That Certain Summer (24 page)

And unless their growing friendship took a quantum leap in the next couple of weeks, she had a feeling Val would return to Chicago leaving that mystery unsolved.

Beads of sweat formed on Karen's forehead as she crossed the lawn toward the church offices, and she swiped them away with her fingertips. Amazing. It was seven o'clock in the evening, and the sun had already dipped behind the tall trees, but the temperature still hovered somewhere between bake and broil.

She shook her head. It was going to be a long, hot August.

As she stepped under the overhang by the front door, a tiny warm breeze wafted her way. Better—but not much.

To her surprise, the door to the reception area opened and Reverend Richards stuck his head out.

“I spotted you crossing the lawn. Seeking refuge from the heat?”

“Returning the proof of the flier for the benefit. We need to get this printed and distributed to the participating churches ASAP.” She waved a manila envelope at him.

“Then come in, by all means.”

She entered and set it on the receptionist's desk. “I didn't expect to find anyone here on a Saturday night. I was just going to drop it through the mail slot.”

“I thought I'd put a few finishing touches on tomorrow's sermon. Plus, the ladies' guild is meeting at our house tonight.”

“Aha. I'm not the only refugee.”

“Guilty as charged. How's your mom doing?”

“Improving every day.”

“And Kristen?”

Recalling Val's suggestion from earlier in the day, she frowned.

“You look like a woman with something on her mind. Could you use a friendly ear?”

She sent him a small smile. “You have a sermon to polish.”

“It's probably as good as it's going to get.”

“Well . . . if you're sure you have the time.”

He stepped back and motioned her in. “The ladies' guild meeting won't be over for two hours. I have plenty of time.”

“In that case . . .” She took a seat in his adjacent office. “It's about Michael.”

He claimed the chair beside her. “More problems?”

“Not the kind we've discussed before.” Thank goodness she'd sought his guidance in the months before her separation. Since he was fully briefed, she could launch straight into the latest chapter, including Michael's apology and his request.

When she finished, the minister leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “It sounds like you've already given this a lot of serious thought.”

“I have. And I've prayed too. I realize his repentance may be driven by the fact that he needs me, but I have a sense his remorse is real. My conscience is prodding me to take the high road and do the charitable thing for Kristen's sake, if nothing else, but I'd like a second opinion.”

“If you've already spoken to God, you don't need me.”

“Your voice is easier to hear.”

He smiled. “I've heard that line before. And I agree it can be difficult at times to discern God's voice—even for ministers.” Then his expression grew more serious. “But you've done all the right things. You've prayed, given the request careful consideration, and come to a decision that feels right. I can't do anything for you that you haven't already done, except to say I admire your generous spirit and compassion, and that I think the Lord would be pleased by such an unselfish example of the charity and brotherly love he preached.”

The knot in Karen's stomach loosened. “Thank you.”

“Shall we join our hearts in prayer for a moment?”

“I'd like that.”

He bowed his head, and she followed his lead. “Lord, we ask you to guide your daughter as she embarks on a difficult journey. Give her the grace and strength she'll need in the months ahead. Grant her wisdom and sound judgment as she faces hard decisions, and give her abundant blessings as she seeks to follow the example you set when you came to save—and to serve. Amen.”

When Karen looked up, the minister touched her hand. “God go with you. I'll keep you in my prayers.”

“Thank you.”

And when she stepped out moments later to find the sky had transitioned from blue to gray, she suspected she would need every prayer said on her behalf.

“Val! Can I talk to you for a minute?”

At the summons, Val looked over her shoulder at Karen, who was still putting away her music in the choir section as the congregation dispersed.

“Sure. Give me a sec.” She refocused on Kristen. “Pick a day and we'll have lunch before I go back to Chicago.”

“Cool.”

After giving her niece a hug, Val joined her sister. “What's up?”

“Reverend Richards asked me to review the program for the benefit.” Karen waved a folded sheet of paper in front of her. “And I need to add your name if you're going to participate. Did you ever decide about the emcee thing?”

No. She'd been waiting for direction that had never come.

“Tell me again what I'd need to do.” At best, the stall tactic would buy her sixty seconds.

