That Certain Summer (15 page)

Talk about weird coincidences. The odds of running into Corey in the parking lot at the grocery store had to be minuscule.

And not only him, but two children.

His children.

Val closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the tube.

Seeing him hadn't been part of her agenda for this trip. It hadn't seemed important to her healing process.

But perhaps she'd been wrong. Perhaps she'd needed to learn that he'd moved on. Married. Started a family. That he was living an ordinary, conventional life. That he hadn't been held a prisoner of the past, as she had been.

Yet how could he have gone on as if nothing had happened? How could he have felt he deserved a normal life? Had their tragic decision meant so little to him?

Val clutched the tube closer to her chest and closed her eyes. She had no answers to those questions. But if he could find a way to move on, perhaps she could too.

So tomorrow she'd drive to St. Louis. To the place where she'd received this. And if her courage held, she'd continue on to the final place, where she'd followed through on their fateful choice.

She'd do it alone too. Just as she had the first time.

Yet how much less painful it would be if someone was by her side!

An image of David flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut. How ridiculous was that? She barely knew him— yet
she'd learned enough to know he was a man of deep faith, with a solid moral character. The kind of man who would never be able to understand, or forgive, her mistake. A loving father who wouldn't want anything to do with her if he knew the truth.

And she couldn't blame him. She didn't deserve someone like him. Or anyone, for that matter. The guilt was too great. That may not have stopped Corey from leading a normal life, but for her, life had never been normal again.

Val rose and padded over to the window to stare out into the darkness. Could she share her story with Karen, ask her to go? In these past weeks they'd connected far better than she'd ever imagined.

But she, too, was a person of faith. And while she and David might both buy into the notion of forgiveness, it was one thing to believe it in theory and another to put it into practice. Val didn't want to risk their newfound friendship by putting the strength of Karen's faith to the test.

So who was left—except God?

She sank onto the window seat, shoulders drooping. Too bad she didn't have her sister's faith. Or David's. He'd told her once it had allowed him to survive the bad times. That even at his darkest moments, he'd felt God's presence. What a comfort that must be.

Val ran her fingers over the crude cardboard tube, suddenly toying with a radical notion.

Why not go back to church? Seek some of the comfort and strength David and Karen talked about? At worst, she'd waste a couple of hours. At best, the service might offer her some nugget of solace that would help get her through tomorrow.

And anything that could do that was worth a try.

As Scott finished arranging the service music on the piano, Karen slipped into her place. When their gazes brushed, she bent her head and opened her folder.

Not a positive sign, but at least she'd come, despite missing rehearsal. And he wasn't letting her get away without delivering the apology he owed her.

As the service began and the choir launched into the opening hymn, Scott took a closer look at the woman with the auburn highlights in her hair. In retrospect, he was surprised he hadn't noticed her. He certainly would have in his pre-accident life.

He repositioned himself slightly on the bench as he played to get a better view. Her head was bent over her music, and her hair fell forward, obscuring part of her face. But the soft strands couldn't hide her elegant bone structure or the full lips that moved with fluid grace as she sang. She struck him as the studious, serious type—in sharp contrast to the glamorous, flamboyant women he'd met in the music world who'd long ago lost their appeal. And while many of them had had flashy good looks, this woman possessed a timeless, classic beauty that wouldn't fade with age.

She could sing too. It was easy to pick out her pure, clear soprano as she hit the final note. Nice.

All at once she lifted her head and looked his way. Her lips parted in surprise when she found him watching her, and a flush crept across her cheeks—as if she was worried she'd made a mistake. He sent her a small smile of reassurance, but her color deepened and she dipped her head again.

Now he'd embarrassed her.

Seemed he'd have two things to apologize for after the service.

Angling toward the sanctuary, he tuned in to Reverend Richards. As long as he was here, he might as well listen to what the man had to say.

