Clouds and rain trailed Tropical Storm Anna and covered Melbourne and the beaches all weekend.
Corina distracted herself Saturday by cleaning and running errands through semi-flooded streets, regretting that she’d shared such a tender part of her heart with Stephen. He’d not earned the right, and now he’d carry another part of her away with him.
But as the day passed, she felt his absence and wondered how he and Thomas filled their day.
She also felt lighter. Her thoughts clearer. A melody bubbling in her heart. Maybe that’s what she needed all along. An unburdening. A good therapy session. She’d been to grief counseling years ago, but it had taken time for all of her thoughts and feelings to manifest.
She slept fitfully Saturday night but woke Sunday with the need to worship. To fix her heart on Someone greater than herself. Tugging on a pair of jeans and a blouse, she made her way to the House of Freedom in Viera.
Church had been a staple in the Del Reys’ home until Carlos’s funeral. Afterward, Daddy resigned from the church board and Mama left all of her committees as well as the Georgia Women’s Charity she’d founded.
The years of mourning wearied Corina, made her spiritually dull, and she found herself drifting a bit from Truth. She’d spend her Sundays sleeping in, reading the paper, watching movies. Escape of the carnal kind.
But coming out of the fog, she knew she must return to the One who held the answers. He had to be the true solution to her dark years. Because he was the only true light.
She’d visited Freedom a handful of times since she’d moved to Melbourne, so Sunday morning, as she slipped into the back row and the music started, she was instantly caught up in his presence.
She closed her eyes and raised her hands as high as any Baptist girl could do, weeping, and whispered, “Here I am, Lord.”
The music changed and Corina moaned, pressing her hand to her heart, feeling as if another door had cracked open. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she didn’t care who saw her.
Her adrenaline surged when she thought she heard cathedral bells. Opening her eyes, she scanned the musicians on the stage for bells or chimes. But there were only guitars and drums today.
With a dry swallow, she repeated her prayer. “Here I am, Lord.”
That’s when she heard his voice, an echo of the divine guidance she’d heard that night in the Marietta chapel five and a half years ago. The simple phrase vibrated through her.
Love well.
But what did that mean?
Corina pondered it all afternoon Sunday and spent a good portion of the evening reading the gospel of John, seeking, asking, believing.
Now it was Monday morning, raining, and Corina drove to work grumpy and tired after another restless night of sleep. She woke up far too many times thinking of Stephen, then muttering prayers until she slipped back into slumber, only to jolt awake again.
She had a meeting first thing with Mark this morning and wanted to be on her A game.
The GTO’s engine rumbled low as Corina pulled into thePostparking lot. Slinging her cross-body bag over her head, she grabbed her grande green tea and made her way to the building, dodging the rain, and wishing for sunshine.
And missing Stephen.
No, I can’t love him.It was just the residue of the weekend. In a few days it would pass. But the last four days had packed an emotional wallop. Last Thursday morning she had walked into work as a single woman jump-starting her life, and by the day’s end, she was married. To a prince.
The idea sparked a zip of electricity through her. On the surface, how many women could say they knew a prince, let alone be married to one? Though that’s not why she married him. She rather preferred he was an athlete and soldier to being a prince.
But really, what was the point to this line of thinking? No good, that’s what. As of this morning, the annulment papers remained where Stephen had left them, and there they would stay until he coughed up some information.
“Your brother died a hero.”
Stephen knew something or Del Rey blood didn’t flow through her veins.
Climbing the stairs, Corina entered the quiet bull pen.
Dropping her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, she sat and tried a sip of green tea. Too hot. Corina peeled off the lid, letting out the steam.
“Hey you,” Melissa said, stopping at her desk. “I tried to call you Friday. See if you wanted to join our tropical storm party.”
“Really?” Corina yanked her phone from her purse. “It doesn’t show missed calls.”
