From This Day Forward. Irene Hannon
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thing,” Liz pressed, when Cara didn’t reply. “What better place than small-town America, where people don’t even feel a need to lock their doors? Sam has a spare bedroom in his house that he’s willing to let you use. I think you should consider it.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Yes, I am.”
“You want me to live under the same roof with the man who…” Cara stopped, too shocked by the absurdity of the suggestion to complete the thought.
“I know it’s kind of awkward, but…”
“Awkward? That doesn’t even come close to describing the scenario you’re proposing!” Once more, a touch of hysteria sharpened Cara’s voice.
“Okay, maybe this is weird. No, scratch that. It is weird,” Liz admitted. “But as far as I’m concerned, the situation is desperate. The thing is, Cara, Sam can offer you a safe place to stay until you feel stronger. Think of it this way. He owes you after all he put you through. No matter how you feel about him, at least he’ll be a warm body in the house at night so you can feel safe enough to sleep. And during the day, when he’s at work, you’ll have the place to yourself. It’s a good plan. And Sam is willing.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is he willing?”
“Who knows? Guilt, maybe?” In truth, Liz thought it was more than that. But she wasn’t about to share that intuition with Cara. Her friend would turn tail and run in the opposite direction if she suspected Sam had other—more personal—reasons for extending the invitation. “What does it matter? Just consider it a safe place to stay for a few weeks.”
Safe, Cara reflected. That depended on your definition of the word. In a physical sense, Liz might be right. But given her precarious emotional state, and the too-prominent role Sam had played in her wayward musings this past month, Cara wasn’t at all sure about the security of her heart. She’d have to constantly remind herself that she and Sam could never recapture the closeness they’d once shared. That there had been too many hurts, too much betrayal. If she went, she couldn’t harbor any illusions. Sam’s home would be a place to recuperate. Nothing more.
If she went.
A shock wave rippled through Cara. When had she started to even consider the trip an option? She groped for the counter and eased back onto the stool, suddenly shaky.
“Cara?” An uncertain note crept into Liz’s voice. “Hey, I had your best interest at heart. I’m sorry if I made a mistake. You know how much our friendship means to me, and I was aware of the risk when I called Sam. But I couldn’t figure out any other way to help you. Please don’t hate me, okay?”
For fifteen years—since the day they’d met at a contemporary art exhibit both had been dragged to by their respective dates, only to find themselves laughing together in the ladies’ room at the abstract, over-the-top junk that was being passed off as fine art—Liz had been like a second sister to Cara. Their friendship had been cemented long before either had married. How could she hold Liz’s actions against her when she knew that her friend had been motivated by love?
“It’s okay, Liz.” Cara closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath as she struggled to sort through her emotions. “This whole thing is just bizarre. Kind of like my life of late. I have to admit that I’m starting to feel a little like Job. But I’ve lost so much…I don’t want to lose you, too. You saved my life this past month.”
“Then you’ll at least think about my idea?”
Propping her elbow on the counter, Cara pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her chin in her palm. She blinked, her eyes gritty with fatigue, as a shaft of bright morning light slanted through the window. Maybe a good night’s sleep was reason enough to visit Sam.
“I’ll pray about it, Liz.”
“Sounds like a plan. And the sooner the better. I’ll do the same.”
As they hung up, Cara hoped Liz would honor her parting promise. Because this decision wouldn’t be easy. And she was going to need all the guidance she could get.
Sam hit redial and checked his watch. He’d been at this phone game for three hours now, and Cara still wasn’t answering. According to Liz, she rarely left her apartment, so he figured she was there—unless she’d gone to church. A good possibility, he realized, since regular worship was part of her routine. He could count on one hand the number of Sunday services she’d missed during their marriage.
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