To Heal A Heart (Love Inspired) (2 page)

A sense of quiet wonder rose inside him. He had trusted God to set the course of his life, and the journey obviously still had some surprising twists and turns ahead. Maybe Miss Piper Wynne was not a part of it, but she was certainly a signpost on the path that he might take, and a very pretty signpost at that. He smiled to himself, adjusted his grip on the handle of his briefcase and set off, content to let God unfold the pathway as He would.

Ten minutes later he slid behind the wheel of his luxury sedan and glanced at the time readout in the dashboard. He still had time to change into jeans before arriving at his parents’ house for dinner. As he drove through the city to his University Park home, he thought about how invigorated and hopeful he suddenly felt, as if God had tapped him on the shoulder and whispered a delightful secret in his ear.

He left the car in the drive and let himself into the house through the front door. Walking straight past the seldom-used living room, he went through the open French doors into the study and punched the button on the answering machine on a corner of the cluttered desk. He turned up the volume so he could listen to his messages as he changed clothes in the next room.

As he was unbuttoning his shirt, the rustle of paper in the front pocket of his coat reminded him again of the notes he had found. He hoped they weren’t important, because it was too late now to do anything about returning the sheet to its owner. Might as well just toss it. Before he could follow that thought with action, however, the answering machine beeped and the familiar voice of a local assistant district attorney reached his ears. The woman whom Mitch had gone to Houston to interview had called the D.A.’s office. She’d remembered something after he’d left, and while he’d been fighting traffic she’d called the district attorney with the information.

Mitch tossed aside the jacket and rushed back into the study to take notes. He wasn’t surprised that she had called the D.A. instead of him. Most witnesses considered the district attorney to be an ally and the defense attorney an unprincipled enemy out to free criminals to pillage and plunder at will. Few realized that all exculpatory evidence must be shared, by law, with the defense. Few stopped to consider who might champion their cause if they should find themselves facing unexpected criminal charges.

By the time Mitch had the details on paper, he was elated to think that his client, a teenager, would be spared the horrors of prison. Mitch didn’t delude himself that the young man was blameless, but the mitigating factors that had come to light had induced the district attorney to offer probation and a fine. Eager to tell the boy’s parents, he made a phone call. They were relieved, but still laboring under the disappointment of their son’s poor judgment and its results. Mitch figured that the kid would think twice before he pulled another “prank” that could end in injury to an innocent third party.

Eager to see his own parents, Mitch hurriedly popped out the tape, locked it in a fireproof file cabinet until it could be formally transcribed and finished changing his clothes. All the while, he kept thinking that God had definitely moved this day in awesome and definite ways.

Marian Sayer pressed her hands together in a typical expression of delight, her elbows braced against the dark wood of the kitchen table, where the family had dined. Though retired from the classroom for several years now, she had never lost her “teacher” mannerisms, the slightly exaggerated gestures and articulations that so easily captivated the attention of children.

“Why, that’s wonderful, Mitchell!” she was saying. “What a lovely ending to a difficult day. I’m happy for your client.”

Vernon nodded sagely. “Sometimes God lets us think we’ve blown it just so He can remind us that we’re not the ones in charge.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mitch said, grinning again.

“Your cases don’t usually put that sparkle in your eye, though,” Vernon noted astutely.

Mitch felt his grin grow even wider. His father knew him too well. “Let’s just say that I had another ‘interview’ of sorts today, and it let me know that I’m ready to make some changes in my life.”

“How so?” his mother asked expectantly.

He shrugged, trying to keep the conversation casual as he related how he’d met Piper Wynne.

“What did you say her name is?” his mother asked after he’d told as much as he intended to.

“Her name’s Piper Wynne,” he answered, taking a sip of iced tea so as to savor the taste on his tongue. “But that’s not important, Mom. I’ll probably never see her again. The point is, I realized today how very much I want to have someone in my life again. I think God’s been trying to tell me for some time that it is a possibility.”

Vernon Sayer removed the stem of his unlit pipe from his mouth. Typically, removal of the pipe weighted whatever words followed with significance. His father hadn’t actually smoked that pipe in years, but he often sucked on it just as if he did. It was part of his dignified lawyer persona, and it had stayed with him even after retirement and the doctor had made him understand how harmful tobacco was to his health. Half a decade later Vernon still hadn’t given up the pipe. The tobacco, yes; the pipe, no.

“You’re finally ready for a wife and family,” Vernon announced.

“Let’s just say that I’m ready whenever God is,” Mitch clarified, then lifted an eyebrow at the dramatic flourish Vernon employed as he waved the pipe through the air.

“Well, it’s about time. Your mother’s not getting any younger, you know, and you’re her only hope of having a brood of rowdy rug rats scampering around here one of these days.”

