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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

G arrett watched closely as Aspen bit into the pear-and-goat-cheese pizza. Her eyes widened in surprise, then closed as she savored the flavors. She swallowed, then opened her eyes. “Wow.”

“Told you.”

They were at his small kitchen table. Good thing he kept the place tidy so he hadn’t been embarrassed when she walked in. Not that it was impressive. Just a two-bed, two-bath, two-story condo, one of the smaller units in this development. The sofa was secondhand, as was the recliner. And the lamps. But they were all decent and clean. The walls were bare. He’d thought about getting artwork or something to hang, but he’d never gotten around to it. The nicest furniture in his house, a round maple table and matching chairs, had been a gift from Uncle Dean for Garrett’s last birthday.

Aspen had remarked on the set as soon as she’d seen it, guessing right away that Dean had made it, then gushing about its beauty.

She swallowed a second bite of the pie. “My dad’s restaurants serve flatbread pizzas. I ought to have the chef try to replicate these flavors.” A moment after she said the words, she blinked, and sadness tightened her lips at the corners. “I guess I could pass along the idea.”

“Did you sell them?” Garrett asked. “The restaurants? I assume, since you have no plans to go back to Hawaii…”

“Yeah. To one of the managers. He got a loan for some of the cost, and he’s paying me back the rest of it monthly until it’s paid off.”

“It was kind of you to extend him financing.”

She shrugged, sipping her soda. When she set the glass down, she said, “I wanted them to go to somebody who would love them as much as Dad did. Gene worked for Dad as long as I can remember. He’ll take good care of them.”

“And you didn’t want to hold onto them? I mean, they were your father’s, and your place of work.”

“A lot of people told me I should wait a year after his death before I made any life-altering decisions, and I tried to do that. But being in his kitchens, in the places he’d built and loved…it never felt right without him. It was just too painful.”

“Is that how you feel about Hawaii too? Or are you planning to go back someday?”

“I have friends there, but most of them have married and had families or moved away. I loved growing up in Kona, but this is a huge country. I’d like to see more of it, experience more of it. Maybe I’ll go back after college.” She didn’t seem too keen on the idea, though. Which didn’t bother him one bit.

“But you’re going to stay in the restaurant business,” he said. “That’s what you want to study, right?”

She finished off her slice of pizza, then took her time wiping her fingers on her napkin. Finally, she smiled at him. “Tell you the truth, I hate it.”

He snatched a slice of the loaded meat pie, but he set it on his plate without taking a bite. “Didn’t you tell me you’re going to get a degree in hospitality?”

“Maybe I’ll like it better if I get some training.”

“Why study it if you don’t like it?”

“What else can I do? That’s all I’ve ever done. It’s all I know.”

“But that doesn’t mean…” He sat back. “You’re starting over in every other aspect of your life. Why not a new career?”

“You have a knack for asking probing questions.”

“So I’ve been told.” Though often the word hadn’t been probing but irritating or nosy. He wasn’t nosy, though. He was interested. She didn’t have to answer if she didn’t want to.

“What if I’m not good at anything else?” she finally said.

“What if you are?”

She snatched another slice of pizza. Without looking at him, she said, “That’s not the plan.”

He glared at her purse on the counter behind her, knowing the ever-present notebook was inside it somewhere. If only that had been lost in the wreckage. “Sometimes, plans need to change.”

She bit into the pizza.

“What is it with you and plans, anyway?”

Only after she chewed and swallowed and sipped her drink did she meet his eyes. “The Bible says that all things should be done in an orderly way.”

“The Bible also says that a man makes his plans, but God directs his steps. Sometimes people’s plans need to change. Sometimes we don’t know what’s best for us.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me then, your penchant for list-making. Why are you so…?”

“Obsessed?”

He’d been trying to find a kinder word.

“I didn’t always want to work for my father.” Pizza seemingly forgotten, she stared past Garrett for a long moment. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved him, and I loved being with him. But the work itself… Between managing the employees and dealing with the customers—mostly tourists—it was a constant battle. I love working with children. I hate working with adults who act like children.”

“One good thing about my job is that I get to choose the people I interact with on a daily basis. I choose the contractors, and if they do a lousy job, I find better ones.”

“Ah, but the clients…”

He smiled at her. “I’ve had some rough ones, but my current client, I have to say, is my favorite.”

She looked down, but not before he caught her smile. She separated a bite of pear from her slice and ate it before she spoke again. “I hired a lot of the employees myself, and they seemed fine. Were fine, really. But nobody ever comes to an interview and says, ‘By the way, if I get a hangnail, I’ll need the day off.’”

“That would get old.”

“It’s just… I feel like some people figure out what they were born to do. Like you and fixing up houses. You’re so good at it, but it’s not just that. You love it. It’s fulfilling, right? Or am I making assumptions that aren’t accurate?”

