Chapter 45
Brandon
“Oh, great. It’s him.”
I grimace, realizing Maggie has company. Again. It always seems to be Bert—a man who has made it known on countless occasions that he hates my guts. I still don’t know why. I never got to the bottom of that particular mystery.
Maggie snickers. “Hi, sweetheart. Come to join us?” she asks before swinging her video game controller at the television. This bowling game is one of her favorite pastimes, and I’ll be the first to admit that she’s darn good at it. She beats me every time.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I stand back against the far wall of her cramped living area, seeing as all the seats are occupied by her many friends.
She’s become the life of this facility.
“Actually,” I begin, feeling confused as I glance around the room.
All of the balloons and party streamers and all manner of other decorations I helped her set up for Evie’s party are nowhere to be found.
“I’m here for Evie’s birthday party.” My voice trails when a half a dozen pairs of eyes settle on me.
Bert chortles in the recliner next to me, glancing at his friend. “Can you believe this schmuck?”
“Now, Bert,” Maggie scolds. “Be nice.”
He lifts his nose and turns away.
“Am I missing something?” I wonder, heart pounding. Have I confused the day? The weekend?
A series of shoulders raise in unison. Maggie sets the controller aside and strides toward me.
You wouldn’t know she broke her hip just over a year ago by the way she’s moving around these days.
She settles a hand on my shoulder, her face apologetic.
Almost pitying. “Her birthday party was yesterday, I’m afraid. You missed it, sweetheart.”
“Yesterday? Yesterday was—” Saturday. Yesterday was Saturday. Of course her birthday party was yesterday. Who would host a birthday party on a Sunday afternoon? But I could have sworn the invitation read Sunday, January 31 . . . “You’re telling me I missed Evie’s birthday party?”
She’s going to kill me.
“Wha—”
“Delivery,” Evie hollers, backing into the room.
She’s balancing a charcuterie board piled high with various cheeses, crackers, and deli meats between her arm and hip.
She looks as beautiful as ever in a pair of pink scrubs, her long ponytail swishing perkily behind her.
She pauses when she realizes the room is gravely silent, her dark, shrewd eyes whipping around the room before settling on mine. Then they narrow.
I swallow.
As far as we’ve come, the potential for miscommunication between us still terrifies me. The many mistakes I’ve made still haunt me. Every new one feels like I’m heaping burning coals upon my own head.
I’m working on that.
Shortly after Evie started seeing her therapist, I started seeing one, too.
He’s a biblical counselor I met at church, and we’ve been seeing each other once a month to work through my spiritual hang-ups.
I’ve unintentionally been playing God by denying myself grace and wallowing in guilt.
It’s the oldest trick in the devil’s book, making us think we can be like God by setting our own standards for righteousness above His own. Even when we don’t mean to.
The truth is, when the Father looks at me, He sees His Son Jesus Christ. Which means I am righteous by default—not because of anything I’ve done, but because of what He did on that cross.
Because of Jesus, I’m forgiven. Redeemed.
I can walk in that grace freely—without the burden of a guilty conscience.
“Evie,” I begin, my voice tight. “I—”
“This jerk missed your birthday party!” Bert bellows. “What a loser.”
Maggie swats his arm.
Frowning, I slide a hand down my tie. “Evie, listen, I—”
Her gaze drops to the gift I’m currently death gripping, her face softening with realization.
My shoulders droop with relief. She’s seen reason.
She understands this was all just a silly, stupid mistake.
I mean, I’m wearing a suit and tie for heaven’s sake.
Surely she’ll be able to see that I’m here for her.
No one else.
There will never be anyone else.
She sets the charcuterie board on the kitchen table and nods at the door.
Eager to escape the scrutiny of Maggie’s friends, I follow her out into the hall, where she leads me into a staff-only kitchen and faces me.
Pressing her back against the closed door, she gets straight to the point, looking circumspect. “You missed my birthday party.”
“I could have sworn the invite said Sunday, January thirty-first,” I defend.
