Evolving Dreams (New Beginnings Series) (26 page)

“That’s great. I’m glad he’s doing well . . .” Trace trailed off. He wondered if things were going so well for Meg, but he didn’t have the guts to ask his mom if she had heard anything.

Claire sensed where his mind had wandered and she sighed. “Sounds like
everyone
is doing really good.” That’s as far as she let herself go to try to ease his mind. She wondered if he would understand that “everyone” included Meg.

“You go back to sleep, Trace,” she continued. “We can talk more later. Maybe you’ll get some leave time after this deployment and can come spend some time at home.”

“Maybe. I’ll look into it. I promise. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”

He disconnected, tossed the phone back on the table beside him, and scooted back down under the covers. He turned on his side to look out the window as the sky lightened. Damn, he thought. He’d been getting pretty good at making himself not think about Meg. But she’d jumped in his head anyway, while his mom was filling him in about Sean. And now that she was there he was having a hard time shoving her back out. Must be the exhaustion. Why fight it? He let himself run memories of her like a movie through his head until he drifted back to sleep . . . then enjoyed some of the sweetest dreams he’d had in a long time.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Trace and his teammates didn’t have a whole lot going on for the rest of the week. They had debriefings to sit through and some
fairly
tame PT sessions—not that the SEALs knew anything about tame. When Saturday rolled around Trace let himself sleep late and just puttered around his house and the beach, soaking in all the peace and quiet he could. He met the guys at Maxie’s for a beer, but went home early and watched ESPN for a while.

He knew the guys were a little concerned about him. He’d been a lot more solitary since Meg went away than he’d been before. They still hung out, but they knew he was working through some things.

While they were in Afghanistan, after a really rough day when a couple of Marine SF guys they knew were killed in a firefight, Sonny had broached the subject with Trace.

“Look, McKenna,” he had said. “Why don’t you call Meg? We both know you need to hear her voice. You could at least email her.”

Trace had looked up at Sonny with reddened eyes, “I can’t do it. It would be selfish of me. I’m sure she’s doing fine and I can’t reel her back in just because I’m feeling a little rocky for a few hours.”

Sonny had shaken his head. “It’s not a matter of being rocky for a few hours. I can’t believe I’m saying this, McKenna, but you
need
her.”

“Nah. She’s better off without me.” He’d punched Sonny on the shoulder. “Why don’t you call Tobi,
though. You’re in the same boat as me.”

“No way. We were just hanging out together. What we had was nothing like what you had with Meg. You guys were the real thing.” He’d shaken his head at Trace again,
then stood up to leave. “I won’t bring it up again. But I wish you would fight for her. I think she’s worth it.”

That
was
the last time Sonny . . . or any of the guys brought Meg up. But he could see in their eyes they thought he was an idiot. And he knew he was. But it was too late. She’d surely moved on and was flitting around the world . . . and he was here, stuck in time.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Bayside Christian Church was just the way he remembered it when he’d attended with Meg. He didn’t think too much about why he’d decided to come his first Sunday morning back home. He’d been feeling a little down about some things . . . and after several dicey situations in Afghanistan, he was grateful to have made it back home in one piece, with his team intact. It didn’t take a psychological—or a theological—genius to understand that he had some things to talk over with God. He remembered the good feeling he’d had the last time he was here, so he decided this was as good a place as any for that conversation.

He walked in the front door and there were plenty of people to greet him. As he made his way into the
worship center he paused to look around. There were lots of people mingling and he was surprised, as he had been the first time he was here, that so many people in such a big church all seemed to know each other. Men, women and kids all hopped from one group to another greeting each other with lots of hugs from the older ladies. There were plenty of smiles for him too but, thankfully, no hugs. He made his way into one of the upper sections at the back of the room and found a seat. He made small talk with a few of the people around him as they waited for the service to begin.

The lights went down and a dozen or so little girls came up the front side aisle following a woman and a teenage girl who knelt in front of the stage as the little girls scurried up the steps onto it. They were all dressed in jeans and white t-shirts. They buzzed around a bit as they grouped into some type of formation. It was pretty dark in front of the stage, but Trace could see one of the women turn and signal to the sound technician. She was wearing a pink sweater and something was weird about her, he thought. Familiar almost. Music came over the speakers and he looked back at the stage. The large PowerPoint screens now displayed a graphic that said
Petite Praise—Third through Fifth Grade Worship Dance Team
. Now the PowerPoint began displaying the lyrics to Lincoln Brewster’s version of
Everlasting God
, as the little dancers started their performance. The coaches in front of the stage were performing the arm movements, in a more exaggerated way, along with the dancers. Some of the smaller girls were watching them for help when they got lost.

Trace smiled to himself watching them dance. Having grown up around a dance school, he could tell only a couple of them showed any
real dance potential, but the ones who didn’t were way more charming to him. What they lacked in talent they made up for in enthusiasm. The crowd was behind them every step of the way—clapping and singing the upbeat and inspirational praise song along with the recording.

Toward the end one of the little girls walked toward the front of the stage and the woman in pink reached up and handed her a mic. When the music quieted into the background she began reciting from Isaiah . . . “
The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

Trace wished he’d had a recording of that sweet little voice reciting those verses for him to listen to during tough times while he’d been in Afghanistan.

