Page 70 of Magnolia Summer

He gripped her upper arms. “Tell me.”

“I-I . . . I couldn’t stand it if you died. And you don’t seem to care.” She spoke the last statement in an angry whisper. “Don’t you see? Daddy died and I’m so angry.” She drew in a sharp breath at her words, then choked back a sob.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Celia. You have to trust God.”

“God didn’t keep my father from dying, did he? How can I trust Him?”

“You’re doing all right, Celia.” His eyes seemed to plead with her. “God is taking care of you and your family.”

“No, I’m not all right!” Celia tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but her chest couldn’t seem to hold the air and all the hurt, too. She shook her head. “I’m not all right. I miss my father. I didn’t want him to die.”

He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her tight. She sobbed against his shirt. How could Daddy let himself get killed, and how could God let him die? God could have saved him. God was all-powerful. But He let him die and now she would never see her father again. He could never provide for her, never comfort or advise. He was gone.

Truett stroked her hair, murmuring, “I know, I know. It’s all right.”

Of course he understood. He’d lost two brothers, and Griff too—at least, the Griff he had known before the accident—and it had obviously broken his heart.

She wrapped her arms around the solidness of him. The tears seemed to have loosened the pain in her chest so that she could breathe again. She took a deep breath, still pressing her cheek against his chest. Finally, when she believed she could speak without breaking down, she said, “I’m afraid for you, Truett. I’m afraid you’re going to die and leave me broken . . . like my mother.” The words made her start crying again. She didn’t like hearing the truth in all its stark ugliness.

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear,” Truett quoted softly, “but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

“I know I shouldn’t be afraid.” She lifted her head to look at him. “But, Truett, I—”

His lips pressed tenderly against her forehead and she forgot what she was going to say. He kissed her temple, and then his lips moved down to her cheek.

His mouth, so tender and warm, continued down to her chin, then moved to her lips, caressing gently.

“Celia? Truett? Are you out here?”

Celia instantly let go of him and stepped backward, hitting the tree trunk with the back of her leg.

Had Will seen her and Truett kissing? Her face burned and she covered her lips with her hand, afraid he would see the evidence of Truett’s kiss there, where the sensation of it lingered.

Truett grabbed her by the elbow to steady her.

“We’re over here!” Truett called. He whispered, bending down to her, “Celia, I—”

“I have to go in. I don’t want Will to see us.” She turned to run but he caught her arm and wouldn’t let go.

“Wait.”

She waited. When he didn’t speak she turned to look at him.

“Can I come tomorrow night—after supper—just to talk?”

“Yes. But only if you promise to kiss me goodnight.” She broke free of his grip and almost laughed at her own brazen words.

By the time she reached Will she had slowed to a walk. She motioned over her shoulder. “He’s over there, by the tree.”

As she reached the back door, Truett called out, “I promise!”

Celia laughed as she stumbled inside.

But later, after everyone else was in bed, Celia sat on the front porch with her face in her hands. “What have I done?”

Kissing Truett had felt so good, but she never should have done it! She couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t believe he had asked.

The question had been posed in the heat of the moment. Perhaps he might not have meant it. And she hadn’t given him an answer, either.