That Certain Summer (13 page)

The room was quiet for a few seconds. “I can see how much you love it.”

He opened his eyes and looked at the man next to him. “There's nothing like it. Nothing. Music can touch the heart and soul in ways beyond description. Those moments are rare but worth all the effort.”

“I have to believe the effort part is significant.”

“Yes. Years of lessons and practice. Night after night playing in smoky clubs. Constant travel. It's a hard life, but all the sacrifices were about to pay off. I played with a trio, and we'd just signed a recording contract with a major label. We were on the verge of national recognition, which would have moved us to a whole new level. We'd have gotten the more prestigious gigs. Maybe even made a little money. Not that that was our main goal, but it would have been a nice bonus.”

“Your mother told me you were the sole survivor of the accident.”

A shaft of pain seared through him, and Scott sucked in a harsh
breath. “Yeah. Except for the truck driver who feel asleep at the wheel seconds before he hit us. He only had minor injuries. But Joe and Mark, the other musicians, as well as our publicist, didn't make it.”

“I guess you'd known the other members of the trio for a long time.”

“Ten years. We were like brothers.” His voice choked on the final word.

“In other words, you not only lost your career but your family.”

“I've never thought of it quite like that, but yeah, I guess I did. And the thing is, I don't understand why I was the one who survived. What did I have to offer that they didn't? I wasn't any more talented than they were, or a better person. Why me?”

“God had a reason.”

“You think?” Scott gave a bitter, mirthless laugh. “It might be nice if he shared it with me.”

“He will.”

“I'm not in a patient mood.”

“Patience can be a difficult virtue to master.”

“Tell me about it.” Scott hoped his sarcasm didn't offend this man, whose concern seemed genuine. But what could a minister know about starting over? About having your life turned upside down and being forced to change plans midstream? “I'm sorry. No one really understands my situation.”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe more people can appreciate what you're going through than you think. That's one of the dangers of focusing only on our own problems. We start to get myopic and believe we're the only one in the world who's ever been tested in a certain way. But a lot of people start over.” He leaned back. “I happen to be one of them.”

Scott frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn't always a minister. In fact, this is my first congregation. I spent most of my life in the corporate world. Quite happily, I might add.”

Scott took a moment to process that disconnect. “But . . . deep inside you must have always wanted to be a minister, right?”

“Hardly. I only had a passing acquaintance with the Lord. Ministry wasn't even on my radar. I had my life all mapped out. I'd worked out my ten-year plan and knew where I wanted to be every step of the way. God wasn't part of my equation.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing as dramatic as your experience, but day by day I began to realize the path I'd mapped out might not be the one God had in mind for me. Even though I fought him every step of the way, he persisted. Eventually I went back to church, hoping to find some answers there.”

“Did you?”

“In time. After believing for years that my future lay in the corporate world, it took me a while to recognize there were other options. That maybe the skills I'd developed in human resources and planning and mediation and communication might have broader applications. I also began to realize that the life I'd planned had some serious downsides. My job kept me on the road three weeks out of four, and that lifestyle wasn't conducive to a wife or family. I suspect if I hadn't changed direction, I might never have married—and I'd have missed an experience that has added incredible richness and dimension to my life.”

Scott regarded the minister. Though the man hadn't been forced by traumatic circumstances to give up his dream, he
had
grappled with a powerful, compelling call to change course, one that had required serious soul-searching and had wreaked havoc with his plans—the very things he himself was going through.

“I guess maybe you do have some inkling of what I'm experiencing.”

“And so do many others who've faced life-changing challenges. But the other point of my story is to suggest you can still have a career in music, one that uses your considerable skills—though it may be a different kind of music career than the one you planned.
Right now, you're on the same journey I was, searching for direction. And it will come. In time, you'll find your new path.”

The upbeat platitude sounded nice, but it didn't mitigate the darkness in Scott's soul. “I wish I shared your optimism. Right now I feel totally lost—and alone.”

The man leaned forward and touched his arm, his expression intent—and caring. “You're never alone. Never. It may be trite, but the footprints story is very true.”

Scott tipped his head. “The footprints story?”

“You've never heard it?”

“No.”

