HF01 - Almost Forever Page 15

  “Huh?” She could almost picture him scratching his head.

  “You know: neither snow, nor rain, nor gloomy night or—however that goes.”

  He laughed. “I think it’s ‘gloom of night.’ But hey, I say good for her. At least the kids will have someplace to go since they’re out of school.”

  “Oh, great. The place will be overrun with little rug rats today.”

  He gave a dastardly villain laugh. “Lucky you.”

  “You could come and help, you know.”

  “No, thanks.”

  She realized she’d been hinting, and for a split-second she felt the sting of rejection.

  But he clucked his tongue. “Woman, why do you think I brought you home from the park when I did? I don’t need the temptation of you and me in some dark corner behind the stacks.”

  She warmed to the words and let herself flirt. “Why’d you call me, then?”

  His sigh dripped with feigned exasperation. “Did you not hear the twenty-two-point lecture I just delivered?”

  “I heard blah blah blah blah.” She smiled into the phone.

  But Garrett’s tone was serious. “I just want you to think about what happened. I don’t want you to think I seduced you—well, maybe that’s not the word I want.”

  “No,” she agreed. “You were the quintessential gentleman.”

  “You obviously didn’t read my mind.”

  She chose to ignore that. They were skating dangerously close to a topic they’d best leave alone. The truth was, she wasn’t sure how she would have responded if he hadn’t been such a gentleman. It frightened her to realize that. She moved to a safer topic. “I had a wonderful time, Garrett. Thank you.”

  “I did, too. I just want you to know that if things . . . are going too fast . . . I don’t want you to have regrets. I didn’t mean to rush you. I can slow down if you want me to. I know it seems soon. After . . . everything. But don’t you think it’s possible that God brought us together exactly because we each know what the other is going through?”

  “That’s crossed my mind, too.”

  “Maybe this is His way of answering the prayers I’ve prayed—for comfort, for a way out of the loneliness.” He gave a snort. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like just any warm soul would do. Nothing is coming out right.”

  “It’s okay. I know what you mean. I’ve thought the same thing.” That wasn’t quite true. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she hadn’t been able to pray since that night. She wasn’t mad at God—at least she didn’t think she was. But for some reason, she hadn’t been able to reach out to Him the way she had when Adam was alive.

  But how could she tell Garrett that? He seemed so close to God. Odd, since he’d told her he wasn’t sure he’d even really believed in God before Molly died.

  “Molly was the one who had the faith in our marriage,” he’d told her one day as they walked the dogs on the riverwalk. “I was just along for the ride. But after I lost her . . . I don’t know . . . for the first time, I think I understood why God was so important to her. Knowing she’s in heaven has made me look at everything differently. For the first time I understand what she meant when she talked about loving Jesus, following Him. And how she always lived with the idea that this life isn’t all there is.”

  Garrett had looked at her with that brooding, serious expression he wore too often. “I don’t know how I could have missed it before—when it was right in front of my eyes every day. In Molly. In the way she lived with such purpose. I don’t understand why God took her and let me live. But I don’t want to waste the gift.”

  She wished she could feel what he felt. She’d been raised in a home where prayer was like breathing. Especially when Mom got sick. She’d felt close to God even then. Felt like she could pray and He heard her. Knew she could talk to Him and He cared about what she had to say. But something had changed the night of the fire. While it seemed wrong to compare her personal loss, the fire had burned up more than what photographs or newspaper stories or cemetery plots could measure.

  Maybe it was about trust. But how could she ever trust again, after something as horrible as that night? She wasn’t blaming God. She didn’t believe He had caused the awful events of that evening. But if He was all powerful, all knowing—if God loved her—He had, at the very least, allowed it to happen. She couldn’t reconcile that.

  It was too hard to think about. She envied Garrett’s peace.

  “I really should go get ready for work.” She cradled the phone to her ear, not wanting to lose the closeness she felt to him right now. “Thank you for calling, Garrett. I heard your sermon. I think I know what you’re saying. We’ll . . . talk about it more, okay? We don’t have to decide something right now, do we?”

  “I guess not. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t scare you off. I don’t want to lose you because I was stupid.”

  She curbed a smile. “Oh, so now kissing me was stupid?”

  “No! That’s not what I—”

  “Kidding . . . I’m kidding.” She feigned what she hoped was a convincing laugh.

  “You’d better go get ready for work.”

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  “I’m hanging up, you big goof.” He laughed and she could picture the exact smile he was wearing—one corner of his mouth tilted upward while his teeth teased his bottom lip.

  She disconnected and set the phone in its cradle. She adored that man. They would proceed with caution. Neither of them wanted to ruin what had turned into the most precious friendship she’d ever known. Her conscience made her insert next to Adam.

  But she wasn’t sure it was true.

  She didn’t care if the whole

  world thought it was too soon.

  She would defend

  her friendship with Garrett

  to anyone.

  19

  At work that afternoon, Bryn couldn’t stop smiling. There were a few rowdy kids in the children’s library, but she volunteered to shelve books there, just so Myrna wouldn’t grill her about the goofy grin she couldn’t seem to shed.

