Happily Ever After (27 page)

Shock hit Mona with a gale force. “Gabriel Michaels?”

The man nodded, brow pinched.

“You wouldn’t happen to be any relation to a man named Joe Michaels? He worked as a handyman here in town.”

Ruby looked stunned. “You’re Joe’s Mona?”

Mona felt the blood drain from her body. As if to confirm brutal reality, a large brown dog bounded onto the porch and layered
her with a kiss.

“Rip!” she sputtered, wiping her face. The need to sit down—and fast—swept over her.

Ruby must have seen her dazed expression, for the woman put a hand on her arm. “Come with me, Mona. I think Joe had a few
secrets he didn’t share with you.”

Mona felt numb. Ruby led her through a comfortable-looking living room and a large kitchen to a back office, where she gently
settled Mona into a leather sofa. “Can I get you a lemonade?”

Mona nodded.

Ruby disappeared, and Mona was left to stare at the puzzled young man rubbing his hands together and shifting from one foot
to the other. He’d turned the color of his strawberries, and an arrow of pity shot through her.

So this was Joe’s secret. Why had he hidden his greatest treasure—his family—from her? Was he ashamed of Gabe? Or was he afraid
of her reaction? In the room, alone with Joe’s brother, the deceit glared at them, and she felt just as sorry for Gabriel
as she did for herself. The poor man obviously had no idea she knew Joe.

She stood up and walked over to him. “Your brother is a wonderful man. He helped me rebuild my bookstore, and because of him,
it’s opening in a few days. ”She tried a smile.

Gabriel glanced at her with suspicion in his eyes and nodded.

“I’m sorry we never met,” she said softly. “Would you like to come to my bookstore sometime?”

He nodded again. “I like books. Joe sends them to me.”

“Really? What kind do you like?”

“His books.”

“So that’s why he was in town,” Mona murmured.

“Do you have any idea why he left?”

“He said it was time,” Gabriel answered.

Silence thickened like paste, gluing the questions Mona had to her clenching chest. What wasn’t Ruby telling her? “So, this
is a group home?” She forced through her agony, shifting the topic from the obvious . . . Joe’s secrets.

Ruby nodded. “And a strawberry farm. Are you still interested in our strawberries? We have an early blooming variety in the
greenhouse, and you’re just in time for the pick of the crop.”

Mona smiled.

Ruby wove a hand around Mona’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s see if the Garden has what you’re looking for.”

Stealing a glance at Joe’s brother, Mona wondered if she’d already found it.

“I ordered a fresh supply for every week until the end of the season.” Mona plunked down a box of strawberries and grinned
at Liza. Her friend looked impressed.

“And I found Joe’s brother.” It delighted Mona to see Liza’s jaw sag open. “Yup. He lives at the Garden, which is a group
home for mentally challenged adults, as well as a strawberry farm.”

“So, you think that’s why he left? He feared you’d find out?”

Mona shrugged, but she couldn’t hide the disgust in her voice. “As if that would matter to me. Gabe is nothing short of charming.
In fact he is overseeing their entire strawberry crop this year. Joe is a fool if he thinks I wouldn’t fall in love with his
brother immediately.”

As Mona headed out to her car to retrieve the last strawberry crate, she said, “If you ask me, Gabe has twice the sense of
our mystery handyman.”

Liza hummed in agreement.

Mona slammed down the telephone receiver. The unit shuddered.

“Any luck?” Liza treaded in with another load of freshly painted pottery. Her side of the house glittered with color. Mona
buried her head in her arms on the walnut table and groaned.

“Want a cup of coffee?” Liza slid behind the coffee bar, where an espresso machine, cappuccino maker, and two industrial-sized
coffeepots waited for opening day. The oak gleamed under the polish of the midafternoon sun.

“Make it a double,” Mona groaned.

Liza added two scoops of mocha and a generous dollop of whipped cream on top. “Nobody, eh?” She set down the coffee mug on
a yellow crocheted coaster.

Mona shook her head. “No one is available, as beautiful as the North Shore of Minnesota is, to make the trek on a two-day
notice.” She wrapped both hands around the mug, seeking something solid to hang on to. “I don’t know what to do.”

Liza looked heavenward. “Right about now, as my mama would say, we need a little grace.”

“Who was that?” Reese Clark drummed his fingers on the linen-covered tablecloth, annoyance churning through him. A five-star,
art-deco café was the last place he wanted to be on a gorgeous, blue-skied Friday. The wind was pushing a regatta of shiny
white sailboats across Lake Calhoun, and he thought he’d spotted a youngster attached to a high-flying kite on the way over.
He could easily kill an afternoon watching the kid war with trees, light poles, and dogs.

He narrowed his eyes at Jacqueline as she snapped her cell phone shut and dropped it into her black leather satchel. Exasperation
padded her answer. “A desperate woman.”

“Oh? Maybe I can help.”

