Mr. Wrong (22 page)

Her heart ach
ed inside. It ached for his loss. And it ached because she knew that no matter what—Beau would never completely be hers. “I don’t know why I’m feeling a little jealous of her.”

His face was sad and the lines around his eyes seemed to deepen.
“Sara, don’t feel that way. I only say you remind me of her because she had a desire to help others too. In fact, we went to South Africa to build fish hatcheries with the Peace Corp because she wanted to make a difference in the world. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I was much more idealistic then too. I founded the project and funded it.” He looked down and put his hand on a picture of Valerie surrounded by children.

Sara
tensed and hated that the more she learned about Valerie, the more she liked her. “Are you okay, Beau?”

He sniffed and wiped his face.
“Yeah. I am okay.” He turned to her and smiled. “We’d only been married three months. We were working on the fish hatcheries, and she had pains in her hip and she kept telling me that it was just the physical work. She would feel fine on some days. I’ve tortured myself these past couple of years because by the time we found the cancer, it was stage four. The doctors said they couldn’t predict how long it might have been spreading inside of her, but there was nothing they could do. From the time she was diagnosed to death was six months.” The anguish on his face was enormous. “I met you at the airport three months after I’d lost her.”

Her heart seemed to open to him at that moment—it was as if her own grief over her father mixed with
his. She wiped another tear off of his face. “Oh, Beau.”

He shook his head.
“No, I’m fine.”

Sara
wanted to comfort him, so she hugged him to her.

He chuckled
. “Maybe I should cry more often.” He held to her, like a man holding to a life boat. “When I saw you that second time, on campus, Sara, I knew I had to get to know you. You were so beautiful and . . . and so rude.”

She laughed, realizing that she was crying too.

He pulled back from her.
“Why are you crying, my sweet?”

Sara
smiled, liking that he referred to her as sweet. “I can’t stand to have people cry alone.”

Their faces were so close
and the tension that was always between them was so intense that it was almost painful.

“I
. . . I,” his voice broke off. Beau moved a strand of hair out of her face.

Sara
’s heart felt like it would burst. She felt so confused in exactly the same way that she felt so happy.

“
You make me want to help people, again. I want to reach out and be a part of something bigger than myself.” He took both of his hands and ran them down her hair slowly. “And I want to be better than I am . . . than I have been.” His eyes were steady, but she noticed the pain inside of them. “What are we going to do?”

She didn’t even make an attempt to pull away.
This feeling was so intoxicating. She peered into his eyes and felt his breath on her lips.

“
Sara—I . . .”

She kiss
ed him.

His eyes shot open
, and he pulled away from her. “I have a past, Sara . . . that is why I tell you I can’t marry you.”

Sara
knew about his past—he’d just told her. “I know.”

Beau
jerked to his feet and began pacing, running his hand through his hair. “It’s—I . . . left the church for a while.”

Left the church? Left the church for a while. Her mind raced, thinking of what, exactly, he was talking about. “So—you haven’t been actively going until you came back to Laramie?” He’d been in church since she’d known him.

He sat down, taking her hand in his.
“Sara, I—I doubted everything after Valerie died. My father’s death . . . well, it was different than when I lost Valerie.” Beau looked away and leaned back into the couch.

Sara
tried to register what, exactly, he was saying. In a way that made sense to her—he’d been hurt by his father and—even worse—he’d watched his mother be hurt. She squeezed his hand. “I get it, Beau. I mean, I get why you felt that way.”

Tur
ning back to her, his eyes looked tired and watery. “But—after I lost Valerie—it’s like . . .” He gripped her hand so tight she almost pulled away from him. “It’s like I couldn’t see past the hurt. The pain—watching her body go through those treatments. The sadness on her face as I watched her become emaciated.” Tears streamed down his face, and he wiped them angrily.

“She wanted kids—lots of kids,”
he said in a soft voice. “And she kept telling me to find someone else because I was young and to have lots of kids and to . . . forgive her. Forgive her for leaving.” His face scrunched up in agony. “She wanted me to forgive her? I was her husband. I should have brought her back at the first sign of pain. I should have known. I should have known.” Beau put his head down.

Sara
pulled him into her arms, rubbing his back softly as he cried.

Her heart was breaking.
“I’m sorry.” It was awful. “Life is just so confusing sometimes.” All she could really compare his grief to was the pain of losing her father.

Pulling back fr
om him she looked into his eyes and said, “I remember my father telling me once that he missed my mom. And that—she’d told him to raise us with faith—that that’s all she wanted—was for us to know the Lord.” Her heart beat faster and she sighed. “I bet your wife is proud of you—for being the good man that you are.”

“No—I’m not.”
He sucked in his breath and shook his head for emphasis.

“Hey—
you take care of your mom—you are so good to Martha and Larry. You have a natural kindness for people—hey, you even stopped to help me that day.” She beamed at him. “Even though I was rude.”

He laughed, wiping at his tears.
“Yeah—you were.”

Swiping at him, she laughed too.
“Hey—” She took his hand again. “You okay?”

Beau nodded.

Sara smiled, loving his touch, knowing she could get lost in it.

“
Sara. I need to you to know that I made some mistakes. Some big mistakes.”

She shrugged.
“I have a past too.”

