Never Say Goodbye (7 page)

Scott slowly closed the book, then bowed his head. “Lord, we ask You to keep our Elizabeth in Your care on this, her birthday. We know she is wrapped in Your love, which far surpasses any joy that this world offers. But please help her know that she is loved and remembered by her mother and me, as well. And please give us who are left behind the grace and cour
age to carry on until the day we are all reunited in Your heavenly kingdom. Amen.”

Jess looked at Scott's bowed head, his fervent prayer echoing in her heart, and suddenly she understood why she'd been afraid to talk with him. Somehow, intuitively, she had known that if she did, the wall of hatred she'd so carefully constructed would begin to crumble. Because she would be forced to admit that at heart he was a good man who had simply made tragic mistakes. Yes, the consequences of his actions had been terrible. But the actions themselves had not been undertaken with any malice. That acknowledgment, coupled with the striking changes in his personality, made it harder and harder to maintain the wall that separated them. And without that wall, she would be vulnerable again. To hurt. To betrayal. To loss. That was why she was afraid.

When Scott raised his head and glanced at Jess, his breath momentarily lodged in his throat. For the briefest second, in her unguarded eyes, he saw something that hadn't been there before. He wouldn't go so far as to call it warmth. But there was a…softer…look in her eyes. It was slight. It was very subtle. But it was there. And it gave him renewed hope.

Suddenly a gentle rain began to fall, and he tucked the Bible protectively in his jacket, then zipped it up. “I guess it's time to go.”

Jess nodded. She glanced once more at the grave, where the pink flowers provided the only spot of color on this gray day. She hoped somehow that Scott's prayer had been heard, that her daughter would know
that she was still deeply loved and sorely missed. “Happy birthday, Elizabeth,” she whispered.

When she looked back at Scott, he was standing quietly, watching her. “You were a wonderful mother, Jess,” he said hoarsely. “Just like you were a wonderful wife.”

The unexpectedness of the comment took her off guard, and she had no idea how to respond. So instead she ignored it, confining her comment to a simple goodbye. Then she turned and walked toward her car.

She didn't look back, though she felt his gaze on her. And once in her car, hidden from his view, she sat for several minutes until her trembling subsided.

When she at last put the car into gear, she circled back toward the entrance, glancing once more at Elizabeth's grave in the distance. To her surprise, Scott was still there, though the rain had intensified. He seemed oblivious to the cold drops of water as he stared down at the grave, a solitary figure in the gray landscape, his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. And somehow she knew that raindrops weren't the only moisture on his cheeks.

 

“Oh, Frank, look at this one!”

Jess and her father glanced toward Clare, who was standing in awe over a particularly stunning specimen of iris.

“I think I'll be adding another one to the list,” he grumbled good-naturedly, taking a small notebook out of his pocket as they headed toward the older woman.

“Frank, write this one down,” she said excitedly when they drew close.

“Sure thing,” Frank replied, pausing to give Jess an “I-told-you-so” look. “But honey, where are you going to put all of these? The bed is full already.”

“I could say the same about your roses,” she countered with an affectionate smile.

“Touché,” he acknowledged fondly.

Jess smiled. Her parents' devotion to each other had always been an inspiration to her. Theirs was the kind of marriage she had always hoped to create, where love came first. Though her father had worked hard in a blue-collar job all his life, often coming home tired after a long day, he'd always made it a priority to spend time each evening with his wife and children. He'd rarely missed a school event or a dance recital, and each summer he'd pile the four of them into the family car, attach a pop-up camper that he'd bought secondhand, and they'd head out for a new adventure somewhere in the United States. Her mother had been equally devoted to the family, taking time each day when Jess and Mark arrived home from school to listen to their chatter over a glass of milk and cookies. It had been an idyllic childhood, and Jess would be forever grateful for the support and love her parents had lavished on their children.

Nor would she ever forget their support after Elizabeth's death. Without their intervention, she didn't know if she would have survived the dark days that followed. She'd lost a daughter, a husband and a whole way of life in the space of a few hours. For all intents and purposes, her world had come to an end. She, too, had walked through the valley of darkness mentioned in the Bible verse Scott had read at the
cemetery. But unlike him, she had found no comfort in her faith. She owed her salvation to the love and support of her family.

“What do you think, Jess?”

