It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (32 page)

And then from the stage, she heard, “Well, that’s good enough for me! Sold, to the pretty lady in the white jacket. Miss, come up to the stage and claim your prize.”

Still, no one said a word
 
—not a cheer, not a gasp, nothing. Ivy swallowed and met the eyes of the man on stage. “I’ll meet him by the bar,” she said, her voice small.

Owen looked as relieved as she was that they didn’t have to create some public spectacle. He moved off the stage and the
auctioneer mercifully introduced the band. The men in back resumed their pool playing.

Ivy couldn’t help it. She edged over to Noelle. “What’s the matter? I know he looks a little rough around the edges, but
 
—”

“That’s not Owen,” Noelle said, wiping her fingers with a napkin. She shot a glance past Ivy, possibly at the stranger she’d just purchased.

“What?”

“Owen couldn’t make it. That’s Darek Christiansen. His big brother.”

Ivy turned now, found her man weaving his way through the crowd. He didn’t stop to glad-hand anyone or even slap friends on the back.

In fact, it seemed she’d purchased the pariah of Deep Haven.

Noelle confirmed it. “Brace yourself, honey. You’ve just purchased the most ineligible eligible bachelor in town.”

I
AM IN A SEASON OF LETTING GO.
First, my oldest son trotted off to college; then my beautiful daughter had the nerve to leave me. And just this year, my third child packed up his car and drove away.

I can admit the recent leaving might have been the most difficult. Oh, I cried buckets of tears over the first two, but with the college-going of my middle son also went the evenings of sitting in the football stands, watching him score touchdowns. I’ve logged thousands of hours in the car and in bleachers, back and forth to football and basketball games and to track meets. More than that, I gave my heart to my athlete, helping him through injury, defeats, and even victories. I’ve earned the title of jock mom. Thankfully, I still have one football player at home to root for.

Letting go has caused me to wonder, however,
How much of my identity have I put into my children’s successes? Their losses?

I am the first to admit that my darlings have made mistakes. Not life-altering ones, but serious enough that I’ve had to choose whether to get involved or to stand back and let life deal with them. Consequences are always powerful enforcers . . . but how
far should you let your children fail? In sports, you learn you can’t score the touchdowns for your kids or make baskets for them. But I admit I’ve been known to run down the bleachers, trying to keep up with my track star as he crosses the finish line, just to urge him on.

It pains me to see my children make mistakes. But without mistakes, they won’t learn. And some of my best lessons have come from the mistakes I’ve made.

As I settled in to write this story, I was in a season of struggling to find the balance between stepping in and letting go
 
—letting them fail. And I realized that their failures were neither my fault nor my responsibility to fix. If I truly wanted to support my kids, I needed to guide them toward their heavenly Father, so He could meet their needs.

Frankly, in letting go, I’m learning that God can meet my needs, too.

As I took a look at failure and letting go, I also began to wonder about the other side of it. A life redeemed. Can God take failure and turn it to victory? The Bible shows us over and over that He can and He does. And when He does, we find ourselves uniquely equipped for the next season in our lives. If we start seeing failure not as an end, but as a part of the journey, then suddenly our lives become not about regret, but about gratitude.

In fact, the story idea for
It Had to Be You
was birthed by this concept: what if God could take your regrets and redeem them? Hudson Peterson’s track meet story actually happened. I was at a track meet, standing on the sideline watching this poor young man crumble as he realized his failures. The memory haunted me and I wondered,
What i
f
? What if it destroyed him? How could he come back?

Grace. We come back by reaching out to Jesus. By letting Him redeem our failures.

I am letting go. But I’m also holding on to my heavenly Father, who is at the helm of my children’s lives
 
—and my own. And thankfully He will never let go.

Thank you for reading
It Had to Be You
! I hope you are enjoying the Christiansen family as much as I am. Stay tuned for Grace Christiansen’s story in
When I Fall in Love
. Here’s a hint: you’ll see our friend Max Sharpe again!

