03_The Unexpected Gift Read online

  For a long time, Morgan drove aimlessly, unaware of her surroundings until she found herself pulling up in front of the small, white church where she’d attended Christmas services. She had no recollection of heading toward Seaside, had made no conscious decision to stop at the church. But as she stared up at the tall white spire pointing heavenward, it felt right to be here. Maybe, in this place that had brought back so many memories of comfort and peace from her childhood, she might find the consolation she yearned for.

  Of course, chances were slim that the door would be unlocked on a weekday. But it was worth checking out, as long as she was here. She needed help, and had no idea where else to turn.

  Much to Morgan’s surprise, the door opened when she gave it a push. She stepped into the empty church and stood in the back, letting the peace and stillness steal over her. The tall, clear windows that reached all the way to the upper level offered a stunning view of the deep blue wintry sky, and bright light streamed through, spotlighting the simple interior in striking bands. Unfortunately, the heat in the building didn’t seem to be turned on, and a shiver ran through her. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat, sorry now that she’d left her gloves in the car. But it wasn’t worth making a trip back outside to retrieve them. She didn’t plan to stay long.

  Morgan moved to the last pew and sank down. For the past few weeks she’d been searching for answers to questions about why her life had been turned upside down, and deeper questions, about the very meaning of her existence. She’d spent thirteen years building a career in advertising to the exclusion of everything else—she’d neglected her sisters, given up any semblance of a personal life and turned away from God. And what did she have to show for her sacrifices?

  Nothing.

  Morgan’s shoulders drooped and she lowered her head, fighting back tears. The things she’d given up were the very things that could sustain her now, if she’d nurtured them. She could count on A.J. and Clare, of course, despite her negligence. They’d always been there for each other. But they didn’t understand why she’d become so obsessed with success. And she was beginning to wonder why, herself. True, she’d never wanted to end up like her mother, struggling just to make ends meet because of the untimely death of her husband. But she’d taken the quest for security to an extreme, only to fail in the end, anyway.

  She’d already rehashed her personal life on Valentine’s Day. She was well aware that the husband and family she’d always put at the bottom of her list might well be unattainable now.

  And as for falling away from God…perhaps that had been her biggest mistake. She couldn’t blame her background for that misstep. She’d grown up in a churchgoing, God-centered household, and A.J. and Clare had managed to hang on to their faith through far tougher times than she’d ever encountered. So had Grant. Why had she let it go? Was it because she was too successful? Had she come to believe that she didn’t need God anymore?

  Morgan suspected that that was exactly what had happened. Maybe it was easier to hold on to your faith when times were tough, when you needed an anchor and a guiding hand. Success, on the other hand, could give you a false sense of independence and self-reliance, even arrogance, making it easier to push God aside and think you didn’t need Him.

  But she needed Him now.

  It had been a long time since Morgan had prayed. So long that she’d almost forgotten how. And she felt awkward about initiating a conversation with the God she’d long ago relegated to, at best, a secondary role in her life. But she had nowhere else to turn for help. So she knew she had to try.

  Lord, I’m afraid You might have forgotten who I am, she began, her words silent and halting. But Clare and A.J. would tell me that isn’t true, that You are with us always, even when we abandon You. I hope they’re right. Because I haven’t been Your most faithful servant. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, maybe the biggest one being that I didn’t think I needed You anymore. That I could handle life on my own. But I don’t think that now, Lord. My life is a mess, and I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve gotten so caught up in the quest for worldly success that I’ve lost touch with the things that really matter, the things that truly count.

  I’d like to get back on track, Lord. But I need guidance. Please help me find my way home again. Show me the path that You want me to follow. Right now I feel like I’m lost, wandering in a desert with no star to guide me. I know I don’t deserve Your help after all of the wrong turns I’ve made, but I’ll try to put my trust in Your mercy and forgiveness and hope that You’ll take pity on your wayward daughter.

  I also ask, Lord, that You look with special favor on Grant, who has been so kind to me and who is struggling to deal with the loss of the woman he loved. And please be with Clare and A.J., whose loyal love and support has always been such a blessing to me, even though I’ve often taken it for granted. Amen.

  Morgan felt a tear slip from her eye. Then another. She didn’t try to stop them. That would be futile. Because she needed to cry.

  For all the mistakes she’d made.

  For all the things she’d missed.

  For all the wrong choices she’d made.

  And for the yesterdays she couldn’t change that could very well affect all of her tomorrows.

  Grant gave the screwdriver one final twist, then tested the door of the church’s vestment cabinet, noting with satisfaction that it now moved with ease on its hinges. He put the tool back in his kit, closed and fastened the lid and checked his watch. He still needed to go back to the shop and help his father and Uncle Pete load the dining-room set they planned to deliver tomorrow.

  Grant flipped off the light in the vesting room, then stepped out into the sanctuary, his rubber-soled work shoes noiseless on the marble floor. He started toward the back door, but came to an abrupt stop when he noticed the solitary figure in the back pew. Though her head was bowed, he had no trouble recognizing Morgan’s distinctive, dark copper hair.

