Letting Go (Healing Hearts) Read online

When he tensed, she said hastily, “Seriously. Thanks for your support. It’s okay. I’ve given up trying to win you back. I know you love Katia, and I’m sorry I almost ruined your chances with her. I really would like to see her so I can apologize for the pain I’ve caused her. She didn’t deserve any of it.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “Great. I’ll call her right away. You should be released soon, and then you can put this behind you.”

  His cell phone buzzed. He unclipped it from his belt and glanced at the message.

  “I’ve got to go. Get well, Diane.”

  * * *

  Several hours later Diane woke to a rap on her door and the soft, familiar voice of a woman calling her name.

  “Diane? Are you awake?”

  Cracking her eyes open, Diane focused on Katia’s tiny frame. With her was an attractive middle-aged gentleman with dark brown hair.

  “Hi.”

  “How are you feeling? I’ve brought someone I’d like you to meet. Pastor Lane, this is Diane Simmons. She’s the attorney who helped me get my son back.”

  Pastor Lane took her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Simmons. Katia has said many nice things about you. She’s mentioned what a skilled lawyer you are.”

  “Thank you.”

  He released her hand and took a chair near the bed. And an awkward silence descended.

  Katia smiled. “I invited Pastor Lane to meet with you in case you wanted to talk to him.”

  Diane raised one eyebrow.

  “Whenever a member of our congregation ends up in the hospital, our pastor visits them,” Katia explained. “Since you’re a friend of mine, I brought him with me.”

  Diane looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “A friend, huh? I don’t think that’s how I’d describe me.”

  Katia shifted on her feet. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I forgive you for what happened between you and Benny.”

  Diane’s vision blurred. Benny had hurt Diane the most because he was the first man she had truly loved. Memories from that day at Katia’s house when she realized he was Katia’s husband made her skin crawl.

  “How can you even look at me, much less forgive me, after what I did?”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Diane looked up, frowning. “Not my fault? How?”

  “I’ve thought about this a lot.” Katia’s soft, genuine smile warmed Diane to her toes. “You were as much a victim of Shiban’s lies as I was. He lied to you the same as he lied to me, and I can’t fault you for being the victim of his deception. He didn’t even tell you his real name. If you hadn’t seen his picture at my house, you might never have known.”

  Diane sniffled. “Honestly, I didn’t know he was married. It seems to be a theme with me.” She sighed. “I thought he had just stopped contacting me. I never knew he died. I really wish you’d never found out so you would still have fond memories of him.”

  Flushing, Katia whispered, “Thank you. I know you really mean it, and I appreciate it.”

  “Between what happened with him, and then me dating Ken and not telling you at first, well, I’m not sure which is worse.” Diane turned her face away.

  Katia leaned over her and gently touched her shoulder. “I never said forgiving was easy. But I do understand the circumstances. When you told me about Ken, you didn’t even know I liked him, did you?”

  “No. I hadn’t a clue.”

  “So, you couldn’t have said it to hurt me. You can’t help that you and Ken dated in the past. Am I right?”

  “I suppose.” Diane’s eyes burned. “Thank you. But I really don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

  Katia took Diane’s hand. “Don’t condemn yourself. I certainly don’t condemn you.”

  Diane stared silently at the petite woman, amazed at Katia’s willingness to look past what she had done and not hold it against her. She opened her mouth to confess what she’d tried to do with Ken a few nights earlier, to come clean. But the words refused to form on her lips.

  Katia covered a soft cough with her hand. “Well, I think I’ll leave you two alone for a while. I’ll stop by again tomorrow to visit, okay?”

  “I hope to be out of here by tomorrow, but if I’m still stuck in this miserable place, that would be nice.”

  Before she turned to leave, Katia’s mouth pulled into a broad grin, as if their meeting had somehow lifted her spirits. Diane’s gaze followed her as she strolled out of the room, chin high, a stunning glow in her smile.

