Out with the In Crowd (24 page)
“Wait.” Jodi trotted after me, around the corner and away from everyone’s watchful eyes. “Skylar, we’re, like, sisters in Christ now. We should get along.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” I stopped and faced her. “I don’t know what they told you at the retreat, but it doesn’t fix everything overnight. Just like me. I thought accepting God’s plan for my life would make it easier. Most of the time, it’s only made it harder.”
Jodi chewed on her lip, mussing her carefully applied lipstick. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t really accepted his plan.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
She gestured to my outfit—a white oxford shirt and dark rinse jeans. “I don’t know what this is that you’re going through—this weird, plain-clothes phase—but it isn’t you. It isn’t how God created you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the tip,” I said, then stormed away. Like I needed some girl who’d been a Christian for a week telling me how to live my life.
“You can’t expect your life to change just because you sit through Sunday services,” Jodi called after me, despite the crowded hallway. “You’ve got to give it all to him.”
“I can’t believe I missed so much while I was gone,” Heather said as she sorted through the clothing racks. “The baby, you and Connor, your parents.”
“It was a wild couple of weeks.”
“For you and me both.”
Heather had spent the last hour of our shopping trip describing her time in Uganda. Many of the stories were about the patients, but most were about Brent.
She held up several tiny outfits. “I can’t decide. I’m getting all of them.”
“I know Abbie will appreciate it. Most of what we’d bought had ruffles and bows. Owen wouldn’t care now, but he might later.”
Heather grinned and tucked the outfits into her basket. “How’s Abbie doing?”
I hesitated, thinking of the nervous breakdown I’d witnessed that morning. Overnight, Owen had wanted to eat every ninety minutes. “She doesn’t regret keeping him, but . . .”
“It’s harder than she anticipated?”
“It’s harder “Yeah.”
Heather sighed. “Poor Abbie.” She considered the various other baby aisles at Target. “You’re sure she doesn’t need anything but clothes?”
“Mom and Dad have taken care of everything else. They’re so funny. They’re redoing the nursery and seem so . . . together.” I smiled. “It’d be nauseating if it wasn’t such a relief.”
“My parents were always real flirtatious.” Heather giggled. “I remember once in high school I had friends over, and they saw Mom and Dad all over each other in the kitchen. I was
so
embarrassed. Of course now I know to appreciate that my parents like each other.” She glanced around the clothing racks, as if waiting for something else to catch her eye. “You ready to go?”
“Almost. I need to grab an extra package of cloth diapers.”
My voice must have broadcast my sadness. Heather cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, just Connor stuff.”
She followed me through the racks of teeny-tiny clothes to the aisles of baby necessities. “So you guys aren’t talking at all?”
I shook my head. “He called once, and I asked him not to anymore. He said it was painful not to talk to me, but really it’s painful either way.”
“Well, it’s a breakup.” Heather studied me. “You seem like you’re doing really well.”
Did I? I felt rotten. I shrugged. “I guess I’m okay. Until the first time I run into him out on a date with Jodi, that is.”
She gave me a sad smile. “You’re around all summer?” “Looks like it.” I sighed. My summer in Hawaii was the one casualty of Mom and Dad’s reconciliation. I could probably ask to go stay with Grammy and Papa, but did I really want that? Not with Mom and Dad on the mend. Not with Owen.
So not only would I be stuck at home in the fall while everyone scattered to their selected schools, I wasn’t even slated to enjoy my summer break.
“So when do I get to meet Brent?” I asked as we made our way up to the front of the store.
Heather grinned. “Soon. I wanted him to come to church on Sunday, but he’s working.” She sighed. “I think he might be the one, Skylar.”
“You deserve it,” I said. That’s why I could handle all her smiling and happiness in the wake of my failed relationship.
“Ooh, look. Swimsuits are in.” Heather trotted off toward the colorful racks of bikinis. “Let’s go see.”
I followed her with a sigh. I didn’t need a swimsuit anytime soon. In years past, I’d anxiously awaited the day stores stocked the new suits because spring break always meant a cruise. This year, between Owen’s existence and Mom and Dad’s counseling bills, I assumed my spring break would be spent watching daytime television and changing diapers. Heather plunged into the swimsuit displays, full of comments like, “I like this, but not in a halter . . . Ooh, argyle . . . Do they have this in a color other than yellow?”
I opened my mouth to point out the green version when my eye caught on something else. “Look,” I said, before realizing it made sense only to me.
Heather looked. “Cute.”
I reached to touch it. This wasn’t a dream, right? I was really awake? Because it looked exactly like I’d envisioned— black with large white polka dots, thick ties around the neck. And I thought of Connor’s words in the hospital: “Funny how sometimes God prepares us for things without us even realizing it.”
When I entered my house, baby clothes and the black-and-white swimsuit in the bag dangling from my arm, a wave of concern hit me. I stood there in the doorway trying to put my finger on why. And then I realized.
Someone was baking chocolate chip cookies.
I flinched. “Mom?”
“She’s upstairs, honey.”
Dad’s voice had never sounded so good.
In the kitchen, I found him scraping mismatched lumps of dough onto a cookie sheet. I knew next to nothing about baking, but I did know cookies should be the same size so they baked evenly.
“What are the cookies for?” I asked.