“It's a simple story, about a man who railed at God after feeling deserted in his times of deepest need. In response, God showed him the path of his life, in the form of footprints on a beach. In many spots, there were two sets of prints. But in other places, during his darkest hours, there was only one set. The man pointed out to God that on those occasions, he'd walked alone. And God's response was simple but profound. He said, ‘No, my son. In the places where you see only one set of prints, I was carrying you.'”

The breath jammed in Scott's lungs.

Could that be true? Had God been with him all through these terrible days, giving him the courage to get up and face each new morning, helping him get through the hours one minute, one second, at a time?

Maybe.

Because he didn't think he could have survived the blackness on his own. Some greater force must have been at work.

The minister broke the silence at last, his voice gentle. “I think we've wandered far afield from the purpose of your visit. You came to talk about the choir, and the truth is, we could use your help until we find a replacement for Marilyn.”

Scott did his best to shift gears. “I hate to leave you in the lurch, but to be honest, I think I've burned some bridges. The choir may not want to work with me anymore.”

“You'll find they're a very forgiving bunch. After all, they put up with my off-key singing. And the phrase ‘I'm sorry' has far more power than you can imagine.”

“What about my hand?”

“I haven't noticed any negative impact on our service music as a result of your injury. Would you consider giving it another try?”

Half an hour ago, Scott would have said no. Now he wavered. For some reason, he felt less alone. Less hopeless. And more willing to try and see this commitment through.

“I can't make any long-term promises.”

“I'm not asking for any. We'll take it week by week.”

If the man was that willing to work with him, how could he refuse?

“All right. You win.”

“I hope it will be a win/win. Now, can I ask you one more favor? If the darkness starts to close in on you again, call me. Any time. And I mean any time.” He withdrew a card from his pocket and held it out. “My office and cell numbers are on there.”

Scott took the card. And as his fingers closed over it, the tangible symbol of caring and support felt like a lifeline. His throat clogged, and he gave a brief nod.

“I know you don't think of yourself as a religious man, but can you indulge me while I speak to God?” Before Scott could respond, the minister bowed his head and clasped his hands. Scott found himself doing the same, though the unfamiliar posture felt awkward.

“Heavenly Father, I ask your continued caring and support for Scott as he seeks a new path for his life. Please let him feel your abiding presence and know that even when he feels most lost, you are beside him, watchful and loving and ready to assist. I also pray that your healing touch will help Scott recover from his injuries so he may once again find joy in his music—and have the ability to share that joy with others. Amen.”

The minister raised his head and placed a hand on Scott's shoulders. “Now go out and enjoy this beautiful day the Lord has made.
Try to leave your problems, if only for a little while, on his capable shoulders.”

Scott didn't know if that was possible, but as he emerged from the building into the sunlight, his heart did feel lighter.

And for the first time since the accident, he began to believe that maybe, just maybe, he might have a future after all.

“Feeling better?”

At David's question, Val looked up from the book she was reading to find him smiling at her from the doorway of the rehab waiting room.

“Yes, thanks. It must have been a summer cold.”

In truth, she didn't know what she'd had. Cold feet, perhaps, masquerading as the sniffles. Whatever, the brief illness had kept her from following through on her plan to revisit the other painful spots from her past. But she was determined to go this Sunday, sick or well.

“I didn't mean just that.” He closed the distance between them.

Forcing herself to maintain eye contact, Val swallowed. She knew what he meant. Although he hadn't pressed her about the day two weeks ago when she'd almost collapsed in his arms after stumbling into the clearing at the park, it was clear the incident was still on his mind.

“I'm okay.” She tried for a convincing tone, but the reassurance came off sounding weak even to her ears. To her relief, he didn't push.

“Glad to hear it. How about some coffee?” He held out a disposable cup. “Black, as I recall.”

“Thanks.”

She took the cup, and he dropped into the chair beside her. A whisper away.

Her pulse leapt, and she held the cup with both hands as she took a sip. “How's Mom doing?”

“She's making excellent progress. I expect full function will be restored to her left side by the end of the summer. A good thing, since she tells me you'll be heading back to Chicago in about a month.”

So he knew the timing of her departure. What else had her mother relayed?

“What do you two talk about during therapy, anyway?”

“For the most part, she talks and I listen.”