  In bed that night she smiled up at the ceiling. It was like strong medicine to smile again. She’d shed enough tears to last a lifetime. She thought about what Garrett had said on the phone after he dropped her off. She didn’t care if the whole world thought it was too soon. She would defend her friendship with Garrett to anyone. She didn’t care what her dad would say. Or what Garrett’s family might think. The more she considered Garrett’s words, the more they made sense.

  What they had together was a gift from God. They had each lost the most precious person in their world, they had both experienced the horror of being left alone in the prime of life. God had sent her a person who understood her grief intimately because it matched his own. Identically.

  Something compelled her to slip from beneath the covers and fall to her knees beside the bed. She folded her hands and bent her head, the way her mother had taught her to pray. The memory warmed her. Like coming home.

  “Thank You, God,” she whispered into the quiet of the night. “Thank You for drawing me here. I’m so sorry I haven’t turned to You for help. I’m so sorry I’ve ignored You. I want to have the kind of faith Garrett has in You, Lord. I know I need to stay close to You. Please heal my broken heart. And thank You. I think You’ve already begun to do that . . . through Garrett. Oh, thank You for putting him in my life, Lord. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  The tears came, cleansing and healing. Tears of gratitude. And, strangely, a new wave of love for Adam. She’d let petty things come between them. She hadn’t always been kind to him, hadn’t demonstrated her love nearly well enough. And she hadn’t been honest with him. It was wrong for her to have snuck around, working at the shelter when he’d asked her not to. He’d only done it because he loved her, and he wanted her to be safe.

  “I’m so sorry, Lord. Please forgive me.” Though the air in the room was chilly, a rush of warmth went
through her. She hadn’t felt God’s presence like this in so long. Convicted, she continued to pray, whispered words that rushed out without effort. And this time, the words didn’t seem to stop at the ceiling, but instead they rose to heaven, and she somehow knew they were heard and understood.

  “Oh, God, I want to be right with You. No matter what it costs. Please show me what You want for me, what You have planned for my life. And thank You again, Lord, for putting Garrett in my life.”

  When she crawled back into bed a few minutes later, she closed her eyes and floated in a cocoon of peace like she hadn’t experienced since she was a little girl. Something had changed within her. She couldn’t have described it if her life depended on it. There were no words. But she knew she would look back on this moment and know that something of great value—something eternal—had happened the moment she truly opened her heart to God.

  She felt herself drifting off, in that twilight place between consciousness and sleep. Her mind replayed the day with Garrett, his laughter, the sweet kisses they’d shared. As if she were actually back in the warmth of his car, she felt him tug at her scarf—the one she’d “borrowed” from him. He pulled her toward him for yet another kiss.

  But something happened, and Garrett disappeared. The scarf around her neck turned from black to red, as if it had been dipped in blood. She looked down, rubbed the soft wool between her fingers.

  But it wasn’t Garrett’s scarf around her neck. It was her mother’s. Where had it been all this time? She thought she’d lost it. She held it to her face, expecting, for some strange reason, that it would smell like Garrett. But it smelled of smoke and sweat and fear.

  She clutched at her throat, trying to shed the scarf. It fell in a puddle at her feet. Onto the ancient tile of the second-floor office. She looked around her. She was back at the Grove Street Shelter. The room still reeked of that man’s body odor, despite the fact that he’d left the room twenty minutes ago.

  Another scent tickled her nostrils. Cinnamon. Sweet and warm.

  The flame flickered and waned, then flared again.

  A knock sounded. “Come in,” she muttered. She held her breath against the stench, thinking the client had returned to stink up her space again. It was bad enough that he’d waited until after midnight to check in. Susan’s policy was no admissions after eleven p.m. He was lucky she’d made an exception.

  But instead it was Charlie at the door. “Hey, Charlie. What’s up?”

  “What are you doing up so late, sis?”

  “We had a late admission.”

  “Oh.” He rolled his wheelchair back and forth in the narrow space between the desk and the door—his version of pacing. “Wanna play some cards when you’re done there?”

  She looked at the papers covering her desk. Then at Charlie. He was agitated, she could tell. He often got that way for no reason. Probably some form of post-traumatic stress from his years in Vietnam. He managed it pretty well, but sometimes if he couldn’t sleep, he started thinking too hard.

  “My call. Gin rummy. Best two out of three. But then you have to promise to get some sleep.”

  “You’re on.” His grizzled grin told her she’d done the right thing.

  She scooted her chair back. The paperwork could wait a few minutes. “Seven-card, no jokers.”

  “Whatever you say, sis. I’m not picky about which game I beat you at.”

  “Ha ha,” she deadpanned, coming around from behind the desk. The office was warm, and she realized that, oddly, her mother’s scarf was somehow wrapped around her neck again. She slipped it off and traded it for the small purse she carried to work. She ran the red scarf through her hand and lopped it over the hook on the back of the door. The paneling and wide woodwork suggested this room had probably been a private office—belonging to one of the doctors, or perhaps the administrator. The hook had probably held a lab coat or suit jacket back when the hospital had still been in business.

