Ian sat with his back to the arm of the couch and looked at Calla. In the two weeks since he’d seen her last, she’d taken the braids out of her hair and the tan she’d gotten while in Haiti had faded. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks looked sallow, as if she had lost weight.

He’d come here because Al thought talking to her face-to-face would help him. But, as he stared at her, he found himself growing angry as the hurt tried to infiltrate his heart again.

She’d let him in then sat on the other end of the couch, legs pulled up to her chest, tears sliding down her cheeks. It took a lot not to reach out to her and try to comfort her. He reminded himself of the two weeks of silence and unanswered texts and phone calls.

She didn’t speak, so he finally broke the silence. “At what point were you going to tell me what was going on with you?”

Calla rested her temple against her knees as she turned her head to look at him. “I’d promised myself after Christmas. I wanted to press charges against her before I told you about it. Plus, I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore, and I didn’t want to spoil your holiday.”

He took a deep breath through his nose and slowly closed his eyes. “Well, having you arrested at the airport was probably better than just telling me the truth. I can see that.”

The sound of her breath hitching made him open his eyes again. “Obviously, I didn’t know…”

“Right. Because if there was a chance you might be arrested upon your return to American soil, why you might have just considered staying in Haiti? Like you told me you wanted to do?” He surged to his feet and walked across the carpet, feeling like a caged animal in the small room. “I asked you, Calla, flat-out why you quit culinary school. That first week of our relationship, I gave you an opportunity to be honest with me.”

“On our way to your family’s Thanksgiving dinner!” She ripped her glasses off her face and threw them on the coffee table, then dug her palms into her eyes. “How am I supposed to start that conversation, huh? ‘Sorry, Ian. You probably don’t want to continue to see me because my stepmother is a con artist—wanted in three states it turns out—and she has destroyed my name and credit to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars.’ Yeah, you would have helped me pack up those pies and taken me right on over to grandma’s house.”

Rage burned behind his eyes and he spoke without thinking. “So, you just bring me in deeper, make me fall in love with you, and then what? I bail you out? Write a big fat check, and you’re in the clear? Taking your cues from your stepmom now?”

As soon as he spoke the words, he knew he didn’t believe them. He opened his mouth to retract them, but Calla gasped and surged to her feet. “Get out!” She raced across the room and threw the deadbolt on her door. “Get out of my house. Get out of my life.”

Immediately, the rage dissipated, like air from a balloon. His shoulders slumped forward. “I’m sorry, Calla. That was—”

“That was exactly what you think of me. Get out. Leave. Just go. I’ll find another job, so you don’t have to worry about running into me anymore.”

She opened the door and crossed her arms over her chest. For the first time since he walked into her apartment, no tears fell from her eyes. Resigned, he walked to the door but stopped in front of her. “Calla, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

She stared at the ground and didn’t say a word, so he finally walked out the door. He went to his car and slipped into the driver’s seat, but didn’t start it. Instead, he lay his head back against the headrest of the seat and closed his eyes. That was a mistake, because every time he closed his eyes for the last two weeks, he saw Calla in handcuffs getting escorted out of the airport by two police officers.

Just as he started to reach for the ignition, his phone vibrated. Seeing Mary Anne’s number, he answered. “Hey, there, Mary Ann.”

“Hello, Samuel.” No member of his family ever called him Ian. “I just got off the phone with Calla. I wanted to let you know that the D.A. isn’t going to indict her. Now, she and I can go to work clearing her credit and getting her life back.”

He clenched his teeth. “Thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done. That’s great news, Mary Ann. Definitely an answer to prayer.”

“Amen.” She paused before continuing, “This wasn’t her fault, you know.”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I know.” A flood of emotion had him closing his eyes. “I don’t think it’s her fault. I just think she should have told me about it before she got arrested.”

“It’s not easy for a woman to admit to being a victim. We females don’t want to appear weak or needy.”

He cleared his throat. “I get that, but I think it becomes a matter of trust at some point. And, I don’t think that I can have feelings for someone who doesn’t trust me. I have to go. I love you.” He hung up the phone before she could reply, and started his car.

Sami scooted closer to Calla in the pew. They looked at the front of the church and not at each other.

“It’s finally over,” Calla whispered.