In His grace,

Susan May Warren

S
USAN
M
AY
W
ARREN
is the bestselling, Christy and RITA Award–winning author of more than forty novels whose compelling plots and unforgettable characters have won acclaim with readers and reviewers alike. She served with her husband and four children as a missionary in Russia for eight years before she and her family returned home to the States. She now writes full-time as her husband runs a resort on Lake Superior in northern Minnesota, where many of her books are set.

Susan holds a BA in mass communications from the University of Minnesota. Several of her critically acclaimed novels have been ECPA and CBA bestsellers, were chosen as Top Picks by
Romantic Times
, and have won the RWA’s Inspirational Reader’s Choice contest and the American Christian Fiction Writers’ prestigious Carol Award. Her novel
You Don’t Know Me
won the 2013 Christy Award, and five of her other books have also been finalists. In addition to her writing, Susan loves to teach and speak at women’s events about God’s amazing grace in our lives.

For exciting updates on her new releases, previous books, and more, visit her website at
www.susanmaywarren.com
.

1. In her letter, Ingrid remembers that Eden has been a storyteller all her life. Do you think Eden recognizes that trait in herself? Why or why not?
   
2. Ingrid tells her daughter, “My prayer for you is that you would believe God has a good story for you, too.” Have you ever struggled to believe that for yourself? If so, why?
   
3. Eden fears that she doesn’t measure up to her talented siblings, that her only value is in being the family cheerleader. How would you describe the role you play in your family or the role you played while growing up? Do you think others would see it the same way?
   
4. Jace has lost some of his passion for hockey and knows that continuing to play poses serious risks, but he feels unable to do anything else. How would you have advised him in this situation? When you have faced a crossroads in your own life
    
   —whether in a career, a relationship, etc.
    
   —how did you decide what to do?
   
5. Despite warnings that she’s too invested in Owen, Eden feels responsible for her brother, believing it’s her duty to watch his back. How much responsibility should family members have for one another? Where do you think Eden goes too far?
   
6. Jace struggles with his role as an enforcer for the Blue Ox, wondering if the violence of his position makes him a monster
    
   —especially because he admits to sometimes enjoying the fights. John Christiansen suggests that Jace might like the applause and approval he receives better than the fighting. Do you think he’s right? What makes fans cheer for the violence in sports?
   
7. Max Sharpe, one of Owen’s teammates, worries he was the one who caused Owen’s injury. Jace tells Max to keep this news from Owen. Do you think that is wise advice? What do you imagine would’ve happened if Max had confessed to Owen?
   
8. In chapter 9, after Owen is injured, his father talks with him about the role of suffering in our lives. Do you agree with John’s perspective? In times of pain or difficulty, do you tend to get angry with God, as Owen does, or lean into Him?
   
9. As Maddy gets sicker, Sam has to consider whether he can provide for her in the way she needs or whether she would be better off in a medical foster home. What would you do in his situation?
   
10. During his visit to Deep Haven, Jace concludes that despite all she says, Eden
    wants
    headlines, wants to be part of Owen’s and Jace’s limelight. Yet when Jace gives her the
    chance to share the spotlight with him, Eden runs. Why do you think she reacts this way?
    
11. Eden denies her feelings for Jace, insisting she wants a “normal” man. Why does Eden believe herself unworthy of a man like Jace? Have you ever felt undeserving of someone’s love or affection? What words of wisdom would you give to Eden as she struggles between what she wants and what she believes she deserves?
    
12. While Jace knows he’s been saved, he doesn’t believe God could favor or even like him. Similarly, Eden feels as though she’s “not necessarily God’s favorite.” Do you think God favors some people over others? What does it take for Jace and Eden to feel liked or favored by God? Have you ever struggled with similar questions about how God feels toward you?
    
13. Sam nearly makes a desperate, illegal decision out of his fear that God will let Maddy die. Has there been a time when you were tempted to take matters into your own hands on behalf of someone you love? What was the result?
    