“Your assumptions are spot on.” He loved that Aspen knew him so well.

“I wasn’t born to manage restaurants,” she said. “I was good at it, but not because it came naturally to me. I learned by watching my father, by doing what he did.”

He guessed she was going to tell him that lists had helped her become competent at her job. But as she often did, she surprised him.

“When I was in high school,” she said, “I wanted to be a teacher. I taught in children’s ministry at church for years, and I loved it.”

He could picture her in front of a classroom of children, telling the story of Jonah and the whale or Moses parting the Red Sea. “I bet you were really good.”

“The kids liked me. Dad told me he’d pay for college, but I didn’t think we had the money. I realize now that maybe that wasn’t the case, but at the time, I thought he’d have to take out a bunch of loans, and I didn’t want either one of us to be saddled with debt. So I worked really hard to earn a scholarship. I joined a bunch of clubs. I ran for student body president—and won.”

“Good for you.”

“I figured that, the more things I was involved in, the better my chances would be for scholarships. So I did all that, and I took all the honors courses. And I volunteered at church. Of course, I still worked for Dad, even though he told me he didn’t need me and I should slow down and concentrate on school. I thought I could handle it.

“I was halfway through my senior year when it all fell apart. I flunked a math test. I missed a deadline for early admission to college. And I started a fire in the kitchen at the restaurant because I was studying for a test and not paying attention. The chef got it out, no damage done, but that really shook me.”

“I can imagine.”

“The Saturday after that, I was retaking my ACT, hoping to improve my score, and I had a breakdown. A total emotional and mental breakdown. Right there in the classroom in front of the other students.” She met his eyes and held the contact, as if trying to communicate some message he didn’t understand.

“It was bad, Garrett. They pulled me out of the test and called an ambulance. I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“A panic attack, I assume.”

“Yeah, but I thought… You can imagine what I thought.” When he didn’t guess, she explained. “I thought I was like my mother . ”

Oh.

“They wanted to hospitalize me, but my father absolutely refused. I remember being in the ER, listening to him on the other side of the door arguing that I needed to be at home with him. He took me home and got me in to see a counselor.”

“Once again, I’m impressed by your father.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “He was such a good man. The counselor was helpful and told me I had too much going on and that anybody would have cracked under the weight of it. I’m not sure if that’s true, but…” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Anyway, she gave me some tips about handling stress.”

“Did you get the scholarship? Did you go to college?” He knew she hadn’t finished, but maybe...

“I thought, since I couldn’t handle the stress of high school, I’d never be able to manage college.”

“But you managed a restaurant?”

“Eventually, and yeah, that’s also stressful. Probably more so, especially considering I didn’t like the work. But it felt safe. I let my fear direct me.” Her lips pressed and lifted in a sort of shrug. “Anyway, the counselor got me started making lists and plans. When everything’s written down, I don’t have to remember it all. Life feels more manageable.”

That made sense, but there had to be a limit. “Sometimes plans change. You can’t know what the future holds.”

“That’s always been my problem. Once I write it down, it feels like it’s permanent. I want it to come true. I feel like, if I start changing things, I’ll veer off course.”

“Maybe you’ve set your course in the wrong direction. Ever hear that old adage about the guy who reached the top of the ladder only to discover he’d leaned it against the wrong wall?” He’d hoped to make her smile, but he was disappointed.

She settled back against the chair, closing her eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“I want to, though. Explain it to me.”

Seconds stretched into minutes. She sipped her soda.

He ate his pizza. Maybe Aspen was done sharing, and though he’d be disappointed, he was pleased she’d told him as much as she had.

The fact that he wanted to know more, to know everything about her…

He should change the subject, let her off the hook. And he would. In another minute. He was just about to when she spoke.

“The course I set isn’t for a destination. I don’t make the lists in order to climb the ladder of success or achieve my goals.”

“If not to achieve goals, then what is the point?”

“I make my lists and follow my plans because it keeps me sane.”

She couldn’t be serious.

But nothing in her countenance told him she was kidding. She didn’t even seem to realize that what she’d said didn’t make sense.

“Don’t you see? An ordered mind is a sane mind. As long as my mind stays orderly, I won’t be like my mother.”

“So you’re saying that, if your mother had kept lists, she wouldn’t have suffered from a mental illness?”

Aspen looked away. “Oh. Well… Not necessarily.”

“Because for some people, lists are the problem, right? Aren’t there people who suffer from OCD who compulsively make lists?”

“I’m not obsessive or compulsive.” She leaned away from him, eyes wide. “I’m not?—”

“I didn’t say you were. You’re as sane as any of us. I’m just saying…” He took a deep breath, prayed for wisdom, and gentled his voice. “Your mother was mentally ill. That’s a brain-chemistry issue. All the lists in the world wouldn’t have cured her of it.”