With a start, Jess came back to reality. Her parents were looking at her questioningly, but she had no idea what they'd asked. “Sorry. I was daydreaming. What did you say?”

Her father nodded to two different irises. “Which one do you like better?”

She moved forward and studied the two delicate, frilly blossoms, one in shades of purple, the other white with a purple edge. “That one,” she said decisively, pointing to the latter.

Her mother looked pleased. “I agree. Write that one down, Frank. I think I'll put that one in the…” Her mother's voice trailed off, and her eyes grew wide as she stared over Jess's shoulder.

Before Jess could turn to discover the source of her mother's distraction, a familiar voice spoke.

“Hello, Clare, Frank. Hello, Jess.”

Jess's gaze moved from her mother's shocked face to her father's cold, contemptuous expression, then slowly she turned. Scott was standing just a few feet behind her, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt worn the way he'd always preferred, with the sleeves slightly rolled up. He was carrying what looked like a sketch pad, and his dark brown eyes gazed at her warmly.

“What are you doing here?” Jess asked, realizing even as she spoke that this was becoming her common greeting to Scott.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as if he had had the same thought. “The same thing you are, I expect. Enjoying a beautiful day at the garden. I often come on Saturday morning.”

“Jess, isn't it time to leave for the brunch?”

At her father's terse question, she turned back to him. He was pointedly ignoring Scott, and she could see the anger smoldering in his eyes. It was far too soon to leave for the restaurant, but clearly Scott's appearance had ruined the garden for her parents.

“We should be okay, Dad,” she replied, struggling to maintain an even, pleasant tone.

At her response, his mouth thinned. “I think we should go,” he repeated more forcefully. “Your mother and I have seen enough here.” He glanced pointedly at Scott, then turned away.

Jess knew how much her parents despised Scott for what he had done, but she was nevertheless taken aback by her father's uncharacteristic display of ill manners. She turned, an apology in her eyes, to find that a hot flush of embarrassment had crept up Scott's neck.

“I need to move on, too,” he said quietly. “I'm heading for the Japanese garden. That's probably where I'll spend the next couple of hours.” He was letting them know where he'd be so they could avoid him, Jess realized, struck by his thoughtfulness despite her father's rudeness. “It was good to see you again, Jess. Frank, Clare, enjoy the rest of your day.”

With that he turned and walked away.

Scott was barely out of earshot when Frank spoke.

“Good riddance!” he said vehemently.

“Dad!”

“What?”

“He might hear you.”

“So what if he does? I want him to know exactly what I think of him.”

“He looks older,” Clare said thoughtfully.

“He
is
older,” Frank replied curtly.

“I just mean that prison must have been hard on him.”

“Good.”

Jess stuck her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “Don't you think you're being a little harsh, Dad?”

He looked at her stiffly. “Not particularly. He killed my granddaughter. And practically ruined my daughter's life. He deserves whatever suffering has come his way. I thought you felt the same way.”

“I do,” she replied, but her voice lacked conviction.

Clare gave Jess a troubled look. “Honey, has something happened? Is there something you haven't told us?”

Actually, there was. She'd never mentioned her unexpected meetings with Scott—at the hospital, her condo, the cemetery. Nor the unsettling effect they'd had on her. She needed to work through her feelings on her own, unbiased by the strong negative feelings her parents had about Scott.

She shrugged. “He seems different, that's all.”

“Well, I expect he is, after three years in prison,” Clare concurred.

“That doesn't absolve him from what he did,” Frank maintained stubbornly. “Or change the consequences.”

“No, of course not,” Clare agreed.

Frank moved beside Jess and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, you know we just want what's best for you,” he said, gentling his voice. “And Scott isn't it. Maybe he's changed. I don't know. Frankly, I don't
want
to know. Because it doesn't matter. He's no longer a part of our life. I'm sorry we ran into him today, but he's really just a stranger to us now. He can't do anything more to hurt us. And as long as we keep shutting him out we're safe. Right?”

“Right,” Jess responded automatically.

But in her heart Jess didn't feel safe at all.

 

Jess propped the bag of groceries on her hip as she retrieved her mail, then tucked it under her arm as she fitted her key in the lock. Once inside, she deposited the bag on the counter and quickly flipped through mostly ads and junk, shaking her head sympathetically for the overburdened mail carriers.

