Something borrowed, something blue ... something new!

I need to lay a confession down for all to see.  My husband poked me with a comment that has unsettled me for weeks.  I told him I am entering a contest again but taking out the Christian elements this time.  His profound and puncturing words came out softly.

"Are you ashamed of the gospel?"

Ouch!  That hurt.  But a good hurt - the kind you feel when someone pours hydrogen peroxide over an open sore.  A cleansing 'ouch'.

Here is my official response.  No.  I am not ashamed.  I am afraid.

Oh I bet you all rolled off your chair and hit the floor, didn't you? She didn't use the 'f' word, again did she?  I heard you mutter that, by the way.

Or maybe its just me that is so tired of hearing myself say that word.  Okay.  Okay.  I admit it.  I'm afraid.

I need to know where I stand with my writing.  Do I really need validation?  From my frail human experience - YES.  From God's divine experience - no.  But I am human.  Forgive me.

So the age old question - as old as time itself - is asked again.  I will borrow the words from our Savior. "Who do the people say I am?"  Jesus warned us that the world would not accept him.  They would find him offensive.  That is nothing new.  I do not write novels for the ones who don't know Him.  I write for the ones

Hello my faithful followers!

You may be disappointed to see that my post (chapter sixteen, page one) is missing today.  My deepest apologies.  Here is where the rubber meets the road folks.  I have mentioned in a past blog (here and here) some of the struggles I've had in attempting this little adventure.  Well, here is another.  No journey is complete without bumps and bruises.

Typically when I receive a story and begin to write it, I don't worry too much about the things that don't make any sense to me.  I only focus on writing it down.  Often there are scenes or tidbits of information that I can not explain as I 'm writing.  (Remember I see these stories in my mind as a movie.  I, like you, only see the part that is in front of me.  I have to travel through the story chronologically in order to find the ending.  And often there are these little items that I cannot account for or justify to the story while I'm writing it.  Never failing though, God always provides a solution by the end.

When I am finished writing the story, I can go back and edit those loose ends.  The amazing thing is most of

Chapter fifteen, page three

For hours, I tried pacing my hotel room.  I tried watching French television.  I even tried chatting with the bellman at the doorway.  Nothing could remove Quinn and Anna from my thoughts.

So I did the only thing I could do to make myself feel better.  I changed into my red party dress and crawled on my big bed with my bible.

The Lord got me into this shenanigan mess and so it only seems fair that He will get me out of it.  I turned in my bible to the Old Testament verse I had considered in the shower earlier.  My bible tumbled open and I thumbed through the edges until I reached Isaiah.  In chapter sixty-one I found so many words of comfort from God.

Although I had read this portion of scripture before, tonight it seemed to be highlighted.  ‘The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me.’  The words came alive as I read.  ‘He has sent me to bind the brokenhearted ... freedom for the captives ... release the prisoners.’

Now, I know the scripture is

Chapter thirteen, Page three

Minutes past.  Maybe lots of them.  There was no relevance of time as I sat on the edge of my hotel bed. 

Quinn had left and I needed to stumble to the bathroom and get ready for the dinner party.  Except, I didn’t want to go anymore. 

Even though Dean wouldn’t be there I still didn’t want to go. 

Thankfully a stronger part of me stepped forward.  Quinn needed my help.  The dinner party could possibly be the  key to unlocking this mystery.  Jane’s party was the first vision I had received for Quinn.  I stumbled into the moist bathroom with his masculine scent lingering in the air.

Hanging in the same spot where I had hung his new clothes earlier was a beautiful red party dress.  I closed my eyes allowing the emotions I felt wearing it earlier creep over me.  What do I do with these feelings God?  Am I allowed to have them?  I know Mitch is gone and he is never coming back.  I do know that.  Tell me please God ... are my feelings for Quinn real or are they planted so I will help him? 

Behind my closed eyelids, I felt heat flush my face.  Help him?  Have I helped him or have I made everything worse?

Chapter thirteen, page two

My feet found their way to the bed in front of me.  I sat as a motionless prisoner to the facts.  My words, my actions and my very presence seemed to make Quinn’s life worse.

 

Despite that, I could not deny that look in his eyes.  There was no misinterpreting his words on the hood of his car.  Or the smile he offered to me numerous times.  He didn’t want me to leave.

God if you put me in this situation than I am counting on you getting me out.  Was I going to break this man’s heart, or mine in six days when I leave for home?  I tried to imagine again that perfect smile disappearing from his face and a look of broken heartedness overtaking him.  Only I couldn’t.  Somehow even in our most precarious situations his smile had never gone far.  I had seen angry for sure, when he saw all his possessions destroyed.  I had seen compassion in him whenever he looked at me.  In fact, I had seen hope when he visited Anna.  However I had not seen him broken-hearted.   

Then without planting the thought there myself I saw a vision of him standing outside in his new clothes crying.  No ... weeping.

Chapter thirteen, page one

Quinn had one eye watching me and the other eye watching his own movements.  Finally his hands stilled and his arms slowly fell to his side.

“Tell me something, Cherie.”

I nodded.

“What sort of images are you entertaining at this moment?”

The mirror in front of me would not conceal my blush.  I stammered for the right words.

He turned around and smiled deeply.  “Are those sins too?”

Chapter twelve, page three

A comfortable silence followed us as we walked to my hotel room to clean up for the dinner party.  While we rode the elevator, Quinn’s phone buzzed.  As he answered it and rattled on in French to someone, I paid no attention.  There still was a battle waging in my head for what to believe.  My mind definitely wasn’t in the same place as my heart. 

Thirty-six hours ago and a continent away I was a barely-breathing, depressed widow convinced life needed to pass me by.  That without Mitch there was no reason to be happy or experience the rest of my life.  I had hoped and planned to experience it all with him.  Now look at me.  I am opening the doors to an amazing penthouse suite in Paris.  There is a devilishly handsome man at my hip that is interesting in me.  Instead of revelling in that, I am chastising myself for my own wayward thoughts about him.

Quinn hung up his cell phone.  “That was the detective.  He needs me to come down to the station for some questions and paperwork.  It seems that Dean is still trying to organize his bail, so we are set for the dinner party.  Would you mind if I quickly clean up and then head there?”

Is anyone out there afraid of the dark?

I just finished reading the book, Within My Heart by Tamera Alexander.  If you haven’t discovered her as a writer yet, I offer my wholehearted recommendation.  She writes historical fiction if that is your fancy.

