19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
WESTON
W e returned to Gray’s place, the car ride filled with a charged yet comfortable silence. Becky was right there next to me, her presence gentle and intriguing. The day had unfolded in ways I hadn’t anticipated, and the connection between us was new territory. My mind was buzzing, trying to decipher the subtle change in our dynamic.
I brought my truck to a stop, and without a second thought, I stepped out and walked around the vehicle to open her door. Becky looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something softer, something more vulnerable.
“Thank you, Weston,” she murmured and placed her small hand in mine as she hopped out of the truck. The feel of her hand sent a current of electricity through my veins. My skin burned where she had touched me. She let her hand slip out of mine as we moved away from the vehicle, and my fist clenched involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the tension coiling inside me.
We walked side by side to her cottage. I could tell there was something on her mind, something she was pondering over, but I didn’t want to pry.
At her doorstep, she turned to me, her eyes meeting mine, and I was taken aback by the intensity I found in her gaze. “Thank you for today, Weston,” she said, her voice soft, a warm smile playing on her lips. “I really enjoyed our time together.”
Her words hung in the air, and I felt a tug, an urge to close the distance between us. My mind raced with thoughts of pulling her in, of tasting the sweetness I was sure her lips held. But I held back, rooted to the spot.
“Becky,” I started, my voice low, the words caught in my throat. “I...”
But she cut me off with a soft laugh, her hand reaching up to touch my arm gently. “Enjoy your evening, Weston.”
My heart swelled with affection for her, but I didn’t dare express it. Instead, I simply nodded and watched as she disappeared inside .
And just like that, she was gone, leaving me standing there, my heart racing, my mind filled with thoughts of her, and the lingering touch of her hand on my skin driving me utterly nuts. I stood outside her cottage for a moment longer, lost in thought. Finally, as I turned to leave, I stole one last glance back at her door. That’s when I saw it—the flicker of her night-light inside—and I smiled. Becky was a mystery and stronger than she gave herself credit for. I still couldn’t wrap my head around what she’d gone through with her dad. Her history clawed at my mind, fueling a fierce urge to shield and comfort her.
I let myself into Gray’s house and blew out a breath as I shut the door. Did I just spend eight hours with Becky? Wow. Not the way I thought I’d spend my Sunday. I needed to get rid of all this pent-up energy, so even though it was technically a rest day, I put on my cycling gear. A few hours of cycling would do the trick.
As I pedaled along the beach road, the wind whipping around me, thoughts of Jared filled my head. We had raced along this same route countless times, cycling and running side by side, training for competitions that now seemed a lifetime away. Each stroke of the pedals churned up the buried memories .
“Jared, buddy, you don’t look so good. Let’s slow down,” I said.
“Nope, it’s just a stitch. Let’s push through. We didn’t train for an entire year only to slow down now. We’re Iron Men—come on,” Jared replied, wiping an excessive amount of sweat from his brow.
We kept running, but Jared’s labored breathing really had me worried. This time, instead of suggesting we slow the pace, I gradually shortened my stride so that Jared wouldn’t notice. Before long, we were almost at a walk, and Jared was struggling to string a sentence together. Moments later, he collapsed.
Horrified, I tore the backpack from my shoulders, allowing it to crash to the ground. I dropped to my knees, the gravel biting into my skin. Panicked, I froze for several moments before I frantically gathered him into my arms and lifted him onto my shoulder.
“Just hold on, buddy. Help is on the way. We’re in this together,” I said, my voice strained under the burden of both his weight and my fear. Carrying Jared was like hauling a boulder, his body an unyielding mass against my faltering strength. I stumbled, a sharp pain shooting through my ankle, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t let him down .
With every ragged breath I kept moving, a mix of desperation and hope fueling me. As the medics’ tent finally came into view, my cries tore through the silence. “Help! Someone, please!” The urgency in my voice was raw, unfiltered. Relief flooded me as the medics swiftly transferred Jared from my arms to their stretcher.
