That Certain Summer (25 page)

Alone.

She left the word unspoken, but it echoed in his heart.

And he wanted her to know it didn't have to be that way.

Slowly, he reached over and laid his hand against her cheek. “In your place, I doubt I would be half as generous. And I don't envy you the task ahead. But I respect your decision, and I'm here if you need me to help. With anything.”

Her eyelashes spiked with moisture, and she laid her hand over his. “Thank you.”

At her touch, his pulse quickened and he cleared his throat. “You're welcome.”

“Can I get a rain check on Mr. Frank's?” She gave him a shaky smile and removed her hand.

He missed its warmth at once.

“Anytime. I'll be around.”

He wanted to linger. Wanted to reach out to her again and fold her in his arms this time.

Instead, he took a step back, lifted his hand in farewell, and walked toward his car.

When he looked back, she was still standing where he'd left her, one hand gripping the edge of her door, the other resting against the hollow of her throat. Looking as shook up as he was—and as needy. The yearning in her eyes told him she'd wanted that hug as much as he did.

With everything she had on her plate, though, she didn't need another complication in her life. Especially one as consuming and intense as romance.

Their day would come, however . . . he was sure of it.

But he had a feeling his self-discipline and patience were going to get a major workout in the meantime.

Karen moved to the front of the church and scanned the large group seated before her. The rehearsal with the four participating choirs and the solo performers had gone well—including her own song—and the event was sold out. Between ticket sales and ads for the program, Hope House would have more than enough funds to weather its financial crisis.

All the hard work had paid off.

She did one more sweep of the back of the church. Still no Val. Margaret's bridge club dinner must be running late—as usual. If her sister didn't finish her chauffeur duty soon, however, there'd be no time to run over her remarks.

Then again, Val was a pro. Even without a rehearsal, she'd do fine.

Karen moved behind the mike and smiled at the assembly. “I want to thank all of you for coming and for participating in this worthwhile effort. You did a great job tonight, and I know everyone will enjoy the program. Please be here by seven tomorrow and assemble in the fellowship room. I'll be around for a few more minutes tonight, if there are any questions. If not, break a leg tomorrow.”

As she descended the steps from the stage, Melanie Thomas approached her. The director of Hope House was beaming.

“I'm overwhelmed! The outpouring of support has been unbelievable. I had no idea we'd end up with an event of this scale.”

“It's amazing, isn't it?”

“I'll say.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her purse. “I know this is last minute, but I received this yesterday, and I thought it might be powerful if the emcee read it at the end of the evening.”

As Karen reached for the sheet, a glint of blonde hair at the back of the auditorium caught her eye.

“Speaking of the emcee, she just arrived. Will you excuse me for a minute?”

Karen headed toward the back, calling out to David as she passed the tech booth. “Could you hang around a little longer? Val's here, and I'd like to run through her comments and check the sound and light levels. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes.”

“No problem. My neighbor is watching Victoria, and I told her I might be late.”

With a wave of thanks, Karen continued toward her sister.

“Sorry about this.” Val blew out a frustrated breath. “I had no idea Mom's quarterly bridge dinners dragged on till all hours.” She scanned the emptying auditorium. “Looks like I missed the rehearsal.”

“David's waiting around to set sound and lights for your part. Do you want to run through it once?”

“As long as I'm not holding anyone up. I read over the stuff. It shouldn't take long.”

“That's what I figured. Start whenever you're ready.”

With a nod, Val dropped her purse on a chair and walked toward the stage.

As she prepared to follow her sister, Karen caught sight of Scott approaching. She hadn't had a chance to talk with him after their choir sang, and while she thought she'd done okay, it would be nice to have that confirmed.

His heartening smile did the trick even before he spoke. “You were great.”

“If I was, you deserve the credit. Without your support and coaching I would never have been able to stand up there and sing alone. But the real test will be tomorrow.”

“I have every confidence in you.”

“I wish I did.”

He rested his fingers on her arm. “You'll be fine.” He maintained contact a moment longer, then dropped his hand. “How's everything else?”

“Busy. And I don't expect the pace to lessen anytime soon. Once Val leaves next week, I'll have to pick up all the responsibilities for Mom again too.”

“Remember my offer of help—for anything, anytime.”

Gratitude filled her heart. What had she done to deserve such a caring, considerate man? “I will. Thank you.”

Steven wheeled up behind them, and Scott turned. “Here's the other star of the evening.”

The teen grimaced. “I made some mistakes.”

“Only ones you and I would notice.”

“You sounded great, Steven.” Karen touched his arm as she added her reassurance. “It's nice to have a piano solo in the program.”

Scott glanced at his watch, then back at her. “I promised Steven a ride home. Try to get some rest before the show.”

“Not likely. I have a full day scheduled, including my last Saturday afternoon coffee with Val—and I'm not going to skip that.” As her sister started to run through her comments, Karen motioned toward the stage. “Speaking of Val . . .”

“I know. Duty calls.” Scott entwined her fingers with his and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “See you tomorrow.”

She watched the two of them move toward the door, then rejoined Melanie in front as Val began breezing through her remarks.

