Lakeside Sweetheart (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

V
anessa steeled herself against breaking down again. She wasn't a crier. Never had been. She held her emotions in check because she'd seen too much drama growing up. Her mother's theatrics had left her cold and wanting. And unable to love anyone.

She'd been trying to fill that void in her heart since the day she'd left Millbrook Lake. Now she could see that all of her excuses—wanting a peaceful life, not wanting children, needing her space and turning away from God—had been just that. Excuses.

And yet, her excuses held steady. She wasn't ready to relinquish control yet. She didn't want to lose control anymore today either. So she wiped at her tears and lifted her spine into a straight line. She had to hold it together, somehow.

Once they were upstairs on the deep plank porch that faced the bay, she wiped her eyes and took in the view. “I can see why this place is so special to you and your friends.”

Palm trees rustled in the breeze, a couple so close to the porch and so tall and gangly, she could reach out and touch their fronds. Hibiscus bushes and bougainvillea vines graced the yard, their colorful blossoms shining in the sun. The porch was long and deep, a good place to sit, no matter the weather.

Vanessa felt safe here, away from the lake and the town. Safe, hidden, covered. Had she become that kind of person? The kind who cowered behind closed doors and drawn-together curtains? The kind who ran away to a place like New Orleans, where everyone left you alone if that's what you wanted? Yes. She'd become a reclusive, shy, scared human being. She didn't have it all together at all. At some point, she'd given up on having grand adventures or finding someone special.

Special. A special place for special people. Rory had brought her here...and it felt right.

She stared out at the big bay waters and remembered how much she'd enjoyed kayaking around the lake with Rory. Rory was an adventure all wrapped up in a great package. And that was the main reason she kept resisting him.

“I take care of the yard,” Rory said from behind her. “Blain is in charge of the security system. And Alec, well, he foots the renovations. Oh, and Hunter comes and goes, but he's good with mechanical things and he's a stickler for clean sheets and towels. So he's in charge of laundry. We all take care of maintenance. And we take turns cooking or ordering pizza.”

“Sounds like you make a good team.”

“We're tight,” Rory said, coming to stand beside her. “We formed a bond that can't be broken. We help each other, guard each other and...we trust each other.”

She pivoted to the big glass doors he'd flung open. The house looked clean and efficient but seriously lacking in anything remotely feminine. No floral throw pillows, no bright pretty dishes, no potted plants or whimsical pictures on the walls. Just a minimalist, manly interior with worn leather furniture, chunky wooden tables and bar stools for extra seating. And the biggest flat-screen television she'd ever seen.

“I've never had friends like that,” she said, her tote bag and her mother's journal held close to her stomach. “We moved around so much when I was growing up, and by the time my mom settled here, I was in full-out rebellious mode and I only wanted to finish high school and get out on my own.”

“Do you have friends now?” he asked. “For when you get back to New Orleans? So I won't worry about you.”

A twinge of regret hit her in her stomach. What would her life be like now? Without Rory in it?

“I have employees in the boutique. They're taking care of things while I'm here. I have people hired to help me run the online site, too. I don't know what I'd do without my team.”

“A team,” he said, taking her by the hand and pulling her inside the house. “I didn't ask about a team. I asked if you had friends.”

Wow. He had a way of zooming right in on things.

“No.” She dropped her bag and the journal onto the butcher-block counter and pretended to study the row of cabinets underneath the big side window. “I don't make friends.”

“We all need friends.”

“Do we?” She whirled to stare over at him, needing to put that shield back up between them. Now that she was here, alone with him, she wished she'd never called him for help. She didn't need rescuing. She didn't need him. “I've been self-sufficient since I was eighteen, even before that, really. I do okay on my own.”

He didn't make a move. He stood there, his eyes holding hers. “How's that working for you right now?”

He had her there. She lowered her head and then glanced up at him. “Not so well.”

Rory took another step, getting closer. “Why did you call me, Vanessa?”

She glanced at the journal. She should tell him to take her home, that this had been a mistake. That kissing him had been a mistake. But she needed someone to talk to, and Rory had tried to be her friend. He wanted to listen. He was good at listening even if he didn't want to kiss her again.

“I need to...” Her voice trailed off. “This isn't easy for me. I need to talk to someone I can trust.”

“You know you can trust me.”

“As a minister.”

“As your friend, too.”

She nodded. “Okay. I need to read my mother's journal. I want to see what she wrote about me, and what she wrote about the men she paraded in front of me, and about the one man who tried to ruin me forever.”

Rory moved a little closer. “This one man—he was a minister?”

