Return to Me (13 page)

“You’ll get the hang of it.” “I hope so.”

Jan popped open the can of soda. “Hey, I don’t know if anyone told you this already, but some of the single gals get together on Friday nights after work. You’re welcome to join us tomorrow if you’d like. We go to dinner, have a few drinks, sometimes take in a movie.”

The invitation took Roxy by surprise. She’d thought others in the office might resent her. It couldn’t be a secret that she had her job only because she was the owner’s daughter. Unlike Elena, who had her job with Burke’s because of her degree, drive, and love of the business.

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Thanks, Jan. That’s nice of you. I’ll let you know if I can make it.”

“Great.” Jan took a quick sip of soda. “I’d better get back to my desk. I’ve got several reports to finish before five o’clock. See you later.” With a small wave of her hand, she walked away.

Roxy turned in the opposite direction but stopped when she saw Elena headed her way.

“I was looking for you. You weren’t in your office.” “I needed a soda.”

“I wondered if you had any questions for me on that computer program.”

“Lots of them.” Roxy released a nervous laugh. “But I don’t know enough to know what to ask yet. Does that make sense?”

Elena’s smile seemed reluctant. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

If only there was a way to recapture how things used to be between them, to make them close again. Was there a way? Maybe . . .

“Elena, I’ve been invited to go out tomorrow night with some of the other gals who work here. Do you ever go with them? Maybe we could
⎯
”

“No, I don’t go with them.”

Rebuffed by the soft but firm reply, Roxy lowered her gaze. “I’ve got to make some phone calls.” Elena turned on her heel.

“Let’s plan to meet tomorrow morning to go over that program again. Say about nine.”

“Okay.”

She waited until Elena disappeared from view before return- ing to her office and closing the door. Once there, she sat in the chair, folded her arms on her desktop, and hid her face. Loneliness washed through her. Loneliness and rejection. Funny, she was glad for the invitation to join other women in the office, but it was her sister’s fellowship she craved. Could Elena ever forgive and love her again? Roxy longed to feel her sister’s love.

God loves you.

Oh, that wretched voice in her head! All week long those words had echoed inside her, persistent, unrelenting.

As had happened often, she thought of Wyatt, of the way he’d changed in the years she was away, of that indefinable something she saw in him. He must hear those words too
⎯
God loves you, Wyatt Baldini
⎯
but when he heard them, he believed them.

Why? What made him believe? Believe so much, he would leave his law practice and choose a life different from the one he once pursued.

She didn’t know. But she wanted to find out. No, she needed to do so.

=

Wyatt turned his Subaru Outback onto State Street, then cast a quick glance toward Elena. “You were quiet this evening.”

Quiet was an understatement. She hadn’t said more than a dozen words during the two hours they were at their small group study.

“Are you feeling all right, Elena?”

“I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a busy week.”

That wasn’t news to him. He hadn’t seen her since Sunday. She canceled lunch with him twice and didn’t make their dinner on Tuesday either. Normally they spoke several times a day, but they hadn’t connected much this week. If he called the office, her secretary told him Elena was out. If he called her mobile phone, he got her voice mail.

Busy, Wyatt understood, but he had a sense there was more to it than that. She seemed edgy, not her usual self.

“How’s Roxy doing with the new job?”

“She doesn’t
do
anything yet, but she’s already the darling of the office. You know Roxy.”

Yes, he knew Roxy, but it wasn’t his future sister-in-law who concerned him. “I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I told you. I’m tired. It’s been a rough week.” “Why? What made it rough?”

“Everything.”

Exasperation filled his voice. “What do you mean by
every- thing
? Talk to me, will you?”

“I don’t
want
to talk.” Her tone matched his. “I’m tired!”

Tension made the car feel small and airless. Wyatt gripped the steering wheel and stared at the road, illuminated by the Outback’s headlights.

What was the matter with her? Why was she being obnoxious? If she was having a bad week, shouldn’t she come to him for comfort instead of taking his head off? Holding things inside, letting them bottle up, never did any good. She knew that as well as he did.

