go away. It would have to once she moved back to Grafton. She’d already done the long-distance relationship thing with Dad and wasn’t too thrilled about picking it up with a boyfriend.
Not that Caleb was her boyfriend. He hadn’t even kissed her, and he’d had opportunities. It was just … she’d never been this close to someone before, never been willing to share her pain nor call in an emotional crisis. “Thanks,” she blurted.
“For what?”
“For being someone I can count on. I haven’t had a lot of those in my life, and I recognize a good thing when I see it.”
“And … I’m a good thing.”
Her whole body warmed at his suggestive tone. “Ah, geez. Why do you have to say it like that?”
He laughed. “Because it makes you blush. Admit it, you’re blushing right now.”
“I’m hanging up right now,” she teased him back.
“Faith?” he hurried to say.
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re pretty great too.”
“Oh? You think I’m pretty. Good to know.” Two could play his word game, and she found that being on the other end of it was sweet.
He laughed. “That too. But then, I’ve never made a secret about how gorgeous you are.”
Gorgeous? She giggled. “Now you’re just trying to butter me up—but I like it, so don’t stop.”
“You got it. Good luck with Doc. I hope you two work things out.”
“Thanks. Me too. Let me know how that workout goes.”
“I will.”
They said goodbye and she hung up. Setting the phone in her lap, she stared at it for a moment. The conversation with Dad had shifted her world. That movement was jarring and painful. Caleb was also rearranging things in her heart, but those changes were warm cider and welcome and made her a better person.
She pushed to her feet and made her way back to Dad’s room. He’d eaten a couple more bites of his turkey burger, but other than that, the room was the same as she’d left it. The television was silent and dark, and Dad sat in his chair, his chin down and his arms folded. He was peaceful, like he was praying. Maybe he was.
“Are you praying?” she blurted into the otherwise silent room.
He rubbed his lips together as he lifted his head. “I was.”
She came into the room and sat back down across the rolling table. “I’m afraid to ask what you’re bothering God about.”
He shook his head. “We are never a bother to God. We’re His children, and He loves to hear from us.”
“You’re probably right,” she conceded. Throwing her shoulders back, she looked at her dad. “Thank you for apologizing. I’m …” She took a moment to search her heart. “I’m still confused about some things, and I mourn the time we lost together.”
Dad moved to speak, but she held up a hand. “I’m aware that some of the blame for that lands on my shoulders. I can brush it off as being a teenager—too immature to see further than my Friday night plans—but I wish I had done some things differently too. I could have made an effort to call you more. And since we’re bearing our sins here, the thought crossed my mind often and I shoved it away, rationalizing that if you wanted to know about my life, you’d call more often. In hindsight, I realize how difficult both Mom and I were.” She shook her head. “I guess there’s no good excuse for either of us.”
Dad’s cheeks wrinkled as he gave her a tentative smile. “Perhaps we can start over? From here.”
“I don’t know. I can’t just wipe away the hurt, Dad.”
“I know. I don’t expect you to. And if something comes up you want to talk about, I’m okay to visit that with you. But maybe we could just start acting like the father and daughter we want to be and see where it goes—no holding back.”
Faith’s chest warmed, and she recognized the feeling she’d had at the sing-along: the sense that Jesus was in this moment. And why shouldn’t He be? He was the ultimate forgiver, so He would be here when she faced the challenge of forgiving. “If that’s what you want, then I have something for you.” She stood up and found her purse, pulling out the items she’d brought and holding them up.
Dad’s eyes lit up. “Our stockings.”
She smiled, feeling like she was moving onto firm, supportive ground instead of the rocky path she stumbled over when talking about the past. “How many years did you hang this up?”
“Every year,” he