After a bit he said, “Okay, Claire. You’re holding back. What do you want to tell me?” He read her like that.
“Residue. Max and I reconnected Friday night.”
He looked down at her. “Whew. That’s wonderful.”
“I think so. I’m not sure yet, but I think so.”
They walked in silence for a while.
“Eddie, I can’t keep meeting with you. I don’t know what it’s like for you, but for me . . .” Her voice cracked. “I’m getting . . .” Another surprise. She hadn’t expected to cry.
“I know.”
She glanced at him.
“It’s mutual, Claire. Let’s sit.”
They turned up from the ocean’s edge and sat in the sand. It was a sunny, late October day, but not hot enough to entice beachgoers. The place was nearly empty.
He smiled. “I should know better. I mean, the circumstances we met under were pretty wild. Support groups are great, but these after-shocks will continue to lessen. Once they’re gone, then what would we have between us?”
“An emotional connection unlike we have with anyone else.”
“You’re not supposed to say that.”
She smiled. “The fly in the ointment is I’m married. And now I think I might want to stay married.”
“I don’t want to interfere with that.”
They turned to look at the ocean.
She said, “So how is Sheila?”
“Well. We may be going our separate ways.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Did I—”
“It wasn’t you. It wasn’t us. It’s just time.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a paper. “I wanted to read some-thing to you. It’s from the book of Joel.”
Eddie had continued studying the Bible.
“Just some bits and pieces I liked. ‘For fire has devoured the open pastures and the flames have burnt up all the trees . . . Surely a day of darkness and gloom is upon us . . . a blackness spread over the mountains.’ There’s more stuff about fire and other terrible things. But here, listen to what comes next: ‘The Lord says, turn back to me with your whole heart.’ And ‘Turn back to the Lord your God; for he is gracious and compassionate.’” He looked at her. “I don’t understand it at all. But it makes me feel like God is available.”
“He loves us.”
Eddie nodded. “So I guess I’ll go find a Bible study group next. Kind of like a support group, I bet.” He smiled and held out his hand to shake hers.
She put her hand in his. “Thank you for everything.”
“Thank you, Claire Beaumont.” He stood. “Be sure to invite me to Zak and Lexi’s wedding?”
She laughed. “If that happens, of course you’ll be invited. And knowing Indio, she’ll have all three of you up to the hacienda for dinner as soon as the kitchen is open.”
His eyes held hers until she had to glance away. “Well, Claire, I do wish you all the best. Bye.” With a wave, he took off down the beach, his strides long and confident.
Claire felt a new lightness in her heart. He had been a good friend in a time of need. But she didn’t want to need any man right now. She wanted only to turn back to God and need Him. After all, only He had the power to truly take care of her. She’d lost sight of the truth, of the gift Jesus gave by dying for her sin. It meant everything was right between her and the Creator of the universe.
Imagine that. The Creator.
No matter the dreadful things she had done or thought, no mat-ter the good things she had failed to do or think—she was right with God. No matter any less-than-perfect choices she would make in the future—forgiveness was just an “I’m sorry” away. There, in God’s love, lay her safety and security.
Imagine that.
“As Indio would say, Well, God is good. Hallelujah.”