“No.”
He quickly broke away from her and stood up again. “I don’t think you realize what I mean.”

Sara
watched him pace. It reminded her of her brother, Mark, when he was restless. She let her breath out slowly. “Beau, what happened to you was tragic, but life is all about new beginnings, right? My dad used to say that the best part of life was the unwritten part.” She smiled slowly. “He kinda made fun of my five-year plan too.”

Beau sat down again, next to her.
His eyes looked worried. “I don’t think you understand.”

“Have you repented?”
Sara stuck her chin out.

Forcing his hands into the pockets of his t-shirt
, he nodded. “I am repenting.” The look he gave her was like a little kid, unsure if his parents would love him again or not after he’d defied their wishes.

Thoughts of him not helping with the priesthood blessing for Larry flashed through her mind.
Now she understood why he had held back. Looking at his face she noticed a far deeper pain there than she had once imagined. He had lost his wife. And he felt like he was responsible.

“Do you have a testimony, Beau?”
She couldn’t believe she was asking this . . . but she needed to know.

Frowning—he slumped down into the couch.
“Yes. That’s the only thing that’s kept me sane.”

Sara
looked at him differently now—trying to evaluate what kind of a man he really was. Then she made her decision. “Then I don’t want to know.” She nodded firmly and told herself that she didn’t. “I heard a talk once about how when you’ve repented—truly repented for something—you don’t have to go around and explain yourself to people. Like you don’t have to tell everyone your past—it’s not who you are anymore. So you move on. That’s what I think you should do—move on.” She nodded again, trying to convince him. But she couldn’t explain why a dull ache formed in the pit of her stomach.

Gradually one side of his lip turned up and then he smiled, relenting.
“Okay, Sara—but if there’s ever a time you want to know.”

She put her finger up in the air in warning.
“I don’t. Not now.” She couldn’t promise never—but not now.

“I don’t know why the Lord allowed someone so wonderful into my life, but I won’t c
omplain about it.”

Leaning back into the couch
, his aftershave filled her and she closed her eyes, taking a breath. The pain was fading from her stomach and she relaxed.

His hand brushed against her hair
.

She stared back at him.
Hardly able to breathe, to think, to do anything but get lost in him.

Th
is time his kiss wasn’t quick, but it lingered. “I love you, Sara.” The words formed against her lips. He kissed her softly, again. “And—thank you.”

“You’ve broken the rules like five times.
I think you’ll be docked for that, Mr. Hennings.” Their foreheads were still pressed together, but she knew she didn’t sound very convincing.

“Really?”
He was doubtful.

“Really.”
She easily grabbed for her water sitting on the edge of the chair rest and poured it over him.

His mouth gaped
open. “I cannot believe you just took advantage of me like that.”

Sara
laughed and turned to run for the stairs. Beau quickly threw his water on her. The cold jarred her senses, and she collapsed onto the floor in a fit of laughter.

He started laughing too and
sat beside her, taking her hand.

“Well,”
she said, smiling at him, “I think this will be a fabulous Thanksgiving.” Beau’s words were still seeping into her—rolling around her like the wake of the ocean. Would the—
I love you
turn into bubbles and disappear if she didn’t say it back?

Chapter 32

Thanksgiving Day she woke to the smell of turkey. She and Ellen had prepared it the night before and stuck it in the oven around midnight. The company was coming over around noon. Sara stood, pushing back the curtains. The sun was bright, and the snow was melting. The interstate had finally been reopened yesterday evening, and Sara assumed that everyone would be able to make it out.

Looking around the room,
Sara couldn’t get over how comfortable it was. This was one of his three guest rooms, except this one was extra special—with a white, plush rug in front of a small fireplace in a sitting area. And it also had a fancy bathroom with a tiled walk in shower and soaking bathtub with jets. She went immediately to the shower and then back to her room, where she found the clothes she’d worn Tuesday laundered and ready for her to wear.

Sara
got dressed and called Mark.

“Well, hello, sister.”

“Hey.” She felt her heart breaking thinking about all of them. “I miss you guys.”

“I know, s
is, me too. But we are going to have a rockin Thanksgiving. Rosie’s been cooking, and the house smells great. James asked a couple of people in the ward to come that don’t have anywhere to go and one of them is a girl that just moved here, and she is single.”

Sara
laughed, her brother never changed. He was easily distracted at the prospect of having new girls in the house. “Well, good. Is James or Tim close by?”

Mark passed
the phone to each one of them, and they both sounded good, telling her that they missed her and they looked forward to being together at Christmas.

Sara
sat on the bed, looking out of the window, her hair was still wet.

A knock sounded
at the door.

“Come in.”

“Breakfast is served.”
He stepped in and put a tray filled with cereal and toast and fruit on the table next to the window.

Sara
laughed. “I could get used to this.” She moved to the small table, and Beau slipped into the chair opposite of her.

“I hope so.”
He looked at her meaningfully, and then said a prayer over the food.

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

Sara nodded. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

They began eating
, and Sara looked at the tiny marks on the plates and teased, “Butterfly dishes are so manly?”

He laughed.
“Mom got these for me. She’s always saying I need a woman’s touch around here. She takes good care of me.”

Touching the butterfly wings on the plate lightly
, Sara reflected, “It seems you both take good care of each other.”

Beau shrugged.
“I guess we do.”