  Grant hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. With her slumped posture and bowed head, she was the picture of dejection, and his heart ached for her. She looked so alone, so in need of a friend. She must be feeling really low if she’d turned to God for help, given her comment at Christmas about church attendance being a rare occurrence.

  He considered calling out to her, then thought better of it. Knowing how hard she was trying to keep up a good public front, he was sure she’d be embarrassed to be caught in this very private, personal moment.

  Grant glanced again at his watch. He needed to lock up before he left, and he couldn’t do that with Morgan inside. So there was only one course of action. He retreated to the vesting room, then made enough noise to clue her in to his presence.

  When he returned to the sanctuary, Morgan was sitting up and looked far more composed—though she seemed a bit startled to discover that he had been the source of the noise. She rose as he moved down the aisle, and despite the smile she summoned up, he saw the lingering sadness in the depths of her eyes. As well as clear evidence of recent tears, which she’d tried without complete success to erase.

  “Hi. I didn’t expect to find you here,” he greeted her.

  She gave him a rueful smile. “Me, neither. I just started driving, and the next thing I knew I found myself pulling up in front of the church. I was surprised to find the door open.”

  “I stopped by to fix a hinge on a vestment cabinet I made for the church several years ago. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “I was just talking to God. Or trying to,” she amended.

  “He’s a good listener.”

  “It’s a pretty one-sided conversation, though.”

  “You do have to listen in a different way to hear His voice,” Grant acknowledged, smiling.

  “I guess I’ll have to relearn that skill, then, because I could use some good advice.”

  “About the job situation?”

  “About life in general. Things are kind of…a mess right n
ow.”

  Her voice broke, and much to Morgan’s horror, a tear slipped from her eye and trailed down her cheek. Embarrassed, she reached up to brush it away. “Sorry. I don’t usually lose control like this.”

  “You’ve had a lot thrown at you these past few weeks,” Grant commiserated, realizing anew the fragility of Morgan’s emotional state. He had concluded a long time ago that she was a woman who tended to keep her emotions on a tight leash. The fact that her control had slipped meant she was teetering right on the edge. It was clear that frightened her. And, to his surprise, him as well.

  “But I should be able to cope better than this,” she said, cutting herself no slack. “A job loss isn’t the end of the world, after all.”

  “It’s the end of the world you knew before.” He gestured to the pew. “Would you like to sit and talk for a few minutes?”

  Morgan was about to say no, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw an empathy born of pain and disappointment that tempted her to confide in him, to share her feelings, to take advantage of the sympathetic ear he was offering. And she also sensed that she could trust this man with the secrets of her heart, that he would never betray her confidence.

  Morgan needed to talk with someone. She’d opened her heart to God, but as Grant had told her, she had to learn to listen for His voice in a different way—a skill she hadn’t yet mastered. In the meantime, a flesh-and-blood person was willing to talk with her, to offer his support and understanding, to give her feedback she could hear right away.

  She drew a deep breath and made her decision—but she gave him an out in case he was having second thoughts about his offer. “Are you sure you have time?”

  Grant nodded. As if to emphasize his point, he sat down. “I’m in no hurry.”

  Morgan joined him. “I feel guilty burdening you with my problems when you have your own to deal with. Mine seem so petty in comparison. When I think of all the years you were faithful to Christine, only to lose her in the end…I can’t even begin to fathom that kind of heartbreak.”

  Grant looked away, drawing in a deep breath to ease the pain that gripped his heart. He waited until it had ebbed to a dull throb before turning back to her. “We all have our crosses to bear, Morgan. I’ve had a long time to learn how to live with mine—with God’s help. Yours is new. And from what you’ve said, I don’t think you have quite the foundation of faith to fall back on that I have. So don’t feel guilty. I’m glad to offer a friendly ear. Sometimes a different perspective can offer new insights.” He angled his body toward her, his eyes warm and sympathetic. “You haven’t said much about the situation other than the bare facts, but I sense that this has been a devastating experience for you,” he ventured.

  She nodded and looked down at her clasped hands. She’d been so self-reliant for so long, so in control, that it was hard to let go, to admit that she didn’t have all the answers. Which was due to pride, of course. She didn’t want to lose face. Yet she felt safe with this man, somehow knowing deep in her heart that he would treat her confidences with gentleness and respect. And that gave her the courage to put her pride aside and admit that maybe she wasn’t quite the superwoman she’d always thought she was.

  So, in a halting voice, Morgan told him of her job loss, her sense of betrayal, and her feelings of failure, isolation and diminished self-worth.

  “I know in my heart that I’m more than my job,” she concluded. “And just in case I’d forgotten, my sister, Clare, was quick to remind me of that. But so much of my life has been focused on my work that the rest of me has somehow gotten lost. And I’m just not sure how to find it again. Or even where to look.”

  Grant had been listening with quiet attentiveness, but now he leaned forward, his eyes intent. “It’s there, Morgan. But it may be buried pretty far down after all these years. Maybe you just need to give yourself some time.”

  “Patience has never been my strong suit,” she admitted.

  “A lot of us struggle with that.”

