Why aren’t you telling me I should be grateful for what I have? Trying to cheer me up? Giving me a sermon? Trying to convince me that even though things feel awful and bleak today, I’ll see God’s hand in it all someday?”
Mara reached over Jenessa’s desk and covered her hand. “Because I don’t think that’s really what you need right now.”
“I know. What I need is for everything to work out exactly the way I want.”
Mara squeezed her hand. “Don’t we all.”
Quiet seconds ticked by. “But if you were going to give me a sermon, what would you say?”
Mara studied her for a moment. “I’d probably say don’t be afraid to wrestle with your faith. God’s not going to ditch you the moment you get real with Him. I think He’d rather have your honest emotions any day over plastic smiles or some rote performance.” Mara gave her hand a second squeeze. “The same goes for your friends, by the way. Thanks for being honest with me.”
Sam and Marshall’s voices drifted in from the newsroom. And someone else’s voice. Jenessa glanced out the window. Noah? What was he doing here? “I’m glad you’re home, Mara. I missed you more than I realized.”
“Just don’t give Marsh any credit. I had to drag him back. Turns out he might be even more of a hermit than Lucas.”
“Or he just really liked having his wife to himself.”
Mara’s cheeks pinked. “A definite possibility.” She stood again, glancing out the window. “Looks like someone else is here to see you. I should go.” She reached for her coat once more. “About Lucas, though—he’s not gone, Jen. He’s not part of some unattainable, distant someday. He’s right here today. And if you really do love him—”
“You’re not going to let me forget I said that, are you?” Not that she could forget. She loved him. She loved Lucas Danby and she had no idea what to do with that.
“I’m just saying, as long as you’re in baring-your-heart-and-soul mode, maybe consider telling him.”
Lucas poked the last of the brushed nickel solar lights in the ground just as the approaching shadow overtook him. “Where’ve you been?”
He rose to face Noah, wishing the question hadn’t come out so gruff. Wishing he knew how to bridge the tense distance between them. They were headed toward a confrontation one of these days, but with every day that passed, setting his world to rights felt more and more unlikely.
Between Noah and the phone calls from his father he continued to ignore and the ache in his gut when he thought of the Hollis kids, he was tangled in so many knots he didn’t know which one to focus on first.
And threaded through the whole mess was what that social worker had said. He couldn’t get her words out of his head. “I can tell you that any sort of longer-term custody arrangement would come with many more complications and requirements than a temporary emergency situation.”
He was the complication. He knew it. And the requirement? Probably that if Jenessa were to have a partner in raising the children, it would need to be someone without a prison record. Without dishonor literally attached to his name.
He shouldn’t let it bother him so much. The kids were gone. The chances of them returning were slim anyway.
But even without the kids in the equation, what did he really have to offer Jen? Look at how Herman Ferris had reacted when the mayor had mentioned that city job. What if Lucas never could find actual steady employment?
Sure, he’d always had a job waiting for him at the orchard, but it’d only ever been part-time and seasonal. He had no doubt Kit would stretch it to a year-round, full-time position if he asked, but no way would he do that—not when she and Beckett had a baby on the way.
He had plenty of savings from his time at Bridgewell, but it wasn’t the money or income or job that bothered him. It was that feeling he couldn’t shake that Jen deserved more. That even if his ugly past didn’t faze her, his unpromising future might eventually become a drain on their relationship.
Or maybe just a drain on him. Which would, in turn, affect her.
“You’re doing that la-la land thing again.” Noah broke into his reverie.
He bent down to straighten the solar light he’d just placed. “You never answered my question. Where were you?”
“Running an errand.”
It’d been like this for days—stilted questions and vague answers. Maybe he should