Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou Sweetheart\The Firefighter's New Family\Season of Redemption (19 page)

She laid her head against the seat, her smile filled with awe and discovery.

“You look so beautiful.”

Callie lifted her head and looked into Tomas's eyes. She could see the bright spark of something real, something solid, there. Who was she to deny what was in her heart? Or what God had tried to show her from the beginning?

Tomas hadn't come into her life at the wrong time. He'd come into her life at exactly the right time.

Now if she could only live long enough to make the most of it.

Chapter Nineteen

T
omas gulped in another breath and tried to put on a stone-faced front. Watching the nurse inserting a slender tube into the port attached to Callie's upper chest made him want to kick and scream. But he had to be brave for Callie's sake. Because Callie sat there with a courageous smile and chatted with the nurse as if they were having a grand old time.

Tomas stared around the long room, noting several other people being given chemotherapy. Each patient had a comfortable chair and other necessities while cloth-covered plastic partitions gave them a bit of privacy.

The room was sterile and depressing in spite of the interesting artwork and smiling attendants, but the patients seemed to have high spirits. Or they were valiantly trying to have high spirits. How did they do that, day in and day out?

He waited and watched, checking on Callie several times between strolling outside to catch up on messages and answer the constant calls vibrating through his silenced phone.

“You don't have to stay with me,” Callie told him. She had come prepared with a couple of romance novels and a devotional book to read, a magazine about interesting people and, of course, a gardening book.

“I don't mind sitting,” he said. “If my phone would just quit buzzing.”

“You're a working man.” She smiled up at him, her floral scarf twinkling with sequined clarity. “I've been hearing all kinds of things about the shipyard.”

He kept his stone face. “Such as?”

“That you haven't closed it down. That you didn't lay off the whole workforce. That you're working with management instead of firing all of them.”

“Rumors, all.”

“No, not rumors. You told me the truth, remember? You wanted to come here and shut that place down but...you didn't.”

“Does that count in your book?”

“Yes. But I don't think you're doing that for me. I think you needed to do that for you.”

Her eyes held his and Tomas had to hold back the urge to rush to her and pull her close. Callie, sitting there with no hair on her head and tubes coming out of her frail, pale body, her eyes even more vividly blue than before, her smile strong against her washed-out complexion, her body filling with a medicine that took the good away with the bad, a medicine that would make her deathly sick in the same way she'd been sick the night he'd found out.

Callie. Sitting there so strong and sure.

While he felt as if he were the one being pumped with toxins and bile because he couldn't do anything to help the woman he loved. He couldn't tell her he loved her because she was so afraid of hurting him, of hurting herself. Well, weren't they both hurting right now anyway?

“How do you feel?” he asked out of desperation.

“Okay. Like I'm floating, my insides tingling a little.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“You don't have to sit here and watch. Go take a stroll. I'll be a while longer.”

“I don't want to leave you.”

Ever.

“I'm not going anywhere.” She glanced down at the open book in her lap. “Besides, you're making me nervous.”

He stood, stretched, leaned down to kiss her. “I'll go check in with Nick and the ten other people trying to locate me.”

“Good idea. And I'll go back to this good book I'm reading. I think it'll have a happy ending.”

Tomas understood the undercurrents of that statement. He wanted
them
to have a happy ending, too. Maybe she wanted the same, but Callie couldn't be sure. No one could ever be sure. Until Callie, he hadn't really been a happy man. He thought he was getting there, though. Thought she could make him the happiest man in the world. But first he had to find a way to keep her healthy and safe. And...he had to find a way to let go of all the things he'd held so tightly—old hurts and hates, a grudge against a man he'd never known, and...vengeance against those he thought had hurt him.

Dear God, what do I do? I've always depended on myself. Now I have this mountain to climb, this obstacle that is bigger than any ship I've ever tried to build, any building I've ever had to reconstruct. How do I do it, Lord?

And how did the God he'd never considered as
his
allow him to even ask? What right did he have to pray to God when he'd turned away from any sort of faith because he'd seen the worst of human beings, even so-called Christians, when he'd watched his mother slowly dying of a broken heart?

“Where were You then, God?” he asked now.

Had the Lord been there beside him all along?

The truth echoed down this long, sterile hallway like wind passing through cypress trees. Had God been there?

