The Forgiving Hour (32 page)

“The white and purple ones?”

“Those were my favorites, but you get whatever you like best.”

“They’re my favorites too. That’s what I’ll order.”

“Hey, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“What’s that?”

His voice deepened. “I love you.”

“Mmm.” She shivered with pleasure. “I love you too.”

“Wish you were here.”

“Me too.”

“Bet you could still catch a flight up. We could wait for the weekend to go over to Victoria. How about it?”

“I can’t get away, Dakota. You know that.”

Soft laughter came across the telephone wire. “Yeah, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“It’s nice to be wanted. I’m glad you keep trying.” She sighed in contentment.

“You sound tired. I’d better let you get some sleep.”

She was reluctant to say good night, but he was right. She was tired, and it was late.

“Dream about me?” he suggested.

“Probably.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow night from Victoria.”

“I’ll be here.”
Waiting, just as I was tonight.
“I miss you.”

“Me too.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

“Sleep tight.”

“You too.”

Silence, then, “We don’t seem to be hanging up.”

She laughed. “I noticed.”

“I didn’t know I’d miss you this much.”

“I didn’t know Seattle would seem so far away.”

“Are you sure you can’t —”

“Dakota, don’t ask again.”

He sighed. “Okay, I won’t. I love you.”

“And I, you.”

“You know what, sweetheart?”

“We sound like bad movie dialogue?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Say good night, Dakota.”

“Good night. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night.” Reluctantly, she placed the receiver in its cradle, breaking the connection.

Still smiling, warmed by the memory of the sound of his voice, she rolled to her side.

Thank You, Lord. I know I don’t deserve him, but I’m so grateful You brought us together.

Dakota and Claire celebrated her forty-second birthday in Victoria, British Columbia, with high tea at the Empress Hotel. On Friday they visited Butchart Gardens where the azaleas, tulips, and daffodils were a visual springtime delight. They spent hours and hours on Saturday poking around the Royal British Columbia Museum. And they talked and talked and talked. About all sorts of things, but mostly about Sara — or so it seemed to Claire.

On Sunday they returned to Seattle where they attended an evening church service; the experience of sitting beside her son and worshiping God in song and prayer was every bit as special as she’d known it would be. It was also a bittersweet experience, because she was aware of the many years she’d missed doing this very thing.

Monday morning arrived before she was ready for it.

As she watched Dakota toss his duffel bag into the back of the Jeep, she realized anew that she would never again be as important in her son’s life. Soon he would be a husband. Eventually, he would be a father. These were all good things. All part of the natural order of life.

Knowing that didn’t help much.

Dakota turned around. “I had a great time, Mom.” He embraced her, hugging tightly.

“So did I.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Hey, don’t cry.” He kissed her forehead. “You’ll be home in six weeks. Less if we’re lucky.”

“I know.” She wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “Tell Sara that I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I will.”

“Dakota …”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I’m terribly proud of you.”

“Ditto.”

“I wish …” Again she let her voice trail into silence.

He seemed to understand. “Yeah.” He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “I know.”

Oh, this was silly. She’d never had any patience with clingy mothers who didn’t know when to release their children.

She patted his shoulder, returned his kiss, and then took a step backward. “You’d better get going. You have a long drive ahead of you. Call me when you get to Boise.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you, Mom.”

She stepped onto the sidewalk and watched as he started his Jeep, backed out of the parking space and, with a wave, drove away. Even after he’d disappeared from view, she remained standing there, feeling that wretched sense of loss.

Feeling old.

I’m not old,
she silently argued as she headed for her condo.
Forty-two isn’t old. Women are still having babies at my age, for crying out loud. I’m
not
old.

But she wasn’t young either. She wasn’t in that first blush of youth when the world lay before her, filled with possibilities. She could hardly remember what it was like to be in love with someone the way Dakota was in love with his Sara.

She thought of Kevin. What would it be like to fall in love with him? To be loved by him?

God, why does everything have to be so confusing? My feelings are all mixed up. I don’t know which way to turn.

THIRTY-TWO

“So how was your visit with Dakota?” Kevin asked when he saw Claire in the office the next morning. He almost added that he’d missed her while she was in Victoria but knew he mustn’t, even though she’d been on his mind constantly. The time just wasn’t right.

“Wonderful, but too brief.” She clicked the
Save
icon with her computer mouse, then turned to look at him. “He’s engaged to be married.”

“Were you expecting this?”

