To her credit, she didn’t ask for details. “Maybe, armed with that new knowledge, you can give a truce one more try. Worst case, you end up where you are now. But I don’t see how a son traveling across the country to be with his father during a health crisis could produce anything but positive results.”
He could.
Stubborn didn’t come close to describing his father. Once he dug in his heels, he was as tenacious as the barnacles that clung to the rocks at Blackberry Beach.
Yet armed with the new insights about what made his dad tick, perhaps the outcome could be different if he changed his approach. Instead of being defensive or confrontational, why not show a touch of empathy for all his dad had gone through earlier in his career, try to get him to acknowledge how that experience had shaped his reaction to his sons’ choices? If his father did that, it might set the stage for a dialogue that could begin to smooth out their thorny relationship.
He exhaled and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I wish I had more time to think this through.”
“Do you really need it?”
At her soft question, he angled toward her. “You think I should go.”
“That’s your decision . . . and I’m not privy to all the hurt and heartache you’ve been through. But sometimes, if the clock is ticking on a decision and we don’t have an answer, we have to listen to our hearts and take a leap of faith.”
Was she talking about herself—or him?
“Is that what you’re going to do with the movie role?”
“I have more breathing space than you do. I’m hoping if I continue to mull over all the pros and cons, my thinking will clarify and the right choice will be obvious with no leaping involved.” She motioned to the wall. “We’re not making much progress here.”
Deflection.
She didn’t want to discuss the choices she was facing.
Fair enough.
“No, we’re not—but taking a few minutes to talk this through with you has helped.”
“A prayer or two couldn’t hurt either.”
Huh.
She hadn’t bitten when he’d thrown that suggestion out to her on the beach two weeks ago, so he’d assumed prayer wasn’t part of her routine.
But she must have assumed it was part of his.
Better set her straight on that.
“It may not help either.”
She cocked her head. “You’re on the outs with God too?”
“I wouldn’t go that far—but we haven’t talked much since Josh died.” He plucked a sponge out of the bucket of water and squeezed it dry.
“Because he didn’t save your brother?”
His stomach clenched.
How had they gotten on this subject?
He swiped the sponge over the wall, dropped it back in the bucket, and attacked an obstinate strip of wallpaper with renewed vigor. “I realize prayer doesn’t always work.”
“Actually . . . it does.”
He stopped scraping and frowned at her. “How can you say that? Josh died.”
“What did you pray for?”
“A miracle. I wanted Josh to live.”
“He did live. He does live. Just not where you can see him. And while you were thinking of a miracle in terms of Josh, God may have used your brother’s trials to bring about a miracle somewhere else.”
“He didn’t pray for himself, Zach. He prayed for you. Those prayers could be why you’re here.”
As Charley’s comment about Josh replayed in his mind, he tightened his grip on the scraper.
He’d refused to consider the man’s theory that day, but if his brother had been praying for him—could God have used Josh to bring about a miracle? Nothing as flashy or dramatic as the multiplication of the loaves and fishes or walking on water, but a miracle that was profound in its own way?
Like the miracle of a man rediscovering what really mattered in life, realigning his priorities, and making a new start.
He took a long, slow breath.
All these months here in Hope Harbor he’d paid lip service to his faith. Followed its principles as best he could, went to church every Sunday, said an occasional prayer.
But none of it had come from the heart.
Maybe it was time it did.
Maybe it was time to stop going through the motions of his faith and begin to live it. Reconnect with God as he longed to reconnect with his father.
There was no question the Almighty would be more forgiving—and more willing to welcome him back.
“Sorry.” Katherine tucked her hair behind her ear and went back to scraping. “I didn’t mean to barge into your faith life. That’s private territory, and I—”
“Hey.” He touched her hand.
She looked over at him, her blue eyes inches from his. Her mouth a whisper away.
A mouth that had stirred sweetly beneath his mere days ago.
And it was a temptation of the first order.
But another kiss wouldn’t be wise. He wasn’t ready to make any promises . . . and she didn’t want complications.
They were in a holding pattern until something changed.
He cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “Where you’re concerned, there aren’t any no-trespassing signs . . . and I’m glad you came today.”
The corners of her lips tipped up. “Thank you. I’m glad I came too.”
She went back to work and launched into a new, less personal topic.
Fine with him. It would be far too easy to let himself get carried away by another woman who might not share the dream he’d come here to pursue.
Until Katherine settled on a course for her future, it was prudent to play it safe.
In the interim, he had decisions to make about his own future . . . and how far out on a limb he was willing to go to try and reconnect with his father.
And his deadline was much closer than hers.
17
“This room’s ready for installation, as soon as the painting crew finishes.” Stephanie leaned the final piece of crown molding in the corner, dusted off her hands, and turned to Frank. “Shall we join the mudding brigade? The master bedroom is in dire straits, and I’m ready for a quieter chore. Or do you want to call it a day? I know this wasn’t in your afternoon plans.”
As she waited for his reply, she held her breath. Working side by side today with the most appealing man she’d met in ages had been an unexpected pleasure, and she wouldn’t mind extending their partnership for another hour or two.
His neutral expression was difficult to interpret—until the corners of his mouth rose. “I can stay awhile. Lead the way.”
Mercy.
The man had a killer smile.
An invigorating surge of energy zipped through her, and she strode toward the staging area. “All the supplies are in the garage.”
After collecting what they needed, they moved on to the bedroom, where she swept a hand over the walls. “Do you want to work in the same area or divide and conquer?”
Frank didn’t hesitate. “Let’s stick together. It’ll be easier to talk.”
Yes!
Not only had he stayed, he wanted to converse.
Another positive sign.
In fact, Frank had been giving her nothing but positive signs since he’d arrived.
Had he had a change of heart after declining her invitation to the lecture—or was that wishful thinking?