He brought you to Margie and Bob. Gave you Eunice, too. He sent you to a man who trained you and sent you out to conquer the world. He made you a success and now—

And now, God had brought Tomas back to the one place that had molded him into a bitter, angry young man. God had put him into the path of the one woman who could change his hardened heart and make him feel alive again.

Maybe he was the one with the worst kind of cancer.

What would it feel like to let go of the bitterness? To finally give up on revenge and instead seek redemption and peace? What would it feel like to know that Callie respected him and understood him and forgave him of his shortcomings? That he didn't have to put on airs for her, or force major takeovers for her? What would it mean to lay down his head and sleep peacefully, without hurt or fear or torment?

Could God release him from all of that?

He stared at his phone, then he turned to stare at the doors to the big room where Callie sat, taking her medication.

How could he find any sort of peace if he didn't have her?

* * *

Callie settled back in the car, a lightweight sweater covering her in spite of the warm summer day. Glancing over at Tomas, she braced herself for the request she was about to make.

“Tomas?”

He glanced over at her, worry etching his expression. “Yes?”

“We should go and see your father while we're here.”

“What?” Tomas gave her another glance, just a shuttering of his eyes, and then headed out into the afternoon traffic. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Do you visit him?”

“No.”

“But...he's your father and he's dying.”

“He wasn't much of a father when my mother lay dying.”

“Did he know she was sick?”

His frown told her the answer before he spoke the words. “No. He didn't know anything about us because he didn't care about us.”

“But if he'd known, I'm thinking he would have helped.”

“He didn't bother checking.”

“And yet, he gave her a decent burial with a rose-etched tombstone. That has to count for something.”

“I don't want to see him, Callie. And I don't want to talk about this.”

But Callie did want to talk about this. “Look, if I've learned one thing being sick again, it's that we can't take anything for granted. God brought you back to Louisiana for a reason. I think he wanted you to make peace with your father...before it's too late.”

Tomas shot her an almost sheepish glance then turned his attention back to the road. “I've been wondering a lot lately about God and His moves and motives. I used to think He was cruel and uncaring, but...that was before I met you.”

Pleased that he was thinking of his faith, Callie still shook her head. “Don't pin all your hopes on me, Tomas. You need to be able to stand alone and face God. You need to give Him your heart before you even consider me.”

“What does that mean?”

Callie wanted so much for this man. She wanted him to laugh and live and love and forgive. She wanted him in her life, but she wanted him to have God in his life first.

“It means you need to get right with God before things can be right between us.”

“That's not fair.”

“It is fair,” she replied, her hand touching on his arm for a second. “Listen to me, okay? I don't know what will happen to me. I might beat this or...I might get worse. You've been through so much, never knowing your father, losing your mother and then watching your wife waste away. I don't want you to have to go through that with me. You need the Lord's protection and love in your life so you can handle things with a better perspective.”

“So if I turn to God, I can deal with losing you? Is that what you're telling me, Callie?”

“Yes.” There, she'd said it. “I think you need to be prepared.”

He exited I-10 and hit the country road back toward Fleur. “I'm prepared to be with you for a very long time. I'm prepared to make you see that we belong together.”

“And if that doesn't happen?”

“Then I'll deal with that...and God...in my own way.”

“Tomas, you can't just deal with God on your own terms.”

“Don't I know that.”

Callie's heart thumped a warning that scared her. What if she ran out of time and Tomas was still enraged and caught up in the past? What if he couldn't let God heal him? What then?

She tried again. “You've been coming to church. Surely, that's helped you. You've changed since we first met. You're more relaxed now, more giving.” Tears pricked her eyes; fatigue dragged at her body. “I know you're a good man. You've helped me so much.”

He looked surprised at that. “How have I helped you?”

“Well, you've allowed me to take over your garden at Fleur House. Do you know what that means to me, to have free rein over such a big area, to plant to my heart's content in beds and areas I've created? To walk back through your yard and see the beauty that God allows me to be a part of? It's one of those things that rarely happen in someone's life. It was my biggest project ever, my biggest challenge. And I thought you were the worst of clients, but...you allowed that.”

He shrugged, cruised around a curve. “I wanted the biggest and best garden in town.”

“You wanted more than that. You wanted something beautiful to fill your empty heart.”

“And I got you,” he replied on a soft, sweet note.

Callie couldn't respond to that. She nodded and looked away, not wanting him to see the tears burning at her eyes.