For a fleeting moment, I believed everything would be fine. He would be okay. They were going to save him. Until a medic looked my way and the truth crashed into me, relentless and cruel... It was already too late.
I peddled faster, eager to out-cycle the emotions clawing up my throat. I detested feeling helpless. No, I’d never put myself in that position again.
But as I forced the ghost of Jared out of my mind, a softer image tiptoed in—Becky. Sweet, whimsical Becky, with her infectious laughter and her penchant for dancing. Just the thought of her silly dances warmed me from within, pushing away the cold shadows of the past. Yet, with that warmth, came a realization that perhaps I was letting Becky get too close.
I couldn’t afford to go down that road, to feel that helpless despair again. No, Becky needed to remain a friend, a sweet diversion from the dark memories, not a key to unlock doors I had long ago sealed shut. Each pedal stroke became a rhythm, a mantra—safety in solitude, safety in solitude. And yet, her image, her laughter, fluttered around the barriers, a gentle but persistent reminder of what could be, of what I was so petrified to let in.
The next morning, I awoke to an insistent knocking, just as dawn painted the sky with its first blush. Dragging myself from the tangled comfort of my sheets, I threw on some clothes and shuffled to the door, confusion weaving through my still-drowsy mind. The door creaked open, and there stood Brenda, in all her glistening, glittery makeup.
“Hi Brenda,” I murmured, my voice thick with sleep. “What brings you here at this hour?”
Her eyes held a knowing twinkle as she stepped past me, a bowl of date squares in her hands. “Yesterday I told you’d I’d visit,” she said as if we’d made concrete plans. “And I brought food. Come, let’s chat over tea.”
I could only nod, leading her to the kitchen. My movements were mechanical as I set the water to boil, the whistling kettle a backdrop to the uncertainty that Brenda’s unexpected visit had stirred.
“Weston, you know you’ve always been my favorite son of Susan’s,” Brenda said .
“I’m her only son,” I said, chuckling as I made the tea.
“Yes, well, let’s not argue over semantics. On a more serious note, I’ve been worried about you. Your mother and I have been praying for you for years. Then yesterday, I noticed a change in you that told me you might be ready to talk.”
“Oh yeah? What was that?” I asked, curious to hear what she had noticed.
“In all the years I’ve known you, Weston, I’ve never seen you as flustered as you were yesterday next to Becky. Not to mention the way you looked at her. I know you’ve got some heavy stuff weighing on that heart of yours and I thought I’d come over for a chat.”
“Becky and I are just friends,” I said defensively, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “Besides, I think I’ve been coping just fine.”
“I’m not here about Becky. I’m here about you, and the burden you’ve been carrying.” She shook her head, her earrings twinkling with the movement. “And I beg to differ, honey. You’re not coping, you’re just isolated with no one to trigger you.”
I wanted to argue with her and demand that she acknowledge that the life I’d strung together was coping, but deep down, I knew she was right. So, I just listened, a knot forming in my stomach. Grateful for something to do with my hands, I placed a mug of tea in front of her.
“You know, it’s not supposed to be this way,” she said.
“Um, I’m not following you, Brenda. What do you mean?”
“Life, Weston, it was never meant to include pain, loss, or sin,” she continued, her voice soft yet firm. “In the beginning, in Eden, everything was perfect. No grief, no pain. If you’ve ever felt that life is unfair, you’re right. It’s not how it was supposed to be. When sin came into the world, it ruined everything.”
I grunted in response, an instinctive, almost involuntary sound. “You can say that again,” I muttered, feeling a twinge of bitterness.
“Our longing for perfection, for happiness, it’s a divine echo in our hearts,” Brenda said, her hands wrapped around her mug. “That echo is not there to torment us with what we lack, but to point us towards a perfect Creator. To stir a longing for a time when all will be restored.”