At the bottom of the stack was a flyer from her former church, and she gazed at it with a frown. She had no idea why she was still on the mailing list. She hadn't been an active member of the congregation for almost four years. She ought to just call and tell them to remove her name, she thought, glancing uninterestedly at the information about an upcoming retreat. She was just about to toss it into the trash with all the other junk mail when the last name listed under “speakers” caught her eye. Scott Mitchell.

With a frown, she glanced again at the theme of the event. “Coping with Adversity: Ask and You Shall Receive.” It went on to say that a number of clergy
would discuss the topic theologically, and that various individuals with extraordinary stories would talk about their personal faith experiences.

Slowly Jess sat down at the kitchen table, the groceries forgotten for the moment. Scott had shared a great deal with her during their marriage, but she couldn't recall a single incident when he'd opened up to other people. Especially about painful experiences or disappointments. How in the world had they talked him into this? she wondered incredulously.

Even more intriguing was the content of his talk. He'd said virtually nothing to her about his experiences in prison, referring only to “some pretty dark days.” But what had actually happened? How dark was “dark”? And how had he found his way through the maze of despair back to faith?

Of course, there was no way she was going to attend this event, Jess told herself impatiently as she tossed the brochure onto the counter and turned her attention to the perishable items in her grocery bag. She wasn't
that
curious. And frankly, she didn't really
want
to know what had happened to Scott during his years behind bars. Partly because she felt he deserved whatever had occurred. But mostly because she was afraid that if she found out, the wall between them would crumble even more.

“E
xcuse me…do you work here?”

Scott turned to find an older couple standing behind him. “Yes. Can I help you?” he asked pleasantly.

The man nodded toward the display of balled and burlapped dogwood trees in the nursery lot. “I'd like to get one of those for my yard, but I don't know much about trees. I need some advice.”

Scott glanced around, but none of the retail staff was in the area. “I usually work on the commercial side of the business,” he said hesitantly, unwilling to overstep the clear bounds Seth had set for his job. On the other hand, he doubted the owner would consider it good customer relations to leave this couple while he went in search of a salesperson. Especially when he could very likely help them. “I'll tell you what. Why don't you ask me your questions, and if I can't answer them I'll find someone who can.”

“Fair enough,” agreed the man. “My wife and I
have always liked dogwood trees, but we hear they're a bit temperamental. Any truth to that?”

“Well, they are subject to a few more problems than some trees,” Scott verified, setting his shovel aside. “But a lot of ornamentals are like that. You'd need to watch for borers, which can eat away under the bark and eventually kill the tree. But it's easy to spot the signs, and the problem is relatively simple to treat. So I wouldn't let that stop you if you have your heart set on a dogwood. And they
are
a native Missouri tree, so they tend to do well here. What kind of sun exposure will it have?”

“We want to put it on the east side of the house. Lots of sun in the morning, but it's pretty shaded there in the afternoon.”

Scott nodded. “That's good. Dogwoods don't handle full sun very well. They're also relatively slow growers. So while they have a spreading aspect, it will take a long time before you have much of a display, even with a fairly large tree. And it can sometimes take a year or two before they bloom.”

“Hmm. Time isn't on our side, is it, Rose?” the man said, smiling affectionately at the older woman. “We aren't exactly spring chickens.”

“If I could suggest something, then…”

“Certainly.”

“You might want to plant a
grouping
of dogwoods. Maybe mix the pink and white. If you have a large enough area, that could work very nicely. And you'd have a lot more color a lot sooner.”

“Well now, I hadn't thought about that. A grove.”
The man considered that for a moment, then turned to his wife. “What do you think, Rose?”

“It sounds lovely.”

“Is there any other landscaping in the area?” Scott asked as an idea began to take shape in his mind.

“No. We never did much on the side yard. But we just added a conservatory to the house, and now we have a great view of that part of our property.”

“In that case, depending on your budget, of course, you might want to do a mulch bed that links the trees together. Maybe put in a few azaleas and some shade-loving perennials like hostas.”

“This is sounding better and better,” the man said enthusiastically. “Do you think you could come out to the house, take a look at the area, show us some ideas?”

Now Scott
knew
he'd overstepped his bounds. He was a laborer, not a landscape consultant—even if that
was
his long-term goal. But breaking the rules wasn't likely to move him in that direction. “Actually, I don't usually…”

“He'll be glad to.”

