Reclaimed (38 page)

He disappeared down the hall, returning a minute later with an envelope. “I found this in my desk last week. Your father wrote it a few weeks before his heart attack.” He pushed the letter across the space between them. “He asked me to look it over, but he died before I got it back to him. I’m sorry to say that until I saw you at the dance the other night, I’d forgotten about it.”

Suzanna stared at the paper. Too many mysteries. Too many things she didn’t really want to know. She fought the temptation to crumple it up. Not returning his look or even speaking to say good-bye, she turned on the ball of her foot and headed out the door.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Paul trudged up the hill, his breath puffing white in the February morning. His orphaned calf didn’t survive. Disposing of the carcass only added to his gloom.

Pastor’s pickup sat in his driveway. Paul sighed. He liked the man very much, but he wasn’t up for company. Hadn’t been all week.

“How do, Paul?” Ron dropped from the pickup and held out a hand.

“All right.” His voice felt rusty. It’d been a long time since he’d squirreled himself away from people. Probably wasn’t the best plan now, but he couldn’t bring himself to get about the town. Despite his desire for isolation, hospitality was still required. “I was just going for something hot. Come on in.”

Pastor stepped beside him, and they moved toward the house. “Missed you in church Sunday.”

Should have known. You don’t fail to show up after a scene like last week’s and have it go unnoticed. Had Suzie gone?

He ached to talk to her. Had her number up and ready to push
Send
more times than he could count, but he couldn’t think of what to say. Things weren’t going to change, and it hurt too much to talk about.

Paul rubbed his neck as he led the way to his kitchen. “Just felt the need to stay here—it’s been busy.”

Ron accepted the excuse without a hint of rebuke. The pause between them felt like it was supposed to have meaning. Maybe it was just foreboding. Paul wouldn’t know the difference.

Ron cleared his throat. “Talked to Suzanna on Monday before she left town.”

Left town?
Whoa now.

Had she told Dre? Who was taking care of her horse? What about Kelsey—did she talk to her?

“I take it you didn’t know she’d left.” Ron said.

Paul turned, reaching for a cabinet without knowing what he was after. “No.”

“Paul, I know why you fought—that it wasn’t just about Hailey. Suzanna told me you told her she needed a relationship with Jesus.”

He couldn’t turn around. Swallowing wasn’t working, and blinking didn’t clear the moisture in his eyes.

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be, because I know you love her.” Ron spoke quietly. “Are you doing okay?”

Paul’s hand trembled as he ran it over his head. He turned back to Ron and leaned against the counter with both palms, and his head hung low. “No. Not really.” His voice turned gravelly.

“I thought maybe not.”

Paul couldn’t move, hating he’d crumbled before another man. “I don’t know how I let this happen. I
know
her—and I knew she had some stuff to work out. Who doesn’t though? We talked about everything except the one thing that should have mattered most.”

“It happens.” Ron said. “Probably more often than you think.” He sighed and Paul glanced at him. “I don’t know how to help—don’t know that’s even possible, but I did want to tell you I had spoken with her. She’s searching, Paul. I don’t want to give you false hope, but she hates all the anger and bitterness she can’t cut away. She wants to be free. I believe that longing is God calling to her.”

“She’s too stubborn to admit it.” Paul pushed away from the counter. “Even if she weren’t, admitting she needs Jesus will put her dad’s eternity into question. She won’t do that. He’s the one good memory she has of all her growing up. She won’t cast his eternal life into doubt.”

“She and I talked about her dad.” Ron leaned against the counter with his elbow. “Mike and I were good friends, and he was a believer when he died. A fairly new one, but he was saved. I’m sure of it.”

Hope glimmered a faint shaft of light, and Paul latched on to it. “Did you tell her?”

Ron dipped a slow nod though it looked like he wouldn’t go into detail. “It was a long story, and she listened. All I mean to say, Paul, is she has a lot of things pushing her to truth. That isn’t to say she’s not a fighter—we all know she is—but so is the Hound of Heaven. I have hope Love will not fail.”

Love never fails.

God’s doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean the Pickle will accept it. Paul kind of wished Jesus were more the beat-it-into-you type rather than the wooing type. He knew from experience how much work the latter really was.

Suzanna turned her car onto Eleventh Avenue and followed it through the UNC campus, wishing the familiar street, the old buildings, and the college culture would distract her from the empty canyon gouged into her soul. Memories played one after another. She and Jason had walked the campus paths many times. They’d studied at Michener Library together, sat at the campus coffee shop, lived in the student housing. He’d held her hand as they walked the campus after sunset, lights strung in the trees and the vitality of eager young minds setting the darkness to life.

Good memories. They made her cry as pain carved the valley deeper.

Why had she believed this would be an escape? You can’t escape from something that’s on the inside. Paul had been right. The wounds still bled. They’d never healed. So, what did that mean? She was sentenced to a life of bitter agony? She’d rather not live at all.

No. Those thoughts led to a condemning sin. No matter how good a person you were in life—murder, even of oneself, is unforgivable. Unforgivable? So, what was forgiveness all about, then? What needed forgiveness? What could be forgiven? Did it even matter?

