Love Is Patient and A Heart's Refuge (33 page)

“But what is truth, Rick? It’s an age-old question. Bald statement of facts that can break down and destroy? You know what this would do to his career?”

Rick turned then. “And what about what happened to Kerra? What has happened to her life? Don’t you think her story should be told?”

“Not in this article.”

“Then when?”

“That’s not our responsibility, Rick.”

And that was that. Rick withdrew, but held his ground. “This article is going to make all the difference to the magazine. We’re going to run it the way I want to.”

Becky drew back from him, her eyes snapping. “Doesn’t matter who gets hurt, does it? As long as you can get the article that will turn this magazine around, and let you prove yourself to your grandfather.”

“He’s not a factor.”

“I think he is. If it’s truth you are so concerned about, you better look at your own reasons for using Jake this way. You’re going to hide behind the so-called truth to get what you want. Just like all the other pieces you’ve written.”

Her accusations stung and his only defense was to attack. Push her back from the truth he almost told her this afternoon. He didn’t dare allow her closer.

“You sound like you’re afraid of the truth,” Rick said. “I always have to push you to acknowledge that in your own work. It comes out in your other writing, as well.”

“My ‘other’ writing is fiction, Rick. It’s the truth distilled.”

“But is it a truth for you? You could be a better writer if you faced the truth of your life. Your book was exactly as I described it. Sentimental and shallow. It skipped over the surface. You’re a better writer than that, Becky.” His words spilled out past the polite barriers he had put in place, past the diplomacy that came hard to him at the best of times.

Part of him urged him to stop, asked him why he was doing this.

Offense was the best defense. He couldn’t afford to let himself get involved with anyone. Least of all someone like Becky, who was already too close.

“If we’re going to talk about fear, how about discussing fear of failure? Don’t you think it’s easier to plunge yourself into community and church work than to make the commitment to becoming a better writer?”

“You didn’t help matters any. You and that nasty book review. Also the truth, I imagine.”

“Don’t hide behind me,” Rick said, holding up one hand. “Don’t hide behind what I wrote. You’ve ridden on that excuse too long. You have talent and brains and ability. Too much maybe. But you make yourself indispensable to the community so that you can hide behind that, as well. If you want to be the writer you claim you want to be, you need a stronger vision. A stronger commitment. You need to say no to a few things. To realize that maybe when you do, someone else might come and take your place. And whether you like it or not, that is the truth for your life.”

Becky took a step back, her voice quiet now, her face pale. What had he done with his rant? His big plan for her life.

“You talk about truth when you can’t even tell people the truth about yourself.” She paused. Held his gaze. “Tell me the truth now. Why does this matter so much? Why do you want to use the truth of what happened to Jake to hurt him and ruin the good he’s done?”

Her questions probed, picked at threads from the fabric of his life that she had already loosened. What would it matter if he told her? What would he be giving her?

She knew how he was raised. What she didn’t know were the emotions at his core. His fears. The yearnings for love that he had always disdained as weak. Needy.

But he had let her into parts of his life no one had been before. She had shown him living faith. And a pure love.

They were a potent combination that frightened him. But her gaze held his, her eyes seemed to catch his hesitation, encourage disclosure.

He retreated further.

“It matters, Becky, because this will sell magazines. And that’s what we do.” He looked down at the desk, unable to look her in the eye, feeling like a traitor. His own brave words about truth mocked him, but if he gave her more of himself, he would leave too much behind when it was time to go.

And he would go. He had to.

A beat of silence. Then Becky stepped back as if finally understanding what she was going to get from him.

“If you write this article, revealing the premier’s secret against his will—” Becky raised her hand as if making a vow “—I’ll quit.” Then she turned and left through the doors leading to the yard, the sound of the door like a gunshot in the silence.

Rick slammed his fists against the desk, then ran out into the yard, calling her name.

“Leave me alone, Rick,” she called out. “Go write your article.”

Rick stood on the edges of the light spilling out from the open door behind him, trying to see where she was going. But she had been swallowed up by the night.

With a frustrated sigh, he spun on his heel and strode to his vehicle. He vaulted into it, twisted the key of his Jeep. As it roared to life, he glanced back at Becky’s house. At the three people silhouetted against the window.

Surely Becky would enlighten them.

He reversed, slammed the gearshift into first and spun out of the Ellisons’ yard. At the road he turned left, away from town, out into the dark countryside. The only sound was the throb of the engine, and the hiss of air slipping past a half-opened window. His lights cast a dim beam over the road, which swallowed up by the heavy darkness as he approached.