I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth spread through me, and looked out the window. The world I knew seemed so chaotic, so far from the Eden Brenda described. But in her words, there was a promise of something better, a hope for restoration and peace. In my heart, I felt the echo Brenda spoke of, a deep yearning for something more, something beyond the imperfections of our existence. “But how do you survive in this world, with all its pain and heartache?” I found myself asking.
Brenda’s gaze was compassionate, yet unwavering. “By realizing that God’s story is bigger than our individual narratives. That our pain, while real and deep, is part of a larger tapestry He is weaving. A story of redemption, of restoring humanity back to Himself.”
I nodded, but I remained quiet, realizing that Brenda had more to say.
“To grieve is human. To deny your feelings would rob you of your human experience. But to let your feelings be the only voice you listen to will rob your soul of the healing God wants to offer you. It will rob you of the unbelievable plan God has for your life,” she said gently. “He wants to comfort you, to help you see beyond your pain. Are you willing to trust in His bigger plan?”
“It’s something I have wrestled with at times.”
“Maybe it’s time to stop wrestling? Time to be open to any change God might want to make in your life. Maybe Becky is in your life for a reason?”
“Maybe.” I said, not sure how else to answer .
“Well, that’s all I had to say. Enjoy the date squares, my sweet.” She stood, patted my cheek, and took her mug to the sink. And as quickly as she’d arrived, she left, leaving me with much to think about.
The rest of the day brought with it a familiar rhythm. I adhered to the disciplined training schedule that kept me grounded. Having enjoyed a few days of good food, I was feeling significantly better. My morning swim invigorated me, readying me for the day ahead.
I arrived at the office refreshed and energized. Throughout the day, I pondered Brenda’s words. Could I trust God with His plan for my life? Even if that plan looked different to what I thought was best? Was Becky indeed in my life for a reason?
My thoughts drifted toward the evening that lay ahead. A dinner with Becky. A simple plan, yet it kindled a certain excitement. Should I consider something more with Becky? Could I even entertain that thought? Would she be interested in me? I honestly had no idea how to handle any of this. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait to see her.
As the hours slowly ticked by, I glanced at the clock more often than usual, silently urging the hands to move faster. The entire day seemed to stretch on endlessly, each minute feeling longer than the last. I was filled with relief when the clock’s face finally displayed 4:00 pm. I snapped my laptop shut with more force than necessary, a telltale sign of my restlessness. The gears in my head had already switched from spreadsheets to something more personal—a mission to show a bit of appreciation. Whether or not I figured out my feelings, I wanted to pick up a gift for Becky on the way home, so I made a beeline for my truck.
The local bookstore, Unbound , was a cozy little haven I rarely stepped into. But Becky’s passion for books had come up yesterday, and she’d let it slip about this fantasy series gripping her heart. She was itching for the third installment, and I figured; why not grab it for her? It would be a small token, a thank you for all her cooking.
Debbie, who practically breathed books instead of air, managed to decipher the title from my rather confused description of the series and plucked the book from a display like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
“She’ll love this,” Debbie assured me with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. Thankfully, I was in and out of the store in five minutes. Reluctant to be late for dinner, I shoved the book into my laptop bag and rushed home.
Minutes later, I stepped into Gray’s house. The savory aroma of Becky’s cooking greeted me, making the space feel like home. We chatted and caught up while she put the finishing touches on dinner. She relayed the latest plot twist in the book she was reading, with an endearing amount of drama and enthusiasm.
Several times since I’d arrived, I’d reached into my laptop bag, intending to retrieve her gift, but apparently it was destined to live there forever. Because I just couldn’t seem to hand it over. Each time I reached for it, a strange apprehension gripped me. Was it weird? Giving her a gift out of the blue? Eventually, I gave up on the idea. I’d figure it out tomorrow. I put my bag away and returned to the kitchen to help carry the food to the dinner table.
“Something looks different about you today,” I said, unable to put my finger on the change.