Jacqueline gave him a flirting look and laced her manicured finger over his arm. “Darling, if I knew desperation would attract
your attention, I’d wear sackcloth and ashes.”

He chuckled politely but pulled out of her grasp and leaned back in the chair. “So what’s her problem?”

Jacqueline shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Her crimson lips formed a confused pout. “She was a mess, really. She mentioned something
about losing her main attraction for some special event she was having. I think it was her bookstore’s grand opening. . .
.” Jacqueline waved her hands as if shooing away a bad dream. “Anyway, she begged me to help her find an author.” She scooped
up her napkin and dabbed her lips. “I told her no one would want to go that far for a reading to a bunch of tourists and retirees.”

“Where is this place?”

“Some sleepy little tourist town on the North Shore. Deep Haven, I think she said.” She paused, then shot him a sharp look.
“Reese, what’s the sudden interest in this little hick bookstore? I can barely drag you to a signing in the largest mall in
America.”

“Did I say anything about going?”

Jacqueline pointedly ignored him while fishing around in her bag. Whipping out a tube of lipstick and a compact, she frosted
another layer of gloss on her lips. While Reese watched her pucker and smear, the salmon steak he ate for lunch squirmed in
his stomach. He wasn’t relishing the next three months in her company.

She glanced up at him, smiled broadly, and snapped the compact closed. “Now, tell me about your next book.”

Reese made a face and scanned the café for an escape route. His spent advance for his signed book contract suddenly rose,
taunting, like the ghost of Christmas past. He took a sip of his diet Coke and dredged up his voice. “Ah . . . well, it’s
not quite . . . plotted.”

“It’s not done.” Jacqueline pursed her shiny lips. “Is it close?”

What could he say? He hadn’t even managed to scribble an opening line. “No.”

“I see.” She raised her eyebrows, those skinny ones that made him think of Morticia Addams. “Well, I guess we’ll have to hope
you get inspired—and soon—or we’ll be talking breach of contract.” She grinned as if she hadn’t just dropped a grenade on
his future and threatened to pull the pin. “Meanwhile, you have a book to promote.”

Reese managed to nod, despite the fact that his bones had turned to ice.

“Listen, baby,” Jacqueline said with the suave of a psychologist, “you have two days before your first appearance. I know
how you love that privacy of yours. Try not to destroy it by making any unscheduled appearances. Stay low, cultivate the ‘fresh
from the backwoods’ aura we love, and show up on Monday with a wild look and a bit of a stubble. We’ll sell books like hotcakes.”
She winked at him. “And just maybe, if you play nice, I can get you out of hot water with the head honchos.”

Reese clenched his teeth and forced a smile. “Thanks, Jacqueline. I’m sure I can come up with something with the right inspiration.”

“Oh, honey, I just wish that were me.” Jacqueline batted her eyes, and for a panicked moment, he wondered if she was serious.
Reese quickly scanned the room for the waiter, caught his eye, and signaled for the check.

Jacqueline was already dialing her cell phone. She snapped the bill from the waiter. “My treat, Reese.”

Reese frowned, but she waggled a long finger at him. “Be a good boy,” she purred, “and stay out of the news.”

Reese stood up and made his escape.

“Oh, Reese,” Jacqueline called as he strode away from the table. Thirty heads turned in their direction. So much for lying
low. “I love your new haircut!”

He let the door of the café slam behind him.

The first step in delighting in God was delighting in His forgiveness—something that in ten years she’d never, not even once,
allowed herself to do. Why not? Because she didn’t deserve to delight in a forgiveness that was easy. Somehow, she couldn’t
get past the idea that forgiveness had to be earned, had to be painful.

But hadn’t she been forgiven because of Christ’s payment for her sins? And that gift had certainly been painful for her Savior.
To not delight in His forgiveness was to betray Jesus’ excruciating sacrifice for her salvation. No wonder she felt so bereft.
Not delighting in God’s forgiveness was like opening up a priceless gift, setting it aside, and demanding to pay for it. It
cheapened the gift and offended the giver. What she should be doing is throwing herself into the arms of her Savior.

Grace.

Mona slipped out of bed, her heart in her throat, and knelt down. The wood floor chilled her knees, and she trembled, though
not from the cold. The awkwardness of folding her hands and summoning the boldness to speak aloud the secrets burrowed in
her heart overwhelmed her, nearly stifling the flow of words. But she choked them out and willed herself to approach the Lord
in prayer, something she’d become woefully unaccustomed to doing.

“Dear Lord, I am so sorry I haven’t embraced Your forgiveness. I know I have offended You by not accepting the fullness of
Your grace. Please, please forgive me.”

The sense of God, close and listening, pushed tears into her eyes. “But I still hurt, Lord. Why is the grief so raw?”

Mona nodded, bunching the covers into her fists.