Mitch laughed outright. His dad was an endless source of dry witticisms and pure delight for him. His mother, on the other hand, was patience and acceptance personified. They were wonderful parents, and they deserved to be grandparents. Perhaps they would be. Surely God was about to bring someone special into his life.

Their joy at the prospect humbled him. For so long he had rejected the very idea of marrying again. He wondered now if he hadn’t let his grief over Anne cheat his parents of a grandchild. Though he’d always been keenly aware that, as an only child, he was a major supplier of his parents’ happiness, Mitch had never felt pressured to fulfill some parent-defined role of the good son. Goodness, consideration and integrity were expected of him—yes, even presumed—but he had always felt free to be his own person, to live by his own rules and expectations. Now he wondered if he hadn’t been selfish—and he’d always thought of himself as such a loving son.

Oh, he had fought the usual adolescent battles, demanding more freedom than he was entitled to or able to handle, but eventually he had come to understand and appreciate what wonderful parents God had given him. They trusted the man he had become. They trusted his faith and abilities, and he trusted their judgment, wisdom and love implicitly, so he pretty much told them everything—had since reaching adulthood. That had helped him in unexpected ways after Anne.

Maybe he didn’t call his parents every day anymore, but he did try to get over for dinner once a week, and he never hesitated to pick up the phone and ask for advice if he needed it. For the first time, that didn’t seem enough. He owed them more than simple thoughtfulness.

They sat at the kitchen table for a while longer, talking over the day’s events. Mitch was as comfortable in this house as in his own home. He’d grown up here, after all. Yet this was his parents’ place, a part of him but not his. Oddly, he had never felt the distinction before. It was as if he now stood, quite unexpectedly, at a crossroads in his life, a vantage point from which he could clearly see much that had before been obscure.

When his dad began to yawn, Mitch rose to leave. As usual, his parents got up and the three of them walked through the house together.

“Glad you could come, son,” Vernon said, “and I’m glad that everything worked out as it should. Your client’s blessed, and I hope he knows it.”

“I think he will,” Mitch told him. “Before we part company, I intend to make sure that he realizes God’s had His hand on him.”

“I rather expect he’ll live his life a little differently from now on,” Marian said.

“No one walks away from the touch of God unchanged,” Mitch observed.

“And that includes you,” Vernon said, shaking his pipe at him. “I expect the right little gal will come waltzing into your arms any day now.”

Mitch chuckled, kissed his mother and hugged his dad. “From your lips to God’s ear,” he said, pulling away.

He went out the door and down the walk feeling happy and loved. It had been a good day after all. Perhaps knowing what God had in store for you or why life sometimes unfolded the way it did was impossible, but Mitchell had learned, at very dear cost, that God never did anything without the best interests of His children at heart.

M
itch next remembered the folded sheet of paper on Thursday when he dropped off his suit at the cleaners and performed one last, hurried search of his pockets. He’d learned the hard way that laundering often rendered writing indecipherable. When he came up with the paper again, he thought about tossing it, but a quick glance at the words revealed the phrasing of a personal letter, not just a bunch of meaningless notes. He pocketed the thing again, instinctively protecting the privacy of the writer and the receiver of the letter.

Later, in his office high above the streets of downtown Dallas, he thought about shredding the sheet, but when he removed it from his pocket, he felt compelled to take another look. It was clearly one of several pages, for it began in the middle of a sentence. Mitch noticed for the first time that the ink was tear-stained. His heart wrenched as he began to read the eloquent, carefully penned words.

“…of him will surely never subside,” he read, “and will one day be, not a cross to bear, but a cherished joy. His memory will sustain us until that time, and that’s why it is so important that we not forget. The pain makes us want, in its depth and rawness, to do just that, but to forget our dear boy would be to rob us of all the delights he brought into our lives.

“Hold on to that, dear heart. Don’t let him go, for if you do, you also let me go, and how can I bear that? To lose you as well as him is more, surely, than God can allow, so I beg you, please don’t leave. I need you. We all need you. How he would hate it if he thought that his loss would tear this family apart!

“Whatever you do, please know that I love you. I don’t blame you in any way. You will always be my treasured…”

The page ended as it had begun, in the middle of a sentence. Mitch turned it over in his hand once more, as if the rest of it might miraculously appear. He stared for a long time at the blotches near the bottom of the page and felt the heartbreak of their loss.

It seemed to be a letter written from one spouse to another, lamenting the loss of their son and desperately trying to prevent the destruction of the union, but he couldn’t be sure of that. He couldn’t even tell if it had been written by a man or a woman. All he knew was that God had dropped this into his path for a purpose. Why else would he, an experienced grief counselor, have been the one to find it?

