Save the Date (34 page)

Unlovable
.

Unworthy
.

Alone
.

She watched kid after kid go up to the stage and nail their lies, ridding themselves of the deceptive words that had been stuck to their own hearts, but now were being taken by the two beams of the cross.

Lucy flinched with each strike of the hammer, and she imagined the lies dying and breaths of freedom taking their place.

She wanted that.

God, I’m listening. Everything’s been so screwed up. I want it to be simple. I want to see the truth. Take this weight from me now
.

“I’ll be right back.” Fighting embarrassment, she stood up and sidestepped past Alex, her knees brushing his. When he grabbed her hand, she stopped.

Looking down, she studied those eyes so focused on hers.

She thought he would say something, but he only squeezed her fingers. Then let her go.

Heart galloping, Lucy walked down the aisle.

Help me to truly give these things up to you. Replace my lies with truth
.

And Lucy swung the hammer.

Until the cross held it all.

Chapter Thirty-seven

T
hursday brought cooler temperatures and skies drippy with rain. It did nothing but fuel Lucy’s blue mood. Last night’s event with local farmers’ representatives had gone well. Alex had played the part of the doting fiancé as he’d mixed and mingled, chatting it up about government subsidies and regulations. Over the last few months he had transitioned from untouchable athlete and cover model to a voice of the average Joe. He had worn them down with his charismatic personality, while his opponent, a man with an impressive political résumé, trailed behind.

All week Lucy had spent her lunch hour at the campaign office, making calls to potential voters and asking for their support. The election was all over the national news, and Americans watched to see if their favorite quarterback could make the ultimate touchdown.

She parked her car in the front of Clare’s house and scurried inside, holding an umbrella over her head. She could smell dinner cooking as she entered the foyer. The scent hinted at roast, but knowing Julian, it wasn’t just any traditional recipe. She had gained five pounds since moving in with Clare. Her landlord had informed her it would be at least another week until her apartment was ready. If Lucy didn’t get back to her apartment soon, she would have to buy a whole new wardrobe. With elastic waistbands.

“In here, sweetness!”

Lucy followed Julian’s voice to the living room, stopping in the doorway. He and Clare sat hip to hip on one of the overstuffed couches. Clare, barefoot, with her bifocals perched on the end of her nose. And Julian, his face covered in a mud mask and a Bible in his lap. Just like Clare. Further proof that parallel universes did exist.

“You’re home late.” Clare pulled off her red frames. “Working late—again?”

The implication shone in the room like the French bronze lamps on either side of the couch. She knew what they thought—that Lucy had been avoiding them. Avoiding Alex unless duty called. “I was at the hospital with Marinell.”

“How is Carlos?” Julian asked.

“Worse. They’re running out of time, and so far, no matching donor.”

Marinell now stayed full-time in her mother’s house, as the two women kept constant vigils at Carlos’s bedside. Though her grades had been abysmal, Marinell had passed summer school and could now give her brother all of her attention.

“What are you guys doing?” Lucy moved farther into the room and sat in a gold-striped chair.

“We’re trying to read our Bibles.” Julian slanted Clare a frustrated look. “But
she
keeps stopping and asking a million questions.”

“We’re going to read through this whole book this year,” Clare said.

Julian rolled his eyes. “We’ve been stuck in Genesis for three months.”

“It’s rather confusing,” Clare said. “And I keep thinking of all these questions I want to ask Jesus when I arrive in heaven.”

“If that occurs
after
you finish the Bible, you won’t get there ’til next century.”

Lucy smiled at Julian. She would miss seeing him every day when she moved out. “What parts don’t you understand?” she asked.

“Here we go.” Julian leaned back and waved his hands over his goop-covered face.

“Like this Eve woman.” Clare tapped her burgundy fingernail on a page. “She always gets the blame, but from what I can tell, she was wronged and deceived. If you had been in her shoes, it would’ve sounded so logical, it had to be right.”

Echoes of Chuck’s Sunday lesson waltzed through Lucy’s head.

“But God told her and Adam not to eat from the tree,” Lucy said. “He was pretty clear on that one.”

