Kept (46 page)

“He doesn’t care, Miska! All he wants is to be with you, to help you through it. And in case you missed it, Dillan was the guy who saved you from Mark. He’s part of this now, whether you want it or not.”

“I can’t involve him further. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Tracy flopped against the couch’s back. “I don’t get it. I really don’t. If he’s too good for you, then how come I’m not too good for you?”

“That’s different. You’re my friend.”

“Maybe you don’t know this, Miska, but love—marriage—is supposed to be a friendship. It’s like dark chocolate, a favorite sweatshirt, a day at the beach, and a good workout all mashed together.”

Miska couldn’t hide a smile. “Look, I appreciate you coming over. I’m sorry I’ve kept you away. I won’t anymore.”

“And Dillan?”

Miska sighed. “Tracy—”

“Right. You’re not good enough. Got it.” She slapped her palms against the leather cushions. “Hey, what part of the Bible have you been reading?”

The sudden change threw her. “Uh, Matthew. And John.”

Tracy nodded.

“Why?”

“Just wondering how much of the Old Testament you know.”

“Old Testament?”

“That answers that. It’s the part of the Bible written before Jesus’s birth.”

“Haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Hmm.” Tracy pondered her coffee table.

“Okay. What?”

“You ever hear of Rahab? Tamar?”

Who hadn’t heard of Rahab? “Who’s Tamar?”

“She was a woman who pretended to be a prostitute in order to have children. You know what’s interesting about them? They’re ancestors of Jesus.”

Okay. That mattered how?

“You know who Bathsheba is?”

“No.”

“One of King David’s wives. He had several. But this one he had sex with while she was married to another man. And when he found out she was pregnant, he had her husband killed so he could hide what they’d done. They’re both ancestors of Jesus.”

King David—she’d heard about him. What was it someone had said a couple weeks ago at small group? Something about God being close to David? How was that possible when he’d had an affair with a married woman and killed her husband?

“If God chose them to be in the line of Jesus, then you can’t say you’re less than what Dillan, a mere mortal, deserves. Can you?”

Prostitutes, adulterers, and murderers in Jesus’s line? God allowed that?

“But that’s not the issue, is it?”

Miska stared at this friend who was far too perceptive. “What do you mean?”

“You’re afraid Dillan will leave you too. Like your dad. Your brothers. Mark. Kendall. Every other man you’ve known. Now that you’ve met an amazing guy, you’re afraid you won’t be enough for him.”

The words sliced through her.

“You’re not protecting him. You’re protecting you.”

“What if I am, Tracy? Can you blame me?”

Tracy’s smile bled sympathy. “No. But you’re comparing apples and… well, rotten apples. You’ve never dated a man like Dillan. He doesn’t play around. I’ve known him three years, and in all that time he dated one girl twice. Honey, he doesn’t toy with people.”

“But he’s never dated someone like me, someone with a past.”

“The awesome thing about the word
past
is that it means it’s behind you. It’s not around any longer. Ever thought about that?”

“My past isn’t staying behind me. Dillan doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

“I think he does. He’s a pastor, girl. He deals with people. Chicago people, not angels.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Jordan says Dillan’s crazy about you. She thinks you’re the one.”

“Stop it.”

“Yep, she brought it up, in fact. She’s wondered ever since Memorial Day. You weren’t a Christian then, so she kept quiet. But she told me last Wednesday—after you shared that past we should all be so terrified of—that she thought Dillan had found the woman for him. You.”

That couldn’t be. “Why would she say that?”

“Because he’s never looked at another woman the way he looks at you. He’s never talked about a woman the way he talks about you. I can see it. Jordan can see it. I hear even Garrett sees it.” Tracy snagged her hand. “Quit trying to shove him onto another woman who’ll never love him like you do. Take a risk, Miska—and if something happens and he hurts you, well, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Wow. Step out on a limb.”

Tracy grinned. “Fine. You can double my rent.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on. He’s the third best thing that’s ever happened to you. Don’t push him away just because you’re scared.”