As he drove, her words echoed and twisted through his brain.

“You’re an empty shell, Rick.”

“Why does this matter so much?”

He pressed harder on the accelerator, but he couldn’t outrun her words. They piled on top of each other, pulling down the barriers he had erected against her, at the same time, drawing him to a place he had been before.

And each time she brought him there, he gave her a little more of himself and allowed her closer.

And what was so bad about that?

He was leaving, that was nonnegotiable.

Why couldn’t he stay? Why not?

The question spun through his head as he stared sightlessly at the road, the ditches barely illuminated by his headlights.

Put down roots? Allow people into his life?

Did he dare?

Lord, what do I do?

His cry to a God he hadn’t spoken to came from the depths of his sorrow. His need.

Tell me what to do, Lord. I’m working without a net here.

Then a flash of brown. Red reflected in twin pinpoints of light facing him on the road ahead. The eyes of a deer standing in the middle of the road.

He slammed on the brakes, spun the steering wheel just as the deer jumped.

A sickening crunch. Pain that exploded through his head. His chest.

Then nothing.

B
ecky’s meandering feet took her back to the house, shame dogging her steps. She had struck out at Rick in anger, using words that cut and hurt, issued ultimatums she would never keep. Then, worse yet, she had run away instead of staying and facing the consequences of her actions.

“Please forgive me, Lord,”
she whispered, lifting her head to the night sky.
“Forgive my hard words.”
She prayed that she hadn’t hurt him with her truth the very way she had accused him of hurting people with his.

Rick wasn’t empty. He had depth of character and a candor that didn’t hide behind fancy words. His relationship with God was based on the same kind of honesty.

Now she had to find a way to apologize to him. To regain lost ground. Because in spite of words thrown out in anger, she couldn’t let him go.

She slipped into the house through the doors leading into her father’s study. She needed to call Rick. Find out
where he was and try rebuild what she had so foolishly broken down.

As Becky dialed his number, she glanced at the notes he had left behind. The fateful interview. Yes, it still mattered, but obviously it also mattered to Rick. And in spite of how she felt about Jake’s confidences, Rick had a point. Jake held a public office and as such, his private character was as much a part of that as his public one. But how could she be fair and just at the same time?

Rick’s answering machine picked up. “Please pick up, Rick, if you’re listening. I’m sorry I got so angry. Phone me on my cell phone. Please.” She didn’t care that she sounded like she was begging.

As she tried his cell phone, her heart started up. It rang six times, each ring sinking her spirits further. Then, finally, he picked up.

“Rick, this is Becky. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Her words rushed out in her eagerness to make a connection. “I want to talk to you. I was wrong….”

“Becky?”

She stopped. The voice on the phone wasn’t Rick’s. Her face burned as she realized her mistake. “Sorry. Wrong number.”

“No. Becky, don’t hang up. This is Earl McCrae. I’m using Rick’s cell phone.”

“Why?” Other than the occasional chitchat at Katherine’s coffee shop, Rick hardly knew Earl. What was he doing with Rick’s cell phone?

“Becky. Listen to me. There’s been an accident. Rick was involved. I was the first one at the accident and used his cell phone to call the ambulance.”

Accident. Rick.
The words caught like barbed hooks, tearing and slashing.

“Where? How? Is he okay?”

“The ambulance just left. He hit a deer with his Jeep.”

She felt a sob push up her throat. Her head spun as she dropped the phone. Rick.
Lord, forgive me.

She stumbled past the desk, heading for the door, shock numbing her movements.

“Becky. What’s wrong?” her brother called out as she lurched through the family room. “I thought you had a meeting?”

“I have to get to the hospital.” Becky glanced wildly around, as if looking for answers. “It’s Rick. He’s been in an accident.”

She saw her mother half rise from her chair. Her father’s shocked face. Leanne and Colette both cried out.

Dennis caught her by the shoulders just as her legs gave way. “You can’t drive, Becks. I’ll take you.”

Seconds later they were in Dennis’s car, flying through town. All she could do was pray inarticulate prayers while fear and panic lurked at the edges of her mind.

She couldn’t. She had to concentrate. Rick needed her.

“You don’t know how bad it is, Becks. Don’t think the worst,” Dennis said, downshifting as he approached a red light. He slowed, glanced left and right and gunned it through.