“The story we heard today in John's Gospel is one of my favorites because it's so rich in meaning and symbolism. Here we have a man born blind. A man who lives in darkness, groping through life, stumbling and falling, often losing his way because he can't see the road ahead. He feels apart from the world, an outcast, alone and abandoned.

“Then Jesus enters his life and cures him. When asked later by the Pharisees to explain what happened, the once-blind man utters those wonderful words that continue to resonate with meaning in their simplicity and power: ‘I was blind and now I see.'”

The minister surveyed the congregation. “My friends, the Bible is filled with stories of people whose lives were transformed after encountering Jesus. There are dozens of examples of physical cures. The ten lepers. The man with the withered hand. Peter's mother-in-law. But many spiritual cures are recorded too. The tale of the adulteress is one of the most famous—a beautiful, inspiring story of forgiveness for a woman caught in sin, whom Jesus refused to condemn.

“God sends that same message to us today. Just as he did two thousand years ago, he stands ready to forgive us. To light our path. To guide us if we lose our way. To give us strength and hope. And God offers these things without our asking. The blind man didn't seek God. God found him and opened his eyes, dispelling
the darkness. For as Jesus said earlier in that same Gospel, ‘I am the light of the world.'

“I think it would be safe to assume that most of us experience dark times. It's part of being human. But during those trials, I ask you to remember that God stands ready to guide you. To forgive you. To offer you new hope and a new beginning. Pray to him for those things. It doesn't have to be a formal prayer. Just talk to him, in the quiet of your heart. And, like the man in today's reading, once we open ourselves to his abiding grace and loving presence, we too will be able to say, ‘I was blind and now I see.'

“Now, let us pray . . .”

As the pastor continued, Scott drew a long, slow breath. It was almost as if the man had written that sermon for him. He too was living in darkness, groping, stumbling, and falling like the blind man. Not only had he lost his way, he didn't even know his destination. All he'd been able to think about was the life that had vanished in a few terrible seconds. It was no wonder he'd stumbled; he'd been looking behind instead of ahead.

Yet looking ahead was terrifying. The future loomed as an endless black void, empty and meaningless. While there might be other possibilities for his life, he was blind to them.

If Reverend Richards was right, however, help was there for the asking.

Scott wasn't convinced a simple conversation with God would put his life back on track—but if the pastor and his mother and all the other people who gathered in this church each week believed prayer had such power, it was worth a try.

Val stared at the minister as he finished his sermon. It was as if he'd written the words for her. Could they be true? Did God grant forgiveness that easily to a repentant heart? Was it possible to leave the past behind and start anew?

As for prayer . . . she didn't remember any formal ones. But talking? No problem. Finding the words to ask for forgiveness would be a piece of cake.

Except—wasn't that too simple? How could a mere “I'm sorry,” no matter how sincere, rid her of her guilt?

On the other hand, this prayer thing was important to a lot of people. Like David, despite his absence today. And Karen. Even Margaret prayed. It may not have helped her disposition, but apparently God listened to her. When Val had announced this morning that she planned to attend services with the family, Margaret had recovered from her shock with surprising alacrity and said, “Well, I guess the Lord heard my prayers after all.”

Still, asking for absolution struck Val as way too presumptuous.

Maybe she could ask for strength, though, on her journey to the past—and for guidance. Like the blind man, she was groping her way down this rocky road, unsure of her steps, stumbling and falling and fearful of what lay around the next corner. If nothing else, God might take pity on her, as he had on that poor blind man, and light her path.

Not that she expected the light to penetrate into the deep, dark crevices of her soul, of course. That would be too much to expect. But even a few beams to dispel some of the shadows that had darkened her days for more than seventeen long years would be a welcome gift.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Scott joined Karen and another choir member as they chatted after the service. “Karen, do you have a minute?”

Surprised by the call out, Karen switched her focus from Ellen Sullivan to the dark-haired man. She hadn't realized he even knew her name. “Yes. Would you excuse me, Ellen?”

“Sure. I'm just glad you came to services today. The soprano section would have been in dire straits without you. See you soon.”

