Читать книгу Healing the Widower's Heart - Susan Anne Mason - Страница 14

Chapter Four

“Who can tell me the main point in the story of the prodigal son?” Paige smiled at the twelve eager faces in the meeting room they used as a classroom during camp every summer.

Three days in, and apart from a few minor glitches, the program had been running smoothly. The kids were bright, eager and, for the most part, well behaved. Even Zach had settled in to camp life without incident, due in large part, Page felt, to his budding friendship with Peter. The two had been inseparable since the first morning.

Her gaze settled on Zach and her stomach nose-dived. Make that eleven eager faces and one scowling one. She turned her attention to the four hands waving wildly in the air. “Yes, Felicia?”

The girl’s beaming smile revealed several missing teeth. “If you do bad things but you’re sorry, your parents will forgive you.”

“Very good. Forgiveness is the moral of our story. Like the father in the parable, our Heavenly Father forgives all our sins if we are truly sorry. He’ll always be waiting for us if we decide to come back to Him.” She looked at the clock. “That’s all the time we have for now. I want you all to think about which Bible story you’d like to study on Friday, and we’ll vote on it tomorrow. Now everyone down to the lake.”

A flurry of activity ensued as the group rushed to follow Sandy, eager for their canoe lesson with Jerry. Zach, however, remained in his seat, glaring at the tabletop. Peter hovered in the doorway as though unsure what to do.

“You go on with the others, Peter. Zach will be out in a minute.”

Peter nodded and dashed off to catch up with the campers, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Paige turned to study Zach’s profile, and huffed out a small sigh. She hadn’t made any progress with him over the past few days. Other than those few words he’d said to Peter, Zach remained closemouthed about anything to do with his mother. Maybe if Paige pried into whatever had caused his present bad mood, she’d get him to open up.

With casual strokes, she erased the whiteboard. “Didn’t you like today’s story, Zach?” She darted a glance over her shoulder.

“No.” He shredded a strip off the handout she’d given everyone.

She set the eraser down. “May I ask why?”

“Because it’s all a big, fat lie.”

Paige allowed herself no reaction to Zach’s outburst. “Which part exactly is a lie?”

Deep ridges formed between his brows. “The part about fathers always forgiving stuff. You shouldn’t tell everyone they do.”

He turned furious eyes on her, glittering with unshed tears. Sympathy welled in her chest, and the frustration from the past few days melted away. She longed to take him in her arms and promise him everything would be all right. But that would be totally unprofessional and totally unacceptable.

First rule of therapy—no touching the patient.

She took a few steps closer and crouched beside his chair. “What won’t your father forgive?” she asked softly.

Zach shrugged and rubbed a hand across his face. “Not what—who. He wouldn’t forgive my mom.” He waited a minute before continuing. “She took me away, and my dad was real mad about that. But later Mom wanted us to go home again.” His face crumpled, like the paper under his fingers. “She cried and said she was sorry, just like the prodigal son. But Dad didn’t care. He said we couldn’t come home. He hates us.” His voice broke on a stifled sob.

His tears overflowed and dripped down his cheeks. Zach looked away in obvious distress, and Paige just couldn’t ignore his suffering. Throwing the rules out the window, she pulled him to her and pressed his head to her shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, Zach,” she whispered.

She expected him to argue, even pull away. Instead he clutched at her, sobs racking his slim body while hot tears drenched her shirt. Her heart broke for this child and the soul-wrenching grief that consumed him. She stroked his tousled hair until he finally quieted. Paige found her own eyes moist when he drew away from her and wiped his face on his sleeve.

“You won’t tell my dad about this, will you?”

“About what?” She frowned, then recognized the embarrassment on his face. “You mean, that you were crying?”

He nodded, not looking at her. “My dad never cries.”

“I’m sure he does in private. Most dads don’t like to cry in front of anyone.”

Zach shook his head. “He says men don’t cry.”

Annoyance prickled at that kind of archaic, macho belief. “Crying is nothing to be ashamed of, honey. It helps your heart heal.”

“I guess.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

With gentle fingers, she pushed an unruly curl off his forehead. “Anytime you feel sad or like crying, you can come to me. I’ll be your safe place where you can say or do whatever you want. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Her heart tumbled when he raised vulnerable eyes to hers and swiped a hand across his nose. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to him. “You ready to join the others for another canoe lesson?”

When he nodded, she held out her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you down.”

With his trusting hand in hers, they made their way to the lake. Paige lifted a prayer as she walked.

Lord, please use me to be Zach’s place of refuge. Let him feel safe with me and allow me to ease his pain. And while You’re at it, I could use some help getting through to his father.