  The cinnamon candle on the desk winked at her, then settled into a steady glow. She inhaled through her nose. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could still smell that man’s B.O. She would let the candle burn while she played a couple hands of gin with Charlie. Make the air halfway breathable so she could finish filling out the intake forms and clean off the desk for tomorrow night’s volunteers.

  Blow it out! Blow it out now!

  With one hand on the doorknob, she waited for Charlie to maneuver his chair through the wide doorway. Charlie was saying something. Something that made her laugh, but she couldn’t hear his words. Why was she laughing? Slowly she watched her hand pull the door shut and place the key from her lanyard in the lock.

  No! Go back! Don’t leave it burning! Go back! Go back!

  Something was pressing down on her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to open her eyes, but her eyelids were glued shut. She tried to push the door open, but her arms were dead weight. She willed her leg to kick the door open. Nothing. She couldn’t move. Paralyzed. She could barely seize her next breath.

  Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

  She reviewed the events of

  the dream in her mind,

  terrified to revisit the way it

  had made her feel . . .

  20

  Tuesday, January 15

  Bryn sat upright in bed, trembling, frantically trying to shake off the dream. That had to be what it was. Just a dream.

  The clock on her nightstand glowed the hour. Ten minutes after one. She’d watched the clock change to midnight from her knees beside the bed. The memory flooded back—the sweet time she’d spent praying, feeling as if God had reached down and touched her, let her know He heard every word.

  That was barely an hour ago. But enough time to fall asleep. Enough time for her mind to manufacture that horrifying nightmare. She threw the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Getting her bearings in the dark room, she stumbled to the bathroom and flipped on the light.

  She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Rubbing her cheeks briskly with a rough hand towel, she felt herself come awake. She leaned forward and studied her face in the mirror, lifted her shoulders, taking in a deep breath.

  Her mind swam with the images of the nightmare. She rarely dreamed, and almost never had nightmares—at least not ones she remembered in the morning. But this was all so real. She could hardly separate the dream from memory. In her dream Charlie had come up to the office at the Grove Street Shelter just like that night. In fact, their conversation in her dream was almost word-for-word the way it had really gone.

  She started. Her mother’s scarf. It had been in the dream. The black scarf Garrett had loaned her had morphed into her mother’s scarf. Didn’t that prove it was a dream?

  She reviewed the events of the dream in her mind, terrified to revisit the way it had made her feel, but at the same time desperate to sort out the details—sort fact from fiction.

  And then, in a flash, it all came clearly. Her mother’s scarf. The reason she hadn’t been able to find it was because she’d left it in the office that night. She’d left it there because she intended all along to go back to the office. And she had left that candle burning. Not just in her dream, but that night.

  She staggered back out to her bedroom and slumped onto the bed. Everything in her dream was exactly the way it had happened in real life. It wasn’t a dream, it was a memory. A vivid memory of everything that had happened that night. Of what she’d known all along, but had been too terrified to explore. Too terrified to admit.

  Worse, they might have had earlier warning that night, might have been able to get the fire out before it got out of control, but the smoke detector in the office had been disabled. And it didn’t take a dream for Bryn to remember—vividly—that she was the one who’d disabled it. Her actions had seemed so innocuous the night she’d done it. Her intentions had never been sinister.

  You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free
.

  “Oh, dear God.” She could barely breathe the words. “What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done?” Every ounce of strength went out from her, and she slid to the floor at the foot of the bed, feeling as paralyzed as she had moments ago when the dream had awakened her.

  It was true. It was all true. And she was responsible. She’d never had a chance to go back and blow out the candle. Because that candle had somehow started a fire. She was responsible for the fact that they’d had no warning until it was too late. How could she have hidden it . . . from everyone? Even from herself?

  “What do I do, God?” She gasped as the gravity of the truth rolled over her. She was the same as a murderer. Those lives—Adam’s, Captain Vermontez, all of them—were on her head.

  Molly. “No! Oh, no. Please, God . . .” A wave of nausea deluged her. How could she ever face Garrett with this truth? All this time everyone had been looking for Zeke Downing, looking for someone else to charge with the deaths of five heroes.

  And it had been her. All along it had been her.

  How could they ever forgive her? Could even God forgive her?

  She groveled on the floor at the foot of the bed, tearing at her hair in anguish. She saw no way out, no possible way that God could redeem her. That this could ever be made right.

  She struggled to her knees, steadying herself with palms flat on the mattress. She cast about the room, frantic. If her eyes had landed upon a means of ending her life—a bottle of pills, a gun—she might have grasped it in relief. The thought left her breathless. She didn’t want to go on. But she couldn’t end her own life. She could never do that to her father.

  But she wished she could fall asleep and never wake up. She slumped against the bed. “Help me, God. Help me.”

  Like the rain of ashes and debris from the inferno, the thoughts plagued her. She would have to tell her father. It might kill him, send him into heart failure. But how could she keep it from him? There was no way.