“What did you think?” Melanie motioned to the sheet of paper in Karen's hand.

“Sorry. I haven't had a chance to read it yet.” She dropped into the empty chair beside the Hope House director and skimmed through the typewritten document. “Wow! You're right. This is powerful stuff. It would be a great wrap-up for the evening. Where did you get it?”

“From the director of a similar program in Kansas City. It was sent to them by a former client who ended up choosing another option. She wanted the staff to know she was sorry she'd given in to the pressure to end her pregnancy, and she sent along a donation to support their work.”

“I'll ask Val to read through it as soon as she finishes.”

Setting the sheet in her lap, she listened as her sister ran through the emcee remarks. As she'd expected, Val's poise and confidence would put a polish on the evening.

And with her professional training, she'd be able to do justice to the compelling testimonial Melanie had brought with her.

Val closed her folder, shaded her eyes, and looked out at Karen. “How was that?”

“Perfect. The consummate pro.” Karen rose and walked toward the stage. “The director of Hope House thought it might be effective if you read this at the end of the evening, as part of your closing remarks. Sorry to dump it on you cold, but she just gave it to me. Could you give it a try? We'll write a short intro for it before tomorrow night.”

“Sure.” Val took the sheet Karen handed her and moved back behind the microphone. This whole emcee gig was going a lot more smoothly than she'd anticipated. “We've got one more brief piece, David.”

“No problem.” His voice echoed from the back. “I won't turn anything off until you're finished.”

Val set the paper on the podium, glanced at the heading—and stopped breathing.

“A Letter to My Unborn Child.”

Seconds ticked by as she stared at the words. What was this all about? She was only supposed to say hi, good-bye, and do a few intros. No one had said a thing about reading a personal document like this.

“Val? Whenever you're ready.”

At Karen's prompt, she sucked in a breath. Fought for control.

Pretend it's a script
.
Pretend this is a play, with no basis in reality and no connection to your life. Stay objective. Be professional. You're an actress. This is just another role.

Summoning up every vestige of her training, she began to read.

“My dearest child: I wish I could tell you all the things that are in my heart today. To cuddle you gently in my arms, to whisper in your ear, to stroke your soft, silky hair and feel the steady beat of your heart as I hold you close to my breast.

“But that is never to be. You are gone now, and all that remains is regret and guilt and pain. Not a day goes by that you are far from my thoughts. Each morning, I awaken to the vain hope that the empty place in my heart will be filled once more. And each evening, I go to bed with a prayer on my lips for mercy and forgiveness.”

Her voice caught on the last word, and she cleared her throat. “Today is especially hard. It's the fourth anniversary of your due date, and I'm wondering what we would have done to celebrate your birthday, had I not robbed you of the gift of life our Creator gave you. I'd have baked a cake, of course, with five candles. Four for your age, and one to grow on. There would have been presents to open too, wrapped in colorful paper and decorated with shiny bows.

“After that, the two of us would have gone on a picnic. Chased a butterfly or two. Picked some flowers. Lain on our backs in the grass and looked for cloud pictures. Simple things. But precious
things. Things I would have remembered all my life as I watched you grow into a fine young man or woman and as you began to make your own unique contributions to the world.”

As she finished, Val gripped the edges of the podium. She'd made it through—but she felt as if someone had delved into her heart and written down the emotions and thoughts she'd carried there for nearly eighteen years.

“Val? There's more on the back.”

More?

Please, God, no!

Fingers shaking, Val turned the page over. The words blurred, and she had to blink several times before they came into focus.

She couldn't do this.

“Val?”

Another prompt from her sister.

She gritted her teeth.

Just do it!
Keep going! You'll be better prepared tomorrow. You're only having trouble now because this is unexpected.

In a halting cadence, she started to read again.

“But there were never any birthday parties. Or candles. Especially ones to grow on. I took away the future God had planned for you. I stole your life almost before it began. But not quite. Even though I couldn't see you or hold you or stroke your cheek, you were with me, nestled near my heart, growing and developing and waiting for the birth day that never came.

“Oh, my dear child, I'm so sorry. If I had it to do over again, I'd . . .”

Her voice broke, and the words blurred again as silent tears spilled out of her eyes.

She made one more valiant effort to regain control—but it was no use. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in two, and she was out of pep talks.

Jerking back from the mike, she stumbled toward the steps that led down from the stage. She tripped on the first one but somehow
regained her balance and clambered down, blinded by the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

She had to get out of here.

Fast.

She was halfway across the auditorium when Karen grabbed her arm.

“Val, what is it? What's wrong?”

She lurched to a stop. “I . . . I can't do this.”

Pulling her arm free, she turned to flee . . . only to find David blocking her escape route.

“What's going on?” He sent Karen an alarmed look, then turned his attention back to her and gripped her shoulders. “Val, what is it?”

“I . . . I don't feel well.” She shrugged free of his touch. “I need to go home.”

“I'll take you.”

“No!” She shook her head and eyed the door. “I'll be fine.”

And with that lie vibrating in the air, she pulled away from David and ran from the building.