To Heal A Heart (Love Inspired) Page 2

  He had seen his last of that gamine smile and those mysterious amber eyes, behind which he had sensed deep wells of emotion. They had not even said goodbye. Well, at the very least she had given him a wakeup call.

  Since the death of his wife, Anne, Mitch had wondered if God meant him to live the rest of his life alone. His parents and his friends all said not, that if ever a man were meant to be a husband and father, it was him. Eventually, and for some time, he had actively dated—a lot. Yet as the years had passed, he’d begun to wonder. His work was important, requiring great dedication and much time, and his personal ministry brought him untold satisfaction and fulfillment. Perhaps that should be enough.

  For a long time it had been enough, but lately something had changed. He’d started wondering if he hadn’t filled his life with work instead of people. Now he knew of one bright young lady for whom he’d like to find a place in his life.

  Just how had that happened?

  He’d spent not quite three-quarters of an hour with a sunny, fetching woman, and suddenly the part of his heart that had been dormant was awakened. A need that he had believed dead suddenly lived and breathed inside him. And why not? He was only thirty-eight as of August 11 just past. He was still young enough to find love, marry and start a family, and he realized suddenly that he still wanted to do that, wanted all, in fact, that manhood could afford him—things he hadn’t felt able to face in a long time.

  A sense of quiet wonder rose inside him. He had trusted God to set the course of his life, and the journey obviously still had some surprising twists and turns ahead. Maybe Miss Piper Wynne was not a part of it, but she was certainly a signpost on the path that he might take, and a very pretty signpost at that. He smiled to himself, adjusted his grip on the handle of his briefcase and set off, content to let God unfold the pathway as He would.

  Ten minutes later he slid behind the wheel of his luxury sedan and glanced at the time readout in the dashboard. He still had time to change into jeans before arriving at his parents’ house for dinner. As he drove through the city to his University Park home, he thought about how invigorated and hopeful he suddenly felt, as if God had tapped him on the shoulder and whispered a delightful secret in his ear.

  He left the car in the drive and let himself into the house through the front door. Walking straight past the seldom-used living room, he went through the open French doors into the study and punched the button on the answering machine on a corner of the cluttered desk. He turned up the volume so he could listen to his messages as he changed clothes in the next room.

  As he was unbuttoning his shirt, the rustle of paper in the front pocket of his coat reminded him again of the notes he had found. He hoped they weren’t important, because it was too late now to do anything about returning the sheet to its owner. Might as well just toss it. Before he could follow that thought with action, however, the answering machine beeped and the familiar voice of a local assistant district attorney reached his ears. The woman whom Mitch had gone to Houston to interview had called the D.A.’s office. She’d remembered something after he’d left, and while he’d been fighting traffic she’d called the district attorney with the information.

  Mitch tossed aside the jacket and rushed back into the study to take notes. He wasn’t surprised that she had called the D.A. instead of him. Most witnesses considered the district attorney to be an ally and the defense attorney an unprincipled enemy out to free criminals to pillage and plunder at will. Few realized that all exculpatory evidence must be shared, by law, with the defense. Few stopped to consider who might champion their cause if they should find themselves facing unexpected criminal charges.

  By the time Mitch had the details on paper, he was elated to think that his client, a teenager, would be spared the horrors of prison. Mitch didn’t delude himself that the young man was blameless, but the mitigating factors that had come to light had induced the district attorney to offer probation and a fine. Eager to tell the boy’s parents, he made a phone call. They were relieved, but still laboring under the disappointment of their son’s poor judgment and its results. Mitch figured that the kid would think twice before he pulled another “prank” that could end in injury to an innocent third party.

  Eager to see his own parents, Mitch hurriedly popped out the tape, locked it in a fireproof file cabinet until it could be formally transcribed and finished changing his clothes. All the while, he kept thinking that God had definitely moved this day in awesome and definite ways.

  Marian Sayer pressed her hands together in a typical expression of delight, her elbows braced against the dark wood of the kitchen table, where the family had dined. Though retired from the classroom for several years now, she had never lost her “teacher” mannerisms, the slightly exaggerated gestures and articulations that so easily captivated the attention of children.

  “Why, that’s wonderful, Mitchell!” she was saying. “What a lovely ending to a difficult day. I’m happy for your client.”

  Vernon nodded sagely. “Sometimes God lets us think we’ve blown it just so He can remind us that we’re not the ones in charge.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Mitch said, grinning again.

  “Your cases don’t usually put that sparkle in your eye, though,” Vernon noted astutely.

  Mitch felt his grin grow even wider. His father knew him too well. “Let’s just say that I had another ‘interview’ of sorts today, and it let me know that I’m ready to make some changes in my life.”

  “How so?” his mother asked expectantly.

  He shrugged, trying to keep the conversation casual as he related how he’d met Piper Wynne.

  “What did you say her name is?” his mother asked after he’d told as much as he intended to.

  “Her name’s Piper Wynne,” he answered, taking a sip of iced tea so as to savor the taste on his tongue. “But that’s not important, Mom. I’ll probably never see her again. The point is, I realized today how very much I want to have someone in my life again. I think God’s been trying to tell me for some time that it is a possibility.”

