“Really?” She set her purse down on the kitchen counter. “How come?”
“Today’s the big tree house day.” He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “I knew you’d be looking for something to do.” His grin held a hint of sorrow. “I pulled your easel out and set it up in your room.”
Ashley’s heart melted. She moved slowly to the cupboard and pulled down two of her mother’s favorite mugs and her old china teapot. “You and Landon . . . you both know me better than I know myself.”
“It’s time, Ashley. Ever since you were a teenager, nothing heals your broken heart like painting.”
“Hmmm. So true.” She filled the kettle with water and set it over a high flame. “What’s wrong with the sink?”
“Leaky pipe.” He leaned back beneath it. “Just needs a little tightening.”
By the time the tea was ready and she’d poured two cups, he was finished with the repair. The tea smelled delicious. It had a hint of orange, and the sweet scent mixed with the steam felt wonderful against her face. Like fall and Christmas and cuddling near a fire, all in a single drink.
Her dad wiped the floor with a paper towel, washed his hands, and joined her at the kitchen table. “Good to have that done.” He let out a long sigh. “Landon asked me to come over later. Asked me if I’d help out.”
“Oh.” Ashley went to the refrigerator and found the pint of cream her dad kept for her. As she splashed a few drops into her tea, she gave him a curious look. “Don’t you and Elaine have plans?”
“No. Not this week. Not for a while now.” He cupped his hands around the ceramic mug, and for half a minute he said nothing.
Ashley watched him. Something had changed, but she wasn’t sure what . . . or why he wouldn’t be seeing Elaine. She returned the cream to the fridge and took her seat across from him.
“Your mother loved these old coffee mugs.” He smiled into his drink, his expression distant. “Bought them as an anniversary gift . . . at a craft fair at the university when you were still in middle school.” He looked up and smiled again. “Never drank an ounce of coffee in them.”
Ashley studied the container in her hands, turning it carefully one way and then the other. “She loved tea more than anyone I know.”
“That she did.” John blinked and his smile fell away. “You know, all you kids called me last month on our anniversary. Everyone but Luke.”
“Luke . . .” Ashley stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles. “I’m worried about him.” She gazed out the window at an old oak, its leaves dancing on the breeze. “I think he and Reagan are struggling more than they’re letting on.”
“Might be.” Her dad was staring off to the side, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. “Thirty-nine years. Feels like I married her just last week.” A sad laugh came softly from his throat.
Thoughts about Luke faded, and Ashley searched her father’s face. “I’m sorry. . . . We all miss her so much.” She sipped her tea. Something was wrong with her dad, more than what came with the usual missing. “So, about Elaine . . . you didn’t see her so you could build a tree house?”
He changed his expression, and Ashley nearly gasped from the pain she saw there. He hadn’t looked so wounded since the months after her mom died. “I can’t meet with her.” He anchored his elbows on the table and seemed to gather his strength. Whatever he was about to say, he’d given it much thought. “I was going to marry her. I have the ring upstairs.”
Ashley felt her heart thud erratically a few times. She tried to process the news without overreacting. The truth wasn’t a surprise, really. She and Kari and Brooke and Erin had talked about the possibility for most of the last year.
Her dad brought his lips together tight and shook his head. “I couldn’t do it.” He looked around the kitchen, glancing at her mother’s framed photo sitting on the counter, at the old oversize stove and the window over the sink. Finally his gaze fell on the coffee mug in his hands. “I still see her everywhere.” He shrugged, his tone empty. “I can’t bring Elaine here to live with me. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
Ashley resisted making a quick response. A year ago she would’ve been elated with the direction her father was leaning. Back then she had believed that no one could replace her mom, so why would her father even entertain the idea of remarriage? But a scene played again in Ashley’s mind. She and Landon in the hospital room, not long before Sarah’s birth. Elaine was the only person gathered that day who’d thought to buy Sarah an outfit. The soft pink clothes had built a bridge between Ashley and Elaine because the gift was something her own mother would’ve done.
Since then, she’d thought often about the possible marriage between her dad and Elaine, and she’d made peace with the idea. Even so, she agreed with him. How could he bring Elaine here to the Baxter house? How could there be room for new love in a house full of memories that went back decades?
Ashley felt a knot in her stomach. “I don’t know, Dad. I mean, Elaine’s become very important to you.”
“She has.” His expression fell. “It’s complicated.”
Ashley still wasn’t sure what to say. “How’s Elaine feel about all this?”
“I told her we’d talk later.” He looked at the wooden clock on the wall. “Truth is, I have a lot to do. The pond’s got weeds up to my knees around the edges, and I have to fertilize the flower beds.”
“And the tree house.” She smiled.
“Definitely the tree house.” He grinned and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. “I don’t want to miss that. Cole told me it needs a grandpa’s touch.”
“I’m sure he did.” Ashley finished her tea and kept her struggle to herself. She needed more time to think about her dad and Elaine. This wasn’t the moment to jump in with whatever she thought was the best decision. Or maybe, for now, it simply felt good to think of things going on unchanged. Her father’s place at the Baxter house, the familiarity of her mother’s memory surrounding them, all the holidays and birthdays and get-togethers stretched out before them without someone new to change the picture.