“No, I wasn’t. He met the young woman after I left Boise. He never said a word about her when we talked by phone. I suppose he was afraid I’d think he was rushing headlong into something.” She shrugged. “I guess I do. At least a little.” Softly, she continued, “He seems to be very much in love, and Dakota isn’t the reckless, impetuous sort. Sometimes I’ve even thought he was too levelheaded for his own good.”

Kevin stepped into her office. On this floor of the building it was the only finished room, and it was complete with carpet, window coverings, and framed prints. It was furnished with a bookcase and filing cabinets, desk and computer, and everything else Claire needed to do her job. Personal touches — a photo of Dakota and a chubby angel figurine — added warmth to the room.

Kevin sat down on a chair opposite her, as he’d done often in the past weeks. “What are you feeling right now?”

“Lonely,” she answered with absolute frankness. “I feel lonely.”

“That’s understandable.” He wished he could take her in his arms and offer comfort. But he knew he couldn’t do that either.

“Is it?” she asked.

“I think so. I’ve seen my nieces and nephews grow up, move out, get married, and start families. And I’ve seen what it was like for their parents. They’ve invested so much of themselves for so many years, trying to raise decent kids who’ll become decent, independent adults. And all of a sudden, that’s what they are. Independent adults. I’m sure I’d feel lonely in your shoes too.”

She looked away from him, toward the window. He could tell she was lost somewhere in the past, and he let her be.

Jesus, isn’t it possible for us to be together now? She needs me.

In its time, beloved.

Alone. Claire didn’t want to feel alone.

But when she looked at Kevin again, she found herself asking something she hadn’t meant to. “Have you ever wanted to get married again?”

He answered without hesitation. “Yes, I’ve thought I would. I’ve been waiting for the right woman and for the right time.”

Waiting for the right woman … Obviously, he thought he hadn’t met her yet.

She looked at her computer screen, smarting from his answer and not wanting his all-too-observant eyes to notice.

“Claire?”

She bit the inside of her lip, trying her best not to make a fool of herself.

“Look at me.”

She didn’t want to, but she did.

“God has made everything appropriate in its time.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He looked at her with patience and tenderness. “I’m talking about you. And me. I’m talking about us.”

Her chest tightened.
Us
? Her breathing grew shallow. “What about us?”

“I wouldn’t be honest if I pretended I didn’t care for you. I
do
care.”

What do you mean,
care?

“I’m not oblivious to what’s been happening between us. I think there’s a chance for more than friendship. Much more. And I think you feel it too.”

She couldn’t believe it. Was he really saying this?

“I’ve been praying about us, seeking God’s will, and I think I finally understand what He’s telling me.” Kevin paused, his gaze thoughtful, his expression compassionate. Finally, in a soft voice, he continued, “This isn’t the time for us. Not yet.”

The wind went out of her sails.

“He wants us to wait.”

“Wait for what, Kevin?”

“It isn’t our season.”

He was rejecting her, and he was blaming it on God. How like a man!

“There’s something you have to do in Boise. I don’t know what it is, but it’s important. It’s something you have to deal with before your heart will truly be ready to love again.”

He was giving her the brush-off, telling her to go home, and he was using God as an excuse.

Angry, wounded, agitated, she rose from her chair and went to the window. “Who said anything about love? Unlike my son, I’m not the type to fall for someone in a matter of weeks. I’ve never wanted anything more from you than friendship.”

“I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“It takes more than something like this to hurt me. I can assure you of that.”

“Claire?” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Surprised that she hadn’t heard his approach, she turned. The way he looked at her was nearly her undoing. She didn’t want his pity.

“Hear me out. Please.”

She didn’t want to listen. She wanted him to leave her alone. “I can’t imagine what more there is for you to say.”

“Have you ever watched an artist painting a landscape in oils? While he’s working, while you’re standing up close to the canvas, it doesn’t look like much at all. Just splashes of color that don’t have much purpose or connection with reality. But when he’s finished, when he adds those last brush strokes, and we step back to look, we can see what he had in mind all the time. And it’s beautiful.”

“What has that to do with our … friendship?”

“I’m telling you God has a plan for our lives, and when He’s done with this particular landscape, it’s going to be wonderful and perfect. “We’ll be able to see His hand in all of it. He’s creating something beautiful between us. I believe it with all my heart. Be willing to wait, Claire.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Please wait,” he whispered, his breath warm on her skin. Then he turned and walked out of the office.

She spun toward the window, fighting tears, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, wanting to escape the crushed feeling in her chest.

I’ve been waiting all my life. Why do I have to wait some more? Why do You want me to be alone, God? Why?