Chapter 17
“Jasmine?”
She forced her eyes open. Was it even morning? Only the streetlight filtered through the slats of her blinds. “Hmm?”
“Dixie had her baby.”
Her roommate woke her up at o-dark-thirty to tell her? “Thas good.” She rolled over.
“Six pounds fourteen ounces. She named him Henry Donovan Wayling.”
Wayling? That broke through Jasmine’s sleep-deprived fog. “Not Ranta?”
“Yeah. Dan’s spitting mad. Apparently they never talked about it.” The mattress shifted as Linnea settled on it near the foot.
So, this was morning, then. “Why?”
“She said her other kids are Waylings. Apparently she never trusted their fathers to stick around, and guess what? They didn’t. So she’s keeping with her tradition. ”
“That stinks. Poor Dan.”
“Yeah. So instead of being up at the hospital holding his newborn like a proud papa, he went down to the bar to get drunk. Logan went with him.”
“To drink?”
“No. He couldn’t reason with Dan, so he went to sit with him and give him a ride back.”
Jasmine squinted at her clock. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock. Sorry.”
She’d been dreaming about Nathan. About how he’d spent time yesterday afternoon visiting with Nonna.
How he’d sprawled on the living room floor and allowed Arie to climb all over him again.
At least this time there’d been no blood involved.
She’d dreamed the intensity of his gray eyes, and she’d dreamed his kisses.
She didn’t want to awaken from her fantasy and meet the Ranta nightmare.
Linnea sighed. “Dad is livid. Says no grandkid of his is going to have a different last name. Says maybe this proves the baby isn’t Dan’s, after all. Says—”
“Says far too much, as always.”
“Yeah.”
“So why is Logan being the peacemaker?” Why not Linnea? Why was she perched on Jasmine’s bed in the middle of the night instead of letting her sleep?
“My dad respects Logan. So does Dan. He doesn’t want the family torn apart by this mess. I mean, it’s not that big a deal. It’s just a name.” She sighed. “Maybe Dad hasn’t figured out yet that when Logan and I have kids, they’ll be Dermotts not Rantas. Maybe he’ll flip out about that, too.”
“I think it’s a big thing to men. It stabs their ego.”
“Apparently.”
Testosterone seemed to fuel pride. Jasmine should know, with four brothers and a pack of male cousins. But it wasn’t all that bad, most of the time. Not when steered in the right direction.
“Who’s got the kids?”
“Dixie’s mom. After she faced off with my dad in the Labor and Delivery corridor, she came back to their apartment and railed at me for a while. Like I have power to change anything.”
Sleep wouldn’t be returning any minute soon. Jasmine scooted to sit at the head of her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know what to do. Logan and I have prayed so much for Dan and Dixie, that they’d realize they need a savior in their lives.”
“People don’t usually come to that realization when everything is humming along perfectly.”
Linnea picked at a thread on Jasmine’s quilt. “No, I suppose not. Dan’s been asking a lot of questions, but it seems like it could go either way right now. I can’t remember when I’ve seen him this furious.”
Probably because Linnea’s dad and oldest brother had the market cornered on temper.
Dan had slid out of the crosshairs years ago in self-preservation.
Jasmine’s own family might not be perfect — although it was pretty close if she didn’t count Basil — but she’d never heard her father lose his temper, let alone with the foul language Dave Ranta Senior spewed when crossed.
The scene in the maternity ward must have been quite an earful for the hospital staff.
She could almost feel sorry for Eunice Wayling.
Almost. No doubt Dixie’s mother had given as good as she’d received. Or as ugly, as the case might be. What a mess.
Jasmine could barely make out her roommate’s bent form in the dim glow through the window. “Linnea?”
“Yeah?” Even the response was listless.
“Want to pray together?”
Linnea straightened. “Would you?”
“Yeah, for sure. Come here.” Jasmine scooted over a little on her bed and patted the space beside her.