She lowered her head again, ashamed, embarrassed and mortified. Keeping her gaze downcast, she nodded.

Rory pulled her chin up, his face inches from hers. “You do not need to hide in shame anymore, Vanessa. Not with me. Not with God.”

Her skin flared hot as she sent him a burning stare. “Where was God the day that man walked into my bedroom and pushed me up against a wall and...put his hands all over me? Where was God that day, Rory?”

Rory's heart hurt with all the agony of arrows hitting him in the chest. How did he answer that question?

“He was there, Vanessa. God's love can overcome anything.”

“But how could He have been there?” she asked, whirling around, her hands flailing out in front of her. “How?”

“What did this man do to you? How far did it go?”

She gave Rory a hard glare. “You don't want to answer my questions, do you?”

“I'm working on that, but right now I want to know what this man did to you.”

“He tried to kiss me, but it didn't get very far. But him touching me went way too far for me,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth. “He'd always flirted with me, but I ignored him. When he and my mom started dating, he'd hug me a lot and it felt so creepy. But after they got married, he kept insisting I come to church. He had this little start-up church west of town. A storefront kind of thing because his credentials were almost nonexistent. I refused at first, but Mom talked me into it, telling me I'd make new friends.
He
tried to become my new friend, always hovering, always making sick jokes. He'd talk to me in soothing tones, telling me he knew what was best for me. I hated being around him.”

She stopped and took a shuddering breath. “That day, he was angry with me for not showing up for some sort of youth rally. That's why he came into my room. Mom thought he was disciplining me for not attending his important get-together. But he wanted to make a point, I think. He wanted to prove that I was a bad person.”

She looked up at Rory, as if half expecting him to question her, too. “I pushed at him and scratched his face. I told him to stop, and then I ran out of the room.”

Rory schooled his expression while his insides boiled with rage. “And what happened next?”

“I went to my mom,” Vanessa said, dropping both of her hands down to her side and turning to stare into the dark fireplace. “I told her what he'd tried to do and how he'd been flirting with me, but she didn't believe me. Then he came out of my room and called me all kinds of names. He told me I'd never amount to anything because I was a liar and that no man would want me because I was unfit.” She shook her head. “He implied I'd come on to him, of course.”

Rory closed his eyes, his own questions ricocheting inside his brain with a pounding of despair.
Dear God, help me. Help me to say the right thing. Help her to heal, Lord. Show her Your grace and love
.

“And your mother didn't ask him about what he'd done? She never questioned that he was the one lying?”

Vanessa whirled around. “No. Instead, she asked me what
I'd
done to provoke him.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I tried to tell her the truth. That'd he come into my room and shut the door and that he'd tried to kiss me and...that I had to push him away.” Rory heard her gulping in a breath. “I kept trying to explain, but she looked so disappointed, so horrified. And he stood there, smug and sure. It was awful. Awful.” Vanessa took in a heaving breath. “And the worst—she turned on me. I had to live in that house with both of them, condemning me, challenging me at every turn, isolating me to the point that I forgot how to make friends.”

She stopped, her hand going to her mouth again. “I was so ashamed.”

Rory saw her face go white, saw the panic in her eyes. He pointed. “Bathroom—down the hall to the right.”

She took off running, already retching. He heard the door slam, heard her being sick. He wanted to go to her, hold her and tell her it would be all right. But he knew she didn't need to hear that right now. He understood why she'd turned away from him at first, why her attitude had been stilted and distant toward him. No wonder Vanessa hadn't trusted
his
motives. He'd tried to invite her in and had suggested she come to the youth meetings. His actions had been strictly on a friendly basis, a way to reach out to someone he sensed was hurting.

But to Vanessa, his actions had mirrored those of a man who'd abused her and scarred her.

Dear Lord, what can I do now? How do I reach her
?

Rory waited in the silence of the quiet house, the sound of the bay's gentle waves hitting the shore echoing inside his head like a soothing lullaby while he prayed the prayer that would guide him past his own understanding. After a few minutes, he heard the faucet water running and then the door opened and she came out, still pale, her eyes red rimmed and swollen.

“I'm sorry,” she said, pushing at her hair.

Rory moved across the room and took her into his arms. “Don't ever apologize for this, Vanessa. You did nothing wrong.” He stepped back, his hands gentle on her wrists. “I'm the one who should be apologizing. I didn't understand what you'd been through when I first met you. I can see how my overtures to invite you to church must have frightened you.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. You're not him. You're not like him.”