Secretly, Paige thought that breaking down Nathan’s walls might prove to be the tougher job all around.

* * *

Nathan’s footsteps echoed down the hallway outside the auditorium, where, according to the posted schedule, the children should be practicing songs for a play. He’d slip in and watch the end of the rehearsal until he could speak with Miss McFarlane.

With some effort, Nathan pushed back his resentment at another summons from the persistent woman. He hadn’t really spoken to her—other than a brief hello at the opening of camp—since the canoe-tipping incident, and he suspected Zach had done something else to incur her discipline. He only hoped it wasn’t serious enough for Miss McFarlane to banish Zach from the camp altogether. Though he had to admit, despite the tension between them, he missed Zach’s presence in the suite they’d shared for a few days before camp started. Nathan sighed. At least, from what Nathan was able to observe, Zach seemed to be enjoying the camaraderie with other boys his age.

Nathan paused at the door to the auditorium and tugged at the collar of his polo shirt. For reasons he couldn’t name, Paige McFarlane unsettled him, challenged him, made him feel like an incompetent parent. Then again, maybe it was his own insecurity talking.

In any case, he needed to put his personal feelings aside and allow her to do her job—because he couldn’t deny that whether or not she’d gotten Zach to open up about his mother’s death, she’d already brought about changes in his son that Nathan could not. He’d witnessed Zach interacting with the other kids, watched him laughing and playing like a normal seven-year-old. That alone was worth putting up with Miss McFarlane’s superior attitude.

He placed a hand on the door handle, cracked it open an inch, then stopped to listen. A voice as pure and sweet as liquid honey floated on the air toward him. Who was that singing? Surely not one of the children. Nathan nudged the door open and slid inside. His insides quivered, resonating with the deep tone of the piano. He hadn’t listened to any music since Cynthia’s funeral. Music evoked too many powerful emotions—emotions he’d fought long and hard to repress.

He paused now, however, to let the beauty of the song roll over him, squinting to see whom the exquisite voice belonged to. Rendered immobile, he could only stare.

The person singing was none other than Paige McFarlane.

He stood riveted in place while her voice, as soothing as a balm, reached some secret place inside him and touched his very soul. The song ended on a poignant note, at which time the children burst into loud applause.

Nathan blinked in an effort to break the spell that had befallen him. The soft stage lights danced over Paige’s pale hair, creating a quivering aura around her. Her green eyes glowed with emotion, giving her smile a euphoric quality, and for a moment, he wondered if she were real or an illusion.

A petite brunette rounded up the kids and herded them through the door. Paige hopped down from the stage and stopped to speak to the other camp counselor—Jerry, he thought his name was—at the piano. She glanced up, and did a double take when she saw Nathan. She said something to Jerry, then started across the auditorium toward him.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Nathan moved to meet her halfway. “I got your message. You wanted to see me?”

She clutched a book of music in front of her. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t expect you so soon.” She glanced back at Jerry, who waved on his way out. “I need to speak to you again about Zach.”

Tension banded across his shoulders as memories of being summoned to the principal’s office of Zach’s school flew to mind. He took a deep breath. “Could we maybe talk over a cup of coffee?”

Her mouth opened and shut. She looked down at her watch. “I guess I could spare a few minutes. How about the café upstairs?”

He nodded and followed her into the corridor. An awkward silence descended as they made their way to the outdoor terrace, one of Nathan’s favorite spots. Small iron tables canopied by striped umbrellas overlooked the water below, scented by baskets of hanging geraniums. Other than one other couple, the area was empty at this time of day.

Nathan pulled out a seat for Paige at a table by the low stone wall. Her long hair was loose today and flowed over her shoulders.

After they’d ordered two coffees, he leaned back against the metal chair. “That song you were singing, is it from The Sound of Music?”

She looked up, surprise registering in her clear eyes. “Yes, it is. We’re practicing a shortened version of the play to put on for the parents.”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

Paige looked down and moved her book to one side, a blush staining her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Maybe he was stalling, to keep her from telling him something unpleasant about Zach. Or maybe he wanted to relate to her on a more personal level, instead of as a therapist. Whatever the reason, he wanted to know more about this woman. “Where did you learn to sing like that?”

The waiter arrived and set down their cups with a brief nod to Paige. She picked up a packet of sugar. “Both my parents have musical backgrounds. My father teaches music at the high school in my hometown, and we were all involved in the church choir.” She stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug. “Speaking of voices, Zach sings well for his age. Does musical talent run in your family, too?”

Nathan paused to consider her unexpected question. Other than hymns, he hadn’t thought about singing in years. “I used to sing in high school and did a little college theater. In fact, I played the captain in The Sound of Music my senior year.”

