Rainbow's End (11 page)

The answer wasn't long in coming. Keith Michaels had not only earned her trust, he had the ability to make her forget that the scars left by the tragedy marred her face as well as her heart—just as Deb had implied. When he looked at her, he looked at
her
—not her battered face. And in his eyes, she felt whole again. Almost like the woman she'd been so very long ago.

More than that, she sensed that the hurts she'd suffered mattered to him. That he cared. Truly cared. And if he did, didn't he deserve to know the secrets she held close to her heart?

The debate taking place in Jill's mind was reflected in her eyes, giving Keith a window to her soul. He watched her battle
the demons that had held her captive and apart from others for years, hoping that she would find the courage to risk stepping out of her safety zone. At the same time, he suspected that her story could rock his world. Change him in ways he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with. Yet at some intuitive level, he knew they'd been brought together, and to this place tonight, for a reason. He also knew that he, too, needed courage to see this through.
Please, Lord, be with me.
The prayer echoed in his heart before he could call it back.

“It's not exactly a bedtime story.” Jill's uncertain tone, her watchful eyes, snapped him back to the present.

“I'm not planning to go to bed for hours.” His gaze held hers, steady and sure.

Lifting her mug, she took a fortifying sip of coffee, set it back on the table and rose. “I'll be right back.”

Had she changed her mind? Keith watched as she moved into the living room and stopped at a long table that stood against the wall below the stairs. After a brief hesitation, she opened a drawer and withdrew a picture frame. Returning to the kitchen, she put it on the table in front of him and took her place in silence.

Keith picked up the frame and studied the photo. It was a family picture. A smiling blond-haired man, dressed in a red sweater and wearing a Santa cap, sat on the floor, one knee drawn up. One hand rested on the shoulder of a little blond girl with merry eyes who sat at his feet, a reindeer-ear headband holding back her long, wavy blond hair. His other arm was draped around the woman who sat at his side, also wearing a Santa cap. Jill.

But it wasn't a Jill that Keith had ever known. Not because her face was whole and lovely, so perfect it took his breath
away. No, it was her luminous eyes that captured and held his attention. Filled with life and love and exuberant happiness, they reflected a joy that had not yet been tempered by tragedy and loss. Seeing her like this, radiant and content, tightened his throat with raw emotion. Unable to speak, he simply looked over at her.

The compassion and sorrow on Keith's face touched a place deep inside Jill, refreshing parched soil long barren. It was as if he understood the depth of her pain and loss even before she'd uttered a word of explanation. As if, somehow, he'd walked in her shoes and knew the road had been long and difficult and fraught with danger. She wondered why he seemed to have such insights, but she couldn't dwell on that now. He was waiting for her to speak, and she needed to focus on the story she had set herself up to tell.

“That was the last picture we ever had taken. We used it on our Christmas cards.” Her words came out more hoarse than usual, and she cleared her throat. “That's my husband, Sam, and my daughter, Emily.”

“You all look happy.” Keith continued to hold the photo, but his attention was riveted on the woman across from him.

“We were. Blissfully so. It never occurred to me that things could change in the blink of an eye. Or a spark.” Her grip on the mug tightened, whitening her knuckles. “I had the flu and a bad cough that holiday season. I was sleeping in the guest room, because Sam had been working long hours and needed his rest. My cough medicine had codeine in it, which knocked me out. That's probably why it took me such a long time to realize something was wrong.”

She started to raise the cup to her lips, but her hands were so shaky that some of the liquid sloshed out, leaving a dark
splotch on the oak table. She set the cup back down with the exaggerated care of a drunk. “Anyway, when I woke up and smelled something burning I panicked. I was running a high fever and my thinking was fuzzy, so the whole sequence of events has always been as hazy as the smoke that was filling our house. I remember running down the hall. I woke Sam. He told me to go to a neighbor's. To have them call 911. He said he'd get Emily.”

