A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,67

my mother, aunt or grandparents since his funeral.”

“That’s why you don’t take your mother’s calls, isn’t it?”

Stephen hung his head, admitting, “I just can’t talk to her without thinking of Nick, without knowing that she is thinking of her only nephew, without knowing that my aunt Lianna will never see her only child again.”

“Was Nick wearing a seat belt?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “Because that was Nick—carefree, living on the edge.”

“If he’d worn his seat belt he might have survived. You did.”

“I was driving,” Stephen insisted, “even though I knew I shouldn’t have been. They have to know it, too.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve to have them in my life any longer.”

“But they don’t deserve to lose you, Stephen. Don’t you see? They’ve lost Nick and you.”

“I—I can’t face them. Nick is gone, and I can’t do anything about it. That,” he said bleakly, “is how I know prayer doesn’t always work.”

Kaylie shook her head at him, her hands lightly framing his face. “Stephen, you can’t wait until the worst has happened then ask God to undo it.”

“Then what’s the point?” he demanded. Her hands fell from his face to his shoulders.

“The point of prayer is to keep us in contact with our heavenly Father, to get to know Him. You can’t live your life ignoring God and the things of God and then expect Him to offer mercy on demand,” she said. “That’s like ignoring the law, then when you’re caught, expecting the court to come to your rescue. Prayer is as much guidance as rescue, Stephen, and it starts with a personal relationship with God.”

“I don’t understand. How do you have a personal relationship with someone you never see?”

She folded her arms. “You just told me that you haven’t seen your mother in years and go out of your way not to communicate with her, but you still have a personal relationship with her, don’t you?”

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find fault with that logic. “She’s my mother.”

“And God is your creator.”

Stephen gulped. “I—I don’t know how not to have a personal relationship with my mother, but how do I start one with my Maker?”

“You know who Jesus is, don’t you?” she asked softly.

“Sure.” At least, he’d thought so, until she explained it all to him.

Stephen’s gaze turned inward as he considered all that she’d said, and then she gave him the key to his own salvation.

“Don’t let your guilt keep you from forgiveness, Stephen. Don’t deny yourself the very peace for which Christ Jesus gave Himself on the cross.”

They each had too much to think about. By mutual, unspoken assent, they put it all aside when together. Kaylie stole as much time as she could. With Stephen’s strength returning and his pain subsiding, she should have been able to leave him on his own more. As long as she left the sling in place on the wheelchair and positioned it properly, he could get himself from the bed and into it and even maneuver himself inch by careful inch into the sitting room. But the suite had become a prison to him, and she knew very well that he lived for the moment when she would help him down the stairs to escape the house.

The rose arbor, accessible from the patio via a bumpy path of paving stones, became their favorite idyll. The arched trellis, weighted with frowsy, bloodred blooms, formed a fragrant tunnel and hid a padded bench inside. Dappled gold sunshine filtered through the leafy shelter, and when the breeze was right, the interior remained cool well into the afternoon. As old-fashioned as it seemed, Kaylie had taken to reading aloud to Stephen, who claimed to be absorbed by the history of explorer Joseph Walker, which she supposedly made even more compelling by her intonation.

While they pretended that their time together was impersonal, so did her father. On a daily basis, he inquired politely, almost icily, how “the patient” fared, and on a daily basis she reported that Stephen was mending well and would soon gain more freedom of movement. That happened on the morning of the fifteenth when Chester brought out the aunts’ town car to drive Stephen and Kaylie into town. Stephen had offered to call Aaron to cart him around, but Chester and the aunts would not hear of it. The latter stood waving beneath the porte cochere as they drove away, much like a triune mother sending off a child to the first day of school. Stephen, the