Wildflowers from Winter (7 page)

The younger woman pointed past the living room. “It’s just past the stairwell, on your left.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I’m Amanda. Micah’s sister.”

Bethany forced a polite smile, then hurried from the room, scrambling for air. Surely some oxygen and distance would push away the crowd of emotions pressing against her. She rounded the corner to the sound of a flushing toilet and stopped.

The door opened and light swept across the carpet. Evan stepped into its spotlight and stared at her, his eyes puffy.

She stared back, unsure what to say.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her cry since Micah collapsed.” His words floated toward the ceiling, eliciting a compassion Bethany couldn’t afford to feel.

She pushed up her sleeves. Wondered if Robin had accidentally set her thermostat to ninety.

“Is my family here?”

She nodded.

Evan stepped past her, and Bethany lunged into the bathroom as if clarity might be hiding behind the toilet.

When she came out, the family had gathered in the kitchen, plates of untouched lasagna set in front of them. Loraine spotted her in the doorway. “I prepared a plate for you,” she said, motioning to the empty seat between Robin and Evan.

Bethany tried to smile her thanks, but the gesture felt much too stiff. She shouldn’t have let Evan talk her into driving together. If she had her own car, she could give Robin one last hug and excuse herself. She didn’t belong here. But her car was at the farm. And they were all staring. So she sat in the empty spot as everyone around the table took hands and bowed their heads.

All the moisture in her mouth evaporated. They were going to thank God? Now? With Micah in the hospital, lying like a vegetable? Before she could put her hands in her lap, Evan grabbed one and Robin took her other—fire and ice. Blood
whoosh
ed past her ears. She pressed her lips together while Evan’s father finished the blessing.

He barely said his amen before Evan released her hand and reached for his water.

Silverware clinked.

Bethany forced herself to take a few bites.

Amanda pushed the steamy meal around her plate. “Is Gavin coming?”

“He’s not feeling well,” Loraine said.

Robin shoved her plate away, porcelain scraping against the wood table. She brought her hand over her stomach as if she might be sick, stood, swayed, then sat back down. Evan’s family shifted forward.

Bethany wanted to tell them to back off. To give her some air.

“I’m sorry.” Robin’s voice cracked. She looked up from her plate and faced Loraine. “I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’ll do it tomorrow. In the morning.”

Loraine covered her mouth with one hand and squeezed Robin’s with the other and melted into her husband’s waiting arms. Bethany studied Evan from the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t read his expression. He was losing a brother, and she had no idea how he felt about it. All she knew was that if the man in that hospital bed were David, she’d be wrecked.

“Bethany.”

Her skin prickled. Somehow, within the confines of her whispered name, Bethany knew what Robin wanted. Only she didn’t want to give it. Coming over to Robin’s house and offering condolences was one thing. Holding Robin’s hand while she took her husband off life support was another.

“Can you come?” Robin’s voice pitched and creaked—like the old staircase in Dan’s farmhouse.

She wanted to tell Robin no. She wanted to tell her that too much had changed. That it wasn’t her place anymore. But the words fell away.

Dan greeted Bethany as soon as she stepped through the door of the farmhouse, and for whatever reason, he wore his coat. She took in his attire and raised her eyebrows, but any questions she had about his plans fizzled before they could reach her lips. She slumped her shoulders, purse dangling by her side like a fifty-pound dumbbell. Evan came inside behind her. Dan shrugged off his coat while Bethany shuffled to the recliner and plopped down. She rested her head against the worn cushion and stared at the dusty mantel over the fireplace. Why had she agreed to go to the hospital with Robin? What had she been thinking?

Their reunion had formed a string—however thin—encircling Bethany’s heart and attaching to Robin’s. Bethany didn’t want that string. It tied her to Peaks. It tied her to everything she wanted to forget. She suddenly craved the coziness of her Chicago loft. A glass of the Merlot Dominic bought for Thanksgiving. The smooth, crisp feel of her arm sliding across paper as she sketched on the drafting board by her apartment window, the city pulsing beneath her.

Bethany sighed and kicked off her shoes. Despite their differences now, despite the distance between them, she could not dismiss the connection
she and Robin had once shared. Robin had helped Bethany get through her Tuesday meetings with Dr. Nowels. Robin had helped her laugh off Pastor Fenton. Robin had convinced Bethany that everything he said, all the hogwash he spoon-fed her mother, was nothing but lies. She assured Bethany that her father was dead—not burning for eternity in a pit of fire.

Robin had made life clear. She’d helped Bethany draw a line—with them on one side and Pastor Fenton and everything he stood for on the other. Bethany always assumed that line had been carved in stone, not drawn in sand. But that was before Robin decided to stay in Peaks and attend St. Ambrose University. That was before Robin met Micah Price, a handsome junior in her psychology class, from a town not more than fifteen minutes away. That was before Robin sent Bethany the e-mail—the one about Christ and forgiveness and salvation.

When Bethany read it, the words peeled back the bandages covering her past, exposing wounds still raw to the touch—wounds she’d endured at the hands of people who talked about Christ and forgiveness and salvation. Bethany’s only friend, her biggest ally, her sole confidante—the only person she had ever told the entire truth to—had switched sides. Robin had hopped over to Fenton’s. And their promises to remain best friends for life fell away. Those promises no longer mattered. Not when the rules had changed. Not when their lives were headed in such opposite directions.

Bethany inhaled and held the breath captive. She would be there for Robin tomorrow—but that was it. That was as far as she would go. Bethany would hold her hand. She would help her say good-bye. She would spend some more time with Dan. And then she’d head straight back to Chicago. She opened her mouth and let her breath run away, her shoulders relaxing with its escape.

