Healing the Widower's Heart. Susan Anne Mason
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no matter what he does, you love him and will never leave him.”
A flush moved up his neck, while his gaze slid down to his clenched hands.
Suspicion flickered. “You have told Zach you love him, haven’t you, Mr. Porter?”
“I’m his father. He knows how I feel.”
She leaned forward over the desk to emphasize her point. “Everyone needs to hear the words—no matter how much you think it’s understood. Especially children.”
Visibly agitated, Nathan stood to pace the small enclosure. “It’s not easy to profess love to a child who constantly screams ‘I hate you.’”
Compassion welled within her, and inexplicably Paige found herself wanting to comfort this man, to ease his pain in some small way.
“Of course it isn’t easy,” she said. “But you, as the adult, have to rise above his outbursts. Sometimes a simple hug during a tantrum will defuse the situation. And right now Zach needs all the hugs he can get.”
Nathan stopped pacing, his back to her. His rigid stance and lack of response told Paige there was something much deeper blocking his relationship with his son.
She jotted down a few notes on her pad of paper before posing another difficult question. “I have to ask, Mr. Porter...were there problems in your marriage?”
His back muscles visibly stiffened before he turned to pin her with an icy glare. “That is a very personal question, Miss McFarlane. And quite presumptuous, I might add.”
Heat crept into her cheeks, but she didn’t allow her gaze to falter. “If you want to help Zach, you need to be honest about the state of your relationship, both before and after your wife’s death.”
Paige could almost feel the war of emotions surging underneath the surface as Nathan contemplated her words. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and his whole body seemed to deflate. “I will do whatever it takes to help my son.”
She offered him a smile of encouragement as he resumed his seat, and waited for him to speak.
He stared at the floor for several moments, then at last raised his head to look at her. “Cynthia and I separated six months before she died.”
Paige’s stomach dipped. Poor Zach. How much upheaval had he endured in his young life? “I see.” She schooled her expression, hoping her dismay didn’t show. “Was Zach living with his mother during this time?”
“Yes. She moved out and got an apartment.”
Odd. Usually the mother and child stayed in the family home. “How often did you get to see Zach during the separation?”
Again Nathan’s gaze slid away. “About once a month.”
Paige blinked. “Why so little?”
She thought she might be the recipient of another glare, but he only sighed. “Sometimes Cynthia would cancel our weekend plans at the last minute. Sometimes an emergency would come up at work, and I’d have to cancel. It was hard to keep our schedules straight.”
Paige’s heart went out to the poor child caught up in that type of ping-pong match. “I imagine Zach’s behavior was less than ideal during your allotted visits.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “That’s an understatement.”
“Which made you dread the time you spent with him instead of looking forward to it.”
“Pretty much.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “I’d like you to look at your separation from Zach’s point of view for a minute. His mother takes him away from his home, from everything familiar. Then every time his dad is supposed to come and see him, the plans fall apart. And when they do spend time together, his father seems like he can’t wait to leave. Zach comes to the conclusion that his father doesn’t want to see him and doesn’t care about him. A lot of anger and resentment builds up. Compound that with his mother’s sudden death, and quite frankly I’m surprised Zach’s not a lot worse off than he is.”
Nathan’s silence spoke volumes. She decided not to push for anything further at this point. “Thank you, Mr. Porter. I have a much better understanding of Zach’s emotional state now. I should be able to help him work through some issues. May I ask how long you’re planning to stay at Wyndermere?”
“I haven’t decided. A month—maybe more. But Zach will attend camp the whole summer.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to ease a headache. “There’s something else you should probably know. Zach’s behavior at school got him suspended twice. And Zach’s maternal grandparents have threatened to sue for custody if his behavior hasn’t improved by September. I don’t think they’ll do anything over the summer, but just in case, I wanted you to be aware.”
Paige paused to digest this information. “Good to know. I’ll do my best to help Zach and will keep you informed on his progress.” She rose and offered her hand, praying he couldn’t tell that she felt as off-kilter as a new colt.
In one fluid motion, he stood and engulfed her palm in his. A tremor raced up her arm as his intense gaze held hers. The stark sorrow in their depths stalled the air in her lungs.
“I’ll be grateful for any improvement you can bring about, Miss McFarlane.”
With a slight nod, he released her hand and quietly left the room.
Paige slumped into her chair and let the air whoosh out of her lungs as she lifted a silent plea Heavenward. Without divine assistance, she feared she would never be able to heal the broken spirits of either Zach or his father.
* * *
The fresh air came as a relief after the confinement of Paige McFarlane’s office. Nathan’s long strides ate up the path as he headed toward the lake, consumed with the need for physical activity to release his pent-up emotions.
As he followed the lakeside, his brisk walk changed to a jog. He focused on the air rushing in and out of his lungs, and the sting of his leg muscles, allowing the sensations to block out all the negative emotions that had started to surface during his talk with that woman. He needed the exertion to push them firmly back where they belonged.
Winded, he stopped to lean against a tree and stared out over the water. The serenity of the scene did nothing to ease his anxiety. His mind was in chaos, his emotions churning. Talking about his marital difficulties had brought all the guilt and anger rushing back to the surface—a toxic mixture that had all but crippled his life in New York and rendered him incapable of continuing his ministry. His parishioners deserved someone who demonstrated a shining example of faith and courage, not a man paralyzed with hatred and bitterness.
Nathan continued on the path by the water, this time walking. Deep-breathing exercises allowed him to corral his unwanted feelings back into the appropriate compartment. It was ironic, really. His friends and family had all tried to get him to see a counselor, but he’d refused. The thought of baring his soul to a stranger, even another clergy member, made him physically ill.
Now, while trying to help his son, Paige McFarlane had started poking into the most private areas of his life. Areas he wanted to keep buried. Somehow he had a feeling she would not allow that to happen.
He sighed, and reluctantly headed down the beach in the direction of George and Catherine’s house to pick up his son, his mind still consumed by one unavoidable question.
How was he ever going to help Zach when he was powerless to help himself?
* * *
Paige entered the employee cafeteria on the lower level of the inn, grateful for a distraction from her thoughts of Nathan and Zach’s problems. She found Jerry already seated at their usual table, two trays in front of him. With his sandy brown hair and freckles, Jerry Walton appeared a lot younger than his twenty-five years. He hadn’t changed a bit since they’d