When she felt his hand on hers, she turned to stare over at him. “Tomas...”

“I'm going to keep you, Callie. You're the only thing I want right now.”

Callie didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. “I don't want to see you hurt. I can't bear that.”

“I'll be okay. I promise.” He went silent, his hand still gripping hers. “I've been praying a lot lately. And not just about you, although I pray every day that God will make you all better. But I've also been praying about myself, my life. I don't know if God is listening, but...I'm beginning to hope.”

Callie couldn't hide her smile. “So all that protesting before was just bluster?”

“A little maybe. I'm still not so sure. This is new territory for me.”

“You have a lot of people in your corner. God put them all there, you know.”

“I've been thinking the same thing.”

Callie watched the road, saw the water spreading out like a glistening gray blanket as they approached the Fleur Bayou Bridge. “Will you think about going to see your father?”

He shook his head. “That's one request I can't honor right now.”

Right now.

But maybe later, Callie thought. Maybe he'd go and visit Mr. Dubois and finally put all of his torment to rest.

She'd pray for that to happen. Because she didn't think Tomas could truly understand love until he'd learned all about forgiveness.

Chapter Twenty

“I
remember my wife being carted off to a rehab center. I would go and visit her, but I was never around when they gave her medication. I did sit in some therapy sessions with her, to try to save our marriage.”

Tomas stopped rambling and glanced up at the man sitting across from him. Reverend Guidry was a big plump man with a perpetual smile. He'd stopped by to see how Tomas was doing. At first, Tomas had sat silent and determined behind the shield of his big desk. He didn't want to talk to a preacher about his personal problems.

He didn't want to discuss how Callie had urged him to go and visit his estranged father, either.

But this preacher, he was a tricky one. He'd waited Tomas out with an unflinching smile and a calm demeanor that was much worse than any torturous questions or probing persuasion. Now Tomas seemed to be spilling every dark thought inside his head.

Reverend Guidry placed his hands together on his plump middle. “Did you want to save your marriage?”

Tomas thought about that before he spoke. Could he be truthful with a minister? “No. I mean, yes. Sometimes.” He rubbed his tired, burning eyes. “Sometimes, I just wanted it over, one way or another.”

The reverend gave him a sympathetic look. “And when it was over?”

“I blamed myself. I felt selfish and uncaring, as if I'd betrayed her. But our marriage was over long before she died. She was hard to understand, hard to live with. I tried but then I'm not easy myself.” Tomas stared down at his desk calendar. “I stayed by her side because I hoped to get her well and then later...I thought I'd ask her for a divorce. I'm not proud of that, but it's the truth.”

Reverend Guidry leaned forward. “And now, you're reliving some of those old feelings. But...Callie...well, she's a different kind of woman, isn't she?”

Tomas smiled at the way the good reverend had gotten right to the heart of the matter. “Yes, sir. I've never known anyone like Callie. She goes beyond being different. She dances in the rain.”

“Oh, yes. Callie looks at each day as a new beginning while the rest of us dread getting out of bed at times.”

Tomas nodded on that. “I can't stand to see her suffering.”

Reverend Guidry nodded. “It's hard for those of us who care about her. That's why I came by to see you. Callie was concerned for you.”

Tomas let out a brittle chuckle. “That figures. She's the one fighting cancer but she's worried about me.”

“She thinks you're fighting your own battle.”

“I've always fought my own battles,” Tomas replied, the weariness of that admission sapping at his psyche.

The reverend did that silent thing again, his expression soft and sure.

Tomas wanted to sit and stare at the garden, but instead he let out a breath and spoke again. “Callie thinks I need to turn some of that over to God.”

“How about
all
of it over to God?” Reverend Guidry replied, his fingers tapping softly on his blue jeans.

“That's a tough deal, Preacher.”

Reverend Guidry stood, obviously proud of the work he'd done there. “The hardest deal to make but the one that brings the most reward.”

Tomas stood, too. “I appreciate you coming by, but I'm fine. Callie doesn't need to worry about me. I just want her to be well again.”

“We all want that,” Reverend Guidry replied. “But we can't always get the things we want.”

“And yet, I'm supposed to thank God for the time I've had with Callie.”

“Every day, son, every day. We thank God even in times of trouble.”

Tomas was still wrestling with that statement when Eunice came into his office later. “It's Wednesday night,” she said. “Are you going to potluck and devotions at the church?”

