A Family Reunited (3 page)

Chapter 4

J
ack stepped out of the car, then tucked the bottom of his flannel shirt into his good pair of jeans. He’d forgotten about the splattering of paint on the bottom of the shirt. He should have remembered! He needed to make a good impression on Mike and Tammie. They were giving him a chance, and he had to make the most of it. Sucking in a deep breath, he remembered his and Owen’s prayer for God’s blessing on this visit. He had to trust in God’s grace and not worry about flannel shirts and paint.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he allowed his gaze to take in Jacobs Family Farm. It was just as it had always been. The white bed-and-breakfast looked inviting with the yellow-and-orange mums, pumpkins of various sizes and happy scarecrows surrounding the wooden sign that welcomed guests. He could see the edge of the small cabin behind the B and B, the white farmhouse to the right, along with the gift shop and café, the activity center and petting zoo. The apple and peach trees to the left seemed to go on forever, and his mouth watered at a sudden memory of Pamela’s homemade apple crisps. The family had always raved over her strawberry pies, and they were amazingly delicious, to be sure, but her apple crisps...

Jack licked his lips. He could almost feel the warmth of the apple, the crunch of the granola. Could almost taste the perfect mixture of sugar and cinnamon, the apples, tart and yet sweet. He cupped his hand over his mouth, then ran his fingers from his cheeks to his jaw.

He drank in the rolling mountains behind the property, adorned in yellows, oranges, reds and greens. Blowing out a breath, he willed his pounding heart to slow down. It was like God had picked up paint and brush and created a masterpiece of warmth and comfort in those Tennessee mountains. His mind replayed walks with Pamela through that land. Times he’d held her hand, kissed her lips, her neck...

He shuddered. He hadn’t anticipated such a strong reaction to the place. His throat felt dry and coarse. He needed a drink. Water.

As he curled his fingers tighter around the keys, unworthiness washed over him. He didn’t deserve to try to have this again. This life. This family. Pamela and his girls. He’d thrown it away. Worse than that—he’d ignored and trampled the gift God had given him.

I can’t do this, God.

He grabbed the car door handle.

“Jack, is that you?”

He looked to the house and spied Tammie standing on the porch. Eight years could have been eight days. She hadn’t changed a bit. Dark hair rested on her shoulders. She wore a green sweatshirt and jeans. Her expression was kind and caring as ever. Mike stepped out of the house. He had more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair, but other than that, he’d changed as little as Tammie.

Mike waved for him to join them. “Well, come on up here, son. Let’s have a look at you.”

Son?
How could Mike say that? Jack had left their daughter and two grandbabies.

The Spirit nudged him to just trust Him, and Jack put one foot in front of the other. Somehow he made it to the porch. He took Mike’s extended hand in his. Before words could leave his mouth, Tammie had enveloped him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you again.”

Jack swallowed back the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. Why would they be nice to him? How could she so willingly embrace him? “You have no idea how good it is to see you two, as well.”

She released him, and Mike patted his shoulder. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

Jack nodded as he followed them inside. The living room looked just as he remembered. Old-fashioned, homey furnishings, the smell of cinnamon. The land, the house, his in-laws...only days could have passed rather than years.

Until he scanned the walls and tables covered with pictures of his daughters at various ages. Proof that more than a day or two had slipped out of his grasp.

“Why don’t you look at the pictures while Mike and I get the sandwiches and chips?”

Jack moved toward the fireplace. He bit his bottom lip at the photo of the girls smiling cheesy grins, probably three and four, sitting at a small table. The next photo was of them and Pamela sitting in front of the Christmas tree. Emmy was just a baby. Emma not much bigger. Pamela was smiling, but she seemed tired. Alone.

He looked away and spied pictures of the girls with Pamela’s brothers, Kirk and Ben. Emma sat on Kirk’s shoulders. Emmy on Ben’s. They were dressed in red-and-white outfits and had probably been heading to Bloom Hollow’s annual Fourth of July celebration.

“They’re beautiful girls.”

Jack started at Tammie’s words. He turned toward her and Mike as they set a tray of food on the coffee table. “They look like their mother.”

