Home to You (22 page)

The crowd chuckled. “Take him out, sister,” someone called to Meghan.

“Come on, Pastor, you can do it!” another person shouted.

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“Competitive, aren’t they?” Meghan observed nervously.

“You guys should get in here and try it,” Dakota called back, eliciting a fresh wave of laughter.

Mary took them by the arms and led them out to a white line that the original chairs had sat on. “You two have to stay on this line. Away from the chair. We always do this with the last ones. It gives both of you a fair chance.”

Meghan groaned. They were a good five feet from the chair.

Dakota laughed. “Looks like I’m going to get to pick a cake.”

“No chance,” Meghan argued, though she wasn’t sure.

The music started and they marched and marched and marched. It was funny to watch the two of them hugging the line, their eyes intent on the chair.

And just as Meghan was certain the music would never stop, she suddenly realized it had.

With a mad dash, she rushed headlong for the chair.

Dakota was on the opposite side and sprinted as well.

Two bodies slammed into each other.

She went flying until two arms caught her and pulled her back—right on top of his lap.

Meghan realized Dakota had rescued her from falling. She looked up into his laughing eyes. “Who won?”

Quietly, so the roaring crowd wouldn’t hear, he answered, “We both win, if you answer me yes.”

Meghan swallowed. What did he mean? Looking into those eyes full of emotion, she realized she no longer had any questions about how she felt. Why hadn’t she real-212

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ized it before? Why hadn’t she seen it? Maybe because she’d been so worried about her MS. But with the freedom of realizing she wasn’t going to be like her grandmother came another freedom—the freedom to love.

And she did. She loved this man. Very much.

But did she have the right to love him?

“Hey, who won?” someone in the crowd called out, breaking the spell.

Meghan pushed back and stood awkwardly, her cheeks once again red as people called out suggestions to the pastor of what to do with her—all clean suggestions but centering on her just the same.

Margaret waved her hand. “This is very difficult, but I just can’t decide who was in that chair first—”

“So they both win.” Mary clapped.

The crowd roared.

Meghan blushed.

“Now, which of those cakes are you going to choose, Pastor Cody?” Margaret demanded.

There were about twenty cakes left, but as far as Margaret was concerned, there were only two, the two she and Mary had made.

Meghan realized the two women were in contest for Dakota’s affection over their baking, so to distract the people from her and Dakota and stop a feud from erupt-ing, she stepped forward. “I just have to have the Mississippi Mud, if you don’t mind. Of all the cakes here, that looks like the best one—and I can attest that it tastes great.”

Mary beamed. “Why, dear. I didn’t know that was your favorite cake.”

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Dakota leaned in. “You’d make a good pastor’s wife, sweet Meghan.”

Meghan nearly fell over.

Had he said what she thought? Of course he had. She watched him collect the Red Velvet cake and walk off.

Marriage?

Had he meant that? Or had he been joking. Surely he’d been joking.

She, of course, knew he enjoyed dating her and wanted to spend time with her—but he didn’t have time for a wife—not one who took up as much time as she did, did he?

“Meghan?”

She realized Mary had spoken to her. “I don’t think you can cook anything that doesn’t taste great,” Meghan told the old woman.

On impulse she leaned down and hugged the woman.

When she released her, she saw tears in Mary’s eyes.

And love.

Meghan stepped back.

“Go have fun,” Mary said. “We’ll put the cake under the table for you until later, okay, dear?”

Meghan nodded and left, realizing she had many many things to consider over the next few days.

Chapter Eighteen

Sarah didn’t want to be here. She hated these after-school meetings that her father had started. Why couldn’t he just spend time with her instead of making her air her feelings in front of someone else?

She didn’t want to tell someone else how she felt.

She wanted her dad to know.

Pastor Ryder walked in and held out his hand to her dad. “Heya, Chase.”

He smiled and her father smiled back. His father wore his uniform right now, but that’d change soon.

He’d soon be in his jeans and flannel shirt and leave to work on the shelter—the shelter that was going to open in just a few weeks.