Her smile is sarcastic. “Mm-hmm . . .”
Frowning, I gesture to my suit and tie. Lift the gift. “You think I’d show up for a video game tournament dressed like this?”
She laughs suddenly and stalks toward me. Then she wraps her arms around my waist and rests her chin against my sternum. “I believe you. I just like seeing you sweat.”
“You’re sick,” I laugh. I almost joke with her that I deserve it but pause and remind myself to be gracious with myself. That includes avoiding negative self-talk.
The humor in her expression vanishes. “Not anymore.”
I lift a hand to push a stray piece of hair off her forehead. “I know.”
She lifts a curious brow. “How?”
I smile. “I’m observant, remember? I can see how much happier you are.
” I tug on her shirt sleeve. “You’re wearing color, for one thing.
You sing at church. You go to the front when Pastor Mark asks if anyone needs prayer.
I even caught you dancing in the nursery once.
All the signs are there. You’re doing better. ”
She drops her forehead to my chest, hiding her face from me now. “Much better.”
We’re both quiet for a moment. “And you’re still wearing my necklace,” I whisper, pulling on the end of her ponytail playfully.
She nods against me. “That stupid year is almost up.”
“Almost.”
She lifts her face and tilts her head. “Can we wrap it up early?” she asks, staring at my mouth.
I lean away from her. “Tempting, but no. You haven’t gone on that trip yet.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s on the agenda. You could come with me, if you want.” Her eyes fill with childlike hope, and for a moment, I genuinely consider it. But traveling together as an unmarried couple is a prescription for disaster.
Maybe one day.
I shake my head. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Yeah, well, that deal is kind of dumb, if you ask me.”
Laughing, I disengage from our embrace. “I didn’t.”
She sticks her tongue out. “Fine. Check off a stupid solo trip to Europe,” she says impatiently, as though that trip hasn’t been a life-long bucket list item for her. She pauses, tilts her head curiously. “And then what?”
Smirking, I mirror the tilt of her head. “I don’t know, Genevieve. Then what?”
A devious grin rolls across her face. “Is it really up to me?”
I lick my lips, keenly aware of how alone we are. I itch to draw nearer, to resume our embrace, but I refrain. “Go on that trip. Then read my letter. And then we’ll talk.”
“You’re really bossy, you know that?”
“Maybe I miss having you as my assistant.”
“Who wouldn’t?” She hesitates. “Well, the fax machine, probably.”
I laugh. We smile at each other. “Get out of my sight before I break all my own rules,” I say, my voice unintentionally husky.
She is radiant. She always has been, but there’s a new subtle glow about her that I can’t get past. She still has that same quick, fiery temper about her—despite how much she’s changed after rededicating her life to Christ. But there’s also a quiet contentment that radiates from her like the warmth of the summer sun.
“Can I have my gift?” she asks, gesturing to the box in my hand.
Surprised, I glance down. I’d forgotten all about it. I hand it over. “It’s nothing special.” What she doesn’t know, though, is that I would pull the stars out of the sky and gift wrap them for her if I could.
Grinning, she rips into the wrapping paper and tears the lid off. Her dark eyes brighten with excitement, but then her brows furrow when she realizes it’s a stuffed dragon with sparkly fur, a teal belly, and purple ears. “What is—”
“It’s Spitfire the Dragon,” I say, scratching behind my ear. “For your collection. I couldn’t pass it up when Teddy found it at Goodwill—”
Before I can finish my thought, she’s bear-hugging me. “Don’t say another word. I love it.” She sighs heavily into my shirt. “But I kind of donated that collection.”
“There’s more where that came from,” I hint. “But you’ll have to go on that trip to earn it.”
“You and your creepy little stipulations,” she mutters, pulling away.
I laugh. “Go.”
“You go,” she retorts.
“Don’t you have things you need to be doing?”
Her eyes widen like she’s forgotten she’s at work. I chuckle. Sticking her tongue out, she flips her ponytail over her shoulder and spins on her heel, not even sparing me a backwards glance as she leaves.