She and her dad pushed back from the table at the same time. “My decision about Elaine?” He smiled at her but not quite enough to erase the sadness in his eyes. “In the end I think everyone’ll be happier for it.”
Ashley was still thinking about that when she went upstairs to her old bedroom, the one with a window overlooking the Baxter front yard. It would be a good day to paint outside, but she needed to sketch the image first. She waited until she was set up before pulling Cole’s picture from a folder she’d brought with her.
She heard the still, small voice of God every time she looked at the image. In her prayers before Sarah’s birth, she’d felt drawn to the Scripture about finding God in the quiet whispers. Then, the day of Sarah’s birth and death, Cole had come to her side and whispered to her. He told her Jesus gave him a picture in his head.
Ashley smiled at the memory. The feeling was the same one she’d been having lately. Pictures in her head. Proof that her son maybe saw life’s precious moments the way she did—worthy of capturing and framing.
Then he’d handed her this very picture. Across the top he’d written, I love you, Sarah. Tell Grandma hi for me. Beneath that he’d drawn a picture of an older woman, smiling bigger than life. In her arms was a tiny baby girl, tucked safely in a pink and white blanket. When Ashley asked him about it, Cole said that God told him Sarah was going to be with his grandma.
It was this picture that Ashley had to paint before any other, while the details of Sarah’s precious face were still fresh in her heart.
She lightly tacked Cole’s picture on a worktable next to her easel. Okay, God, help me bring the images to life. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and breathed in slowly. In the distance, someone was burning a pile of leaves. The smoke hung faint in the air and mixed with the familiar smell of her paints. She opened her eyes and stared out the window. Clouds had gathered in the far sky
but not enough to block the sun or rain on Landon and Cole’s project.
Once more she studied Cole’s picture, allowing his simple, childlike details to become the very real images of her daughter and her mother. With a fine-point charcoal pencil, she began sketching. Her mother’s face first, then her dark hair and her slim, straight shoulders. The edge of the dark walnut rocking chair.
She filled in as many pieces of the picture as she could before turning to the setting, where her mother’s rocking chair would sit once the painting was complete. A field would be best because that’s how Ashley saw heaven. A more spectacular picture of earth, with fields of lush green and flowers of every vibrant color possible. If that was the background, this painting would be more beautiful than any Ashley had ever created. A rocking chair set amid brilliant petunias and poppies and pansies, her mother and daughter surrounded by every sort of wildflower and vivid fields of green. She liked the idea. There would definitely be flowers because certainly heaven had . . .
Heaven had . . .
Gradually, almost in slow motion, she lowered her hand to her lap and stared at the canvas. It had been more than three years since her mother’s death. She lived in heaven now . . . not here.
Ashley stood and walked to the window. She sat on the edge of the sill and looked out. A different sort of picture began to take shape. Dear Irvel living out her final years at the Sunset Hills Adult Care Home, certain with every breath that her beloved Hank was not dead more than a decade but merely out fishing with the boys.
Alzheimer’s was a terrible, wicked disease. But in some ways it had been a blessing to Irvel because the illness allowed her to live where she was most happy. In the past with her memories of Hank.
Ashley blinked and the picture disappeared.
What about her father? His memory was sharper than ever, which meant he had the blessing of remembering her mother. But also the certainty of knowing that she was never again going to walk through the front door. By choosing his memories over the life God had given him today, her dad would be cheating himself and Elaine out of countless years of joy and laughter, years of celebrating the here and now.
No matter what changes that might bring.
She walked back to her easel, set her pencil on the table with her paints, and headed downstairs. If her father married Elaine, the wedding would be bittersweet. She might cry through the whole thing. But she could embrace Elaine as her dad’s new wife, and Ashley wanted to make sure she said so. Before her dad convinced himself to cut off all feelings for the woman.
She found him outside near the pond, wearing his old jeans and a denim shirt, a straw hat and work gloves. Already he’d cleared half the weeds around the pond. She stopped and watched him. Was this how he should spend the rest of his days? Tinkering around the house, doing odd jobs, and waiting for invitations from his kids and grandkids?
The notion felt all wrong to Ashley. Her father was social and outgoing, a conversationalist with a dynamic faith and a passion for life. Of course he should have the chance to spend his days with a woman who shared his interests. She walked out to him, careful to stay on the path. She couldn’t afford a twisted ankle.
He looked up and tilted his head, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Everything okay?”
“No.” Ashley let her hands fall loose to her sides. “Can you come in for a minute?”
Her dad set down his shovel, dusted off his hands, and peeled back the gloves. “You aren’t sick, are you?”
She smiled, allowing warmth to shine in her eyes. “No, nothing like that.”
His expression relaxed some, and he followed her through the closest door, into the formal dining room, where he had the scrapbooks laid out—six of them, one for each of his adult kids.
“Hey, look at this.” Ashley studied the extent of the project. “You’re really putting these together.”
