Return to Me (21 page)

“Yes,” she whispered. “Maybe you’d better go. And Wyatt?” He turned to her, features miserable.

“Maybe you’d better not come back.”

Twenty-Three

Jonathan Burke’s heart was torn. He’d done all he could to impart to his daughters both his faith and the lessons learned during his life- time. He’d made many mistakes — endured by God’s grace
⎯
and he’d tried to help his girls learn from his errors, so they wouldn’t have to suffer, as he had, the consequences of poor choices.

It was a bitter pill to see now that while he could share his mistakes and the wisdom gained, he couldn’t force anyone to take what he said to heart.

Some lessons, it seemed, must be learned by hard knocks.

“I don’t see how I can avoid going to San Diego.” Elena paced the width of his office. “I’m needed down there.”

Jonathan leaned back in his executive chair. “For how long?” “I don’t know.” She stopped and looked at him, her gaze

guarded
⎯
but not enough to hide her pain. “Two weeks at least.

Maybe a month.”

“Hmm.” He steepled his hands in front of his chin while nar- rowing his eyes. “Are you sure they can’t handle this crisis without you?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why else would I go?” “Maybe to avoid Wyatt. Are you sure
⎯
?”

“I’m a professional, Dad. I don’t bring my personal life to work with me. You know that.”

It was difficult to stand by and watch Elena destroy her own happiness, but he couldn’t think of anything more to say to change her mind. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to go.”

“I’ll make the arrangements right away.” She turned on her heel and left his office.

Jonathan stared at the empty doorway for a short while, then rose from his chair. Time to do some pacing of his own.

Wisdom. He was in dire need of wisdom, the kind only the Holy Spirit could impart. Hands clasped behind his back, head bent forward, he walked around his office, closing the door as he passed it.

“Elena’s always been the grounded one. The sensible one. But she hasn’t been herself in weeks. Now she’s broken her engagement. I know she loves Wyatt. She’s loved him for years.”

It made no sense. None of it made sense.

Roxy . . .

Jonathan paused, understanding beginning to dawn. “Oh, Lord . . .” He ran the fingers of both hands through his steel-gray hair. “I should have seen it coming. Why didn’t I?” He stopped in front of the wall of windows and stared at the mountains.

Elena, Roxy, and Wyatt. “God help them.”

His thoughts drifted back through time, back to the early days of his marriage. He pictured his wife, that infectious smile bowing her mouth, a sparkle in her brown eyes.

“I wish you were here, Carol. Maybe you could’ve stopped this from happening.”

Twenty-five years had passed since his wife died, yet there were moments when his heart still ached for her.

Moments such as this one.

Roxy was like her mother in many ways. She had Carol’s pas- sion and enthusiasm. She had her mom’s smile and the same won- derful laugh that was almost a song in itself. But where Carol was strong of will, Roxy had become willful. Carol was courageous, Roxy reckless.

“I never knew how to handle her. She needed you so much. I spoiled her. I made life too easy on her.”

Elena was more like him. They seldom disagreed. Maybe those similarities had blinded him to things he should have seen. It seemed he’d failed her too.

Elena, Roxy, and Wyatt. “God help them all.”

=

Roxy paused in the hallway outside her sister’s office. She raised her fist, lowered it, raised it again.

Courage. She needed courage.

Before she could change her mind, she knocked. “Yes?”

She opened the door. “It’s me, Elena.”

“I’m busy.” Her sister didn’t look up from the folders she was shoving into a leather briefcase.

“It’ll only take a minute.”

“All right.” She straightened. “Make it quick.”

Roxy moved into the office, closing the door behind her. “Elena, I . . . I wanted to say again that I’m sorry about you and Wyatt.”

“I’d rather not discuss him.” “I know. But
⎯
”

“I’ve got to catch a flight to San Diego.” Elena picked up her briefcase. “Is that all you needed?”

Her throat tightened as she nodded. She wanted to be friends with her sister. She wanted things to be right between them, the way they used to be, but she didn’t know how to make it happen. There was so much history between them, so much love— but so many mistakes too.