  Diane glanced over at the pastor. “So, Pastor Lane, how long have you known Katia?”

  He smiled warmly. “She started attending my church a few months ago. She is a caring young lady with a refreshing love for God that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

  “She really is sweet, isn’t she? Do you know much about her?”

  He reflected for a moment. “Years ago I’d read about her parents in Voice of the Martyrs. They were good people living in a godless country who were martyred for their faith.”

  “That’s sad.” She thought about her own parents and emitted something between a laugh and a snort. “My parents were horrible. Mother’s a part-time drunk and a perfectionist. And Daddy was . . . ” Deciding not to share her father’s weird obsession, she let the words trail off.

  “That must’ve been hard for you.” The pastor’s soothing voice encouraged her.

  “I guess. They always fought about women. My dad had difficulty sticking to one.” A caustic chuckle escaped her. “Must’ve passed that gene to me. Seems I can’t keep a man either.”

  Pastor Lane looked at her with empathy. “A lot of fighting in your home.”

  “In some ways I understood why they fought. Mother has always been a cold person, very demanding. She had to have everything her way. She hated when I hurt myself. Not because she cared about me, mind you. She only cared about herself and what people thought of her.”

  The pastor nodded for her to continue.

  “If she finds out I’m here, she’ll be so embarrassed. She’ll probably chew me out.”

  “That has to be tough.”

  “Yeah.” Diane screwed up her face and pretended to be her mother. “Oh my God. You have rope burns on your neck? What’d you do that for?”

  “You’re still angry with her.”

  “Ya think? I can’t stand her.” She frowned and waited a moment for the pastor to comment. When he didn’t, she continued. “Whenever my dad got tired of her nagging, he’d find someone else to entertain him for a while. It didn’t matter who she was.”

  Sometimes it was me.

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “Yeah, it was. He’d return without ever apologizing. Mother would always take him back. We got really familiar with the coy dog look.”

  “How confusing that must have been for you. Sounds like you’re still angry with both your parents.”

  His steady voice had a calming effect, but it wasn’t strong enough to keep her swirling tempest of emotions under control. “That’s an understatement. Most of the time I didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t bother me.”

  “Tell me about that, Diane.”

  His rich, mellow voice tore through her fog, and she realized he d heard what she hadn’t meant to say out loud. It made her stomach acid rise and burn her throat.

  “It’s okay. I won’t condemn you.”

  She blinked to clear her vision. “What?”

  “Tell me about your family—about your father.” Pastor Lane leaned forward on his elbows and propped his hands under his chin.

  “Can . . . can I have a drink first? I’m so . . . my mouth is dry.”

  Nausea swept over her in waves at the thought of discussing her father with anyone. She didn’t even want to think about what happened, let alone talk about it.

  As the pastor poured her some water, she took a deep breath, exhaling with little puffs to help calm her nerves. She pondered why she felt a strong desire to talk to this stranger about her trouble
d parents. Maybe because she knew he talked to people for a living and had probably heard just about everything. But he also had the most amazing coffee-brown eyes.

  Diane’s gaze traveled from his thick, shiny brown hair, which curled in the back at the nape of his neck, to his strong back and arms. Her face heated when he turned and caught her attention lingering on him.

  He smiled as he filled a cup with water. He tipped it carefully so she could take a small sip. She nodded when she finished.

  Licking her lips, she slid her gaze from his eyes to his mouth. The urge to flirt sparked, and her mouth curved into a grin. She gazed at his lips and gave him a look that made most men squirm. Anything to avoid thinking about her father.

  I like that smile. Now give Daddy a kiss. Mmmm . . . Daddy loves you too.

  Bitter acid rose in her throat, and she bit the inside of her cheek. A ripple of pain skittered down her spine. She forced back the voice in her head before her thoughts could wander further. Why did sharing her heart with a man always make her want to touch him?

  If the pastor had noticed her flirtatious gaze, he ignored it. Inwardly, she sighed with relief.

