Easter Blessings (15 page)

“Are you in the race today?” Emily asked.

The girl’s head bobbed as she sidled closer. She pointed her finger at the chair. “Are you in the race, too?” She giggled as she ran her hand along the wheel.

“No, I’m just watching.”

“You are?” The child’s eyes widened. “But you’re in a wheelchair.” She popped her index finger into her mouth.

Emily chest tightened, hearing the girl’s honesty. “I can’t walk.”

“Your legs don’t work?”

Emily’s heart ached as the child struggled to grasp her words. “My legs work, but they hurt.”

“Oh.” Sadness filled the child’s face. “You can get them fixed.”

Her candid truth struck Emily and she swallowed. Even a challenged child had the good sense to know that Emily’s legs could be fixed. She glanced toward Greg, wondering if he heard. He appeared to be watching their interaction, but he didn’t comment. Emily refocused on the child and returned the honesty. “I could, but I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared. Jesus will take care of you.” The child patted her arm.

Emily’s eyes filled with tears, her voice only a whisper. “Yes, He will. Thank you.” She brushed the moisture from her lashes. “What’s your name?”

“Jenny. What’s yours?”

“Emily. Are you going to run soon?”

“My mom said ten minutes.” She held up both hands, her fingers spread wide in front of her. “Is it ten yet?”

“I don’t know, but when you’re in the race, I’ll cheer for you, and maybe you’ll hear me.”

“Maybe.” She nodded. “And if I don’t win, don’t be sad, ’cuz it’s okay.” She placed her hand on Emily’s.

The child’s touch worked its way around Emily’s heart. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t win?”

“Nope. ’Cuz I’ll be brave.”

Before Emily could drag a response from her knotted throat, a woman beckoned to Jenny. The child waved goodbye and hurried away.

“Wisdom from babes,” Greg said.

“I know, except I feel like the infant.”

Her mind weighted with thoughts, Emily watched the children gather at the starting line, Jenny among them. Number fifteen. When the race began, the girl shot from the starting line and darted ahead of the others.

“Run, Jenny. Run,” Emily called, but she knew Jenny didn’t care at all. Win or lose, she’d run the race.

The first child crossed the finish line, but Jenny had fallen behind. Yet when she’d finished the race, her face glowed with the competition.

With a tearful grin, Emily looked at Greg. “She’s a winner.”

Greg ran his hand across her shoulders, then leaned over and kissed her hair.

Emily’s heart lurched at his touch, and she grappled for a response. While she sat in silence a boy darted from the crowd and headed for Greg, saving her with the distraction.

“Robbie, you’re looking good,” Greg said to the child. “Are you running today?”

The boy chattered about the race and his surgery while Emily digested what Greg had done.

He’d kissed her hair.

Her mind whirred with questions. Who was Greg? A neighbor? A friend? Or was he more than a friend? Could their relationship be growing into love? Maybe a love that
led to a lifetime commitment? Another chance to love and have a…

No. Not her. Sorrow knifed her thoughts and crushed her hope. Greg deserved a whole wife, one who could give him children—a family. She was not that woman.

When the boy left, Greg remained quiet, focusing on the racers. Emily did the same. Though she was silent, her mind was not. It continued its thoughtful monologue about the outcome of all that was happening in her life. One brave realization stuck out from the rest. Though marriage seemed impossible, the chance to walk did not.

When the race ended, Greg turned to her. “Are you ready to get back?”

“Sure,” she said while thoughts spilled from her, crying to be spoken.

Greg steered her toward the building, but when they neared a bench shaded by a large elm, she raised her hand. “Do we have time to talk?”

“Time to talk?” Greg glanced at his watch, then eyed the bench. “Sure, all the time in the world.”

Though he wore a concerned expression, he released the handles of her chair and sat near Emily. “You got so quiet back there, I figured something was wrong. Was it something I did?”

She could still feel the brush of his lips against her hair. How could she be angry at that? “Not really. It’s me. I’m thinking about so many things. The little girl—Jenny—made me think about my lack of courage, again. I despise being so weak. It’s a character flaw.”

“We’re all weak and flawed.” He ran his hand down her arm while his eyes seemed weighted with sadness.

She studied his sorrow-filled eyes longing to know what troubled him. “It’s my lack of faith…and anger,” she said. “Anger for everything that happened these past years.”

He slid his hand up her arm to her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve been through a lot, Emily.”

“I know, but I don’t like it. I keep asking myself why
God took Ted’s life and resigned me to a wheelchair. I wish I’d just accept it and not feel so victimized.”