A sense of failure swamped him. Mitch smoothed out the letter on his desk blotter and bent his head over it, confessing his error. He should have looked at the paper the moment he was on the plane. Perhaps its owner could have been found then. Perhaps he could have said the right words to send that person home again to a desperate and loving family.

He thought of the pain of losing Anne so unexpectedly, of the anger, even hatred, that he’d felt for the drunk driver who had so unthinkingly snuffed out her life, and he prayed that God would bring these two back together. He prayed for abatement of their pain, for healing, because it was like having a limb ripped off or your heart torn apart when a loved one died. He prayed for the nourishment of new joy and the balm of sweet memories, for the assurance of salvation and the strength of faith. Finally he prayed—for his own peace of mind as well as that of this family in torment—that the recipient of this letter had been returning home and not running away from it.

Perhaps he would never know the facts, but by the time he lifted his head again, he knew that his involvement with the letter wasn’t over yet. Either God had a deeper purpose here than making him aware of his failure or he had not yet correctly divined the depth of it. One thing was for certain: the letter would not be destroyed.

Very carefully he folded the piece of paper, and this time slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would carry it there, over his heart, until he understood why it had fallen into his path. He wondered if he should share this with the group that met on Thursday nights and decided, sensitive as he was to the privacy rights of others, that he would seek the advice of his parents first.

Meanwhile, the business of the day was at hand. He heard voices in his secretary’s office and realized that his first appointment had arrived. The door opened, and he came to his feet, handshake at the ready, a weight on his heart. Part mystery, part failure, part ministry, part his own painful experience, it was a burden that he would embrace, welcome, bear with—until God Himself removed it.

Piper stepped down off the bus and turned to the right. In just the space of a single week the route had become familiar, and she was beginning to get a handle on her job as a case reviewer at a health insurance company. The amount of paperwork involved staggered the mind, but she preferred staying busy. If life felt a little flat this morning, well, that was only to be expected after her former frenetic pace. Activity in a big-city emergency room had always bordered on panic. She just needed time to adjust.

The apartment she had rented on Gaston Avenue still felt strange, and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake selling everything before the move. Maybe if she had her old things around her, it would seem more like home. Then again, how could she start a new life if she surrounded herself with the past? No, it was better this way. The strangeness would wear off.

Besides, the new apartment was too small to accommodate all her old junk. She could manage with rented furnishings for a while. By the time she could buy new, she’d have a better idea what style she really wanted, and instead of the hodgepodge collected over her twenty-six years she’d have a well-coordinated home.

Someone jostled her on the busy downtown street. Murmuring a brief apology, Piper looked up to make eye contact, but the woman strode on ahead without so much as acknowledging her. Piper shrugged and let her gaze slide forward again, only to halt at the sight of a familiar face. The man owning it stopped, too, a smile stretching his mouth as pedestrians darted around him. Piper smiled back, searching for a name.

“Mitch…”

“Sayer,” he supplied, angling his broad shoulders as he crossed the busy sidewalk. “Hello, Piper. It’s great to see you again.”

The man from the airplane. She could hardly believe it.

“Don’t tell me your office is around here.”

“Right there.” He gestured toward the black marble front of a nearby high-rise. “What about you? What brings you downtown?”

“The Medical Specialist Insurance Company,” she answered, glancing down the street in that direction. “Went to work there the day after I hit town.”

His smile widened even further. “That’s wonderful! Good for you.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at the clock mounted atop a pole on the corner, then at her wristwatch, which was running four minutes ahead. Uncertain which was correct, she knew that she had to move along. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. Wouldn’t do to be late just a week to the day after I started.”

“Right. Okay, but could I ask you something real quick? You boarded the airplane ahead of me. Did you see anyone drop a small, folded sheet of paper—just around that little curve in the ramp?”

She considered a moment, but she really hadn’t been watching anyone else that day. Shaking her head, she answered him, “No, sorry, I didn’t.”

He nodded, huffing with disappointment, and slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I see. You wouldn’t know the names of anyone else on that flight, would you? I’d like to ask around, see if I can return this paper to the one who lost it.”

Again Piper shook her head. “I didn’t know a soul on that flight and didn’t really meet anyone but you.”

He smiled again. “Well, at least there’s that, huh?”

“Yes.” She returned his smile and started off down the street, knowing that she had to get moving again. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Sure.” He pivoted on his heel, watching her move away from him. “Maybe we’ll bump into one another again sometime,” he called after her.

She shrugged, lifting a hand in farewell, turned her gaze resolutely forward and hurried on, thinking how odd it was that the one person in this city whose name she actually knew should work just a couple blocks down the street from her. She didn’t quite know whether she should be pleased or worried about that. After all, Mitch Sayer was just a guy she’d met on an airplane. What did she really know about him? He could turn out to be some kind of crazed stalker or something.

