After All These Years (27 page)

Cal made one last sweeping glance over the thinning crowd outside the church. No Brady. No Gina. No Isabel. No Tony, who had become a regular in recent weeks.

He made a beeline for Celeste. Unlike the pastor himself, Peter's wife would get straight to the heart of the matter. And she wouldn't invite him yet again to the men's weekly Bible study/prayer breakfast.

“Celeste. Morning.”

“Hi, Cal.” She smiled and waved goodbye to the last departing parishioner.

“Any idea where Brady and Gina are?”

“Afraid not. They talked with us briefly on Friday. Peter suggested they get away to some quiet place and be alone, but you know it's harvest season. Brady's in the fields.”

Cal knew. Brady would have shown up in boots, jeans, jacket, and cap, harried from taking precious minutes away from his combine. They were probably working 12-hour days. There would be no time for a getaway soon. Brady
loved farming and he loved the farm. He was part owner. It was his responsibility. Even the writing would be put on hold until a rainy day. But could he put Gina on hold and survive?

“Don't look so worried, Cal. Pray for them.”

“How were they?”

“Cautious. Gina held his hand the whole time. He looked more distraught than she did. I'm certain they're determined to get over this bump in the road.”

“Celeste, the eternal optimist.”

“Never.” She laughed, her freckled nose all scrunched up. “They just need some healing time.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I saw you with Lia.”

He clenched his jaw.
Valley Oaks women and their preoccupation with observing every single conversation. They really should be deputized—

“What did you think of her haircut?”

“It's, um, different.”

“Cal, that's not the point! She donated her hair to be made into wigs for cancer patients. Isn't that wonderful?”

“Hmm. I didn't know you could do that.”

“Yes. Did you sign the petition yet?”

“What petition?”

“Cal, you really should get out more. Some HMO is going to cut out independent pharmacies like hers. Without their support, she'll go out of business. We can't lose her!”

Lia needed money? What was it she had said?
Oh, please don't shut me down. I don't know how I'm going to make ends meet as it is!

An ominous scenario began to form in his mind. He fought the urge to suppress it. After all, such thoughts were part of his job.

Isabel attended her parents' church with them but begged off dinner at home. It wasn't an afternoon for the happy chaos of sharing a meal with at least half of her six siblings and their families. She headed instead to the river.

It was a beautiful fall day, full of cool air and warm sunshine. Glorious reds, yellows, and oranges painted the hilly landscape of trees. The river, about half a mile wide, sparkled a silvery gray. She left her car in a lot and found a vacant bench near the riverbank, away from the walkway jammed with a steady stream of joggers, bicyclists, and strollers.

Church had filled her with a delicious sense of peace, and she intended to savor it, wringing every last drop into her frantic heart.

Her
abuela
, her mother's mother, dominated Isabel's thoughts. Listening to the church service in Spanish always brought her to mind. She had been the happiest, most contented, most devout woman in the world.

Isabel brushed away silent tears. Her
abuela
had been gone just over two months now. Oh, how she missed her! How she needed to talk with her! What insight would she wisely reveal?

She thought back to college days, to that spring vacation she spent in Mexico with Tony.

It had been a whirlwind trip. Of course, Puerto Vallarta had been their destination, not the hot dusty remote area of Leon. But Isabel had declared she would not set foot in Mexico without visiting her
abuela
. Tony promised he'd go with her. After three sun-and-tequila-soaked beach days, they rented a car and drove seven or eight hours inland.

The middle child of seven, Isabel had discovered at an early age the solution to her attention cravings: It was in Mexico on her
abuela
's lap. Her grandmother never traveled to the States. By the time Isabel was 12, she was traveling alone or with some relative to visit her, choosing outdoor plumbing and hauling water over the conveniences of home for months at a time. Every penny she earned or was given went towards a ticket of some kind, be it plane, bus, or train.

It wasn't that her
abuela
was a pushover. Her thick dark hair grew silver-streaked, and she always wore it in a long braid down her back. She was short and strong as an ox. Widowed at an early age, she raised eight children on her own. Though kind and generous to a fault, she reprimanded Isabel two minutes after meeting Tony.

Shorter even than Isabel, she reached up and gently took hold of her chin, gazing into her eyes, boring into the depths of her soul. She spoke in Spanish because she did not know English. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Then you are sinning.” There was steel in her
abuela
's voice.

“
Mamá!
” She tried the most respectful address.

The woman shook her head vigorously. “You think I can't see? Does your mother know you're sleeping with him?”

Tony understood enough Spanish. He slipped back outside.