“It’s the dress. It’s a Ralph Lauren classic,” she said as she did a curtsy.
“Nope, that’s not it. You seem more relaxed?”
Becky laughed. “It’s your fault. I’m wearing a tenth of the makeup I’d usually wear. It’s because of what you said yesterday. After praying about it some, I realized I needed to take the leap and trust God with my identity more. Not too sure how to do that, but I figured letting go of some of the things I trust in to feel good is a start. I’ve always been super attached to my makeup, so I’m experimenting with wearing less today.”
I fist-bumped her, genuinely delighted for her. “I’m really happy for you.”
She looked down, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks, the kind that made her even more enchanting in my eyes.
“And you…” I started, my voice softening, “you look absolutely beautiful in that dress.” The words slipped out, unguarded and honest.
She met my gaze, her eyes holding a universe of emotions. Maybe it was safe to let her in? Maybe she could accept someone like me? In her shy smile, I found a reflection of my own unspoken feelings, a silent acknowledgement of the bond that was quietly forming between us.
Becky looked away somewhat flustered, her movements slightly hurried as she brought the salt over to the table—an invitation for me to join her. I took my seat and offered a prayer for our meal. I secretly added a thanks for her presence in my life, for this quiet, wonderful slice of time with her.
As we savored the meal she had prepared, Becky broke the silence with a question that spoke of the comfort between us. “Anything interesting happen at work today? I’ve been bored out of my skull. Any juicy stories? ”
I chuckled, the day’s highlight ready at the tip of my tongue. Running an insurance company, my life was an anthology of oddities. “You won’t believe what happened today,” I began, shaking my head in disbelief.
I recounted the story of a woman who had amassed such a debt from her handbag collection that she faked a robbery to file a claim. It was the sort of thing movies were made of.
“It’s hilarious, isn’t it?” I said, expecting laughter to bubble from Becky as it often did. Instead she looked at me with guarded caution.
“I don’t find it funny,” she said, her brows knitting in a compassionate frown. “Imagine feeling so cornered that you’d do something that drastic.”
I paused, seeing the situation anew through her empathetic lens. “True, desperation can drive people to extremes,” I conceded, my tone softer. “But isn’t it a bit absurd to land in that spot over handbags?” I tried to keep the mood light, to find humor in human folly.
She appeared wounded by my words, and I hurried to bridge the gap. “I thought you’d get a kick out of the story. We don’t have to see eye to eye on everything. It’s just... it’s hard for me to feel sympathy over… handbags.”
Her laugh was a nervous flutter, a contrast to the usual warmth of her amusement. Strange .
“Are you running this evening?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yup. Want to come?” I asked, wondering if her question was because she also wanted to spend more time together.
“Nope. Been there, done that,” she said.
“I didn’t mean you run. You can cycle on my bike next to me. I can’t promise that I’ll chat, but I’d enjoy the company.”
“Sounds fun. I’ll come as long as you promise to carry me and the bike, should I reach the point of vomiting again?”
A chuckle escaped my lips. “I promise.”
Later that night, alone in Gray’s spare room, I pulled out the book I’d bought for Becky. I hesitated, the book in my hand feeling heavier than it should. I found some wrapping paper in a drawer and wrapped the book clumsily, but then, looking at it, something felt off.
Unwrapping it, I let out a frustrated sigh. Wrapped, it felt too formal, like I was trying too hard. Unwrapped, it felt too casual, like I didn’t care enough.
I sat there, turning the book over in my hands, lost in thought. What would she think of this gift? Of me? I’d never been good with words or grand gestures. But with Becky, I wanted to be... more.
Finally, I settled on a compromise. I stuck a post-it note on the front with a simple message. It wasn’t much, but it felt right, a small token that said I cared without making it a big deal.
I decided I’d leave it on her doorstep tomorrow before my morning cycle. It was a small gesture, a simple gift, but somehow, it felt like the biggest risk I’d ever taken.