Val rolled her eyes. “I can imagine. It must be gossip central in there. As if you care about her whole cast of characters.”

“I care about one of them.”

At his quiet—and unexpected—response, Val shot him a startled glance. His perceptive eyes were fixed on her, and she forced up the corners of her stiff lips, determined to keep things light. “If she's talked about me, I suspect you've gotten more than a few soliloquies.”

“I hear a lot about the meals you prepare.”

“I'll bet.”

“And the glamorous life you lead in Chicago.”

“Trust me, Mom's exaggerating. I teach high school drama. I do a little modeling on the side. It's not glamorous.”

“It is to her. Though not as glamorous as the life she thinks you could have had. On Broadway, no less.”

She took another sip of her coffee and shook her head. “Mom always did have delusions of grandeur about my talent. I wasn't Broadway material.”

“Did you ever think about giving it a shot?”

“Yes, and I did. For a year. But the realities of making it in New York didn't quite live up to my teenage fantasies. Being a big fish in a little pond is a lot different than being a minnow in the ocean. You have to have singular focus and a driving commitment to have even a minuscule chance of making it, and the whole thing was kind of overwhelming. Besides, my heart wasn't in it.” Nor in much of anything else after that fateful summer of her seventeenth year.

“Do you like what you do now?”

“Very much.” That was a question she could answer with absolute honesty. “Working with young people is interesting—and satisfying.”

“Then that's all that counts.” He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Margaret also told me about her church and invited me to visit. Victoria and I went last weekend. I thought you might be there, but I guess you were still sick.”

Val ran a polished nail around the rim of her cup, where traces of lipstick clung precariously to the edge. “I was. Besides, I'm not much of a churchgoer anymore.”

“Meaning you used to be?”

“Years ago.”

“What changed?”

His tone was conversational, not accusatory, but he was getting way too personal. She sent him a pointed look that conveyed that message loud and clear.

“Sorry.” He held up his free hand, palm forward, in a placating gesture. “I didn't mean to pry. My faith is such an important part of my life, I'm always curious why people fall away. I could never survive the dark times without God by my side.” He checked his watch and rose. “Margaret should be finishing up on the equipment. I'd better get back inside.”

“Smart plan. It's never wise to keep Mom waiting.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, and he gestured toward her empty coffee cup. “Can I pitch that for you?”

“Thanks.” As she handed it over, their fingers brushed. It was a
fleeting touch, but even that slight contact sent a tingle down her spine—and made her wish she could share her secret with this man. That she could spill her heart to him, and that he would listen without judgment, pull her into his arms, and hold her until all her guilt melted away.

As he disappeared through the door, Val shook her head. Now there was a teenage fantasy if ever she'd heard one. Problems weren't that easily solved. Nor was forgiveness that easy to find.

Even from a man of faith.

“Aren't you going to be late for choir practice, Mom?”

Karen straightened from loading the dryer. Kristen stood in the doorway of the laundry room, a chocolate chip cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. “I'm not going tonight.”

“How come? You never skip.”

“I had a busy day at work and I'm tired.” She continued to transfer wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, hoping Kristen would let it go. She wasn't in the mood to discuss her decision tonight.

No such luck.

Her daughter clumped into the room and propped her hip against the counter. “That never stopped you before.”

Karen shut the dryer and flipped it on. Might as well just spill it. “Actually, I'm thinking of dropping out.”

“You're kidding.” Kristen followed her into the kitchen. “I thought you loved singing in the choir.”

“I used to love it. But the new choir director is . . . difficult.”

“I think he's hot—for an older guy.”

Her eyes widened. Scott Walker, hot?

No way.

Then again, his dark good looks might appeal to some people.

Too bad his personality was equally dark.

“I won't debate that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and
all that.” She folded the dish towel she'd tossed on the table earlier and hung it on the door rack under the sink. “But he's hard to deal with. He talks down to people, and he raises his voice a lot.”

Kristen stopped chewing. “Kind of like Dad used to?”

At the quiet question, Karen turned toward her and curled her fingers around the edge of the counter behind her. “Your dad never behaved that way with you.”

“No, but he treated you like that. A lot.”