“They do,” said Mike. He motioned toward the food. “Go ahead and get yourself a plate.”

Jack placed a ham-and-cheese sandwich, chips and a pickle on his plate and sat in the wingback chair. He lifted the sandwich to his mouth, then placed it back on the plate. “I need to talk first.”

“Okay,” said Tammie. Her gaze was kind, open to whatever he had to share.

“What do you need to tell us?” said Mike.

“Everything.”

With the one word came a waterfall of confessions. He shared about his battle with alcoholism, of bouncing from his parents’ home to friends’ homes until he finally ended up in a homeless shelter in Texas.

“It was the night the woman showed up there with her two daughters. The woman’s eyes were blackened. The girls were cold and terrified.”

Jack swallowed, trying to shake away the vision that still plagued him at times. He thought of the night Pamela told him to leave the house. He was drunk, yelling at her, and he’d come close. So close to... He couldn’t even think the words. Wouldn’t allow them to form in his mind.

“When I saw that woman and those girls, I became physically ill, knowing they could have been my girls. I cried out to God. Jermaine was there. He prayed with me. Became my mentor. He’s the one who helped me get back in school. Gave me the job at the shelter. Accepted me as a friend.”

Tammie swiped a tear from her cheek. She and Mike held hands and leaned toward each other.

Jack went on, sharing about the past three years, the changes he’d made in his life, going back to school, living and working at the shelter, even calling Pamela and hanging up.

Glancing at the clock, he realized two hours had passed. He had to get back to the shelter for a meeting with the pastor of the sponsoring church. He handed them the check Pamela had sent back to him.

Mike took it, then grabbed Jack in a hug. “We never stopped praying for you.”

Tammie wrapped her arms around both of them. “And we won’t now. We’ll be praying for you and Pamela.”

“Thank you.” Remembering Pamela’s anger at seeing him at the school, he knew only God could help Pamela forgive him.

* * *

Pamela’s leg wouldn’t stop shaking. She doodled another star on the edge of the notepad, then crossed her left leg over her right.
Concentrate. You need to know this stuff.

She straightened her back and lifted her chin, determined to hear the words droning from the professor’s mouth. Why did financial management have to be so boring? Glancing at her cell phone, she wondered if Jack was still at the house. She bit back a growl of frustration that her parents would consider speaking with him.

After uncrossing her legs, she curled her right foot around the left, then tucked them both under the chair. She simply could not sit still. Noting the glare from the dark-haired guy to her left, Pamela offered a faint smile, then grabbed her purse and walked out of the room.

She released the growl once the door shut behind her. Lifting the purse strap onto her shoulder, she stalked to the ladies’ restroom. Jack infuriated her. Her parents infuriated her. What were they thinking meeting with him after all this time? They, of all people, knew what she’d gone through when he left. The exhaustion. The tears. The loneliness.

She wet a paper towel with cold water, then dabbed her cheeks and forehead. She had to get a handle on her emotions. After throwing away the towel, she scavenged through her purse for change. Maybe if she bought a pack of gum from the lounge, she could keep her jitters at bay by chewing a piece, or the whole pack. Whatever it took.

With change in hand, she spied the vending machine and selected a flavor. After popping a piece in her mouth, she swallowed a quick drink from the water fountain to cool the fiery cinnamon taste. She stood to her full height.
Pamela Isaacs, you can do this. March right back in that room. Take notes, and stop thinking about Jack.

“Pamela, how are you?”

She turned at the deep voice of one of her professors from two semesters ago. If ever there was a man who could tempt her to consider falling in love again, Dr. Peter Dane was the guy. Dark hair fell in one perfect wave to the left on his forehead. Brilliant blue eyes glistened above a five-o’clock shadow that covered a strong jawline. Though a bit on the short side, broad shoulders and a muscular frame made up for any concerns about his height.

“Dr. Dane, you remembered my name.” Her cheeks warmed. Her tongue had gotten tangled up with the gum and she’d spit out the words. Literally.

“You’re a poet and didn’t know it.” He laughed. “Of course I’d remember you.”

