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the rough brown wool of his trousers, but somehow they didn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. As he studied the dogeared, worn pages, he felt a thin strand of hope wending through his thoughts, leaving in its wake the sparkling promise of maybe.
He squeezed his eyes shut. For years he'd been praying for help and guidance, but never once in all those times had he believed. The words he'd spoken were meaningless shells, devoid of emotion or hope or trust. Simply the vague, formless longings of a man who'd given up.
Now he wondered if it took more than empty words and end-of-the-line pleas to engage the Almighty. Maybe God, like human beings, demanded more of a man than desperate, soon forgotten prayers. Maybe belief, honest belief, made the difference.
He brought his work-callused hands together, threading his fingers tightly. Resting his clasped hands on the open Bible, he bowed his head.
But the prayer wouldn't come. There were so many things he wanted, so many mistakes to be rectified and sins to be forgiven. The magnitude of it all swallowed his feeble sense of hope and overwhelmed him. Frightened him.
His breathing quickened. Despair sucked him in, pulling his thoughts into the blackness that so often clouded his mind. A man like him, a cowardly, crazy shell, had no right to ask for forgiveness, no right to say, "I need."
At first he hardly felt a thing, but gradually he became aware of warmth seeping into his cold fingers. Then the pressure, gentle and yet firm.
He eased his eyes open and saw his wife's pale hand c
urled tightly around his own, touching him, protecting him. Wordlessly, without even a glance, she was telling him that she was there. Beside him.
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A calmness unlike any he'd ever known spilled through his body, cocooning him in warmth. His fear began to ebb away and was replaced by a quiet, firm belief that his wife had somehow changed. It was real, and he was ready to believe in her.
There's always a beginning, he thought suddenly. Always.
He closed his eyes again, and this time there was no jumble in his mind, no confusing morass of fear and desperation and despair. There was only the soul-deep, heartfelt desire of a man to begin again. A man who was ready to believe again in God, and in his wife.
Jack had no idea how long he sat there, head bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer, seeking help from God. Time dwindled and became unimportant.
It seemed like hours; it seemed like minutes.
"Jack?"
Lissa's quiet voice brought him out of his trancelike state. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. The unexpected light made him blink.
Her hand eased off of his. He immediately felt a sharp
stab of loss.
"The sermon's over," she said, standing.
Suddenly it was gone. The calm he'd fought so hard for disappeared, leaving him feeling betrayed and more alone than ever. He strove to find that thread of hope once again, to make himself believe.
He found it, buried deep but still intact. He sighed with relief. It hadn't all been a figment of his worthless mind. For once, he'd found something of value within him. All he had to do now was cling to the kernel of hope he'd found. Nurture it. It wouldn't be easy; he'd undoubtedly fail, but for once he wanted?wanted desperately?to try. Lissa sidled closer, touched his arm. He could smell her scent, wildflowers and promise. Turning, he looked down
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into her huge, earnest eyes and felt like a man who'd just been let out of jail. He smiled. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything, Jack," she said quietly. "You did."
Hours later, Jack curled his fingers around the swing's thick, scratchy ropes and planted a booted foot on the plank seat. The wood creaked and groaned. In the falling darkness of night, he stared at the house. Pale light emanated from the open window, carrying with it the scent of roasting meat.
He'd come home. Finally, after all the years of searching and emptiness and doubt, he felt as if he'd come home at last.
A smile spread across his face. Today in church he'd let himself believe in Lissa. In that instant all the emotions he'd hoarded and hidden for years surged to the forefront of his heart, and he'd fallen in love with her all over again. He was scared?damned scared?but he was excited, too. He felt as if he were perched on the edge of a brand-new life. All he had to do was take a single step forward. He let go of the swing and sauntered across the yard. From far below came the echoing whoosh of the sea, and the unexpected cry of a hungry gull. The moon shimmered behind a filmy purple cloud.
He bounded up the steps and eased the kitchen door open. The aroma of beef, cooking carrots, cinnamon, and sweet dough greeted him. No one seemed to notice his arrival. Quietly closing the door behind him, Jack glanced around.
Katie was sitting with her back to him, her small body hunched over the kitchen table. In a hesitant voice, she was calling out letters. Savannah sat beside her, drawing pictures of the letter in the air. Caleb was gurgling playfully in his cradle.