As the comment hung in the air between them, Karen tightened her grip. Great. Despite all her efforts to shelter Kristen from the problems in their marriage, it seemed her perceptive daughter had picked up on them anyway.

“Your dad and I should never have married, Kristen.”
Careful, Karen. Don't cast all the blame on the father she loves
or
let this come across as sour grapes
. “We weren't compatible.”

“Then why did you?”

“I don't know. I was young. He was older and attractive and attentive. My self-esteem wasn't that high. Remember, I grew up in the same house as Val, and it was hard to compete with her. She was always gorgeous and self-confident. The boys didn't even notice me when she was around—except for your dad. I was flattered by his attention, and I guess that clouded my judgment.”

“But you must have loved him back then. And he must have loved you.”

Was her daughter ready for the truth? Val had suggested she was—and her sister could be right. Maybe it was time to test that theory.

She gestured to the kitchen table. “Let's sit for a few minutes, okay?”

Following her lead, Kristen slid into a chair at the polished oak dinette set where the three of them had shared too few meals as a family.

“To be honest, I'm not certain love ever played a role in our relationship. I was enamored and I mistook a lot of other emotions
for love. As for your dad, I think he liked the fact that I always gave in to him and let him take charge. It fed his ego. But after a while that got old, and he lost respect for me, leading to problems later in our marriage. In the end, both of us regretted the mistake.”

“But I thought marriage was supposed to be forever. Till death do us part and all that stuff, like Reverend Richards talks about.”

“It is. But people do make mistakes.”

Kristen chewed at her lower lip. “Do you think you'll ever get married again?”

“I don't know. Even though we're divorced, I still feel married in God's eyes.”

“I don't think Dad would have any qualms about remarrying.”

“He and I didn't have the same core beliefs about marriage, honey. Mine are based in faith. That's another thing we didn't share.”

“Yeah. I know.” Kristen traced one of the knotholes in the wood with an iridescent fingernail. Turquoise was the color of the week. “I remember that Christmas morning when I was about eight and he made fun of you for going to church. You tried to pretend it didn't bother you, but I heard you crying later in your room.”

Another jolt ricocheted through her.

So that day was as etched in Kristen's memory as it was in her own.

“I'm sorry you heard that. I tried to shield you from the stuff that was going on, but that day was especially bad.” Bad enough that the memory still left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I remember he wanted you to make breakfast for him before we went to church and was mad when you didn't.”

“That's right.” She could recall the sequence of events as if they'd happened yesterday. Most of the time, Michael had condescendingly tolerated her convictions despite his attitude of academic elitism that regarded religion as a simplistic panacea to life's problems. But not that day. He'd risen in a bad mood. Ranted that she was a fool for letting her faith run her life. Accused her of being selfish
to put church attendance above family obligations. Sulked for the remainder of the day.

It had not been her best Christmas.

Nor Kristen's, it seemed.

When her daughter remained silent, she spoke again. “That was one of the few occasions I went against his wishes. In those days, I used to think being passive and giving in would smooth things out and help me get along with people—including your grandmother. But I'm learning that's not always the best way to be.”

Kristen swirled the milk in her glass, closer and closer to the top. Playing the spill odds. “Do you think if you'd been different with Dad back then, you guys might have stayed together?”

“I used to wonder about that, but I don't think so. In fact, the marriage may not have lasted as long as it did. We'd probably have clashed sooner. Your dad and I are too different.”

“Maybe he's changed.”

Not that she'd noticed.

But instead of voicing that opinion, she reached over in silence and brushed a long strand of blonde hair back from Kristen's face.

“I wish we could have been a family forever.” Kristen whispered the choked words as moisture beaded on her lashes.

“I do too. I'm so sorry your dad and I made such a mess of things.”

Kristen gripped her glass. “You know, I used to think the breakup was all your fault.” She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “But inside I always knew it wasn't. Dad's a pretty good dad, when he's around, but I guess . . . I guess he wasn't the best husband. He wasn't very nice to you. And I don't want you to be unhappy.”

Her little girl was growing up.

A lump formed in Karen's throat. For the past two years she'd been praying her relationship with her daughter would stabilize, that they would recapture the closeness they'd once shared. Tonight it felt as if they'd taken a giant leap forward.