“This is good, right?” Sami reached over and took Calla’s hand. “We’ve been praying that it would be over. Why are we sad?” Calla bowed her head. Her body shook with emotion, and Sami squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry that it had to be an arrest, honey, but honestly, you needed a catalyst to make her stop, to make it go away. I think this was honestly the answer to your prayers. You’re free now.”

She was free. Mary Ann worked on clearing her credit, writing letters and sending documentation. She planned to go back to school in the fall. And yet, instead of relief and joy, she kept hearing Ian’s words from last week. “Ian thinks I was with him so he could clear my debt.”

Sami let go of her hand and turned to face her fully. “No, he doesn’t.” She spoke firmly, with conviction in the simple three words.

Calla shrugged with one shoulder. “He said it himself.” Sami didn’t speak, so Calla raised her head and looked at her. She had a shocked look on her face. “I could have taken him breaking up with me because I wasn’t honest and I was hiding what happened. But to have him say that I made him fall in love with me so that he would write me one big check was horrible. I just—” her breath hitched as she stopped talking. She was so tired of the negative feelings, the tears, the despair.

She surged to her feet and reached behind her to pick her Bible and purse up off the pew. Services had ended more than forty minutes ago. As she left the sanctuary and entered the annex, Sami ran up behind her. “Wait!”

She paused and looked at her best friend. “I just need to work everything out in my head, Sami. I’ll be okay. I promise.” She hugged her friend. “Thank you.”

Sami looped her arm through Calla’s as they walked through the church doors. Calla paused and made sure the door locked behind them and slipped a crocheted cap onto her head. Cold January wind blew straight at them, and Calla pulled her wool coat closer around her. Sami gestured at her lone car in the parking lot. “Want a ride?”

Calla considered it, then shook her head. “No. But thanks. I’m going to go get something to eat. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Okay. I want to say something.” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her fuchsia trench coat and looked up at the sky. “I feel like what you and Ian had was real. I feel like he was really hurt by you not being honest with him and he must have lashed out to say such a fool thing as that. I think you need to consider forgiving him and letting him know that you have.” She spoke quickly, saying it all in one breath.

Calla felt a stirring of annoyance at her friend. “I appreciate your honesty. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hugged her and turned to walk away without saying anything else.

The cold wind blew into her back, making her rush forward down the sidewalk. A couple blocks away, she pushed into a restaurant and paused for a moment in the warm air while she waited for her glasses to defog. She pulled the hat off her head, and the smells immediately made her realize she’d come to the restaurant where she and Ian had met every Sunday after church throughout their short courtship.

She contemplated leaving, but thinking of the cold wind and the warm interior, she decided to stay. With a smile, she walked toward the hostess stand.

“Hi! Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” the hostess greeted.

Suddenly missing Ian, she nodded. “I went out of the country for Christmas.”

“Well, hon, I hope you had a great time. Your young man is here. Been here about fifteen minutes, I think.”

Her stomach fell but, despite the apprehension, she put one foot in front of the other and walked into the restaurant. She spotted Ian at the window table where they always sat. He had a cup of coffee in front of him and stared out of the window.

She slipped into the chair across from him before speaking. “Hi.”

Immediately, he whipped his head around, and his eyes widened when he saw her. “Calla!” His head turned to look out the window before looking at her again. “I was watching for you.”

Surprised, she said, “What?”

“I knew you’d walk past here on your way home.” He straightened the coffee cup so the handle was perfectly perpendicular to the line of the table. “I, uh, planned to persuade you to come eat with me.”

She looked at her watch. “If you’ve been here long enough for that coffee to be cold, you must have skipped church.”

He looked down then back at her. “I was at your church this morning. I wanted to approach you there, but…”

Calla waited then raised an eyebrow. “But?”

He cleared his throat. “But I noticed that you were praying and saw Sami with you. Didn’t seem right to intrude.”

She felt the broken halves of her heart start to come back together. Ian cared enough about her to not interrupt a time of prayer and meditation. The consideration he’d shown her, that he’d almost always shown her, humbled her. “I see.”

“I was about to leave and go to your apartment. When I didn’t see you walk by, I thought maybe she’d given you a ride home.”

“No. I just stayed for a while.” The waitress approached, and Calla ordered food even though she didn’t feel hungry. “Do you have something like a beef soup?”

“We have a vegetable beef. It’s terrific.”

“I’ll take a cup. With a roll and some water. Thanks.”

The waitress looked at Ian. “You, hon?”