Linnea grabbed the extra pillow off the floor before settling into the offered spot. “Thanks, Jasmine. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Maybe she was getting a clue. Linnea and Dan’s family.
Nathan’s family. Even Linnea’s fiancé’s family.
So many were completely messed up. Maybe the first thing she should do was remember to be thankful she’d been born to Grace and Raimondo Santoro.
That Marietta was her grandmother. That she had cousins like Peter, Rob, and Fran. Brothers like Marco, Alex, and Evan.
She should pray for Basil. Had she been showing Christ’s love to her least favorite brother? Not even a little bit. She should pray for Dafne. It wouldn’t be long now before her teenage cousin gave birth, and she hadn’t decided yet whether to keep the baby or not.
Why wasn’t Jasmine praying more for those around her?
Tonight. Right now at — she peeked at the clock — two nineteen in the morning, she was going to change that. Nonna had reminded her it didn’t matter if her prayers stuck at the ceiling, since God was in the room with her.
Jasmine scrunched her eyes shut. “Dear Jesus, You’ve said that where two or three are gathered in Your name, You’re in our midst. So here I am with Your child, Linnea, and we’ve come to ask You to speak into Dan’s and Dixie’s lives with Your love and peace.”
“Yes, Lord,” whispered Linnea.
The hostess ushered them to a tiny booth on the window side of Frank’s Diner, and Nathan slid in across from Jasmine.
Memories washed over him of all the times they’d come in years gone by, but the diner’s history went back over a century.
How many courting couples had enjoyed dates right here since it had been transformed from a presidential rail car?
So much history here. The diner itself, but Jasmine and him, too. He still couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to get a second chance with her. He wouldn’t mess up this time. Everything was different now.
Different, but the same. He studied her face as she flipped over the menu card.
She would order the turkey pot pie. She always did, even though she made it seem like a new decision every time.
Him, he liked everything Frank’s served, and he’d worked his way through the list more than once as a teen.
The chicken-fried steak called him tonight.
Just the thought of the crispy coating and the creamy gravy on home-style mashed potatoes made his mouth water.
Still, Nathan could live on bread and water if that meant keeping Jasmine in his life. He couldn’t help the grin that creased his face. Bread, water, and whatever Jasmine scrounged out of the wild. Even nettle tea would be worth it.
She glanced up. “What’s so funny?”
He chuckled. “Watching you stare down that menu like you’ve never seen it before.”
“I haven’t been here for quite a while.”
“Just order the turkey pot pie. You know you want to.”
Jasmine pushed the laminated menu card into its wire slot. “Fine, then. Since you know so much about me. ”
“I like you predictable.”
She grimaced. “Basil calls me an old woman.”
Nathan caressed her fingers with his own. “He’s very, very wrong.” Eight years had matured her face, enhancing her beauty. Still slightly built, she looked just as terrific in tank tops and shorts as she did tonight in a mossy green fitted tee and jeans.
Jasmine met his gaze, only to be interrupted as the waitress took their order.
Those velvety chocolate eyes — man, he could sink in them all evening. “I can’t believe we’re here. Like this.”
A train rumbled by behind the diner. Outside the arch-top window, traffic on West Second came to a stop, and cars zipped northbound through the intersection along South Walnut, where they’d dip under the tracks.
Just a few blocks from Bridgeview, the opulent diner seemed another world.
A world where his internal sunshine seemed as strong as the glow outside.
She shook her head, a small smile poking at her lips. “I’m still a bit torn between ‘I can’t believe this is real’ and ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea.’”
A wispy cloud came between him and the sun. “I know it’s a good idea.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve been praying about it.” His thumbs stroked hers. “About mending our relationship. Have you?”
Jasmine gave a small nod, her gaze sliding from his to land on their hands entwined on the glossy wood table. “I’m still a bit worried, though. What if we have another fight? What if you leave again?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Spokane is home. I’ve got enough leads and actual clients already to believe I can find a solid niche here and grow my business.”