“Those things aren’t easy to understand. The best we can do is have faith. Faith that in spite of our anxiety, doubt and skepticism, God is with us, willing to carry our burdens.”

“That’s where I fail. I can’t seem to let go of them. I want to lug them along with me.”

Greg captured her fingers and entwined them in his. “We’re all like that, Emily. I sound so sure when I talk, but do you think I’ve let go of my pain and regret and walked away?” He cocked his head. “Not by a long shot. I’m as flawed as you.”

Again he roused her curiosity. Why did he feel pain and what did he regret? She studied him for a moment. “Then what do we do?”

“You know as well as I do. We pray. Ask for strength and forgiveness…and faith.”

Forgiveness? Emily understood his need for strength and faith. By why forgiveness?

He brushed her cheek. “With faith, we can move mountains,” he said.

“I’d just like to move my legs without pain.” She chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

But Greg didn’t laugh. He gave her a tender smile. “You have the solution for that already. You just have to act on it and have faith that God will take care of you.”

The gentle look sent her heart fluttering, and her thoughts easily to his gentle kiss—so simple. Yet the memory nudged her with apprehension.

Greg’s tender attention gave her hope—hope she never considered having again, and she feared it.

Why? Because she didn’t want to face the outcome. Embracing hope left her vulnerable. And she couldn’t handle one more disappointment in her life. Ted’s death, her crushed legs and damaged reproductive system had topped the atrocity charts.

E
mily’s wheelchair thumped as Greg tossed it into the back of his SUV. He’d been both surprised and pleased when Emily asked him to drive her to a doctor’s appointment. She’d seemed uneasy since the Olympics when he’d brushed her hair with a kiss. He hadn’t meant to. It just seemed right and natural, but afterward, he’d wished he hadn’t. She’d become tense and withdrawn.

His feelings for her had grown far more than he’d ever thought possible. In only a few weeks, he’d gone beyond being neighborly and kind, to enjoying her company, to wanting her in his arms.

Greg slammed the lid, rounded the vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat. He would have to be honest with Emily soon before he acted again without thinking. Her friendship meant everything to him to destroy it…because he cared too much.

“Thanks for driving me to this appointment,” Emily said. “Marti’s tied up with wedding plans and—”

“No problem. I’m pleased you asked me.”

“Pleased?” Her forehead wrinkled with confusion.

“I enjoy your company, Emily. I assume you know that.”

A faint tinge of color brightened her cheeks. “You’re a good man, Greg.”

“I’m more than that. I’m…” He caught himself. “I’m your gardener. And speaking of him, he’s doing a pretty good job with your flower beds. I checked them out before I knocked on the door.”

Her flush cooled to a glow. “It does look nice.”

Unexpectedly, she evaded his eyes and looked out the passenger window. “You’ve been a real gift to me. Not only the flowers, but my life. It felt empty for so long with no purpose, no direction. And now…I look forward to waking up each morning.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Emily.” He lowered his hand from the steering wheel and pressed it against hers resting on the seat between them. Though he longed to keep his palm pressed against her soft, cool skin, he withdrew it.

With both hands clasping the steering wheel, he searched for a safer topic.

Silence hummed in his ears.

“You mentioned Marti’s being tied up with the wedding plans. How are things going?” he asked finally.

“Good,” Emily said, turning her gaze from the window and shifting to face him. “She’s holding the reception at the Venetian Club. It’s a sit-down, family-style dinner. Not much more expensive than the buffet.” A grin spread across her face. “I detest buffets.”

“Me, too,” Greg said.

“Really?”

“Really. Why are you surprised?”

“I hate them because they’re awkward for me in this chair, but I thought men would feel differently.”

“Not this man. I hate waiting in line and then choosing the wrong things.”

She agreed as silence settled over her again.

He watched her smile fade.

“We looked for dresses last weekend.” She rubbed the back of her neck, her features tensing. “I told you I’m Marti’s matron of honor.” Her sad gaze met his.

“I remember. Did you find dresses you like?” He knew her discomfort rose from something more serious than a dress style.

She blinked and lowered her head. “I can’t convince Marti that she should replace me. She could ask one of her friends…or our cousin to do the honors.” She lifted her gaze. “She doesn’t listen.”

“Good for her.”

Her eyes widened with a look of surprised confusion.

“What’s the problem?” He asked the question knowing the answer.

“A million things. The wheelchair. The photographs. Everything.”

“You have time. Right? December?”

