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“Well, if you’re here to talk about what a great man my father is, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” I unlock my car, in a bit of a pissed-off mood now.
“I don’t think your father is a great man,” he says as he stops behind me. The words make me pause. I turn to glance at him skeptically. “And if I can be frank, I think your dad is pretty deplorable, not only for tarnishing your family’s good reputation but the congregation’s as well.”
“Well, then you and I do agree on something, after all,” I say as I toss the bags in the trunk. “It was nice meeting you,” I add, trying to end the conversation.
He steps up to stop me, a look of hopeful determination on his face. “I think seeing your family back at the church would be amazing. Find common ground with our followers. They were hurt, too.”
“I bet,” I reply before moving to get in the car again, only to be stopped by him again.
“Just take my card. And think about it.”
He fishes in his pocket for a business card as I let out a sigh, hoping to get out of this conversation. The guy seems nice and genuine, nothing like my father or the other smarmy pastors with fake smiles and bullshit personas. This guy seems down to earth, but it changes nothing for me.
“Listen, it’s not you,” I say with a sigh. “You just ran into the wrong brother. You’d have better luck with?—”
Music starts playing on his phone and the words are cut from my mouth. Because it’s not just any music—it’s my little brother’s most popular country song. It’s his raspy singing voice with backup guitar strums and a low drumbeat.
“Sorry,” Jenson says as he silences the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “My ringtone is too loud. I know, I know, no one uses songs for ringtones anymore, but I just love that one so much.” He’s bumbling nervously with a sheepish look.
“You a big fan?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the man.
“Of Theo Virgil? Huge fan. You know of him?”
“Yeah…” I say as I shuffle my feet and scrutinize him even more. “I’ve heard of him.”
He smiles at me for a moment before handing me his card. “Your family is always welcome at Redemption Point.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I take the card.
I don’t bother telling him that I’ll never step foot in that church, or any other for that matter, ever again. But he seems nice enough, like he might actually have good intentions. So I wave goodbye to him as I climb into my car to leave.
“Take care, Luke,” he calls as he walks away.
As I sit in my car, I stare at the card in my hand. I haven’t given my father’s church a single thought since everything went down. And it doesn’t mean anything to me to be invited back, but I wonder if it will mean anything to Caleb or Adam.
And, of course, I can’t help but wonder—when he said our family was welcome there, did he mean Isaac, too?
When I get home, Sadie is sleeping on the couch while Henry naps in the bassinet next to her. One of her hands rests on the edge of the crib, and I smile to myself as I lean down and press my lips to the side of her head.
After putting away the diapers in the nursery and storing Sadie’s sushi in the fridge, I hear a soft coo from the living room. Going over to his bassinet, I find him staring up at me with wide, alert eyes.
I wonder how long the sight of him will steal my heart from right out of my chest the way it does now.
Leaning down, I scoop him up from his bassinet. When he starts to fuss, I pick up his pacifier and put it in his mouth. He sucks on it contentedly as he stares up at me in wonder.
As I gently trace the soft curve of his nose and the shape of his brows with my finger, he flutters his eyes closed for a second before opening them back up and gazing at me some more.
I carry him over to my leather chair on the other side of the room, and I quietly sit, propping my feet up and nuzzling Henry close. His eyes don’t leave my face, and I smile down at him.
“‘When I compare what I have lost with what I have gained,’” I whisper softly, remembering the old Longfellow poem by memory. “‘What I have missed with what attained, little room do I find for pride.’”
Henry stops suckling on his pacifier, letting his mouth hang open, enthralled by the sound of my voice as I continue.
“‘I am aware how many days have been idly spent. How like an arrow the good intent, has fallen short or been turned aside.’”
I whisper the rest of the poem to him, kissing him gently on the forehead as I finish.
“‘But who shall dare to measure loss and gain in this wise? Defeat may be victory in disguise. The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.’”