Elena stepped from behind her desk. “Then we can talk when I get back.”

“Okay.”

“Take care of yourself, Roxy. And . . . be careful. God doesn’t want you to stumble.”

“You take care of yourself too.”

Elena pressed her lips together in a thin line.

What? What had she said that was so wrong? Tears choking her throat, Roxy shook her head, then turned and opened the door. “I’ll miss you. I’m sorry. For everything.”
It isn’t supposed to be like this. Not any of it. Things are supposed to get better, not worse. Aren’t they, Lord?

Roxy bypassed her own office, heading down the hall and through the reception area, straight to the elevator. The last thing she wanted was to face the files stacked on her desk. The work that Elena thrived upon bored her to the point of tears.

We’re so different.

Not so different that they didn’t fall in love with the same man.

But I don’t love him now. I don’t. I can’t.

When she reached the ground floor and passed through the large glass doors, she turned in the direction of Capital Boulevard, welcoming the fresh spring breeze upon her face. She prayed it would blow away her confused thoughts.

God had a purpose and a plan for everything
⎯
or so she’d

been told. What was His purpose for all of this? Did He mean for her to be with Wyatt?

Oh, God. I don’t understand what You want.

Reaching the bridge over the Boise River, she stopped and looked down at the water. Once upon a time, in the haze of hot August afternoons, a young, carefree Roxy floated this river with

friends. She could almost hear their laughter and shouts as they rode the lazy current toward Ann Morrison Park.

She closed her eyes and pictured Wyatt, shirtless, his skin dark- ened from working outdoors at his summer job. Back then, he was handsome, wild, daring.

He hadn’t changed much. He was as handsome as ever. More so even. And he was still wild and daring. Only now he was wild about God and daring to step out in faith into an unknown future.

She thought of all the good qualities she’d seen in Wyatt, both before she left and since her return. She thought of the way he lis- tened when others spoke to him, of his quiet confidence when he shared what was on his heart. Grace and truth were not mere words to him. They were actions. He lived them daily.

He’ ll make a wonderful pastor.

And I would make a terrible pastor’s wife.

Roxy turned her back toward the bridge railing and leaned against it.

All those ways she’d seen pastors serve a congregation, she could envision Wyatt doing with joy. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself at his side. He had a call to the min- istry . . . and so did Elena.

But I don’t.

Her sister would make Wyatt a good wife
⎯
a proper pastor’s wife
⎯
and that was something Roxy would never be, was never meant to be.

She buried her face in her hands. “God, I’ve made such a mess of everything. Help me figure out how to set things right again.”

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Twenty-F our

On Saturday morning, Wyatt pulled into the parking lot at Believ- ers Hillside. He wasn’t the first volunteer to arrive. Several cars and trucks were parked in the lot already.

After cutting the engine, he lowered his forehead to the steering wheel, releasing a deep sigh. This was the last place he wanted to be today. It had been a lousy week, and he wasn’t in the mood to face questions
⎯
spoken or not
⎯
from friends and acquaintances. But he’d made the commitment to work on the landscaping, including planting new trees, and so here he was.

He straightened, drew a quick breath, opened the car door, and got out.

Avoiding others wasn’t the answer. He knew that. He’d tried it this week. Didn’t work. Solitude hadn’t brought the answers he wanted, and he didn’t feel any better either.

Kent Mitchell’s battered pickup truck drove into the parking lot. The elder waved out the window. “Hey, Wyatt.”

“Good morning.”

“Looks like we’ve got good weather.” Kent opened the truck door and stepped from the cab.

“Sure does.”

“Give me a hand with these shovels, will you?”

Since Kent didn’t offer condolences, Wyatt assumed word of his broken engagement hadn’t spread yet. That was a relief. Maybe today wouldn’t be too bad.

Shovels in hand, they walked toward the rear of the church. As they rounded the corner, they saw a few women and about a dozen men getting their work assignments from Pastor Steve. It

wasn’t until they came near the group that Wyatt realized one of the women was Roxy.

He almost turned to leave.

Too late. She’d seen him. Her expression mirrored his own confusion before she glanced away.

