Cherished (19 page)

Grandma Howard stepped back, hands to Kelli's shoulders, and looked upward. “Thank You, Jesus.”

Kelli looked over at Brian, then back to Grandma Howard with curious eyes.

“Ever since this boy graduated college and came back home, I been wondering about him. He so busy it's hard to see, but I know my Brian. He ain't the same as when the two of you were running around here.”

Brian gave her a look. “Grandma, what are you talking about? I'm not supposed to be the same. I was a teenager back then.”

She addressed Kelli rather than Brian. “I'm tellin' you, something's missing. The boy is lonely.”

“Grandma!”

She ignored him. “When he told me you moved back, I said, ‘Lord, that's exactly right. Please get these two young people together. I know they was meant for each other.' And here you are.”

Brian shook his head. “Grandma, we're not back together. Kelli's here for
one
visit because I need to talk to her about an idea for the album.”

Grandma Howard addressed him directly now. “I thought you would've seen by now that school is where your focus needs to be. There's a reason nothing's been coming to you for this album.”

Brian sighed, and Kelli could hear in it a thousand conversations he and his grandmother had had.

“You might be right,” Brian said. “But you always said keep seeking Him until you know for sure.”

Grandma Howard eyed him. “Can't argue with that.” She moved toward the stairs. “Kelli, go on in there and get you some of that chicken. Don't act like you ain't at home. This is still your home.”

Kelli smiled. “I already ate, Grandma Howard, but thank you.”

Brian opened the door to the lower level, and they descended the stairs.

Kelli shivered, rubbing her arms. “It was always cold down here.”

“Why did I know you'd say that?” He turned to look at her. “I'll turn on the space heater down here—in the middle of summer—just for you.”

She made a face. “Thanks.”

When she got near the bottom step, she could see the transformation. The living space, once filled with an old sofa and floor television with a pool table off to the side, now had a long wooden desk against a wall, with two big computer monitors on top and racks underneath with tons of equipment. “This looks serious. You can actually make music down here?”

Brian nodded. “I've got everything I need.” He plopped down in a swivel seat in front of the equipment.

Kelli was still looking around. “What's that behind the mic stand?”

“Reflection filter. Helps with the sound.”

She was intrigued, wanting to ask about everything she saw, like the diamond-shaped foam on the walls, but she caught herself. She came for a limited purpose.

“So tell me why I'm here.” She took the other chair at the desk.

Brian swiveled toward her, his forearms on his thighs. “I heard the song you recorded on my laptop.”

Kelli felt sick. How could she have been so absentminded? She'd meant to delete it from his hard drive once she'd sent it to Monica and burned it onto a disk for herself.

“Something about it grabbed me and wouldn't let go. I played it over and over and over. Kelli, it's beautiful.”

She whispered, “Thanks,” her arms trembling slightly.

“The next day the chorus was still going in my head,” he said, “but with a slightly different arrangement, over another beat.”

Kelli frowned slightly, wondering what that would sound like. “Okay . . .”

“I had to test it. I sent the song to one of my favorite producers, told him what I was thinking, and asked him to remake it. Got it back, and it blew me away.”

“I'm not getting where you're going with this.”

Brian scooted a little closer. “For the first time, I'm truly feeling a song for this album. I don't know why, but I'm connected to it. The love theme is powerful. When I found out Monica wasn't using it, I felt bad for you, but I also wondered if it might be a God thing.”

“You want to use
my
song for your album?”

“A remake of it, yeah. I'd come up with my own verses, maybe ask Monica to sing the chorus.”

“No.” She got up, her heart beating fast. “You can't use it.”

His face fell. “Why not?”

She walked across the room. “I don't have to give you a reason, Brian. I just don't want you to.”

“But you were going to let Monica use it, weren't you?” He sighed. “I get it. I'm not Monica. I was so drawn to the song—not to mention the fact I was finally inspired—that it didn't occur to me, ‘Hey, you're the guy who broke her heart. Why should she do anything for you?'”

“It's not that. At least, not the main part.” Kelli felt an inner urge to tell him the real reason, but how could she?

“You won't tell me what the main part is?”

She closed her eyes tight, to keep the dam plugged. “I just can't.”

“Is it because it's something personal?”

She found that funny, in a desperate sort of way. “Oh, it's personal all right.”

Why couldn't she stop trembling?

She blew out a breath. Fine, why not tell him? She'd tried all those years ago, and he wouldn't listen. Would probably hurt him to hear it now . . . and in a way, it would serve him right. “That's the song . . .” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

Brian got up, came to her side. “What is it?”

She couldn't look at him. “The last song I wrote, the night before . . . before you broke up with me. God gave me that song for our baby.”

B
RIAN STOOD STOCK-STILL, AFRAID TO GRASP THE
meaning of what Kelli had just said. “God gave you a song . . . for our baby?” He barely made sense of the words, yet they were piercing his soul. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I
tried
. That's why I came to see you.”

Kelli was shaking, and Brian wanted to hold her but he knew she wouldn't let him. He brushed her tears instead.

“You didn't want to hear it,” she said. “Remember? ‘I know you're here to try to talk me into keeping this baby'”—her tone mocked him—“‘but I've made up my mind. You can do what you want, but you'll be doing it alone.'”

He remembered all right. Upstairs in the foyer. Wouldn't even let her further into the house. Just wanted to say it and get it over with.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered to himself. He walked to the computer and pushed a couple of buttons. The original song Kelli recorded played through the speakers. He wanted to hear it anew, hear it in light of this revelation . . . and the weight of it crushed him.

