That Certain Summer (26 page)

David dimmed his car lights and pulled to a stop in the park by the river. Not the one where he and Victoria had shared their lunch with Val the day she'd emerged, shaken, from the woods. Instead, she'd led him to the main park in town. The one with benches close to the river's edge.

Too close, considering that was where she was headed.

After Val's frantic flight from the rehearsal, he hadn't needed Karen's panicked plea to convince him to follow her. You didn't desert someone you cared about in their darkest hour.

Killing the engine, he turned off the dome light and opened his door as she approached the water, prepared to bolt from the car at the slightest indication she was going to do anything but sit on
a bench. And she might, given the anguish and utter desolation and desperation he'd glimpsed in her eyes.

To his relief, she dropped onto a bench, shoulders hunched, head bowed. But he kept his door open, just in case. Besides, he intended to join her soon.

First, though, he needed a few minutes to sort through his own emotions.

Gripping the wheel, he faced the truth.

Val had had an abortion.

The woman who was stealing his heart had found herself in trouble and taken the easy way out. Chosen convenience over conscience.

The stark, ugly reality twisted his gut.

There was no way he could condone her choice, no matter how much he'd come to care for her. It went against everything he believed about the sanctity of life.

Yet as another image of eyes filled with abject misery and pain and soul-stirring regret flashed through his mind, he reconsidered.

Maybe her way hadn't been so easy after all.

Maybe it had extracted its pound of flesh in unremitting torment and guilt and grief.

Suddenly Val stood, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him. When she took a step toward the river, he vaulted from the car, sprinting toward her until he was grasping distance away.

“Val?” He tried for a calm tone, but her name came out hoarse and uneven.

She jerked toward him, her whole body trembling. Her eyes were less wild and frenetic now, the earlier agitation replaced by bleak emptiness and dull resignation, but her mascara-streaked cheeks were pale as death.

David held out his hand. “Sit with me a while.”

She looked at his outstretched hand but didn't move.

“Come on, Val.”

“You don't want to . . . to sit with me.” Her response came out in a broken whisper.

“Yes, I do.”

She shook her head, and the wretched sadness on her face pierced him. “Trust me. You don't. It would be better if you left and forgot all about me.”

He kept his hand extended. “Forgetting about you isn't an option. And I can't walk away when someone I care about is hurting. Take my hand. Please.”

She regarded his outstretched hand. Hesitated.

Please, Lord, let her trust me on this. Give her the courage to share what's in her heart, and give me the courage to listen without reproach—and to put judgment in your hands.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out to him.

Twining his fingers with hers, he led her to the bench. As they sat, he switched hands and draped his arm around her hunched shoulders.

Several minutes passed, the silence broken only by the distant, plaintive whistle of a train.

When at last she spoke, she kept her gaze on the restless river below. “I guess you're wondering what that was all about tonight.”

He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “You had an abortion.” He did his best to banish censure from his tone. “A long time ago, I suspect.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear slipped out and rolled down her cheek.

David wiped the trail of moisture away with a gentle finger.

“If you figured it out, why did you follow me?”

“I care about you.”

“In spite of what I did?”

It was a simple question—but the answer was complicated.

“If you're asking me whether I approve of abortion, the answer is no. My position on that was formed long ago, after my five-year-
old sister died of leukemia. I was eight, and I can still remember how devastated we all were. My parents wanted more children, but none ever came. They looked into adopting, but the cost was out of reach for our blue-collar family. Yet more than a million babies are aborted each year in this country.”

He swallowed past the bad taste that statistic always left in his mouth. “Anyway, as I got older, I became active in the pro-life movement. I still do whatever I can to protect the unborn. That's why I agreed to help with the Hope House benefit.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.

“Val, look at me.”

“I can't.”

“Please.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and slowly she turned her head.

“I care about you. A lot.” He let that sink in for a moment before he continued. “Because of that, I want to be honest. The truth is, I'll never change my opinion about abortion. But people are human. They make mistakes. They yield to pressure. It's not my place to judge anyone's actions. What you did is between you and God. All I know is you paid a high price for the decision you made. I can see it in your regret and your pain and your sorrow.”

A flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. “Does that mean . . . you don't hate me?”

“Not even close.”

She searched his face. “I never e-expected this. Do you want . . .” Her breath hitched, and she tried again. “Do you want to hear what happened?”

“Very much—if you want to share it.”

With a nod, she once more looked toward the dark river.