As Ellen walked away, Scott gave her a smile that seemed a tad . . . nervous? “We missed you at choir practice.”

Heat crept up her neck. She hoped it wouldn't spill onto her cheeks. “I had a long day at work. I couldn't handle any more . . .”

Her voice faltered, and he finished the sentence. “Stress?”

The flush moved higher. “I should have come. I heard it was better.”

“I hope so. I apologized to the choir for my bad temper and asked them to give me another chance.”

“Ellen called to tell me that.”

“I'm glad. But a secondhand apology isn't sufficient. I know you were very upset at rehearsal two weeks ago, and I wanted to tell you in person I was sorry for my behavior. I hope you aren't thinking about dropping out.”

“No. I've been in the choir too long for that. I'll be back next Wednesday.”

He smiled. A real smile this time, bigger than that tiny lip tip he'd given her earlier after the opening hymn.

The transformation took her breath away.

His dark eyes, usually brooding and distant, grew warm and vibrant. The angular planes of his face softened, and the tiny crinkle lines beside his eyes told her he had once smiled far more than he did now. As for those lips . . . Karen's glance lingered there. No longer taut, they were supple and appealing and . . .

She swallowed, resisting the urge to fan herself.

No wonder Kristen had said he was hot.

“I'm glad you're sticking with us. Now I'll be able to report to Reverend Richards that I didn't drive away any choir members after all.”

“Karen, are you ready to go?”

Yanking her gaze away from him, Karen turned toward her mother. Margaret was bearing down on her, Kristen and Val on her heels. “Yes. I was just gathering up my music.” The words came out in a breathless rush.

“Good. Val needs to get home. She has someplace to go today. Don't ask where. She isn't saying.”

Instead of the saucy reply Karen expected from her sister, Val fiddled with her purse. Her cheeks were a bit pinched, and Karen wondered if she was feeling ill again.

“Young man, since Karen hasn't introduced us, I'll do it myself. I'm her mother, Margaret Montgomery. This is my other daughter, Val, and my granddaughter, Kristen.” Without giving Scott a chance to respond, Margaret continued. “We're very pleased you were willing to fill in after Marilyn left. Why she couldn't give poor Reverend Richards more notice, I'll never know, but you're a godsend.”

One corner of Scott's mouth quivered, and Karen caught the amused glint in his eyes. “I must admit, no one's ever called me a godsend before.”

“I'd say the term fits in this case. I understand from Dorothy that you have extensive training. But I expect you'll be disappointed in our little choir. They'll never live up to your standards.”

His gaze swung to Karen . . . and stayed there. Once again her cheeks warmed.

“I've learned that setting standards too high can be discouraging instead of motivating. All the choir members do their best, and that's really all you can ask of people, isn't it?”

Instead of responding to his comment, Margaret gestured toward Val. “You ought to try and convince Val to join while she's here for the summer. She has the real vocal talent in the family. Such a beautiful voice. And professional training too. She'd be a good addition to the choir.”

“Talent must run in the family, then. Karen also has an exceptional voice. I was admiring it today during the opening hymn. I believe she has perfect pitch.”

Karen stared at him. Surely he was just being kind. Val
did
have the real talent.

Still, she couldn't quite contain the sudden glow in her heart.

“Hmm.” Margaret peered at him over the top of her glasses. “I see you're quite the diplomat.”

“Tact and sensitivity are great assets. Ones we all need to work on, don't you think?” Without waiting for her to answer, he continued. “But in this case, I wasn't being diplomatic. Just truthful. Perhaps your daughters inherited your talent?”

Stifling a smile, Karen glanced at Val. Though her face was still a bit tense, her sister gave a subtle thumbs-up. Margaret had been insulted so charmingly she didn't even recognize the slight.

“I did do a little singing in my younger days.” Margaret seemed pleased—if a bit flustered—by his question. “But my husband had a wonderful tenor voice. I suspect they got their talent from him.”