The day Sebastian wrecked his car, God had brought Leah into his life.
God had been there during every surgery Sebastian performed, faithfully healing the sickest children again and again and again.
In case he needed additional proof of God’s nearness, here was Ben, beside him today in this cemetery. Inarguable proof that even now, God hadn’t deserted him.
Sebastian could powerfully sense God in this moment. But it could be that God had been with him in all the moments.
Some of the events of his life had been bad. But some had been amazingly good. If he could roll with the blessings God had extended to him, why had it been so impossible for him to roll with the hard?
Because he’d taken his mother’s death as evidence that God either wasn’t sovereign, wasn’t good, wasn’t powerful, or wasn’t involved.
Could he accept a more complex truth? That the God who’d let his mother die was still sovereign, good, powerful, and involved?
If he could accept that, then he could quit trying so incredibly hard to protect himself all the time.
He was tired. . . .
He was so very tired of protecting himself.
Ben knelt and placed his palm on the gravestone. He bent his head to pray.
Sebastian followed his lead. He went to one knee, which caused dizziness to scramble his senses. He hadn’t had enough sleep or food. Cold radiated from her marker into his hand.
He prayed for long minutes, doing his best to forgive God.
I forgive you, he repeated numerous times.
At some point, he finally started to mean it.
You could have saved my mom, but I forgive you for taking her.
He pushed the knuckle of his free hand across his eyes because he was crying.
Can you forgive me? he asked God.
Yes, came the immediate answer.
When he finally stood, his chest felt hollowed out, his body shaky. Yet something stable had taken root within him in the place where his anger and insecurity had been living.
Ben pressed to his feet. “What motivated you to come here today?”
“Leah and I broke up.”
“I figured,” Ben said. “Who broke up with whom?”
“I broke up with her.”
“Because?”
“Because I couldn’t . . . handle it.”
Ben took his measure, his face grim. “Remember when I gave you the go-ahead to date Leah, and I told you not to insult her or me by keeping her at arm’s length?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“She broke a promise to me.”
“You’re going to have to accept that no human being is going to be perfect enough to heal your scars.”
Sebastian set his teeth together.
“How much do you want Leah in your life?” Ben asked.
“More than I’ve wanted anything.”
“Then open yourself up to her.”
Sebastian didn’t answer.
“We all have to risk ourselves if we’re going to earn the reward of a genuine relationship,” Ben said. “You’re not the only one.”
“If I love her and lose her, it will gut me.”
“If you love her? If?” Ben asked, incredulous. “You already love her, you idiot.”
Ben’s words hit him twice as hard as Claire’s dad had yesterday.
Because of course he did.
He loved her.
And had for a long time.
“Since the ship that would enable you not to love her has already sailed,” Ben continued, “all you can do now to save yourself from being gutted is convince her to give you a second chance. Then channel all that famous determination of yours into putting her interests and her well-being ahead of your own.”
Sebastian’s brain spun.
“Show her how you feel and tell her how you feel every day,” Ben said. “For the rest of your life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
An hour later, Leah arrived at Tess and Rudy’s cabin.
Tess greeted her warmly, and Leah entered an interior she knew well. Walls of honey-colored wood complemented Southwest-style area rugs inspired by the Native American history of the region.
Today, neither the familiar environment nor the familiar woman soothed her. When she’d called Tess to ask if she could swing by, Leah had hoped she’d be able to conduct herself normally during this confrontation. Now she doubted that possibility. Tension had turned her stomach to stone. Moving oxygen into her lungs required effort.
“I made cookies.” Tess moved toward the breakfast nook, where they’d shared many, many cookies and conversations.
Leah remained still. “This isn’t a social call.”
“Oh?” Tess halted.
“I know that you switched me with another baby the day of my birth.”
Sadness lit inside Tess’s eyes. Otherwise, she remained dignified and still. “I see.”
Rustling sounded from the hallway just before Rudy appeared, beaming. “Leah!”
“Leah and I need to speak about something privately,” Tess said to her husband. “I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
“That’ll be fine, but . . . are those oatmeal chocolate chip cookies I smell?”
Tess fetched two cookies and handed them to him.
“How ’bout one more?” he asked.
“No,” Tess answered crisply. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite for dinner. Now head back and watch TV for a bit.”
He winked at Leah. “Good to see you, hon.”
“Good to see you, too.”
He trundled down the hallway.
Tess motioned to the breakfast nook. “Shall we?”
Leah hesitated. Cookies were cozy, and she wasn’t feeling cozy.
“I expect that you have questions for me,” Tess said. “We’ll be more comfortable sitting down. Shall we?”
Stiffly, Leah took her usual seat at the round table.
Tess poured milk into two glasses. A dusky blue plate supported the cookies . . . a testament to the dozens of batches of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that Tess had made for Leah and Dylan through the years.
Tess sat, then took a slow sip of milk.
Leah didn’t reach for either the milk or the cookies.
Tess was a controlled person, not given to fissures of emotion. Even so, given the magnitude of Leah’s bombshell, Tess’s response seemed tremendously understated.
The older woman carefully positioned her glass on the table, her knobby fingers loosely encircling its base. “I’ve thought for some time that you might find out.”
“Why did you do it?”
“If you know what I did, then I’m guessing you know something of my motive.”
“I think it has to do with your son Ian.”
“Yes. My son Ian.” Her sigh spoke of pain. “I wish I could explain to you what a joy he was to me. He had such a sweet nature. Quiet and kind. Full of fairness. Every year his teachers would give him citizenship awards. Best Listener. Best Helper and the like.”
Tess’s focus drifted toward the living room, but Leah guessed that it had actually drifted back decades. “He grew and became a little more serious, a little more subdued. But he was still good, through and through. There wasn’t a mean or malicious bone in his body. He cooked dinner for the family when I wasn’t up to it. If I asked him to take out the trash, he’d do so immediately. If I told him to come home at ten, he’d come home at nine fifty.”