Tomorrow's Sun (Lost Sanctuary) - By Becky Melby Page 0,109
his shoulder, he clomped downstairs and set it by the front door.
She was probably at his house. At his mother’s house. How long would it be until there’d be one he could call his? His gaze followed the floor planks from the front door to the kitchen. As much as it still galled him that he’d been powerless to defend the dining room wall, he had to admit the space made more sense this way. He could visualize a flat screen to the left of the door and a couple of overstuffed leather couches. He could keep his eyes on the game while dishing up his killer chili.
He plopped onto the floor and leaned against the outside wall. It was the perfect spot for a recliner. Leather, but not dark brown like the couches. Maybe a light tan. He’d angle it so he could see the flat screen and still be able to talk to the people on the couches.
And just who would those people be? If the Packers went to the Super Bowl, who’d be gathered around, scooping up his five alarm chili with homemade tortilla chips? Topher and his crew? Emily and the kids?
Fingers splayed, his hands rested on the floor, his right one only inches from the setting of the scene he’d rewritten so many times. Emily on the floor in tears, Jake the hero kneeling beside her, saying all the right things. Things that made her melt into his arms. He leaned to the side, as if she were there, as if he could slide his hand over hers. Closing his eyes, he imagined the magic words. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here for you and—
The front door opened. Emily stared at him, down at her bag, then back at him. “What are you doing?”
Feeling like a fool and hoping it didn’t show, he said, “Just trying to get a feel for the place.”
A small but real smile tipped her lips. “That’s my line. And you didn’t fall for it.”
“No, I didn’t. What was going on that day?”
“I saw Michael running after the ball. I knew I couldn’t move fast enough to stop him.” That was the extent of her answer. One shoulder rose then lowered.
“It made you feel helpless.”
She nodded.
“Like the accident?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But then you yelled for him and…” Her gaze latched on the dining room window. “So what’s your story?”
“Feeling a little helpless myself, I guess.” He patted a spot on the imaginary couch. Not too close, but not so far that he couldn’t touch her. If she let him.
She sat and folded her legs under her. Comfy? Need a little more chili?
“I’m just kind of lost as to how to explain to a girl I’m intensely drawn to why I didn’t say anything when she really needed an answer.”
Blond wisps tapped her cheek. Again, that hint of a smile. She held his gaze. “I didn’t expect an answer.”
Jake tipped his head. Something was different about her.
“I spent a good part of the night talking to God,” she said. “And listening.”
“We have that in common. What did you hear?”
She fingered a crumb of dry plaster. It crushed between her fingertips. “Hannah made the quilt. I found her initials on it.”
“It’s that old?”
Emily nodded. “I wish I knew who she made it for. All those tiny, intricate stitches. Hours and hours to commemorate someone.” Her chin lifted. Blue eyes shimmered at him, into him. “She made something beautiful out of her grief.”
He held out his hand, palm up. She looked down. A tear dropped to the center of his hand. She covered it with hers. He wiped the tear track off her cheek with his free hand. “What will be your something beautiful?”
“The rest of my life maybe.”
“I like that.” He closed his hand over hers.
“I thought I couldn’t start living until after I’d made restitution.”
“To who? Sierra?”
“She was supposed to be in New York this year. She had a partial dance scholarship to Julliard. Dancing was her life, all she ever wanted. I thought she’d lost that forever, but she’s an amazing pianist and I wanted to earn enough to pay her tuition.”
“That’s the thing that was going to make you feel like you could start living?”
“It was. But Sierra’s still dancing. She has a full scholarship to Julliard. She’s living. And I’m not.” Her chest shuddered with a rasping breath. “Last night I gave myself permission to live. I can’t undo my mistakes. I can’t.” She fell silent.