From This Day Forward

The call went through, and Sam counted the rings. One. If she had gone to church, she should be home by now. Two. That meant she was ignoring him. Three. It looked like he might have to implement Plan B—get on a plane to Philadelphia and show up on her doorstep. Four.

Expecting the answering machine to kick in, he started to take a breath to leave a message when a live greeting came over the line. “Hello?”

The air whooshed out of his lungs.

“Hello?” Cara repeated when the silence lengthened.

He gulped in some oxygen. “Cara? It’s Sam.”

“I figured it might be.” Her voice was as taut as a rubber band about to snap.

“Sorry about all the messages. It finally dawned on me that you must be at church.”

“No.”

His eyebrows rose. “You never miss.”

“I’ve skipped the past few Sundays.”

He didn’t have to ask why. But if Cara was too nervous to go out even for services, Liz hadn’t exaggerated his wife’s trauma—or her need for help. Convincing her to let him provide it, however, was going to be a formidable challenge. He tried to think of some way to lead up to the purpose of his call, but in the end decided to plunge in. Why pretend that this was a normal conversation when they both knew it wasn’t?

“I talked to Liz,” he said without preamble.

“I know. She called me this morning.”

Unsure whether that was good or bad, Sam tested the waters. “She told you about our conversation?”

“Yes.”

When silence followed her single-word response, Sam realized that she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Cara.”

Soft and caring, his comment took her off guard. It reminded her of the way he’d talked to her early in their marriage. Perhaps he’d learned a thing or two about empathy since their parting, Cara mused. She hoped so. For his sake.

“I survived.” Her response came out a bit more curt than she intended, but maybe that was good. She didn’t want Sam to think her feelings toward him had softened one iota during the months they’d been apart. Nor did she want to prolong this painful conversation.

He got the message. And got to the point. “Based on what Liz told me about your experience, I think her plan has merit. A change of scene, and a move to a safe environment, could speed the emotional healing process. I have a three-bedroom house, and one of the bedrooms is empty. You’re welcome to use it for as long as you like.”

Since her conversation with Liz, Cara had forced herself to consider the situation from a practical standpoint. And she’d done some intense praying. When she’d answered the phone, she’d been prepared to accept his offer.

But now that the moment had arrived, she hesitated. It had been one thing to decide on a course of action in the abstract, and another altogether to follow through when his warm, caring voice was already wreaking havoc with her unsettled emotions. If she reacted this way talking to him by phone, how in the world would she manage when she was living in his house?

Still, he’d be gone a great deal—working all day and well into the evening, if old patterns held. Their paths didn’t have to cross that much. She had plenty of books she’d been wanting to read, and that could occupy her at night until he returned and she could go to sleep. It should be fine. Just because their marriage had fallen apart didn’t mean they couldn’t be adult enough to treat each other with civility for a few weeks.

“Okay.”

Prepared to argue his case, Sam was taken aback by her easy acquiescence. “You’re coming?” he clarified.

“Yes.”

A surge of elation washed over him, but he did his best to maintain a steady tone as he responded. “Good. When?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll make the arrangements and let you know.”

“Will you be okay making the trip alone?”

“I’ll manage.”

Her reassurance didn’t assuage his worry. He knew how debilitating panic attacks could be—as could the other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. But he also knew that if he got too protective, she might back off. Even cancel her trip. And he couldn’t risk that.

“Okay. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Cara.” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep a touch of warmth from creeping into his voice. And her warning note when she responded told him she hadn’t missed it.

“I’m only looking for a place to stay, Sam. Nothing more.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Without waiting for him to reply, Cara hung up.

As she picked up a now-tepid cup of tea, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t thanked him for his invitation. Perhaps because she wasn’t sure he was doing her any favors, she speculated. While her visit might be precisely what she needed to start her on the road to recovery, it could also turn out to be a disaster. Time would tell, she supposed. Until then, she’d just have to put the outcome in God’s hands.

And pray she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life.

Chapter Three

Wiping his hands on a damp rag, Sam reached for the can of soda balanced on the rungs of the ladder. As he took a long swallow, he gave the finished bedroom a satisfied survey. In the four days since Cara had agreed to come, he’d transformed the bland, beige room into an oasis. The walls were the exact shade of aquamarine his wife favored, and he’d given the dark woodwork three coats of semigloss white enamel to brighten up the space. Once he moved in the furniture, the bedroom would be a welcoming haven.

And he wanted his wife to feel welcome…even if he couldn’t say the words.

A headache began to throb in his temples, and he moved to the window to raise the sash higher, hoping to lessen the smell of paint fumes. As he took in a deep breath of fresh air scented with new-mown grass, he recalled a conversation he’d had with Cara on their second date, after she’d teased him about his quietness.

“I was a home-schooled only child,” he’d explained as they strolled to his car after attending a concert. He’d been tempted to take her hand, but fear that she’d reject his overture had held him back. Instead, he’d stuck his hands in his pockets. “It was a very solitary upbringing. Mom was great at teaching me math and English and science, but I never had much opportunity to learn social skills.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she’d responded, her deep green eyes sparking with mischief as she tucked her hand through his arm with a natural ease he could only envy. “You may not be the smoothest talker I’ve ever met, but you managed to get me to go out with you.”

“That was pure luck. Just like our meeting. If you hadn’t given me a megawatt smile when you came over to our table that night at the request of my date, I don’t think I would have had the guts to ask you out.”

“It took a lot more dinners before you did. How many nights in a row did you eat at the restaurant? Six?”

“Ten. And I have the credit card bill to prove it.”

“I’m sure your date rues the day she sent her compliments to the kitchen and insisted on meeting the chef.” Cara had grinned at him.

“It was just a blind date, anyway.”

“Are you serious?”

He’d felt her curious gaze and responded with a diffident shrug, hoping the lights from the shops they were passing weren’t strong enough to illuminate his face. “Yes. A well-meaning coworker was determined to beef up my lackluster social life.”

“You don’t date much?”