“You weren’t supposed to see.” He chuckled. “Of course, you were the one who first asked me to take this on.”
The scrapbooks would contain a lifetime of wisdom, her mother’s words compiled into one collection. There could be no greater gift when her dad finished putting them together. Ashley stared at the stacks of copied letters, and then—so she wouldn’t get sidetracked—she turned her back to the project. She gathered her thoughts and took hold of her dad’s hand. “I couldn’t let another minute pass without saying something.”
His smile looked deep into her heart, a smile that said he loved her and cherished her, the way he always had. “It must be important.”
“It is.” She fought a wave of nostalgia for what might’ve been had her mother lived. “Okay . . . so about Elaine. I think you’re making a mistake by cutting her off like this.”
It took a few seconds for her dad to clearly understand what she was saying. “You mean, you think I should still see her?”
“More than that.” Ashley’s voice was soft but certain. “I think you should marry her.” She took hold of his other hand too. “Mom’s gone.” Tears sprang to her eyes and made her throat feel thick. “We all wish she were here, but she isn’t. She . . . she wouldn’t want you walking around this place like it’s a museum.” She smiled, even though her chin was quivering. “Mom would’ve wanted you to live. Even if that means getting remarried.”
John’s eyes grew wide, his surprise etched into the lines on his forehead.
Ashley realized she was trembling, her knees hitting each other. She’d taken a huge step, given her blessing to something that at one point she couldn’t have imagined, let alone endorsed. She pursed her lips and blew out. “That’s what I wanted to say.” Then, as the tears in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks, she moved into her father’s arms and held him. “I miss her too. So much. I still can’t believe she’s really gone.”
For a long time they stayed that way, Ashley feeling the way she had when she was a teenager and her father would be the only one who really understood her, the only one who could hug away her hurt and confusion. She clung to him, and a few sobs caught her by surprise. She still wanted to turn around and see her mother sitting across the dining room table, smiling at her, telling her she was silly for being upset because she wasn’t gone at all.
But she was.
Ashley laid her head on her father’s shoulder. After her mother died, people had told her time would heal the pain. But it never did, and now Ashley was sure it never would. They would live with the loss of Elizabeth Baxter all the days of their lives, the way maybe they were supposed to live with it. So that when they were all reunited in heaven one day, there would be a completeness that could only come from being a part of eternity. But for now . . . for now they needed to get on with life—her dad especially.
She sniffed and pulled back. “Okay, Dad? Don’t become a hermit on our account.”
Questions and uncertainty and the hint of tears reflected in his eyes. He backed up a step and held Ashley’s hands again. “I’m not sure. . . . I don’t want to leave her behind.”
Ashley released one of his hands and searched for the words. “You won’t have to. Elaine loved her too. Remember?” She could hardly believe she was talking her father into growing his relationship with Elaine at a time when he was ready to let his friend go. But it was the right thing; Ashley was convinced to her very core. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed her father’s cheek. “Live your life. That’s what Mom would’ve wanted. Now . . .” She gave him one last smile, then glanced toward the staircase. “I have some painting to do.”
Not until an hour later, when she was fully done sketching her painting, did she let her mind drift back to the idea of the scrapbooks her father was putting together. Each of them would have some of the same letters, of course. Like the one her mother had written about the ten rules for a happy marriage. But other times a letter might be directed just to the girls or to one or another of them. For instance, back before any of them knew about Dayne, her mother had written a very powerful letter addressed simply to her precious fi
rst—
Ashley gasped. Why hadn’t she thought about this before? Their mother had written a very special letter for Dayne. Since he hadn’t been raised by her, the letter was one of the only pieces of her Dayne would ever have. Ashley had found it in the box of letters in her parents’ closet and thought it was for Brooke, the only firstborn they’d known up to that point. Instead, Ashley read it and realized it was directed toward a son, a brother she’d never known.
The letter had changed everything, but until now it had never occurred to Ashley that the precious words from her mother were still tucked in their original envelope. She’d given it to her dad, and she’d watched him place it high on the top shelf of his computer desk. She’d known that one day her dad would give the letter to her brother, but it had taken months to find him. Along the way, she’d forgotten about the letter. Her dad might’ve forgotten too.
As she turned her attention back to her painting, only one thought comforted her. Dayne should’ve had the letter years ago, but maybe God knew better. Maybe the timing was such that this was when Dayne needed something from their mother more than ever. Ashley thought about that. Maybe it was part of the miracle Ashley was praying for where Katy and Dayne were concerned. More than in the past, their mother’s heartfelt letter, her outpouring of love and concern and support for Dayne, would quite possibly mean everything to him now.
At a time when nearly all the world was against him.
Katy and Dayne’s good-bye rushed up on them like the final scene of a movie, one they didn’t ever want to come to an end. Katy was impressed with how Dayne had handled the tidal wave of publicity that had slammed into them since the premiere. But Then Again No was bringing in more box office receipts than any other movie he’d made. Between that and the weekly episodes of For Real, Katy and Dayne were household names and living in a city where they were under constant watch.