  “You started to talk about your parents.”

  She swallowed. “Mother obsessed on my appearance. You know, she entered me into every beauty pageant she could find when I was a small child and continued through high school. She’d drill me until I had my routine perfected, and she made sure I won. My . . . my dad, when he and mother were together, he liked to come watch me. He was a photographer, you see, and he was constantly taking pictures of me. But . . . ” Her voice trembled, so she stopped.

  “But what?” His warm gaze urged her to tell him more.

  “Nothing. It’s insignificant, really. He’s been dead for years now.” She tried to wave off the subject but the restraint restricted her movement.

  “If it really is insignificant, then it shouldn’t be too difficult to share, right?” he urged gently.

  “I suppose. Well, he—my dad—acted weird toward me. He always had his eyes on me.”

  “That must have been very confusing for you. Do you think that has had a negative effect on your relationships with men?”

  She hadn’t thought about that before. “Maybe. I like good-looking men, but I can’t seem to make the right choices. I always pick the unavailable ones. Maybe I like to be fawned over the way my dad used to do with me. Mother encouraged that craving, of course. It’s like I never seem to want the decent guys. They don’t appeal to me.”

  “Hmm . . . ”

  “I wonder if I’ll ever get it right.”

  Pastor Lane glanced at her bound wrists and offered a grin that lit his eyes from the inside out. “Sounds like maybe you want to live after all.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I do.” She attempted to scowl, but the urge to smile won.

  “Diane, have you ever been to church?”

  “A few times. Usually Mother took me at Christmas and on Easter. She viewed church as another fashion show. I always had to have the most beautiful Easter dress in the entire congregation. I couldn’t play with the other kids because Mother didn’t want me to get dirty.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  She smirked. “Like a freak. I didn’t know anyone else who had to practice every day for pageants like I did. I guess I’d say I had a pretty weird childhood.”

  “What made you feel like giving up?” He nodded, indicating her restraints.

  Clearing her throat, she turned her head. A robin perched on a bare branch of the oak tree outside her window. She watched the bird in silence until it flew away, then turned back to face him. The genuine concern in his voice made her eyes sting. She inhaled, not wanting to fall apart.

  “I have a tumor, and I’m going to need a hysterectomy.” She inhaled deeply. “I’ll never bear children. I feel so . . . defective.” A few tears slipped out despite her effort to contain them.

  “Finding out about the tumor must have been scary, but the Lord understands your pain. He won’t abandon you in your time of need. Talk to Him, Diane. He’s always listening.”

  God listens to me? What does he mean?

  “Would you like me to pray for you?”

  He touched her arm and she winced. His genuine caring dug into her flesh like sharp claws, causing an unfamiliar ache.

  She shut her eyes, willing her heart to block out the pain. Suddenly it felt as if a draft blew through the room, making her skin rise with little bumps from the chill.

  Don’t listen to him.

  A shudder coursed through her, and she opened her eyes. “I don’t believe in prayer.”

  “Why not?”

  Diane shrugged.

  “Do you believe Jesus and God are real?”

  “I guess so. I never really thought about it before.”

  “Would you be willing to attend a women’s group with Katia to learn about the hope Jesus talks about in the Bible? They meet every Wednesday night at seven o’clock.”

  “I might . . . but I doubt it.” She avoided eye contact.

  An awkward silence lingered.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  The topic of Jesus and God always made her uncomfortable, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she hated God. At least, she didn’t think she did.

  “Oh, I prayed when I was young, like my neighbor Mrs. Mackey taught me to do. Maybe since God never helped me when I asked Him, I figured He either didn’t care about me or He didn’t exist.” Her eyes misted. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay?”

  Pastor Lane squeezed her hand briefly and stood, dropping his business card on the tray table. “I hope to see you sometime in church. Call me when you’re ready to talk some more. I’m always willing to listen.”

  “I’ll . . . think about it. But don’t expect to see me in church.”

  “Why not?”

