Heartache and Hope (11 page)

Daylin returned the whisper, adding a wink. “Mine, too.”

“Really?” Aubree's eyes danced over a cherubic smile as she tugged on Patrick's shirtsleeve. “Daddy, can we go to Dusty's Diner after the movie? Miss Vera said she'd give me a piece of pie a la mode. What's a la mode, Daddy?”

“It means pie with ice cream.”

“Yum…Miss Vera's very nice and ice cream is
good
. Can we go?”

“Not tonight. It will be late.”

“Sunday, then? After church?”

“Let's see…” Patrick scratched the shadow of beard along his jaw and then stretched his arm toward her. “Twist my arm, and we'll see what happens.”

“Aw, Daddy, that's silly.” But Aubree gave it a squeeze anyway while Patrick mimed a severe bout of pain. The child giggled and let go. “Come on, Daddy, please, please,
please
?”

“You got me good.” Patrick made a production out of rubbing his assaulted bicep. “I suppose Sunday after church would work for a trip to the diner. Vera did promise you a slice of pie.”

“You have to come, too, Daylin.” Aubree bounced in the seat, her legs swinging. “Daddy can pick you up, and we'll all go to church together. You can see me sing in the children's choir. We're doing a special song this Sunday, and I get to wear a pretty dress. It's blue and velvet and Daddy helped me choose it. He says it's perfect for someone who sings like an angel—me.”

“Is that so?” Daylin tweaked Aubree's nose. “Well, your Daddy knows best.”

“Yep.” Aubree's head bobbed up and down. “He knows
everything
.”

“In that case, I'm sure you sing like an angel, and I'll bet the dress is pretty.” Daylin's laughter tumbled. “I wouldn't want to miss it.”

“Then you'll come?”

The laughter faded with the second mention of church. “I…I'll think about it.”

“You don't like singing?”

“I love singing. It's not that.”

“What, then?”

“Your daddy and I should discuss it first, OK? He might have other plans.”

“'Kay.” She swiped a hand across her mouth, brushing remnants of pizza crust crumbs from her lips. “Can I have some popcorn, Daddy?”

He offered her the bag, and Aubree dipped her hand for a fistful of fluffy kernels.

“Chew carefully. Here's your juice.”

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the movie. Patrick took the puzzle book from Aubree, closed it, and set it beneath the seat. He slipped his arms around the child, and as she snuggled into his lap, his shoulder brushed Daylin's. The contact was a warm jolt of electricity to her, and she wondered if he felt the same.

“Moose Tracks,” Patrick murmured as his aftershave kissed her nose.

“What?”

“Moose Tracks.” His fingers searched for hers, twined gently. “It's my favorite flavor of ice cream. And there's nothing to discuss…I'd love for you to join us at church Sunday.”

Patrick's easy touch, the inviting words, sent Daylin's pulse skittering. She barely heard the movie's soundtrack as opening credits began to scroll across the screen.

She cleared her throat. Sitting in the fellowship hall to enjoy a movie was one thing; partaking in a Sunday service, ensconced in the sanctuary itself, was something altogether different…terrifying. She'd been gone for so long, she felt as if there were no turning back. A sense of unworthiness settled as Daylin struggled to speak. “What time is the service?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“I see.” She attempted to focus on the screen, failed miserably. The women had been kind to her, Frannie in particular who'd been preparing the snack table when they'd arrived, sectioning pizzas onto paper plates and pouring cups of sweet tea and lemonade. Apparently, it was the duty of the ladies' group to oversee movie night. Daylin had stopped to chat, and Frannie had introduced her to several friends. All had smiled and chattered about this and that, doing their best to make Daylin feel welcome. And she did…at least as far as movie night went. But Sunday service, well…

“I was thinking we could spend some time with Aubree, have dessert first—the pie and ice cream—and then head out to an early dinner…alone.” Patrick's suggestion hung in the air between them. “What do you think?”

“I like the ice cream part, and the dinner part, too. But I'm not so sure about attending church.”

“If you don't mind me asking, why the hesitation?”