He listened in silence as she relayed her story in a halting voice. It played out as he expected.

Near the end, she dropped her voice. He had to lean close to hear her final words.

“I still have the ultrasound printout, showing a perfect baby. My son or daughter, who would have been seventeen this year. The same age I was when I . . . took that tiny life.”

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as the pieces began to fall into place. “That's why you came back this summer, isn't it? To try and make peace with what happened.”

“That was part of the reason.”

She told him all the steps she'd taken—the visits to the river, the health center, the back-alley clinic.

No wonder her eyes had often seemed haunted. She'd been living a nightmare. Facing the demons of her past.

Alone.

“That took a lot of guts, Val.”

“No.” Her response was immediate, her tone firm. “Everything I did was motivated more by desperation than courage. But nothing worked. I even tried going back to church. That was a bust too.” She choked back a sob. “At least someone healed this summer. Mom's doing great.”

“Maybe you need to give yourself more time.”

“I've had eighteen years.” Her shoulders crumpled. “This trip was my last hope. I guess I'll just have to live alone with the guilt, like I always have.”

All at once, the truth hit David like a punch in the midsection.

Val didn't think she deserved a husband. Or children. She was atoning for her mistake by consigning herself to a solitary life, depriving herself of the very things her heart most desired. That explained the sadness behind the yearning in her eyes when she looked at him and Victoria. She wouldn't commit to staying in Washington, to checking out the teaching job, because she was serving a self-inflicted life sentence. Her decision had nothing to do with her career being more important to her than creating a family.

David stroked her cheek, wishing he could ease her pain. “Whatever happened to forgiveness?”

At his quiet question, she looked at him and furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe you've suffered enough for your choice. Maybe it's time to forgive yourself—and let God forgive you as well.”

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “I don't deserve forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness isn't about merit. It's about repentance and God's unconditional love.”

Her expression grew skeptical. “I don't know if I believe in unconditional love.”

He locked gazes with her, letting her see what was in his heart. “Believe in it. It might be rare, but it's real. May I make a suggestion?”

She gulped in some air. Swiped at a stray tear. Nodded.

“Why don't you talk to Reverend Richards?”

“I doubt that will help at this point.” Her voice broke on the last word.

He angled his body toward her and took both her hands in his. “I wish you'd give it a try. Because, to be honest, I want you to find redemption, to be able to move on with your life, as much as you do. For selfish reasons.” He gave her a moment to process that. “Besides, running back to Chicago isn't going to solve anything. And that teaching job at the high school is still open.”

Watching her face, he held his breath and prayed she'd have the courage to take this one last step.

Finally, she gave a slow nod. “All right. I'll talk to Reverend Richards.”

Thank you, God!

“I don't think you'll be sorry.” He checked his watch, wishing for this one evening he didn't have any other obligations. But his daughter needed him too. “I have to pick up Victoria. Will you be okay driving?”

“Yes.”

Would she?

Maybe. Her voice was stronger now, and she seemed steadier. She could probably handle the trip home.

But she didn't have to make it alone.

“I'll follow you.”

“You don't have to do that. I'll be fine.”

“Humor me, okay? I'll sleep better if I know you're safe and sound. Besides, I promised your sister I'd make sure you were all right, and I can't do that if I don't see you pull into your driveway.”

He rose and extended his hand. She took it.

They walked in silence to her car, and once there he followed his heart. Drawing her into his arms, he wrapped her in a gentle, comforting embrace.

For a full minute they stayed that way, her cheek nestled on his shoulder, his chin resting on her soft hair. She felt good in his arms. As if she was meant to be there. For always.

And when she at last stepped back and he returned to his car, he resolved that
always
was a goal worth pursuing.

Whatever it took.

“Good morning, Val. Would you like some coffee?” Reverend Richards lifted his own mug in invitation as he entered his office.

Val dredged up an answering smile. “No, thanks. I've already exceeded my caffeine allotment for the day.”

He took the seat beside her. “I should cut back myself, but I got into the caffeine habit in my previous corporate life and haven't been able to shake it.”

That was news. “You worked in the real world?”

“I prefer to think of this”—he swept his hand over his office—“as the real world. Or the one that matters most, anyway.”

Heat crept up her neck.
Way to go, Val. Real diplomatic.
“Sorry. That question didn't come out quite right.”

He chuckled. “No problem. I get that comment a lot, and it's a setup I can't resist. But to answer your question, I came to ministry later than most. I was just ordained a couple of years ago.”