  Vernon Sayer removed the stem of his unlit pipe from his mouth. Typically, removal of the pipe weighted whatever words followed with significance. His father hadn’t actually smoked that pipe in years, but he often sucked on it just as if he did. It was part of his dignified lawyer persona, and it had stayed with him even after retirement and the doctor had made him understand how harmful tobacco was to his health. Half a decade later Vernon still hadn’t given up the pipe. The tobacco, yes; the pipe, no.

  “You’re finally ready for a wife and family,” Vernon announced.

  “Let’s just say that I’m ready whenever God is,” Mitch clarified, then lifted an eyebrow at the dramatic flourish Vernon employed as he waved the pipe through the air.

  “Well, it’s about time. Your mother’s not getting any younger, you know, and you’re her only hope of having a brood of rowdy rug rats scampering around here one of these days.”

  Mitch laughed outright. His dad was an endless source of dry witticisms and pure delight for him. His mother, on the other hand, was patience and acceptance personified. They were wonderful parents, and they deserved to be grandparents. Perhaps they would be. Surely God was about to bring someone special into his life.

  Their joy at the prospect humbled him. For so long he had rejected the very idea of marrying again. He wondered now if he hadn’t let his grief over Anne cheat his parents of a grandchild. Though he’d always been keenly aware that, as an only child, he was a major supplier of his parents’ happiness, Mitch had never felt pressured to fulfill some parent-defined role of the good son. Goodness, consideration and integrity were expected of him—yes, even presumed—but he had always felt free to be his own person, to live by his own rules and expectations. Now he wondered if he hadn’t been selfish—and he’d always thought of himself as such a loving son.

  Oh, he had fought the usual adolescent battles, demanding more freedom than he was entitled to or
able to handle, but eventually he had come to understand and appreciate what wonderful parents God had given him. They trusted the man he had become. They trusted his faith and abilities, and he trusted their judgment, wisdom and love implicitly, so he pretty much told them everything—had since reaching adulthood. That had helped him in unexpected ways after Anne.

  Maybe he didn’t call his parents every day anymore, but he did try to get over for dinner once a week, and he never hesitated to pick up the phone and ask for advice if he needed it. For the first time, that didn’t seem enough. He owed them more than simple thoughtfulness.

  They sat at the kitchen table for a while longer, talking over the day’s events. Mitch was as comfortable in this house as in his own home. He’d grown up here, after all. Yet this was his parents’ place, a part of him but not his. Oddly, he had never felt the distinction before. It was as if he now stood, quite unexpectedly, at a crossroads in his life, a vantage point from which he could clearly see much that had before been obscure.

  When his dad began to yawn, Mitch rose to leave. As usual, his parents got up and the three of them walked through the house together.

  “Glad you could come, son,” Vernon said, “and I’m glad that everything worked out as it should. Your client’s blessed, and I hope he knows it.”

  “I think he will,” Mitch told him. “Before we part company, I intend to make sure that he realizes God’s had His hand on him.”

  “I rather expect he’ll live his life a little differently from now on,” Marian said.

  “No one walks away from the touch of God unchanged,” Mitch observed.

  “And that includes you,” Vernon said, shaking his pipe at him. “I expect the right little gal will come waltzing into your arms any day now.”

  Mitch chuckled, kissed his mother and hugged his dad. “From your lips to God’s ear,” he said, pulling away.

  He went out the door and down the walk feeling happy and loved. It had been a good day after all. Perhaps knowing what God had in store for you or why life sometimes unfolded the way it did was impossible, but Mitchell had learned, at very dear cost, that God never did anything without the best interests of His children at heart.

  Chapter Two

  Mitch next remembered the folded sheet of paper on Thursday when he dropped off his suit at the cleaners and performed one last, hurried search of his pockets. He’d learned the hard way that laundering often rendered writing indecipherable. When he came up with the paper again, he thought about tossing it, but a quick glance at the words revealed the phrasing of a personal letter, not just a bunch of meaningless notes. He pocketed the thing again, instinctively protecting the privacy of the writer and the receiver of the letter.

  Later, in his office high above the streets of downtown Dallas, he thought about shredding the sheet, but when he removed it from his pocket, he felt compelled to take another look. It was clearly one of several pages, for it began in the middle of a sentence. Mitch noticed for the first time that the ink was tear-stained. His heart wrenched as he began to read the eloquent, carefully penned words.

  “…of him will surely never subside,” he read, “and will one day be, not a cross to bear, but a cherished joy. His memory will sustain us until that time, and that’s why it is so important that we not forget. The pain makes us want, in its depth and rawness, to do just that, but to forget our dear boy would be to rob us of all the delights he brought into our lives.

  “Hold on to that, dear heart. Don’t let him go, for if you do, you also let me go, and how can I bear that? To lose you as well as him is more, surely, than God can allow, so I beg you, please don’t leave. I need you. We all need you. How he would hate it if he thought that his loss would tear this family apart!