Warmth raced from her cheeks down her neck at the sudden intensity of his expression. “I’m actually in class right now.” She pointed to her mouth. “Just needed a little help to stay focused.”

“What class are you taking?”

“Financial Management.”

He cringed. “Dr. Mays?”

She nodded.

“Yep. A challenge to stay awake, let alone concentrate.”

She nodded again. He didn’t say anything else, and Pamela couldn’t think or move. She focused on the slight dark curl at the base of his neck.

“Well, maybe we could meet after your class. Get a late lunch.”

Pamela gripped the purse strap. He couldn’t be asking her on a date. “I have to pick up my girls from school.”

He snapped his fingers. “I remember. Emma and Emmy, right?”

She nodded once more. He remembered her girls’ names? She hadn’t seen Dr. Dane in months and couldn’t recall that she’d made more than a handful of comments in his class. Sure, all the students filled out an information form at the beginning of the semester, but for him to remember her daughters...

Pamela didn’t know how to respond.

He grinned and leaned closer. “Maybe another time.” Her heart stopped beating when he whispered, “At least now I know where to find you. Dr. Mays’s financial management class.”

He turned and walked away. Dumbstruck, Pamela blinked and watched him go. What had just happened? Surely, her ultracute professor wasn’t interested in her. But what if he was?

She and Jack had never divorced. She’d never sought him out for one. For years, part of her had hoped one day he would clean up his act and come back to her. Those hopes had died away soon enough. Returning to college had given her an independence she hadn’t realized she’d missed so desperately.

She wasn’t quite nineteen when Emma was born, and Emmy joined them just one year and a day later. Pamela hadn’t known independence at all until she’d gone back to school. Now she relished it. Soon she wouldn’t need her parents’ help. She most assuredly didn’t need to pine after Jack. And Dr. Peter Dane was gorgeous with a capital
G.

Now that she knew where Jack was, maybe the time had come to ask for a divorce. It wasn’t as if they’d had any semblance of a marriage the past eight years. And abandonment was biblical grounds, wasn’t it? Not that she cared what God thought. At least, she didn’t want to care. She headed back toward the classroom. It was something to think about.

Chapter 5

“S
o, what did you think of the service?”

Jack sat in the chair across from Owen and his wife, Karen. “The sermon was terrific. The pastor spoke the truth. No mincing of words. I like that.”

Owen picked up the menu. “Yeah, and I can relate to the apostle Paul and the whole trying not to do what I want to do.”

Jack took a drink of water. “Fighting our natural desires is not an easy thing.”

“Yeah, like the temptation to order one of the diner’s famous cheeseburgers and fries instead of the chicken salad and diet soft drink,” Karen said as she placed her and Owen’s young son in the high chair.

Owen chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d put the temptation of food in the same category as alcohol.”

“Why not?” Karen lifted a cracker out of the diaper bag and handed it to Wyatt. The toddler cackled and clapped his hands before taking the treat. “We all have battles, and mine plagues me, as well.”

“True,” said Jack. “But overeating won’t land you in a homeless shelter.”

“But it can land you in the hospital.” Karen pulled out her wallet and handed Jack a photo. “That was me in high school.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at the picture of a teenager double Karen’s size.

“I was fifteen years old and a borderline diabetic.”

Jack handed the picture back to her. “What did you do?”

She pointed to both of them. “Just like you two, I surrendered to the Lord. Then I got some help from a dietician, joined a gym with an accountability partner and worked with a vengeance to get healthy.”

A woman with long brown hair pulled back in a braid walked up to the table to take their orders. Jack had planned to get the cheeseburger and fries, then thought of the apostle Paul’s admonition to never be a stumbling block to a brother or sister. He handed the menu to the waitress. “I’ll take the chicken salad and a regular soft drink.”

When the woman walked away, Karen shook her head. “Jack, you could have ordered the burger you said you wanted when we pulled up.”

“Would you have ordered a beer in front of Owen and me?”

Owen chortled and pointed to his wife. “She’s never even touched the stuff.”

She looked from Owen back to Jack. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“Which is why I didn’t get the cheeseburger.”

