Page 92 of A Whim and a Prayer

“What?” Winnie said, her voice a breathy whisper.

“Brady told me I’d better duck my head and look out.”

Winnie blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because the blessings of God were going to overtake me, overloading me with the desires of my heart.”

The whites of Winnie’s eyes expanded. “And did they?”

Her mother pressed a kiss to her head before she lifted Winnie’s chin with a finger. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you, Winifred Doe? And I’m married to your father, the love of my life, aren’t I? And all that nasty shame and guilt? Gone, just like Psalm 34:5 says, that ‘Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.’”

Winnie drew in a slow breath, expelling it once more in a shaky stream of air. “Oh, Mama, if only …”

Her mother squeezed her in another voracious hug. “Oh, darling, there’s no ‘if’ about it. Because Jesus said, ‘I will not leave you orphans, I will come to you,’ and He sure did that for me, and He will do the same for you. Because if He can give me the desires of my heart, Winnie, He can do it for you. And beginning right now if you want, sweetheart, praying to invite Him in just like I did, so He can set you free from all the guilt and shame of last night. Would you like that?”

Winnie nodded, more tears spilling from her eyes. “I would, Mama, very much.”

“Oh, me too, darling,” her mother said with another voracious hug, “because there’s nothing I want for you more than for God to give you the desires of your heart.”

Winnie squeezed her eyes tight. The desires of my heart. Her chest constricted at the memory of the nightmares that had plagued her all of her life, thinking about what she wanted more than anything …

And never could have.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Beck glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time as he eased his car into his parents’ driveway in the dark following his early shift at The Herald.

Five-forty-five p.m. He grunted as he turned off the ignition, the sun long set—along with his patience. He’d been in the dark now for more than twenty-four hours—in more ways than one—since the sun had been noticeably absent given the dark overcast day, both in his mind and in the weather. His gaze automatically homed in on Winnie’s house, burning into the second-story window where he knew she would be—maybe asleep, maybe not. He’d called her mother twice throughout the day, and the answer had always been the same.

“She’s sleeping, Beck, and has been all day. The doctor gave her a sedative so she could, but I’m wondering if it’s giving her nightmares because she’s cried out in her sleep twice now.”

Nightmares. He knew she had them frequently because she told him so, but she would never reveal what they were about, no matter how hard he badgered her. All he did know was now she had another one to contend with, as did he. It had taken everything in him not to drive over to the fraternity during his lunch hour to rail on McCarthy some more. But he hadn’t because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

Besides, that could wait.

Winnie could not.

He yawned as he got out of the vehicle, painfully aware he hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, but doubting he would be able to even now. Because he was still in the dark about Winnie.

“Sorry, Beck, but she specifically requested that you stay away for a while.”

And it was killing him.

“Mom? Dad? I’m home …” Trudging through the foyer and down the hall, he pushed past the swinging door to the kitchen, finding it as empty as his heart when he spied a note on the table.

Beck, Dad and I went to the Sunday-night novena, but I left your dinner in the oven. See you tonight. Love, Mom.

He knew he should eat, but he had no appetite, so he retrieved the plate from the oven and put it in the icebox instead. Maybe later …

He shuffled over to the sink to pour himself a glass of water, then glugged it all down before refilling it again, finally zeroing in on the phone on the wall. As if magnetized, he moved toward it in slow motion, desperate for information about Winnie.

His fingers were sluggish as they dialed, and the drone of fatigue buzzed in his brain along with the buzz of the receiver as it rang on the other end before Mrs. D answered.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Dennehy, this is Beck again. I’m sorry to keep bothering you—”

“Nonsense, Beck—you’re not bothering me. I know how much you care.”