Page 17

“Grief isn’t something we can package up into a box and say, ‘that’s done, I’ve dealt with it’. You know, more than most people do, that grief isn’t a linear thing.”

So true. Sometimes she still felt a pang of sorrow for Stephen, even though she was married to Dan, and for the most part was blissfully happy.

Overcoming grief wasn’t necessarily a case of moving on but moving forward, aware that experience had shaped and molded a new reality, as much as one might have once wanted things to stay the same.

But stepping forward, trying to trust God with the future, meant one had to keep walking.

Staying locked in denial was a prison. She’d been there, done that, got the t-shirt, and couldn’t live trapped like that again.

Sarah sipped her tea, and eyed her aunt over the rim. “I know it doesn’t it look like it, but I really am doing okay. Most of the time, anyway,” she admitted.

“I thought you seemed better.”

“I’m trying to remember that I’m loved by God, and staying there.

And even though it feels like grief still sneaks up and grabs me sometimes, I feel like I’m doing so much better than when Stephen died.

” She pressed a finger on a scone crumb, swallowed it.

“It’s just so hard, knowing that Dan is disappointed, and feeling like I’m the cause of his disappointment. ”

“You can’t blame yourself, Sar.”

“I know. And he says that, and I even mostly believe him.”

“Mostly?”

Sarah sighed. “He’s got to be more disappointed than he lets on.”

“But he’s also trying to not let you see that.”

“Exactly.” She sighed. “The doctor said he’d be sending our test results soon, to see if we’re chromosome compatible or not.”

Her aunt’s eyes widened. “I haven’t heard of that.”

“Because we’ve had three miscarriages in a row now.”

“Three?”

She nodded. See, secrets had a way of coming out. Especially when someone had a sieve for a mouth like she did.

“Oh, Sar. I’m so sorry.” Ange’s eyes sparkled with tears. “That must’ve been so hard. I didn’t know.”

Sarah lowered her gaze, studying the William Morris design of her teacup, one of a set of four she’d given Ange for Christmas last year.

“Dan didn’t want people to know.” A burst of additional honesty leaped on board the tell-the-truth train and added, “He accused me of wanting to tell people to get more followers.”

Ange gasped.

Oops. She hadn’t meant to expose him like that. Even if the memory still stung. “He did apologize though.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

Well, Sarah sure hoped he didn’t mean it.

Ange sipped her tea, her blue eyes concerned. “We all know grief makes us say things and act in ways that we wouldn’t normally.”

For sure. Sarah’s previous experiences proved she was the queen of contradictions.

The joyous extrovert who had frozen into depression and grief; the worship leader who’d forgotten how to praise.

Her heart softened. Dan didn’t need her holding this against him.

She knew he wasn’t that person. He was kind, patient, he loved her.

Besides, she’d said she had forgiven him, so that meant not bringing it out for another shake of the dirty laundry again.

Besides, forgiveness—hers and God’s—meant that laundry was now clean.

“So what else has the doctor said?” Ange asked.

“He mentioned in the latest email the possibility of IVF. But I just don’t know.”

“IVF works for lots of people.”

“Lots of people whose bodies work.” Frustration flared. Sarah tried to hide it with a shrug. “The doctors always said after my surgeries in Sydney that there was a strong possibility that the scarring wouldn’t allow me to fall pregnant.”

“And yet you have.”

Three times. “Or carry a baby to full term.”

“But God does miracles.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Ange held her hand. “And we can continue to pray for one.”

“I’m praying all the time,” she admitted.

Ange squeezed her hand, as a wave of empathy passed between them. See, this was the benefit of family, of being with those who truly understood. Sometimes love could be felt without a word.

A knock came at the front door.

Ange excused herself to answer it, and Sarah relaxed.

The view was different here, the beach shared between the two ‘cottages’ more easily accessed here.

Her mind flicked back to when she’d lived here in this house for the six months when she’d first escaped Australia, in a last-ditch effort to find hope after depression followed Stephen’s death.

What a special time coming here had been. Escaping the real world, finding her feet again. Her lips tilted. Much like she and Dan were doing now, resting, allowing God to refresh their hearts, and souls, and minds. Muskoka always seemed to have that soothing effect.

“Um, Sarah?”

At the new voice, she turned in her seat, her breath hitching as she recognized their neighbor from Toronto. Was the woman following her? Please God, no .

“It is you.” Jackie smiled, hoisting her baby higher.

No. She couldn’t do this. She might be getting better, but she wasn’t completely better yet, and the sight of that baby was like a hot poker in her chest. Being forced to stay and interact would topple her back to heartache.

Sarah pushed back her seat, faked a smile. “Good to see you. Sorry, Ange, I need to go.”

“But Sar—”

“I’m sorry, I have a Heartsong thing to do.” Any excuse, any excuse to get out of here. Now. She kissed Ange’s cheek, heard her, “Sar,” but ignored her. Nope. Asking her to be brave right now was a step too far. She headed to the steps and the path that led next door.

Jackie hefted her baby on her hip. “I hope we’ll see each other soon.”

