The Prodigal Comes Home. Kathryn Springer
took a step back. “I better go inside before Gran decides to put fresh sheets on the bed.”
“It was nice to meet you. Again.” Matt smiled in a blatant attempt to coax one out of her. Because smiles were supposed to be contagious, weren’t they?
It didn’t work.
She pivoted away from him, hugging the box against her chest.
Matt had the distinct impression that Zoey Decker kept her secrets just as close.
Zoey collapsed facedown on the comforter covering the canopy bed and immediately sank into a cloud of lavender-scented chiffon. Lace from the pillow sham ticked her nose so she rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Above her head, an uneven constellation of plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars circled the antique light fixture.
Oh, Gran.
Zoey wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Although she’d been warned that her old bedroom hadn’t undergone any significant changes, Zoey hadn’t been prepared to open the door and be instantly transported into the past, courtesy of a frothy pink and white time machine.
Everything remained exactly the way she remembered it.
Exactly the way she’d left it.
Her gaze traveled over the interior of the room, pausing to linger on the distressed ivory writing desk and matching bookcase. The latter still sported the row of first-edition Nancy Drew mysteries that Gran had proudly offered for her entertainment. An oversized tufted ottoman, complete with gold buttons and a tasseled skirt, remained in front of the window as if it had been nailed in place, its strategic position designed to encourage what her Grandpa Jonathan had often referred to as “pondering.”
At sixteen, Zoey had put that particular piece of furniture to good use. She had sat cross-legged on it for hours, staring out the window.
Pondering her escape.
Time—both in the push and shove of the real world and, more recently, on her knees—had slowly begun to alter her perspective.
Her grandparents hadn’t been overly strict, but Zoey had been looking for a fight. Any rules, no matter how reasonable, were turned into a battle ground. She hadn’t wanted to give her grandparents a difficult time. No, what she’d wanted was to get her parents’ attention.
Zoey remembered how many times her grandparents had tried to get close to her, but she’d always pushed them away. After she moved out, that pattern had continued, like the steps of an intricate dance. Zoey had practiced—and perfected—it over the years.
Until she realized that God hadn’t left her side.
He had been there to take her hand and lift her up, but Zoey had never expected He would lead her back to Mirror Lake.
“It won’t be so bad,” she told the stuffed bear perched on the windowsill. “Gran’s practically a shut-in. I’ll stick close to the house until she’s back on her feet. People will hardly know I’m here.”
Zoey sat up, debating whether she should check on Gran again. It was difficult to acknowledge how much of her grandmother’s energy had been stolen by the bout of pneumonia and an extended stay in the hospital. Gran had always seemed so…ageless. But Zoey had come face to face with reality when she returned to the house and found Gran dozing on the sofa.
With her eyes closed, Liz looked so small and frail that Zoey wanted to wrap her arms around the thin shoulders and share some of her own strength.
She’d draped an afghan over Gran’s lap instead, intending to beat a quiet retreat and finish unpacking the rest of her things.
“Zoey?” Gran had stirred before she reached the door. “Are you still here?”
“You aren’t going to get rid of me that easily.”
Gran looked troubled. “I wouldn’t want to.”
Zoey hoped they would eventually get to the place where the past didn’t cast a shadow on every conversation. Every innocent comment.
“Gran, why don’t you finish your nap while I unpack?”
“That sounded more like an order than a suggestion.” Gran had chuckled, the sparkle back in her eyes. “Between you and Matthew, I’m going to be spoiled rotten.”
You and Matthew.
Her grandmother’s words cycled through Zoey’s mind and she yanked the pillow over her head. It didn’t, however, blot out the image of Matt Wilde’s handsome face or erase the warmth of his smile from her memory.
Maybe, Zoey thought, it was all right to hold onto the memory of that smile a little bit longer.
When people started talking about her—and Zoey knew they would—she was pretty sure she wouldn’t see it again.
Chapter Four
“Gran! What are you doing?” Zoey crossed her arms over her chest and tried to stare her grandmother down.
The house had been so quiet while she’d finished putting away her things that Zoey assumed Gran was still sleeping. Not standing on her tiptoes in front of the fireplace, attacking the flock of porcelain birds perched on the mantle with a bright-yellow feather duster.
“Dusting?” Gran stared right back.
“I can see that.” Zoey’s lips twitched. At least her grandmother had the grace to look guilty. “My next question is, why are you dusting?”
“Because I could have sworn I heard one of these poor birds sneeze.”
Zoey gave up trying to keep a straight face and laughed. “I have a great idea. It involves you sitting in your favorite chair, sipping a cup of tea by the fire, while I take care of the birds. And anything else that you’re planning to clean the minute my back is turned.”
“A cup of tea sounds wonderful, but sharing your company while I drink it sounds even better.”
There was no mistaking the sincerity in her grandmother’s voice.
Regret tangled with gratitude. For the past six years, Zoey had told herself that the best thing she could do for her grandparents was stay away from Mirror Lake. She’d caused enough heartache without an occasional visit stirring up the past.
Zoey was beginning to realize she’d been wrong to let that particular rationalization create such a rift between them. But she hadn’t known how to bridge it, not until her mother had left the message expressing her concern about Gran managing on her own while she recovered from pneumonia.
Zoey had been praying that God would help her move forward, but she hadn’t expected it would mean facing the past. It was as if He had opened a door for reconciliation and left it up to Zoey to decide whether to walk through it. A few hours later, she’d been driving north.
“I’ll make the—” Gran paused when Zoey raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll let you make the tea.”
“Great. Then we have a deal.” Zoey patted the arm of the chair and waited for her grandmother to comply. Gran looked more rested from her nap, but the purple smudges under her eyes hadn’t faded. The steps she took were slow and careful, as if she had to concentrate on every one.
Zoey resisted the urge to hover as Liz lowered herself into the chair.
“I’m afraid that I’m used to being useful,” she admitted.
“I know.” Zoey draped an afghan over her grandmother’s lap. Ten years was a long time but not long enough for her to forget how Gran loved to keep busy, deliberately placing herself at the center of a whirlwind of activity, especially when it came to her church.
Unbidden, Matt Wilde’s face appeared in her mind. She still couldn’t believe the church had hired someone so young.
And single.