The Wishing Season (33 page)

“He quit. Cole forfeited, so they gave the house to me.”

Mom leaned against the swing’s A-frame, appearing to digest the information. A playful dispute broke out on the court.

“Is that what’s bothering you? You don’t feel like you earned it?”

PJ shook her head, looking at her mom. “The presentation I prepared—it wasn’t for me. I was going to make the case that Cole should have the house. That Crossroads should stay open and expand.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because he was doing a worthy thing. Because those kids need help. Because he knew how to make a difference in their lives. Because he needs—so badly—to help others, Mom. His family died in a car accident, and he feels responsible for their deaths. It wasn’t his fault, he was only twelve, but all these years
he’s carried that guilt. I think Crossroads was his do-over, his chance to save those kids. And I couldn’t stand the thought of him losing that.”

“Did he tell you that—that it’s his do-over?”

“I don’t even think he’s aware of what he’s doing.”

Mom’s face softened. Her eyes homed in on PJ, and she gave her a knowing look. “You love him.”

The certainty of her mom’s tone sank deep down inside PJ, opening spaces that had been closed for years. Seeping into crevices she didn’t know existed, filling her with its weighty truth.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her eyes burning. “I do.”

She did love him. Loved the way he gave so much of himself, loved the way he protected her, the way he touched her, so tenderly, the way he looked at her, his green eyes as deep and fathomless as the ocean.

“I know I’ve made bad choices in the past. I’ve picked some real losers, more than you even know about . . .” She met Mom’s gaze. “But Cole’s not one of them. He’s a good man, Mom. He’s special. He’s—he’s perfect for me. Only he doesn’t want me.”

She gave herself a straitjacket hug. “I don’t even know what happened. One minute we were together and everything was fine, and the next he’s breaking up with me, saying we’re not good for each other.”

Something shifted in her mom’s face. Her eyes clouded.

“I don’t understand why he broke up with me. I don’t understand why he needed miles between us so badly that he gave up his dream. All I know is the house is too quiet. My arms are too empty, and my heart is in a million pieces.”

Mom’s eyes glassed over, and some unidentified emotion scurried across her face. “Oh, PJ. I’m so sorry.”

Mia’s startled cry carried across the lawn, and Mom rushed toward her. The baby was stuck inside the car. Mom scooped her from the coupe and soothed her with quiet words, brushing the tears from Mia’s chubby cheeks.

When the baby was pacified, Mom walked toward the house with Mia on her hip. She gestured for PJ to come along. “Let’s go see how your dad’s doing with Ava.”

PJ numbly tagged behind. She’d thought she’d feel better once she unloaded her burden, but it turned out that the same heavy weight that had followed her there still sat squarely on her shoulders.

Chapter Forty-Six

C
OLE PULLED INTO HIS APARTMENT LOT AND PARKED HIS
truck in the empty space assigned him. The sun had set behind his building, washing it with gray in the waning light. He left his truck and skirted a couple kids coloring the sidewalk with chalk.

Somewhere in the building a baby cried. The smells of Mexican food filtered from someone’s apartment, making his stomach growl. All he wanted was a plate of food, a shower, and his bed.

He’d been working dawn to dusk for three weeks. His hands were calloused and his body ached, but at least he was keeping busy. Getting tired enough that sleep crept up on him at night no matter how troubled he felt inside.

Becky and Greg had dragged him to their counselor the minute he’d returned to town. Somehow they’d talked him into going twice a week. It was hard. Painful. But the counselor was patient, and Cole was sorting out some things. Things about Lizzy. Things about his family.

He opened the main door and trudged up the stairs. The building smelled like a mixture of mold and cigarette smoke instead of fresh flowers and haute cuisine. The brown carpet was faded and frayed, the iron handrails chipped and cold to the
touch. The stairs didn’t creak faintly under his feet, and the rail was too skinny to fill the curvature of his palm.

He took the second set of steps, fishing his keys from his pocket. A woman sat on the floor by his door.

Cole stopped at the top. What was she doing here? “Mrs. McKinley . . .”

“Cole.” Her head came off the wall as she straightened, meeting his gaze. Her knees were pulled up, her arms folded on them. She looked more like a little girl than a fiftysomething mother and grandmother.