She gulped. “You sent Joe.” His name came out as a moan, but somehow with it, her courage bolstered. “No matter where he is
or why he left, I thank You for him.” Her words somehow balmed the shattered pieces of her heart. Her voice fell to a whisper.
“Please, watch over him, and bless him.”

She inhaled, gathering strength. “Lord, I know You’re the only one who can make my dreams come true.” Mona forced herself
to surrender the next words. “I give You this dream, and all others, right now into Your hands for You to handle however You
see fit.” Her last words emerged on a shudder of pain. “And please, Lord, help me forgive myself. Pluck me free.” She buried
her face in the sheets and wept.

An unearthly stillness entered the room. Suddenly Mona imagined sitting at the footstep of heaven just as Liza had said. And
next to her sat Christ, His eyes filled with tears, embracing her. Next to Him stood her father. Smiling. A glow on his face
that could only be the look of rapture. For the first time Mona realized that the grief she’d harbored was for her loss, not
her father’s. Her father had been ready, and he’d gone home to a glory she couldn’t even imagine. Living blissfully with his
Savior. Unrestrained, perfectly delighting in his God.

The healing left her trembling, sobbing, and praising God until a joyous exhaustion drove her to the warmth of her bed.

Police Chief Sam Watson tapped his pencil on his desk blotter, considering Mona’s plea. “Brian’s not a happy man, Mona. I’m
not sure this is a good idea.”

Mona smiled at him, glanced at Liza, then leaned forward and placed both hands on his desk. “I know it is a bit unconventional,
but I think it might be just what Brian needs to get him to accept a lawyer and pull him out of despair.”

Sam rubbed a wide hand over his chin. He squinted at her, then at Liza and back to Mona. “Okay. But I’ll be right behind you.
Don’t forget, this fella tried to hurt you, not just burn your house down.”

A wave of weakness swept over Mona as the brutal memory of her breath constricting in her lungs and her lips crunched against
her teeth revived and sunk in its painful claws. Brian had confessed to attacking her and to hiring Leo Simmons to set fire
to her house. Sam’s reminder raked her bruised heart. It brought to mind Joe’s daring rescue and waking up clasped in his
arms. She thought of the way she’d treated her handyman and how he’d forgiven her. The thought bolstered her spirit. She exhaled
a calming breath and forced a smile. “Let’s go.”

County jail visiting hours were once a week, on Saturday mornings, but there were no other visitors present in the barren
room today. The breeze filtered in through a barred window. Mona sat down on a folding chair and heard Liza pull one up beside
her. Mona reached for her hand and felt her confidence grow in Liza’s warm grip. Sam’s presence hovered behind them.

The door opened, and a shackled Brian shuffled through. Mona gasped. She could hardly believe it was the same man. The spark
in his dark eyes had vanished, his skin hung sallow and dry on his gaunt cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t eaten, bathed, or
brushed his hair for the three weeks he’d been sitting in jail. He stared in shock at his visitors, then glared and turned
to flee back to his cell.

“Not so fast, pal,” Sam commanded. “You sit and listen to what these women have to say to you.”

Mona noticed a muscle in Brian’s jaw tense, but he kicked out a chair and dropped into it like an unruly teenager. Defense
glinted in his eyes, the only evidence of life.

Mona licked her dry lips. Her limbs felt like rubber, but she’d prayed it over and knew this was the right thing to do. She
had to free Brian from his prison of guilt, for his sake as well as hers. Deep inside, she could never fully embrace the joy
of her own forgiveness if she harbored anger and bitterness in her heart.

“How are you, Brian?” Mona asked. She noticed the quiver in her voice and fought for control.

He glowered at her. “How do you think?”

Liza leaned forward. “Brian, it’s not Mona’s fault you’re here. Listen to her.”

Liza obviously still had an effect on him, for he softened his expression.

“I hear you won’t talk to a lawyer,” Mona continued tentatively.

“No need. My life is over.” He crossed his arms, and Mona caught a glimpse of the flaking scabs on his forearm where she’d
clawed away his skin as he’d tried to suffocate her.

Brian sneered.

“We all do things we are ashamed of . . .” Mona’s voice died.

Brian’s stance was armor.

“Brian, I forgive you,” she blurted. His face turned white. Mona nodded. “I know you hurt me and sabotaged my business, but
I want to forgive you. In fact, I want to help you get through this. Liza and I have talked. We don’t have any choice in the
criminal charges, but we aren’t going to sue you for the damages you did.”

Mona’s hope lit when she saw the tenseness in Brian’s face ease. His jaw slowly dropped open.

Mona’s courage mustered. “In fact, we’re going to visit you every week and pray for you and bring you meals. You’re not forgotten.”
She pushed against the tears strangulating her voice. “You’re forgiven.”

“Why?” Brian’s wretched voice broke through her thoughts.

Mona smiled. Tears dripped off her chin. The answer God had given her was for herself as well as for Brian. “Because while
we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. We can forgive little when He has forgiven us so much.”