Authors: Brenda Minton
Unfortunately, he could think of nothing other than giving her his card. Considering how she had warmed up to Ruthie, he jotted her name, the name of the shop and her phone number in case Mrs. Kagawa felt more comfortable calling her if she changed her mind.
He handed her the card and asked her to call either of them if she thought of anything else her aunt would rather have for her birthday.
“Thank you,” the woman said, and accepted the card with a slight bow. Something told him it might go into the trash before he and Ruthie even made it back to the car. “I hope your
obaasan
is better soon.”
The door closed with a final click, and the dog's frenzied yapping quieted almost immediately. As they turned to descend the porch steps, he offered his elbow to Ruthie. She curled her fingers around the crook of his arm and he gave them a gentle squeeze. Together they would think of something.
They had to.
Even after they reached the sidewalk, Ruthie clung to his arm. Grateful for his chivalry, she let him walk her to the passenger side of the car and open the door for her. The frustration of having come so close to regaining the precious doll only to have their very generous offers politely refused chipped away at the composure she'd been fighting to hold on to ever since Gray had shown up in her life again a little over a week ago. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back as she settled onto the leather seat.
Gray got in and put the key in the ignition, then looked at her and dropped his hand without turning it. “Are you all right?”
He was so sweet. So caring and understanding. And that was her undoing. His low-voiced concern brought to mind the night he had shown her his orders to deploy to Afghanistan. He had been more worried about her reaction than about the risky situation he was about to enter.
“I'll be okay,” she said, her voice choking on the words. “It's Sobo who's sick and vulnerable and missing a piece of her past. There's nothing I can do. Nothing else either of us can do. It just makes me so...” She lifted a hand to brush away the tears that threatened to roll down her cheek. Her fingers shook. “So angry. But what makes me even angrier is that there's no one to be angry with. Mrs. Kagawa bought the doll fair and square, and she has every right to refuse our offers to buy it back.”
She drew in a breath and let it out on a shaky sigh.
“I don't blame her,” she continued. “It's a beautiful doll, in excellent condition. I'd want to keep it, too.”
Gray reached over and grasped her hand, bridging the distance between them. “There's still time before the party next weekend. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow and give her a picture of Sobo, like you suggested.”
She wanted to hold on to hope that her customer's mind could be so easily changed after having turned down all their other offers. But reality whispered that they'd done all they could. That the doll was forever lost to them. Lost to Sobo.
“It's no use,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “We'll have to tell Sobo that I sold her only remaining childhood keepsake. She's going to be devastated.”
She sniffled, and the last word wobbled crazily off her tongue.
“Hey, come on,” Gray murmured. “Stop beating yourself up.” He let go of her hand, scooted closer and draped his arm around her shoulder. He gave her a warm squeeze and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “What happened to that mustard grain of faith you always carry around inside you? Aren't you the person who always says you can do anything through God, who strengthens you?”
She didn't know whether it was the warm tone of his voice, the familiar comfort of his arms around her or the fact that despite his own shaken faith he was reminding her of scriptural promises, but whatever it was, it tipped her over from being merely upset to totally losing it.
The tears she'd been holding back burst forth and drenched his suit jacket. Ruthie hated that she was ruining his clothesâshe was embarrassed to have him witness her crying. As a fair-skinned redhead, she always developed ugly red splotches when she cried, and she was sure today was no exception.
Gray retrieved a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. When she was done wiping away the tears, he finished the job by rubbing his thumb gently under her eye.
Great. Not only was she red and splotchy, now she had mascara all over her face. Strangely, his expression reflected none of her disgust. Instead, his eyes were filled with compassion and...love?
Six months after she had moved in with the Bristows, her mother's birthday had crept up on the calendar and clobbered her all over again with the permanence of her loss. Sobo and Pop had been wonderful to her, treating her the same as their own blood-related grandchildren, so she'd done all she could to hide her sadness from them. She'd thought she had done a pretty good job of hiding it from the extended family as well, but Gray had noticed.
He had cornered her in the kitchen, away from the others, and insisted she tell him what was wrong. He had stroked her face, just as he did now, and told her she wasn't stupid for grieving the mother who'd been so good to her. Nor was she being ungrateful to his grandparents for wishing her mother was still alive. That night, he'd stuck around for dinner, and afterward dessert had mysteriously appeared on the table. A cake flamed with candles, and the scripted icing spelled out her mother's name. Instead of singing the “Happy Birthday” song, they'd all sung, “Love and gratitude to you!” Sobo had added that she and Pop were grateful Ellen had done such a fine job raising their new honorary granddaughter and that they were grateful to offer the finishing touches. And to lighten the mood, Gray had said he was grateful Sobo had a new apple-canning apprentice so he wouldn't have to help out anymore.
