For my dad, expressing this truth meant when things got hard, he dug in. He pressed into the things he was good at. Like winning nearly impossible defense cases. He said those types of wins made the valley seem small.
I obliterated a few personal records, garnering way too much attention from people at the gym, but my valley didn’t feel smaller. Not in the slightest. In fact, the opposite was true. It loomed bigger, sat heavier, with each quiver of my muscles.
The only thing the two hour work out accomplished was muting my rage by a notch or two. But as furious energy was spent, something else took its place. A feeling I hated and would much rather ignore.
After sitting in the sauna, I showered and headed to the truck. No clue where I was going next, but it sure wasn’t going to be home. The rain had slowed to a fine mist and the night was warm. Surprisingly so. A huge storm system was passing over Middle Tennessee. Maybe the worst was over for the greater Nashville area.
My wandering brought me to a late-night bar I’d visited a time or two. Probably didn’t need a couple drinks, but I wasn’t sure where else to go at this time of night. The place was deserted as I talked with the bartender and the few people at the barstools. It was a weeknight, after all.
After the bartender poured my second, I paid my tab. Stomach was hurting.
He held up a remote at the sole TV showing baseball replays over the bar. “Hey, you guys mind if I flip to weather? Want to see what this storm is doing.”
As he flipped channels, my brain traveled to Miranda and Kacey. I did my best to avoid thinking about them. A second drink hadn’t helped yet.
Conflict roiled in me. On the one hand, I was relieved Kacey didn’t belong to Miranda’s ex. But…mine? Shelied. She’d hidden him for four years. And for three weeks she had lied. And she had the guts to come play house for some money.
I thought it was impossible for Miranda and I to have kids. But we got our miracle and I wasn’t even there to be a part ofit. My fingers flexed around the lukewarm glass on the counter.
And then to further confuse me…I was glad. Thinking about Kacey made my chest so tight I could hardly breathe. I had ason. And he was an energetic, funny kid who looked so much like Miranda. I liked him a lot. The past few weeks had caused deep yearning for a child like him. To find out he was mine…
How could she do this? This wasn’t like Miranda. She wasn’t spiteful. I’d had some girlfriends who might pull a stunt like that—maybe Bree—but not Miranda. She was the most good-hearted person I knew. Incapable of pure evil.
Had I been too hard on her?
What had she said?
There are things you know nothing about.
I wondered what she meant. What type of things would justify something this terrible? I had ripped her a new one instead of hearing her out. A deep breath filled my lungs. She probably cried herself to sleep. The image churned regret in my midsection. I ran my hands over my head, wishing I could rewind the evening.
Or while I’m at it, the last ten years.
How had we gone from hot and heavy tothisin twenty-four hours?
I glanced at the clock on the wall. One a.m. Need for sleep pressed in. I’d worked a long day, had it out with Miranda, and my muscles still burned.
A tiny voice in my spirit urged me to go home, make it right. But another voice—deep and booming—told me to focus on the peaks. The valley would always be there and I could deal with it later.
I pulled out my phone and picked up an 8:00 a.m. shift.
THIRTY-TWO
Miranda
My eyes were puffy and burned from last night. I pulled a hat low on my forehead to shield them from the sun. The storm knocked branches down and killed the power. The wind scattered patio furniture across the porches.
The backyard was a mud hole. Water stood a few inches deep in low spots around the yard. Kacey thought the puddles were glorious and splashed away.
As I clomped through the muck to the raised beds, my heart in my wet tennis shoes, I prayed Richard would stay inside today. I was in no mood to talk. Every throb of my heart pained me. Guilt weighed down my steps.
A quick survey of our garden showed how much work there was to do. Branches had crushed a few seedlings. Okra and green bean seeds were exposed, the dirt mounds we’d patted over them having been washed away. Mulch piled around the wooden barriers of the garden, pushed this way and that—not doing its job anymore. Ripples in the exposeddirt showed how the garden had been pounded, punished, by the rain.
As I stooped to pluck up branches and twigs, Richard called. “Good morning!”
I sighed, tried to smile. “Hi, Richard.”
“Storm was something, wasn’t it?”
