Together With You (29 page)

P
aul Mason didn't budge. “If you don't mind, I'd rather see that car of yours.”

“The Impala?”

“Carly says it's a beaut.”

“It is.” Paul was either passionate about classic cars, or he wanted to have this conversation as far from Carly as possible. Either way, Ryan was proud of his life and hoped Paul would be impressed by the financial security he could offer Carly.

Ryan led the way to the side garage, punched the code into the keypad, and watched Paul's face as the door lumbered up. When it creaked to a halt, Ryan stepped inside and turned on the fluorescent lights.

Paul let out a whistle. “Ain't that a prize!”

“You can drive it if you'd like,” Ryan offered. “Anytime.”

“I just might do that. My daddy owned an Impala.” Circling the car with his arms crossed, Paul remarked on everything from the upholstery to the pristine paint to the AM radio. Ryan popped the hood, and they talked horsepower. When the conversation lulled,
Paul led the way out of the garage, paused in the driveway, and faced Ryan.

Both men knew why they were here, so Ryan cut to the chase. “I love your daughter, sir. I want to marry her.”

“I can't say I'm surprised.”

“I wanted to meet you before proposing to her, even ask your blessing. But the Anacapa trip stirred things up. I asked her last night.”

“I figured that.” His gravelly voice scraped away what was left of the car banter. “Judging by that pitiful look on her face, it didn't go well.”

“No.”

“I'll be straight with you, Ryan.” Paul hooked his thumbs in his pockets and jutted one knee. “I know my daughter inside and out, and your phone call was no surprise. She has feelings for you—strong ones. But she's fighting them tooth and nail. What I want to hear from you is why.”

Let the grilling begin.
“I'm an agnostic,” Ryan said bluntly. “Carly's bothered by that.”

“Bothered, huh?”

“More than bothered,” he admitted. “But I love her. And I respect her faith and yours. That's why I invited you here. I want to do things her way.”

“Do you, now?”

“Yes.”

The reverend paused a moment. “Are you sleeping with her?”

Ryan's brows shot up. “No, sir. Like I said, I respect her views.”

“Well, good,” he said. “I won't have to haul you into church for a quickie wedding.”

Was he
serious
? It's not like they were living in 1899, or even 1955. Ryan barely kept his jaw from dropping, but then he saw Paul's eyes crinkle into a smile, and he knew he'd been hoodwinked.

Paul clapped him on the arm. “Don't worry, son. I left the
shotgun at home. But you just told me something important. I believe you about respecting Carly's faith.”

“Good.”

“But I have to wonder if respect is enough.”

“I believe it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He folded his arms again. “We'll have that talk another time. Right now my concern is for Carly Jo. The way I see it, you have a problem. My little girl loves you. She also loves God. If you don't understand that part of her character, she won't be happy with you. And because she loves you, she won't be happy without you.”

“I'll make her happy.”

“You can't.”

Ryan balked at his arrogance. “I can try.”

“I respect your good intentions, son. But you'll fail.” The reverend paused to let the words sink in. “No man can love a woman as much as God loves her. And if that man doesn't love God”—Paul indicated the Impala with an open palm—“he's like a car without gas in it. You can press the pedal all you want, but you won't get out of the garage.”

“I can't argue about the car,” Ryan admitted. “But human beings aren't machines. We make choices. Like I said, Carly and I will live her way.”

“But you can't,” Paul said, a bit exasperated now. “To do things Carly's way, you have to be the spiritual head of your household.”

The notion struck Ryan as old-fashioned. “I'd say we're equals.”

“Oh no, you're not.” Paul's eyes twinkled. “My daughter is better than you six ways to Sunday.”

Ryan laughed. “You're right about that.”

“You bet I am.” Paul held up his hands in seeming surrender to all womankind. “My wife was too good for me, too. You know how the Bible describes creation in the book of Genesis, how it evolves from dirt to plants, then animals, and finally to human
beings? Every time, what God created became more complex. He made woman last. That tells me she's the best thing he ever made.” His eyes twinkled some more. “I happen to agree rather strongly.”

“So do I.” Ryan liked Paul a lot. No wonder Carly was so solid. She and her father were a lot alike.

“I have one last question for you.” As quick as a blink, the humor drained from his face.

“What is it?”

“Are you willing to die for my daughter?”

Ryan opened his mouth to say
of course,
but Paul held up a hand to stop him. “Don't give me drivel about taking a bullet for her. You need to think about what dyin' for a person really means.”

That
drivel
echoed what Ryan had told Carly on the island. He meant it, and he still did, but the claim sounded juvenile compared to the question hanging in the air now.
Dying
for Carly meant more than giving his physical life for her. It meant offering up his heart and mind on the altar of blind faith.

After a long look, Paul walked away. Ryan stared at his ramrod spine until curiosity got the better of him. “Sir?”

Paul stopped, turned slowly, then stood with his hands loose at his sides while he waited for Ryan to speak.

“You're not what I was expecting.”

Puckering his lips, he rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Lemme guess here. Y'all were expectin' a country preacher with a snake in one hand and a Bible in the other, or maybe a prune-faced killjoy preachin' at folks to shape up or ship out.”

“More or less.”

“Let me set you straight.” Paul spoke without a hint of Kentucky. “I hold a degree in physics from MIT and a doctorate from Harvard Divinity School. I've visited sixteen countries, written two books, and read a thousand others. But don't let that pedigree fool you, Ryan. The degrees are nothing compared to the wisdom in the
Bible and the experience of knowing Jesus Christ. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak to Carly.”