Isabel knew declaring innocence was pointless. Instead, she challenged, “How do you know?”

Her
abuela
's eyes filled as she caressed Isabel's cheek. “It shows, Isabel. Your mother hasn't noticed?”

“No. I don't know. She hasn't spoken of it. Stop trying to make me feel guilty!”

“The Holy Spirit does that. You know the Word of God. I taught it to you.”

“But in the States, it's different. Everyone—”

“Shush. You know better. Do you love him?”

She nodded.

“Will he marry you?”

The subject hadn't come up. She shrugged.

“Foolish girl…”

Still, her
abuela
welcomed them into her home. She fed them, laughed with them, teased Tony, planted Scripture in their minds, and assumed rightly that they would go with her to church. Isabel spent two nights snuggled beside her grandmother while Tony slept in an abandoned camper at the neighbor's.

How did she do it? Unconditional love poured from the woman, but Isabel knew she had broken her
abuela
's heart.

A few months later, when classes ended, Isabel returned to Mexico alone. Tony was long gone, and her life had fallen apart.

Foolish, foolish girl.

Isabel sat long at the river, remembering her grandmother. Since childhood, Isabel had known where to run for the unconditional love that carried her safely along life's journey. There was a void now. And then Tony had come, reminding her of the guilt, reminding her that there was no longer anywhere to run.

Her grandmother's words came to her. “It's not me, Isabel.”

How had she explained it?

“It's God who forgives, God who loves. Just be still and let Him do that.”

Be still? Isabel hadn't been still for years. Life was full…of good things…work, friends, choir, family. Always Christian music playing at home and in her car. Most weeks she was only home long enough to read a chapter from the Bible and sleep. There was no
stilling
time.

“I'm sorry, Father.”

A dull rushing noise filled her head. A deep sorrow took hold, as if she were physically seized by giant pincers. Her body literally ached. Instant tears burned her eyes, a voiceless cry scraped her throat raw.

She knew that she was—at last—being still, and that He was listening.

Isabel walked through the dimly lit church foyer in Valley Oaks. It was Sunday evening, and she had arrived early for her Bible study with the high school girls. The place was empty except for a few other groups scattered about the building. Adult groups were meeting in homes.

She felt as if she floated. At the river that afternoon, the ache had eventually melted away, leaving in its wake an indescribable quiet. She was forgiven. She was loved. Nothing else mattered.

“Isabel!”

She turned and saw Gina approaching. “Gina! Didn't you get my message about Tony being here?”

“Yes.”

“And you still came?” They hugged each other tightly.

“Isabel, Tony was only the messenger.” She smiled that dazzling smile of hers. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a white cotton sweater with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was incredibly attractive. The girls were going to love personally meeting Brady Olafsson's fiancée.

Fiancée?
Isabel grasped her left hand and looked at it. The diamond caught the dim light. She breathed a loud sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I know he's not a stalker, but I keep waiting for him to get possessive with me. I mean, I don't expect him to, because he never has. Yet…” She shrugged. “It's a trust issue. I need some time to process things.”

Isabel gave her another hug. “In the meantime, I imagine you've got him wrapped around your little finger.”

Gina laughed. “If I truly wanted the moon, I think he'd get it for me!”

Tony followed Isabel's directions and went down the steps to the church basement. The musical sound of feminine giggles led him from there.

He went to a set of open double doors at the end of a hallway. Inside a large room lit by lamps, about a dozen teenage girls sprawled on couches, chairs, and the carpet, Izzy and Gina among them. Bookshelves and posters lined the walls. The scent of chocolate drifted into the hall.

Izzy waved and came over to him, her petite figure making her appear as youthful as the girls. “Hi.”

“Hi. Looks like a fun group.”

“Come on in.”

He caught Gina's eye as she made her way over to them. “Mind if I talk to Gina first out here?”

She winked at him and went back into the room.

“Gina.”

“Hi, Tony.”

“I'm sorry.” He decided against using his line that he was just doing his job. It wasn't exactly the truth in this case. “I don't know what else to say.”

She studied his face for a moment. “That about covers it. On Tuesday, it would not have covered it, but tonight…I forgive you.”

“Thank you. Are you—” He stopped from asking if they were going to make it. That was brazenly personal; his
trademark, yes, but not for tonight. “I hope everything works out for you.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “Um…if I were you, I'd be very careful. You know Brady is into breaking noses.”

“I'm on my way back to Chicago this very moment.”

“Maybe you'd better stay there a while.” Her face lit up then in what Brady called her “Miss America” smile.

He shook her proffered hand.
One classy lady.