  “Whatever you do, please know that I love you. I don’t blame you in any way. You will always be my treasured…”

  The page ended as it had begun, in the middle of a sentence. Mitch turned it over in his hand once more, as if the rest of it might miraculously appear. He stared for a long time at the blotches near the bottom of the page and felt the heartbreak of their loss.

  It seemed to be a letter written from one spouse to another, lamenting the loss of their son and desperately trying to prevent the destruction of the union, but he couldn’t be sure of that. He couldn’t even tell if it had been written by a man or a woman. All he knew was that God had dropped this into his path for a purpose. Why else would he, an experienced grief counselor, have been the one to find it?

  A sense of failure swamped him. Mitch smoothed out the letter on his desk blotter and bent his head over it, confessing his error. He should have looked at the paper the moment he was on the plane. Perhaps its owner could have been found then. Perhaps he could have said the right words to send that person home again to a desperate and loving family.

  He thought of the pain of losing Anne so unexpectedly, of the anger, even hatred, that he’d felt for the drunk driver who had so unthinkingly snuffed out her life, and he prayed that God would bring these two back together. He prayed for abatement of their pain, for healing, because it was like having a limb ripped off or your heart torn apart when a loved one died. He prayed for the nourishment of new joy and the balm of sweet memories, for the assurance of salvation and the strength of faith. Finally he prayed—for his own peace of mind as well as that of this family in torment—that the recipient of this letter had been returning home and not running away from it.

  Perhaps he would never know the facts, but by the time he lifted his head again, he knew that his involvement with the letter wasn’t over yet. Either God had a deeper purpose here than making him aware of his failure or he had not yet correctly divined the depth of it. One thing was for certain: the letter would not be destroyed.

  Very carefully he folded the piece of paper, and this time slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would carry it there, over his heart, until he understood why it had fallen into his path. He wondered if he should share this with the group that met on Thursday nights and decided, sensitive as he was to the privacy rights of others, that he would seek the advice of his parents first.

  Meanwhile, the business of the day was at hand. He heard voices in his secretary’s office and realized that his first appointment had arrived. The door opened, and he came to his feet, handshake at the ready, a weight on his heart. Part mystery, part failure, part ministry, part his own painful experience, it was a burden that he would embrace, welcome, bear with—until God Himself removed it.

  Piper stepped down off the bus and turned to the right. In just the space of a single week the route had become familiar, and she was beginning to get a handle on her job as a case reviewer at a health insurance company. The amount of paperwork involved staggered the mind, but she preferred staying busy. If life felt a little flat this morning, well, that was only to be expected after her former frenetic pace. Activity in a big-city emergency room had always bordered on panic. She just needed time to adjust.

  The apartment she had rented on Gaston Avenue still felt strange, and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake selling everything before the move. Maybe if she had her old things around her, it would seem more like home. Then again, how could she start a new life if she surrounded herself with the past? No, it was better this way. The strangeness would wear off.

  Besides, the new apartment was too small to accommodate all her old junk. She could manage with rented furnishings for a while. By the time she could buy new, she’d have a better idea what style she really wanted, and instead of the hodgepodge collected over her twenty-six years she’d have a well-coordinated home.

  Someone jostled her on the busy downtown street. Murmuring a brief apology, Piper looked up to make eye contact, but the woman strode on ahead without so much as acknowledging her. Piper shrugged and let her gaze slide forward again, only to halt at the sight of a familiar face. The man owning it stopped, too, a smile stretching his mouth as pedestrians darted around him. Piper smiled back, search
ing for a name.

  “Mitch…”

  “Sayer,” he supplied, angling his broad shoulders as he crossed the busy sidewalk. “Hello, Piper. It’s great to see you again.”

  The man from the airplane. She could hardly believe it.

  “Don’t tell me your office is around here.”

  “Right there.” He gestured toward the black marble front of a nearby high-rise. “What about you? What brings you downtown?”

  “The Medical Specialist Insurance Company,” she answered, glancing down the street in that direction. “Went to work there the day after I hit town.”

  His smile widened even further. “That’s wonderful! Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced at the clock mounted atop a pole on the corner, then at her wristwatch, which was running four minutes ahead. Uncertain which was correct, she knew that she had to move along. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. Wouldn’t do to be late just a week to the day after I started.”

  “Right. Okay, but could I ask you something real quick? You boarded the airplane ahead of me. Did you see anyone drop a small, folded sheet of paper—just around that little curve in the ramp?”

  She considered a moment, but she really hadn’t been watching anyone else that day. Shaking her head, she answered him, “No, sorry, I didn’t.”

  He nodded, huffing with disappointment, and slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I see. You wouldn’t know the names of anyone else on that flight, would you? I’d like to ask around, see if I can return this paper to the one who lost it.”

  Again Piper shook her head. “I didn’t know a soul on that flight and didn’t really meet anyone but you.”

  He smiled again. “Well, at least there’s that, huh?”

  “Yes.” She returned his smile and started off down the street, knowing that she had to get moving again. “I’ve really got to go.”

  “Sure.” He pivoted on his heel, watching her move away from him. “Maybe we’ll bump into one another again sometime,” he called after her.