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“Then how do you know what happened to him?”
Her mouth twisted. “Get this. He bought a life insurance policy and named me as his beneficiary. A reparation of sorts, I suppose. Like that was supposed to fix everything.”
“He never attempted to contact you in all those years?”
“No.” She picked up a fallen maple leaf that hadn’t yet withered, its brilliant colors vibrant and unfaded. “I donated the insurance money to an organization that sponsors house parents for kids from troubled homes.”
That sounded like the Bri he was coming to know.
“And you were placed with your foster parents after you were taken away from him?”
“Yes—and they became my real parents in every way that mattered. They lavished me with love, gave me siblings I cherish, and created a home where I felt safe. They also raised me in a faith-filled environment. But even though I attend church every Sunday, I can’t reach deep enough to find forgiveness for my birth father. Which doesn’t make me a very good Christian, I suppose.”
“Then I’m not a good Christian, either, because despite my weekly church attendance, I can’t imagine ever forgiving the person who set the fire that killed my parents.”
She sat back on her heels and looked at him, moisture clinging to the tips of her eyelashes, the late afternoon sun burnishing her skin. “Maybe we can work on learning to forgive together.”
“I like that idea.”
The corners of her mouth rose a hair. “You know, that social worker may have been spot-on when she told Mom and Dad it would be healthy for me to talk about my bad memories. But I think you have to do it with the right person.” Her gazelocked on his as a sudden breeze feathered the wisps of hair framing her face. “You feel like the right person, Marc Davis.”
Warmth spread through him, as comforting and invigorating as the balmy caress of sun after a long, cold winter. “That’s one of the nicest compliments anyone’s ever paid me.” His reply came out husky. “We’re about finished here, so why don’t—”
The back door banged, and they swiveled toward it in unison as the owner appeared on his small porch, juggling a tray in both hands, a cane hooked over his arm—and looking none too steady.
In a dozen long strides Marc covered the distance to the porch and relieved him of the tray. “Let me help you with that, sir.”
“Thank you, young man. And the name’s George. ‘Sir’ is much too formal.” He motioned toward Bri as she joined them. “I thought you and the missus might be thirsty. I’m not too handy in the kitchen, but my wife did teach me how to make proper lemonade.”
Marc sent Bri a sidelong glance.
Soft color flooded her cheeks as she responded. “We’re not married. Marc just came along to help me. But that lemonade will hit the spot.”
“It’s delicious, if I do say so myself.” George rested both hands on top of his cane. “So you two aren’t a couple. I must be losing my touch. My wife always told me I had a sixth sense about people who were paired up—or should be. Well, you two enjoy the lemonade.”
As the homeowner disappeared back inside, Marc nodded toward a bench at the edge of the patio. “Shall we?”
Bri crossed to it, taking the glass Marc handed her and claiming a spot as he deposited the tray on an adjacent table. “The sun’s beginning to sink.”
“We’re lucky we finished before we lost the light.” He sat beside her. “What are your plans for the rest of the—”
She held up a finger and pulled out her phone. Knitted her brow. “This number isn’t familiar, but I don’t like to let calls roll. You never know when a tip might be coming in. Do you mind if I answer? I’ll make it quick.”
“No. Go ahead.” He could finish his question after the call.
Bri put the cell to her ear. “Hello ... Sophie? ... Yes, of course I remember you.” Bri went silent for quite a while, her expression morphing from curiosity to shock. “I’m so sorry. How is she doing? ... I’m sure she is. Will you tell her to call me if I can do anything? ... Yes, I’d appreciate that. And thank you for letting me know.”
As Bri lowered the phone and ended the call, Marc leaned toward her. “Bad news?”
“Yes.” She scrubbed at her forehead with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “I have a firefighter friend in one of the local municipalities. She’s separated from her husband but had great hopes for a reconciliation. That was her sister. My friend found out this morning her husband was killed in a camping accident last night.”
No wonder Bri had paled during the conversation.
“That had to be shattering news. I’m sorry for her. For both of them.”
“Me too. She has to be devastated.” Bri stared into the depths of her lemonade. Took a sip. “Sometimes, when tragedies like this happen, don’t you wonder what God is thinking?”
“Always.” That question had plagued him for years after the death of his parents. “Life often doesn’t seem fair, and the suffering of innocents is hard to fathom given how much of the evil in this world goes unpunished.”