The crowd went wild, applauding the dancers as they trooped off the stage and the praise band came out and took their places. He watched the lady in pink and the teenaged girl herd the girls back up the aisle and out of the auditorium. He could tell they were praising the little dancers all the way, with whispered words, high fives and hugs. He stood up with the rest of the crowd to begin the praise service.

About halfway through the second song he noticed the woman in pink come into the
worship center from the door beside his section, stop and look around as if trying to find someone. She was very attractive in the dusty pink wrap-around sweater over gray wool slacks that ended just a few inches below her knees—capris, he thought they called them. They had flecks of burgundy and darker gray. Her soft burgundy leather boots hugged her calves and had spiked heels. Her dark auburn hair waved down her back to her shoulder blades. She turned her head and his heart stopped. It couldn’t be! The lights were down a little bit, but it wasn’t dark enough to make him see things that weren’t there. She must have found who she was looking for because she smiled and waved back at a woman who was trying to get her attention. She walked over to the back row of the section directly in front of Trace’s seat. Her friend, and the man with her, each moved over a seat to make room for Meg on the aisle. She set her customary huge handbag and her Bible down on the seat behind her, hugged her friend, and then joined in to sing along with everyone.

He thought his knees might give out. It was Meg. The woman who had been coaching the little girls a little while ago was Meg! The couple standing in the row in front of Meg turned around and spoke to her. Not only was Meg here,
but she belonged here. He could tell by the way she was interacting that she felt at home and was part of the community. How could that be? She was supposed to be off dancing in some unknown locale.

He jumped a bit when he realized they had been asked to sit back down and he slumped into his seat in relief. After the service was over he would be embarrassed to realize he hadn’t heard one word of the sermon. He just sat and watched Meg listen to the service, pray, take communion . . . He just couldn’t believe it.

Just as the service host was launching into the final announcements, Trace stood up and took a position by the door nearest Meg’s seat. Then he waited.

It seemed like it was taking forever for her to get to the door. She spent a lot of time accepting congratulations from everyone on her girls’ performance. She stopped a few times just to chat with some friends. Just as she was getting close, a woman she obviously didn’t know stopped her to ask about getting her daughter involved with Petite Praise. So Meg stopped and pulled out a notepad to exchange contact information.

He was just beginning to think he’d have to wade in and extract her himself when she came within two feet of him and came to a dead stop in front of him. He looked at her stunned face and realized that’s probably the exact expression he had worn for the past hour or so.

“Hi, Meg,” Trace said quietly.

“Trace!” she croaked.

Two couples came up beside her. “Meg! They did so
good
!”

Meg jerked her head toward them. “Oh, yes! They were awesome. I’m really proud of them.”

The group moved on through the door, wishing her a good week and Meg turned her head back toward him and looked as if she expected him to have been a mirage. He saw the exact moment she realized he was really there. It seemed like a lifetime since he had looked into those gorgeous, bright green eyes.

She didn’t say anything so he jumped in. “Looks like you’ve made a lot of friends here.”

She cleared her throat. “Um . . . yeah. Trace, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Imagine
my
surprise.” He said wryly. “I live just up the road. This is my neighborhood. I wouldn’t think it would be such a big surprise to run into
me
here.”

“Well . . . I haven’t seen you here since I joined the church.”

“You’re a member here. Wow. For how long, Meg?”

She drew up to her full height—which wasn’t all that tall, even with the spiked heels of her boots—and looked him in the eye, “Since the beginning of November.”

He was shocked again. “Over three months. Since right after we broke up.”

She nodded.

“You’ve been here—in San Diego—since we broke up?!” His voice rose.

Meg looked around to see if anyone noticed the scene that was unfolding. She whispered furiously to him, “Since you dumped me! Yes.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist. “Come on. If you want to talk this out, let’s go. Do you want some coffee? Let’s go out for coffee.” She started pulling him toward the front door.

An older woman saw her and stopped. “Are you coming to Bible study, Meg?”

“No, Bea. This is my friend, Trace. Trace, Bea.” She plowed on as they shook hands. “I just ran into him and we haven’t seen each other in a while. We’re going to brunch to catch up. Say ‘hello’ to everyone for me.”

“Okay. Nice to meet you, Trace.” Bea looked a little baffled, but waved as she headed toward the hallway leading to the classrooms.

Meg grabbed his wrist again and continued pulling him toward the door, speaking to acquaintances the whole way to the parking lot. Trace was beginning to enjoy this. How had he forgotten how much fun she was?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

After they were seated at the restaurant they just stared at each other for a minute. Meg had refused to ride with him and insisted on taking her own car and meeting him there. And it was her own car, he noticed. Not a rental. It had California license plates and everything. She had a church membership and a car. He shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

She had a hard time believing she was sitting across from him. He was wearing a soft heather gray sweater with a simple white crew neck t-shirt underneath. The heather gray did beautiful things to his ocean-gray eyes. And the dark wash jeans and boots did wonderful things for the rest of him. His hair was quite a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him—shaggier, with the tips brushing his collar.

“I’m just wondering what other surprises you have up your sleeve,” he prodded.

Their server stopped and they both ordered quickly, without much thought, just to get rid of him.