She wasn’t scared; she was petrified. “Wait, third best?”

“God. Me. Then Dillan.”

“At least you come after God.”

“Good to see you smiling again.” Tracy pulled Miska to her feet and hugged her. “Now that my work here is done, I need to go. Some of us have jobs tomorrow morning. Are we looking at houses this weekend?”

Miska followed her. “Probably. I’ll send you any links Ian sends me.”

“Good. Please talk to Dillan.”

She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for that. “We’ll see.”

“I love you, Miska. You know that, right? I just want the best for you.”

Like she wanted the best for Dillan. And security for herself.

Tracy opened the door. “You know what? You need to read the book of Ruth in the Old Testament. It’s a short one. You’d like it.”

“I’ve never heard of Ruth.”

“Didn’t think so.” Tracy stepped into the hall. “She was from a country that practiced human sacrifice, a country that clearly didn’t know God. But God loved her anyway. A lot. Read it. Tell me what you think.”

Somehow the story would take her back to Dillan.

She knew it.

For the rest of the week, she thought about reading Ruth.

Thought about it when Dillan knocked on her door Thursday and Friday and then when he didn’t Saturday.

Thought about it when she came late to Sunday’s service and Dillan stood up front, leading the music. He almost froze, his arm up in the air.

Miska sat in the back row and buried herself in the song’s words, but every time she glanced up, his eyes were locked onto her.

She wasn’t ready for him. She couldn’t do this.

She left before the song ended.

Dillan knocked on her door around one.

Miska didn’t answer.

Ian called on Monday to say that two offers were coming in. They’d priced the home aggressively to drive people to it, and the plan had worked.

On Tuesday, the Chicago-based publisher asked for an interview. Hope rose in her throat, but Miska shoved it down. She scheduled it for that afternoon, and, in their offices ten minutes north, the woman looked at her funny as they shook hands, probably wondering why she recognized her. The interview went well, but when it was over, Miska told her about Mark, that she was a new Christian committed to living the way God wanted, not the way she had been.

The woman’s face shuttered.

Miska left, knowing she’d never hear from them.

Ian called with the two offers. They countered both, and the next days were spent negotiating. Miska and Tracy filled Saturday with house hunting and found a home fifteen minutes from church, ten minutes from Tracy’s work, and smack dab in the middle of Miska’s uncertain future. She signed the contract, and Ian called later with the news that the all-cash offer on her condo would close by the end of August.

She released a deep breath. Things were starting to even out. Finally.

On Sunday she went back to church. On time. Friends greeted her as if she’d been gone forever. People she didn’t know told her they’d be praying for her.

Dillan stayed on the other side of the auditorium, nodding once when they locked eyes.

How she missed him.

Ian called that afternoon. She had the house she wanted with closing scheduled the same day as the condo’s closing.

Now if she could only find a job.

The phone call came Wednesday morning while she emptied her walls. The publisher she’d interviewed with asked for a second interview.

Hope surged through her wounds.

During the interview, they talked about their fiction, asked if she’d read any of their titles.

She’d read six of their latest releases.

Of course they wanted her thoughts.

She took a deep breath, told them what she loved about her favorite, talked about the others that she’d enjoyed, and shared as kindly as possible why she wasn’t fond of one of them.

They nodded with her.

They liked her skills, they said. Her New York references were good. But they wanted to know more about this change in her life. Could they talk about that?

She was in the news. Of course they had to be careful.

Miska set caution and security aside and kept nothing back.

Home again, she found herself wandering, fingering her Viking stove and lingering by the living room windows. Her words from the interview haunted her—her relationship with Mark, Tracy’s determination to show her the truth, her realization that she’d lived her first thirty years completely wrong.

How could this publisher look past her oh-so-public sins? How could anyone? How could God?

Really, how could he?

Buckingham Fountain’s jet climbed into the sky.

The more she read the Bible, the more it seemed like she’d broken every rule there was. How could God see past that?

“God, please.”