A minister who'd had experience with the challenges and temptations of the secular world.

Maybe talking to him wouldn't be as difficult as she'd expected.

“So what can I do for you today?” He set his coffee on a side table and gave her his full attention.

Crossing her legs, she knotted her hands in her lap. “I'll be going back to Chicago soon, and I have a few . . . issues . . . I haven't been able to resolve on my own.”

When she hesitated, he tipped his head. “Your mother's health can't be one of them. She seems to be doing much better.”

“She is. She's recovered 99 percent of the function on her left side. David says it's quite remarkable. David's her therapist.”

“Yes. David Phelps. A very nice gentleman. And his daughter is charming. They've been a wonderful addition to our congregation. I'm glad to see you've joined us too. Your mother inferred once that you'd been away from God for a while. May I assume your return is related to the unresolved issues you mentioned?”

“Yes—but it hasn't helped.”

“Well, church attendance is a good thing, of course. But our physical presence alone doesn't have much meaning if we just sit there and wait for God to talk to us. Have you tried talking to him?”

“Yes. With my very pathetic praying skills.”

“The Lord listens for sincerity, not technical proficiency. A good prayer is like a conversation with a dear friend, where we share what's in our heart with openness and trust.”

“But a conversation involves two people, and if God is speaking back to me, I'm not hearing it.”

“We do have to listen in a different way—and with diligence. Often his voice is nothing more than a whisper in our soul.”

“Then I guess my hearing skills need some work too.” Val sighed. “Since I can't seem to hear his voice, I hoped you might be able to offer me some guidance or insight.”

“I'll do my best.”

He waited patiently as she fiddled with the strap on her purse, not rushing her or asking a lot of questions, letting her set the pace. The man had excellent people skills. No wonder the congregation loved him.

But she could only delay so long, and stalling wasn't going to make it any less difficult in the end. She might as well spit it out.

“I guess you know I agreed to be the emcee for the benefit tonight.”

“Yes. Everyone is very appreciative.”

“The thing is . . . I'm thinking about pulling out.”

She twisted her fingers together and braced for censure. Surprise. Irritation. The very things she deserved for suggesting she might renege at the last minute.

Instead, his tone remained conversational. “Why is that?”

Her knuckles whitened, and she forced herself to loosen her fingers. “I had a problem last night, with a final piece they want me to read at the end of the evening. It was a last-minute addition.”

“The letter to the unborn baby.”

She frowned. “You know about that?”

“Yes. The director of Hope House faxed it to me yesterday so I could approve its inclusion. It's very powerful and moving. I imagine it would be difficult to read out loud.”

“Very. Especially for me.” Val forced herself to maintain eye contact despite the temptation to drop her head in shame. “Because I could have written it.”

His eyes softened. “I'm sorry.”

That wasn't the reaction she'd expected.

Pressure built in her throat. “I am too.”

The minister leaned forward, his expression compassionate and kind as he clasped his hands. “Tell me about it.”

And so she did. Sparing nothing. Cutting herself no slack. Taking full responsibility for her actions.

“Even my motives for coming home this summer weren't that altruistic.” She rubbed her temple, where a headache had begun to throb. “I agreed to help with Mom, but I was also determined to find closure on this. I wanted to get rid of the guilt and the pain and the burden that's weighed me down all these years.”

She explained all the steps she'd taken, ending with a discouraged sigh. “But nothing's helped. If anything, I feel worse than when
I came. Plus, now I have another complication.” She sent him an apologetic glance. “You're really getting an earful, aren't you?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “If I didn't want to listen to people's problems, I'd have stayed out of the ministry. What's the other complication?”

“David. He's asked me to stay and apply for the drama teacher position at the high school. He thinks maybe we . . . that a serious relationship could develop between us.”

“What do you think?”

“I think that's possible.”

“And the problem is . . . ?”

“I don't deserve a happy ending, and he doesn't need a wife with unresolved issues.”

The minister leaned back in his chair. “Let's tackle the unresolved issues first. I think what you've been seeking all these years is forgiveness. Absolution. And that only comes from one place. We hear a lot in society today about people needing to forgive themselves, but that's not enough. Real forgiveness only comes from God—and your renewed church attendance tells me you're seeking it in the right place now. Let me ask you this. Given a second chance, would you make a different choice today?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Then all your pain and guilt haven't been wasted. You've grown and matured and become a better, more sensitive person as a result of what you've gone through. And when we approach the Lord as true penitents who acknowledge the wrong we've done, he welcomes us and forgives us.”