“How ironic we picked that particular piece.” Her lips quirked as if she was trying not to laugh.

He had to stop looking at her mouth. He took a long sip of his coffee, enjoying the strong burst of flavor, then set down his cup. “Miss McFarlane—”

“Please, call me Paige.”

“Paige then. What did you want to see me about?”

The amusement left her eyes, replaced with regret. “We had another...incident earlier. Zach got upset over a Bible lesson on forgiveness.”

Nathan frowned. “Why would that upset him?”

A trace of a sigh escaped her lips. “He said you wouldn’t forgive his mother and let her come home.”

The coffee soured in his stomach. He hadn’t realized Zach knew anything about Cynthia’s request to move back home. Or that he’d refused her. That might explain some of Zach’s anger toward him.

He met her curious gaze. “He’s right. Cynthia did want to come back...but I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t take her back on a whim.”

Paige bit her bottom lip, questions brimming in her eyes.

“You’re wondering why she left me.”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sure it’s very personal.”

“It is. But it may help with Zach.” He swirled the brown liquid in his mug, choosing his next words with care. “Cynthia got tired of coming second to my career. She couldn’t take my long hours and the constant demands on my time.”

“Sounds like a stressful job. What do you do?”

A nerve twitched in his jaw as a vision of Saint Stephen’s church rushed to mind. He was nowhere near ready to talk about his professional failure. Much too personal, much too painful. “That’s not important. Suffice it to say that Cynthia grew less and less supportive. I knew she was unhappy, but I never thought she’d leave.” His fingers tightened around the mug. Might as well tell her the rest. She’ll find out sooner or later. “The ugly truth is...my wife left me for another man.” The familiar surge of humiliation rose up to swamp him.

A mixture of disbelief and pity flitted across Paige’s face. “I’m so sorry.” She reached out a hand, but pulled it back before she made contact with his arm. “That must have been terrible for you.”

“You have no idea.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Then, after six months of misery, she told me she’d made a mistake and wanted to come home. Apparently her new boyfriend didn’t like being tied down with a child.” He shook his head. “As much as I missed Zach, I couldn’t take the risk of letting her back into my home or my life. I didn’t trust her anymore.” He glanced over to gauge Paige’s reaction. For some reason, it mattered that she understand his point of view.

A small frown creased her forehead. “Of course not. Not after what she put you through. She needed to earn your trust back again.”

His shoulders sagged at the lack of censure in her voice. “Thank you for saying that.” He closed his eyes against the wave of pain. “I only wish I could make myself believe that I did the right thing.”

His lids flew open at the feel of her warm hand on his arm. Compassion shone in her eyes.

“You feel guilty because she died before you could resolve things between you,” she said softly.

The unbearable weight of it crushed his shoulders. If only it were that simple. He swallowed what felt like shards of glass. “I feel guilty,” he said, “because I’m responsible for her death.”

* * *

Paige reeled from the shock of Nathan’s words. How could that be? “I thought your wife died from a brain aneurysm.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “The aneurysm happened after I refused Cynthia’s request to reconcile. The doctor said stress was a significant factor in causing the rupture. I might as well have put a gun to her head.” The bitterness in his voice tore at her heart.

She shifted in her chair, leaned in and squeezed his arm. “You’re wrong, Nathan. You can’t take the blame for Cynthia’s bad choices. That type of guilt will eat you alive.” Long-dormant emotions bubbled up like a geyser to flood her senses. She knew all about dealing with guilt. Guilt that ate at your soul and prevented healing.

Nathan barked out a harsh laugh. “Tell me about it.”

For the first time, Paige understood the pain behind his coldness and anger. And the reason he hadn’t been able to be there for his son.

Nathan was emotionally paralyzed.

She knew this, not only from the textbooks she’d studied, but from painful, personal experience. “I understand exactly what you’re going through,” she said softly.

Paige had never told a stranger her story. As painful as it would be to reopen the wound, if it could benefit Nathan and Zach, how could she hold back?

She bit her lip, trying to decide if she had the courage to go through with it. Before she could make up her mind, her cell phone went off. She glanced down at the display from Jerry. “I’m sorry,” she said to Nathan. “They need me down at the water.”

“Of course.” The shuttered look had returned.

Paige rose and gathered her music book. “Thank you for the coffee. Maybe we can continue this conversation another time.” Perhaps then she’d be better prepared to share her story.

Nathan rose, as well. “I’d like that.” Despite his gruffness, he seemed sincere.

She nodded and turned to descend the stone steps. It might have been her imagination, but as she made her way down to the beach, Paige could almost feel him watching her.