She glanced at him. “I’m happy for you.”
Nathan tapped her knuckles. “I notice you haven’t asked for my input on marketing your massage therapy clinic.”
“I don’t want to grow it. I want out.”
Hadn’t she once dreamed of doing this? No, wait. She’d planned to become a physical therapist. “Why did you settle for massage when that wasn’t your dream?”
Jasmine chewed on her lip for so long he was certain she’d change the subject rather than reply.
“I needed off the campus of Gonzaga U. Everything reminded me of you, and I couldn’t handle it.
” Her eyes no longer radiated the anger he’d seen a couple of months before, but traces of frustration remained.
“I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”
“How could you do that to me? We had so much going for us.”
Their food came at that moment, saving Nathan from making a hasty reply. “Let me ask the blessing.”
At her slight nod, he recaptured her hand across the table and bowed his head.
“Father God, thank You for this food and for this time Jasmine and I can spend together. I pray You will guide our conversation and show us Your will for our future. We ask for Your grace to forgive each other as You have forgiven us. Thank You. In Jesus’ name, amen. ”
Her hands trembled as she forked a bite of steaming turkey from its artisan bread bowl.
Okay, so she wanted him to answer that question, but hadn’t he already, the other day? “You were far more mature than I was, even though you’re two years younger. You scared me back then, Jasmine. My family was a mess, and I was terrified I would let you down. ”
“So you did it on purpose.”
Nathan hadn’t thought of it quite that way before.
“I guess so.” He swirled the gravy through his mashed potatoes.
“I don’t quite know how to put this. I’m not sorry I left.
I needed to grow up. I’m sorry about how it happened and that I wasn’t upfront with you.
And I’m definitely sorry about many of the things I did after I moved away.
I was little more than a kid, Jasmine. I couldn’t face the future you’d planned out for us. Not then.”
“You were twenty-one, not a kid. Marco was married at twenty-two.”
“Marco was raised by your parents, not by Pops and wives one through three. He’d been taught how to be a man. I had no clue.”
She stabbed a carrot.
“Jasmine?”
“What?” She didn’t look up.
“Can we truly put the past behind us?” On Saturday he’d thought they had, even though she didn’t know absolutely everything. “Because I can’t undo it. All I can do is ask your forgiveness and move forward from here.”
“What do you need to forgive me for?”
Nathan blinked. “Pardon me?”
She glanced up at him. “In your prayer. You asked God to help us forgive each other. I know what I need to forgive you for — and I’m honestly trying — but what about the other way around?”
Dangerous question. Had he really verbalized that? He took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “Sometimes I felt you tried too hard to control me. I know now that can be a really positive characteristic. It—”
“Can be? ”
Thin ice. “You see things so quickly and clearly. What seems to others like a snap decision is well-thought out, but analyzed in some kind of shorthand others can’t see.”
Jasmine studied him through narrowed eyes. “And how is this a flaw I need forgiveness for?”
“Not a flaw.” He breathed a prayer. “I just... just felt like I had no say. You were plotting out my career, whom I’d work for, how I’d climb the ladder. You were planning the wedding, choosing our home, naming our kids.”
“I see.”
She didn’t see.
“So, if I’m so difficult to get along with — too controlling — then why are we here?” She toggled her finger between them.
“Because we’re both older. Because I’m not afraid to be an equal partner with opinions of my own.
” He could say that, but did he mean it?
Because he was quaking on the padded bench right now.
Still, if they couldn’t have this conversation and get past this, there was no hope for their future together.
He laid his hands on the table, palms up, on either side of their plates. “I’m ready now. I love you, Jasmine.”
Ready was an understatement. Today, she could tell him what their wedding would be like. Who the bridesmaids would be, what kind of flowers they’d carry. He’d be all over the idea.
She searched his face. Then, with movements so slow he wasn’t sure, at first, if he were imagining them, she placed her hands inside his.
Thank You, Jesus.