“You're right on that,” Rory replied. “I'm not like him, but if I had him right here in front of me today, I'd become reduced to brawling like a street fighter. I'm pretty sure I'd pulverize him.”

“You're not that kind of man,” she said. “You went to war to help others, to serve others. You fight with a different kind of strength, Rory. You fight for the broken people of this world.”

He thought of Alec's words to him. He didn't admit that up until the other night on that boat, he hadn't completely trusted anyone either. Some minister he was, holding back his own confessions and angst while he tried to take care of everybody else. His friends were the best. Understanding and undemanding. Now they knew all he had to share. He'd bared his soul there in the dark on that boat. But he was glad they all knew about his past. He wondered why he'd held back for so long.

Today, he was taking their advice. He was turning toward the woman he thought he could love for a long, long time. He would be a warrior for this woman.

Rory swallowed back the emotions brimming over in his mind. “I'm fighting for you right now. And I know God's fighting for you, too. He brought you back here for a reason. It might have taken a lifetime, but His timing is never wrong.”

She looked up at Rory, her eyes overflowing with doubt and hurt and anger. “I'm afraid, Rory. Afraid to move on and find happiness. Afraid of my feelings for you. Afraid to read my mother's journal.” She stalled out, her eyelids fluttering. “But mostly, I'm afraid to give myself over to God.”

Rory tugged her toward the couch. “Sit. I'm going to make you something to eat, and then I'm going to tell you about how much God loves you and wants you in His arms.”

“I don't think—”

“And something to drink. Hot tea or cold?”

“Water with lemon.”

“We have lemons,” he said, smiling at her. He got up and found bottled water and sliced a lemon and put ice in two plastic cups, his hands steady again now. Then he poured the water into both, grabbed some crackers and cheese and a bag of grapes and brought it all back to the coffee table.

“I can't eat,” she said.

“It's okay. You'll eat when you're ready.”

Then he sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Cry on my shoulder, Vanessa. Scream at me, rant at me, do whatever you need to do, but know this. I am not going to judge you or condemn you. I care about you. And so does God.”

Then he kissed the top of her head. “And about God's timing—He brought
you
into my life at just the
right
time. You've helped me see that I have some long-held issues that have been holding me back, too.” Snuggling her close, he added, “And I think it's time that we both settle up.”

Chapter Sixteen

V
anessa's heart stopped and then skidded into a fast beat. “Are you willing to lay it all out there between us, Rory?”

“Yes,” he said. “I'm willing to tell you things I've never told anyone. Not even the friends I'd trust with my life. But those friends know everything now. And they encouraged me to talk to you. To be honest with you.”

“And why me?” She had to know that this was real and that he wouldn't panic again. And she needed to know what was holding him back. “Do you think you can trust me?”

“Yes,” he said again, his usually animated eyes turning solemn and somber. “I've needed someone like you in my life for a long time now. But like you, I was afraid to let go or to give in to God's plan for my life.”

Surprised at this candid conversation and touched that he felt this way about her, Vanessa smiled for the first time since she'd had her meltdown earlier. “How do you know if I'm in that plan? What if I mess things up for you the way my mother accused me of messing up things for her?”

“Didn't your mother, with all her flaws and problems, finally find a man who could love her and change her and make her see that she'd damaged you?”

Vanessa's mind reeled from the implications of that statement. “Marrying Richard did make it better for me, yes, but she never saw that her actions had damaged me, Rory. She might have found happiness and a husband who brought her the security she always craved, but she never once told me she was sorry for what she did to me. For what that man—the other husband—did to me. I can't forget that, and I sure don't have to forgive it.”

“Forgiveness is the hardest part of following Christ,” Rory said. “It never comes easy but you need to understand something about forgiveness, Vanessa. It's more about helping you to heal and grow through grace than it is about soothing the other person's feelings. Don't get me wrong. When you forgive someone it releases them from any guilt or debt. But it also releases you from bitterness and heartache and that yoke of despair.”

Despair.

She'd felt a sense of desperation and despair for as long as she could remember. She'd become so cynical and jaded that she'd stopped making the effort to understand what being a Christian could mean. And she'd given up on one of the most important things in life.

Love.

She'd given up on love.

“Maybe it's time to make that next move,” she said, getting up to reach for the journal she'd been avoiding for days.

Rory waited for her to sit back down. “Are you sure you want to do this with me here? I can take a walk along the bay, give you some time alone.”

“No. If I'm supposed to forgive her, I'll need you with me to remind me of that.”

“You know that, in your heart.”

“But my head is a tad too stubborn to follow that notion.”

“That's the thing about humans. We think we have all the answers.”