“That's what David said.”

“I knew he was a smart man. But beyond forgiveness, God also gives us a second chance. Not always a chance to correct an earlier mistake, but to learn from it and move on. To embrace the future he offers us, to live fully rather than waste the opportunities he presents to us because we feel we're not worthy of them. Which brings me to the happy ending you spoke of.”

“I've always believed happy endings are for other people. Or only in storybooks.”

He leaned forward again, his posture intent. “I assure you they do happen in real life. I see them every day. The truth is, if we allowed ourselves only what we deserve, most of us would spend our lives in sackcloth and ashes. We're human. We all make mistakes.”

“Some worse than others.”

“True. Yet God loves us despite our flaws. That's why he sent his Son to show us the power of redemptive love. And his best hope for us is a happy ending—in eternity
and
here on earth. He doesn't want us to spend our lives punishing ourselves. He wants us to lay our mistakes and shortcomings before him and know he always stands ready to support us, to help us, and—if necessary—to forgive us. He cares for us as he wants us to care for others. One of the ways we can live out that example of caring is through a beautiful marriage. It seems to me he may be calling you to that vocation.”

As Val looked into the man's earnest face, his conviction an almost tangible thing, she took a few moments to process what he'd said.

A few more to grasp the message of hope he had given her.

A few beyond that to accept it.

But when she did, when she embraced it and let it resonate deep in her soul, something extraordinary happened.

The crushing guilt she'd borne for nearly eighteen years melted away, leaving in its place sweet release. Liberation. Freedom.

Even her breathing seemed less labored.

Her vision misted, and she reached out to clasp the minister's hands. “Thank you.”

His smile was like a balm on her battered heart. “I'm not the one you need to thank. I'm just the messenger. Shall we take a few minutes to speak to the source of that message?”

At her nod, he bowed his head. “Lord, we thank you for your abundant kindness and generosity, and for your gift of forgiveness. Help us always to know your healing grace, to walk secure in the
knowledge that you are always beside us, even when we least deserve your love. Give us the strength to do our best to follow your teachings and to live according to your example. Steady us when we falter. Speak to us when we need guidance. And let us always remember the beautiful words from Matthew, so we never become disheartened or feel alone: ‘Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.'

“Today, Lord, we ask your special blessing and favor on Val as she prepares to let go of yesterday and move toward the tomorrow you have planned for her. Help her always to know your abiding love and care, and grant her a future filled with hope. Amen.”

As the prayer concluded, Val took a deep, cleansing breath, relishing the sense of peace that had replaced the anguish in her soul. For the first time since her tragic mistake, the future held the promise of happiness—and she was anxious to begin that journey.

But before she took her first step into tomorrow, she had a couple of things she needed to do today.

“My treat, in honor of our last Saturday afternoon coffee.” Karen opened her wallet and handed her credit card to the clerk behind the counter.

“You don't have to do that.” Val continued to dig for her own wallet.

Karen restrained her with a touch on the arm. “Indulge me, okay? I'm just glad you didn't cancel out on me.”

After a brief hesitation, Val capitulated. “Okay. Thanks.” Picking up her frappuccino, she gestured toward a private corner table. “How about over there?”

“Fine with me.”

As she followed her sister across the crowded coffee shop, Karen gave her an assessing scan. Not bad, considering last night's emotional breakdown and her shaky voice on the phone this morning.
She did appear tired—but it was more like the weariness of a marathon runner crossing the finish line. As if she'd conquered a formidable challenge.

And after last night, Karen had a pretty good idea what that challenge was.

Val settled into a chair at the café table, and Karen perched on the edge of the one across from her. Her sister wanted to talk; she could sense it. And she wanted to be there for her.

But she was also afraid.

What if this conversation jeopardized the fragile, new relationship they'd painstakingly built over the summer? The one she'd begun to assume would continue to grow and flourish, giving her the sister she'd never really had?

Ignoring the elephant in the room, however, wasn't going to make it go away. If Val wanted to confess, she had to listen. That's what sisters—and friends—did.

Taking a deep breath, she broke the lengthening silence. “Saturdays won't be the same after you leave.”

“It may not be our last coffee date after all.” Val played with her straw. “I'm thinking about staying in Washington.”

Karen did a double take. That wasn't what she'd expected. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Val gave her a smile that seemed forced. “I thought you'd be happy to have a helping hand with Mom on a more permanent basis.”