Her story tells of a young doctor and a young widow who learn the lesson in faith of taking risks.  That – (if I could steal a line from the end of her book) – faith’s first steps are “often taken neck-deep in fear”.   The interesting and compelling aspect of the hero character is that he is afraid of the dark.  Not a childhood fear of monsters under his bed but a grown man’s desperation.  

If you plan on reading the story I urge you to jump ahead to the next paragraph ... NOW!  (Spoiler Alert!)  His fear is natural and explainable and even excusable.  He has every reason to be afraid of the dark.  He was buried alive.  However, even though God allowed that experience in his life and saved him from it does not mean God expects him to carry that fear around.

If God doesn’t want His children walking through this life grasping fear in fist-fulls around our heart, then why do we?  

Chapter twelve. page two

I stepped out of the change room wearing my capris and blouse which all seemed so drab after my previous options.  Quinn was back in his chair.  Only his relaxed, easy going posture was replaced with a man hunched over his lap holding his head.  He stood as soon as he heard me. 

“Cathie, please forgive me.”

“There is nothing for me to forgive you for.”  I said as I marched out passed him and headed for the mall entrance.

He grabbed onto me and swung me around again.  “Then what just happened?”

I closed my eyes tight, hoping to wish away the awkwardness.  “It’s me Quinn.  You did nothing wrong.  There are just some things I would rather avoid.”  Again, I wiggled out of his grasp and walked away.

By the time I was out of the store I realized he was not with me.  I turned to find him walking several paces behind me.

He held up his index finger to me, wordlessly asking for me to wait.  I nodded and he bolted back to the store counter.  The woman handed him a credit card and a slip of paper.  Suddenly it dawned on me that he had purchased something.  I felt fairly confident that it wasn’t the socks he had wanted earlier.

Chapter twelve, page one

Quinn's voice caught me amidst my travels down memory lane.  “Are you alright, Cherie?”

“Yes.  Sorry if I am taking too long.”  I stepped into the full red dress and pulled it up over my hips.

“I was beginning to worry you might not show me anymore outfits.”  I could hear his smile through his words.

Although his words were registering in my head, my thoughts were consumed by what my eyes were seeing.  The red dress fit me perfectly.  It had a v-neckline and the bodice criss-crossed in the front making it easy to fasten solo.  I stood frozen in front of the mirror.  The image in the mirror was captivating even me. 

Slowly I smoothed the dress against my body curves, turning slightly to view the other angles.  ‘I don’t know if you can see this Mitch, but I would take your breath away.  You’d love this dress on me.’

Slowly I filled my lungs with fresh new air and opened the change room door.  This time Quinn was sitting on a comfy high-armed chair.

I was certain as he watched me exit from the small change room he was struggling for breath as I had been earlier.  His eyes closed as his mouth curved into a smile.  He let out a soft moan before opening his eyes.  “Cherie ...” he whispered.

chapter eleven, page three

As the door of the change room clicked behind me, the hum-drum flavour to my emotions left.  There hanging before my eyes were several beautiful dresses.  The first dress I saw was a deep mauve colour.  The spaghetti straps were studded with rhinestones.  The front of the dress was gathered in a couple of spots along the front of the dress giving the illusions of diamond shapes.  The other dress hanging behind it was a bright ruby red with tiny white and yellow flowers scattered over it.  I reached for its flowing skirt to see it better. 

Go upstairs and put on the red one Cathie.

Without any warning Mitch’s words assaulted me.  I closed my eyes and he was standing in front of me with his dress pants, collared shirt and tie.  I took a deep breath.

Then Quinn’s voice broke open my image as he spoke in French to the female attendant.  I began to remove my blouse when the black sexy number from the window slid over the top of my change room door.

“You never guess what the nice lady chose for you to try next.”  He spoke with a sultry lilt.

“No thank you”, I said as I slipped on the mauve dress.  It was silk lined and felt smooth sliding up over my hips and into place.  The zipper was high in the back which made it nearly impossible to do by myself.  I wondered if they invented women’s dresses like that on purpose.  I do not recall any men’s clothing that has zippers in the back in hard to reach places.  It’s a conspiracy.

I casually opened the change room door to see Quinn perched against the wall once again looking like a first-place prize.  He jumped towards me with his mouth gaping open. 

“You look fantastic.”

I attempted to slow his approach with my hands, only he wasn’t focused on my hands obviously.  He enclosed me into his arms and began to waltz me around the tiny space between the mirror and the change room.

“Quinn, stop please.  I am not even fully done up.”

His dance step paused.  Then his penetrating look sunk deep within my eyes.  I saw a twinkle in his eyes as the florescent lights bounced off their caramel colour.  His hand slid upwards on my back until it was hovering over of my open zipper.

“I would help you out with that Cherie, but might I suggest you try on the ...”

I shoved him back a step or two.  “I already told you I am not wearing the black dress!”

Instead of shock covering his face, he slowly looked down at the ground.  A tiny dimple caressed his cheek.  “I was actually hoping you would try the red one on.  This dress doesn’t have enough sway to it when you dance with me.”

Embarrassed, I crawled back into my little changing den and quickly removed the mauve dress.  As I gazed upon the red dress hanging off the satin hanger I was immediately transported back to my home in Canada.

‘Cathie, you need to stop worrying about these things and leave them to me.’  Mitch said as he fiddled with his tie.

‘I’m trying to leave them with you but you aren’t doing anything about it.’ I snapped back.

‘How do you know I am not doing anything about it?  Just because you don’t see it, Love, doesn't mean it isn’t happening.’  Mitch gave me his winning grin, which only fuelled my anger more.

Just as I opened my mouth to give him another dose of my wisdom, he stepped towards me.  He had me backed up against the counter top in our kitchen.  I was his prisoner.  His tall stature lowered slightly so he could whisper against my neck.  ‘Let’s not think about money issues anymore tonight.  I have plans for you Mrs. Bellamy.’  

He straightened up and looked me square in the eyes.  ‘Now go upstairs and dig your red party dress out from your closet.  It is your job to put it on and get ready.  We are going out for an evening of fine food and friends.  There will be no more worrying.  Now go!  The sooner you get the dress on, the sooner I can take it off later.’

NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter eleven, page two

“I remember the summer after Anna was born.  I was going to turn six that August.”  Quinn spoke quietly amidst the hustle of people around us.

“Once school was let out I had to spend my days outside with my father.  I am not sure if it was his idea or my mum’s, but I had no options.  Anna stayed in to be coddled and enjoyed by my mum and I was cast outdoors to be harassed and chided by my father.