And then she’d probably never see her dad again.

Pastor Ryder offered his hand to Sarah. She took it. It was warm and dry and he shook her hand as if he really cared.

But he was a friend of her dad’s.

“Hello, Sarah.”

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“’Lo,” she mumbled. Seeing the look her dad shot her, she sat up straighter. “Pastor Ryder,” she added politely.

Her dad nodded.

“So, how have you been this week?” Pastor Ryder asked as he seated himself behind his desk. He leaned back and crossed one leg up over his other, resting his ankle on his knee. Both hands went behind his head and he stretched out as if relaxing. He was dressed in nice slacks and a shirt, much like some of her teachers wore.

His jacket was lying across a nearby chair.

She shrugged. “Fine.”

“How’s school?” the pastor asked when she didn’t volunteer any more.

She blanched. Someone had told him.

“What happened?” her father asked, seeing the look on her face.

“Nothing.”

Pastor Ryder dropped his leg and brought his hands to rest on his stomach. “I heard today was talent day,”

he said casually.

It was her dad’s turn to blanch and she was glad. “Today?” He looked at her and she knew what was coming.

She didn’t want to hear it. He would apologize because he’d forgotten and then ask her what else they were planning, as if he were going to show up.

The pastor looked from one to the other in confusion, trying to read what was going on. She glared at them both. “I got to read a story I wrote.”

“Well, that’s great.” Pastor Ryder’s reply only made her madder, though she was certain he had no idea why.

So, she just had to tell him.

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“I got detention.”

“What?” Her father glared.

“For the story,” she explained, and though she tried to act proud that her audience had been shocked and aghast at her story, she hated herself for what she’d done.

“I don’t understand.” The pastor’s gentle gaze made her want to scream. He wasn’t angry but did show a need for an explanation. “You didn’t read the story?” he asked.

Sarah tilted her chin and said politely, “Yes, I did, but they didn’t like the topic.”

“And what was the topic, young lady?” her dad asked.

He clenched the arms of the chair, bracing himself. Boy, was he mad. His eyes flashed and his voice dropped to nearly a whisper, low and deep. She felt chills touch her spine and wanted to laugh, cry, run. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, on second thought, since she was suddenly so scared she couldn’t move. “My story was about getting rid of the homeless problem.”

She saw her dad cast a look at the pastor and then back at her. “The rest of it,” he said softly. The softer his voice, the madder he was. She hadn’t ever heard him whisper like this.

“I described, in detail, how they could fill up the landfill and then we could cremate them like my mom.”

She felt sick over what she’d written, but she had been so mad at her dad.

“You what?” Her father started to stand.

Finding her feet, Sarah jumped up. “Go ahead and yell.” Her voice wobbled, so she raised it to cover the fear. “That’s all you care about—those people. You
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didn’t care about Mom being gone. You said you were going to change.”

Her body trembled and she felt tears sting her eyes.

“I hate you! You brought me here away from Mom and then you leave me! I’m all alone!”

Embarrassed that she couldn’t stop the tears from falling, she turned and ran out the door.

“Sarah!” Chase called after his daughter and jumped up to follow.

“Let her go,” Dakota said.

Chase stopped by the door. Wearily he dropped his forehead against the doorjamb. “Did you hear what she said about killing those people?”

Dakota’s chair squeaked as he shifted. “I think it accomplished its purpose.”

Chase turned and stared in disbelief at Dakota.

“What are you talking about? My daughter is turning into one of those kids from Columbine.”

Dakota shook his head. “No, Chase. Sit down.”

Chase hesitated, torn. Finally, he walked over and dropped to his chair. “I forgot the talent show today.”

Dakota nodded. “And I think that’s the real problem.”

He paused and studied Chase. Finally, he asked, “Why did you come here, Chase?”

Chase rubbed the back of his neck and then tossed his hat into the now-empty chair. “I thought counseling would help Sarah.”

“No.” Dakota shook his head. “Why did you come here, back to Shenandoah?”