Owen draped his arm over Karen’s shoulder. “And why I don’t get the cheeseburger—” he pointed toward Jack “—unless I’m with someone like this guy.”

Karen wrinkled her nose. “Encouragement feels good.” Wyatt squalled, and she handed him another cracker. “I’m glad you’ve moved back here, Jack. You and Owen will be good for each other.”

The front door of the restaurant opened, and Pamela and their daughters walked in, followed by Mike, Tammie, Kirk and Callie. Jack’s heart raced at the sight of his girls. Emma was so tall, and he could see Emmy’s dimples from across the room as she laughed at something Kirk said.

They didn’t see him, and Jack contemplated whether he should wave or simply watch. When the hostess seated them on the other side of the diner, he decided to watch. Emmy sat with her back to him, but Emma sat beside her mother, facing him. He couldn’t believe how much alike they looked. It was like seeing Pamela in elementary school all over again.

Someone said something, and they all laughed. Jack bit his lip, wishing he could go over there. Maybe he should. It wouldn’t be so bad. He had the right to see his daughters.

“Don’t do it, man.”

Jack blinked, his thoughts focusing again on the people in front of him. He looked at Owen and furrowed his brows. “What?”

Owen glanced over his shoulder. “Not yet. You gotta talk with Pamela first.”

“The girls might not even know you’re in Tennessee,” added Karen.

Pamela looked his way. Their gazes locked. At first her expression lifted, and he thought she might smile. Then she squinted and a scowl marked her face. She stood and walked toward the restrooms. Jack stood, as well.

“Man, don’t.”

Jack glanced down at Owen. “I think she wants me to follow her.”

“I’m not so sure that’s—”

Jack didn’t wait for Karen to finish her sentence. He walked to the back of the diner and waited outside the ladies’ restroom. Pamela opened the door. Anger and bitterness filled her face in a way he’d never seen. She spat through gritted teeth, “If we’d known you were here, we wouldn’t have come.”

Somehow he had to make her see he was a different man. That he’d never again hurt her or the girls. That God controlled his life, not the bottle.

He thought of the conversation with Owen and Karen from only moments ago. For the rest of his life, he’d battle the bottle, but each day he stayed surrendered to God the temptation weakened. And Pamela and the girls could be additional encouragement. “Pamela, I—”

“Jack, you’re not listening.” She pointed to her ear. “I don’t care what you have to say. My own parents want me to talk to you, but I don’t care.”

His heart skipped when he heard Mike and Tammie had been talking to her, that they wanted to give him a second chance.

“I’m different. I want you. I want—”

She lifted her hand. “You have no right to want me.” She crossed her hands in front of her chest, then swiped them to each side. “None.”

Bitter contempt radiated from her with such certainty, he took a step back. He loved Pamela. He wanted her as his wife again, but he’d have to start with the girls. She had to listen to him at least on that account. Any judge would side with him if he paid child support and stayed sober, and he had every intention of doing both. “The girls. I have the right to see them.”

“You have no right. And if you step one foot toward our table, I will scoop up
my
children and walk out of this restaurant.”

He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut as she stomped back toward the table. He heard Emmy ask her what was wrong. Pamela plastered a smile on her face. Sadness swallowed him as he shoved both fists in his jeans pockets. He could follow her, introduce himself to his daughters and demand the right to spend time with them, but that would put a rip between Pamela and him that might never be mended.
God, what do I do?

* * *

Pamela balled her fists and pressed her knuckles against the kitchen counter. She’d spent the past half hour arguing with her parents about Jack. He was the alcoholic who’d left her alone with two daughters, so why was she the bad guy?

The memory of that night eight years ago swept over her. Jack’s eyes, bloodshot and glassy, peered at her with malice that sent tremors of fear down her spine.

Emma had been sick, throwing up all over the place, and Pamela was only a few months pregnant with Emmy. The smell and sight of Emma’s vomit sent Pamela to the bathroom. Jack was left to clean up after their daughter. Disoriented, he slipped and fell in the mess. He’d been angry. Cursed. Jumped up. Pulled back his hand at the toddler. Pamela screamed before he could act, and his fury focused on her.

