Mr. Wrong (19 page)

“I’ve always gone home to him for Thanksgiving, but now he’s gone.”

Genova started fluttering. “Let me just give you some money to go home. I don’t want you here, alone.”

Sara
shook her head no. “No, I got that job with Academic Affairs, and it’s perfect. I think I’ll be able to work on my business plan over the whole break. Really, I’m just tired and . . .”

“I’ll stay, then.
I’ll just tell my mom . . .”

“No.”
Sara cut her off. “This is your last Thanksgiving with your family too. I mean, before everything changes. I’m just overly dramatic right now. Don’t worry, my brothers have even offered to pay for me to go there or for them to come down here. But Tim’s wife is due soon, and they’ve all been tied up with the ranch and this oil leasing thing. I told them I would be home for Christmas, but I need to do this. And, Genova, you need to be with your family too.”

“Ugh—I just hate it for you.”

They both sat there. Nothing to say.

“Did he say something about getting married again?”
Genova turned to her.

Sara
nodded. “He asked me if I was temple worthy.”

“No!”

Sara closed her eyes. “And I felt like throwing up and ran for the bathroom. And then Beau showed up to see if I was okay.”

Genova
’s eyes kept growing wider.

Sara
couldn’t stop it all from tumbling out. “And, before that, I saw Beau dancing with this beautiful redhead and I felt . . . jealous. And then Beau and I danced, and I told him that I couldn’t kiss him.” She covered her face with her pillow, feeling the horror of it all upon her.

Genova
gasped and laughed simultaneously. “Sheesh—who needs soap operas?”

“I know.”
More tears flowed down her face, but she laughed a little at Genova. “I had a plan, Genova. I had a plan and now everything is falling apart. And I don’t even have my dad to give me proper advice and here I am . . . and not that you’re not proper advice . . .”

Genova
squeezed her shoulder. “I understand.”

“And I don’t know if it even matters because I told Jonathon that
I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me.”

Genova
nudged her shoulder. “And—what did he say?”

Sara
thought of his face. “He said we’d work it out. What should I do?” Sara felt like Genova might be the only person that kind of understood.

Genova
scooted Sara over and laid back next to her on the bed. “I don’t know.” She shook her head back and forth. “It sounds like you do have more feelings than you realized for Beau. And . . . that maybe you don’t know Jonathon as well as you thought you did. What do you want to do?”

Sara
wiped her face with her hands and took a deep breath. “Date both of them.”

Genova
laughed.

Sara
covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know.”

Genova
sat up, putting her hand to her mouth. “Why not? Why not give it a trial run with both of them?”

Sara
threw a little pillow at her. “Right.”

Genova
threw it back. “I’m serious.”

“How?”

Genova rubbed her chin like an old man thinking. “Hmm. Well, tell both of them that you want to date . . . both of them.”

Sara
laughed again. “You can’t be serious.” She sighed. “I wonder what Beatrice would say?”

“Why not?
If they get mad, you date the other one.”

Sara
thought for a second, knowing Jonathon would probably be very mad. “But Jonathon’s mission president told him not to wait too long. Genova—he wants to know if I’m temple worthy so he can give me a ring. He’s serious.”

Genova
crossed her arms. “But are you serious? Can you honestly tell me that you’re ready to drop out of school and work at the grocery store for insurance benefits or move to Provo?”

Sara
looked at her, feeling generally miserable. “But it’s been two years. I’ve told everyone and our families are expecting it.”

“Do something unexpected,
Sara. Do it for yourself. Do it for your dad. You know he wouldn’t want you to do this if you didn’t feel absolutely, one hundred percent head over heels in love with him.

Sara
sighed. “I think I need to go to the mountain.” It was a phrase that Genova often said when she needed to talk with the Lord. It’s what Moses had done, gone to Mt. Sinai.

Genova
smiled and stood, taking her dress with her. “Then why don’t you go to the mountain, and I will figure out how to save this dress.”

Sara
frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Really.
You have much bigger problems. I’ll figure it out.” She winked at her and shut the door softly behind her.

Sara
slid gently to her knees, folding her arms, and bowing her head. “Dear Father—I need help . . .”

Chapter 28

Beau stared at the back of her head. He found himself trying to shift back to Bishop Archibald’s lesson again and again. He winced inwardly. How had this happened? It had not been his intention to come back to Laramie and—and fall for somebody. He was trying to figure out his own life—not start a life with someone else. Plus, she was so confused right now she didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. But—he couldn’t help himself . . . he liked her.

Clenching his jaw he looked out
of the window at the snowflakes coming down in a tornado pattern. The last few days Laramie had been hit hard. The temperature was just warm enough to invite lots of snow. Unlike warm places, when it snowed here—the people kept going.

He looked back at the blonde hair falling easily down her back. How would it feel to run his hand down her hair?
He thought of her smiling at him when he held her to him for a dance. They were electric together. Couldn’t she see that? Couldn’t she feel it?

He’d tried to get a read on her during his
entrepreneurship class the past week. Usually her eyes never left him as he walked around the class interacting with the students. He could feel them—like a dull heat that was always there, at the edges of his conscious. But the past week she hadn’t looked at him, except when necessary. Countless times he’d waited at the institute, hoping she’d come through like many of the students did during the day—stopping in at the institute to see if he would run into her. It was driving him crazy. He felt like a rubber band stretched to a breaking point.