“Wyatt, Kent.” The pastor motioned for them to come closer. “Glad you’re here. We’d like to get those trees planted before the day warms up too much.”

“We’re ready when you are.” Kent leaned the spare shovels against a nearby utility trailer.

Wyatt looked over his shoulder and found Roxy watching him. It didn’t feel right not to acknowledge her. As most of the men moved toward the back of the church property, he stepped toward her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I signed up last Sunday. Sorry. I wouldn’t have come if I’d remembered you’d be here too.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Yes, he did. “This is
crazy.
The whole thing is insane.”

She brushed an auburn curl back from her face. “Yes, it is. You and Elena belong together. I wish there was something I could
⎯
” “What happened between Elena and me isn’t your fault. You

know that, don’t you?”

Her smile was sad. “Sometimes I know it. Other times . . .” She shrugged.

There was more that should be said. He just didn’t know what it was.

“You don’t love me, Wyatt. You’re still in love with Roxy.”
He

stared at Roxy while Elena’s accusation rang in his memory.

At one time
⎯

“I’d better help Susan with the flowerbeds,” she said.

He pulled himself back from the dangerous mental precipice. “Yeah, and I’d better join the guys before they accuse me of slack- ing.” He started to turn, then stopped and looked at her. “Have you heard anything from Elena?”

“No.” Her brown eyes filled with tears. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Me either.” He wished he could offer comfort. He wished he could find comfort of his own. “She won’t take my calls. I’ve tried several times.”

“I’m sorry, Wyatt.” She sniffed, then drew a breath. “Susan’s waiting for me.”

“Yeah.”

He stood still, watching as she walked toward the flowerbeds near the side church entrance, the morning sunlight glinting off her reddish hair.

If I had it to do over again, would I change anything? Would I

follow Roxy to Nashville? Or would I stay here . . . with Elena?

=

The ocean breeze swept across the sand, bringing with it the harsh cry of seagulls as they swooped and sailed above the surf. Farther down the beach, a teenaged boy threw a stick for his dog, a large black lab that was more than willing to race into the water again and again and again.

Seated on a large towel, Elena drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. The wind tousled her hair, slapping it against her cheeks and into her eyes. She ignored it. It would take too much effort to put on the straw hat she’d brought with her to the beach.

Her first days in San Diego had passed in a blur. There was the busyness of settling into the hotel suite she would call home for the

duration of her stay. There were the meetings with personnel, some of which were long and intense. She’d welcomed them. Anything to keep her thoughts focused on the here and now rather than on the past or home.

Home. Wyatt. Roxy.

Her chest ached. So much that she thought it might break in two. It was so unfair. Why was
she
the person forced to leave Boise? She didn’t do anything wrong. She hadn’t wasted her life or her talents. Or her purity.

A thirty-five-year-old virgin. In this day and age, Elena was considered a joke, an oddity, strange. But look at how everyone rejoiced over Roxy, who gave her innocence and talent away and then came begging forgiveness.

If she’d been alone on the beach, she would have stood and screamed her frustration into the wind.

“Blessed are the pure in heart . . . Blessed are the peacemakers . . .”

A new weight pressed upon her chest.
What, God? What do You
want
from me?
And yet, even as she vented her frustration, she couldn’t help but wonder . . .

Did her attitude spring from a pure heart? Was she behaving like a peacemaker?

Not hardly. More like the prodigal’s offended older brother. And why not? They both had cause for their anger. Wasn’t it unfair, all the attention given the prodigal?

Maybe so, but God would still have her respond differently. He would tell her to celebrate Roxy’s return, to rejoice and be glad in her salvation.

But what do I do with these feelings, Lord?

The only answer was the sound of the surf and the cry of seagulls.

She closed her eyes.
How can I make peace with Roxy? I can’t marry Wyatt if he’s in love with her. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .

A soft cry of frustration ripped from her throat.

Elena was the sister in control of her affairs, the one who made wise decisions, the one who weighed her options and then moved forward with confidence. Now her confidence was gone. Her life had spun out of control, and she hated the feeling.