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Dean approached the cottage late Monday morning, thankful for a respite from the rain. It was early afternoon, and he hoped Grace had enjoyed her morning solitude. She’d promised to be out by the middle of the day so she could explore the surrounding area. He parked alongside the wall that bordered the property and proceeded to the cottage after removing a bucket from the back of his motorbike. Grace opened the door with a smile, and his heart hurdled over his plans for the day. She looked cute with her hair in braided pigtails. “You’ve come with supplies, I see,” she teased.
Dean held up the can of sealant for the stains on the ceiling. “Good morning. I hope I’m not too early.”
“Nope,” Grace answered. “I finished three chapters of The Hobbit, and I’ve started my next quilling project. The butterfly is done.”
“I’m still sorry to bother you,” Dean admitted.
“Don’t be. I welcome the break and the humanity.”
Dean chuckled as she stepped aside and let him in. “Where are you heading to today?”
“Into the mountains to hunt for bogs,” she announced.
Dean lifted his brows. “Make sure you don’t fall in. No one will ever see you again.”
“Then I’ll get the solitude I came for,” she joked.
He shook his head at her. “You thought you could disappear in Wicklow, but it didn’t work out, huh?”
“Speaking of which, I missed you at the church service yesterday,” said Grace. “I thought I might see you there.”
Dean felt his smile stiffen. “I don’t make it often.” He held up the paint bucket to change the subject. There was no use explaining he couldn’t worship right now, not with the reproach that ate at his soul. “I better get to scraping so I can seal the old leak spots with this.”
“And then you paint?”
“Yes, I already have the stuff.” He looked around the cottage. “Just a few more things, and I’ll have her ready for the market.”
Something like panic passed across Grace’s face. “What about the furniture? And the books? The quilt on your bed?”
“Those old things? I’ll have them removed eventually.”
“Don’t you want to hang onto them?”
Dean shook his head. “They’re just things. I don’t need them.”
“Oh.” Grace looked somewhat miffed. “I better hang around if you’re going to be on a ladder—just in case.”
Dean nodded. “I’d appreciate that since I almost fell off the roof. I’m not the most graceful guy.”
“You ride a motorcycle,” Grace pointed out.
“You should see me on roller skates.”
She laughed. “I’m happy to stay while you’re scraping.”
“It shouldn’t take too long.” He was delighted she could stay. The cottage seemed to come to life when she walked through the door. She followed him to the bedroom and moved the furniture out of the way while he set up the ladder that he’d brought inside a few days earlier.
“Have you done this before?”
Dean snorted. “More times than I can count.”
“I can help if you need it.” Grace found some old towels while Dean got started. She kept one foot on the rickety step ladder to keep him from tipping and scooted the bucket on the floor to catch the majority of the paint chips. “So you were too busy to come to church yesterday?” she said conversationally.
Dean didn’t stop scraping. “No time.” His neck bent back at an uncomfortable-looking angle.
“Mmm,” murmured Grace. “I wondered if it was because you were angry at God.” Dean paused and tried to focus on the ceiling which made his eyes feel like they were going to water. “For a while there I had to find a way to stumble through the pain. I’m just beginning to see that I haven’t fully let it go though. I’m hanging onto things. Like this cottage.”
“I can see that. You’ve been grieving a long time.”
Dean stared down at her, wondering how she could possibly understand. “You mean for my wife?”
“Celeste. Yes.” Grace ignored the sudden chill in the air. “I thought about you losing her while I was at church yesterday. I know it’s inexplicable, the pain, even more so trying to explain it to someone.”
“Then why are you asking?” He didn’t mean to make her recoil, but Dean wasn’t used to having his heart poked and prodded. “I mean...I know you’re just curious.”
“I’m sorry if I went too far,” Grace apologized. Dean resumed his scraping so he didn’t have to look into her alluring eyes. He could feel the sincere concern in her gaze.
“It just seems you’re angry at the universe and holing up in Portland—only coming over here to sell the cottage so you won’t have to ever come back here.”
Dean ran a hand over the ceiling to smooth it out. “I think I have a right to be. Don’t you?”
“My ex didn’t die.”
“You’re not angry at God?” Dean knew his question sounded demanding.
“He didn’t make my husband leave me,” rallied Grace although he suspected talking about it still hurt her. He could hear it in her tone, a sound he knew intimately now.
“He put you in his path,” Dean gently disagreed. “You married him.”
Grace exhaled loudly. “We make our own choices. I don’t believe God ever interferes in how we use our agency even if we use it the wrong way.”
“Cancer isn’t a choice.”
“You’re right, but don’t you trust He knows better than you do?”
“What good can possibly come out of cancer?”
“Maybe it was something Celeste needed to experience before she left mortality. Maybe it was something you needed to experience through someone else’s eyes.”
“So cruelty is how God teaches us what we need to know?” Dean dropped the scraper to his side and clutched the top of the ladder so the power of his emotions didn’t send him tumbling backwards.
Grace shook her head in frustration. “I don’t believe God is cruel, Dean. Everything from the stars in heaven down to the cells of our bodies testify of how much He loves us. Look at the nature around us—the forest and lakes and mountains of Wicklow. And we have families.”
