Kerra sat on the rock beside Brett and cried. Tears had filled her eyes the moment she’d slid into her car. The day had been agony. Holding herself together during court, forcing herself to appear impassive while that awful man testified about Brett’s argument with Shawna. It seemed as if every eye in the courtroom had been turned on them, analyzing, watching for the least suspicious movement.
“Oh, Kerra, I never should have told you,” Brett said soothingly.
“Yes, you should have. I don’t know how you bore it alone for so long. You had to tell me.”
Her throat closed. Brett hugged her as she cried against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped after a few moments. “You’d think I’d be done by now.”
“It’s okay.” He smoothed her hair. Finally she sat up and wiped her face, sniffling.
“Do you know,” she said, “that’s the first time in over a year I’ve cried about anything other than Dave’s death?”
Brett smiled sadly.
She exhaled, tried to steady her breathing.“Know what else?” She pulled away a strand of hair that was stuck to her cheek.“Ever since last weekend I haven’t seen the accident in my head.” She focused on the bay, dwelling on that fact. “Aunt Chelsea told me she felt sure God wanted me to visit so he could help me move on with my life. I think so, too. But I think he knew all this would happen and that I’d end up with you.”
“You think he put us together?”
“I don’t know. Frankly, I never asked him. All I know is, you needed me and I needed you.”
“That’s for sure.”He gazed out over the tree-covered hills, utter weariness on his face.
It struck her then how self-centered she was being. So focused on her feelings, her fears. Brett needed her far more than she needed him right now.He was practically drowning in his own anxiety and guilt. In her heart she knew Brett needed more than just her to help him through.He was seeking spiritually, whether he fully realized it or not.How wrong, how selfish, she was to hold back her knowledge of that truth.
“You know what I think we should do?” she heard herself say. “I think we should pray.”How rusty the word sounded on her tongue. She remembered how joyous she’d been after she found Christ.How she’d shared her faith with Dave.How they’d begun to pray together, laying a deeper, stronger foundation for their relationship.
Brett looked at her, nonplussed.“How?”
“Does that mean you want to?”
“Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
“Brett,” she ventured,“we’ve talked about how a person can reach up to God in response to him.You can do that right now if you want. To tell the truth, I need to get back to him myself. I think we should do that, plus ask for his help in all this mess. Goodness knows we’re not doing too well on our own.”
He pondered her words. “Okay.”
She took his hand. “I’ll start.” She hesitated, words snagging on her lips. It had been so long. “Dear Jesus,” she began,“we need you. Please lead us through this hard time. And as for me, I’m sorry for falling away from you. Help me be close to you like I was before.”
She fell silent. “You want to say anything?” she asked Brett quietly.
“Uh, yeah.” She heard him swallow. “God. Thank you for Kerra. Thank you for what she told me about you. If it’s true—well, I mean, I’m sure it’s true—help me to follow you.You reached out to me, so I’ll reach back.”He pressed her fingers. “I guess that’s it.”
“Amen,” she said.
“Amen.”
They looked at each other.
“Am I supposed to feel anything?” he asked.
“Not necessarily. But you will if you keep talking to him.At least I sure did.”
He nodded. Then sighed. “It didn’t exactly take away all our problems, did it.”
“No.”Kerra rubbed his thumb. “But I know it’ll help us through them. Somehow, Brett, some way, God’s going to see us through this.”
MILT STEPPED INTO HIS town home with a sigh.He plunked down his laptop and threw his suit coat over the back of the couch, followed by his tie. It was seven thirty, his evening report had aired, and his stomach was grumbling.He’d been running on nervous energy and too little sleep.
He’d received two more emails from Maria. They hadn’t been full of substance, but they’d sure been full of frustration and anger. He’d written her back, playing the confused, love-crazed Tracey. Hadn’t been too hard, after he’d watched the girl in action two nights in a row.He hoped he’d said just enough to keep Maria on her cyberspace toes.
He poured a glass of wine and headed for his computer, chuckling to himself. And he thought he’d had a coup last year with the Chelsea Adams exclusive. That success, together with his scoops in this trial,wouldn’t begin to match the glory he was bound for in the next few days. Once he got this all worked out, he would single-handedly bring the entire Salad King trial to its knees. His ratings would shoot the moon! Offers from television stations would whirl around him like Tasmanian devils.
Milt set down his glass and booted up the computer, idly pondering how ironic his future coverage of Tracey Wilagher’s murder trial would be. He logged on to his email, making small popping sounds with his mouth as he waited. Ah, there it was. Another note from his lovely Maria.
He clicked it happily, brought a fist to his chin and read.
The fist slackened. His hand fell to his lap.
The words refused to sink in. He shook his head. Read it again. Read it a third time. And a fourth.
The message rooted him to his chair.Milt Waking’s stomach sank to his toes.