She stood, brushing her hair behind her ear in a movement so like PJ it made him ache inside.

PJ. A chilling thought flittered through his brain, snagging hard. “Is PJ—is she okay?”

“Yes, yes, she’s fine. It’s nothing like that.” The woman gave a sheepish smile. “She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

He regarded her for a long minute, trying to fathom why she’d made the long drive.

“Can I come inside? Just for a minute?”

He immediately thought of the barren state of his apartment, of last night’s dishes left in the sink. But curiosity prevailed. “Ah, sure.”

He let them in and gestured to the sofa. He remembered her tidy farmhouse and wished he could vaporize the ball of socks, the empty coffee mug, the junk mail scattered across the coffee table.

“Can I get you anything?” He thought of the paltry selection in his fridge. He couldn’t remember his last grocery run. “Water? Coffee?”

She perched on the edge of the couch. “No, thank you. I
went out for a bite while I waited for you. There’s a nice little diner just down the street.”

He took the other end of the sofa as an uncomfortable silence thickened the air between them.

“How’d you find me?”

“We moms have our ways.” She fiddled with her purse strap, winding it around her small hand as she took in the apartment.

“How is she? PJ?” His heart thumped hard in anticipation of her answer. For a sliver of news that might satisfy his hunger.

“Not so good, if you want to know the truth. You up and left without so much as a good-bye.” Her tone softened the harsh words.

“I’d have thought you’d be pleased about that.”

Her eyes squeezed in a wince, and she looked down at her lap. “You’re very direct.”

“I see no need to beat around the bush.”

She met his gaze. “You’re right. I did want you out of PJ’s life. I looked at what I knew of you and filed you with all her loser ex-boyfriends. That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have judged you, shouldn’t have butted in, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You came all the way here for that?”

“I told you in person you were wrong for her. Least I can do is admit I was wrong face-to-face.”

He gave her props for going the extra mile. “I appreciate that. But you were right about some of it.” He wasn’t good for PJ. She deserved so much more.

“No, I don’t think I was.”

He wasn’t going to argue. There was no point. He leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees, wishing she’d leave before he said something stupid. Before he begged her for more
news of PJ. Something good. Something to warm him up. Something he could take with him to bed at night.

“She’s in love with you, you know.”

His heart constricted painfully. He rubbed at the spot as if he could soothe it. Hope rose, and he squashed it down firmly. He didn’t dare look at her. She was a perceptive woman, and his feelings for PJ were hovering way too close to the surface.

“She thinks you left because of her. That you couldn’t get away from her soon enough.”

He ached inside at the thought. He never wanted to hurt her. It was better this way. She’d get over it. Get over him. Better he let her down now than later when she was all in.

“I know I’m being a nosy mom again, but I don’t think she’s right. I think you took to heart the things I said. That perhaps I added to the erroneous things you already believed about yourself, and I’m so sorry for that.”

He’d barely begun scratching the surface of that in counseling. Just thinking about it made anxiety worm through him. He sure didn’t want to discuss it with PJ’s mom.

“I’m sure PJ must’ve told you we lost a son . . . Michael. Nothing can prepare you for something like that. The depth of grief, the overwhelming darkness . . .” She gave Cole a penetrating look. “The guilt . . .”

He looked away, clenching his jaw.

“I know all about guilt. You don’t lose a teenaged son and not ask yourself the questions. Why did I let him go swimming? Why wasn’t I there with him? What kind of mother am I? The guilt can eat you alive.”

“What did you do?”

“I wallowed in it. For a while. I screamed at God and begged
for answers until my voice was gone. Cried more tears than I knew I had. But I had countless friends who prayed with me and for me and held me up when I didn’t think I could take another breath.

“Eventually the darkness lifted, and I came to realize I had three other children who needed me. A husband who was hurting too. I remembered that God loved me enough to give me seventeen years with Michael, loved me enough to give him a home much better than the one he had here. Loved me enough to give me assurance that I’d be with him again someday. There’s beautiful peace in that.”

But what about the guilt? What about the wretched unworthiness that lived down deep inside, that swallowed him alive?