“I thought I knew how mean my father was, until I saw firsthand how he treated the sheep.  There were times when it made me feel better; that at least he didn’t love them more than me.  But most of the time I just hated him.”

Quinn looked at me shamefaced.  I reached my hand over to join it with his as he mangled his fingers together in a mass.  He accepted my fingers and gently caressed them.

“You aren’t going to like the rest of my story, Cherie.”

“Not everyone had the privilege of a storybook childhood, Quinn.  I don’t judge you.”

He squeezed my hand and continued on with his story.  “Later that summer, our neighbour Mr. Petheridge, was found dead in his barn.  Apparently he had a heart attack and no one knew.  His wife was accustomed to him wandering off to the local pub sometimes and not telling her so she didn’t think anything of it when he wasn’t at dinner.  She found him the next day.”  Quinn released my hand and cupped his head into his shaky hands. 

Scooting over closer on the bench, I wrapped my arms around him for comfort but he pushed me away.

“Cathie, you don’t understand.  I was not sad for my neighbour.  I was six years old; I could have cared less about him.  All I wanted was for my father to die the same way.  I prayed that God would let him die outside in the cold all alone.  I prayed and hoped for it.”

Naturally I was shocked by his admission.  I struggled not to show it and condemn him for his honesty.

“I prayed for it every day for a year or more.  I couldn’t understand why God wouldn’t listen.  My father was a mean man.  He treated us all with contempt.  Even my mum.  I always figured God didn’t respond because my father was so horrible that even God, himself, didn’t want him.”  As Quinn lifted his face to see me, there was a tear clinging to the edge of his right eye.  When he blinked it lost its hold and slid down the tip of his cheek.  He wiped it away furiously.

Standing and offering me his hand, he flicked his strong emotions off and replaced them with a smile.  “God doesn’t love everybody Cathie.”  A large sigh caused Quinn’s chest to rise and fall chasing out anymore pain that was lingering.  “He only wants the good people in heaven with him.  That is why he took my mum instead of my father.  That’s also why he'll take Anna but he won't take me.”

I couldn’t take his outstretched hand.  It would mean my acceptance that this conversation was over.  “Quinn, I –“.

He squatted in front of me.  His eyes twinkled with residual moisture.  His smile was soft and sweet.  “Let’s go find you a dress just for fun.”  He pulled me up to standing against his chest.  “Then tonight when we are alone,” he glanced in both directions at the crowds passing by.  “Then I will tell you everything else you want to know.”  He shook his head ever so slightly.  “Not here.  Okay?”

How could I refuse him?  “Okay.”

He spun around on his heels and nearly skipped in through the doors of the ladies wear store.  Unfortunately my feet were not as exuberant.  A young woman with a golden name tag greeted him almost instantly.  They exchanged words in French and then Quinn turned to me.  Together they watched me while he chatted on about something I could not hear. 

My progress still had not reached the store entrance.  The reluctance weighing my heart finally came out in a prayer.  ‘Lord, now would be a good time for another vision.  I know there is little chance Dean would be shopping in this mall, but perhaps you have a bomb I need to diffuse or even rescue a child from a runaway escalator?’

“Are you going to stand out there talking to yourself all afternoon?”  Quinn’s joyful wink and smile were irresistible to my weakened emotions.  I shook my head and walked right into his awaiting embrace.  He grabbed my hand and led me towards the changing area at the back of the store.

The clerk approached me with several pieces thrown across her arm.  “I assume you are an American size eight?”

“Um, yes, I am.  But you don’t have to find the clothes for me.”  I was a little worried about what she had hanging over her arm, but at first glance I didn’t see any black silk tea towels.

She winked at Quinn and then spoke to me.  “The gentleman suggested a few ‘modest’ dresses to start with.”

I turned to Quinn who was grinning like a school boy.  “He did, did he?” I said.

His hand snaked its way around my waist.  “Cherie, I may not agree with everything you say, but I am paying attention.”  He winked and I melted.

NEXT PAGE is here.

chapter ten, page three

Our first stop inside the shopping centre was the food court.  It had been several hours since we sat at the little cafe across from my hotel for lunch.  

It boggled my mind to think of everything that had transpired since then.  Quinn had taken me to meet his sister, who was wonderful.  However she revealed a most disturbing revelation that rattled my world.  Only to be outdone by Quinn’s home burning to the ground leaving him homeless and lost in every sense of the word.  Now, of all things, we are shopping.

Our time together felt effortless.  Quinn’s demeanour was once again lively and fun-natured.  Somehow amidst all this turmoil he managed to shed his anger and face life with a smile again.  It was of course his devilishly handsome smile.  Every time he laughed or teased me my heart sang.

Our snack was precisely that – a small taste of French culture, he said.  He did not want to spoil my appetite, all the while raving about Jane’s feast that awaited us.  

Quinn was as giddy as a school boy as he introduced me to two of his favourite treats.  ‘Croque-monsieur’ was a couple pieces of grilled French bread with ham and cheese melted inside and ‘pain au chocolat’ was a croissant with a wedge of chocolate inside.  We bought one of each and shared them.  Naturally, he added, his recipe was better than the food court version.

Once our tummies were satisfied, Quinn excitedly dragged me into a men’s clothing store on the second floor to find him an outfit for the party.  He greeted the woman at the counter and immediately turned to me.  “Which one should I get?”

It was hard to hide my shock.  “You want me to pick?”  I stumbled for words as my eyes took in all the fashion surrounding us.  “I don’t know what you like.”

“Cherie, I am a man.  I’ll like whatever you like.”  Then he turned to the lady approaching us and spoke in French.  She turned away and went straight to work.  Her arms were soon weighted down with many articles of clothing as she ‘shopped’ for Quinn.

In a haughty French accent she passed by us announcing, “come”.

Following her to the changing room area, Quinn excitement grew. He followed her right into the cubicle.  They exchanged a few words and she left hardly acknowledging my existence.  I plopped myself onto a large orange triangle.  It was like an ottoman resting against a wall, but it was big enough for two.

 

The first time he popped out from behind his change room door he was decked out in a stylish black buttoned shirt with grey pants and a grey vested cardigan over top.  With a flick of his hair away from his face he looked like a fashion model.  It made my breath catch in my throat.  He looked gorgeous.

“Do you like this look?”  He asked as he turned a few different directions in front of me.

Gasp!  I didn’t need to see any more angles of him.  He looked stunning.  “Oh, it’s nice.  Do you like it?” 

Swallowing the large lump wedged in my throat actually hurt.  How dare I feel this way?  I am a widow.