I will love you . .
.

And I will love you . .
.

He fell to his knees beside a speaker and wept. Hearing Kelli's voice on the song, seeing her face when she came to talk to him that day, with his baby . . .

I will love you .
. .

His face buried, he bawled as he replayed the day in his head. Would the song have made a difference, if he had known? He didn't know that boy in the foyer anymore, couldn't understand his mind-set. Maybe he still would have walked away. But this song let him know as never before that God was in the midst of their situation, and Brian hadn't cared to look to Him.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then grabbed it and held tight. Kelli came to her knees beside him, and they stayed that way, hands locked, silently weeping.

God, I feel like I'm being punished. I thought You had forgiven me. I thought You had helped me move on. Why are You dropping this on me right now?

The original song faded, and in the quiet he heard the remake in his head. And he knew. Just like that, he knew.

“Kelli.” He felt a surge of adrenaline as he sat down on the carpet, wiping tears with the palm of his hand. “I know why I felt so connected to the song. It's about more than the album. This will be a dedication to our baby, a love letter.”

Kelli stared at him, her eyes glistening with surprise, then she looked downward as she sat beside him. “Cyd said I still needed to heal, and I did an online search on post-abortion recovery. It said for some people it helps to release their child into God's care, to acknowledge that the baby is with Him. They might say a prayer or hold a memorial service, name the child, maybe write a poem.” She looked at Brian. “Dedicating a song? A love letter?” Her voice broke. “That's . . . that's beautiful.”

He nodded. “There's something else, Kel. You have to sing the chorus. You and me on the same song, for our child.”

She shook her head. “I don't think I could do it. It'd be too emotional.”

“And I think we should do it tonight.”

Her eyes got wide. “What?”

“It would be powerful to do it while we're in this very moment.”

“But you haven't even written the verses.”

“I can't explain it, Kel. I just feel it. I know the lyrics will come.”

“Well, that's good for you, but what about me? I'd have to tweak the chorus and arrange background vocals. How could I do that so quickly?”

He paused, not wanting to overstep. “Would you mind if we . . . if we prayed together about all this?”

sixteen

K
ELLI FOUGHT TO STAY AWAKE
. P
ASTOR
L
YLES'S SERMON
had her interest, but she hadn't hit the bed until three in the morning, and even then she couldn't sleep. She'd planned to attend the eleven thirty service, but once again Reese had been her alarm, barking frantically at eight o'clock in a doggie duel with the Border collie that lived behind them. Once awake, there was no going back. The song took over, looping in her mind, filling her with a rush of wonder. Had she and Brian really made a recording for their baby? It didn't seem real, even though she had a CD to prove it.

Sleep deprivation hit a third of the way into the sermon, without much to counteract it . . . except passing notes. Kelli peeked down at the phone inside her purse, stomach buckling to hide her laughter. She'd just texted that to Heather—and Heather texted back.

IF TEACHER COMES FOR NOTE, DELETE MY NAME. HEATHER = DOUBLE DETENTION
.

It was funny and sad at the same time. Kelli looked up, trying to track with the sermon, but when Pastor Lyles mentioned that nothing could separate us from God's love, not even our sins, it made her think of Heather again. She poised her fingers inside her purse.

GOOD STUFF ABOUT GOD'S LOVE IN SERMON. WISH YOU WERE HERE
.

Stephanie bumped her with a shoulder, her eye on Kelli's handbag.

Kelli bumped back. “What?”

She glanced down the pew at Dana and Scott. What would they think if they knew she was texting Heather right now? She almost felt bad for being happy about their friendship, but she couldn't help it. Heather was one of the first people she wanted to tell about last night. She knew Heather would totally get how difficult it was emotionally— the song, as well as working with Brian—yet amazing in its totality.

A new text flashed across her screen.
:-( WOULD LOVE TO HEAR. NEED TO FIND A CHURCH. PRAY FOR ME
.

Kelli made a sad face as well as she stared at the message, and Stephanie bumped her again to show her that people were getting to their feet. How did she miss the wrap-up of the sermon? She'd have to make sure she got the CD—
Duh!
She could get Heather one too.

They sang along with the praise and worship team, Logan leading. Heather hadn't said a word about him, but Kelli knew he'd somehow been there for Heather in Indianapolis. She gave God a curious glance upward, thinking it kind of funny. She and Cyd weren't the only unlikely ones to befriend Heather. The most sought-after bachelor in the church had done so as well.

The closing prayer barely uttered, Stephanie started chattering. “Okay, so what's the deal? We're heading to Cyd and Cedric's to hear the song?”

Kelli was moving out of the pew. “Yes. I want to tell you all about it at the same time and then let you listen.”

Stephanie gave a half glance behind her. “Are you inviting all of Daughters' Fellowship? Dana and Phyllis have been praying about your music too.”

“I know,” Kelli said, moving into the aisle. “I thought about that. But to be honest, I'm just not ready to tell anyone outside the family yet about . . . about my past.” She leaned in further. “I did invite Heather to listen. She's the only one other than you all who knows.”

Stephanie's eyebrows rose. “Definitely can't have Dana and Heather at the same gathering, now can we? Woo-boy . . . Shoot, Dana and
Cyd
together is starting to be a trip. Never thought I'd see the day.”

“Yeah, I noticed they sat on opposite ends of the pew. They normally sit near one another, don't they?”