Tomas glanced out the bank of windows behind his desk, the colors of Callie's garden shifting to soft, quiet shades of lush green and muted violet in the gloaming. He lived for potluck and devotions on Wednesday nights. “I hadn't thought about it.”

“We're all going,” Eunice replied. “Do you need anything before we take off?”

“No, go on and have fun. I'll decide if I want to come or not.”

Eunice nodded, stood silent, her smile knowing and serene. “I'm glad the reverend came by today. We gave him a tour of the gardens.”

“Did you?” Tomas stood, stretched. “We do have a showplace, don't we?”

“Yes. You should go out there and enjoy it yourself.”

Tomas smiled. “I guess so.”

But after Eunice left, he couldn't move. If he walked out into that beautiful garden that smelled like Callie, he'd probably find a rock to sit on and then he'd start ranting at the cruelty of life.

But then, as the reverend had reminded him, he needed to thank God for this suffering. After all, he was a blessed man in many ways. He had a beautiful old historic home and he had the most amazing garden in all of Louisiana, according to many people who'd seen it. And yet, he felt empty and drained and lonely. He felt defeated and helpless and inefficient.

“Maybe I do need to get some fresh air,” he said to himself.

So he worked his way toward the back door and opened it to the humid summer night. He'd been here close to six months now, and while he'd become more relaxed with the people of Fleur, he still didn't feel as if he belonged. He was an interloper, sneaking around in this house full of lost memories. He wondered what his father had said or done in the office that was now his. He thought about how his life might be different now if he'd grown up here at Fleur House. Would he be running the shipyard, the heir to the Dubois legacy? His father had no other children. Only distant relatives who were just waiting for him to die.

Isn't that what you're doing, too? Waiting for your father to die?

Was that just? Was that in God's plan?

Tomas made his way to the gazebo, memories twinkling around him like fireflies. He stared out into the dusk, thoughts of Callie with him here. He'd held her close on that night all those weeks ago, held her and fell in love with her all over again. He'd fallen for her on sight, but getting to know her had only added to that first foolish infatuation. The infatuation had turned into something real, something life-changing.

Are you ready to change?

That doubt again.

Tomas stared at the gazebo and saw the shadows of his hopes, the scents of gardenia, jasmine and honeysuckle intoxicating him with dreams. Somewhere off in the swamp, an owl hooted to the moon. The wind played a soft dance across the trees, bending the Spanish moss into silvery threads of lace.

And he missed her.

She wants you to change,
he reminded himself.
Do you want to change for her?

Tomas wanted her to love him. That much he knew.

But was he willing to change in order to have that love?

* * *

Callie sat at a far table near the back door of the fellowship hall. Partly in case she couldn't make it through dinner, but mostly to avoid germs. Although she'd been feeling a little under the weather all day, Alma had suggested she come over to the church for the meal, and her sister had fixed her a plate with protein and healthy foods—baked chicken and brown rice, leafy greens and a fruit and yogurt parfait Alma had created just for Callie.

“Greek yogurt, blueberries, strawberries—lots of super foods,” Alma had announced with a hopeful smile.

Everyone was trying to save her, Callie thought, her stomach already churning, her skin clammy and hot. But she nibbled at the food in front of her because she wanted her body to stay healthy. And she wanted to keep fighting against the constant fatigue and the dark fears clawing at the joy in her heart. She wouldn't give in to the fear. There was no fear in loving Jesus. She'd be safe, no matter in this life or in heaven. She sipped her ginger tea and smiled and chatted through her paper mask.

Don't think like that,
she told herself. She wanted to survive, to see the sun rise over her nursery, to hear the birds sing in her garden. To dance with Tomas again in the gazebo. She would survive this.

She looked up and saw him standing across the room. Callie's heart did a bump, bump, bump against her chest. Tomas was here. She hadn't been to Wednesday potluck in a while, but she'd heard he came often. He saw her and started walking toward her.

Callie felt clammy all over again, her vision blurring, a light-headed dizziness causing her to feel not so good. Okay, so she was glad to see the man but this was ridiculous. Hot chills laced her spine, tightening against her skin until she couldn't breathe.

Alma rushed over to her. “Are you okay? You look so pale.”

“I don't know,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I feel a little hot. Is it hot in here to you?”

Alma placed her palm on Callie's forehead. “Your skin is warm. You might have a fever.”