His kind words and gentle manner had comforted her then, as they did now. An awareness between them had begun that dayâshe remembered it on her mother's birthday every yearâand now it hung between them, just as thick and warm and sweet as it had been back then.
Gray pulled her closer, and the midday shadow that bristled his jaw lightly scraped against her skin. She felt his soft breath tease a tendril of hair and wished they could stay like this forever. Holding each other, forgetting about what had pushed them apart and just
being
in each other's company.
A moment later, when he lowered his head to kiss away her sadness, she wished they could stay like
this
forever. She returned the kiss, and a flutter of shyness swept over her, just as if this were their first time. It was a chaste kiss, but he took his time, for which she was glad. And when he slowly drew away, she knew that nothing about their feelings for each other had changed. If anything, they'd grown stronger.
The sentiment that flooded her emotions reflected back to her in Gray's eyes. It was too late now to go their separate ways. They were older and wiser and knew their hearts better now. And she could see his acknowledgment as clearly as she felt it in her own heart. From the day she'd first met him, she had felt something persistently drawing them to each other. His eyes, gazing down at her now, could not lie.
Ruthie was elated by the kiss. By the knowledge that he was affected by it...affected by her. By the clarity that, despite that letter he'd written to her, he still wanted her.
On the other hand, Gray still seemed troubled. As if he was torn between kissing her again and bolting from the car.
She squeezed his arm. “You felt it, too. Didn't you?”
He shook his head. Not “No, I didn't feel it,” but “No, I don't want to go there.”
In his letter he had said he didn't want her to yoke herself to him, an unbeliever. But as Pastor John sometimes said, God can let someone “know with a knowing,” and she knew with that kind of certainty that Gray still loved her and that he still believed. Deep down. So deep, perhaps, that he had thought it was gone from him.
His faith had been shaken by something...something she trusted he would share with her soon. But in the Bible, Peter had doubted, too. Jesus had beckoned him to walk on the water, and Peter had noticed the wind and waves. As when Peter focused on the storm around him and began to sink, that was how Gray began to founder.
It was a risk to ask Gray the next question...a risk of scaring him away or of setting herself up to be hurt again. But it was a risk she had to take. Pop had always said, “The best things in life don't come easy.” She would always regret it if she let the most wonderful man she'd ever met continue to slip even further away because of something that had happened four years ago. Something that, if he would only open up to her, they might be able to work through. Gray was a good man, and she believed with time, patience and lots of prayer, he would soon return to the God he used to love. And she was willing to stand by him while he traveled the circuitous road back to faith.
“Do you suppose,” she ventured, “we could give us another try?”
Chapter Nine
G
ray tensed, knowing what she wanted from him. She wanted the full package. A man to love her and adore her and start a family together, all of which he was more than willing to do. But she also wanted him to love God, as she did. To say grace before meals, go to church on Sundays and be faithful to the God who had turned His back on him during his time of greatest need. Those were the deal breakers.
He wasn't ready. Recalling the song he'd heard at church the other night, which still resonated in his head with annoying clarity every time he was alone and quiet, he wanted to answer an unqualified yes. He wanted to
come home
to Ruthie. But he wasn't ready for God. Not yet.
Maybe never.
As much as he wanted God out of his life, he wanted Ruthie in. She watched him, waiting for the answer he wanted to give her but couldn't. Sitting near her like this, their faces so close he could smell the hint of cucumber-and-melon fragrance she loved so much, he fought the crazy urge to count her freckles. Fought to keep from taking her into his arms again and kissing her as if they could somehow, crazily, make up for the years apart.
But even if they could work out the differences in their faith, could they work out the differences that had arisen as a result of his service in Afghanistan?
It had been hard to come home to a “normal” life. Sleep might be replenishing for others, but for him it was a time to relive the unresolved memories of his time overseas. For Ruthie, witnessing a minor fender-bender accident in front of her shop might elicit a prayer and compassionate there-theres. But for him, such sights stirred up nightmares of the elderly man who'd been intentionally run over by a driver too fearful of an ambush to stop and let the man finish crossing the street.
She would never understand what he'd been through. Truth be told, he'd lived through it himself and still didn't understand it. Moments of quiet camaraderie with his fellow soldiers juxtaposed with times of drawn guns and fear. Civilians selling their wares on streets that only hours before had been popping with gunfire. It made no sense. How could
anyone
understand such a way of life?
On the one hand, he found himself growing impatient with the television news reporters whose biggest story lately seemed to be a Peeping Tom who so far had caused no harm. And on the other, he found himself wanting to wrap his loved ones in Bubble Wrap and keep them all safe from even the mere threat of harm.