She nodded. “Just before Christmas.” Her expression brightened for a moment. “Our gowns are green, and she’s ordering red flowers. We’ll look like Christmas trees.”

Her unexpected humor caught Greg by surprise. His sudden laughter encouraged hers.

“Sounds perfect to me,” he said. But his thoughts had turned away from the lighthearted image to one more serious.

“Do you really think so?” she asked. “Green and red. I don’t know. And then me…in a wheelchair.”

Greg took a chance. “If you agreed to the surgery soon, you’ll be skipping down the aisle at the wedding.”

Emily’s heart whacked against her breastbone before skipping a beat. She lifted her hand and counted on her fingers. “Six months? Less than that. I doubt it.”

“I’m a physical therapist. Trust me. You can be walking easily in six months.”

The vision filled her mind. She pictured the long church aisle and imagined herself traipsing its length.

Despite her earlier sarcasm about color, Emily envisioned the lovely dresses—forest-green for her and a softer shade for the other female attendants. Perfect choices for the holiday. In her hands, she could imagine red and white roses mingled with baby’s breath and tied with a red satin ribbon. Different and appropriate.

She pushed the vision aside and brushed tears from her eyes. Self-pity. She despised the feeling and pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything to Greg. He had too much faith, and she wasn’t going to change his optimism.

Focusing on the landscape, Emily saw the office building appear on the right. She pointed, and Greg pulled into the lot to park.

Once settled into the wheelchair, Emily tensed as Greg pushed her into the waiting room. How many visits had it been? Too many without making a decision.

Today she had made up her mind.

Emily had been quiet since she’d left the surgeon’s office. Greg wanted to pry, but he’d finally understood her way and knew he’d better let Emily tell him in her own good time what had happened.

When Greg pulled into her driveway, Marti’s car wasn’t there, and relief chased away his question. He wanted to talk to Emily in private. He climbed from the SUV, retrieved her chair and helped her shift from the car to the seat.

“Let’s go out back,” he said, not waiting for her answer.

As he rounded the corner, his pulse quickened seeing
the bright flowers rising above the well-pruned shrubs. Steering the chair forward, he noticed butterflies fluttering among the blossoms like petals playing on the wind.

“Look. You’re surrounded by friends.” He included himself in that category, but sometimes he wondered if Emily did.

He settled her chair near the bench and sat beside her, waiting and praying for her to tell him what had happened in the surgeon’s office. Greg pulled his attention back to the butterflies, admiring their delicate beauty and fragile existence—so like Emily.

“I agreed to go ahead with the surgery.” Her voice sounded as soft as the breeze.

His chest tightened as her words registered. “You did?” He leaned closer and slid his hand along Emily’s arm, and though she tensed at his touch, she didn’t pull away. Encouraged by his thankfulness, he eased her chin toward him. “Emily, I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I’m not happy about the surgery, but I am about the prognosis.”

Her eyes sought his, and he drew his hand along the line of her jaw to her lips, caressing them with his finger. Then drawing from his resolve, he rose from the bench and lowered his mouth to hers. A gentle, brief kiss and no more.

Tears filled her eyes, and he brushed them away. Though aching for her predicament, his heart surged with pleasure. She accepted his kiss, leaning into it, as fleeting as it was. “Don’t cry, Emily. Everything will be wonderful.”

“Self-pity,” she said. “I’m a bundle of self-pity.”

“No. You’re not,” he said, urging her from the chair so he could hold her in his arms.

She rested her weight against him. “I want to know I’m doing the right thing. I want to trust the surgeon.”

“It’s not the surgeon you need to trust, Emily. It’s God. He’s with you just like Marti and I will be.”

She buried her face in his chest. “I’m so scared, Greg. I agreed to go through with it, but I’m frightened.”

“It’s not easy, I know, but it’ll be wonderful when it’s all over.” He guided her attention to the garden. “Look at the butterflies. As pretty as you. And after the surgery, you’ll be free of that chair and flitting through the garden like they are.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.” She drew back and inhaled. She shuddered.

Greg nestled her to his side, feeling her dainty body against his, as natural and amazing as the pattern left behind from the dust of butterfly wings.

When she’d calmed, Greg helped her to her chair. Today seemed the perfect time to give her the gift he’d purchased for her. “You wait right here,” he said, backing away. “I have something for you.”

Watching over her shoulder, Emily’s pulse skipped a beat as Greg darted away. “What’s the surprise?” she called after him. “Is it crutches?”

His laugh drifted to her.

“Or a nice walker?”