The hospital was just ahead and, as Dennis prepared to turn into the parking lot, she saw the flashing lights of the ambulance coming from the other direction, heard the ominous wail of the siren.

Becky grabbed the door handle, ready to jump out as soon as Dennis stopped the car. But he caught her with one hand as he spun the wheel for the turn into the parking lot with the other.

“Wait, Becks,” he said. His voice was soft but his grip brother-tough as the car rocked to a halt. “I’m coming with you.”

The spinning red and blue lights kicked her heart into high gear, but she forced herself to wait for Dennis to turn off the car. Undo his seat belt. Then hers.

She jumped out, her eyes drawn to the ambulance now pulling up to the emergency entrance. Dennis caught her by the arm again, leading her along.

The back doors of the ambulance swung open, two men jumped out, whirled around and pulled out a stretcher holding a body.

“Rick,” Becky called out, her knees buckling. Dennis held her up, slipped his arm around her waist. But adrenaline surged, gave her strength and she ran.

They got into the emergency entrance just as they wheeled Rick in. Blood covered Rick’s forehead, matting his blond hair, streaking down the side of his head. His one eye was swollen shut. A bag hung above the stretcher, a narrow tube running from it into his arm.

Becky slapped her hand against her mouth, holding back a cry. He looked like a war victim.

He opened his eyes, turned his head and saw her with his good eye. When he reached out his hand, she ignored Dennis, pulled away and ran to Rick’s side, catching his hand in hers.

“Miss, I’m sorry. You’ll have to stand back.” One of
the paramedics caught her by the shoulders, gently drawing her away.

But Rick wouldn’t let go.

“Please, let her stay,” he muttered, his hands clenching Becky’s with surprising strength. Then his head rolled to the side and his hand grew slack.

Panic surged through her, but the paramedic was pulling her away.

“Miss. Please. He’s unconscious.”

As his words sank in, she stepped back. Two nurses and a doctor converged on Rick and he was whisked away into a curtained off area.

Dennis was right behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

She turned to him, buried her face in his shoulders and all the emotions of the evening converged. She started sobbing, her shoulders shaking as sorrow and regret surged through her.

This was her fault. She had caused Rick’s accident. He’d driven off in a rage. Why had she been so self-righteous?

“Becky, let’s go sit down.” Dennis drew her gently to the waiting area. She didn’t want to go, but didn’t have the strength to resist. Dennis pulled her down into a chair, his arm still around her shoulder.

Please, Lord,
she prayed.
Please keep Rick safe. Please.

I love him. Don’t take him away from me now.

The words went round and round her head as she clung to her brother’s hand, her eyes focused on the hallway leading to the emergency ward. She could hear the faint murmur of voices, the shuffling of feet from
one of the curtained-off cubicles. The occasional muffled clang of an instrument on a tray.

What was going on?

The doors of the lobby whooshed open and her parents swooped in on them.

“Oh, honey. What happened?” Her mother sat down beside her, her hand stroking Becky’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” She didn’t look at them, her entire attention on the cubicle as if by sheer force of will she could make Rick whole. She knew Rick’s life wasn’t in her hands, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Is he okay?”

She forced her gaze back to her father, who had taken Dennis’s seat beside her, and tears filled her eyes again. “He looked terrible, Daddy.”

Her father laid his hand on her head and awkwardly stroked her hair with his rough hand. “We have good doctors and nurses here.” He smiled. “And I know you’ve been praying. So have we. His life is in God’s hands.”

And what if she didn’t trust that God would let her keep him?

The horrible question stopped her thoughts cold. Her mind slowed, circling the thought. It sounded like something Rick might say.

And in that moment, she understood him a little better.

Pain stabbed through the haze. Once. Then again. Coming closer together as he swam through the syrupy darkness that held him down, slowed his thoughts.

His eyelids had been glued shut. They wouldn’t
open. Wouldn’t open. Voices swam through his mind. His mother’s. Grandfather’s. Becky’s.

Hushed and vague shapes of people he didn’t know mixed with the voices, speaking his name. Praying.

Was death this painful?

He willed his thoughts past the agony surging through his head, his chest and pulled his lids up.

The first thing he saw was a head, lying down by his arm. He tried to speak but only a groan came out. The head lifted and he was looking at Becky’s eyes, her soft smile.

He was alive.

Becky held his hand, and before the black pulled him down again, he felt her lips touch his fingers.