  Diane shrugged. “Maybe I don’t think God would want me there.”

  “I can assure you that’s not true. Jesus loves you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  The obvious sadness on his expressive face made her heart tumble and flip. She adjusted herself on her bed. Exhaling, she changed the subject before she promised him she’d go just to make him feel better.

  “Since I really don’t want to die anymore, there’s no need for me to be strapped to this bed. Can you get me a nurse? I want them to take off these annoying cuffs.”

  “I can do that.”

  As he left to fetch a nurse, she muttered, “I need to get out before I really do go crazy.”

  Chapter 6

  “How about taking a nice swim in the pool today, Joey? Feeling up to a little fun?”

  Dave held his son and pointed out the kitchen window toward the large indoor pool. Heated during the winter, the glass-enclosed room added on at the back of his three-thousand-square-foot home served as a hothouse of sorts. He enjoyed swimming in the pool more in the winter than he did in the summer when he had to retract the roof to allow the sunshine in.

  “Swim!”

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, little guy. We’re going for a swim.”

  “Swim, swim!” Joey shouted, trying to wriggle out of Dave’s arms.

  “All right. Have patience, boy. Let Daddy find your swimmer pull-ups.” Carrying Joey on his hip with one arm for support, Dave climbed the stairs to his son’s room. He set Joey down and went into the bathroom in search of the special swim diapers.

  Little Joey did a happy dance around the room. Dave caught him and tried to pull his shirt off over his head, but it got stuck.

  “You have a big skull, kid. I wonder if a big brain makes you a genius.”

  Dave tugged one last time. The shirt zapped him with static electricity as it whipped off Joey’s head. His hair stood up straight, and the little boy let out a belly laugh as he touched his head. His little legs wound up to run away.

  Dave caught his rambunctious toddler, still kicking. He re
moved his pants, then ripped open the Velcro tabs on his diaper. Gross. Joey needed a wipe-down but took off the moment his little feet hit the ground—buck naked—before Dave could stop him.

  Worried that Joey might fall on the white Berber carpeting on his dirty behind, Dave jumped up and flipped the bedroom door shut with his left arm, hoping to trap Joey in the room so he could catch him. Instead, the door clocked Joey in the head so hard that his little boy flew back several feet before landing on his dirty bottom with a thud.

  Stunned at first, Joey didn’t make a sound and just stared at Dave with apparent disbelief. He blinked as if not sure what to do, hesitating only until he saw the obvious horror on Dave’s face. Then he started to scream as if Dave had tried to kill him.

  Dave jumped up and scooped the boy into his arms, trying to comfort him. The welt on Joey’s forehead where the door had whacked him now rose into a fairly large goose-egg lump.

  Dave’s heart slammed as if someone dribbled a basketball against his ribs. He hopped down the stairs two at a time with Little Joey in his arms and raced toward the freezer. After snatching a pliable, cooling gel pack and wrapping it in a towel, he pressed it against Joey’s forehead.

  A little gasp escaped from Joey’s lips, and he stopped crying to catch his breath. The coldness must have startled him because now he struggled to push the ice pack away from his head. Dave wrestled with him and peeked under the compress. Elation filled his heart when he saw the lump had already reduced in size just from applying the gel pack. Sighing with relief, he held Joey close and kissed his baby-soft brown hair.

  Bouncing Joey to distract him from his distress, Dave crooned, “Daddy’s so sorry the door hit your head. He was just trying to keep you from running out of the room. It won’t happen again. Now let Daddy hold this on your head a little longer.”

  Joey didn’t respond with words. He just pulled in a deep breath and sighed, but he’d stopped crying and laid his head on Dave’s shoulder. He molded his little body to his father’s chest and popped his thumb in his mouth. The loud sucking assured Dave his son would be okay now that he’d calmed down.

  But what about the lump on Joey’s head? It would no doubt turn into a nasty bruise. What would the new caseworker think when she saw it? Fear seized Dave’s chest.