Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [146]
“In a minute. I wanted to thank you for recommending Dirk. He’s been amazing.”
“That’s no surprise. He’s gifted and thorough.”
“I’ll say. He misses you, Rav.”
“He said that? Unsolicited?”
“I didn’t put any words in his mouth. Have you asked his forgiveness, hon?”
“For?”
“Don’t be coy, Rav.”
She fell silent. Thomas waited her out.
“He needs to ask my forgiveness too, Dad.”
“That’s not going to happen unless you two make it happen.”
“I’m not ready.”
“You don’t miss him?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now. Let me talk to Mom.”
Thomas busied himself preparing dinner and bringing it to Grace, catching snippets of her side of the conversation with Ravinia. As usual, Grace was assuring her daughter that she was not bitter, did not feel she deserved to be spared anything God allowed in her life, and she finally asked her daughter if she could sing to her.
“Just listen to this,” Grace said. “May I?”
Thomas could imagine Ravinia rolling her eyes, but she would not be so rude as to deny her mother’s request. And so Grace sang softly.
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!
I fear no foe, with You at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, your victory?
I triumph still, if You abide with me.
Serenity Halfway House
Brady found himself distracted, waiting for Thursday. He still went about all his activities and responsibilities with enthusiasm, but it seemed something was wrong with him.
He was on a group outing when he missed a call from his aunt Lois, and the message Jan had scribbled for him and left on the desk in his room read simply, “Says she and your uncle are praying.”
He knew he should call her, but he didn’t need all the church mumbo jumbo just then. Something was happening to him, something he couldn’t describe. Brady had pulled a lot of stunts in his thirty years, most much worse than tearing up a lawn with a motorcycle. Yet he couldn’t seem to get past this. Every time it crossed his mind, he felt worse.
Brady loved Katie and hoped he had impressed her and convinced her he would do anything for her. But whatever was between her and her father had nothing to do with him—at least until now. He’d been able to explain away every other crime he had ever committed, but this one made him feel like a juvenile—and he was hardly a kid anymore. It had been stupid, senseless. He felt he owed Mr. North for the damage, just as the man had said.
Brady also felt as if he wanted to come clean and tell the whole story to Bill. Oh, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He would lose every step he had gained and would get his beloved in trouble too. Maybe the best he could do would be to talk to her about it and see if she didn’t agree that he should somehow make it right.
Thursday couldn’t come soon enough. He had not heard from Katie for several days, not even on the house phone. She had said she was going on some sort of a trip, but couldn’t she have called and at least left a message?
Unable to clear his mind, Brady noodled a letter to Mr. North. He would ask Katie to deliver it personally. But even as he got into it, he couldn’t find it in himself to simply take responsibility for what he had done. He would not blame it on Katie, even though she had put him up to it. How would that look?
No, he would offer to pay, but he would have to creatively explain the incident.
Dear Mr. North,
I want to say I’m sorry for what happened to your lawn and to tell you to send me the bill for fixing it. I didn’t realize how loud the bike was going to be, and I sure didn’t plan to tear up your yard. That was an accident.
Please send me the bill and forgive me.
Your friend,
Brady Wayne Darby
Brady found sleep next to impossible Wednesday night. He hadn’t realized until he was out of daily contact with her that Katie had become a lifeline for him, a purpose, the reason