“Nice, huh?”  Then he swung around and headed back into the change room. 

I breathed a sigh of relief giving my heart rate time to slow.

He chattered on while he changed about his belief that all women loved to shop and how I was shattering that image.  Instead of my interest in his words, they were merely a means to an end.  A distraction.  Maybe I should excuse myself and let him shop with the aid of the woman at the counter.  I leaned over on my ottoman to get a glimpse of her.  She was standing at her station filing her nails.

Just then the change room door opened and I turned to see the next product.  His breathtaking, almost regal pose sent my heart into overdrive.  I may be a widow but I am not dead – obviously!

Breathe Cathie!  The words screamed in my ears as I took in the next view of Quinn-like perfection.  He had a pair of dark coloured and form fitting slacks on with a white buttoned down shirt open loose at the bottom.  There was a slender black silk tie hanging loosely from his open collar.  Then a black leather jacket hung from his finger as he draped it behind his shoulder.  He really was posing like a model.

I blinked several times giving pause for my throat to produce words.  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

“What?”  His innocent look passed over me with little effect as he did his spin around.  “I only want to know what you thing.  Is this one better than the first one?”

“They're both good.  Just pick whichever one you like best.”  I added in exasperation.

He closed the distance between us and squatted at the base of my ottoman.  Our eyes were level with one another and my heart did the most fearsome pitter-patter imaginable.  “Are you alright, Cherie?”

Breathe!  “I am fine.  I am sorry if I was curt.”

“Well, you were.  If I look dreadful I would appreciate you telling me now before I step out in public.  Honestly, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

Dreadful?  My frantic, racing heart could only wish.  “Quinn,” I extended my hand to his stubbly cheek.  “You look anything but dreadful.”

His eyes danced for a moment as he interpreted my words.  He leaned a little closer to me.  “Do you like it then, my Dear?”

“Yes.”  My voice could barely muster a whisper as I struggled with the rising emotions in me.

For a moment he didn’t budge.  He remained there, a breath’s distance from me looking like my knight in shining armour.  Then he stood with that mischievous smile he sports so often.  Without a word he headed back into the change room.  I was certain my heart could not take any more outfits like the last two.

As I sat in my place practising my breathing, Quinn’s head popped over the top of the change room door.

“Cherie, would you be a peach and grab me a pair of trousers and a shirt to match just for regular wear?”

“Trousers?”

“Yes, please.” 

I stood reluctantly and headed towards the lady at the counter.  Perhaps she could show me the ‘trouser’ rack.

Well, the look she gave me when I asked her where I would find the trousers told me I was completely brainless.  She surveyed her hand out across the whole room.   “What kind of trousers?”

She might as well have added the ‘duh’ sound after her question.  I thanked her and then started to peruse the clothing racks all by myself.  Okay Lord, if you can direct me on how to keep Quinn alive, perhaps you can direct me to the right kind of ‘trousers’.

Then Quinn wandered out of the changing area with a few items draped over his arm.  He handed them to the lady at the counter who offered him a warm and enticing smile.  He didn’t even seem to notice though as he made a beeline right to me.

“Did you find anything you like?”

“I will be completely honest with you.  I don’t really know what trousers are.  I mean, I think of them as pants my grandfather would wear.  Is that what you really want?”

Quinn stifled a giggle and reached over my shoulder to a pile of clothing behind me.  He pulled back his arm with a pair of jeans in his hand.  “Would you Grandfather wear these trousers?”

He smiled and then turned back to the lady at the counter not even waiting on my response.

“Do you carry socks and pants as well?”

The lady shook her head.

Quinn shrugged his shoulders and then approached her counter pulling his wallet from his back pocket.  All the while I was thinking he was holding the pants but that must refer to something else I was ignorant of.

NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter ten, page two

The drive returning to my hotel was riddled with awkward silence.  His grand gesture to me had not been received well.  I really did want to be needed by him, and wanted by him.  Only his methods brought me anxiety instead of comfort.  His emotions were high and his actions were strong.  I longed for that gentle man who trusted me in the bakery, protected me in front of Dean and desired to know me in the hotel. 

After Quinn parked his car we continued to sit in silence for a moment.  Finally he looked up at me and I saw a hint of his personality seeping back into his golden eyes.  “I promised you a snack and a rest.”  He said with a wink.

“Quinn, I think you need a lawyer.”

“I quite agree.”

“Do you know any?”

“Not personally, but my best friend’s wife was a law secretary.  Perhaps she knows someone I could trust.”

“Uh, Quinn?  Are you thinking of Jane?”

“Yes, how did you – never mind, why do I ask anymore?”

“Tonight is the dinner party, remember?  Are you thinking of going there?”

He thought for awhile.  “Yes I am.  Dean will not show if he is still handling his unfortunate show down with the police this morning.  I think we should both go.”  He looked over to me with a glint in his eye.  “How would you like to join me for a fancy but possibly boring evening of wine, fabulous food and a few wacky but very decent friends?”

“That sounds like an offer a girl can’t refuse.”  I returned his smile and for a moment the afternoon escapade faded into a distant memory.  “You aren’t going to go dressed like that, are you?”

Quinn glanced down at his faded blue jeans and henley top.  “I wonder if we could include shopping as part of your tourist experience in Paris?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Quinn started up the motor of the car and pulled away from the curb.  Everything felt right back on track.  As much as it could for the most bizarre vacation I had ever taken.

Quinn teased that he would choose the ‘most tourist-y mall’ he could find.  When I questioned him as to why he simply stated, “Then you don’t have to speak much French.”

“I am perfectly capable of speaking French.”

“Well, I know you can speak it, but ‘perfectly’ might be a stretch.  Your French sounds a little weak, Cherie.”

“Weak?”  I shouldn’t be offended because he was right.  “I am out of practice, I guess.”   It would be futile to try to explain to Quinn that I used to love listening to Mitch speak French with his mother.  It was so comforting to me.  Then there were times when he would whisper words of love into my ear. The melodious, rhythmic cadence of his accented words made me feel safe and loved.  It is only since silence replaced those words in my home that they feel like a grater on my skin. 

Until Quinn.  His deep, yet soft English accent perfectly producing the French language has brought a whole new sense of comfort.  His voice rings low into my heart.  When he speaks French his words filter hope into my dry spirit and I start to feel alive again.  Maybe that is why he feels so familiar to me.  

Along with that comes a whole new purpose to my life.

NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter ten, page one

Before I could slow my own breathing, Quinn returned to the car.  His pace spoke volumes.  He walked right up to the car door, opened it then quickly slammed it shut again.  I heard him mumbling in French as he paced away from the car.