Scott turned sharply at the sound of Seth's voice, and hot color stole up his neck. The owner stood only a few feet away and had apparently overheard the entire exchange.

“That would be great,” the older man said.

“Why don't we go inside and take a look at the appointment book and we'll set something up,” Seth told the man. Then he turned to Scott. “See me when you finish up here.”

Scott nodded, a sick feeling in the pit of his stom
ach. Seth had made the ground rules very clear when he started. Stick to your job. Ask for help when you need it. And don't confuse the two parts of the business—commercial and retail. Scott had clearly violated that rule. Which could not only derail his hopes of eventually moving into landscape design, but cost him his job. Reverend Young had warned him that Seth was a hard taskmaster who didn't tolerate insubordination. And that's exactly the way he might interpret Scott's action, though it certainly hadn't been the intent.

Scott finished shoveling the pile of mulch as quickly as possible, then headed for Seth's office, praying that the owner would at least listen to his explanation. Seth was on the phone when Scott arrived, and he motioned the younger man to take a seat.

“Look, Mike, we agreed on a Wednesday delivery, and that's when I need it,” Seth said in a clipped tone. “I've got a commercial job starting on Thursday, and those boxwoods are a major part of it. What am I supposed to tell my customer? And who's going to pay the crew to stand around all day?” Seth chomped on his unlit cigar for a moment as he listened, his expression implacable. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay,” he finally said. “Get me fifty of them Wednesday. I can hold off on the rest till Thursday. But no later. You got that?”

Seth dropped the receiver back into the cradle and turned his penetrating gaze on Scott. “So you want to tell me what that was all about?”

Scott took a deep breath. “I'm sorry if I over-
stepped. There wasn't anyone around to help those customers, so I thought it would be better if I—”

“Whoa!” Seth held up his hand, then leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. “That's not what I meant. Where did you learn so much about trees?”

Scott stared at his boss, taken aback. Apparently he wasn't angry after all. Relief flooded through him and he slowly let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. “I've always enjoyed horticulture. And landscaping. I read a lot about it in prison, and I worked on the vegetable gardens and helped with the groundskeeping while I was there.”

“You ever do any landscape design?”

“Not officially. But I've studied that, too, and I've done quite a few sketches.”

“You still have them?”

“Yes.”

“Bring them in tomorrow.”

“I also designed and installed a meditation garden at Reverend Young's church,” Scott offered.

Seth looked at him appraisingly. “When did you do that?”

“On Saturdays.”

“Don't you do enough digging during the week?”

Scott shrugged. “I owe a lot to Reverend Young. I didn't mind.”

Seth studied him for a moment longer, then consulted the work schedule. “Plan on going over to Mr. Hudson's house on Friday.”

“I'm supposed to be on the crew over at the hospital then,” Scott reminded him.

The older man waved the objection aside. “Laborers I can always find. Though not always as dependable as you,” he added, giving Scott his first real—if backhanded—compliment. “People who know plants and have an eye for design are a lot tougher to find. So bring in those drawings. And I'll swing by that meditation garden on my way home.” Seth reached for the phone, signaling the end of the discussion.

But as Scott rose and headed for the door, Seth stopped him with one final comment.

“You show promise,” he said gruffly. “Keep this up, and things should work out just fine for you here.”

A smile flashed across Scott's face. “Thanks.”

As he left the office, Scott's heart felt lighter than it had in a long while. Somehow, earning Seth's respect meant more to him than all the bonuses he'd received in his former job. Because those were impersonal, determined by a formula that was revenue based. Seth's compliments, on the other hand—and his encouragement—seemed much more personal. And therefore more meaningful.

And best of all, if things went well with the Hudsons, maybe that project would open the door for Scott to begin building a new career.

 

Jess closed the folder, slid it back into her file drawer and glanced at her watch. She'd been in her office only twenty minutes, hardly long enough to justify a special trip into town on Saturday. Especially since she didn't have to give the presentation until the middle of next week.

Admit it, she told herself with a sigh. There was no
legitimate business reason for this trip. Her
real
motives were purely personal, and to pretend otherwise was foolish. Since meeting Scott in the garden the week before, she'd been unable to forget his comment that he often came here on Saturdays. And deep in her heart, she wanted to see him again. Even though it made no sense.