A few unpleasant words flashed through his mind, words that used to come easily to his lips, words he’d banished from his vocab-

ulary after he became a Christian. But as his foul mood grew, so did his desire to mutter those words aloud.

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right . . . think

about such things.

Yeah, that’s what he should do. But it sure would be easy to mumble one of those not-so-noble words.

Whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable . . .

He pulled the car into her driveway and cut the engine. The sudden silence seemed thick and awkward. Wyatt wanted to say something to end it, but he was afraid if he spoke, he would regret it, given the mood he was in.

Elena opened the passenger side door. “I’m tired. You’d better not come in. I’m going straight to bed.” She used the remote in her purse to open the garage door, got out of the car, and hurried inside, closing the garage door the instant she was past the sensor.

In Ephesians, Paul wrote that Christians shouldn’t let the sun go down while they were still angry. Anger gave the devil a foot- hold. Somebody should tell Elena that. But it was too late. The sun had long since set.

Wyatt started the engine and backed out of the driveway.

=

Elena slammed the door that led from the garage into the family room. She didn’t know what she wanted to do more — scream or cry. She stormed into her bedroom, where she dropped her purse and Bible onto the nightstand.

Why was everybody concerned about Roxy? Poor Roxy. She had a bad time of it in Nashville.

Yeah, well. Didn’t anyone realize everything bad that happened to Roxy was her own fault?

Elena’s thoughts made her feel small, ugly, mean-spirited. She didn’t care. She was sick and tired of everyone giving Roxy her way. Everything came easy to her little sister. Look what happened today. All these years at Burke’s and no one had asked Elena to join the group that went out on Fridays. But Roxy was in the office less than a week, and already she had an invitation. Not that Elena would have gone had she been asked. She didn’t go to bars, even those that were part of respectable restaurants.

Roxy shouldn’t go either.

But no one would tell her that. People let Roxy do whatever she wanted
⎯
no matter how wrong or stupid
⎯
and never said a word.

“How’s Roxy doing with the new job?”

Her little sister hadn’t done anything but read manuals and pretend to understand the computer. Her role in the company wasn’t defined yet. Their dad said to give it time. Lots of time. They would figure things out as they went along.

“Let her feel like she fits in first,” he’d said yesterday.

Standing in the middle of her bedroom, Elena released the pent-up scream, shaking her fists at the ceiling and stomping her feet, like a two-year-old in a full-out temper tantrum. A minute later, exhausted by her outburst, she fell onto her bed and let the tears come.

“She doesn’t . . . belong here,” she whispered between sobs. “She’s going to . . . ruin . . . everything . . . I know . . . she will.”

If only Roxy had stayed in Nashville. If only she hadn’t returned.

Something awful was about to happen, and Elena didn’t know how to prevent it
⎯
whatever it was.

F ourteen

Wyatt had cooled off by the time he turned the Outback into his subdivision. He almost reached for his mobile phone to call Elena and apologize, then decided to wait until he got home. But he for- got his plans when his car’s headlights fell on the blue Lincoln parked at the curb in front of his house. Roxy leaned against a rear fender, her arms crossed over her chest as if warding off the evening chill.

He pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and got out. “Roxy?”

“Hey, Wyatt.” She pushed off the Lincoln. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this.”

“No. Of course not.” He motioned with his head toward the house. “Come on in.” He led the way to the front door. “There’s nothing wrong, I hope.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just . . . I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Wyatt stepped inside, dropping his keys onto a narrow table in the entry, and waited for Roxy to enter before closing the door. “Give me a second to feed my dog. That’s him making all that racket in the backyard.”

“You’ve got a dog?” “Cody. A golden retriever.”

“You never owned pets before.”

He shrugged. “Never had room for them.” He motioned with his hand. “Feel free to look around. I’ll be right back. Unless you want to come out and meet Cody.”

“Another time, if that’s okay. I’ll wait here.”