14. When he sees an article about his migraines, Jace jumps to the conclusion that Eden is involved, damaging their relationship. Has a misunderstanding or snap judgment ever hurt one of your relationships? What does that relationship look like today?
    
15. Eden, Jace, and Sam all have to learn lessons about holding on too tightly. How does each character act on the realization that he or she needs to let go? Have you had to learn a similar lesson in your own life? Describe that time.
    
16. Eden feels that her attempt to help Hudson failed, but nurse Becky tells her, “You were God’s plan to show Hudson that he was loved.” Olivia and Jace also echo the idea that Eden was handpicked to find Hudson, connect him to his family, and tell his story. Do you think they’re right? Have you ever felt that you were singled out by God for a particular task? What was it?
    
17. In her story about Hudson, Eden asks, “Is it possible to have a remarkable life by simply caring for someone else?” In your opinion, what makes someone heroic? How is heroism achieved? Through a person’s actions, the way he or she lives, one’s character?
    
18. By the end of
    It Had to Be You
    , both Eden and Jace have made decisions about the future of their careers. Were you surprised by their choices? Why or why not?
    

1976

Ingrid hadn’t spent two years waiting for tonight to let her sister’s threats scare her away.

Kari stood in the bathroom at the tiny mirror, spraying another layer of shellac on the long Farrah flick she’d taken an hour to craft. “I swear, if you embarrass me, I’m ditching you.”

Of course she looked like a younger version of Farrah Fawcett, with that long blonde hair parted in the middle, finely plucked brows, the perfect pout to her glistening lips. The Deep Haven boys wouldn’t be able to tear their eyes off her.

All except one. Hopefully.

Ingrid met her reflection in the mirror. “I won’t embarrass you.”

Kari narrowed her eyes, her gaze burning through Ingrid. “Fine. But not a word to Mom and Dad, or this is the last time you’ll go anywhere with me.”

Not a word to Mom and Dad about what? She didn’t want to ask, to sound naive.

Kari studied her. “You need more blue eye shadow if you want to make an impression.” She grabbed the powder. “Close your eyes.”

Ingrid obeyed, feeling Kari’s hands rough on her face as she painted her. Kari had already plowed through her suitcase, finally unearthing a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt, knotted at the waist over a tube top that her parents wouldn’t see until after she left the house. She’d dressed Ingrid in a T-shirt and a pair of overalls.

“Do you think . . . that . . . John Christiansen will be there?”

“Perfect, take a look,” Kari said, stepping back.

Ingrid glanced in the mirror. She wished she’d at least gotten her bangs cut. Still, she hadn’t a prayer of being noticed next to her glamorous older sister. Not with her limp, long straight hair, the too many freckles. The blue eye shadow just made her look like a CoverGirl model wannabe. She put her hopes in the fact that Kari knew best, being two years older and a senior next year in high school.

“And I already told you, you have to unhook one side.” Kari reached for Ingrid’s shoulder, but Ingrid yanked away.

“I don’t like it. It makes me feel naked.”

“Don’t be such a prude, Ingrid. Trust me, guys like a girl who tries a little.”

The hair, the eye shadow, the overalls
 
—this was Ingrid trying. “I don’t like feeling undressed.”

Kari rolled her eyes. “Johnny Christiansen won’t notice you, anyway.” She painted on another layer of lipstick. Popped her lips. “You need to get over your crush.” She picked up her new woven purse. “Whatever you do, don’t ask him to dance.”

Don’t ask him to dance?
But she’d rehearsed it for the last six months. Saw herself walking up to John, her voice casual even as her heart hammered through her ribs, smiling up into his devastating blue eyes, his long, dark Robby Benson hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket as he leaned against the brick wall of the Ben Franklin, and . . . well, for the first time, he would see her.

He’d take her hand, lead her into the street, under the diamond starlight of the sky over Deep Haven, casting magic into the night as the band rolled out covers from the Doobie Brothers or Styx. The wind would carry enough tang of summer, the breeze off the lake fresh and mysterious. And as he put his hands at her waist, as she looped her arms around his neck, he would realize . . . Ingrid Young had grown up.

