Return to Me (25 page)

“We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise than when we first begun

. . .” Roxy looked up, and the song died in her throat. “Elena.” She let the door swing closed behind her. “How is he?”

“A little better.” Roxy stood. “He was glad to know you were coming.”

Was he? With
you
here?

“I’m glad you came too.”

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. If she moved too much, too fast, she might shatter into a million pieces.

“Take this chair.” Roxy stepped away from the hospital bed. “You must be exhausted.”

She
was
tired, but she resisted the urge to move closer
⎯
to

either her sister or Wyatt. “Dad went to park the car. He insisted I come with him and leave my car at the airport until tomorrow.”

“He loves you, Elena.” “Dad?”

“No, Wyatt. He loves you.”

Oh, how she wanted to believe that. Her heart was a desert, parched for his love.

“He never stopped loving you. You need to believe that.” Roxy held out her hand. “I love you too.”

The words made her pulse hammer, the sound so loud in her ears she couldn’t think straight. “Maybe I should go home and come back in the morning. Let him sleep for now. He is out of danger, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think I should have Dad take me home. I can see Wyatt tomorrow.”

For a change, Roxy didn’t argue.

=

She’s scared.

And she still loves him.

Roxy mulled those two truths as she drove along the deserted streets toward her father’s house. She knew she was right, but it was

hard to believe her sister feared anything. Elena always seemed self- assured and confident, so in the right, so flawless. But it turned out she had feet of clay, the same as Roxy.

Was that good news or bad? Should she be relieved or sorry? This whole mess continued to feel like Roxy’s fault. Where was that sense of peace she’d experienced in Wyatt’s hospital room?

Arriving home, she parked the car in the garage and entered the house through the side door. She should get some sleep . . . but the very thought of going to bed made her more restless. Entering the family room, she turned on a floor lamp, then sat on the piano bench, her back to the black-and-white keys. With elbows resting on her thighs, she covered her face with her hands. “God, when will it get better?”

Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t they be as they were when she was a child, sheltered by her dad, loved by her fam- ily and friends?

“Miss Roxy? Is Mr. Wyatt all right?”

She straightened, looking toward the family room entrance. “Yes, Fortuna. He’s going to be all right.”

“And you?”

“I’m fine.” She could tell by Fortuna’s expression that her weak smile was less than convincing.

Fortuna, clad in nightgown, seersucker robe, and slippers, stepped into the room. “Did your sister’s plane get in? Has she been to the hospital?”

“Yes. Dad’s driving her home now. He wanted her to come here for the night, but she refused. You know how stubborn she can be.”

“Like you.”

Roxy couldn’t help but laugh. “True enough.” “Come. You should be in bed.”

“I don’t think I could sleep yet. I keep trying to make sense of everything. I feel like a jinx or something. So many things have gone wrong since I came back.”

“There is no such thing as a jinx. Silly superstition. Have a little faith.” As Fortuna spoke, she approached the piano, took hold of Roxy’s arm, and drew her up from the bench. “Go to bed. God will give you answers in His own good and perfect time.”

She allowed the housekeeper to propel her out of the family room and up the stairs toward her bedroom. A short while before she’d wished that things could be as they used to be. Well, it seemed she had her wish. Fortuna was treating her like a child.

“But if I hadn’t come back, maybe none of this
⎯
”

“Miss Roxy, do you think God was surprised to find you on that bus to Boise? Do you think He did not know what would hap- pen when you got here? Do you think He does not hold Elena and Wyatt in His hands, the same as you?”

“Well . . . no. Of course not.” “Then trust Him.”

Roxy stopped outside her bedroom. “I
do
trust Him.” Her voice

rose. “But I keep feeling like all the trouble is my fault. Every time I start to figure something out, questions and doubts pop into my head and confuse me again.”

“That is the enemy. Do not listen to him. Tell him to go away.” “You make it sound easy.”

Fortuna pressed her palm against Roxy’s cheek. “No, it is not easy, this walk of faith. But the walk is good and so is God.” Turn- ing Roxy by the shoulders, she gave her a slight push into the bed- room. “Get some sleep. It will make more sense in the morning.”

Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if that were true.

=

Elena rolled over in bed and stared at the digital reading on the clock: 4:32
A
.
M
. glowed back at her.

“He loves you, Elena . . . He never stopped loving you.”

Could it be true? Was there still a chance Wyatt might want her and not Roxy?

Roxy. Roxy and Wyatt.

What about grace?

She felt like throwing something at the wall. Why wouldn’t that question leave her alone?

With a sigh, Elena sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and reached for her Bible on the nightstand. She flipped to the index in the back, looking for references to grace.

What about it, after all? She’d been a Christian since she was a girl. She understood that God’s salvation was a free gift for the asking. She knew that His common grace caused rain to fall on the just and the unjust. Paul often wrote “the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you,” or similar phrases. But what about grace when it came to Roxy? What about grace when it came to Wyatt? Why did Barbara accuse her of being judgmental?

“God, can You show me?”

These past ten days in San Diego seemed more like months, time spent in a spiritual desert. She hadn’t cracked open her Bible or been on her knees in prayer. She was angry and hurt and resent- ful. Maybe her anger wasn’t aimed only at Wyatt and her sister. Maybe it was aimed at God too.

What about grace?

Elena grabbed a pen and notepad and scribbled the references she found as fast as she could write.

R
OXY

May 2004

Pete Jeffries leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want a music career bad enough, Roxy.”

“That’s not true. I
do
want a career. I want to sing. I’ve always

wanted it. It’s why I came to Nashville.”

“The ones who want to succeed put everything into it. They take every job, put in as many hours as it takes.” He lifted an eye- brow. “When have you done that?”

“If this is about that thing last week
⎯
”

“It’s about more than one job, Roxy. But yes, it is about that. I heard what you called Ms. Stiles.”

Agitated, she rose from the leather sofa and walked to the win- dow. If her agent would just listen to her side of the story, he would know why she lost her temper and left the studio in a huff
⎯
after calling the producer a few choice names. That Stiles woman didn’t know a B-flat from a flat tire.

“It’s time we parted ways.”

Roxy twirled to face Pete. “You can’t be serious.” “Completely serious. I can’t represent you any longer.” “But, Pete, you said I have talent. You said
⎯
”

“You’ve got plenty of talent, Roxy.” He stood. “But it takes more than talent to make it in this business. It takes a fire in your belly. You like to perform and you can sing as well as anyone who’s ever walked through that door, but you don’t have the drive and you definitely don’t have the temperament.”

“I do have the drive. Okay, I screwed up last week, but I won’t do it again.” As the words of protest came out of her mouth, she real- ized she’d made similar promises to Pete before. More than once.

“I’m sorry, Roxy.”

Panic caused her pulse to race. A couple of months ago, she took a position as a waitress to help make ends meet, but she quit last week, the day before the fiasco at the studio. Now she was out of a job and out of an agent and the rent was due by the first.

Well, she wasn’t going to crawl, that’s for sure. She walked to the sofa, picked up her purse, and hurried across the spacious office toward the exit.

“Take care of yourself.” “You too, Pete.”

Marching out the door, head held high, she told herself this was a temporary setback, but deep down, she wondered if every- thing Pete said was true.

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Twenty-N ine

Wyatt opened his eyes. Daylight filtered through the window blinds. The hallway outside his hospital room was noisier now. It sounded as if breakfast had arrived on the ward. He wouldn’t mind a bite of something. He hadn’t eaten since early yesterday morning.

He lifted his left hand to feel the bandage on his head, touch- ing it carefully. At least the throbbing wasn’t as bad as last night.

“Hello, Mr. Baldini.” A nurse entered the room, her white, no- nonsense shoes carrying her toward his bed. “I’m Marcie. How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Hungry.”

She checked the IV bag. “I imagine this will be your food today.”

“Not very tasty.”

“No.” She smiled. “But it’s nutritious.” “Right.”

