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And maybe here, on the water, above the depths that had taken the lives of the two people he’d held most dear, maybe this was the place to finally let it all go.
He drew in a shaky breath.
“I told you how I blamed myself for my parents’ deaths.”
She nodded.
“There’s more to it.” He paused, trying to compose himself. To finish the story. To tell her the worst of it. “I blamed God.” He faced her, all the grief swelling around him. “Deep down, I still do.” He swallowed. “When it came down to it, God didn’t answer my prayer. He didn’t protect those I loved.”
He blinked against the unshed tears. “I was left alone with my own shame.”
He could still hear the wind raging against the boat. See the lightning. The rain. He shivered, despite the sunshine on his bare arms.
“You’ve been carrying this burden too long.” Beth drew her thumb across his hand.
He nodded and shook away the grief that swept over him. “It was my fault. All my fault.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I pressured them.”
“I see parents and kids all the time,” Beth offered. “Yes, kids of all ages throw tantrums. It happens. Totally normal as they process their own desires and wants, explore independence.” She squeezed his hand again. “Here’s the thing, though—parents are parents. They are the adults, and they make choices all the time about how they will handle each situation that arises.”
She tapped her other hand on the paddle. “If your parents chose to take you on the lake that day, it was one hundred percent their choice. As persuasive as you might think your tantrum was—and trust me, I’ve seen some very persuasive tantrums in all my work with kids—the adults made the decision. You aren’t to blame.”
He wanted to believe her. Yeah, okay, if he was being objective, he’d seen that with kids.
Still, the regret clung to him. A little lighter, though. A little less intrusive.
Because every time he’d walked into the bakery, stood by the lake, or celebrated a holiday in Deep Haven, the vacancy of his parents had been too near. “It became too hard to have close relationships.”
“And then…Harper.”
He dropped his head. Stared at the paddle. “Exactly.”
“Vivien and Courtney keep telling me God goes before me—it’s from Deuteronomy. That God will not leave me or forsake me.”
“Some friends they are—throwing Scripture at you like that.” He gave a wry smile.
“Right? How dare they?” She worked her fingers against her other palm, as if kneading her thoughts. “Deep in my heart, I believe it. But out here”—she gestured to the world around them—“it’s scary.”
He nodded. “I want to be a better man. I want to be the man who believes God didn’t—and won’t—leave me. But He didn’t save them.” He dipped his fingers into the icy water. Watched the sunlight sparkle on it. “It’s hard to reconcile that with a loving God.”
“Hard to trust being close to people…that you won’t lose them. That they won’t leave.”
He nodded. Yeah, she got it. And knowing that made his world feel a little less lonely. “I didn’t know all this came with the lesson.” He tried to make light of it and flicked the water drops from his fingertips.
“You’re getting the extended version.” She rubbed her fingers on her paddle. “So, what are your great plans for being a better man?” she asked.
“Ah. Well, I’d like to be a man who is sacrificial. Unselfish. Who puts others first. Who trusts God, even when it’s hard.”
“Good goals. I think we have to choose who we are every day, with every decision we make. That’s what makes you who you are. Each next decision.”
“Says the girl who struggles with chasing her own dreams.”
“Hey now,” she said, but she had a smile in her eyes. “I give great advice. I don’t necessarily follow it.” She winked, lifted his hand in her own, and wrapped it with her other hand. She drew it to her heart. “I don’t know why your parents died that day, but it wasn’t your fault. Or God’s.” Her words drifted out over the water.
Hope. An irresistible, undeniable hope swirled in his soul, spilling over. Rising above the grief. Above the darkness that had fed his childhood nightmares.
