He’d go for a walk because he just—he neededout.
After exiting the inn’s front door, he crossed a small bridge over the creek, then took the walking path that bent to the right. Moist wood and moss scented the air. The grumpy gray clouds matched his mood.
He’d never gone to church while growing up in St. Louis. The Bradford family, Aunt Carolyn, and Uncle Frank had first introduced him to church. As much as he appreciated their efforts, in the end, Britt had been the one who’d motivated him to cultivate a relationship of his own with God during their high school years. He’d wanted what he’d seen that she had. And when she’d explained how overwhelmingly God loved him, Zander had wanted that, too.
Years later, when he’d been in college and Britt had been in France apprenticing under master chocolatiers, he’d realized Britt’s second-hand faith wasn’t going to be enough to sustain him over the long haul. He’d been gut-wrenchingly lonely during that stage of his life. In need of God’s presence. Eager to trust someone far bigger and more permanent than he was. He’d deepened his communication with God and reaped the benefits.
For the next several years, he’d felt close to God. His heart had been fiery and committed.
Over time, though, his enthusiasm had begun to dry.
He’d attended churches all over the world during the past eighteen months. He’d watched people in every language and culture praising the Creator of all things. He’d worshiped alongside them.
He’d hadn’t worshiped from a place of gratitude, however. He’d worshiped from a place of duty.
His former closeness with God seemed distant to him now, like clothes that had belonged to him when he was much younger. Between then and now, life had changed him—
Was that right?
No, to say thatlifehad changed him wasn’t specific enough. Certainly, age and experience hadn’t helped. Neither had the demands and pressures of his adult life. If he was honest with himself, though, the worst enemy of his faith had been his own disappointment.
He’d started praying that Britt would fall in love with him when he was a teenager. He’d continued praying that same prayer all the years since.
When you prayed for something every day and heard nothing but silence for more than a decade, it ground down your hope like corn into cornmeal. Zander had begun to wonder if God could still be good while denying him the one thing he’d prayed for most. Could he depend on a God who refused to give him what he’d waited years for?
The right answer was yes. God was still good. God was still dependable. However, disillusionment had driven a wedge into his relationship with God. What had once been simple was now complicated.
He watched an orange-chested robin glide into the air. The branch it had left trembled.
His walk hadn’t helped cure his restlessness because his restlessness couldn’t be fixed through a change in location or activity. He was restless because he didn’t want to do the work he should bedoing. His grief over his uncle weighed down both his body and his heart. And he missed Britt.
He didn’t know how to exist in Merryweather, unless she was beside him.
Since his return, he’d either been with her and thinking about her, or apart from her and thinking about her. There was no other category. At the reception following the funeral, his awareness had tracked her instead of concentrating on the blur of faces offering him condolences. While making calls in his room just now, he’d wondered if Britt was tired today after staying up late with him the night before binge-watchingStar Warsmovies.
During his months overseas, she’d sometimes been more than seven thousand miles away. Now she was only five miles away.Five miles.
He could drive to Sweet Art in under ten minutes.
He should do that. He should go see her.
He turned toward the inn, then stopped. It was madness to get even more tangled up in her than he already was.
Missing her wasn’t fatal.
He’d return to his room, and he’d try to write because he needed to protect himself from her as much as he possibly could.
Text message from Britt to Zander:
Britt
You haven’t been searching the Internet for shootings that might have involved Frank without me, have you?
Zander
I wouldn’t dare.
Britt