She swallowed the rising fear tearing through her throat. “Okay, I need to get this over and done so I can get on with my life.”

Rory gave her a quick kiss. “You can do this, Vanessa. You're strong and you're a fighter.”

Vanessa opened the worn journal and took a deep breath.

Soon, she was immersed in baby pictures of herself and several pictures of her mother with various men. Some that Vanessa remembered and others that she'd just as soon forget.

Each picture was dated and marked with captions.

Vanessa's first birthday! We survived even after her daddy walked away. He offered to help me make ends meet, but I told him to never come back if he couldn't come back to stay.

“I don't remember him,” Vanessa said, shock jarring her memories into action. “I don't remember having a daddy.”

Rory studied the photo. “You were young, a baby still. How could you remember?”

Vanessa went back to searching through the journal.

Vanessa's first day of kindergarten. I hope she'll be okay
.

And then, two months later:

We had to move again. Got evicted from that cute little apartment on the beach. I have to find another job. I'm no good at cleaning condos.

“Do you remember any of that?” Rory asked after she'd read the captions out loud.

“Some of it,” Vanessa admitted. “This is bringing it all back. I remember a man with dark hair coming to see us right after I started first grade in...what was that little town?” She stopped and stared at her smiling, snaggle-toothed image. “Somewhere in Alabama. I can't remember.”

Rory encouraged her. “What happened? Do you remember anything the man did or said?”

“No. Not really.” She closed her eyes, the image of her mother sitting out on a porch crying drifting through her memories. “She cried after he left.”

Now Vanessa needed to see every page in the little scrapbook. She pored over each and every caption and touched her hand to some of the faded photographs. A few of her mother marrying again, always smiling that hopeful, determined smile. Always looking for love. Searching. Always searching.

In between husbands and a history of Vanessa's childhood, her mother talked about her artwork and how she needed to make a living at it. She wrote about art shows and selling her work to all kinds of customers, from rich, eccentric donors to poor but interested individuals.

Vanessa began to see a pattern here. Her mother had met three of her four husbands at these events. Vanessa couldn't remember how Cora had met Richard.

“A lot of this is about you,” Rory said, drawing her back to the journal. “In spite of everything, she treasured these memories of you.”

Vanessa pushed at her hair and took a calming breath. “I never knew she kept all of these photos and other things.”

Her school pictures. New shoes. A good report card. Walking on the beach and finding seashells. Lying on the floor, on her stomach, reading a book. Her first teenaged dance. Wearing vintage clothes.

“I remember being bored at the art shows. I'd go shopping on my own. No wonder I love vintage things so much. I was raised in flea markets and art colonies.”

Rory grinned and punched her on the arm. “Well, you always look pretty to me, and you have a good thing going with Vanessa's Vintage, so that's something.”

“Yes, that's something.”

And then:

I got married again today. He's a preacher! Can you imagine that? But he's so sweet and so kind to me and he buys me pretty things.

Vanessa stared at the photo of her mother with Gregory Pardue. Cora wore a cream-colored suit, and he wore a dark jacket and light-colored pants.

She put the journal down, her stomach churning. “I remember the wedding. I cried because I knew he wasn't a good man. I was afraid of him from the beginning.”

“Your instincts were right,” Rory said. “But you were too afraid to say anything to anyone.”

“I wanted this one to work,” she replied. “I so wanted to have a good father, someone who'd take care of us so we could live in a decent house and so I wouldn't have to buy secondhand clothes all the time. By the time they got married, she'd already bought this house, but it needed a lot of work. Later...when she married Richard, he had the whole house redone, and he paid off her mortgage.”

“So Richard was the kind of father figure you always wanted.”

“Yes.” Vanessa held the journal close, her gaze stuck on her mother holding Gregory Pardue's hand. She couldn't stop the shivers moving down her backbone. “I don't remember why she and Gregory broke up. I saw her crying and him packing a suitcase and storming out the door.”

“Is that his name? Gregory Pardue?”

“Yes. You don't know him, do you?”

“No. I needed to put a name with the face. In case I do ever run into him.”

“I don't think you will. He left the state of Florida, last I heard.”

She put the journal down. “I can't read any more right now. But I think I can finish it now. I've moved past the worst part.”

“Does it help, knowing your mother did love you? Most of this journal revolves around you, Vanessa. That has to mean something to you.”

“It does,” she said. “It helps.” She got up and moved around the room, that nervous feeling hitting her in the stomach. “I should go and get back to setting up for the estate sale.”