Her words startled her. Silence had reigned in her home for so long; she couldn’t voice her truest thoughts. Not anymore.

Please
, she tried again.
Don’t let me go. You’re all I have. Everything else—everyone else is gone.

She mashed her lips together, then forced herself to speak. “I need this job. I don’t deserve it—I know I don’t deserve anything from you. Not forgiveness. Not a second chance.” Hurt chased dampness down her cheeks. “Not love—yours or… anyone else’s.”

Dillan’s face swam before her.

If this was as good as life got, she’d be content with it. God had saved her, that much she knew. She might not ever be good enough for him or any man to love, but that was okay. Because more than anything, she couldn’t go back to the life she’d once lived. Never. All the security and money in the world couldn’t keep her anymore.

The week passed, then another. She packed until boxes stacked the walls of the smallest bedroom. She was down to paper plates, Solo cups, and a deep skillet.

Tracy called her each night, giddy with excitement. This move couldn’t happen soon enough.

On Wednesday—the second-to-last day in August—her phone rang.

Miska set down the skillet she’d been scrubbing and dried her hands as she checked the caller.

The publishing house.

Adrenaline shot through her, burning her stomach. She dried her hands and picked up the phone. Stared at it, then answered.

“Miska, this is Connie Gilbert in HR. How are you?”

She moistened her lips. “I’m well. You?”

Connie chuckled. “Wishing I could take my office outside today. Can you believe it’s August?”

Really? She was making small talk? “Hard to believe.”

“We’re all going to fry tomorrow, they say. I already told my husband we’re having a picnic tonight.”

Miska closed her eyes.
God, make her just say it.

“Anyway, listen. Nancy Thompson let me know an hour ago that they’d made their choice for the editing position.”

So it wasn’t her.

“She wanted me to apologize for taking so long to get back to you, but—”

The true depth of unacknowledged hope squashed her. Had she really thought they’d look past everything and hire her? She’d known better than that.

“—and then after surgery it got infected and… anyway, she’s missed a lot of work. So that’s why it’s taken so long.”

Surgery? “I’m sorry—what happened?”

“Nancy broke her leg. Had surgery to put a screw in it. You should hear the jokes around here. Like I said, the job is yours if you’d like it.”

“Mine?”

“Absolutely. You can take some time if you need to, but we’d like to know by the end of the week.”

The job was hers? She caught her breath. “I accept.”

Connie laughed. “Nancy will be thrilled. She wanted to call you herself, but she knew you’d understand how buried an editor gets when she misses six days of work. I’ll let her know you accepted, and she’ll be in touch when she gets a moment. Is that okay?”

She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “That’s fine.”

“Great. Does Tuesday work as a start date?”

“Tuesday’s good.”

“Wonderful.” Connie spent another minute detailing information Miska needed, then ended the call.

Miska grabbed her desk chair and sank onto it.

Was this real? She stared at the phone shaking in her hand. Did she truly have a job editing Christian books? She broke into tears, deep, loud sobs that echoed off her bare walls. How could this be?

“Oh, God—” She couldn’t finish the prayer, but the
thank you
rang deep within her. She buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow.

God loved her after all. He hadn’t just saved her. He loved her. She mattered—and now he’d taken care of her. All that worry, all that fear—for nothing.

She caught herself smiling through the tears. Only God could take the mess she’d created and turn it into something perfect. As long as she lived, she’d never forget this… this miracle. This gift. This love.

She dried her face and blew her nose. From the corner of her desk, her Bible called to her. She flipped through the Psalms she’d discovered after Tracy had mentioned David and Bathsheba. Since that frank conversation, she’d spent every day reading Psalms and stories Tracy had mentioned, but she’d ignored that book Ruth, unsure what Tracy was up to. She searched the table of contents and found it.

Short, like Tracy had said.

She read about Ruth leaving everything she knew for Naomi and a foreign land. How Miska identified with that. She searched online to fill in the gaps Dillan probably knew backwards and forwards—who Ruth’s Moabites were, their history with Israel, the gods they worshiped.