Slowly I exited the vehicle.  “Quinn?”

His tightened eyes turned on me.  “What?”

I was afraid to approach him.  His eyes burned with fury.  I leaned against the hood of the car.  “I’m sorry.”

“Everything is gone.”  He hid his face in his hands.  “I stored photographs of my mum there.  Gone.  Anna’s things were in my house.  She will need those when she gets out of the hospital.  But they are all gone now!”

Once again his compassion for others was obvious, as it bled through the cracks in his anger.  “I’m so sorry Quinn.”

“No.  Do not speak.  It’s His fault, not yours.”  He pointed upward.

Then he shook his fists into the sky.  “What do you want from me?”

His anger startled me.  The temples beyond his darkening eyes were pulsing.  How could you blame him, really?  The last twenty four hours have been nothing short of a disaster.  However I had never envisioned his soft and happy nature resorting to these kinds of emotions.

He stepped towards me.  “What does He want from me?  What possible explanation can He offer for this?”

I have never had to stand in the gap for God before.  I felt unqualified to say the least.  I cannot answer Quinn's question of why.  I can only attest to the nature of God and the abundant love of Jesus.  However, I don’t think now is the time for that.

Quinn didn’t pause long enough for my answer anyway.  “He took my business and my house.”  He turned to the heavens again.  “What’s next?  My car?”

He closed the distance to the car in one single leap.  His fists came down on the hood with a fierce vengeance.  His feet kicked the tires.  “You can have it!  Take it all!  Take it!"  He collapsed on the hood of the black car with a thump.  "But you can’t have Anna!”  

Then it was quiet.  The sound felt deafening after the abrupt end to his tirade.  But I could hear his breathing.  It was laced with pain in each quick and laboured breath.  

How could I possibly show the love of a Saviour to this broken man?  As I stood on the opposite side of the car hood all I could do was pray for Quinn.  

In the last day since I’ve met him he has lost almost everything.  And he is right to fear what might come next.  Based on Anna’s condition today she can’t possibly have much time left.

Suddenly his head rose from the car.  “Come Cathie.”  It wasn’t an invitation.  His voice carried an edge.  Slowly I made my way to him.  My hope was to offer him comfort.  He needed to know he wasn’t alone.

As I edged around his car towards him his arm snaked out, grabbing my waist and pulling me in like a tractor beam.  His arms surrounding me were tight and secure.  He needed me.  So I wrapped my arms around his neck.  Suddenly his hands lifted me up under my arms and planted me onto the car hood.  His forehead rested firmly against mine.

An anguished whisper caressed my nose.  “Cathie, He is going to take you from me too.”

I moved his face back a few inches from mine.

“Quinn.  You are wrong about that.  God is not taking me from you.  I don’t live here, remember.  In six days I am flying home.  That’s all.”

His eyes were darker than usual and rimmed with moisture.  “It matters none.  You will be gone just like everything else I dare to care about.”

He pressed his lips hard to my forehead.  Then my cheek.  And my neck.  He continued to kiss me with a palpable desperation. 

I pressed him back.

“Please do not go.”  His adam’s apple bounced as a large lump travelled down his throat.  “Do not leave me Cathie.  I need you.”

Taking his face in my hands I searched his eyes.  “Quinn, listen to me.  I am here for you now.”

As my words took root he straightened his body, gained his composure and withdrew from me.  I suppose my words weren’t as comforting as I had planned them to be.

He slid me off the hood.   “Get in.”  Then he crawled into the driver’s seat. 

NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter nine, page three

Once we were settled in the car and on the road Quinn gingerly attempted a conversation.

“Did you like my sister a little?”

“Oh Quinn, I loved her.  Please do not think I left because of her.”

“Well, it is unanimous then.  She loved you too.  She made me promise if I found you that I would bring you back again before you fly home.”

“Oh.”  What would I say to her?  I was so rude to run out and she’ll want to know why.  That is something I cannot look forward to.  I just smiled sheepishly at Quinn hoping he would change the topic.

He bobbed his head back and forth.  “Or maybe not?  Let’s not focus on that now.  I need to get you back to your hotel for a rest.”

“I’m fine.  Really I am.”

“Uhhuh.”  His sarcastic response was nearly drowned out by the ring of his cell phone.

He scrambled in his back pocket for it.  “Allo.”

“Ay, oui.  Je suis Quinn.”

“Oh, bonjour Detective.  Je conduis dans la rue d'Ulm.”

“Ma maison?”

As soon as I heard the word ‘house’, my head shot to my left.  “It was your house?”  The image of the burning home came back to me.  I had forgotten all about it in my own personal turmoil.

Quinn looked at me as he listened to the cellphone at his ear.  Then he flicked on his signal light in a fury.

“Merci, Detective.  Je serai là.”  He closed his phone and tossed it onto the console between us.  Without a moment’s pause he whipped the car in a frantic u-turn and sped down the street in the opposite direction.

He remained speechless as we flew through the afternoon traffic. He took deep, slow audible breathes as my head hurt from trying to sort it all out.  There were no words that came to my mind that seemed appropriate.  Was that really his house, Lord?  What is happening?

Finally Quinn spoke as he darted in and out between the fellow drivers.  “Sorry Cherie, but we need to make a quick stop before I take you back.”

“That’s fine.  What did the detective say?”

“There seems to be a little trouble at my house.”

“A fire?”

He turned to look at me.  “Did you overhear the conversation or ...?”

“I saw it.”  I felt horrible almost as if I had caused the fire.  “I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you.  I didn’t know it was your house.”

“When did you see it?”

“In Anna’s room, while you were meeting with the doctors.”

“Is that why you ran out?”

“No.”  The guilt and shame mounted upon me like a heavy backpack.  Quinn stared straight ahead as he drove and I feared he would not be able to overlook this.  Perhaps he would not forgive me.  So I sat there, brewing in all the toxic emotions consuming me.

There was nothing said after that until we turned down a residential street lined with trees.  Ahead of us was several fire trucks parked perpendicular in the street blocking our access.  Quinn parked his car in the middle of the street and turned off the engine.  

He reached for the door handle but paused.  His face turned to me as he squeezed my trembling hands on my lap.  “Don’t worry Cherie.  From what the detective said on the phone I would have needed to know hours ago in order to do anything about it.”

I saw his worry or fear building in the corner of his eyes before he fled the vehicle.