Yes, tonight, John would take his eyes off Kari and finally notice the girl from cabin 12.

Ingrid grabbed her bag, flung it over her shoulder, and raced after Kari as she headed down the gravel path toward the parking lot of Evergreen Resort. Kari made a point of standing on the gravel walkway and calling out to their parents, reading on Adirondack chairs by the lake. The canoes for guests lay on the beach like walleye, the water a tin gray, a streak of red parting the waves as twilight cascaded through the trees.

“Home by midnight!” their mother yelled back, waving. Their father
looked up from the book on his lap
 
—Ingrid recognized it as his Bible. He gave Kari a look, something of warning in it.

Ingrid’s insides tightened a little. But this was Deep Haven, not Minneapolis. How much trouble could Kari get into, really?

Ingrid didn’t glance at the lodge as she climbed into their father’s red Pontiac. She knew the Christiansen family lived upstairs, knew that the new red-and-white Chevy pickup in the dirt lot belonged to John. He’d pulled it onto the grass this morning, and she’d seen him out with a bucket and suds on her way to town. He’d stopped Kari when they returned, offering to take her for a ride, a jar of Turtle Wax in his hand.

Ingrid could have strangled Kari for the way she lifted her nose, shook her head.

Take me for a ride.
She’d tried to cover up for Kari’s rudeness by complimenting the truck, but he just ducked his head, went back to polishing.

Maybe he’d finally figured out that Kari didn’t like small-town boys. Even if they did have a summer tan and a nice set of football biceps, a smile that could make a girl forget that she wasn’t the beautiful, long-legged cheerleader of the family.

“Remember, don’t embarrass me,” Kari said as she rolled down the window and tugged a pack of Benson & Hedges from her bag. Ingrid’s eyes widened as her sister lit up and blew smoke out the window.

She looked away. Bit her lip.

Kari ejected the Pat Boone album and shoved in an 8-track of the Steve Miller Band.

“Where did you get that?”

Kari shrugged. “Contraband. You’ll learn.”

Ingrid had no doubt she’d learn a lot tonight.

The music lured them in as Kari parked the car off Main Street, then led Ingrid to the festivities. The town barricaded off all four blocks of Main, the street edging the harbor where the lake slid over the rocks in rhythm to the beat. A perfect night for the annual Fisherman’s Picnic street dance. Kari slung her purse over her shoulder and added a swing to her hips as she forayed into the crowd. Mostly teenagers, some adults, groups of locals intermixed with the congregation of tourists who claimed Deep Haven during the summer. Like her parents, who’d rented the same cabin at Evergreen Resort for the last twenty years.

In a way, Ingrid had grown up with John, watched him go from annoying kid who pushed her off the dock to hunky football player who could sweep her breath from her lungs with a single blue-eyed look. Last year, during the
precious hour her parents allowed her to attend the festival, Ingrid perched herself on the steps of the State Bank and glued her gaze on John, watching as he hung out with his pals, leaning against their trucks, flirting with girls like Kari.

This year, he’d flirt with her.

Kari walked right into a crowd of friends. Ingrid recognized some of them from past years
 
—it seemed the same resort crowd trekked into town the same week every year. A couple faces she recognized from their school, down in Wayzata, a suburb of Minneapolis.

Ingrid stood at the outskirts, shooting her gaze in and through the crowds. The band started playing the first few bars of the new England Dan and John Ford Coley song.

“Wanna dance?” The words brought her back, but their aim was focused on Kari, who giggled and surrendered to the attentions of a letter-jacketed senior from Minneapolis. Craig. Brown hair, brown eyes, nothing spectacular, except that Kari put her arms around his neck, her body close.

Ingrid looked away, searching, and her heart stuttered in her chest when John parted the crowd and strode into a wash of streetlight, a rock star. He wore a jean jacket, a white T-shirt tucked into his jeans, a pair of tennis shoes, and when the wind raked his long, beautiful brown hair from his face, she couldn’t breathe.

