Maybe his father read his mind because he put his hand on Dawson’s shoulder. “We’ve been in counseling for a while now. Apart. Together. And we’ve learned that even in darkness, God is trustworthy. He does not abandon us to the screaming void of grief. He holds us, if we’re”—he glanced at Dawson’s mom—“and sometimes even if we’re not—willing to hold him. Because he does love us.”
The words settled, soft, like the snow dusting off the banks, and it hit him then.
Hisstuffwasn’t anger. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even frustration.
It wasrejection. The sense that no matter what he did, hecouldn’t escape being always in the wrong place, the wrong time.
The wrong man.
Except, maybe he wasn’t.
“If you hadn’t been there.”
His father met his eyes, holding them. “I know it’s a little late now, but ... we’re sorry. Because you are the good that God gave us in that dark time. We should have seen it then. But we do see it now.” He offered a smile, the kind he’d seen his grandfather wear. “We’re very proud of you, son.”
And weirdly, Griffin’s voice returned to him.
“In theebb and flow of the world,of the terrible andthe good,maybe darkness doesn’t win because God’sgoodness is still in the world,through his people. Through his providence. Even when it feels like the darkness iswinning.”
Then his dad pulled Dawson to himself.
“C’mon, son, it’s time to go home.”
And wouldn’t you know it, he turned into a child and let himself be held, and finally, at long last, wept.
17
“IHAVEN’TBEENthis nervous since I sang at the inaugural ball of President White.” Keely stood behind the sliding back door of a simple ranch house in a suburb of Tulsa, staring out into the greening, fenced backyard.
Four-year-old Zoey sat on a red tricycle in the grass.
“You’ll be fine, Keely,” Alicia Robbin said from behind Keely. Zoey’s social worker had met her at the house.
Maybe a good thing, because Keely sort of wanted to turn around and run. But Marnie Schultz, Zoey’s foster mom, gave her a warm smile. She stood beside Keely, arms folded, her smile gentle, her brown hair curly around her head. She wore a pink pullover, a pair of jeans, a pair of sneakers, a little muddy on the bottom. The picture of a mom, at least in Keely’s head, including the worry in her eyes.
Yeah, well, maybe rightly so. Keely wore leggings, her white Prada Cloudbust sneakers, and a Versace gold puffer jacket, her blond hair back and covered with a black Dior baseball cap. Quintessential Bliss.
Yeah, clearly she hadn’t thought this through.
Except, she had, really—spent the past three days pacingher apartment, talking with Goldie, her lawyer, and Bryce’s representative.
Bryce had written a request that his daughter go back to Keely, had it notarized and filed. So maybe he’d known her answer before Keely had.
On paper, and on the plane, and in her heart, it made sense.
Right now, however...
“You don’t have to have a perfect voice to make abeautiful song,Keely.”
She didn’t know why Vic—or maybe her mother—had decided to walk into her head with that, but she blamed Marnie, who leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and said, “Just love her. That’s what she needs.”
Right.
And wow, Zoey was cute in real life. Her blond hair longer than the last photo that she’d seen, but now French braided down the sides. She wore a pink jacket, flowered stretch pants, and cute yellow boots, now grimy with the spring mud, despite the grassy yard.
“What if I completely screw up her life?” Her voice still betrayed the damage she’d done to it in Alaska, although the pain had lessened.
Marnie gave a short laugh. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll make mistakes. We all do. But this isn’t just about her. It’s about you too. Being a mother is costly, and wonderful, and challenging, and amazing.”