“It's been so long.” Daylin turned her palm up in an attempt to clarify her words. “I don't really belong there. I'd feel....”

“There's no need to feel anything but welcome, Daylin. No one keeps tabs on the past…or a record of how many Sundays you've stayed away. All that matters is here…now. Of course, you belong. We all belong.”

“You make it sound like a party.”

“Not a party, exactly, but certainly a celebration.”

“It's hard to resist when you put it that way.”

“Good. Then your answer is yes?”

“How will you manage dinner with me—us—alone…with Aubree along?”

“Mom will watch her for the evening. She's already offered.”

“Then Yenta is working her magic again, right?”

“Yes, but this time I'm all in. I'm kind of enjoying how the yenta operates this go 'round.” He nodded to cement the statement. “How about you?”

Daylin waited for the nerves to zing into full swing, and for the little voice to issue its caution. Neither came. She simply felt…excited. A full day together with Patrick…the very idea tasted better than chocolate. Daylin smiled as she leaned against the seat back, allowing her fingers to relax in his. “I think church then dinner with you sounds just lovely.”

****

“Sit with me.” Patrick said as they approached a trio of porch swings along the riverfront. “It's not too cold, is it?”

“No, not at all.” Daylin settled into the seat and smoothed her skirt, crossing her legs and swinging one leather boot-clad foot over the other. “We're on the downhill slide of January and temperatures are holding steady in the sixties, even with the sun so low in the sky. Who would have thought?”

“Don't let the lamb fool you. Once the sun dips below the horizon a chill will set in.” He slipped into the swing beside her, gave it a gentle push. “But, for now…”

“Are the winters hard on Aubree?” The breeze lifted Daylin's hair as fingers of sunlight turned strands to burnished copper.

“It depends on what kind of viruses are floating around at the time. She's more susceptible to them than the average kid, and some are downright nasty.”

“Is that why she'd homeschooled now…because of an illness?”

“Yes. She was pretty sick last month. We nearly missed Christmas. But she's fine now—as fine as possible. The homeschooling is a temporary thing. If all goes well, she'll be back in the classroom before we run the marathon.”

“Half-marathon—and I'll most likely walk it.”

“Half-marathon, then, but I'm betting you'll run it. You did great yesterday at the group run. You're making great strides—no pun intended.”

“I have you to thank. You're a taskmaster. I've even cleaned off my treadmill at home, put the clothes tossed over it away. My closet went into shock.”

“Nice imagery. I think you should be a writer at Home Spice instead of the Senior Editor.”

“Well, editors
do
dabble in some writing.”

“True. By the way, Aubree went crazy over the batch of puzzle magazines you brought her Saturday.”

“I'm glad. She liked the first magazine I gave her so much, I thought she might devour some more.”

“And devour them, she is. You'll have to come keep her company with them. She'd like that.”

“I would, too. She's sure a fireball of sweet…cute…smart.” Daylin gazed over the water. “I'm sure Sandra was all those things, as well. I'll bet you miss her terribly.”

“I do—I did...” Patrick reached for her hand, his gaze softening. “I loved her, truly I did. But time has a way of weaving the memories into a quilt that looks lovely on a display stand but isn't so functional in day-to-day life.”

“Who's the writer now?” Daylin brushed a hand through her hair. “I don't remember you together in high school.”

“We weren't. That came later…after.” Back then, he'd only had eyes for Daylin. How could he tell her that now? “I had my eye on someone else those days.”

“Really? Who?”

“Don't you know?”

“I…no, I don't.”

“It was you, Daylin. Back then, I wanted to talk to you…to know you more. But you always seemed so…distracted, so disinterested.”

“I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of you…scared of getting too close. Getting close never seemed to work out for me…with guys.”

“I'm not just any guy, and we're not awkward teenagers anymore.”

“I'm still scared.”

“I am, too.” Patrick grunted softly. “Family photos on the mantel…they're frozen in time, never changing. But
I'm
not frozen in time. And it's downright frightening to feel again…to want.”

“What is it that you want?”