“Has Robin made a decision?” Dan asked, hanging his coat on a hook.

Bethany pulled her gaze from the mantel and peeked at Evan, still by the doorway.

“She asked us to come to the hospital tomorrow. To say good-bye,” Evan said.

“How are you holding up?”

Evan shrugged.

Dan patted his shoulder and let his hand drop away. He flipped on the nine o’clock news and sank onto the sofa. Evan did the same. Bethany got up from the recliner and forced a yawn. She kissed Dan on the cheek and moved toward the stairs.

When she reached the first step, a familiar name sounded from the television, and her foot paused. She turned toward the screen. Pastor Fenton stared back at her, his chest broad, his posture straight, ready to speak into a microphone held by a reporter.

“So tell us, what does ‘Project MAC’ stand for?” the reporter asked, her gloved hand tucking strands of windblown hair behind her ear.

The duo stood in front of First Light, the church Bethany had been forced to attend as a child. “Make A Change. It’s a ministry I started to encourage the youth to reach out to the community and make a difference.”

The sight of him on that television screen dragged Bethany into her childhood. She tried to fight her way to the present, but Fenton’s stare pinned her to the stiff wooden pew of First Light’s sanctuary.

Bethany had loathed going to church on Sundays, especially after her incident at the swimming pool. Fenton would often find Bethany during the climax of his sermon, singling her out with a glare, as if she needed to listen harder than everyone else. When the service ended, Mom would stay behind. Which meant Bethany and David had to stay too.

Her fingernails would dig crescents into her palms, dreading the moment when Fenton would approach their still forms sitting in the empty pews. During those moments, while he walked toward them, her muscles would turn into tightly wound coils, ready to spring at the slightest touch. Her mother must have known, because she never touched her.

Pastor Fenton would talk in urgent yet hushed tones two pews ahead while David folded the bulletin into a paper airplane and Bethany looked down at her worn-out Keds. When they finished, she’d follow Mom out the arched doorway while Pastor Fenton’s stare trailed her down the aisle. Her mother tried and failed numerous times to convince Bethany to talk to him about what she had done. Whenever Bethany mustered up the courage to glance over her shoulder, the look on Pastor Fenton’s face told her all she needed to know. He didn’t want to talk to her any more than she wanted to talk to him.

“Oh, good grief.” Dan’s voice broke through her thoughts. She grabbed hold of his words and pulled herself free from the memories. “What a load of horse manure.”

Bethany returned her attention to the lit-up television screen.

“We’ve heard about the free basketball camp run by Peaks’s star athletes, Hank and Joe Tipton,” the reporter said. “We’ve also heard about the tutoring service started by some of Peaks’s high school students. What other ways do you encourage the youth to make a change?”

Fenton smiled.

Bethany squeezed the top of the banister.

“To be honest, the ministry has outgrown me. These kids are coming up with all sorts of things. From cleaning up trash by the Mississippi River to volunteering at the local children’s hospital.” His brown eyes sparkled. “The attendance at First Light has increased steadily ever since the ministry began. We’re getting attendees from Albine and even some from across the river. People are curious. They want to know what we’re all about.”

The reporter tucked more hair behind her ear. “In a time of economic strife, I’m sure people appreciate a helping hand. It sounds like you’re experiencing the aftereffects of the community’s appreciation.”

Fenton nodded. “We’ve seen the blessings God has poured out on our church since I started this ministry. It just goes to show, God will always bless the righteous.”

“Thanks for your time, Pastor Fenton.” The reporter turned to address the camera, holding the microphone beneath her mouth. “The mayor of Peaks will be honoring Pastor Fenton for his service to the community at Peaks’s annual New Year’s Eve ball. So if you’d like to meet the man behind the ministry, mark it on your calendars.”

The screen panned to the newsroom, where two unfamiliar anchormen sat behind a desk. Bethany’s eyes lost focus. Pastor Fenton’s words swept through her body, uncovering memories she didn’t want uncovered.

God will always bless the righteous
.

Maybe his words sounded good, but the layers beneath them dripped with unsaid meaning. She’d witnessed the damage those words had inflicted on her father.

Bethany released her hold on the railing and slogged up the stairs. She knew a sign when she saw one. Peaks was honoring Pastor Fenton. The Universe wasn’t just telling her to leave. It was using a bullhorn.

SEVEN

R
obin Price clawed at the tissue in her lap, staring at the shreds of white dotting her jeans. Bethany shifted beside her while the organ procurement coordinator, a woman with a gray business suit and hair to match, ran down a list of questions. Questions about Micah. Robin gnawed on the inside of her cheek and didn’t stop until something warm and metallic touched her taste buds.

“Does your husband have any tattoos?”

She shook her head.

“Any piercings?”

“No.”

“Was he a drug user?”

She blinked.

The woman looked up from her script and frowned. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Price. These questions are part of the process.”

Robin jerked her head—an attempt at
no
.

The woman gathered the papers into a stack and tapped them against the table. The matter-of-factness of the moment made Robin flounder. That was it? They were finished? What about the other questions? The questions that had haunted her for the past week.

Like who was going to read the rest of the Grisham book on Micah’s nightstand? The one earmarked on page eighty-three. Or what about his Bible? His New Year’s resolution had been to read the entire thing in one
year, and the inked margins stopped somewhere in the middle of Acts, followed by stark white space that made her want to scream. Who would fix the leaky faucet in the kitchen or clean out the boxes crammed in the rafters of their garage or finish a dozen other projects Micah had started? What about their dream to open a café together?

She massaged her throat with ice-cold fingers.

The woman slid the papers across the table and smiled, like Robin should be proud of herself—like she wasn’t about to sign her husband’s life away. “Your decision will change a dozen lives for the better.”