She drew a shuddering breath, and when she continued her words were choppy, her voice unsteady. “I alerted a neighbor and ran back to the house. Sam and Emily should have been out by then, but there was no sign of them. I ran toward the door. My neighbor grabbed my arm and tried to stop me. He said the fire department was coming. I heard the sirens. But I couldn't wait. I jerked free. When I got to the front door, all I could see was a wall of fire. I didn't care. I ran in anyway. But I only got as far as the stairs before a falling beam knocked me down. I was pinned to the floor, and the smoldering wood was…was angled against my face and…across the front of my left shoulder. I could hear…” She choked on the words, closing her eyes as a spasm of pain contorted her features. “I could hear sizzling…and I realized it was my…my skin burning. The pain came next. Agonizing pain. I thought I was dying. Later, I…I wished I had.”

The last words were whispered, and so wrought with anguish that Keith was left with no option but to take her hand, enfolding her cold fingers in the warmth and strength of his clasp. She didn't even seem to notice, so focused was she on the past. When she continued, her voice was flat and emotionless, her eyes glazed.

“I found out later that our Christmas tree had ignited. I'd
always insisted on a real tree and those big old-fashioned colored lightbulbs. Sam was in the insurance business, and he said it wasn't safe. But I badgered him until he let me have my way. A hot bulb against dried-up needles was the most common theory of how the fire started. Anyway, it went up in a flash. The fire spread with incredible speed, but the smoke was worse. That's what…that's how Sam and Emily died. Smoke inhalation. The flames never touched them, thank God.”

“But they touched you.” Keith's voice was ragged, and he reached out to caress her scarred cheek, much as Kyle had done, his fingers gentle.

Startled by his touch, she nodded. “S-second- and third-degree burns on my face and shoulder. And my vocal cords were irreparably damaged. I went through extensive treatment, including multiple skin grafts, for a year and a half. Deb took me in during that whole time. I'll never be able to repay her for that.”

“I expect you would have done the same for her.”

That was true. They were family, and that's what families did. But that didn't diminish her gratitude. “She was a rock. And she got answers for me that I was too injured to seek on my own. Like, why hadn't the fire alarm gone off? Turns out, the battery was dead. We always changed it the first of the year. But for some reason, this one had run out way too soon.

“And she handled all of the paperwork for me, too. Being in insurance, Sam had taken out large policies on both of us. He'd seen too many cases where a spouse was left with nothing after a tragedy because the couple was young and didn't think insurance was necessary. Deb dealt with the insurance company and made sure all the
t
's were crossed and the
i
's dotted. She was determined that at least I'd have no fi
nancial worries. She got me all the money I was entitled to. But she couldn't get me the only thing I really wanted.”

Once more, Jill's voice choked and she bowed her head. Keith's grip tightened, and she squeezed back a thank-you. She hadn't cried once during the recitation, but when she looked at him, her eyes were brimming with tears. “You…you're the first person I've ever shared that story with, except for family.”

Jolted, Keith stared at her. He wanted to ask why, then thought better of it, not sure he was ready for the answer.

When he didn't respond, Jill sent him an uncertain look. “It was more than you wanted to know, wasn't it?”

“No.” His reply was swift and sure. “I've been wondering what happened ever since Deb mentioned your family. I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. And it makes me look at these in a whole new light.” Once again he ran a gentle finger down the scars on her face.

“W-what do you mean?”

“They're a badge of honor, Jill. You got these trying to save your family. They represent courage and love and sacrifice. All those noble qualities we're called to display, but often don't.” He didn't give her time to dwell on that comment, moving on to another question instead. “How did you end up here?”

It took her a few beats to change gears. “When…when I was growing up, my family vacationed here one summer, and I always remembered it as a magical place…a place apart. It was the last vacation we had together before cancer took my dad. Mom and I came back once, before she died ten years ago. All my memories of this place were happy. I thought they could be again.”

“And are they?”