Last night, at the hospital, Martha had hugged him as he was leaving and whispered, “Don’t worry—she’ll come around.”

He smiled, thinking about the older couple.
The heart attack definitely seemed to have brought them closer. Many times, when Beau would run some food up for Larry or bring him a new magazine to read, their hands would be laced together. He’d noticed the happiness in Larry’s eyes as Martha fussed over him.

Tonight, Beau was planning on visiting them at the
Ivinson Home. It was Larry’s first day back and Beau wanted to stop in and make sure all was well. He wondered if Larry would ask Martha to marry him. He suspected he would. But the only thing Beau knew for sure was that life often didn’t go as planned.

He thought of his own mother living out her life alone.
She said she wasn’t lonely, but Beau didn’t believe her. He saw the way she often stared out of his window in the living room, her hand gently on her book, her thoughts somewhere else entirely. He’d gotten over wishing things would have been different for her long ago. In fact, she often told him that he needed to find someone—settle down.

It wasn’t the settling down that really scared him
. Not as much as the someone. He hadn’t dated in over a year. He was trying to get himself together. He was trying to get himself right with the Lord. Nothing else would do. And now—with Sara . . . what was he going to do? She deserved better.

Bishop
Archibald stood in front of the class, his eyes peering across the room, pausing on each student for a second. “Thanksgiving is in two days, brothers and sisters. What are you truly thankful for? I want you to reflect on our Savior, and the gift he gave to us during this wonderful season.” He turned to the chalk board and wrote
Atonement
. “What does this mean, brothers and sisters?” The class could tell it was a rhetorical question. “Let’s break down the word . . . at . . . one . . . ment. To be at one with the Savior. Think about that. If he wants us to be at one with him, then obviously he wants us to come to him for all things. He is the light. He can heal all pain.” Bishop Archibald smiled, shaking his head softly. “I don’t know all your pain, but I know that we all have it. I know that I have had pain, and I have sinned before.” His eyes teared up. “And I have felt his atoning love for me. And I can feel it for you. Do you feel it right now? It’s there. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, he says to all men, “Come unto me, and I will give you peace, not as the world gives it, I give unto thee.” He is the only one who can heal you. He is the only one that can re-write the story. Isn’t that a cool concept? He can forgive you for your sins. He is the only one. Your pages will be blank, ready to be filled again. Remember that. Remember that when you feel steeped in sin. Remember that when you feel your burdens are too heavy. He can take them from you. He can erase them. Have you let him rewrite the parts you don’t want in there?” He smiled again. “I will leave you with that to ponder. And, remember if you are not leaving for Thanksgiving, Sister Archibald and I will host a dinner here at the Institute, and you all are invited. I’m even making the pies this year, under her close tutelage.” He made a face and the class laughed. “But it will be grand, just grand. Could I have a volunteer for the closing prayer?”

Beau stayed in his seat for a moment.
Atonement. He knew it was true. His heart ached, thinking about everything he’d gone through. It was working in his life. He knew it. It was the only thing giving him the strength he needed right now. And he wanted to believe that he could have a fresh start. If the Lord could only give him some kind of sign that he was forgiven. Give him something that would distinctly let him know that it was time to move on with his life.

Standing, he walked by
Sara’s desk. The whole class had pretty much filed out, except one stray girl sitting at the piano playing a soft hymn. He stopped next to her. “Is this seat taken?”

Sara
smiled.

Beau sat down.
He couldn’t help himself. He had to be near her, even if it meant getting his heart ripped out. “You’re looking quite chipper today, Ms. Fairbanks. Are you ready for Thanksgiving?”

“Well
. . .”

He waited.
“Well . . .”

“I was
going to ask you if I could take your mom up on her invitation to dinner.”

Beau stared at her like she had just grown horns.
“S-sure. I mean, of course.” He nodded his head. “Will Jonathon be coming, too?” He squinted suspiciously at her.

Sara
laughed and coughed. “Umm, no. Would you like to drive me to my yoga class at the Fine Arts Building, Mr. Hennings?” She stood and put her backpack on.

Beau
hesitated.

Sara turned back. “Well, are you coming?”

He quickened his step and almost fell over a desk.

She laughed.

He looked up into her happy face. And he felt so happy.

He followed her out to the
parking lot to his truck. The parking lot was filled with deep snow. Beau opened the passenger door for her and hurried to his side, sliding in easily and started the roar of the truck. He blew on his hands to warm them up. “Sara—you’ve just got to tell me what’s going on.”

“Well,” she said, checking her phone for the time, “I will, but you have to get going
. I don’t want to be late.”

Beau shifted into gear and gently eased out of the snow-filled parking lot.
Less than five minutes later he pulled to the curb in front of the Fine Arts Building. He couldn’t take it. “Okay.”

Sara
stared at him and her face reddened.

“
Sara?” Beau held onto her bag. “You’re not going until you tell me what is wrong?”

She closed her eyes and then opened them, blurting it out,
“I think it’s time we officially dated.”

Chapter 29

Beau’s mouth gaped open and an unguarded smile spread quickly across his face. “A sign,” he muttered to himself.

“What?”
She asked, confused by his response.

He shook his head, his face bright.
“Nothing.”

“But,” she said, putting up her hand, “I am still dating
Jonathon too.”

Beau
cocked his head to the side and lifted the hand on her bag to pull his sunglasses off of his eyes. “What?”