“I’m good with just the coffee. Thanks.”

Calla sat back as the waitress left and intentionally kept herself from crossing her arms defensively. “So,” she began, toying with the bundle of silverware wrapped in a blue cloth napkin, “you were at my church, and then you were going to come to my apartment? What for, Ian?”

He looked at the coffee in his cup for a long time before looking at her. His eyes looked dull gray-green and red-rimmed with dark circles underneath. Finally, he said, “I sincerely apologize for speaking to you that way. I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out how to word it so that you would believe me, but all I can say is that I’m sorry.”

The waitress brought the water, and Calla asked her, “Can I get some hot tea, too?”

“Sure thing, hon.” She looked at Ian. “Want a warm up?”

He didn’t speak, but he shook his head and kept his eyes on Calla. When she left, he said, “I don’t know why I said what I did, but I didn’t mean it, and I don’t believe it. I was just really mad at you, I think.”

Calla slowly ripped the paper covering off of her straw then tore it into tiny pieces. Using the tip of her finger, she brushed all the pieces into a pile on her placemat. “I knew I should treasure every moment I spent with you because once you found out what had happened to me, you’d not want to be with me anymore.”

Ian let out a long sigh. “Calla, you’ve said that before. But, the truth is, I want to be with you. What hurt me more than anything was that you didn’t trust me with the truth.”

“Not trust you? It wasn’t a lack of trust, Ian. It was a lack of confidence. Confidence in who I am, confidence in who I could be to you. I was embarrassed. No. Not embarrassed.” She thought about it. “I was ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” He reached forward and took her hand. “Why?”

She stared at their joined hands. “I had spent the last three years paying twenty thousand dollars off of debt that wasn’t mine, and prayed daily that she would just die so I didn’t have to do it anymore. That day you came and found me crying, she’d just called me to brag about getting a new credit card in my name. I should have recorded the phone call and called the police right then. But I didn’t do anything. Except feel sorry for myself and cry.”

“Calla—”

She held up a hand to cut off what whatever he planned to say and raised her head to look at him. “I know. Intellectually, I know a lot of things that I’m not able to emotionally face.” She took a sip of the water and said without thinking, “Sami said I need to forgive you for saying that to me.”

He squeezed her hand and let it go, sitting back so the waitress could bring her soup and tea. She set the heavy soup mug in front of her, made sure she didn’t need anything else, then walked away. Calla didn’t pick up her spoon. “That wasn’t really what I thought. I was just angry and hurt,” he admitted, “I’d really appreciate your forgiveness, but I’m not expecting it.”

She used the round soup spoon to stir the soup, leaning in to smell the richness of the broth. “I don’t think I need to forgive you.” At his raised eyebrow, she explained, “I don’t think you’re the problem. She is. I need to forgive her. I need to forgive her, and I need to learn just what’s broken inside of me that allowed me to roll over and let her do what she did since I was a teenager, to just take it and keep taking it the whole time.” She dropped the spoon and sat back. “I worked eighty hours a week for two years so I could pay for her thievery, and it was done with such passiveness that the police actually thought I was her partner.”

She pushed the soup away, unwilling to risk trying to eat right now. “Why did you use the word broken?” Ian asked.

“What?”

“You said something was broken inside of you. Why did you use that word?”

In her mind, she pictured herself, fractured, colorless, in a gray room without windows. “Isn’t that what it is? Whole people don’t let someone do that to them without fighting back or at least standing up for themselves, right?”

He sat back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and lacing his fingers together. “Hard to say. She catapulted off of your grief. You were an orphan, and she was supposed to have been someone who loved your father.”

“Maybe.” She considered her father. “But I should have been strong enough to defend him and his memory. Instead, I just—” She cleared her throat. “I need to go.”

As she pushed away from the table, he stood with her. “Please stay and talk to me.”

She knew if she stepped forward, he would put his arms around her. Instead, she stepped backward, retrieving her coat from the back of her chair. “I don’t think I can, right now.” She slipped her coat on and pulled her hat out of her pocket. “I appreciate you wanting to defend me and champion me in my circumstances. But, I’m realistically looking at it and don’t agree with you. I need to work on me. I need to let God work on me. And I really think I need to do that without the distraction of you trying to work on me.” She slipped her purse strap over her head, letting the strap fall across her body. “Goodbye, Ian.”

