“He’s scared,” Mom said, so tender, so wise. “Be patient.”
“We’re all scared, Mom.” Chloe took a sip of her soup then let her spoon clank against the side of the bowl. “How did you do it, Mom? Go on after Daddy died? There were days I barely got out of bed after Jean-Marc’s funeral. If it wasn’t for my job, I’d have never left the house. Heaven help me if I’d had a child to take care of.”
“That’s how. You. My child.” Mom stilled, and a beat passed before she went on. “I had to keep myself together and get us through it.”
“But how? I think I’m moving on, over the grief, when suddenly a wave hits me out of nowhere. Last night, when I was with Sam on the dance floor and when he kissed me, I felt like the sun had finally burst through my clouds. Then he texted.”
“Grief isn’t the enemy. Denying it is. You lost the man you were to grow old with and now you have to start over, in your teenage bedroom no less, living with your old mom.”
Chloe laughed softly. “Being here is more healing than I imagined.”
“Grief comes in waves and stages. I had waves of grief for years, Chloe. I embraced them, processed them, and moved on.” Mom sipped her soup and took a bite of bread.
Chloe knew the truth of that. “So then what’s the point, if we just end up alone? Daddy left and never came back. His work was more important than us, than me, than our vacation to Disney World.”
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s not true.” Mom set her soup on the TV tray and looked at Chloe.
“He went on that business trip and postponed our Disney vacation.” She’d been so hurt, but Daddy promised to reschedule it as soon as he returned.
“He went on the trip because his boss promised him a commission and a bonus. We were using the money to stay at one of the Disney World hotels instead of the Peppermint Inn across town. You weren’t more important than his work. He worked because you were important to him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I didn’t know you thought your father loved his work more than you. He adored you.” Mom stroked the back of Chloe’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have made sure you knew why he postponed our trip.”
Chloe swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. So, everything she’d believed for over twenty years about Daddy choosing work over his family—over her—had been wrong? “I—that’s a lot to take in. I’m glad he—wow, well, Daddy, I’m so sorry.” She brushed the wash of tears from under her eyes. “You know what I said to Sam last night? That he couldn’t love me because the men I love die. Daddy. Jean-Marc.”
“You know that’s a lie. Don’t give in to it.” Mom handed her a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Chloe, you’re the bravest woman I know. Packing up and moving to France to study, then trying to heal from your husband’s death. I am so proud of you. Coming home was equally brave. But be kind to yourself. Let time help you heal. You healed from Daddy dying.”
“Because of you.” Chloe slipped her hand in her mother’s. “And now you’re helping me heal again.”
“I had one thing that you didn’t, Chloe. Faith. A strong relationship with Jesus. There were many nights I cried and talked to Him, pleading for help and understanding, asking for peace.”
“Did it work?”
“Every time. Sure, I didn’t understand everything, like why we lost Daddy, but I knew that God was watching over us, taking care of us. My job with Frank was a real gift from God. He gave me a generous salary and about every quarter, I find a bonus check on my desk. He’s been doing that for twelve, thirteen years. I’ve almost paid off the house.”
“I’m not sure I can make the leap to trusting God, just like that. I’ve never felt God with me. Not the way you do.”
“Have you ever tried? Remember our quarrels every Sunday morning?”
Chloe covered her embarrassment with a laugh. “How could I forget?”
“You want to know what I did to get through those dark days after Daddy died? I grabbed hold of the hand the Lord offered me and never let go.”
“Just like that? Reached up and grabbed God’s hand?” Chloe stuck her hand in the air and “felt” around. “God, hello, Chloe LaRue here. I’m grabbing your—” She inhaled and pulled back as her fingers grazed something large and firm, yet soft and warm. “Hand. What was that?”
When she looked at her mother, she was grinning “Well, smart aleck, I think it was the hand of God.”
Chapter 9
This was a risk.
It could be argued that it may be the biggest one he’d ever taken, including the wild throw that had caused him to blow out his knee. Here he was, standing at the Beason front door at six o’clock on a Sunday night, unannounced, about to ring the doorbell.
If Chloe opened and punched him in the nose then slammed the door in his face, he’d deserve it. In a way, he sort of hoped she did.
So ring the bell, smart guy.