“We’ll know more about your diet after the doctor looks in on you.”

“Any idea when that will be?” He shifted his weight and was rewarded with stabs of pain. So much for no throbbing in his head. Not to mention a few other places.

“Try to lie still, Mr. Baldini.”

He closed his eyes. “Good idea. Thanks.”

The nurse checked his blood pressure and other vital signs, fussed with the electronics that beeped and whirred nearby, then left the room with a soft, “Ring if you need me.”

Wyatt wasn’t sure how much time passed before he heard the door open again. He hoped it was the doctor. He’d like some answers. He opened his eyes.

Elena stood in the doorway, one hand still on the door. For a moment, it appeared she would back out of the room without say- ing a word.

“Don’t go.”

At his voice, her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I didn’t want to disturb you if you were sleeping.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t.” He reached for the control and raised the head of the bed a few inches. “Come in.”

She let the door swing closed, taking a couple of steps forward. “Roxy told me you flew back last night.”

Dark circles underlined her hazel eyes, evidence of more than one sleepless night.

“Sit down.” He motioned toward the chair with his good arm. “Please.”

Eleven days had passed since he last saw her. Eleven hard days of missing her, of searching his heart, of questioning God, of won- dering what the future held.

Now . . . here she was. Beside him.

“You don’t look as bad as I thought you might when Dad first called.”

“Thanks. I think.” He grinned, hoping she would return the smile.

She did, but hers was tinged with sadness. The look broke his heart. “I’m glad you’re here, Elena. There are things I need to say to you. Yesterday, when I
⎯
”

“Wait.” She touched two fingers to his lips, silencing him. “There are some things I need to say to you first.”

=

Roxy stopped in the kitchen doorway, her gaze falling on her dad who was seated at the kitchen table, reading glasses perched on his nose, newspaper open before him, coffee cup in hand. Fortuna was there too, in her usual place by the stove, whipping up something wonderful for breakfast.

Similar scenes had become familiar and beloved in the weeks since Roxy’s return to Boise. She wanted to freeze-frame them, keep them hidden in her heart forever.

“Morning, Dad.”

He looked up. “Morning, honey.” He removed the glasses and set them atop the newspaper. “How’d you sleep?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well either.”

She laughed softly as she crossed the kitchen. “Morning, Fortuna.”

“Good morning, Miss Roxy.” She held a coffee mug, filled to the brim, toward her.

“Bless you.” “And you.”

After blowing on the steaming brew, Roxy took her first sips, then settled onto a chair at the table. “Are you going to the hospital this morning?”

“I don’t think so. I imagine Elena’s there by now.” He checked his watch. “Those two need some time alone.”

“Do you think they’ll make it, Dad?” “Yes, I think they will.”

She looked into her coffee mug, her heart pinched tight in her chest. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

Her dad didn’t answer until she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Yes, she will.”

Roxy wished she were as sure as he sounded.

=

Elena drew in a breath, hoping to quiet the crazed beating of her heart, wanting to find the right words in the right order.

“I love you, Wyatt.”

It seemed the best place to start. With love.

“I loved you when I had no right to love you. I loved you when you belonged to Roxy.”

“Elena
⎯
”

“It’s okay. You and she were the same back then. I understood why you were together. Wild and reckless, the both of you.” She gave him a brief smile. “But then you changed, and she left, and you fell in love with me. It was everything I’d hoped for but never believed could happen.” She longed to touch him, to smooth his brow, to kiss his lips. Taking another breath, she lowered her gaze to her clenched hands. “I was jealous when Roxy came back.”

“You didn’t need to be.”

She nodded. “You and Dad were so glad to have her home again. The lost lamb was found. The prodigal daughter had returned. I . . . I felt left out and . . . and afraid. You still had feelings for her.”

He was silent for a long while, and she hadn’t the courage to look at him.

“Elena, I care about Roxy, but like you said, I’m changed. I’m a different man. I don’t love her as a man loves a woman. I don’t love her as I love you.”

She started to cry. “What if you’d died up there in the mountains?”