A Hickory Ridge Christmas (16 page)

She was so tired of being afraid. She was tired of letting that fear run her life.

Hannah sat straight up in bed and climbed out from beneath the sheets. She wouldn't be getting any sleep anyway. Straightening her sweats, she threw her hair into a ponytail and pulled on her coat. In the bottom of her purse, she dug around for her keys. She knew it was late, but it was long past time to set things right.

A
knock at his front door awakened Todd, but that wasn't saying much when he'd done no more than toss and turn for the past three nights on the lumpy sofa in his town house apartment. He'd even sacked out early tonight, hoping to catch up on his sleep, but that only gave him time to count every paint drip and shadow on the ceiling and to notice how bare and pitiful his walls looked.

After untangling himself from his makeshift bed, he staggered toward the door in his Detroit Tigers sweatshirt and plaid lounging pants. He rubbed his aching neck and wondered why he'd ever bought that couch. It made a better torture device than a cozy place to kick back and watch TV—and an even worse bed. But he'd given up his bed to his little girl.

When he opened the door, Hannah stood on his stoop, her pulled-up hood keeping her face in shadow. His thoughts and his pulse raced.

“What is it, Hannah?” He shook his head, trying to find some clarity. “Is your dad okay? Did something happen? I thought he was doing better.”

She pushed past him into the apartment. Until she swept the door closed behind her, Todd hadn't even noticed the snow blowing in on his bare feet.

“Dad's fine,” she assured him as soon as she'd pulled off the hood. “Well, as fine as someone can be with a damaged heart and bruises all over his legs from doctors routing catheters through his arteries.”

“Remind me to never have a heart attack.”

“Never have a heart attack.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

Hannah smiled as she removed her coat, but her effort couldn't quite brighten the exhaustion dulling her eyes. She looked bone-weary, with blue-gray crescents beneath her lower lashes. At least she looked comfortable, dressed in sweats just like the ones she used to wear when they were teenagers.

“Why are you here, Hannah?” As soon as her eyes widened, Todd was sorry he'd asked. She would probably leave now, and no matter what he'd said before, that was the last thing he wanted. “Did the police catch up with Olivia? Or did you want to see Rebecca? I can wake her up if you want me to.”

She shook her head, not indicating which question she was answering. “No new news that I'm aware of. Oh, I wanted to thank you for taking care of Rebecca and for the food. For everything.” She leaned her
back against the door, folding her arms and rubbing her hands over her upper arms.

“That was nice of you to call Grant. He came by the hospital to see Dad and me.”

“He's your friend” was all Todd was able to say. He'd known Hannah needed a friend these last few days, and he'd wanted to make sure someone was there for her if he couldn't be.

Hannah nodded. “He said you were really nice to him and invited him to come back to church.” At his shrug, she continued, “Grant said you're a nice guy.”

Todd could only imagine what those kind words had cost Grant, but the blessing of Hannah's friend didn't matter now that everything had changed.

Stepping farther into the living area, she lowered her gaze to the sofa, covered with a tangle of blankets and bedsheets. “Oh, I woke you. I'm sorry. I can go.”

“I don't want you to go. I just want you to tell me why you came.”

“To talk,” she said finally.

She glanced at the couch again. He'd made sure Hannah hadn't seen it messy like this each morning when she'd picked up Rebecca. But he hadn't been prepared for her visit this time.

“That had to be so uncomfortable. You gave up your bed for Rebecca?”

“She's my child.”

She nodded, as if she, too, understood that no sacrifice was too great for their daughter.

“Anyway, I was planning to buy a bed for Rebecca's
room when she visits, but I didn't get the chance before…”

Hannah met his gaze, obviously not missing that he'd referred to his guest bedroom as Rebecca's room.

“Are you sure you don't want me to get her up? She'd probably love to see her mommy.”

“I don't want to wake her, but I would like to look in on her if you don't mind.”