Now. She’d ask him now before her courage died. Besides, he was already heading toward the clump of dancers. She dashed out into the street, nearly knocked over a couple girls, and caught his arm.

“John?”

He turned as if startled and, for a second, seemed not to recognize her.

And why not? With her makeup and hair, she didn’t resemble at all the tomboy fifteen-year-old he’d seen landing a fish off the dock this morning.

Thank you, Kari.

“Uh . . . hi, Ingrid.” He had a low voice, and she could feel it touch her bones.

“Would you . . . would you dance with me?”

There. The words were out and she added a smile, tremulous at the edges.

He frowned, looked at the dancers. Then at her. He smiled. “Sure.”

She could barely walk as he took her hand and wove them through the crowd. She noticed how he planted her next to Kari, and Ingrid wound her arms around his neck.

They swayed to the music, his hands on her hips. She settled her cheek on his jacket. He smelled good
 
—woodsy, with a touch of cologne, like he’d tried. She locked her fingers behind his neck.

“There’s a warm wind blowing, the stars are out, and I’d really love to see you tonight.”

She hummed to the song, then smiled at him.

He was looking over her shoulder, his gaze glued to someone behind him, his jaw tight. She glanced over her shoulder and spied Kari nestled up against Craig.

“I like your new truck.”

He glanced at her. “Thanks.” He smiled again, but up close, she realized it didn’t touch his eyes.

She swallowed her heart back into her chest, let it burn there. He held his hands loosely on her waist even as she pressed her body close to him.

He sighed.

Then suddenly he moved his hands to his neck and grabbed her wrists. “I gotta go.”

He unlatched her arms and pushed past her.

As she turned, she saw Kari leaving the dance floor, Craig in tow. And behind them, pressing through the gap in the crowd, John, hot on their trail.

Ingrid wrapped her arms around her waist, listening to the last of the song die into the night.

Whatever Kari Young saw in Mr. Letter Jacket, he had nothin’ on John Christiansen. John just had to help her see it.

He hadn’t spent the last day washing and waxing his new Chevy C10 to lose her in the arms of a guy from the city. He’d waited for this night an entire year, saving every dime, working after practice at the fish house, then snowplowing and even trapping on the property north of his place until he could pay cash for the truck.

He deserved Kari’s attention tonight. So he was a year younger than her
 
—he’d made varsity defensive end last year and had a flock of girls who chased him around the school.

And one look at her last Sunday as her family pulled into the resort told him she’d been worth the wait. She even smiled at him as he’d helped unload her father’s Pontiac, brought their bags to the cabin. She leaned against the railing to the deck in those short shorts, her blonde hair long and feathered away from her face, and asked him if he planned on attending the Saturday night dance.

If that didn’t sound like an invitation, what did?

He would have asked her to dance if it weren’t for her pesky kid sister. Sure,
Ingrid wasn’t a dog
 
—not with that long silky blonde hair, but she had braces and was only fifteen, for pete’s sake. Still, what was he going to do
 
—brush her off and let it get back to his dad? Ingrid was a guest, after all.

He left the crowd, following Kari and Craig to the beach. Craig sat on the big rock jutting from the middle of the beach and reached for Kari, who giggled and settled her arms around his neck. Craig stuck his hands in her back pockets.

The sight turned John hot, and he probably lost a little of his mind when he closed in on them. “Hey, Craig, did you bring your wheels with you this year?”

Craig looked up, frowning, and Kari glanced over her shoulder. An enigmatic smile played on her beautiful lips, and he could nearly smell her sweet fragrance in the breeze.

“Yeah, so?”

“A bunch of us are going to the gravel pit. Not that you’d be interested.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, casual. Like he couldn’t care.

His heart thudded against his ribs.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Craig reached for Kari’s hand, but she broke away and turned to John.

“Was that your truck you were washing today?”

He nodded.

She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “It’s pretty.”