“I'm not sure.” He stroked the pad of his thumb down the length of her jawline. “I suppose it depends on you.”

“How so?”

“I enjoy spending time with you, Daylin. I'd like to spend more. But I need to know…do you feel the same?”

8

January eased into February and, as the days slipped by, training became second nature to Daylin. She woke early to run with Patrick day after day, and found she actually enjoyed the crisp, clean air of East Tennessee sunrises. From time-to-time, she and Patrick peppered the routine with an evening jaunt. But, mostly, any evenings together were spent playing board games with Aubree and sharing dinner.

But today Daylin had broken from what had quickly become routine to spend a Saturday afternoon shopping with Frannie. Now they were reacquainted, they'd become fast friends. Daylin was thankful to call the kind-hearted woman her confidante; Frannie was the mother Daylin had always longed for.

“What do you think of this for when I talk to the ladies' guild at church?” Daylin spun before the tri-paneled mirror in the dressing room, watching as a floral skirt fanned around her knees. She'd coupled the skirt with a soft, peach-colored blouse. “The colors are lovely and the length is right.
And
, I'm thrilled to find that the size tag is a few numbers less than I'm used to. Patrick was right—running is the best sort of furnace. It's working even for me. I don't even think about binge eating anymore…not in self-pity or fear or any of those reasons. I'm now focused firmly on family—and even more importantly—on God. ”

“Oh, hearing those words just warms me to the gills, Daylin. And the dress is lovely, dear. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. I can't believe the ladies want to hear my testimony…all I've been through and how I returned to the church.”

“Your story is inspiring, dear. You've been through so much, tossed around the foster care system. But I believe you've finally found your true home.”

“Well”—Daylin admired her reflection once more. The skirt's smart lines were flattering, for sure—“Maybe I won't feel so nervous talking in front of the crowd, dressed in something this pretty.”

“There's no need to feel nervous. Just be yourself.” Frannie clucked her tongue. “And I'd hardly call a few-dozen women a crowd.”

“Even a dozen is a crowd to me.” Daylin grimaced. “But there's no turning back now. I'm not sure what I'll say to them.”

“Talk about your journey…how you came to be where you are and who you are. That's all.”

“It's not a very flattering story. What if they don't like me after they know…who I am…where I've been?”

“Daylin, honey, God gives us all a story…a journey, so to speak. What we do with it is the fabric that defines us. There's nothing to be hesitant or ashamed about. Would you like me any less if I told you my deepest, darkest secrets?”

“Of course not.” Daylin gulped hard. “I love you, Frannie. You've been so good to me.”

“Now, that's nice. I love you too, honey.”

“I can see how Patrick became so wise.” Tears filled Daylin's eyes. “He's had a wonderful role model.”

“Oh, his father was the role model. I've merely acted as the co-pilot.”

“That's so sweet. Oh, I'm going to cry.”

“Don't cry.” Frannie pulled Daylin into an embrace, smoothing her hair. “You'll soil your pretty new outfit.”

“I don't know what to do with this…your kindness…Aubree's…Patrick's.”

“God directs us where He wants us to go, and, depending on our state of stubbornness, we make it there sooner…or later.”

“Do you think He wants me here…with Patrick?”

“That's for the two of you to pray about, to work through together. But, if that's the case, it would make me very happy.”

“Really?” Daylin stepped back as a tear trickled down her cheek. She found Frannie's eyes were misted, as well. “Truly?”

“Yes, my dear, really.” Frannie held a scarf up to her face, turned her head this way and that to check the color. “I think I'll buy this. Now, let's grab some lunch before we hit the shoe store.”

****

“What are you makin', Daddy?” Aubree climbed onto the chair to peer over the stove top.

“Spaghetti.”

“Yum.” She sniffed the sauce, rubbed her belly in an exaggerated swirl. “It smells 'licious. Can I help you stir?”

“Sure. Put on this oven mitt and grab a wooden spoon.” He handed her the flame-proof cloth. “Be careful. Don't get too close. I don't want it to splatter on you.”