Part 2 (2/2)

It was all so unfair. She loved Tim with her whole heart, intended to stay married to him forever. Wasn't that enough?

Hours pa.s.sed, and Tim didn't come home. Kari was not surprised. What could he say? What was left to say?

The tears finally subsided, and she sat up. Her throat was swollen, and she struggled to draw a deep breath. She blew her nose and gazed out the front window at the dark skies beyond. How was it that yesterday she'd thought her marriage to Tim was a s.h.i.+ning beacon of what married love was supposed to look like? What had happened? Even if the student had something Kari couldn't offer, was it that easy for Tim to walk away from all they had shared, all they had promised?

Her fingers tightened into two fists. If that's how he felt, he could go ahead and leave.

”Jerk.” She whispered the word through clenched teeth. ”We had it all, and you threw it away.”

No answers came, and Kari closed her eyes, angry and defeated.

Where were G.o.d's rea.s.suring whispers now? Where was G.o.d, for that matter?

She blinked and sighed deeply, knowing the answer even as she asked the questions. G.o.d hadn't disappeared just because Tim was having an affair. Even now, with her world upside down and every breath an effort, Kari knew the Lord would never leave her. And somehow he would help her and Tim sort through this mess, even if right now the idea sickened her.

Yes, things would eventually work out. Tim would come home and apologize, and they would get counseling like a handful of her friends had done when their marriages had been threatened. They would make it work, wouldn't they? Wasn't 20 that the foundation of what she believed? That with G.o.d all things were possible?

Still, the thought of being married to a man who could lie to her, cheat on her, betray her, felt as welcoming as a life sentence in the state penitentiary. G.o.d could bring restoration, but she knew she would never be the same again after today. Tears stung at her eyes once more, and an overwhelming sadness settled like a lead blanket over her heart.

Kari pulled her knees up beneath her chin and thought about the woman she'd been that morning. Happy, idealistic, confident about her relations.h.i.+p with Tim.

Trusting him implicitly and ready to launch a marriage group from their home.

There hadn't been a single warning sign. She'd been busy, sure, but who wasn't?

That had never come between them before.

And as the midnight hours bled into the early dawn, Kari grieved for the woman she'd once been. The woman she'd never be again.

A woman who had drawn her last breath at ten-thirty the night before.

Freshly popped corn and vanilla candles warmed the Baxter home, a sprawling Victorian in the nearby towns.h.i.+p of Clear Creek. The Dallas Cowboys had just won a close contest, and John Baxter used the remote to turn off the television. He s.h.i.+fted his gaze to Elizabeth, his wife of more than thirty years. She was still beautiful, but his attraction to her was more than that. She bore a certain charm and elegance that couldn't be taught.

The screen faded to black, but John was in no hurry to get up. After raising five children, silence seemed almost sacred. He ran his thumb over his wife's soft hand and savored her presence.

G.o.d, you're so good to me . . . thank you for letting her live. Thank you.

A holy rea.s.surance ma.s.saged the rough edges of John's soul, 21 and he felt the corners of his mouth lifting. He was fifty-seven years old, married to his best friend, and certain that when the clock ran out on his days in this life, he'd have an eternity together with his loved ones in a place that would put all of earth's goodness to shame.

Life couldn't get much better than that.

He was about to say as much when Elizabeth released a troubled sigh, stood, and slowly crossed the room, her gaze fixed on the framed photographs lined along the mantel above the fireplace. There they were, all five of them-Brooke, Kari, Ashley, Erin, and Luke. Oldest to youngest.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth dabbed at two silent tears. John's heart sank, and he went to her side.

”Which one?” He slipped his arm around her shoulders.

Elizabeth dabbed at another tear and made a sound that was part laugh, part bottled-up sob. ”Kari.”

John s.h.i.+fted his gaze and stared at the face of his second- oldest daughter.

”I'm worried about her and Tim.” Elizabeth nestled her head on John's shoulder.

There were goose b.u.mps on her arm, and John ran his hand down the length of it.

”Did you talk to her?”

”This morning. Before her shoot.”

”What'd she say?” He studied his wife, wis.h.i.+ng he could ease her anxiety.

”Everything's fine.” Another tear trickled down her face. ”Maybe I'm the only one who sees it, but something isn't right.” She wiped the tear away. ”The distant look in his eyes lately, the way he's always too busy for family dinners.” She paused. ”He's out of town again.”

John was quiet. He looked at the face in the photo once more. Suddenly the picture in his mind changed, and Kari was no longer a confident young woman in her twenties, married and living not far away in Bloomington. She was an anxious teenager wondering why Ryan Taylor hadn't called.

22.

Daddy, do you pray for me every night? John could hear her.' precious voice as clearly as he'd heard it that long-ago day. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back.

”Of course.” John remembered taking his daughter's hands, trying to will peace into her troubled heart.

”Will you still pray for me when I'm grown-up and married?” Her eyes grew watery and her chin quivered. ”I'll need your prayers forever, Daddy.”

Was her heart troubled now? Were there problems between Kari and Tim that none of them knew about? Elizabeth had always been perceptive when it came to their children, sometimes knowing their needs even before they recognized them.

”Okay.” He gently squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder. ”Let's pray.”

Elizabeth nodded as they joined hands, bowed their heads, and placed their second-oldest daughter in G.o.d's hands where she belonged.

Even if she had no troubles at all.

23.

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