She rose and restlessly walked over to the window, staring down unseeingly at the manicured grounds. For the past three months she'd gone out of her way to avoid him and, on the occasions when their paths
had
crossed, to make it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Yet now she was deliberately putting herself in a position to meet him. Which was probably a big mistake.

Her parents would certainly think so, she acknowledged. They considered any contact with Scott to be bad news. That was why she'd never told them about the times she'd run into him. Or about her plans for today. What would she say? That she was intrigued by the changes in him, driven by some powerful force deep inside to learn more about the transformation that had occurred during his time in prison? They would hardly be receptive to that message. Nor would they understand her change in attitude. And frankly, neither did she.

Jess sighed again. If she was smart, she would probably just turn around and go home. But she hadn't been feeling especially smart lately. Just unsettled. And going home was unlikely to change that. So she might as well follow her instincts.

Resignedly she reached for her purse, flipped off the
lights in her office and headed out into the garden. The cobalt-blue sky of early morning had given way to scattered clouds, but she took little notice of the weather—or the beauty around her. She was looking for only one thing—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a glint of silver in his dark hair. Nothing else registered in her field of vision.

Thirty minutes later, however, after a rapid but complete circuit of the grounds, she'd seen no sign of Scott. Which was probably good, she assured herself even as a feeling of disappointment swept over her. Trying to engineer a chance meeting had been silly. And not very smart.

She hitched her shoulder purse higher and resolutely headed toward the exit, rebuking herself for wasting so much of her day on a whim. She could have spent a lazy morning catching up on some reading, paying bills or doing something far more productive than…

“Jess!”

At the sound of the familiar voice, her heart ratcheted into triple time and she froze. So he was here after all. She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath, then slowly turned. He was striding toward her, dressed in exactly the same manner as last week, the same notebook under his arm, his expression surprised—and delighted.

“I thought it was you.” His eyes smiled warmly into hers before he broke contact to glance cautiously around. “Are you alone?”

She nodded, struggling to find her voice. “Yes.”

His smile broadened. “Good.”

She couldn't blame him for his reaction, not after
their last encounter in the gardens. “Listen…about last week…my father…”

He smiled gently. “It's okay, Jess. I understand how he feels about me. He has a right.”

Does he? she suddenly wondered as she stared into Scott's kind eyes.
Was
it right to hate in the face of true remorse and regret? At some point didn't hate become more destructive to the hater than the person hated? Wasn't forgiveness a part of healing, as her brother had inferred? But she voiced none of those troubling questions, tucking them away in her mind for later consideration. “Well, it was rude nonetheless.”

“I'm used to a lot worse.”

The words were said matter-of-factly, but she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. Clearly, the horrors of prison life had left an indelible mark, though he didn't dwell on the subject.

“Now I'm going to steal your question,” he continued with an engaging grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, had to stop at my office. To go over a presentation.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “So how did you end up here?”

“I work here.”

He looked surprised. “At the garden?”

“Yes. In public relations.”

“No kidding! That's great!”

“I like it.” She knew her responses sounded stilted, but she couldn't help it. That's how she felt. Stiff. And
awkward. And uncomfortable. Especially knowing that she had engineered this “chance” meeting.

“So are you leaving now?”

She nodded. “I just stopped in for a few minutes.”

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee first? The outdoor café would be great on a day like this.”

Jess stared at him. A casual meeting, a few words exchanged in passing were one thing. Spending time with him seemed somehow…wrong. As if by doing so she would somehow dishonor the memory of Elizabeth and be disloyal to her parents. At the same time, she thought about Mark's advice. He had encouraged her to talk with Scott, suggested that the only way to truly let go of the past was to face it. And more and more lately, she had begun to admit that he might be right.

Scott waited patiently for Jess's response, struggling to maintain a placid expression even though his heart was hammering painfully in his chest. He knew he was pushing things with his invitation, but what did he have to lose? At worst, she would say no. At best…well, that remained to be seen. But even a few minutes in her company, in this neutral setting of natural beauty, was bound to do
some
good. It
had
to. He'd prayed for guidance, for opportunity and for the right words when the time came. The Lord had certainly provided the first two. Now Scott hoped that He would come through on the last, as well.