His quiet question gave her pause, and she chose her words with care. “In a different way. I've had a chance to pursue my art, which I'd always dreamed of doing.”

“But don't you get lonely, Jill?” His voice was gentle, but his expression was intent.

Yes, Jill reflected. Of course she got lonely. Especially since a certain carpenter had come into her life, reminding her of the simple joy of shared meals and lighthearted conversation and just knowing another person was nearby. But she chose to answer in a different way. “I'm not really alone. God has been by my side every day.”

That raised a whole new set of questions for Keith. Ones that hit even closer to home. “How did you manage to hold on to your faith after such loss?”

There was an undertone to Keith's question, a nuance, that told Jill the answer was important to him. A quick check of his eyes confirmed that impression. In their depths she saw a yearning so intense that she forgot her own anguish and sought to ease his. “It wasn't easy at first,” she said slowly, struggling to put into words the turbulent faith journey of those first months after the accident. “I'd always believed that God would be there to sustain me if I was ever given a heavy cross to bear. But in the beginning, I felt alone. And abandoned. The God in whom I'd put my trust seemed to have vanished, along with all my hopes and dreams for the future. I called out to Him over and over again, asking for comfort and guidance. Asking why. Yet He seemed deaf to my pleading. Finally I got angry and turned away from Him.”

It was almost as if Jill had looked into his heart and told his own story, Keith realized with a start. The process she'd described was the same one he'd gone through. Except he still
felt alone and abandoned, while Jill had found her way back to her faith. How? “What happened next?” he prompted.

“I stopped searching for answers.”

Confused, he stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I stopped asking why.”

“That's it?”

“Yes.”

“I don't understand.”

She leaned forward, earnest and certain. “Neither did I. And in the end I realized I never would. That's my point. The thing is, Keith, God's ways aren't our ways. His plans surpass all our understanding. Seeking a logical explanation for what happened to me…it doesn't make sense to even try. There is no logical, human answer. Only God knows why I was given that cross. Someday, when He and I are face-to-face, I might be given the wisdom to understand. But for now, it's beyond me. I had to learn to accept without understanding.”

She sat back, and there was a sense of peace about her when she continued. “Once I did that, I started to hear His voice again. I suspect it was there all along, but the clamor of my questions—demands, even—was drowning it out. And my anger was blinding me to His presence. You can't reconnect with a loving God when your heart is filled with rage. So I let it go. And when I did, when I replaced it with love instead, God was waiting to welcome me back. That doesn't mean it was always smooth sailing after that. Some days were rougher than others. Despair resurfaced on occasion. But over time, it got better. The sorrow over my loss will always be with me. But at least it's easier to bear with God by my side.”

The silence in the room was broken only by the distant, plaintive call of a loon. Keith was awed—and humbled—by
Jill's deep, abiding faith. A faith she'd struggled to hold on to despite God's apparent absence, while he had turned his back on the Almighty. And he'd done so with what he now recognized as arrogance—a sense of entitlement that he, of all people, should have God's ear during a crisis. That God should give him the answers denied to others. As if he was somehow better. Or more worthy.

Well, if anyone was worthy of God's special grace, it was the woman sitting across from him, whose hand continued to rest in his. A woman who had recognized that love wasn't something to be grasped at, or demanded, but given. Only then could it be returned. Only then could the voice of the beloved be heard with the heart.

As he glanced at their entwined hands, Jill looked down, as well—and seemed surprised to discover that her fingers were still engulfed in his clasp. A flush of color suffused her cheeks, and she gave her hand a gentle tug. But Keith's grip tightened. He didn't want to let go. Not yet. Her hand was like a lifeline, her goodness and kindness flowing through her fingertips directly into his soul.

Surprised, she looked back at him, a question in her eyes. But he had no answers. Yet. With one more gentle squeeze, he forced himself to release her slender fingers and stand. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.” He moved toward the door, pausing on the threshold. “Lock this after me.”