you also just moved?” He waited for her nod. “Why did you pick Milford?”
“It’s fairly close to Ann Arbor, so I could take Tessa to C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital at the University of Michigan. There are only a few hospitals with pediatric rheumatologists on staff.” Her sacrifice had been small when she thought of the pain that Tessa faced daily.
“Did you find work here?”
“I’m a freelance writer. With a modem and my stable of regular contacts, I can live anywhere. Besides, Milford is such a quaint little village. And it’s clear across the state from my former husband and his new bride.”
He chuckled. “You’ve had so many changes in such a short period. Until now, you’ve hardly had the time to be depressed. Now that your world has slowed, you’re having these feelings, and I’m glad you’re talking about them. That will help a lot.”
Was there some neat little order that these feelings could fall into, like dividers that create order in a junk drawer? Somehow she doubted it. No, for once she was positive about something. It would never be that simple.
“I just feel so guilty.” She buried her face in her hands, allowing the blame to cover her like a dark, scratchy blanket. Seconds ticked by as she tried to tuck the feelings back into compartments where she could face them again. “For not being a stronger parent, for not being able stop Tessa’s pain, but, most of all, for mourning the loss of my perfect daughter—our perfect life.”
Andrew planted both hands on the desk, then lowered them and rocked in the chair. His actions confused her.
“What do you mean, perfect?” He pressed a crooked index finger to his lips.
She chuckled at both herself and his counselor’s pose. “I know it sounds silly, but I used to believe I led a charmed life. I had a good home, a nice family—everything anyone could ask for. And then the whole thing fell apart. Tessa got sick, and Trent cheated on me and left me for someone else. No more charmed life.”
He studied her for several seconds. “I wish I had met you several years ago.”
To her humiliation, the skin on her arms began to tingle. She couldn’t allow herself to consider how meeting a nice guy like him years earlier might have changed her life. She rubbed her damp palms down her skirt, resisting the urge to smooth her blouse, as well.
“Why is that?” She choked out the words.
“Because this is what I would have said to you then—‘You believe your life is charmed? Just wait, because nobody gets out of here free.”’
Serena chuckled. How right he was. “And I wouldn’t have bought a bit of it back then. It’s only now that I would have realized you were a genius.”
“If we’ve just met and you think I’m a genius, then we’d better avoid getting to know each other better. I’d hate to see my I.Q. plummet in your mind.”
She laughed again, a real, honest laugh that felt wonderful. And to think that lately she’d wondered if she would ever laugh again. He was so easy to talk to. And he made her feel as if everything was going to be all right—for the low, low price of free.
Andrew tapped his fingers on his desk a few times until she finally looked back at him. “It’s okay to feel sad, you know. About Tessa’s illness. About the divorce. Even about the loss of your charmed life.”
“Then, why do I feel so guilty about being sad?”
“This is just a guess, but I think you’re used to being in control. You haven’t been able to control any of these things, and it’s making you crazy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Crazy? Is that a word a counselor should be using?”
“I’m a youth minister these days. I’ve forgotten all of those rules.”
“So I’m supposing you’ll be recommending me to real counselors now?” She’d done it—used a sentence as a question. Great, now she was talking like him.
He shook his head. “So you’re having a bit of a pity party after a really rough year and a half. Who could blame you? I’m not saying never to seek professional help, but you probably could wait for a while. Treat yourself really well and wait to see if the blues subside. If not, then seek further help.”
“Is that your professional advice, Mr. Westin?” She stood to indicate she was ready to leave.
“Absolutely, Mrs. Jacobs.” He followed her to the door. “Now let’s discuss that little matter of payment.”
Serena looked over her shoulder at him and chuckled. “I gave at the office—I mean, in the offering plate.”
“Oh, well then. See you Sunday.”
Andrew closed the door on his most nerve-racking day since starting his fellowship at Hickory Ridge Community Church six months earlier. Had she noticed that he’d swallowed hard every time she pushed her shiny, dark hair behind her ears, letting the sun dance on its auburn highlights? He’d thought she was beautiful, having only seen her from across the church. But up close, she was amazing.
At least he’d known enough the past few Sundays to be glad it was Reverend Bob’s job to deliver the sermon and not his. Otherwise, he was sure Paul’s admonishment to the church at Corinth would have been full of warnings about long, wavy hair and full lips.
Now that he’d had a good look at her, the image in his head this Sunday would be more vivid. He would see eyes that were a combination of delicacies—shaped like almonds and the hue of dark chocolate. He would know that her face was a little too square, her nose too straight, to earn her the title of classic beauty, but that somehow made her more appealing. He couldn’t allow himself to think about the way she looked in her prim white blouse and that skirt/shorts thing, even now, without breaking a sweat.
It would surely require a prayer for forgiveness, but he’d been thankful when he’d learned she was divorced. It should have made him want to step back from her, but it didn’t.
Pushing those dangerous thoughts away, Andrew pulled the monthly youth calendar up on his computer screen. Immediately, he felt tired. In theory, it was great to keep the youth too occupied in the summer to get into trouble, but all of those activities required chaperoning. The finger for that job pointed right back at him.
Trips to the Detroit Zoo and Michigan’s Adventure Park in Muskegon, plus pizza night—that would be enough without tonight’s youth lock-in. That was all he needed—spending twelve hours in a house full of adolescents. Eating too much junk food. Getting no sleep. Even with reliable fellow chaperones Robert and Diana Lidstrom and Charlene Lowe, it would be a harrowing night.
He walked to the window and stared out across the field to the older farmhouse that served as both his home and the temporary Family Life Center. The deacons had been fortunate that the prior owner had been ready to retire to Florida when they’d searched for property on which to build a new center.
Architects were already planning the shiny, modern structure that would stand there after the house was razed, but as he looked at the existing building—majestic in its own utilitarian way—he wished they’d just leave it alone. It had such character. Such history. The house spoke to a time when Milford had been a farming area instead of