“But he didn’t tell her that Satan would come and try to convince her to do otherwise. The Devil made her believe his lies. Don’t you get it?” Clare scooted to the edge of the couch and locked her eyes on Lucy. “I’m Eve.”

Julian snorted. “I think you mean Methuselah.”

Clare shook her white head. “I believed lies too. I thought my image was everything. The devil had me convinced that your mother wanted our name, our money.”

Lucy’s fingers curled into the fabric on the armrests.

“I only saw the worst in her.” Clare paused to make sure Lucy was listening. “And the best in my son. Sure, it sounds ridiculous now— especially from your point of view. But it was as true to me as knowing roses are red and snow is cold.”

The days had been leading to this moment. God had been gently nudging Lucy toward this time, this conversation. And now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say.

“Lucy, haven’t you ever believed things about others or yourself that weren’t true?”

Julian nodded. “I once thought I looked good in paisley.”

“Have you?” Clare was a woman used to commanding a room, and today was no exception.

“Yes.” The past pushed to the forefront, screaming for retribution, but Lucy had nailed those words to the cross. Left them there so mercy could take their place.

“I thought I was protecting my family,” Clare said. “That’s what I believed. What about the lies you’re believing?”

Lucy didn’t want her to say anything more. She felt open, as exposed as the night of the Sinclair gala when her dress had fallen apart.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Lucy. You’re just as good as anyone else. You think I don’t see the way you cower at social events? How you avoid certain people?” Clare set her Bible aside on the couch. “You were rejected as a child, and I’d give up all my Sinclair stock to go back and change it. But you’ve lived your life anticipating the cold shoulder from everyone ever since, and you can’t go on that way.”

Tears dampened Lucy’s lashes as she once again heard the hammer striking the nails.

“Do you forgive her?” Julian asked, impatient with the whole thing. “Clare needs the words.”

Lucy’s mind tried to conjure up just the right thing to say.

Julian stood up. “I think there’s something you should see.”

“I’m hungry,” Clare said in a rush. “Maybe we should eat first and—”

“No.” He braced his hands on his hips and stared both women down like he was Spartacus come to deliver his people. “We’re settling this tonight. There are things she needs to know.”

Lucy didn’t need any more family revelations, but she got up and followed Julian down the hall.

He walked into the study, went to a gilded cabinet, and pulled out the deep middle drawer. His fingers dug through the contents until he found what he wanted.

“Here.” Julian grabbed a book and rested it on a desk with a plop. “Look at this.”

Lucy heard Clare come into the room, but she didn’t even spare her a glance. She was pulled to the book like a magnet on steel. It was a photo album. There was an oval cutout on the cover, and the picture peeking through was one of her. At the age of three.

“You’re not the only one who can make a scrapbook.” Julian had helped her put together the one she had created for Alex. And he had known Clare had kept this all along.

Lucy sat down in the office chair and opened to the first page. Lucy’s birth announcement was pasted in the center, a yellowed newspaper clipping that announced her arrival. Her father’s name wasn’t mentioned.

She continued to leaf through the pages, her heart filling with every picture. One of her in the first grade at a dance recital. Her ponytail was crooked and her front two teeth were missing. Lucy remembered when the performance was over, her mother had met her backstage, bearing a single rose for the star.

On page five there was a copy of her eighth-grade report card. She had made the honor roll. She lifted her head in question. How had Clare gotten that?

“You thought you were on scholarship at that snooty school.” He cocked his head toward Clare. “Here’s your benefactor.”

“Why?” Lucy asked.

Clare fingered the gold chain at her throat. “I wanted your mother to have every penny for taking care of you. I knew she wouldn’t send you to some place like Montrose Academy. But I thought you needed to go. And maybe you were miserable there, but I believe it made you who you are today—strong and independent.”

Lucy continued to turn the pages, overwhelmed by every one. There was a small blurb from a wrinkled newspaper, describing Lucy’s acceptance into the University of Florida, and her resulting scholarship. Her eyes lifted again. “You?”

“You got in all on your own,” Clare said quietly. “But I might’ve chipped in a bit on the tuition.”