Quinn walked briskly around the back end of a fire truck and out of my line of sight.  He hadn't invited me to join him so I stayed.  Somehow, I felt responsible for this new tragedy in his life.

  NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter nine, page two

My heart could not find its next beat.  My lungs were gasping for air more than Anna’s were.  My eyes felt swollen and the floor warped.  I was drowning somewhere between a vision of a burning house and my deceased husband.  The emotions raging in me were taking over my rational thought.  

I needed to get out of this room before I exploded.  I released Anna’s hand just as Quinn entered the room uttering something about two beautiful women in one room.  It didn’t matter.  My dream had transfigured into a nightmare and I wanted out.

I shoved past Quinn, through the door into the hallway.  Which way was the elevator?  To my left?  Thankfully I was correct and I did not have to wait for it to arrive.  I even managed to get the elevator doors closed before Quinn’s hand could snake its way in.  Once the doors closed me in, my eyes flooded with tears. 

"God, what are you doing to me?"  My head fell to the metal panel in front of me.  "Can it be true that Mitch and Quinn were childhood friends?"  Then my feet began to kick the elevator walls.  "I want out God!  You never asked me if I wanted to do this.  Let me out of this nightmare!  Please.  I’m done."

I heard the ding of the elevator and desperately tried to wipe my face.  Deciding it didn’t matter, I bolted through the doors as soon as there was enough room to squeeze through. I nearly ran over a woman with a walker, but I kept going.  In the lobby by the main doors was a phone.  I scrambled for some coins in my pockets and grabbed the receiver.  The operator came on speaking in French. 

“I need ... un taxi.  Je m’appelle Cathie.”

She needed more information asking me for the address of where I was.

The desperation I felt drove me to bend over still trying to access more air.  My free hand supported my shaking body over my knee.  “Je n’est ce pas l’addresse.  I am at, um ... l’hopital.”

Then she asked which hospital.  That question forced me to straighten up and begin searching for a sign.  My stance was wobbly and my eyes seemed unable to focus.   I probed the walls in front of me as best as I could.  Looking then to my left still with no luck.  “Which hospital?  I don’t know where I am.”  I said.

In a panic I swung to my right hoping to find a sign naming the hospital near the elevators.  Instead the only thing in my view was a worrisome Quinn.  I froze.

He slowly reached out for the phone handle.

I couldn’t escape.  He caught me.  My thoughts were so mixed up I could not tell if I was disappointed or relieved that he was here.  I reluctantly handed the phone to him, hearing the woman calling out for an answer.

“Les portes principales à l'Institut Curie, s'il vous plait.”  Then in a moment he responded to the woman on the other line with ‘merci’.  With a deep slow breath he reached over my shoulder to hang up the phone.

As the scent of his cologne came over me I melted.  What am I doing?

He responded to me collapsing against his chest by holding me tight.  I needed his strong arms as my knees were weak.  I sobbed into his shirt.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry Quinn.”

He stroked my hair and just held me so close.

After a few moments I was able to slow the torrent and gain my composure.  I pressed my hands against his chest to separate our bodies.  “I’m sorry.”

“Please do not apologize, Cherie.”  He gently wiped away a stray tear from my cheek, while he kept his other hand on my waist.  “What happened in there?”

If I thought telling him my husband died was too hard, surely telling him his best friend died would rank slightly higher.  “Nothing.”

“Really?  The kind of ‘nothing’ that would cause one to run for cover?”

He made me smile.  “Yah, I guess so.”

He tipped my chin up to see into my drippy eyes.  “Cherie, if you want to go somewhere I will take you.  Please don’t run from me.”

I don’t want to.  I grabbed the flanks of his shirt and squeezed them.  The thick weave of his cotton shirt warmed my trembling hands.  His voice soothed my frayed nerves.  His touch made me feel special.  His attention made me want to stay.  “I don’t want to run from you.”

He pulled me close again while he reached out for the phone.  He called and cancelled the taxi and then confidently led me out the front doors.  “Are you able to walk back to the car?”

“Of course, I can walk.  I am fine, actually.  You don’t need to fuss over me.”

“It would be my pleasure to fuss over you.  I propose driving you back to your hotel, feeding you and putting you down for a rest.  You are taking this all too seriously.”

I’m begging you Lord, for another way to process this.  It feels far too serious.  

Then with his arm around my waist, holding me close, we walked the few blocks back to the car without much said.  All I could do was silently pray for God to bring a reprieve from all the drama.

NEXT PAGE is here.

chapter nine, page one

When we entered the hospital room, Anna was asleep.  The room was decorated in a soft and warm shade of peach.  It felt uplifting, instead of sterile for a change.  Anna had flowers and cards along a sunny window sill.  Across the foot of her hospital style bed laid a hand knit yellow blanket.  It shone as bright as the afternoon sun.

Quinn headed straight for her bed without hesitation.

“She’s resting, Quinn.  We can come back later.”  I whispered.

“Non.  She is always sleeping.”  He bent over her and softly spoke into her ear.  “Bonjour, Cherie.  It's Quinn.”

It tickled my heart that he called her 'Cherie' as well.  It confirmed that I held a special place in his heart.  That is unless he says it to every woman he sees.  Where’s a cute nurse when you need one?

Slowly Anna started to wake and turn her head towards us.  Her eyes took a long time to open fully, attempting to adjust to the light.  I moved to close the blinds, but Quinn captured my hand in his.  He encouraged Anna to open her eyes further to be introduced to me.

“Anna, there is someone special I want you to meet.”

Anna tried again to stretch open her eyelids to take in the two of us at her bedside.  When her eyes rested on me, her expression became exaggerated.  

“She`s here.”  She said.

Quinn spun his head to his left where I stood.  “She knows you too?  Am I the only one who did not swallow the red pill?”

I shrugged my shoulders, shocked at her comment myself.

Anna’s hand moved slowly to Quinn’s wrist.  “She is from my dreams.  She is an angel, Quinn.”

Should that comment make me feel better?  It actually only threw a whole new spin of confusion on our relationship.  Quinn just transferred his glance from me to Anna and then back again.

Then, in the doorway of the hospital room appeared a man in a long lab coat.  He addressed Quinn in French asking for his attention to some paperwork.  Quinn excused himself quickly, leaving Anna and I alone in her room.  For a moment, I wished I could have gone with him.  Then Anna spoke to me, relieving my fears.

“I prayed that God would send you into Quinn’s life.  I am so glad you came before my time here is done.”

“You prayed for me?”  Something felt very backwards about that.