Chase thought back to how life had been before, the hectic schedule and never being home. “I wanted a slower way of life for my daughter, a place where she
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would be safe now that she doesn’t have a mother, a place where she could heal.”

Dakota nodded. He didn’t say anything for the long-est time. He shifted in his chair and crossed his hands over his stomach. “How did she like putting out the things that used to belong to her mom?”

Chase remembered that week he’d finally broken down and put out the memories he’d boxed up. One by one, like fine porcelain, they’d removed homemade picture frames, trinkets and such, as well as the expensive items, and placed them around the house. It had almost killed him, reliving each memory of when Ruth had received the gifts. “She liked it. We had pizza and watched a movie. It was a great time.”

“For her?”

“For both of us.” Chase rubbed his eyes. “It hurt though, seeing all of those reminders. I lie awake at night wishing my wife was next to me, wanting to hold her, protect her, but I didn’t and she’s gone.”

“You can’t protect someone from a disease, Chase,”

Dakota said softly.

“I promised to love and protect her when I married her,” Chase said. “My bed is empty now. My heart is empty and I have a daughter who looks just like her who is hurting and running as fast as she can toward trouble.”

“She does look like Ruth, doesn’t she?” Dakota agreed.

“So much so it hurts sometimes.” Chase’s heart squeezed as he thought about it.

“Is that why you’re avoiding her?”

“What?” Chase’s head jerked up. Anger shot through
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him, electrifying every nerve in his body. Sitting up straight, he clenched his hands in defiance. “I’m not avoiding my daughter.”

Dakota didn’t say anything, simply studied his friend.

Slowly, Chase thought back over the time since his wife had died. “God forgive me, I am, aren’t I?”

He had come here to give his daughter more time with him but it hadn’t happened. “I’m filling every extra minute of time with overtime and volunteer activities.” His heart broke as he realized he was.

Still Dakota said nothing.

“I didn’t realize…” A great raspy sob broke forth unexpectedly as he finally reached his limit. Tears he hadn’t shed since his wife’s death fell as he realized the injustice he’d done his daughter. “I didn’t realize that looking at her was like looking at my wife. I didn’t know I was doing it.”

Dakota sat forward. “And that by avoiding your daughter, you kept bottled up inside you all the pain of your loss.”

Chase punched the desk.

Dakota didn’t move as things fell off.

Chase grabbed up his hat and crushed it. Slowly he regained a tenuous control. “And now I’ve lost my daughter, too.”

“No, Chase.” Dakota’s voice was gentle. “You haven’t lost your daughter. She still loves you. Do you think she’d be acting out like she has been if she didn’t?”

Chase rubbed his eyes, embarrassed over the tears, but unable to stop them completely. “I miss Ruth so much. She was the one who always reached out to
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Sarah. She bridged the gap between us, brought us together in the evenings. Dakota, I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

“Maybe you should ask Sarah.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. Forcing the emotions aside, he took a breath and prayed a prayer that God would help him discover how to help his daughter.

“You’re grieving over your loss, Chase. You’ve kept it bottled up so you could be a parent to Sarah, but it’s only kept you apart from her. Confide in Sarah. Let her know you hurt, too. Cry together. Hug each other. When things look dark, communicate with her and ask her what it is that is coming between you.”

“She’s only a kid,” Chase said. He remembered holding her the first day she was born, and when she started crawling, her first smile, first step, first day at school.

How proud he had been and how much he’d loved seeing his wife hold their child.

Dakota nodded. “Yeah, she’s a kid, and what kid isn’t opinionated.”

Chase had to agree with that.

“She might not be able to answer your questions,”

Dakota continued, “but she’ll know you care. And then pull out a board game and sit down and play together.

Or dot to dot. The activity doesn’t matter, the effort does.”

“I guess I need to drop the shelter then,” Chase said wearily.

Dakota shook his head. “Not necessarily. But ask Sarah if she’d like to help you. She likes woodworking, according to my mom. Or maybe she’d like to paint.