Waving his hand for her to follow him, Todd led the way down the short hallway past the spare room that would soon be their daughter's to the slightly larger master. In the center of the big bed that had been his one self-indulgent purchase—aside from the big-screen TV in the living room—Rebecca looked so tiny, so young and precious. She lay with her knees tucked under her body and her backside pressed up in the air.

“She used to sleep like that when she was a baby,” Hannah whispered in the doorway.

“You probably loved watching her sleep.”

“I did.” Hannah slipped inside the room and dropped a kiss on their daughter's silky head. Then she followed him out of the room.

“Why didn't you just sleep in there with her?” Hannah said as they reached the living room. “There's certainly room.”

“I didn't want to wake her by coming in later. I did lie down with her each night, just until she got to sleep.”

An unsettling silence fell over the room then, while Todd held back his questions and Hannah didn't offer any answers. Their lives had changed
over the last few days since Reverend Bob was hospitalized, but nothing could change the things they'd said to each other before all this happened. They couldn't take those things back.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Todd said when he couldn't stand to wait any longer. “Here, let's sit.”

He hurried over and ripped the sheets, blankets and pillows off the sofa, dropping them unceremoniously in a pile on the floor. He lowered himself onto the cushion, and Hannah followed his example, but instead of beginning, she sat gripping her hands together.

“Do you want me to take Rebecca for the rest of the weekend?” he prompted. “I can take her next week, too, if that will help you out. I don't have any vacation yet, but I can probably work something out. Whatever you need—”

“I need my best friend.”

She said it so softly that Todd wasn't sure he'd heard her right at first. A lump suddenly filled his throat. He coughed into his hand. What was she saying? He needed to be cautious for his self-preservation. Could he be only a friend when his heart wanted to be all things to her—a husband, lover and a friend?

But even his misgivings couldn't stop him from drawing the only woman he'd ever loved into his arms and offering her whatever comfort his sturdy shoulders could provide. She didn't sob as he'd thought she might, but she held on tightly, her fingers pressing hard into his back.

It felt so good holding Hannah in the circle of his arms. He'd thought he would never hold her again, and his arms had ached from the loss.

He couldn't help himself. As he breathed in the floral scent of her hair and felt her clinging to him as if he possessed all the answers to her life's questions, he couldn't help wishing for impossible things, things he'd told himself he could live without.

For the longest time, neither said anything, and they simply rocked back and forth on that lumpy sofa.

Though he longed to hold her just like that forever, Todd forced himself to set her back from him. She'd clearly come with something to say, and he wanted to give her the chance to say it.

“I've had a lot of time to think lately,” Hannah said when he was convinced she would never tell him what was on her mind. “Though I spent time praying for my father's recovery, there were still plenty of empty hours for me to get my head on straight.”

“I always thought it looked pretty straight before.” Even now, even in this quiet, serious moment, he couldn't help teasing her. Humor was part of who they'd always been together.

She rolled her eyes at him, but she still smiled. “Thanks. Watching my dad go through all this was like a roller-coaster ride. First, the heart attack. Then the clot buster drug opened the blockage. Just when everything seemed okay, it reclotted, and they had to do angioplasty to break it up again.

“It was hard enough for me to watch my father in pain that way. But then seeing Mary going through
it was worse. I don't know…” She let her words trail away, shaking her head.

Todd sat back in his seat and crossed his arms as he tried to follow along in her story. Clearly she wanted him to read between the lines, but he was missing the point.

“Mary Nelson was there?” Come to think of it, other church members had been watching Rebecca when Mary was her regular sitter.

Hannah nodded. “I felt so badly for her. It was so sad. She wouldn't leave Dad's side. She just sat there regretting the things she'd never said and wondering if she would ever have the chance to say them.”

“That had to be tough.”

Todd understood what it was like to second-guess decisions.
If I knew then what I know now…
But he decided not to lie to himself. He would have chosen to return to Hannah every time, and he always would have risked any pain for the chance to know his daughter.

“I don't want to do that,” Hannah said, drawing him back from his thoughts.