  She gave him an appraising look. “You strike me as a very patient man.”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t come to me naturally. But I learned a lot these past few years. About acknowledging that we aren’t always in charge. About letting go. About trusting that things happen in God’s time, not always in ours.”

  “Those are hard lessons. Especially when being in charge, taking control, and getting ahead as fast as possible are the values of the world you’ve lived in.”

  “Not every world is like that.”

  “Yours certainly doesn’t seem to be,” she conceded “Have you always lived here?”

  “Maine is home. I always knew it was where I belonged.”

  “But didn’t you ever aspire to more?”

  He looked at her steadily. “I have my faith, and my family and work I love. What more is there?”

  Morgan didn’t know how to respond. Perhaps because there was no answer. He’d pretty much summed up everything that counted. Of all the successful men she’d ever met in the business world, many of them famous and powerful, none had radiated the quiet confidence that Grant did. He seemed like a man who had found his place in the world and was content with it. There was no restlessness, no grasping, no struggle to meet some nebulous definition of worldly success. And despite the tragedy that had changed his life forever, he still seemed like a man at peace with himself. She envied him that.

  A sudden shiver ran through her, and she pulled her coat more tightly around her body. She hadn’t intended to stay long enough in the chilly church for the cold to seep through the thin, wool fabric. It was time to go.

  But she didn’t want to. Here, in this man’s presence, she felt a sense calm, of caring that was a balm to her soul, and she didn’t want the moment to end. Because she knew that once she left this place, and this man, she would again be assailed by doubts. So she rubbed her hands together for warmth, hoping to prolong the interlude.

  Grant’s gaze dropped to her hands. He hadn’t missed her shiver, either. Morgan’s fashionable wool coat might be fine for running between buildings in Boston, but it wasn’t designed for extended exposure to the cold. And the church was very cold. She must be chilled to the bone.

  Without even stopping to think, Grant reached for her hands and clasped her icy fingers in his warm ones. “You’re cold,” he murmured. “Does this help?”

  She went perfectly still, her attention riveted on their entwined hands. Hers had been swallowed by his lean, strong fingers, which held them in a gentle, sure grasp. She had been cold. But now she was warm. Grant’s touch sent a jolt surging through her, causing a flush to rise on her cheeks. She knew his gesture was a simple act of kindness, motivated by a concern for her well-being. Nothing more. Yet she felt far more. Safe. Protected. Cared for.

  And attracted to this man—way more than was prudent.

  No one had ever evoked that exact combination of feelings in her. And she was confused by her reaction. She only knew one thing with certainty. She needed to get herself under control. Fast.

  As Grant stared down at Morgan’s bowed head, he realized that touching her had been a mistake. It felt good. Too good. Which meant it was wrong. Somehow, his innocent gesture had gone awry. He should never have taken her hands in his. There had been a simpler way to warm her up—escort her to her car, where she could turn on the heater.

  He was just about to release her when she looked up at him, and the longing he saw in her eyes made his heart stop, then race on. His mouth went dry, and he suddenly he wanted to do more than just hold her hands.

  Grant had no idea how to deal with the yearning or the unexpected impulses that swept over him. All he knew was that acting on them would be wrong. It was way too soon after Christine’s death to have these kinds of feelings. Yet there they were. Along with soul-searing, crushing guilt.

  He dropped Morgan’s hands and stood, jamming his own hands in his pockets. “It’s too cold in here,” he said, his voice as uneven as rough-hewn wood
. “You’ll be better off in your car, with the heater cranked up.”

  Morgan stood as well, her own eyes now distressed and confused. Like Grant, she stuck her hands in her pockets. “You’re probably right.” Her voice was as shaky as his.

  In silence, she followed him to the door and stepped outside, waiting as he locked it behind them. Then she turned to him with a forced smile. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Sure. Anytime.”

  But even as he said the words, Grant resolved that there wouldn’t be another time.

  There couldn’t be.

  Because Morgan was too lovely.

  And he was too lonely.

  Chapter Eight

  “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

  Morgan walked to the edge of Aunt Jo’s cottage and peered around the side. An SUV she didn’t recognize was parked in front. “I’m around back,” she called.

  A moment later Kit appeared. “Hi there! In the mood for a visitor?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve gotten kind of tired of talking to the squirrels and chipmunks.”

  Chuckling, Kit joined her on the deck. “Sounds like a case of cabin fever to me. Are you going stir-crazy?”

  “Not really. I’ve been spending a lot of time on my job search and working on the Good Shepherd project. So I keep busy. And I’ve started taking long walks. At your brother’s suggestion.”

  “He comes up with a good idea now and then,” Kit said with a smile, turning to admire the vista of the sea.

  “I always thought Serenity Point had the best view in the area. But it’s a little chilly for deck-sitting today, isn’t it?”

  “I just came out for a breath of fresh air. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure. And I brought a crumb cake from the bakery. They have the world’s best,” she said, holding up a small, white box.

  “Mmm. That sounds tempting.” Morgan led the way inside. “Just move that stuff on the table aside while I get the coffee. I was working on the camp project right before you came, and it sort of took over.”