“They’re your mom’s favorite. I’ve never made them before.” Dad shrugged. “Thought I’d give it a try.”
The timer sounded. He pulled out a batch and slid the next sheet in.
I eyed the egg shells on the counter, the mess of measuring cups piled in the sink, the dirty bowl of the rarely used KitchenAid mixer. “You made them from scratch?”
Dad reddened a bit. “Amy Ross gave me her recipe.” He placed the cookie sheet where I could see. Some were overdone, and some had hardly baked, but a few looked perfect—golden around the edges, still a little doughy in the middle. He beamed same as when he landed new clients. “Not bad for your old man, huh?”
I forced a smile and took a seat at the bar. “They look great, Dad.”
“So, what’s wrong?” He scooped one of the cookies off the sheet and dropped it on the counter in front of me.
“Nothing, I’m just . . . tired. I guess Owen’s not wild about the crib I picked out.”
Dad squinted at me. “I know you a little better than that, honey. You don’t look tired, you look depressed. Connor?”
I sighed and broke the cookie in half. “I guess so. He says he just needs some time, but even if he’s interested in being my boyfriend again, I don’t know that I’m interested in taking him back.” I returned the cookie to the counter. I didn’t really feel like eating. Especially that rock. “It’s just so risky, trusting people. I mean, ultimately he’s just going to hurt me again, right?”
Now Dad sighed. “I guess your mom and I are to blame for your cynical view of things.” He covered my little hands with his large ones. “There are few things I can guarantee you, Skylar. One is that this won’t be the last time someone hurts you. And it’s probably not the worst you’ll get hurt either.”
“Good pep talk.”
He smiled. “But love is like a lot of things in life. The people who cost us the most become most dear to us. Look at everything Abbie went through for Owen. Look how needy he is. How he keeps her up at night and wants to be held all the time. And yet Abbie loves him more than anything else in this world.”
“I guess.”
“And look at Jesus. The pain he went through was so great, yet his love for us is more than we can even comprehend. You see what I’m driving at?”
You see what I’m “No pain, no gain?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
“But how do you trick yourself into trusting someone after they’ve hurt you?”
Dad’s eyebrows arched. “
Trick
yourself?”
“You know what I mean. How do you trust someone when common sense tells you not to?”
A shadow crossed his face, and I knew he thought of Mom, of how close he came to losing her. Of how he could still lose her. “What it boils down to, I think, is trusting God. Let’s use you and Connor as an example. When he comes crawling back to you—and I do mean
when—
you’ll have to make the decision of whether or not you want to trust him. But what you’re really saying is you trust God will take care of you, even if Connor proves to be untrustworthy. That’s what your mother and I are having to learn. To trust that there’s nothing too big for God to handle or too big for us to work through as long as he’s helping us.”
I mulled this over while I took a large bite of my cookie. It was crispy and tasted like I imagined a burned shoe might. With some chocolate. “Dad.” I forced myself to swallow. “This is horrible.”
He sighed. “I guess I’m no good at cookie making. Business deals, sure. But this clearly isn’t my gift.”
Abbie entered the kitchen with a swaddled and sleeping Owen. “Mmm, cookies.”
“Proceed at your own risk,” I said, reaching for my nephew.
“Same to you. He’s spitting up like crazy today.”
As she transferred him to my arms, Owen arched his back. His face scrunched, and his fists clenched. What a horribly confusing feeling it must be to go from the warm, snuggly comfort he’d always known to this unstable world.
Tears pricked my eyes as I recognized myself in him. My life had felt off-kilter since I woke up from that party on July 15, as if God was in the process of transferring me from one life to another.
“Shh,” I whispered to Owen, pulling him close. “You’re okay.”
In amazement, I watched as his face relaxed and he settled against me. Somehow, despite his discomfort a few seconds before, he was able to trust my security. He didn’t seem worried that I’d drop or abandon him, he just drifted back to sleep.
I drew him even closer, hoping to show him he was right to trust.
Many thanks to:
My husband, Ben, who reads my books in their primitive form, is a constant source of encouragement, and makes excellent and inspiring chocolate chip cookies.
My Tuesday babysitters, Steve and Beth Hines, and my Thursday babysitters, Ann and Bruce Morrill. I have the best parents and in-laws ever.
My writing friends who read the first draft of this book and offered feedback: Roseanna White, Mary Proctor, Carole Brown, Kasey Heinly, and Colleen Shine Phillips.
Kelli Stouder and Debbie McCool, two of my great encouragers.
Dr. Amy Knapitsch, who answers all my medical questions promptly and kindly.
Cindy Arterburn, whose adoption expertise was invaluable to Abbie’s story.
My agent, Kelly Mortimer, who continues to shock me with her love for and belief in Skylar.
And my amazing publishing house, Revell, particularly those I’m in regular contact with—Jennifer Leep, Jessica Miles, Janelle Mahlmann, and Cheryl Van Andel. Thank you for all your hard work.
Stephanie Morrill
is a twentysomething living in Overland Park, Kansas, with her high school sweetheart-turned-husband and their young daughter. She loves writing for teenagers because her high school years greatly impacted her adult life. That, and it’s an excuse to keep playing her music really, really loud.
Getting a Fresh Start
Book 1 in the Reinvention of Skylar Hoyt series
Is Harder Than It Looks
