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He pulled up outside John and Ange’s cottage and watched Sarah slowly exit. She turned, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. “Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. And hey, I really am sorry for scaring you before.”
She inclined her head a few degrees, as if she were the queen, then turned and disappeared inside.
He frowned as he drove off in a cloud of dust, wondering about his new neighbor. A mix of what seemed like grit and fear, humor and reserve, fire and ice. John and Ange seemed to treat her with kid gloves, but he knew from personal experience they could speak pretty straight. Why all the tiptoeing around the princess?
Chapter 3
“Give it some thought, Sarah. People need to hear about the benefits of mission work overseas.”
“But I’m not good at talking to people anymore.”
“You can do this. You’re stronger than you think.”
Her uncle’s words hung heavy in the air, teasing her to believe. She shook her head, exchanged a wry smile with Ange, and redirected John’s attention. “Have fun today.”
“Have fun yourself.” They moved to the small blue sedan.
Ange blew her a kiss as John started the engine. “We’ll be back tonight.”
As the car disappeared around the bend in the road, Sarah smiled. Being alone had proved a rare pleasure growing up. Maybe it was all the meetings her parents had held at home, or all the people who’d come and stayed. Just one of the hazards of being a minister’s daughter. The smile slipped as she recalled some others, like the expectation from certain congregation members that she look and behave a certain way, as if she was supposed to be extra holy simply because she was a preacher’s kid. That bubble had certainly burst over the past year. After the accident, people didn’t know what to expect of her anymore.
She moved through the front door, down the short hall, and eyed the bathroom. She’d offered to clean, but Ange had declined assistance. Oh well. Cleaning Fairy was about to appear anyway. That burst of energy lasted just long enough to also tackle the kitchen, leaving it gleaming as brightly as the chrome on the French coffee press. She took her coffee to the dining table, pulled her laptop near, and puzzled over her uncle’s comments. No way was she ready to stand in front of strangers and declare the wonders of the Pacific Mission Organization. But maybe there was another way.
A few clicks later and she had the makings of a slideshow, the words and images seared in her brain. Tropical jungle. Mountain vistas fading into blue. People engaged in education, health, building houses. Her parents’ ministry base high in the New Guinea mountains had hosted many short-term missions teams over the years, offering a place to stay for a variety of people to make a positive difference in the world. Offering their daughters the chance to later meet men who had ultimately altered their lives in ways unimaginable.
Heart dipping, she gazed at the image on the screen. Stephen.
Her lips quivered. She shut the laptop. Pushed away from the table, away from the memories.Distraction, distraction.
She moved to the little living room out the back. It held an open fireplace, some comfortable couches, the dining table, and big windows overlooking the back deck. She slid open the glass door, gazing out across the great view of the lake. But she needed something more than a pretty view. She needed todo. And that could be achieved with the help of the prize sitting against the wall, something she’d been itching to try since she’d first arrived.
Sarah lifted off the dust covers and settled in front of the old Yamaha. Hopefully it was in tune. She held her breath, struck middle C, and completed a quick run up the keys. Resonance filled the room. After some scales, she began her limited repertoire of classic melancholy pop songs. Ease settled into her soul. There was something divinely relaxing about playing the piano, creating music as the mood took her. And here, with nobody around, the mood could take her to the usual place, and nobody would ask any questions.
A half hour later, she was in the midst of the familiar dark swirl of emotion, the minor chords deepening the heaviness of her heart, her voice blending with the piano’s surprisingly good tone. She began singing “Kissing You,” a haunting tune from the 90s filmRomeo and Juliet. It had become one of her favorite songs—guaranteed to release some of her pent-up emotion.
Tears escaped. She swiped them away, pushing through the break in her voice as the music swelled around her like a cocoon. She was safe. Nobody could hear, nobody could see the broken heart being played aloud or the tears splotting on the ivories. She sang the final line, finishing on an unresolved note, the sound fading into silence. Placing her head in her hands, she exhaled a ragged breath, heart raw with the grief that wouldn’t leave.God, this still hurts so much.
Something creaked. She lifted her head, then jumped. Dan stood at the screen door, his features soft.
No. She couldn’t deal with pity. Best defense was attack. She rubbed damp cheeks, willed her voice to normal. “What do you want? Are you some kind of stalker?”
“What? No, I, uh, came to speak with John. I didn’t mean to intrude. But when I heard the music…” His eyes held hers. “That was…beautiful.”
No. That had been way too revealing. Honest. Real. “No one was meant to hear that.”
“Why? You’re really talented.” He leaned against the doorframe, studying her, his dark eyes intense, like he was trying to puzzle her out.
Her skin prickled. She slid off the piano stool to stand at the window. “I…I like playing if nobody’s around. I don’t have to worry if I hit a wrong note.”
“You shouldn’t worry. You’re so good you could perform in public.”
If only he knew. Obviously Ange hadn’t said anything. Relief was followed by the slightest sense of disappointment. She folded her arms. “Did you say you wanted John?”
“Just to see if he wanted to go fishing.”
“He’s not here. They went to Port Carling.”
