Crossroads. Irene Hannon
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“I have a feeling you’re being too hard on yourself.”
“No. It’s true. I was too caught up with being a cop. I loved Dana—but my job always came first. And a lot of things suffered because of that.” Mitch gazed at her, his face somber. “There are a lot of regrets in my past, Tess.”
“All we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.”
A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips. “You sound like my uncle.”
She smiled in return. “And have you taken his advice?”
“I’m trying.”
“Speaking of your uncle, won’t you be late…?”
Mitch glanced at his watch. There was no way he’d make it to his uncle’s farm before dark. But somehow he didn’t care. “He’ll understand. Besides, when it comes to regrets, the past hour spent with you isn’t one of them.”
IRENE HANNON
has been a writer for as long as she can remember. This prolific author of romance novels for both the inspirational and traditional markets began her career at age ten, when she won a story contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. Today, in addition to penning her heartwarming stories of love and faith, Irene keeps quite busy with her day job in corporate communications. In her “spare” time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions.
Irene and her husband, Tom—whom she describes as “my own romantic hero”—make their home in St. Louis, Missouri.
Crossroads
Irene Hannon
You changed my mourning into dancing; you
took off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.
—Psalms 30:11
To my precious niece, Catherine Moira,
who has been such a blessing in our lives. May all your tomorrows be filled with joy and love.
Dear Reader,
As I write this letter, the school year is ending—and I find myself envying the students who have a carefree summer ahead, with no worries over tasks yet to be completed or issues to be resolved. For someone who has spent many years in the corporate world, that kind of closure seems very, very appealing. As does the opportunity to make a fresh beginning each fall.
Life is filled with such endings and beginnings, many of them externally imposed and out of our control. Like moving from one grade to the next. But sometimes we have to take the initiative and recognize that it’s up to us to make the decision to move on.
In Crossroads, Mitch and Tess face that challenge. So do Bruce and Uncle Ray. Though their challenges differ, they must each choose to end one way of life before they can start another.
Such choices are not usually easy. They require us to take a long, hard look at our priorities, our fears and hopes. They also require trust—in ourselves, in others and in God. As you face such turning points in your life, may you take comfort in knowing that you are never alone. For as the Lord promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of time.”
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
B ruce Lockwood banged the door and stormed into the kitchen, his eyes flashing. “Mr. Jackson is a—”
“Bruce!” Tess gave her fourteen-year-old son a stern warning look. She knew exactly what he was about to say, and she didn’t allow that kind of language in the house.
“—creep!” Bruce finished more tamely, slamming his books onto the table.
Tess cringed. She hadn’t exactly had the best day herself, and she wasn’t sure she was up to another tirade about Southfield High’s principal. She took a deep breath, willing the dull ache in her temples to subside.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Bruce gave her a sullen look. “He’s just a creep, that’s all.” The boy withdrew a card from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. “He wants you to call and make an appointment with him.”
Tess frowned and reached for the card, her stomach clenching. The adjustment from small-town school in Jefferson City, Missouri, to big-city school in St. Louis had been difficult for him, particularly midyear. If there had been any way to delay their move until the end of the term, she would have. But the unexpected merger of her newspaper with a larger chain had left her a victim of downsizing, and the offer from a community newspaper in suburban St. Louis had seemed the answer to a prayer. She’d been able to find a comfortable apartment near the office in a quiet suburb, and had hoped that the small-town feel of the area would ease the transition to their new environment. It had worked for her, but not for Bruce.
Tess glanced down at the card. “Mitch Jackson, principal.” Her frown deepened. Parents weren’t usually contacted unless there was a good reason. The ache in her temples began to throb, and she looked over at her son. He was watching her—his body posture defiant, but his eyes wary.
“Why does he want to meet with me?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bruce countered.
Tess folded her arms across her chest, her lips tightening into a thin line. “I didn’t say you did. I just asked why he wants to see me,” she replied, struggling to keep her temper in check.
“Because he’s a creep!”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s true! Ever since I transferred to that dumb school he’s been watching me, just waiting for me to mess up. He should still be a cop, the way he’s on me for every little thing.”
Tess held the card up. “What ‘little thing’ prompted this?”
Bruce glared at her. “You’re as bad as he is. Always asking questions, always breathing down my neck. Why can’t people just leave me alone?”
Tess stared at her son. How had her relationship with Bruce deteriorated in two short months? There was a time when they used to talk, when he shared things with her. But since coming to St. Louis he’d withdrawn, shutting her out of his life and his thoughts. She’d tried to draw him out, but the demands of her new job had left her too little time to spend with her son during this critical transition period. Whatever his problems at school, she knew she shared the blame. Slowly she sat down on the kitchen chair, drew a steadying breath and looked up at him.
“Maybe because people care.”
Bruce gave a dismissive snort. “Mr. Jackson doesn’t care. He’s just nosy.”
“I care.”
He was disarmed