Pointing out the items in the program as she spoke, Karen recited the duties. “You'd do the welcome and introduce the different entertainers listed here. There will also be a few closing remarks.
You know, thank-you-for-coming-and-we-appreciate-your-support kind of stuff. Very simple.”

It did sound straightforward—and innocuous. Plus it was for a worthy cause. She should be able to handle it.

“Okay. Count me in.” Leaning closer, she examined the lineup of entertainment, zeroing in on the listing for the church choir. “Look at that. ‘Karen Butler, soloist.'”

Karen wrinkled her nose. “I may take that out. I want to keep my options open until the last minute. I'm still freaked out by the notion of singing in front of hundreds of people.”

“Who's singing in front of hundreds of people?”

As Margaret came up beside them, Val took one look at Karen's dismayed face and jumped in. “Scott asked Karen to sing a solo at the benefit. We were checking out her name in the program proof.”

Much to Val's surprise, her mother simply compressed her lips, as if she was physically curbing a derogatory comment.

She glanced at Karen, who raised her eyebrows. Margaret's restraint might be short-lived, but she was grateful her better nature had prevailed today. Karen didn't need anyone undermining her shaky confidence this close to the show.

As Margaret walked away to chat with some friends, Karen stepped closer. “At least she's trying. It kind of makes you think anything is possible, doesn't it?”

Val bent her head and rummaged through her purse for her keys.

If only that were true.

But her stay in Washington was drawing to a close, and short of a miracle, she had a feeling the liberating redemption she'd journeyed home to find would remain elusive after all.

A bowl of trifle in hand, Karen paused by the back door, heart aching.

Kristen sat hunched in an Adirondack chair, arms hugging her
drawn-up knees, staring into the distance. In the two days since she and Michael had told Kristen the bad news, her daughter had ignored her friends, nibbled at her food, and lost her color. Karen hadn't seen her cry—but there'd been plenty of tears behind the closed door of her room, based on her puffy eyes.

She opened the sliding door. “Can I interest you in some dessert? I made that trifle you like from the recipe Val gave me.”

Even in profile, her daughter's face was a study in misery. “I'm not hungry.”

After a brief hesitation, Karen set the trifle on the counter and exited onto the deck. So far, Kristen hadn't accepted any of her overtures to talk—but she intended to keep making them.

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a few minutes? It's a nice evening.”

A shrug was Kristen's only response.

Karen lowered herself into the matching chair beside her daughter and let her head rest against the back. The evening was cool—for August—and the muted drone of the cicadas provided a pleasant backdrop to the song of the birds as they prepared to roost for the night. A hawk circled overhead, soaring without effort in the cloudless sky, letting the wind lift it higher and higher. The quiet seeped into Karen's soul, offering a momentary respite from the current trauma.

“Steven says letting go was the hardest thing he ever had to do.”

At Kristen's quiet comment, Karen turned her head. Her daughter was staring straight ahead, toward the common ground at the back of the property now darkened by end-of-day shadows. “Letting go of what?”

“His dreams. The use of his legs. A normal life. He thinks death is a lot like that for those left behind. That it's about letting go and learning to get on with your life even though nothing will ever be the same again.”

A lump formed in Karen's throat. “I think he's right.”

Kristen swiped at an errant tear with the back of her hand. “I
don't know how to do that. How to let go. I don't want Dad to die.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“I know, honey.”

“Like, what was God thinking, anyway? He's only fifty-one!”

“Not everyone is given a long life. We just have to trust that this is part of God's plan.”

“Yeah?” Defiance sharpened Kristen's features. “Well, I think it stinks—and I'm mad! I told that to God too.”

“I'm sure he hears that a lot.”

After a moment, the defiance melted away and her shoulders sagged. “It won't change anything, though.”

“No, but it's okay to be upset.”

“That's what Steven says. He told me he was mad in the beginning too—at everything and everybody.”

“It's a normal reaction when life treats you in a way you think is unfair.”

“But it
is
unfair.”

“By our standards. But we all have to die someday. God just calls us at different times. I think your dad has accepted what's happening and is at peace with it. His biggest concern is leaving you behind. I think the thing that bothers him most is how upset you'll be by his death. He loves you very much.”