Rory started gathering their dishes and the half-eaten food. “I need to get back, too.” Drying his hands on a towel, he turned to her. “Are you okay? I mean, do you need me to stay with you at your house for the rest of the day?”

“No. I'm much better now. I don't know what I was so afraid of. I should have read this journal when I first found it.”

“It could help you finish what you started,” Rory said.

She helped him clean up, relief washing over her. “Remembering things wasn't so bad. Good in places. Sad in others.”

But she had a feeling the end would be the worst. Her mother being all alone for the first time in her life. She'd have to deal with that later.

They were headed out the door when she turned to Rory. “Hey, you aren't getting off so easily. You promised you'd share with me, Rory. Or are you stalling out on me again?”

He locked the door and turned to stare over at her. The morning had changed into afternoon. The sun glistened off the water in shades of aqua and sky blue. Birds were chirping in the nearby pines and oaks. Out in the shallows, a brown pelican perched on an old stump with an unmoving calm.

“I was married once,” Rory said on a low, calm note.

She turned so quickly to stare over at him the pelican lifted its vast wings and took flight. “What?”

“It's true.” He studied the water, his expression etched with sadness. “I knew early on that I wanted to be involved in the church in some sort of capacity. So I went to seminary and while I was there, I met a girl. And we fell in love and got married.”

Shock rocketed through Vanessa, burning her with curiosity. “But...what happened?”

Did he get a divorce? Or worse? “Rory?”

“We'd been married for about six months when she got sick,” he said. “It was sudden. An aneurysm in her brain. She woke up with a headache one morning and she died that night, in the hospital. She was twenty-four.”

Vanessa took in a breath and held both hands to her face so she could keep from sobbing again. “Rory...”

“I know. It's awful. It was awful. We lived in Texas, near the college campus. She was studying to be a nurse, and I was preparing to move us back here so I could begin my ministry. She was six weeks pregnant with our child.”

Vanessa sank into the nearest chair. She couldn't speak, couldn't imagine what he'd been through. She reached out a hand to him, but he wasn't looking at her. He was there, back in the past, remembering, reliving.

“I buried her...them...and then I graduated and took on my first assignment, a small country church about fifty miles east of here. I had nowhere to go, but I wasn't really ready to be a minister. I couldn't preach. I wanted to be buried there with them safe in my arms.”

Vanessa started crying again, but this time her tears were silent. She got up and went to him and took him in her arms.

Rory didn't say anything. He held her there for a long time, his arms tight around her, his breath moving over her hair and her skin.

“What can I say?” she asked, her fingers stroking his jawline. “What can I do?”

“There is nothing to say or do,” he finally managed to say, his words husky and low. “I've heard it all. They're in a better place. It was their time to go. God needed some new angels in Heaven. God has a plan for you, Rory. There's a reason for everything.” His eyes burned a deep blue. “I never could figure out the reason for their deaths, however.”

Vanessa stood back, her hand stilling on his face, her eyes holding his. “How did you ever come back from that to become the man you are today?”

His eyes, so bright with memories and grief, held her. “I told you. I went to war.”

She could understand him so much better now. He'd been angry, and with good reason. “You didn't go over there to fight, did you?”

He nodded his head. “Yes, I thought I'd fight or that maybe I'd get killed. But I was drifting. I'd been assigned to a small church here in Florida, but my heart wasn't in it. I talked to a counselor, a retired minister, and she actually suggested I consider serving as an army chaplain. She'd been through it.” He gave Vanessa a weak smile. “So I read up on what it would take, and I did something very impulsive. I joined up and told the recruiters I wanted to go through the Chaplain Candidate Program.”

“You became a soldier?”

“Yes, a soldier of sorts. I didn't carry a weapon, but I had a protection detail with me at all times. I went into it hoping to find my soul again. Instead, I found death and heartache and wounded, suffering people. The anger left me when I started talking to the men and women who were serving over there and when I truly started praying for guidance. I guess you could say I had an epiphany. Their pain gave me a reason to live, to help others who were suffering worse than I ever had.”

His eyes met hers, holding the trace of darkness she'd sensed when they'd first met. “I realized I wanted to live. And I wanted to help others to live. Men and women who'd seen the worst and suffered the worst. I counseled them and prayed for them and found my calling again. One dark night after a horrible battle, after I'd held the hands of too many dying men, I promised God that if He'd give me the strength to help and serve others, I'd try to lead a happy, content life serving Him.”

Vanessa lifted on her toes and kissed Rory, her heart opening and lifting in a way that reminded her of that pelican taking flight. And she finally accepted that she might be falling in love with a man of God.