“To do what?”

“I don't want to live with that kind of regret. Not anymore.”

Todd shook his head with more sorrow than determination. “Hannah, so much has happened between us. A lot of things we can't change no matter how much we wish we could.”

“Please,” she said, turning her shoulders so she faced him as they sat. “Please let me try.”

Todd braced his hands on the edge of the sofa, his
chest feeling tight. Though he wished it were different, nothing had really changed between them. She needed him to hear her, so he would listen, but he couldn't allow himself to settle for less than his heart needed to survive. “Go ahead.”

“I've thought a lot about what you said about God's forgiveness and our forgiveness. You're right. It is a gift. One I never gave you.”

As she spoke, Hannah gripped her hands together and squeezed her left thumb so tightly that it turned red at the tip. “I never really forgave you for leaving me, though I told myself—and you—I had. I was lying to us both.”

“No, Hannah. You believed it, so it wasn't a lie.”

“But you saw right through me.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Well, not at first, but…” He was tempted to say
not soon enough,
but he couldn't wish away a single minute of the sweet hours of his oblivion. Knowing was better, he kept telling himself, hoping he would eventually believe it.

“I just couldn't see it. And I couldn't forgive the way God forgives. Completely. He doesn't hold a grudge, but I did. I was wrong.”

Todd couldn't stop himself from reaching for her hands and curving his fingers over her clinched grip. “We both were. About a lot of things. But we were just kids. We made mistakes.”

Hannah gently pulled her hands from his, tucking them under the sides of her legs. “Even if we could have used that as an excuse then, it doesn't work now. For me, it was more than just not forgiving.
Blaming you was easier than facing the truth that most of the misery in my life I'd brought on myself.”

Todd opened his mouth to interrupt her, though he wasn't sure what he would say to defend her when she'd spoken the truth. His instinct was to protect her even if she was wrong.

“No, let me say this. It's long past time.”

Closing her eyes, she held her index fingers together like a church steeple and pressed the bridge of her nose to the point at the top. Finally, she spoke again. “I was wrong to keep Rebecca a secret from you. At first, I did it because I was angry, and then the secret became like a trap I'd built and then couldn't escape from it.”

“Once everything was going smoothly again, it was probably just easier not to make waves,” he said.

“I kept waiting for the right time, and I know now that if you hadn't returned, that
right time
would never have come.”

Though Todd had often suspected that was the case, he still ached inside having heard it spoken aloud. “I can't imagine not knowing her.”

“And her life would never have been the same if she hadn't gotten to know her daddy. She…loves you.” Her voice broke as she spoke the word
love.

He could still hear Hannah's timid voice when she'd confessed that she loved him, and it still hurt to realize that love wasn't enough.

“I'm so sorry, Todd. And I'm proud of the father you've become. All those hours and minutes I've stolen from the two of you I can't give back.” Tears were tracing down her cheeks unchecked.

“Honey, thank you for saying it, but I forgave you a long time ago.”

Though she'd been staring at her hands in her lap, Hannah lifted her gaze to meet his. “It took me a lot longer than you to reach that place, but I want you to know that I'm finally there. Forgiveness is a gift, and I'm giving you mine right now. All of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

If he questioned at all whether she was sincere, he had only to look in her eyes. Her pain and regret was clear.

Todd drew in an unsteady breath. He'd waited, he'd hoped and he'd mourned when hope had disappeared. And now Hannah sat there before him, the woman who'd possessed his heart since before he'd even become a man, offering him the thing that mattered most. She'd gift wrapped her promise for him and tied it with a bow.

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and folded Hannah in his arms again. It felt like coming home, holding her there, with her cheek resting against his shoulder, her tears dampening his sweatshirt. He sensed that God had formed his arms at least in part for the honor and responsibility of holding her.

For several seconds, they clung together, giving and receiving comfort. Finally, Todd pulled away and looked into her tearstained face. He slid his hands down her arms and then reached up and brushed away her tears with his thumb.