“But the guilt,” she said. “That took awhile. We think we’re in control of things, and moms are probably especially bad about that. We think if we do the right thing everything will work out for the best, and our kids will be healthy and safe.

“But God has a plan, and even though we don’t understand the why of it, we can remember that He loved us enough to send His Son to die for us. He settled His love right there, on the cross, and anything else that happens, I can trust Him to know what’s best. Not understand it. Not take responsibility for it. Just trust.” She gave him a wry smile. “Easier said than done, I know.”

Her words opened something inside him. Something light and freeing. Someone else had been through the fire and come out the other side. He knew God loved him, but trusting was hard. And the guilt was buried so deeply he didn’t know how to dig it out.

“Just let go of it, Cole. God doesn’t want you carrying around that guilt. He doesn’t want you alone and miserable. He
made you for better things. We’ve only got one life. One chance. Don’t waste it.”

Cole felt a burning behind his eyes and blinked it away. He thought of those applications he’d tossed in the trash, those kids who needed him. He thought of PJ. Did she really love him? He couldn’t speak. His throat was swollen and raw.

“I love my kids—every one of them. I’m still trying to do my best by them, even though I can’t control their lives, and when I see one of them hurting needlessly . . .” She gave a sheepish smile. “Well, I’m a mom.” She hitched her purse on her shoulder. “I should let you get back to your evening. You’ve had a long day, and I have a long drive back.”

He stood numbly and walked her to the door. “Thanks for coming all this way, Mrs. McKinley.”

“Think about what I said. You’re a good man, Cole. I’d hate to see you miss all the great things God has in store for you.” She opened the door and turned to him. “And, Cole . . . it’s Mama Jo.” She patted his cheek gently then pulled the door closed.

Chapter Forty-Seven

PJ
FLIPPED OFF THE LIGHTS AND MADE SURE THE EXTERIOR
lights were on. It was early to retire, but she was out of things to do. Her cooking class had been canceled at the last minute. The ladies of the Rotary had a fund-raising event tomorrow morning and needed extra time for final preparations.

PJ changed into her pajamas, settled into bed, and flipped on the TV, needing the sound of voices filling the house. She spotted her laptop on the nightstand. She should work on a website for the B & B. The closing was only three days away. She should be nearly ready to open; instead, the upstairs remained untouched.

She stayed busy enough through the day, or tried to. But nighttime came and memories charged in like unwelcome guests, making themselves at home in her brain. She indulged them until tears spilled down her cheeks and soaked into her pillow.

Enough of that. You have to stop this, PJ. He’s gone. He doesn’t love you. You have to move on.

But her heart sang a different tune. Her heart wondered if he thought about her sometimes too. If he missed her touch. If he lay in bed thinking of what could have been.

But he was the one who left.

She really had to stop this. She plugged in her cell and started
channel surfing. Nothing was on Monday nights, nothing that would occupy her mind.

A scratch at the window made her jump. Stupid branch. Every time it was windy, the scratching spooked her. She needed to trim the tree.

Had she locked the front door? She’d unbolted it earlier for her class. Normally it wasn’t a big deal, but since her trouble with Keaton she’d been diligent, especially now that she was alone in the house.

Heaving a sigh, she pulled herself from her comfy bed and padded from her room. The wood planking was cool, and bits of dirt stuck to her bare feet, reminding her it was time to sweep.

She walked through the kitchen, startling when the dishwasher changed cycles. She was jumpy tonight, for no good reason.

The house smelled faintly of garlic and thyme from the roasted chateaubriand she’d experimented with earlier. The beef had turned out tender and flavorful. If she added it to the menu, it would be her most expensive dish—a culinary treat for special occasions.

The exterior lights filtered through the leaded transom window, guiding her to the foyer. A shuffling noise sounded on the porch. It was only a squirrel or the wind.

The doorknob clicked.

Her heart hammered, pounding up in her ears. Thoughts raced. Keaton. No phone. No help. She reached for something, anything—an umbrella left by a customer weeks ago. She pulled it from the stand and cocked it back as the door swung open. A large shadow entered boldly. She closed her eyes and swung the umbrella like a bat, the wooden handle connecting.