again.”
“I’m sure he’s working for someone else by now. I think I’ll try to see what I can do myself. My toes are feeling a lot better.”
He lifted his head and gave her a skeptical look. “Then how come you’re still limping?”
There was nothing wrong with her son’s observation skills.
“I’m just being careful.”
He nestled against her again. She ought to get up and fix dinner. But she was exhausted. And so was Zach. The nightmares that had plagued him for the first few months after the shooting had come back with a vengeance. Several times each night his cries would send her hurrying to his room, where she’d remain until he quieted and fell back asleep. For the past two nights, she’d disregarded the psychologist’s advice and let him sleep with her. The nightmares hadn’t gone away, but they’d been less severe.
The spaghetti incident was the culprit, of course. But sheknew it had been compounded by the strong attachment he’d formed to Nathan in the week the two of them had spent together. An attachment that had been severed as swiftly as the one he’d had with his father.
Catherine’s stomach growled, reminding her again it was dinnertime. But she didn’t have the energy to get up and cook a meal just yet. For now, she was content to hold her son safe in her arms and relish the pressure of his soft, trusting body cuddled against her.
Sleep tugged at her eyelids, and she let them drift closed, trying to put aside worries about her renovation project and her son.
Not to mention the nagging feeling she’d made a big mistake letting Nathan go.
As Catherine led her son down the aisle of the small church she’d scouted out in a quick drive around the island yesterday, Zach suddenly tugged on her hand.
“Mom, look! Nathan’s here!”
She jerked to a stop at his excited comment and followed the direction of his pointed finger. He was right. Even though she had only a back view, she recognized the chestnut hue of Nathan’s hair, his broad shoulders and his steadfast posture.
It figured. Of all the churches on Nantucket, she’d managed to choose the one Nathan attended. Not that there were dozens of options. But still…the coincidence was odd.
Zach gave her hand another urgent tug. “Can we go talk to him, Mom?”
She guided him into the closest pew and put her finger to her lips, motivated more by embarrassment than reverence. “The service is about to start, honey. And we have to be quiet in God’s house.”
He lowered his voice. “Can we talk to him afterward, then?”
The eager brightness that had been missing from her son’s countenance for the past week had returned. She didn’t have the heart to turn him down flat.
“We’ll see.”
Although the service was okay—she approved of the quiet piano music over a booming organ, and the minister seemed warm and personable—she couldn’t concentrate. But the final few words of the sermon did snag her attention.
“Sometimes providence steps in where we fear to tread,” the minister said. “The Lord has interesting ways of helping us focus on the things we know we need to do, but have put off out of fear or apathy. If we listen, He’ll tell us when to move forward. When to hold back. When to let go. All we have to do is open our hearts to the signs all around us.”
Catherine frowned. She’d never been a great believer in signs. And if the Lord had been telling her anything over these past two years, His message had fallen on deaf ears. She hadn’t tuned Him in since the day David died.
Her thoughts traveled back to that fateful Sunday morning. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee as she’d waited for David and Zach to return from their newspaper-and-cinnamon-roll run, when she’d heard the sirens. As was her custom at the time, she’d said a silent prayer for whoever was in need.
Never knowing it was David.
Never knowing the man she loved was bleeding to death on a cold
“I’m sure he’s working for someone else by now. I think I’ll try to see what I can do myself. My toes are feeling a lot better.”
He lifted his head and gave her a skeptical look. “Then how come you’re still limping?”
There was nothing wrong with her son’s observation skills.
“I’m just being careful.”
He nestled against her again. She ought to get up and fix dinner. But she was exhausted. And so was Zach. The nightmares that had plagued him for the first few months after the shooting had come back with a vengeance. Several times each night his cries would send her hurrying to his room, where she’d remain until he quieted and fell back asleep. For the past two nights, she’d disregarded the psychologist’s advice and let him sleep with her. The nightmares hadn’t gone away, but they’d been less severe.
The spaghetti incident was the culprit, of course. But sheknew it had been compounded by the strong attachment he’d formed to Nathan in the week the two of them had spent together. An attachment that had been severed as swiftly as the one he’d had with his father.
Catherine’s stomach growled, reminding her again it was dinnertime. But she didn’t have the energy to get up and cook a meal just yet. For now, she was content to hold her son safe in her arms and relish the pressure of his soft, trusting body cuddled against her.
Sleep tugged at her eyelids, and she let them drift closed, trying to put aside worries about her renovation project and her son.
Not to mention the nagging feeling she’d made a big mistake letting Nathan go.
As Catherine led her son down the aisle of the small church she’d scouted out in a quick drive around the island yesterday, Zach suddenly tugged on her hand.
“Mom, look! Nathan’s here!”
She jerked to a stop at his excited comment and followed the direction of his pointed finger. He was right. Even though she had only a back view, she recognized the chestnut hue of Nathan’s hair, his broad shoulders and his steadfast posture.
It figured. Of all the churches on Nantucket, she’d managed to choose the one Nathan attended. Not that there were dozens of options. But still…the coincidence was odd.
Zach gave her hand another urgent tug. “Can we go talk to him, Mom?”
She guided him into the closest pew and put her finger to her lips, motivated more by embarrassment than reverence. “The service is about to start, honey. And we have to be quiet in God’s house.”
He lowered his voice. “Can we talk to him afterward, then?”
The eager brightness that had been missing from her son’s countenance for the past week had returned. She didn’t have the heart to turn him down flat.
“We’ll see.”
Although the service was okay—she approved of the quiet piano music over a booming organ, and the minister seemed warm and personable—she couldn’t concentrate. But the final few words of the sermon did snag her attention.
“Sometimes providence steps in where we fear to tread,” the minister said. “The Lord has interesting ways of helping us focus on the things we know we need to do, but have put off out of fear or apathy. If we listen, He’ll tell us when to move forward. When to hold back. When to let go. All we have to do is open our hearts to the signs all around us.”
Catherine frowned. She’d never been a great believer in signs. And if the Lord had been telling her anything over these past two years, His message had fallen on deaf ears. She hadn’t tuned Him in since the day David died.
Her thoughts traveled back to that fateful Sunday morning. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee as she’d waited for David and Zach to return from their newspaper-and-cinnamon-roll run, when she’d heard the sirens. As was her custom at the time, she’d said a silent prayer for whoever was in need.
Never knowing it was David.
Never knowing the man she loved was bleeding to death on a cold
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