“How much?”

Julian answered for Lucy’s grandmother. “All of it.”

It took a moment for the lump in her throat to go down. “And my mother knew this?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I made it all look very official and convincing.”

The room was silent, save for the small thud of Lucy shutting the book. She pushed it aside, got up from the chair, and went to Clare. The woman’s face was a canvas of uncertainty and fear.

Lucy enfolded her grandmother in her arms and pulled her to her. “I love you, Clare.” The hurt was an old Band-Aid that had become fused to her heart, and it was time to rip it away. “I didn’t expect to love you and didn’t want to, but I do.” It was the new theme of Lucy’s life these days, but it felt good to let the words run free.

The dignified woman broke into a sob on Lucy’s shoulder. “Tell me you forgive me. Please—I’ve waited so long to hear the words.”

Bitterness over her grandmother would die in this room and never rear its ugly head again. “I forgive you.”

Clare shut her eyes against the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea what those words do to me— how long I’ve waited to hear them.” She pulled a tissue from her pants pocket and daubed at her face.

“But I’m through wearing your clothes. I have to be me.”

“No more pantsuits?”

“I don’t know that I love anyone that much.”

Julian grinned. “I’ll help you burn them.”

“I do have one last thing to share with you.” Clare took a weary breath. “Two weeks after I handed your mother that check, I received one of my own—from her.” She walked to an imposing wooden file cabinet and retrieved a folder. “Anna returned all the money. I never heard from her after that. If she ever caught a glimpse of me at any of your school events, she never said a word. On the very day I got that check in the mail, I took it to my financial advisor. And invested it.” She handed Lucy the folder. “It’s yours. All of it.”

A chill enveloped Lucy, and her hands shook as she opened up the portfolio. The latest statement rested on top, and Lucy read over the numbers. Once. Twice. It was an astronomical amount of money.

“My advisor is quite good,” Clare said. “Your money has done very well.”

She shook her head. “I can’t”—she couldn’t get the air into her lungs—“I can’t accept this. It’s not mine.”

“You can and you will.” Clare lifted her aristocratic nose. “I’ve been burdened with that money for years. It’s hung over my head like a curse. I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you—when I knew you would be ready to accept it.”

“But I’m not ready.”

“This isn’t about you,” Clare said. “It’s about me—finally letting the last piece of this go. You have no choice but to claim it.”

The zeroes on the page ran together until Lucy had to look away. It was more money than she could spend in a lifetime. More than enough to refuse Alex’s payment and fund Saving Grace on her own.

“I hate to break it to you, dear.” Clare rested a gentle hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “But you are rich.”

Oh, the irony was too much. All those years Lucy had been made to feel like the poor girl from the wrong side of town. Not good enough. Different. Uncultured. And now this. God must surely be laughing.

Clare ran her hand over Lucy’s unruly curls. “You have given me a gift—more than I ever thought I deserved.”

“Ohhh, group hug!” Julian gathered the two women to his chest and squeezed them tight.

“Julian,” came Clare’s muffled voice. “You’re getting that brown junk all over my cheek.”

“Girl”—he reached around and tweaked Clare on the nose—“ain’t nobody ever died from extra moisturizer.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

L
ucy sat at the dinner table the next evening and wondered where the last hour had gone. At some point she had eaten a few bites.

“I’m gonna try and not take this personal,” Julian said as he carried her untouched piece of pie into the kitchen.

Her brain was filled with fog, rolling mists of thoughts and apprehensions that wouldn’t leave her alone. If she had been given Clare’s money months ago, she’d never have agreed to Alex's wild scheme. Never have fallen head-over-discount-heels in love with him.

But she wouldn’t have touched a dime of Clare’s money even a few short weeks ago. She still wasn’t completely sure she could now.

Julian returned to the dining room, holding out a phone. “One dreamboat holding for Lucy Wiltshire,” he said, then went back to the kitchen.

As if her very thoughts had conjured him, Alex spoke into her ear. “I know you’re still mad at me—”

“I’m not mad.” She was a million different things, but not that.