“I love him too.” Her forlorn words tugged at Karen's heart. “I wish there was some way I could help him.”

“There is. You can be strong. Your dad needs to know you'll be okay. Try to help him understand that as much as you love him and as much as you'll miss him, you'll go on to have a full, happy life. That's what he wants for you.”

A tear trickled down Kristen's cheek. “Sometimes I don't think I'll ever be happy again. It was bad enough when you guys got divorced, but this is worse. It's so . . . final.”

Fighting back her own tears, Karen rose and moved to kneel in front of Kristen, taking both of her daughter's cold hands in her own. “I can promise you this. You will be happy again. And until
you are, I'm going to be here for you. Anytime you want to talk or just need a hug, I'm available. We'll get through this together, okay?”

All at once, Kristen's lower lip began to quiver. Leaning forward, she threw her arms around Karen's neck.

“I don't know what I'd do without you.” The words came out whispered and ragged.

Once more, tears clogged her throat as she stroked her daughter's long blonde hair.

Kristen held fast for another few seconds. Then she sniffled and backed up. “But . . . but what if s-something happens to you too?”

Today must be the day for hard questions.

Karen wanted to reassure her that she'd always be around—but she couldn't make that promise. As Kristen had already learned, life held no assurances. The world you knew could crumble overnight, with no warning.

She settled back on her heels and chose her words with care. “I hope I'm around for a lot of years. But no matter what happens, we always have to remember that even though things can change, and people do die, God's love never wavers. We're never really alone if we put our trust in him.”

Kristen's silence told her that wasn't good enough. That at fifteen—with a tentative, tender faith that hadn't yet put down deep, sustaining roots—it was hard to understand the concept that there were different ways to be alone. And physical aloneness wasn't the worst of them, as her life with Michael had taught her. It was a lesson she hoped her daughter never had to learn.

Since words weren't providing the comfort Kristen needed, she simply pulled her into another hug and sent a silent prayer heavenward.

Please, Lord, I've promised Kristen we'll get through this together, but we need your guidance and strength. Stand with us and let us feel your loving presence as we make this final journey with Michael. Give us comfort and sustain us when we become
overwhelmed. And after this time is past, please help Kristen heal and move on.

“Hey, pretty lady! This is a nice treat.” Scott waved at Karen across the parking lot as he finished locking the church door.

She turned at his greeting, a flush of surprise—and pleasure, he hoped—pinking her cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” She angled toward him, the open car door between them.

“Steven and I squeezed in an extra lesson. We're trying to double up, with the benefit so close. What brings you to church on a Thursday?”

“I had to drop off the final program.”

“Ah. The hand of fate at work.” He closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples, pretending to consult some unseen seer. “I see a trip to Mr. Frank's in your immediate future.”

She smiled but shook her head. “I can't go today. Michael's coming over this afternoon to review some papers with me.”

“Your ex?” Scott frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. That sounded a little too cozy, considering what she'd told him about her marriage. “You two aren't . . . um . . . Sorry.” He stopped. Raked his fingers through his hair. “It's none of my business.”

“We aren't getting back together, if that's what you're wondering.”

The tension in his shoulders melted away. “So what's going on?”

Distress darkened her eyes. “He's dying. Pancreatic cancer. He doesn't have any family, and he asked me to handle any decisions that need to be made when he's not able to do it himself.”

Scott sorted through the double bombshell. The second one actually startled him more.

“You agreed to help him?”

“I think it's the best thing for Kristen. She's struggling with this already, and it would be worse if she thought her father had to deal with everything alone. He may not have been the best husband, nor always the most attentive dad, but she loves him. Besides, it's the charitable thing to do.”

Expelling a long breath, he shook his head. “That's the most unselfish thing I've ever heard.”

She gave him a wry look. “Not even close. I'm only doing this for Kristen. I'd have to scrape the bottom of my well of compassion to do it for Michael alone.”

“That's more than understandable. How long does he have?”

“Six months, at best.”

Or worst. Watching someone die had to be hard—even someone for whom you no longer harbored any special feelings.

“Are you sure you know what you're getting into?”

“No. I've never dealt with anything like this. And I know it won't be easy. I'll just have to do the best I can and muddle through.”