“I know.” Her voice was small. She looked away. “I know that. It’s just…”

He wanted to throw his opinions at her, the few facts he knew about mental illness. He wanted to anticipate what she was thinking and tell her why she was wrong. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and waited.

“I know lists wouldn’t have fixed my mother. And she had plans. To blow up a building—that took planning. It just makes me feel sane. I feel like, if I can just follow my path, then I won’t go the way she did.”

He scooted his chair closer and took Aspen’s hands in his. “You are not your mother any more than I’m my father. In some ways, we take after our parents. Believe me, I don’t want to be anything like my dad, and when I see his personality traits cropping up in myself, I want to hate that part of me, to destroy it. But I don’t have to do that. I only have to surrender myself to my heavenly Father. As followers of Christ, we are first His children. We should strive to be like Him.”

“That’s so easy to say.”

“It’s about faith. Do you believe God has given you a sound mind? That’s His promise, you know. It’s right there in the Bible.”

“I know that. But I think that my lists?—”

“Your lists aren’t keeping you sane. Your God has given you your sanity, your ability to think, your ability to reason.”

“There are Christians who suffer from mental illness.”

“Yes, that’s true. I’m not…” He sent up a silent prayer for wisdom. “I don’t have all the answers, Aspen. But, looking at you”—he leaned in, gazed into her beautiful eyes—“I see a woman with a sound mind, a beautiful heart, and a tender spirit. You are your mother’s daughter. And your father’s daughter. But mostly, you’re God’s daughter.”

Feeling brave, maybe stupid, he continued. “I’m not saying you should stop making lists. I’m saying you should make all the lists you want, but remember that God’s plans trump yours. It’s humility to yield to Him.”

“I see what you’re saying.”

But her face said otherwise.

“It seems to me…” He paused, very aware that he was pushing his luck. But he believed he was seeing something about her that maybe she couldn’t see herself. He forged ahead. “It seems to me that you’ve spent a whole lot of your life trying not to be like your mother. You’ve focused a lot of time on trying to not be something you never were. I wonder how much time you’ve spent trying to figure out who you really are.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Great. He’d made her cry. Idiot . He grabbed a clean napkin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just ignore me.”

She smiled, though tears trickled from her eyes. She took the napkin he offered to wipe her cheeks. “You haven’t offended me. I never thought about how much time I’ve dedicated to making sure I’m not crazy.”

“We’re not using that word, remember?”

Her lips twitched. “Right. That’s part of what this trip is about for me. I feel like…like I don’t know who I am. Like maybe, if I can figure out who my mother was, maybe I can figure out who I am.”

“I’m not saying that your mother had no bearing on who you are. But I suspect you’ve become who you are not because of her but despite her.”

“Except for all the energy I’ve expended trying not to be her.”

He conceded that with a nod. “I don’t know what you’re hoping to discover here,” he said, “aside from the facts about who your mother was and what she did, and maybe what became of her. But you don’t need to worry about your sanity or your value. And you aren’t going to find your answers in your parents’ history or in your plans or your lists. You’re certainly not going to find them by earning a degree in something you don’t want to do. God created you. He’s the one who decides who you are. He’s the One with the answers.”

She dabbed at the tears, smiling through them. “You’re right. I know you’re right. In my head anyway. Especially about college. I should figure out what God wants me to do. Maybe going to Florida isn’t the best idea.”

“I can’t speak for God, but I sure wouldn’t mind if you stuck around a little while.” He might as well spill it all. “Maybe I’m imagining this thing between us. We haven’t known each other long, but you’re…amazing. I’ve never felt for anybody else what I feel for you.”

He watched for some reaction. She didn’t nod, but she also didn’t look away, just gazed at him with those big green eyes.

“I think there might be something here, with you and me.”

She blinked, and was there the slightest lifting of her lips? He forged ahead.

“I’d like you to hang around. Maybe, you and I can see”—he lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles—“where God takes us. Because you weren’t on my list, either. But if you’re part of God’s future for me, Aspen, I don’t want to miss that.”

Her eyes widened.

Had he gone too far, too fast?

But that slight smile grew. “When I was in the woods, when I was convinced somebody was trying to kill me…”

Her words chased his happy thoughts about the future away.

“I called 9-1-1, because that’s what people do. And then I called you. I knew you’d be there. Which is to say…you’re not imagining this.” Squeezing his hand, she leaned closer, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. “I’m right there with you.” Her smile slipped as she sat back. “There’s still the little problem of finding my mother. And the fact that somebody ran me off the road a few hours ago.”

Cold fear gripped him. He’d just counseled Aspen to turn her fears and her future over to God, but that was easier to say than do. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Not if I have anything to say about it.”