“Yes.  I know my time is short and the only unfinished business in my life is Quinn’s salvation.”  She closed her eyes and gasped for a deeper breath.  Her face was dusted in a pale shade.  When her eyes opened they danced lively in that butterscotch colour I have grown to love.  The vibrancy was short lived, as the dark circles encasing her eyes soon drown it out.  

“I love my brother but he can be very stubborn you know.”

A slight chuckle was all I could muster.

Her breathing was so shallow, it unnerved me.  Working in a senior’s home I am familiar with the signs of a life that is ending.  In my case, all the people I have watched die are seniors that have lived a full life.  Now my eyes are moist at the sight of a young and once vital woman in her twenties, grasping for air.

“Tell me your name, Angel?”

I cringed at her reference for me.  “Cathie.”

“Where are you from Cathie?”  She reached for my hand.

“Canada.”  I shifted my position shortening the distance between us.  Her hand filled mine with a cold and bony touch.  “Well, A small town near Montréal to be exact.”  I added with nervous chatter.

“God is so good.”  She closed her eyes and a deep satisfied smile covered her pale lips.  “Cathie, will you do me a favour?”

“Yes.  Anything you need.”

Her lungs reached for more air.  “Promise me you will take Quinn back to Canada with you when I am gone.”

“Oh, I am only here for a week.”

“Me too.”  She said without the tiniest hint of sorrow.  Her voice carried confidence as if she was heading home in a few days just like me.

Her peace was intoxicating.  Lord I want to know Your hand on my life as much as she does.  I squeezed her hand.  “Anna, I cannot promise that he will come with me, but I will ask him.”

“Thank you”, she whispered.

“Can I ask you why?”

“There are two people important in his life that he needs to reconnect with.  They both reside in Canada.  First is a dear, dear friend from his childhood that moved to Canada when Quinn was thirteen.”  She wheezed for air again.  “He has talked incessantly about finding him.  However the fool has never had the courage to search for him.”

“When did they lose touch?”

“Very shortly after he moved away.  I think Quinn's letters started to be returned only months after?”

“Like I said, I will try.”

Anna’s weak hand feebly squeezed mine.  “He needs to find him to heal fully from his past.  Please do what you can to help him.”

“I will try.  Quinn has never mentioned his friend to me.”  Yet.  I hoped that he would confide something like this to me.  It would show a marker of his trust.  Considering all of the details I mysteriously know of his life now, I lacked a few key milestones from his past.  I guess the same could be said for me.  My greatest life marker so far still remained an unmentionable between us.

Anna's eyes closed and her head tilted back.  I gasped for my own breath as I feared she was fading.  After a very long minute, she spoke quietly.  ““What was his name?  It seems to have escaped me.  But Quinn will know.  Ask him.”

“Okay.  Who is the second person in Canada?”  Just as the words left my mouth a vision of a fire consumed my thoughts.  It was a raging inferno, blurring most of the image behind it.  Squinting my eyes tighter I could almost make out the image of a window and a door behind the flames.  If only I could see around the fire.  Then I might have an indication of where the fire was.

Then Anna’s voice broke through in a jubilant but frail announcement.  “Mitchell.  His name is Mitchell Bellamy.  I can’t believe I remembered his name.  Praise God.”  She closed her eyes and whispered another thank you to God.  I think she continued to talk but there was no longer any comprehension on my part.

NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter eight, page three

Quinn steered his vehicle into a parking lot on his left and I realized I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going anymore.

The parking lot was large and very few open stalls.  Across the street towered a large building with old style character.  The sign out front was carved out of stone and etched the hotel name in fancy script.  A long cobblestone driveway graced the front of the beautifully crafted building.

“Um, Quinn?  We left one hotel just to visit another?”

“Non, Cherie.  We are only using this parking lot.  We still need to walk a little ways to our destination.  Are you alright with that?”  He parked the car in an open space and turned to face me.  “The parking is poor in this part of town.  This is the best place to leave the car. Ready?”

“Sure.  Although I don’t know where we are going.”

“I know.  Isn’t this fun?”  Quinn whipped around and out his car door.  So I followed his example.

As we started to walk, he reached for my hand.  “D’accord?”

“Yes.”  Sensing the warmth and tenderness of his hand enveloping mine felt perfect.

“Tell me something, Cherie.”

I nodded.

“Why does God always tell you what you should do next?”

“He doesn’t normally do that.”

“But He did.”  Quinn said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why did He do that then?”

I shrugged, offering my best guess.  “Because He can.”

“But He doesn’t usually?”

“No.”

"So how do you usually know what you should do next?"

"Sometimes you have to just try several different options.  Most of the time you will feel peace about one way and not another."

"But you have to fumble about with it?"

I half laughed.  "It does feel like that sometimes."

“And you still call him a loving God?”

Suddenly I felt crowded.  Casually, I managed to talk myself into a corner.  The walls of my doctrine started closing in around me.  How do I begin to answer his doubts?  “Yes, He is loving.  He guides us through things in many different ways but usually He is not as obvious as He has been lately.”

“So let me see if I get this.  God has a plan for you but He wants you to grope around for it?  But every once in awhile he shakes things up by throwing in a few visions?”

“No.  Not exactly.  God can speak to our hearts and direct us through our conscience.  But mostly believers use the Bible to judge what step is next.”

Even saying that felt weak.  I know what I believe about God; He is always there and He will never leave me or forsake me.  Yet, there are so many times in my life when I feel like I do have to guess what God wants from me.  Many people I know say they wish God would just speak out loud to them or leave a big flashing sign for them.  Or even send a vision of which step is next.  Either way this is one of the mysteries of God.  Why doesn’t He do those things?

“The best answer I can come up with, Quinn is that He wants our devotion.  He wants us to want to follow Him.  So instead of leading us through direct methods, He prefers that we seek Him personally.  It is like a friendship.  You don't sit down with someone you want to befriend and write out all their likes and dislikes.  Instead you discover truths about each other by spending time together and talking from your hearts.”  I watched Quinn for a moment as we walked hand in hand down the sidewalk.  He seemed unmoved.

“It is the concept of free-will.”  I continued.  “If everything was laid out for us we would be like robots moving along a pre-determined plan.  God doesn’t love robots.  He loves people.  So He has given us all the chance to choose to follow Him.  Does that make sense?”

“As clear as muddy water."

"Well, I don't know.  Then what would make it clearer?"

"Could you explain it with an example?”

“Do you mean an example of how He directs me?”

“Yes.  Tell me of one of the hardest things you’ve had to sort out lately and tell me how He helped you.”