“Sure,” she lied, before waving at a disappointed-looking Ange.

Well, too bad. If Sarah saw Jackie and her too-sweet baby, then she would be heading the other direction.

* * *

By the time Dan had returned with John to his dock he was feeling more relaxed. He always enjoyed time with John. The man possessed the skill of knowing when to speak and when not to. Dan had learned a lot about patience from him over the years, more so than from his own father.

“Well, thanks again for a great afternoon,” John said now.

“Any time.”

“We’ll be praying for you two.”

Dan’s throat had clamped, forcing him to salute in response, before turning back to the boat and pretend he needed to fix the ties.

God bless John. Dan peered over his shoulder, but John had disappeared along the stone-edged path to the little cottage he and Ange called home. The man might be a pastor, but he was also a saint. He knew when to push and when to leave alone, only asking once how Dan was doing.

Dan had admitted he was doing better than before. “Not as good as Sarah, though.”

Which was hard. He was supposed to lead her, but he sometimes felt like she was leading him, showing him how to manage their emotions.

Which was a little ironic, considering she was known for her fiery temperament, and he was Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected, but there it was.

She seemed to be riding the waves of grief far better than him.

He paused, his ears pricking at the music coming from the house.

See? Even now she was playing the piano, last year’s Christmas gift that was perhaps as extravagant as Sarah said, considering she wasn’t here all that often to justify its expense.

And yet it was perfect for a musician who loved to drop whatever she was doing and create music, like she was doing now.

That song. He recognized it now as the one she’d played on their previous stay. He washed off as best he could and ascended the steps leading to the cottage’s back deck, keeping his movements quiet to not disturb her.

Then her music stopped, and he heard her voice. “So it obviously needs work, but I thought that might be something to consider for the new Heartsong album.”

A new album? Why didn’t he know? She usually shared every new piece of Heartsong news with him.

She sighed. “I know. I still need to talk to him about it. I’d obviously love to do it, but it’s when his season starts, and I don’t think he’d be too keen for me to run off for weeks.”

Run off? His heartstrings tightened. Was she talking about another tour?

The last one she’d been on had seen Heartsong Collective traveling for nearly two months, from Australia to Europe then a bunch of places across the US.

Part of him still blamed her exhaustion for why she’d miscarried.

How could she be talking about another tour when the doctor had specifically said she needed to take things easy?

He opened the back door into the living room where her piano was, and she jumped. But for once it didn’t raise his smile. Her smile soon faded, her gaze questioning, and she spoke to the person on the other end of the line, “I need to go.”

Another murmur, then she held the phone at him. “It’s Tisha, so say hi.”

“Hi.” He could picture the bubbly curly blonde who often led the worship songs when Sarah couldn’t.

“Hey, Dan.” Tisha’s Aussie accent was crisper than his wife’s. “I hope you’ll say yes and let her go.”

Let her go? The way she talked it made him sound like some medieval husband locking up his wife. Which he wasn’t. But neither was he excited about his wife making plans about a tour and not telling him. Who did that?

He returned the phone to Sarah, who was eyeing him with pressed-together lips. Maybe she sensed his frustration because she soon said goodbye and stood from the piano stool. “So, uh, was fishing good?”

“It was. Until I came home and discovered you’ve been planning a tour.”

Her eyes widened. “Whoa, I haven’t planned anything. Like I said, I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Oh. His pique decreased. Maybe this was new. And she wasn’t pregnant now, so maybe a few weeks traveling in North America wouldn’t be so bad. “How long have you known?”

Her cheeks pinked. That was never the sign of innocence. “A few weeks.”

“A few weeks?”

She bit her lip.

Her uncharacteristic response only drew his irritation. How could she stay quiet? “What do you think we’ve been doing here? You’ve had plenty of time to talk, Sar. Why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because there’s been a few other important things happening, and I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Well, not telling me stuff doesn’t help.”

“Apparently,” she snapped. “So I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry too.”

She stared at him, then her lips twitched, and she rushed at him and hugged him. “I really am,” she murmured against his chest. “I was going to tell you, but your contract stuff happened, and then—oh. You’ll never guess who else is here in Muskoka.”

“Who?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I know this makes me sound like such a terrible person, but when I saw her today, it was all I could do to get away.” She sighed. “I think Ange was really disappointed in me.”

“Who did you see?”

Her grip tightened around his waist. “Lincoln Cash’s wife.”

He tensed. Which likely meant Jackie and her baby. Great. “Are they following us?” he grumbled.

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

“Do you think they have contacts in Australia?”

She drew back, her eyes alight. “Oh, are you serious? Can we go? I’d love to see Mum and Dad again.”

Maybe they could swing a trip. After his camp. Get the chance to escape from the constant reminders of what couldn’t be. “We could think about it.”

“Really?” She squeezed him tight again. “Oh, that’d make me so happy. I didn’t think it was possible, seeing that’s where the tour starts,” Sarah babbled.

“Wait.” He inched back. “It starts in Australia?”

“Yes.”

Oh. That was a very different prospect to a US tour. He clasped her close, holding back the words he knew she wouldn’t want him to say.