Was the chasm between them too wide to bridge?
He pulled away and leaned back against the headrest. Tried not to focus on the hope in her hazel eyes and the possibility that he might break her heart yet again. If they were going to try this againâand he even questioned his sanity in considering itâshe needed to understand that she wasn't going to change him. He had been broken during that miserable day in Afghanistan when he'd lost his faith, and he couldn't let her go into this believing she could slap a bandage on him and fix him. He had come home with all his limbs intact, but a big piece of him was missing, never to be regained. He wished he could believe with the naive faith he used to have, but whatever faith had once been there was now so bruised, tarnished and battered it was unsalvageable.
He sighed, the sound so heavy that the restrained eagerness behind her smile wilted just a little.
“There need to be conditions,” he said cautiously. Then he rushed forward before she got any wrong ideas. “Primarily that you will not attempt to steer me back to church.”
Ruthie jutted her jaw forward while she rolled the idea around in her mind. He knew her well enough and trusted her enough to know that she wouldn't make a promise unless she was certain she could fulfill it.
“What about saying grace before meals?” she asked. “I usually say it out loud, as do Sobo and Pop. And if I break out into spontaneous prayer, I'm going to make an emu hand.”
“I'm not asking you to change yourself.” He appreciated her sincerity. Appreciated everything about her and wouldn't want to change a thing. “I'm just asking you not to try to change me.”
Ruthie grinned. “Is it okay if I ask you to remove your elbows from the table?”
“Hey, somebody's gotta clean me up and make me look nice in public.”
“All right, then. It's a deal.”
She looked so happy that he wanted to throw caution to the wind and rejoice with her. But he couldn't. Not yet.
“It's not enough that you agree,” he said, and her smile abruptly went south. “You need to understand why I sent you that letter. To understand what made me the way I am today.”
“Of course. I want to hear all about it,” she said. “I want to understand.”
A movement over his shoulder caught his attention. Amaya Kagawa had stepped out onto her porch and leaned around the pillar in an effort to see what they were doing in the car so long.
“We're making her nervous.” He pulled away from Ruthie and turned the key in the ignition.
And this conversation with Ruthie was making him nervous.
* * *
At first Ruthie had thought he was going to take her back to Gleanings and that his explanation would be delayed yet again. Instead, he drove to Maymont Park and pulled under the shade of the tree in the parking lot. Then he led her to the Japanese Garden, where they walked the gravel path in silence.
Her heart soared at the prospect of renovating their tattered relationship. There would be hurdles to overcome, but the major oneâGray's resistanceâhad been conquered. By comparison, the rest of the hurdles should be easy.
While she and Gray strolled, the pruned trees and shrubs, raked sand pools, bridges and stone lanterns in the garden brought to mind her visits here with Sobo. She and her honorary grandmother had walked this path together, usually silent but sometimes sharing whatever was on their minds and hearts. At the time, it had seemed as if Sobo was searching for something. Something unspoken and maybe even unrecognized.
Was Gray also searching? Or might that be wishful thinking on her part?
She would agree to his terms, mainly because nagging a person to faith never worked. But she also believed that as they worked through reconnecting, Gray would soon remember the joys they'd experienced in their previous relationship with each other. Perhaps their being together might prompt him to want to reconnect with God, as well.
Patience,
she reminded herself.
Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't get ahead of God.
She'd done a lot of praying about her relationship with Gray, and she truly believed God wanted them to be together. Now she just had to practice patience as they worked their way back together.
The sparseness of the Japanese Garden's landscaping reflected her current pared-down relationship with Gray. Simple. Bare. The empty spaces seemed to point to possibilities. The discreet use of flowers and the garden's subtlety in the numerous shades of green, brown and gray reminded her of the need for a light touch when interacting with him. She would still be herself, of course, and her faith would naturally show through, but she'd leave all else to God.
Gray cleared his throat. “There's a lot I can't tell you,” he began at last. “What I
can
say is that we were in the desert, in unfriendly territory.”
They continued walking, and he touched her hand as if to hold it, then pulled away. She wanted to reach for him, draw him back to her, but resisted. Gave him the space he seemed to need.
Carefully and cautiously, he opened up and described what had happened on that infamous day.
“Jake Rayner was the only person with me on that assignment,” he continued. “We called him Jakey because he was the baby of the group.” He paused to give a heartless laugh. “He hated that name. But he was just a kid, and he seemed like a little brother, so I felt responsible for him. After a while we became very close.”
She listened while he went on to describe how they'd been driving through a village when they came under fire.
“It was so hot that day it was like looking through rippling waves of air as we drove our jeep near a remote town. I remember looking over at Jakey. The sun glinted down on him and sort of cut him in half with shadow and light. It was kind of a bizarre thing to notice, but for some reason it stood out to me.”
