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Asa remained silent but nodded.
Owen had showed a greater love. A higher love. Because that’s the only kind of love that could have given Owen the courage and peace to lay everything down for Tiberius. “Owen was gonna be a preacher. You know that?” he asked.
Asa shook his head. “I can see it, though.”
“Asa?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t make it to that island house by myself. Too many things clicked into place right when I needed them to. I believe in coincidence, but that was too many, and to push through that marsh in seventy-to eighty-mile-an-hour winds? Or stronger. Something...someone did that. And I think that same Someone gave Owen the bravery and the peace to let go. But how can I repay him? How can I look his mama in the eye knowing I lived and he died?”
“I think his mama is proud of him and that he’d returned to his faith roots, and you should tell her as much.” Asa’s eyes shimmered, and his hand enveloped Ty’s. “If you know the truth, Ty...it’s time to accept it and live in it. For yourself. And for O.”
Ty wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Well, you got some friends who can help you.”
Ty began by allowing Asa to pray, and as he did, a warm peace washed through him. Not like a storm surge or hurricane, though it had taken hurricane force to sweep away the lies he’d been steeped in. His past experiences, all horrific, had shaped his stubborn heart, leaving him robbed of true peace, desolate and lonely.
No, it wasn’t a storm or hurricane drowning his heart, but a serene bubbling brook drenching his soul.
Asa left him, and soon Bexley knocked on the door. “Hi,” she whispered as she entered.
“Hi,” he returned, and scooted up in his bed.
“How are you feeling?” She sat where Asa had, smelling like flowers and something pure and clean.
“Weird.” He told her what happened with Asa. “I don’t feel much different. But... I legit have a peace I didn’t before. And... Owen.”
“It’s grief, baby.” She brushed his forehead with the back of her hand. “You grieve and also have hope. Your friends came through for Josiah. I told him the truth about us and our past, everything I should have. I asked for his forgiveness, because at times I did put helping broken women before my family. If I’d have done a better job, maybe Ahnah and Josiah wouldn’t have fallen prey to Lysander.”
“Bexley, you did the best you could with what you had at the time. Don’t put this on you. Lysander learned from the master—Rand Granger. He kind of reminds me of Absalom. I wonder if he cut his hair and weighed it too.”
She laid her head on his. “Probably. Narcissistic sicko. And for someone who hasn’t claimed to be a believer, you sure know a lot about the Bible.”
He grasped her hand and grinned. “How did Josiah take the truth?”
“He understood, I think. Things will have to change. I’m going to relinquish some control and take more time for him. Ahnah will be charged. She was a victim, but she also made her choices. As much harm as she did, I still don’t want to see her go away. I want to go back, but we can’t ever go back. Only move forward or stay stuck, and I’m sick of being in the same place.”
“I don’t want to go back either, Bex. I want to move forward. With you and Josiah. I love you.”
She gently kissed his lips. “I love you too. We’re gonna figure this out.”
He kissed her hand. “I want us to be a family.”
“I do too,” she whispered, and lay beside him. All he was missing was his son, who poked his head inside.
“Can I come in?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course you can, son.” Son—a word he didn’t know he’d love so much. “You never have to ask to be near me.”
And the truth of drawing near to God rang true. He didn’t have to ask. He only had to draw. Funny how the word draw meant “to be close” and also “art.” It had been his son’s art that had ultimately drawn him to the Father. To the Architect of his life.
Ty had laid down his stubby pencil, with an eraser eroded from working so hard to blot out mistakes in his life. But it had left streaks and smudges, never truly giving him that fresh blank canvas. And, at times, the paper of life had ripped and crumpled.
Now he had a fresh, clean canvas, one he didn’t have to attempt to sketch on his own. This surrender wasn’t giving permission for someone to control his life. It was surrendering to a freedom he’d never experienced, or wanted, until now.
He’d finally scaled the wall he’d been climbing his whole life. He could unpack his belongings and lay down roots.