Jason talked about being forgiven. That he’d been forgiven. That didn’t make any sense. Jason was a good person. Despite his horrible circumstances, he was a good person. Why did he think he needed to be forgiven?

Suzanna followed Twentieth Street toward the baseball field. She parked in the Admissions lot and walked toward the sports complex. She’d spent many afternoons stretched out in the late spring sunshine, watching practice from a distance. He loved the game. She didn’t know it well enough to appreciate the long hours of scoreless innings interrupted by brief moments of action, but she could see his passion for baseball every time Jason picked up his glove. It made her happy to see him succeed.

Promise me you’ll choose to live.

A bitter wind tugged at her crocheted scarf. Jason’s life had been a brief flash of light to hers.

Paul’s love had been a fleeting blanket of warmth over her freezing soul.

Neither brought anything lasting. Neither gave her peace. She spun an about-face and returned to her car. Visiting the sites of memories had been a bad idea.

She set her car west on Twentieth Street, merging with traffic without a plan. Ten minutes passed, and she found herself parked at the cemetery. Another bad idea. Yet, her feet took her out of the car and down the rows of headstones.

Jason Allen Cumberland

His headstone was plain, sunk into the ground because it was cheaper—and the caretakers preferred them that way. Easier maintenance. Nice. She’d buried her beloved husband in a manner of convenience.

Live, Suzanna. Promise me.

She dropped to the cold ground, the February chill seeping through her jeans.

How? What kind of life is this, Jase? Every time I start to breathe again, I get another blow.

Her eyes squeezed against the ache aggravated by her confession. He wanted her to find life, but she felt buried by his death. Buried by hope’s plunge into disappointment. Buried by her tumultuous life. 

“Jase, I tried. I really did. I even met someone. He’s a good man, but we don’t agree about God, and he can’t live with that.” Her mumbled words came out in broken cries. “He thinks like you.” She doubled over as pain ripped hot down to her core. “I don’t know God like you—or like Paul. Jason, why can’t I know Him? Why does He hide from me? Hate me? You said He loves me. Daddy said it too. And Paul. But I don’t feel loved. I feel rejected.”

You’re afraid to feel.

Paul knew her. Better than she understood—like Jason had. But they didn’t understand. If it weren’t for anger, all she would know is heartache.

Draw near.

The voice that whispered to her soul seemed familiar. Her eyes slid shut. She saw an image of a snow-covered field set to glow by the sinking sun on a cold December evening.

Draw near and find life.

The skin on her arms prickled, and she gasped as the memory continued. It had been the purest moment she’d ever known. The voice was the kindest, most inviting sound she’d ever heard. No—not heard. Felt.

Her lips quivered. “God?”

Draw near and find Love.

Love? Love didn’t last. Death came. Conflict destroyed. Love failed.

Love never fails.

She’d heard that—it was in the Bible. Suzanna vaguely remembered her father reading it on her wedding day. But love had failed.

Draw near and know my peace.

She turned her face to the sky. “Who are you? How can I love what I do not know?”

Draw near and find me.

She crumpled, her hands covering her face. “I don’t know how.” An image flashed behind her closed eyes—an envelope, unmarked and unopened. Daddy’s letter.

Suzanna pushed off the ground and turned back toward her car. She’d stuffed it into the glove box, not wanting to see it or to think about the things Pastor had told her, but she needed answers. Maybe Daddy had given her some.

She landed in her car and barely had the door pulled shut before she had the glove box open. The envelope waited—called. She shivered, begging the Voice not to let her find more disappointment, and then tore it open.

Suzie doll,

There is so much I need to tell you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Mistakes that robbed your mother of the life she’d dreamed of. Mistakes that have left both you and your sister wounded and lost. I’m sorry, my little girl, so sorry. There were many things I didn’t understand. I need to tell you about some of them.

The first is about your mother. I know the two of you clashed—usually violently, and I regret that. You need to know her anger comes from a deep pit of pain. Unfortunately, something you can relate to far too well. Suzie, I don’t mean this maliciously, because I do love your mother, and I always will, but you are on a path much like hers. You have let the root of bitterness take hold of your soul. Baby, I love you, and I need to warn you the weed will strangle you. It will rot in your heart and leave you empty. Hopeless. Don’t let that happen.

I taught you that if you lived a good life, did what the Bible says, God would love you, and you would have a happy life and then go to heaven. I was wrong.

Suzie, God loves you no matter what. Life gets hard. I’m sad to say you know that better than most. That doesn’t necessarily mean God is mad at you. His love is constant. There’s nothing good enough you can do to make Him love you more, and there’s nothing so bad you can do that will make Him love you less.

Heaven is a gift He gives by way of faith in Jesus Christ. He offers it to all of us—to you, but you have to receive it. I led you astray to make you think you could earn it.

I think you resent God, but God is good. He is kind and righteous and just, but merciful. There is a Psalm that says taste and see the Lord is good. I’ve finally tasted that heavenly sweetness, and I found God is a God I can love because He loves me.

Please, baby girl, please—seek this God. He will be found, and you will know Him. That is my heartfelt cry for your life. He will heal your wounds, set you free from anger, and give you peace. Seek Him, and you will be His.