Greg vanished around the side of the house, probably missing her final comment. She caved back against the chair…a chair she might never use again after her surgery. The thought rose to heaven as a prayer.

Everyone wanted this for her. Everyone but her. She’d struggled with her thinking for so long, trying to understand. If she could walk, then why would she be lonely? Naturally, Marti would be gone—married and settled in her own home.

Her focus shifted to the garden. Butterflies of all sizes and colors—white ones, beige with whorls of brown and amazing orange monarchs. They hovered above the flow
ers, settled on a petal, then flitted away. So fragile and free from the cocoon that bound them.

Free from the cocoon. As much as she would miss Marti, a sweet reality washed over Emily. She could build a life again after her surgery. Return to the work she loved. Enjoy her garden.

She would…feel alive. Feel beautiful. Feel liberated.

“I hope you like this.”

Greg’s voice pulled her from her reverie. He stood beside her, holding a long wooden structure that resembled a three-foot birdhouse. But when he held it toward her, the house had no doors. Only long slits in its face.

“It looks like a birdhouse for skinny sparrows. What is it?”

“A butterfly house.”

She eyed the narrow cuts in the natural wood covered by a slanted roof. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She analyzed his expression to see if he were teasing.

He propped the wooden structure on his hip. “The woman who loves butterflies. The woman who lures them to her garden with flowers. And she’s never heard of a butterfly house?” He shook his head, his face brightened by a teasing grin.

“So I don’t know everything,” she goaded, enjoying the lighthearted moment that helped to ease her doubts. “What’s it for?”

“Protection. It gives those fragile creatures a safe haven. A shelter to protect them from bad weather or critters that might harm them.”

He astounded her. She’d never considered owning a house for butterflies. A place to feel safe.

In her peripheral vision, her own house came into focus. Her private safe haven. But butterflies left their shelter and enjoyed the sunshine. For so long, she hadn’t.

“Thank you,” she said. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

“And so are you,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m not perfect.” Riddled with doubts and raw fears, she felt far from perfect.

His expression grew tender. “I can have my own opinion.”

“I suppose you can.” He made her grin. “Then I should say thanks.”

He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “I’ll put this up once we decide on a good place. On the elm tree near the lilacs might be a good spot.” He lay the gift on the end of the bench.

“I think so.” She reached out and grasped his hand. “Help me up. I want to hug you for the present.”

He stepped closer and supported her as she rose.

Emily narrowed the space between them, her heart tripping over itself as she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Thank you for the lovely surprise. It’s so special.”

He tilted her chin upward and gazed into her eyes. “Emily, you are special. Perfect and special.”

His words fluttered through her like a million butterflies. She sensed something in the air—something fresh and exciting. She saw his lips nearing hers and held her breath.

Without hesitation, his mouth pressed against hers. She faltered, the feeling so alien, so exciting. But the tender touch roused her sleeping senses, and she lifted herself, yielding to his gentle caress, mouths locked in unspoken promises.

When she felt ready to burst, he drew back, his gaze locked to hers, and a sigh shuddered through her. He nestled her closer in his arms, one hand at her waist, the other on the nape of her neck, gently caressing her hair. Goose-flesh rose on her arms.

“You’re beautiful,” Greg whispered. “Inside and out.”

Her pulse escalated with his comment. Another thank
you seemed too empty. She wanted to offer him more, but what did she have? “It’s been so long,” she said, her voice sounding breathless in her ears.

“For me, too. I’ve been away from the dating scene for years.” He tilted her chin upward and gazed in her eyes. “I care about you more than I’ve cared for any other woman.”

She studied his face, praying that he meant every word. “You don’t have to say that if you’re only being kind. I’ll get over this…after the surgery.”

“I know you will.” He sent her a smile to melt her heart. His gaze drifted toward the garden. “Let’s find a place to put the butterfly house.”

“I’d like that.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her hair, then grasped the wooden structure from the bench and paused as if in thought. “Over there by the elms.”

Emily nodded. “That’ll work. It’s close to a bed of butterfly weeds.”

He grinned, retreating to the bench and placing the house beside Emily. “I suppose I might need a nail and hammer.”

“It usually helps.” His excitement filled her with happiness…like a child with a new toy.

He vanished behind her, but in a heartbeat reappeared. “I’ve been thinking. Before you go into the hospital, I thought I’d bring my mom over to see your garden. What do you say?”

“Could I make dinner for you?”

“Something simple, if you want,” he said.

“Simple is all you get from me.”

“Nothing about you is simple, Emily. Trust me.”