He brushed a couple of fallen leaves off a stone bench and waited for her to sit before joining her.
“The air was still, with no dust flying, and the sky was incredibly clear and sharp. You could see for miles.” He gazed off as if measuring that remembered vision against what he saw now. “In Virginia, even on the most sunny days, it's not that sharp. Probably because of all the humidity here.”
She murmured agreement, letting him talk through the small things to get to the point of what he wanted to tell her.
“Our jeep got hit by hostile fire. Next thing you know, we were running to take cover behind a mud-brick house that was missing an outer wall from all the shelling that had taken place before. Jakey and I crouched down near a pile of rotten potato peels and scraps of eggplant and tomato. That's when we realized someone still lived in that bombed-out building. As long as I live, I'll never forget that smell of rotting potato.” He paused a moment, apparently considering how to continue. “We returned fire. Hit the mark. As far as we could tell, there was only one shooter. That's when I heard a kid from inside the house. In case there were other snipers hiding nearby, we decided to make a run for it...get away from there so we didn't put civilians at risk. And Jakey was going crazy with fear, so I had to get him to safety before he lost his cool and put us in even more danger.”
Ruthie realized she was holding her breath, then let it out slowly. Even in the midst of being shot at, his concern had been for the residents of the house and his buddy. She imagined that if she were in that situation, she would be in full panic, unable to think clearly. Yet he had focused on others rather than on his own safety.
“While we were running for our lives,” he said, “we could hear the sounds of the outdoor marketplace going on a quarter mile away. For them the gunfire was just another everyday happening.” He shook his head. “People shouldn't have to live like that.”
Now he grew silent. His fingers opened and closed on his lap as if even today his hands wanted to do something about what had happened back then. Something more. Maybe something different. She didn't know which. All she knew was that it still pained him to think about what had happened.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. She wanted to say something to comfort him. Something that let him know how much she sympathized with what he went through. How much she ached for the familiesâmothers, fathers, childrenâwho lived under such stressful conditions every day. But all the words that came to her sounded lame in her head, so she didn't speak them. Instead, she suggested, “We can finish this another time. There's no need toâ”
“No.” Gray turned and met her gaze. He pulled her hand up to his lips and gently kissed the backs of her fingers. “This has stood between us long enough. I want to finish.”
Then, in opposition to his words, he sat for a long moment saying nothing. He watched the koi fish in the pond, so she watched, too. Their slow, steady movements provided a sense of calm purposefulness. After a few moments, he spoke again.
“When it looked like the area was clear, I grabbed Jakey by the sleeve and we ran for a wall. The whole time, I was operating on adrenaline, thinking only about getting to the next safe place and the one after that. Wondering if we'd be able to make it back to our camp on foot before nightfall, when we'd be the most vulnerable.”
Gray let go of her hand to rub the back of his neck.
“While I was relying on the training I'd received and on my own wits, Jakey kept saying over and over, âLord, help us. Lord, save us.' Like it was a chant or something. And while we were running for the immediate shelter of the fence, he started in on the Lord's Prayer. We had just thrown ourselves over the fence when he got to âdeliver us from evil.' That's when a grenade went off to the left of us, near Jakey, and he fell to the ground.”
Gray looked sick to his stomach. She wanted to stop him from saying more. Spare him from the images that surely haunted him. But he pushed on.
“After I took out the assailant, I dragged Jakey behind that broken wall, where I could take a look at his injuries.”
“He was alive?” she asked hopefully.
He clenched his teeth, and his expression hardened. “Just barely. Remember how I said the glint of sun in the jeep had seemed to cut him in half? That's where the shrapnel tore into his chest.”
She gasped and drew a hand to her mouth. “No.”
He went on to tell of his struggles getting Jakey back to the camp, an hours-long ordeal on foot over several miles of harsh desert. Losing their way, coming upon yet another small village and skirting around it, away from the potential of more enemy fire. Running low on water. And finally encountering a stray dog with its hackles raised, ready to attack.
“I bandaged Jakey up the best I could and somehow managed to get him back to camp.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple. “Alive.”
The tension in her gut eased at the revelation that young Jakey had survived the horrendous ordeal.
“He died less than an hour later.”
The news slammed into her, the unfairness of it hitting her like a rock to the temple. “Oh, Gray. I'm so sorry.”
She didn't know what else to say. In a situation like this, anything she said would be merely empty words. A hollow echo of a sentiment that was too little, too late. Instead, she touched his arm, wanting to convey her feelings to him without inadequate words.
Gray closed his fingers around hers. “He was barely old enough to shave.”