Halfway across the room, she heard him call her name, but she did not stop. “Calla!”

Calla laughed as she chased a soccer ball down the dirt hill. She grabbed it just before it rolled into a thorny brush and held it on her hip as she climbed back up the hill. A group of teenagers waited for her, jabbering to each other in Creole. Calla tossed them the ball and pantomimed to let them know she needed to get a drink of water.

For five months, she’d worked at the little island orphanage in Haiti. She arrived in late February, free from any legal issues and ready to pay Mary Ann back in the most expedient way she could, with her talents and skills. She worked hard cooking for the orphanage, taking local produce and meats and learning from the Haitian cook how to turn them into nutritious meals for the twenty-two children and six adults they fed daily. She’d learned how to operate in a kitchen that had only generator powered electricity, using only products she could obtain regionally. She learned how to prepare foods the kids knew instead of the gourmet fare she’d studied years ago in school. And every day, she’d healed and grown until she could think back to the last four years of her life without feeling persistent pain in her stomach or sharp shame in her heart.

She’d prayed, studied her Bible, prayed, worshiped, prayed, and cooked. The hurricane season had come, and she’d survived a strong category four storm that knocked the school flat and destroyed the generator, leaving them without power for three weeks and a day.

When she had good Internet, she downloaded work projects then transcribed videos and movies and uploaded the finished captions. She made more than enough income to support herself here. Now she faced the end of her time in this beautiful place. She’d received her acceptance back into culinary school. She would start classes in August. It took her a full week to decide that she needed to go back to the United States. Leaving this place behind would hurt. She lessened the pain by promising herself she’d come back again.

She stepped onto the porch and grabbed a bag of water, ripping the corner off with her teeth and drinking all five ounces of the water with three long swallows.

“You’re getting better at that game,” Hettie Jones remarked from her plastic chair. “One day they might not smear you all over the field.”

Calla laughed. “I doubt it, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” She looked at her watch. “I should finish getting packed. The truck will be here soon.”

Hettie frowned. “I wish you could stay through July. School doesn’t start for you until mid-August.”

“I need to get settled in Atlanta,” Calla said. “It’s going to take me some time to reintegrate. I don’t want to start school right after coming back. It’s going to be hard enough.”

“I know. I’m just being selfish. I get to do that sometimes.” She stood and hugged her. “I have enjoyed getting to know you better. I hope you come back.”

“You would have to try hard to keep me away.” She went into the building and walked through the common area to the room she shared with another staff member. She had packed almost everything. Now she added her toothbrush and her laptop. As she zipped the bag closed, she heard the truck pull into the yard.

Taking one last look around the room, at the two cots shrouded with mosquito netting, the small mirror hanging by a rusty nail above a wash basin, and the narrow closet the two women shared, she felt a sense of sorrow at leaving. She had known though, that God brought her here for a short time, not forever. Whatever He had planned for her next waited in Atlanta, not here. Still, she looked forward to returning as soon as possible.

Heaving a sigh, she slung her backpack over one shoulder by a single strap then picked up her duffle bag and walked out of the room, back through the common area, and out onto the porch. She expected to see Emmanuel Danos chatting with his Hettie about their upcoming Christmas wedding as they unloaded supplies he’d picked up at the mainland. She did not expect to see Ian Jones lifting a fifty-pound bag of cornmeal out of the back of the truck.

She resisted the urge to duck back inside the building. Instead, she set her bags down like she originally intended to do and walked over to the truck to help unload.

“Hi, Ian,” she greeted as he turned, slinging the heavy bag up onto his shoulder.

He stopped moving and stared at her, from her braided hair to her leather sandals. “Sounds like I almost missed you,” he said by way of greeting, banishing any thought that he didn’t know about her presence here for the last several months.

“A day later and you would have.” She felt nerves, familiar nerves, like the kind that had assaulted her the first time she cooked dinner for him.

They unloaded the truck in silence with Hettie and Emmanuel. A million things she wanted to say to him ran through her mind, but she couldn’t find the right opening, so she just lifted, carried, and stacked bags and boxes in the storeroom. Once they had emptied the truck, Ian collected her bags from the porch and put her tote bag into the bed and her backpack into the cab of the truck. Calla hugged Hettie, tight. “I can’t wait until next time,” she said.