I am certain the sidewalk tilted and the buildings warped at that moment.  Everything shifted in my head giving the sensation I was falling.  All I could think of was the deep dark pit I had spent months and years in after Mitch’s death.

Surely that experience would qualify for an example of the hardest thing I've had to sort out lately.  Only, it wouldn't suffice in explaining feeling God's help and guidance.  After Mitch's death I felt lost.  I still do really.  Time often stood still while I tried to figure out which foot to move.  Then once I had the foot patterns worked out it seemed a mystery which direction to head.

Naturally, I am not a fighter, so I decided it was easier to just stay home.  I could usually manage to find my way around my own floor plan no matter what condition I was in.  Besides, if there were days when I couldn't  - nobody saw me.

I remember, long after Mitch's passing, kind-hearted people would tell me I should feel blessed that God has given me a trial that He can use.  ‘Just think of how you can help others now’, they’d say. They tried to help me see a way to use the pain.  Only I didn't really want to help others deal with their grief.  I had enough of my own to handle.

In fact, how can I be qualified to help Quinn see that God leads us through our trials and our pains when I have felt lost inside a torrent of sorrow for three years?  If God did lead me through it, I was blinded to His hand.

My silence after his question must have made Quinn feel uncomfortable.  “I am sorry Cathie, if I have upset you.  You do not need to tell me anything.”  He squeezed my hand.

“It’s okay.  I just wish I had a better answer for you.  All I know is what I believe to be true about God.  He loves me and He has a plan for my life.  It is not His plan to hurt me or cause me pain.  However life is painful.  Life is just naturally filled with yucky things.”  I stopped walking momentarily and turned Quinn to see his expression.  “I would have pain in my life even if I didn’t have God.”

Slowly his head nodded.  “I see what you mean.  It is always nicer to have someone to help you shoulder your burdens though, isn’t it?”

Then Quinn steered me off the sidewalk up a few steps to a building with endless windows.  We entered the front doors briskly and straight through the lobby.  When we reached the elevator, Quinn turned to me.

“I want you to meet Anna.”

I had an inkling that was where we were headed when we entered the building.  There were folks walking in every different direction.  Some dressed in scrubs and lab coats, while others looked like patients.

The elevator door opened before I could answer him.  Once inside I asked, “are you sure she won’t mind?”

“Anna?  Not a chance.  She loves people.”  He turned to select the third floor button.  “Besides I have a strange feeling that she is going to adore you.”  He squeezed my hand.  The sensation ran the length of my arm right into my heart.

NEXT PAGE is here.

Chapter eight, page two

We stood staring at each other in the elevator.  Obviously in my haste to close the doors on Quinn I had neglected to push the floor button.  So there we stayed, watching intently the tension melt away between us.

Then in a flash, Quinn extended his hand to me as if in a handshake.  Shielding the disappointment I felt over his choice of reconciliation I joined my hand with his.  Only he didn’t shake it.  He tipped my hand over and kissed it.  Then in a whirl, he turned me on my feet in a sway of rhythmic movement and somehow my hand ended up draped over his opposite arm again.  It was so fluid and precise I had no idea it happened until it was done.  He clicked the ‘ouvrir’ button and escorted me out of the elevator.  I was floating on a cloud.  It felt like I was walking off the stage in a Humphrey Bogart movie.

 “And your sister said you cannot dance.”  He said with a wink.

“I can’t.”  I added softly.

“So, Cherie, may I take you somewhere special this afternoon?”

“I- uh ...”

Quinn paused and faced me.  “Unless your quick departure to the elevator was a in fact an attempt to return to your room and not just a decoy to avoid facing me.” 

I am sure I blushed red again.  “Hmm, busted.  Sorry Quinn.  I would love to go somewhere special with you.”

He smiled big and bright.

As we drove through the streets of Paris, I couldn’t help soaking all the sights in.

“It sure is beautiful here.”  I said to the window that my nose was nearly pressed to.

“So what attractions and sights have you seen already?”  Quinn asked.

I thought for a moment.  “I’ve seen the airport, the hotel, a pub and a broken down bakery.”  I offered my best sympathetic smile.

“That’s it?”  Quinn reached over and touched my hand on my lap.  “Well, I intend to add to your list then.  I may even improve upon it.”

As his hand gently caressed mine I felt the desire to fill in some of his hurting places.  To offer him a balm that could heal his pain.  Although I did not know what it was, aside from Anna’s condition, he certainly alluded to a hidden reservoir of pain when he spoke of his Father.  It is not uncommon for people whose earthly father failed them to find it extremely difficult to love a heavenly Father.

“You know Quinn, we cannot know what God has willed and planned for our lives.  Or the lives of the people we love most.  But, ...”.

I paused.  How could I offer hope?  I wanted to more than anything else, but I lacked my own.  God had been silent in my life for years since Mitch’s passing.  I tried questioning Him.  I tried worshipping Him.  I even tried ignoring Him.  There was no response.  I don't believe God was ever really gone – just silent. 

“But, what?”  Quinn asked.

“But ... someone used to tell me something over and over again when I felt hopeless or confused about what God wanted to do in my life.  He would say,” I took a deep breath before reciting Mitch’s words.  “Nothing is impossible with God.”

We were stopped at a red light at the moment and I could feel Quinn’s prolonged gaze.  His eyes penetrated through my wall.  For the first time since I’d known him I wanted to hide from his eyes.  He could see through me and there were places inside me that I wasn’t ready to share with him.

His fingers glided effortlessly over my left hand.  He caressed my fingers one by one from knuckle to nail. When he reached my ring finger I could feel the unspoken question emerging beneath his touch.  Why is this finger bare?  Surely there is a man that loves this woman?

Now I know I am not a spinster yet.  However I am not a young vibrant woman facing a future that is bright either.  I am trapped somewhere between those two entities.  I’ve had my moment in the spotlight and I often wonder what happens now to a thirty-two year old widow that is childless?

Finally the scrutiny of his touch became unbearable and I pulled my hand away.

The light turned green and the car lurched forward.  Quinn spoke softly above the hum of the motor.  “Those are powerful words.  They must have come from someone you cared about.”

I could jump from the moving car I suppose.  I would likely be hurt but I would invariably survive.  But would I survive the pain of saying the words out loud?  My husband is dead.  No, I am not ready yet.

It is not a secret.  In fact I longed that Quinn knew already because then we could talk about it.  There is just something so gruelling about saying those four words out loud.  So I nodded my head instead.  Thankfully Quinn left the conversation there, hanging in the precipice between his seat and mine.

NEXT PAGE is here.