“Of course.”

Ryan stayed behind until Paul strode through the back gate; then he went to unload the van. It promised to be an interesting visit for everyone, especially Ryan, who had a sudden craving for a cigarette.

While her father spoke with Ryan, Carly took a hot shower, put on fresh clothes, and wrestled with the chaos of the past twenty-four hours. She didn't know what she expected her father to say when he tapped on the open door to her room, but it wasn't a request for one of her mother's pecan pies. She knew the recipe by heart, so they headed to the supermarket for the ingredients. They were in the baking aisle, talking about Moon Pies and Ale 8, when her father laid his hand on her arm. “Carly, I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“If you had one day left on this earth, who would you spend it with?”

It was just like her father to catch her off guard. She put a bag of pecans into the cart, or the buggy, as she would have called it back home. “It would be Ryan. I love him.”

“I thought so.”

“I tried to stop the feelings, but Daddy, I just couldn't.” She couldn't bear to look into his eyes. If she married Ryan, she'd miss her family terribly. “It's all too much, too strong—”

“Love is like that.” Absently, or maybe deliberately, he nudged her forward. “What else do we need for your mother's pie?”

“Corn syrup.” She ambled down the aisle with her dad at her side. It was like being at the new Kroger in Boomer, and she felt more like herself than she had in days. “I'm glad you're here, Daddy. The situation is just so complicated.”

“Because Ryan's not a Christian?”

“Yes, but there's more.”
Just say it,
she told herself. “It's about my own faith, who I am. After he proposed, we got into an argument. Ryan tried to be nice, but he said if I really believed in God, I'd forgive myself for what happened with Allison.”

“He's a logical man.” Her father indicated the corn syrup on the top shelf and out of her reach. “Light or dark?”

“Light.”

He put it into the cart, and Carly moved on. “I might as well get milk while I'm here. The boys drink it by the gallon.”

Her father sauntered along next to her, saying nothing so she could think for herself. When she picked up the milk, she faced him again. “Ryan thinks I'm a Christian only because I was raised that way. I wanted to say that it isn't true, but in some ways he's right. Like with Allison. If I really believe I'm forgiven, why couldn't I set down the guilt before we found her?”

“You're human and you care.”

“I do,” she said, pushing the cart toward the bread aisle. The boys ate a lot of that, too. “I tried my best to help Allison, but I failed. I just wasn't good enough.”

Her father put his hand on her shoulder. “Ah, Carly.”

She faced him. “What?”

“I hate to see you hurting, but I'm relieved.”

“Why?”

“Because Ryan made you see something I've worried about since your mother died. Somehow you got it in your head that you have to save the world. But you can't.”

“I know that.”

“In your mind, yes.” His eyes drilled into hers. “But in your heart, you're hanging on to the notion that if you're good enough, bad things won't happen. That's just not true.”

She scowled at the criticism, or maybe it was her pride putting up a fight. “What do you mean?”

Her father lowered his hand but kept her pinned in place with his eyes. “What we want from God and what we need don't always match up. We want pecan pie, and God serves up porridge. We want happy endings, but sometimes people suffer and die. It's trite to say everything works out in the end, but it does—as long as you know the end is eternity and beyond our grasp.”

He gave her a chance to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth.

“Do you know that, Carly Jo? Or are you grasping at straws in the here-and-now, hanging on to what
you
can do rather than trusting God, because you're afraid and reasonably so. Sometimes He takes us to dark places, like when your mama died.”

She opened her mouth to say
of course
she trusted God
,
but the words died on her tongue. With the lights glaring down from the high ceiling, she saw herself as exhausted, full of guilt, and light-years from the little girl who sang “Jesus Loves Me” with a full and trusting heart. Tears flooded her eyes. “But Daddy, I try so hard—”

“I know you do, honey.” He held her hand as if she were small again. “But there are things in life you can't fix. When your mother was sick, we prayed for her day and night, but God still took her home. Ever since then, you've been a fighter.”

The old grief wrapped itself around her ribs and squeezed. How many times had she thought,
If only I'd prayed harder . . . If only I'd done more . . .
She had accepted her mother's passing as best as she could, but deep down, she had never quite trusted God again. Suddenly furious, she pounded her fist on the red handle of the cart. “It's just not fair!”

He didn't ask what she meant.

“I try so hard,” she repeated.

“I know you do.”

“And it's not enough. It's never enough.”

“No, it isn't.” Her father put his big hand over her fist. “Frankly, I'm relieved you figured that out, especially with your feelings for
Ryan. You can't fix his life or save his soul. I won't tell you what to do, honey, other than to pray.”

Inhaling deeply, Carly let the wisdom sink into her. If she learned anything from her mistakes with Allison, it was that she didn't have the capacity to love anyone as perfectly as God did. Not Allison. Not Ryan. Not even herself. She couldn't save the world, couldn't save even a small part of it. She couldn't save Penny, Allison, or Ryan. Especially Ryan.

They all needed grace.

A gift.

Mercy.

And she knew in the dark corner of her heart, in the place where grief for her mother was always fresh, that she needed to trust God for the outcome,
whatever it was.
He loved Ryan even more than she did. Carly loved both God and Ryan, but she loved God more. With that love blooming into trust, she placed Ryan in God's hands like Abraham placed Isaac on the altar. If that offering meant leaving him, she didn't know if she could stand it, but somehow she'd find the strength to rely on God alone.