“Looking forward to it. Next time I’m in Atlanta, I hope to be able to experience what you do with your own ingredients in a modern kitchen. You’ve been an amazing help here, and we will miss you like you can’t even know.”

She turned toward Ian and extended her hand. “I’d love to stay and spend time with you, but I can’t.”

He smiled a half smile and shook her hand perfunctorily. “I know.” He turned to Emmanuel and said something in Creole. The men shook hands warmly, and Emmanuel tossed Ian the keys. Emmanuel waved at Calla and put his arm over Hettie’s shoulders, leading her into the building.

Calla frowned as Ian turned to her. “Ready?”

“For?”

“To leave.” He walked to the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. Calla began to understand that he would drive her to the ferry. It took her several minutes to get to the truck, though, because as she walked forward, the children surrounded her. She took the time to speak to each one, hug everyone, and make a personal connection with every child. By the time she disengaged from them, she had tears pouring down her face. How could she leave?

Knowing she must, she slipped into the passenger’s seat. Ian started the truck, and she shifted her backpack to rest behind the seat as she snapped her seatbelt into place. “This is harder than I thought.”

“Every time.” He slowly drove down the dirt lane, carefully avoiding potholes. “I spent a year here in between high school and college. I’m still not sure how I managed to leave willingly.”

The truck bounced over a rut, so he slowed down even more. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. “It’s July.”

He spared her a quick but serious glance. “I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to wait anymore. I had no idea you’d leave so soon.”

He wanted to see her? Her heart started pounding, and she licked dry lips. “I…” She looked out the window and watched the island jungle crawl slowly by as Ian navigated over the lava rock path.

“You wish I’d never come.” The truck jostled roughly, and he hit the brakes, stopping it entirely. He turned his body toward her. “If you didn’t want to have anything at all to do with me, you would have found another place to work, another orphanage, another mission, another country even. The fact is, you needed the connection with my family.”

“Leaving engineering behind to become a shrink?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Not because she wanted to shield herself from him, but because she knew he spoke the truth and it made her feel defensive. “I’m here because I spent the last five months paying Mary Ann back for her brilliant legal services. That was our deal. She represented me and will continue to fight collection agencies and credit reporting agencies, and I cook for Hettie and Emmanuel. So what?”

“So what is I’m here. That’s what,” He lay his arm over the steering wheel and his other arm over the back of the seat, boxing her in. She wanted to reach forward and touch him, but kept her arms tight around her chest. “And I’ve missed you. This month is the eight-month anniversary of the day you sent me flowers—the day I began the journey of falling in love with you.” Her breath hitched, and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He’d mentioned love twice now. “Don’t you tell me that wasn’t God’s providence. You and I both know otherwise.”

She unbuckled the seatbelt and leaned back against the door, pulling her legs up. Her forehead fell forward and rested on her knees. “I know,” she whispered. “I needed to come here. I needed to get close to God and work my way through the years since my father died. I had to come to a place of forgiveness for Becky, or whatever her real name is, and I had to mean it. I didn’t want it to be a hollow promise because God would know the difference.”

Several seconds went by in silence. She raised her head and found him staring at her, his hazel eyes serious and searching. Finally, he said, “And me?”

“Ian, I don’t know about you, or us. I wanted to talk to you when I got home, but I didn’t even think you’d want to see me. I need to get home and figure things out.”

He started the truck again and slowly inched forward. She straightened in the seat and latched her seatbelt. After a few seconds, he said, “I appreciate that, but I feel like that’s what you’ve been doing, here. I took off work and made a two-day trip to see you. I’ve given you space, and I’ve given you time. I honestly don’t know how much more space and time I’m willing to give you.”

She sat in silence for several minutes and finally said, “I respect that. Thanks for your honesty.”

They didn’t speak again until they finished the descent down the mountain and pulled onto the coastal road. Too soon, he pulled into the parking lot for the ferry.

“Pastor Jeremy Banks will meet you at the ferry,” he said, opening the driver’s door. She slipped out of the truck and reached back into the cab to get her backpack. “He’s made arrangements for you to stay at the mission in Port-au-Prince overnight, and he’ll give you a ride to the airport tomorrow.”

He handed her the tote bag. She set it on the ground and stepped closer to him, putting her arms around him. She could feel his hesitation before he hugged her back. “I miss you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Bye, Calla.” She picked up her tote and walked to the ferry, unwilling to look behind her.