God,
she thought,
don’t let this be some sort of problem. Don’t let me…
The prayer died in her mind.

She didn’t even know what to ask for, what to worry about. Every concern seemed trivial and useless now, and she’d had a lot of trouble talking to God lately. She wasn’t sure what that was about, but she realized that she really ought to be looking for a church soon. Surely that would rectify the situation. It was just a matter of time, then, time and adjustment.

Stifling a sigh, she lifted her chin and lengthened her stride, determined afresh to make this decision work, to build a new life for herself away from the pain of the past. As far as she could see, she really had no other option.

Mitch watched Piper Wynne’s compact form making its way down the busy sidewalk. Wearing serviceable pumps, a neat, navy blue skirt and short plaid jacket, she practically marched at double time toward her place of employment. Either she liked the job, was worried about her performance, or really wanted to get away from him. He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because he absolutely hoped to see her again, to get to know her a little better.

It had been so long since he’d pursued such a course that he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but he figured he could probably muddle his way through, given the opportunity. He didn’t really expect much to come of it. They might not have anything in common, might not like each other at all if they got better acquainted, but it was time to move forward again in his life. He might as well start with the pretty little strawberry blonde who’d sparked his interest for the first time in a very long while.

He turned, finally, and moved toward his own building, thinking how pleased his parents would be when he told them that he’d seen her again. He’d been too busy to stop by their place lately, but he was going to drop in soon to show them the letter and get their take on it. On the other hand, they might read too much into what had actually been a very brief meeting. Maybe he should just wait and see what happened before he mentioned encountering Piper Wynne on the street.

He couldn’t help thinking, though, that it was some coincidence that in a city of this size they should wind up working right down the street from each other—not that he actually believed in coincidences. To his mind, it was no accident that he’d run into her again, just as it was no accident that he’d come across that letter that day. Accidents and coincidence were for those who didn’t know the Lord or trust in His ways.

Mitch wholeheartedly believed that God controlled the events of a life yielded to Him, so if he were meant to get to know Piper Wynne better, the opportunity to do so would come when the time was right. Likewise, if he were meant to find the owner of that letter, God would show him how to do it and why. Meanwhile, he had clients waiting.

He practically skipped into the building, ready to face the day.

Vernon Sayer laid aside the single, creased sheet of notepaper and reached for his pipe, removing it from his mouth in a prelude to speech. First, however, he cleared his throat. The poignancy of the letter had affected him as much as it had his wife.

“They’ve obviously lost someone dear to them, perhaps a son or even a father.”

“It’s so sad,” Marian added, shaking her head to emphasize the words.

“And you may be right that there is a higher purpose here,” Vernon went on, shifting his large, blocky body, “but I don’t think you can really blame yourself for not acting sooner, Mitch. What could you have done? Stood up in the middle of the flight and announced you’d found a letter suggesting that someone was running away from grief?” He shook his head sagely. “No, this has to play out another way or not at all.”

Mitch sat forward on the comfortable overstuffed couch that matched his father’s easy chair and clasped his hands, forearms braced upon his knees. He was well aware of the physical traits that he shared with his father. To Mitch, looking at Vernon was like looking at his own future face. He found comfort in the character that he saw there, the laugh lines that fanned out from the corners of his intelligent eyes and carved deep grooves of his dimples. Even the leathery, beard-coarsened cheeks spoke of masculine strength, a natural counterpart to his mother’s feminine softness, both physically and emotionally. With her comfortable roundness, the thick, gray coil of her hair and naturally enthusiastic concern, Marian was the epitome of everyone’s favorite teacher.

“What would you suggest?” he asked of them both. “Where is there to go from here?”

“We will certainly pray about it,” Marian put in, but Vernon always took the more pragmatic approach.

“Why don’t I run this by Craig Adler? He’s just been promoted to some sort of vice presidency at the airline. He might have some ideas.”

Mitch straightened in surprise. “Is Mr. Adler still working? I thought he retired some time ago.”

Vernon chuckled and stuck his pipe into the corner of his mouth, speaking around it. “They’ll have to blast old Craig out of his chair and take him straight from there to the morgue.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Craig doesn’t have any reason to want to stay home and take it easy.”

Mitch ducked his head smiling at the not-so-subtle hint. Craig Adler’s wife had divorced him nearly twenty years ago, and the experience had so soured him on marriage that he’d remained single. Apparently he’d devoted his life to work ever since. The implication, of course, was that Mitch, too, was in danger of making that same mistake. Obviously he was right to keep mum about meeting Piper again, Mitch deduced. No telling what they’d make of that.