“No apology necessary.”
“That’s not how God meant for it to be.”
I rub away the knot trying to worm its way into my left shoulder. “It seems that so much in our world is not what God meant for it to be.”
“I think we can cling to the goodness we see in the world. To the beauty in these lakes and the laughter of those kids who come every Saturday to hear your stories.”
Goodness, the heart and soul of a father. I like that picture, knowing God’s character isn’t reflected in every dad of this world.
Ella throws a stone into the stream and giggles when it hits the water.
“Does she remind you of your wife?” I ask quietly so Ella doesn’t hear.
“In her laughter and her grand outpouring of love, but Ella is branching out with graceful new limbs of her own. She seems unbreakable, but I’m afraid I’ll say something to hurt her....”
“What would Grace have told you?”
He thinks for a moment. “To be gentle.”
“Gentle and strong,” I say.
When he smiles at me, a strange feeling creeps into my heart. A tectonic shift. Josh and I—I think we might make a good team.
“I’m hungry,” Ella calls from the bank.
Josh is still smiling when he offers me his hand. “Should we break out the sandwiches?”
He helps me climb over the edge of the boat, and we sit on a log by the shore. Leaves rustle around us, and someone paddles a canoe around our boat, heading upstream. When Josh’s phone rings, he pulls it out of his pocket and wanders toward the trees, just far enough away that we can’t hear the conversation while Ella and I unwrap the brown paper from our sandwiches and begin eating the turkey and cheddar cheese on sourdough bread.
“I like it here.” Ella wipes mustard off her face with the back of her hand.
“Me too.”
“My mom wouldn’t let Dad dive in this lake.”
“Did he tell you that?”
She shrugs. “I hear things.”
“I bet you have amazing ears.”
She tugs on one of her earlobes. “Like a moth.”
“I didn’t know moths had such good hearing.”
Josh puts one leg over the log as he joins us. “Did you hear what I just said?”
Ella scrunches up her nose. “I wasn’t listening to you.”
He looks at me. “That was Sigmund.”
“Is Annika okay?”
He nods. “The doctor said her body is in good working order, though apparently Annika said that no ninety-seven-year-old’s body works all that well.”
I smile. “It sounds like she is better.”
“Sigmund asked us to come to the castle for brunch tomorrow. His mother would like to hear your story and share a bit of hers, though she doesn’t want to talk about lost treasure from the war.”