“I guess I am in love then,” Callie quipped. “Tomas is here.”

“Are you kidding me or do you really feel bad?” Alma asked in a curt tone, her concerned gaze moving over Callie's face.

Callie tried to smile, tried to nod. “I...I don't feel so great either way.” She tried to stand but had to grab the table. “I mean, I really don't feel so good.”

Alma held Callie, an arm wrapped over hers. “I shouldn't have talked you into coming over here tonight. I'll take you home. But, Callie, you need to call your doctor.”

Callie tried to nod, tried to respond, but her body was on fire and her stomach shifted and roiled with each step toward the nearby door. “I'll be fine. Just need to lie down awhile. Guess I'll go to bed early.”

And then strong hands took over where Alma left off. She looked up and into Tomas's face and felt herself go weightless as he lifted her into his arms. “I'm taking you home,” he said into her ear. “Just hold on. It'll be okay.”

Callie stared up at him, grabbed his shirt collar. “Don't take me home. Take me to the hospital.”

* * *

Tomas sat along with Callie's family in the large E.R. waiting room at the New Orleans hospital where he'd brought her two hours ago. It was late now and the E.R. had settled down.

But his heart and his stomach were both still bouncing and shifting. He put his head down, his hands templed at his knees.

He didn't know how to pray.

Mr. Blanchard walked over and sat beside him. “Dis is de same hospital where we brought her mama.”

Tomas sat up and saw the pain in Ramon Blanchard's dark eyes. He didn't ask the obvious. Had Lola died here? He didn't ask because he didn't want to put that into words—nothing about death should be said tonight. Callie wasn't going to die.

“Febrile neutropenia,” Alma said from her spot across the aisle. “That's doctor-speak for she's taken on an infection somehow. But she's been so careful. She stayed away from the picnic at Fleur House—” She stopped, gave Tomas a wide-eyed glance. “She didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but the doctor told her to stay home.”

Tomas wondered what else they hadn't told him. But then, he wasn't really family. Yet. “But will it go away?”

Alma nodded. “We hope so. They'll treat her with certain medicines and antibiotics. Hopefully, that will zap it.”

Hopefully. Tomas got up and paced. Julien passed him with fresh drinks—water, coffee, soda.

“Did you call Brenna?” Papa Blanchard asked.

“Yes, Papa,” Alma replied. “She's waiting to hear the latest. She sends her love.”

“I can have them flown home,” Tomas offered. “Brenna and Nick.”

“Thanks, but not yet,” Alma replied.

Tomas was beginning to read the unspoken things.
Not now, Tomas. It might get worse. Much, much worse.

He hated death. Hated waiting in hospitals. But he also remembered wishing when he was young and helpless and afraid that he could take his mother to a nice, clean hospital. He hadn't been able to do anything then and surprisingly, he couldn't do much for Callie now.

He'd worked hard, so hard that he'd forgotten how to do anything else, just so he'd never be in that situation again.

And yet, here he stood, supposedly rich and powerful and ruthless at times, but right now, completely helpless and poor in spirit.

* * *

Callie woke out of a lace-covered sleep. She tried to sit up, tried to remember where she was. Glancing around, she realized she was at the hospital. When she noticed someone covered in scrubs asleep in the chair next to the window, she blinked and tried to focus.

“Tomas?”

He jumped, his head lifting. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“Tomas, what are you doing here?”

He pushed at his dark hair, shook his whole body awake. “They moved you to a room. I wanted to stay.”

Stay.

He'd stayed with her. Again.

“Where are Alma and Papa?”

“Out in the waiting room. They came in to see you, but you were sleeping.”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “Three in the morning.”

“You need to go home.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Callie lay back, too exhausted to argue. “What's wrong with me?”

“You have a low-grade infection.” He pointed to her left hand. “You have a cut on your left palm. They think it started there.”

Callie lay still, closing her eyes. “I worked in my back garden last week. I didn't wear gloves.” Her voice shook. “I got a little prick from a thorn somehow. Tomas, I didn't wear gloves.”

He got up and came to the bed, his gaze telling her he wanted to touch her. “It's okay. You'll be okay.”

“I knew better,” she said, tears blurring her eyes. “But I wanted to feel the dirt in my hands. I miss that, miss the sun on my face. Miss the rain on my skin. I...I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what I was thinking.”