“How’s it going, Becks?” Sam didn’t glance up from his Bible, but his quiet question was a gentle reprieve for Becky.

She sat cross-legged on the living room floor, papers scattered around her in a semicircle as her fuzzy and distracted mind tried to find some thread of coherence from Jake’s interview.

Her eyes were on the paper in front of her but her mind was on Rick. And each time she thought of him, she prayed for him.

She had stayed as late as she dared last night, then this morning she dragged herself out of bed to get some work done before she went to see Rick again.

The magazine needed her now more than ever, but she felt torn between the reality of the magazine’s balance sheet and the needs of her own heart.

She rubbed her eyes and flashed her father a quick smile. “It’s going okay, Dad.” Which was a lie, but she couldn’t let her father in on the secret that came out in the interview. For now it was between her, Jake, Rick. And Kerra.

She pressed her fingers against her eyes, hearing again Jake’s confession, reliving her painful disillusionment. Had she known the chaos her innocent question would have generated, she would never have mentioned Kerra’s name.

She pushed the papers away, unable to figure out what to write about. What to think. Life wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.

“Do you want some help?” Sam closed his Bible, signaling to Becky that she now had his complete attention. Sam always spent time in the morning on his devotions, something Becky hadn’t done for a while.

She didn’t have time.

Becky pushed her hands through her hair, holding it away from her face as she blew out her breath in a frustrated sigh. “I dunno, Dad. I just…”

Sam leaned forward, inviting further disclosure.

Becky looked up into his deep blue eyes. Almost as blue as Rick’s. She hadn’t seen much of Rick’s eyes the past day and a half. He slept a lot and when he was awake, his one eye was swollen shut, the other still bloodshot. It tore her heart each time she saw him weak and helpless and in pain.

“Life isn’t as easy as I thought it should be,” she said finally, feeling an unaccountable prick of tears at the back of her throat.

“Rick is young and strong, Becky. He’ll be up and about in no time.”

“And he’ll be leaving.”

Sam sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. “And that bothers you?”

Becky swallowed against the restriction of her throat. “Yes, Daddy. Too much.”

“Does he know this?”

Becky just shrugged.

“Was that what you were fighting about?”

Becky pulled her legs up to her chest, bouncing her chin lightly on her knees, and decided to let go. She had carried the burden of Jake’s secret and its consequences and needed to share it with someone whom she could trust. “Jake told me something in confidence, even though the tape was still running. Something that could ruin his career. Rick heard it and wants to use it in the article. That’s what we were fighting about.” And that’s what probably put Rick in the hospital.

“Did Jake tell you it was off the record?”

“Not until later. Which is a technicality.”

“Do you want to use it?”

Becky sighed, thinking of the precarious financial position of the magazine. The article would definitely sell papers, but was that the direction they wanted to go? “I don’t. But Rick says we should because Jake is a public figure holding a public office. He shouldn’t have secrets.”

“What’s Rick’s motivation for running the article?”

“It would increase the circulation of the magazine. His main purpose for everything he has done since he came here.”

“Do you think that’s his only reason?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore where Rick is concerned.” Becky looked up at her father, her emotions wavering between her growing feelings for Rick and the reality of Rick’s temporary situation at the magazine.

“Have you prayed about it?”

Becky nodded.

“With Rick?”

She shook her head. They had touched upon faith issues, but she couldn’t imagine ever getting close enough to Rick to pray with him.

“So maybe you should start there. Lay your needs and Rick’s before the Lord. Together. It might help clarify both your thinking.” Sam got off his chair and sat down beside Becky, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “I know you care for Rick. Maybe even love him. I also know that you don’t want less than a God-fearing man in your life. Maybe you need to make that clear to Rick.”

Becky laid her head against her father’s shoulder, much as she had when she was a little girl. “But I don’t know if it matters to him what I want.”

She heard Sam’s chuckle deep down in his broad chest. “I think your opinion matters a lot more to him than you realize. I’ve seen how he looks at you. How he listens to you.”

“But he’s still leaving, Dad. He has told me that again and again, as if I need to know. And we’re so different. He’s a traveler and I like to stay in one place. He’s called me sentimental and I’ve called him coldhearted.”

“Then use your warmth to thaw him out.” Sam drew
back and bracketed Becky’s face in his hands. “And it wouldn’t be so bad if you spread your own wings a bit. Saw more of the world than Okotoks and Calgary. I think you have things you can give each other. I think you can fill parts of his life and he can fill parts of yours.”