“Sure. Make yourself at home.”

Outside again, Wyatt turned Cody out of his kennel and gave the dog a few pats before opening the bin that held the dog food.

What’s she doing here?

He glanced toward the back door. He could see her, standing in the hallway, looking at pictures on the wall. She looked a lot bet- ter after a week at home. Her abundant auburn hair
⎯
always one of her crowning glories
⎯
was no longer limp and lifeless. And yet there remained something sad about her, a heaviness that seemed to bow her slight shoulders.

If he could help lift that weight, he would.
Lord, will You show me how?

Cody barked, a reminder that Wyatt had failed to produce dinner.

“Sorry, fella.” He scooped the dry food into the waiting bowl. “You eat and I’ll be back out for you in a while. After my company leaves.”

When Wyatt opened the back door, Roxy turned toward him. “Nice house.”

“Thanks. It suits me.” She probably remembered the rundown place he’d lived in with his mom and sister. This was a big step up from that, although it was modest compared to her dad’s place. “Want something to drink? I’ve got soda in the fridge, or I could brew some coffee.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t need anything.”

Wyatt pointed toward the living room. “Well, let’s sit down then.” He flipped a switch on the wall to turn on a table lamp in the far corner.

Roxy entered the room but didn’t sit right away. Instead, she crossed to the fireplace and looked at the framed photographs on

the mantel, touching them one by one. Stopping on one of his sister and her family, she said, “Kris looks happy. Three kids?”

“Four now. She made me an uncle again a few months ago.” “Does she live in Boise?”

“No. Her husband’s job took them to Houston. Mom’s down there too. They all seem to like Texas.”

“Dad tells me you’re going to become a minister.” She met his gaze. “Is that true?”

“God willing, yes. I’m awaiting word about acceptance to seminary.”

Roxy moved to the sofa, offering him a smile as she sat down. “You worked hard to get your law degree. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m having a hard time picturing you as a pastor.”

“Yeah, I guess you would. But I’m different from the guy you knew, Roxy. God changed me.” He sank onto the overstuffed chair.

She frowned. “What made you do it, Wyatt? What made you decide to . . . to believe?”

A shiver raced through him. Was it possible God was answer- ing his prayer this quickly? “If you really want to listen — ” he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs — “I’ll be glad to tell you.”

“I’ll listen. It’s why I came.”

=

Roxy grew up in the evangelical community. Words like
born again
and
sanctification
and
grace
were familiar to her ears, but she thought of them as church speak. Religious talk. Yet there was something different about Wyatt. Something
had
changed him, and he believed that something was Jesus.

He’d tried to tell her the story of his conversion before she left for Nashville. She hadn’t wanted to hear it. It made her angry. Angry at him, at her father, at her sister, at the church that was spoiling her good time.

Tonight she listened, without interruption, without anger. And all the while, her heart whispered a simple truth —
God loves you, Roxy. God loves you.

What made you do it, Wyatt? What made you decide to . . . to believe?

Roxy’s question echoed in her mind as she drove away from Wyatt’s home, feeling as confused as when she arrived. As had hap- pened to her in Wyatt’s office years before, she wanted a drink. To blot out that persistent whisper in her heart. She wanted to run away from . . . from
something
. Or maybe from everything.

A short while later, she pulled the car into an empty spot in a downtown parking garage.

Go home.

Oh, that voice. That wretched, persistent voice.

She got out of the Lincoln and strode with purpose toward the stairway, descending them two at a time, down one flight to the sidewalk — a sidewalk that would take her to the Pale Rider.

Stepping into the smoky interior of her old haunt, it seemed she’d never been away. Maybe she hadn’t. The names of the estab- lishments were different. Sometimes the music was different too. But in the end, they were the same.

Roxy went straight to the bar and ordered a margarita. Once it was in hand, she settled onto a stool at a tall table and nursed the drink while listening to canned music coming over the loud speak- ers. George Strait. She loved his voice.