For a long moment, time stood still. He wanted to hit her. The desire was etched in every muscle in his face. Somehow she mustered the courage to tell him to leave the house. He’d grabbed a few things, and that was it. He was gone. And he didn’t even try to come back.

Pamela sucked in a deep breath, lifted her chin and peered up at the ceiling.
But I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to give him a second chance.
Her parents hadn’t been there that night. They hadn’t seen the look in his eyes.

It was true he’d never hit her or Emma, and deep in Pamela’s gut, she knew her parents would never consider taking a chance if he’d abused them. She remembered the night when Emmy was a newborn and Emma wouldn’t sleep. Pamela had been so tired and sore that she’d come close to lashing out at Emma, but she hadn’t. She’d stopped herself, just as Jack had stopped.

I’ve changed.
His words echoed through her mind. She’d loved him with every ounce of her being. When he wasn’t drinking, he’d been all she’d dreamed. They’d prayed together, studied God’s word together, vowed to live their lives for Him.
A lot of good that did.

She pushed away from the counter and raked her fingers through her hair. She needed a trim. After talking with the girls about their dad, she’d need some pampering time.

He has the legal right to see his children.
Her father’s words pricked her mind.
And a judge won’t turn him down if he’s sending money, as well.
Her mom had piped in.

Ugh.
How it infuriated her that she had to have this conversation with her girls. He’d walked out of their lives, and she and the girls had done well, were doing well, and then he up and decided to traipse back to Bloom Hollow, sober and ready to reconcile. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to flip their lives upside down whenever he saw fit.

Quit stalling. Just get it over with.

She walked into the living room. Emmy sat on the floor with her favorite panda bear propped against the couch. She’d folded several papers in half and was illustrating a book she’d written. Emma was sprawled on the couch playing a game on the iPad. Pamela settled into her favorite leather recliner. “Girls, I need to talk with you.”

“Give me a sec,” said Emma.

Pamela didn’t mind. She’d give them as long as they wanted. Emma feverishly pressed the tablet’s screen. Emmy put the finishing touch on a purple-and-green critter she’d created.

Emmy lifted the paper. “This is my
main
character, Albie. Do you like him?”

Pamela grinned and nodded at her younger daughter. The child loved learning about writing, something Pamela never understood. Numbers made sense. They formed patterns. They were definite. Writing, not so much.

“’Kay. I’m done.” Emma set the tablet in her lap and sat up straighter on the couch.

Pamela clasped her hands together. “Well, I need to talk to you both.”

Emma clicked her tongue. “You already said that.”

Pamela peered at her older child. Only nine and already Emma tried to retort with smart-aleck comments. To Emma’s credit, she ducked her chin and appeared repentant under Pamela’s glare. “It’s about your dad.”

“Our dad?” Emmy furrowed her brows.

“You never talk about our dad,” said Emma.

“I saw a picture of him once.” Emmy sat up straighter. “In one of Grandma’s photo albums. He was holding Emma and looking at her with goofy eyes.” Her face fell. “But I didn’t see one with me.”

“That’s ’cause he left before you were born,” Emma snapped.

“I know,” Emmy retorted. “Grandma told me, and—”

Pamela lifted her hand. “Enough. He lives in Tennessee again and wants to meet you.”

Emmy’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Do we have to?” Emma pursed her lips together and frowned.

Pamela studied her older daughter. She looked angrier than Pamela had expected. “I’m not sure, and I don’t know how I feel about it, and—”

“I want to meet him, Mom.” Emmy stood up, then hopped into Pamela’s lap. “I always wanted a mom and dad just like my friends. I mean, Sarah only has a mom like me, but...”

Without a word, Emma wiped a single tear from her cheek, stood and walked to her room. Her child’s bitterness cut like a dagger through Pamela’s heart. She traced her fingers through Emmy’s hair as the girl continued to prattle on about the various students in her class. But worry niggled at Pamela’s heart for Emma. How long had her girl been in such pain, and why hadn’t she noticed?