“That He takes.”
“We get to have them for a time. We’ll get to be with them again after we leave, too, if we want. Thanks to the Savior’s sacrifice.”
“You really believe all that?”
“Yes, I believe. I have to or what’s the point of it all? I believe God is perfection, and we can’t become perfect like Him without an atonement. There has to be a plan. There is a plan. I want to go back and become perfect, too. Happy. Holy.”
“So you’ve totally forgiven your ex and life is all good now.” Dean couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I’m happy for you, but it’s not in the cards for me. God took my happiness with her—everything—hopes, dreams, plans...my future.” They locked gazes, then Grace looked out the window where the rolling hills glowed green.
“I have a timeshare in Florida that I share with my ex.” Dean watched her take a deep breath. “It’s the vacation home I swapped with Laura. Making new memories there isn’t going to happen for me because he won’t give it up, and I resent that. That’s why Laura suggested we swap. I need new memories and to make a final decision about this job offer. She was right. I’ve been so caught up with the present and trying to ignore the past that I needed a real escape.”
Dean climbed back to the top of the ladder and sat on it, swinging the scraper in his hand. His presence at Clover Cottage had probably ruined things for Grace. “And you got landed with an owner who wants to sell and can’t give you a day to yourself.”
“I’ve had time with myself,” Grace said quickly, “and I don’t need all day. In fact, I went walking yesterday and sketched some flowers around a swampy bog.”
“They’re called blanket bogs here,” Dean smiled. “It’s because they cover so much area. What did you think about it?”
“It sure made me contemplate life and death. I thought about animals and even people who may have died there. Then I looked up and saw the sun over the mountains giving everything life.”
Dean didn’t miss her subtle reference to the Christ. “Did you know ancient people used to throw in gold and silver as offerings?”
Grace smiled. “I didn’t get too close. I didn’t want to join any lost travelers who took their last breaths there. Not yet.”
“You took a walking stick I hope,” said Dean.
“As you advised, yes. And thank you. It’s so beautiful here, even in the places where nature thrives on decay. It all comes back as peat, right?”
“They form peat, the bogs,” Dean nodded. “That’s what we use to patch roofs and for fuel.”
Grace dropped onto the corner of the bed. “So glaciers came in; glaciers went out. Mountains and valleys formed. Flowers and animals grew among the crags, and death recycled everything into something useful all over again. And here we are still a part of that. It’s a resurrection in a way.” Dean stared, amazed at her insight. “I’m thinking I could use this in my classes next year if I take the job,” Grace chuckled. “The circle of life in the Wicklow Mountains. That’d make all of this trip useful.”
He gave her a faint smile. “That’s a unique perspective. Maybe my life will come full circle.” His eyes glistened. “It’d feel good to have a purpose.”
Grace tilted her head. “I bet you’re a more empathetic person since your wife passed.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Dean allowed, after a few seconds of contemplation. “I guess I have that. Maybe I can use it someday.”
Grace studied him. “So you do believe God has something good in store for you. There’s a seed of faith there.”
Dean’s smile melted away. “No, not really. I had true love and lost it, and unlike you, I don’t have a daughter or a son to share the last two-thirds of my life.” He climbed down the ladder with a thump. “I don’t even know why I’m here to be honest.”
“I thought you wanted to fix up this place and sell it?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Dean gave her a tight smile and escaped into the hall.
Grace followed him. “Why do I get the feeling selling your cottage is a lot more than just getting rid of a property you don’t want to look out for anymore?” He stopped at the kitchen counter and unscrewed a bottle of carbonated water. “You have good memories here,” Grace insisted.
“I had memories here. Now I’m getting rid of them.”
She frowned at him. “So you want to get rid of all the happy memories you’ve had?”
Dean let out a breath of exasperation. “Remembering happy times just reminds me I’m not happy now. There’s a void in my life I can’t seem to fill, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Why not?” Grace backed against the counter and rested her hips on it.
“I just feel...” Dean shrugged and looked around the secluded cottage.
“Alone?” she finished.
“I guess. I haven’t even gone home for Thanksgiving since the funeral. It’s been a while.” He cleared his throat. “So let’s get to painting now. I’d like it to dry and have the fumes gone before you need to sleep tonight. After your stay, I’ll paint the walls and give the kitchen cabinets a fresh coat.”
“Okay. I sure hope you keep the yellow on the cabinet doors. I like it.” Grace stirred her foot around on the floor. “And I get you, Dean. I haven’t been to any extended family gatherings since my marriage broke up. Even after making peace with it, I just don’t want anyone’s judgment or pity.”
“Well, no judgment here.”
“Same. And no pity—sympathy—but no pity. I’m happy you had a wonderful marriage. I’m sorry that God decided it was her time to go home.” Grace found his gaze again. “As I said, considering all He shows us through His handiwork, I believe He has a pretty good idea of what He’s doing.”
“Maybe.” Dean kept his reply short and brusque. Talking about Celeste and feeling surges of attraction for Grace every time they were in the same room was confusing.
Realizing he’d had enough, she darted back to the bedroom. “Alright, let’s turn on that turntable and let me paint,” she insisted, “or you’re going to have a crick in your neck for a week!”