Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
It’s okay. You can get another. The thought caused a zap of panic, and for a moment, she felt like the blank page that would sit at the front of a new journal. She wondered if, without her old one, she’d even remember who she’d been. Before.
She walked through the doorway hesitantly, taking in the large open room she’d entered. There was a cozy living room area to the right, a fire burning in the fireplace, a dining area to the left, and a kitchen at the rear. Large windows across the back wall looked out to the woods.
It was homey and lovely, and something about it made her want to cry. She didn’t know if they were happy or sad tears and was still too emotionally discombobulated to figure it out.
Bill moved around her, placing her bag near a hallway just beyond the living room that must lead to the bedrooms, and walked toward the kitchen. “I bought a few different kinds of soda and juice. And I have sweet tea. Water of course.” He turned near the refrigerator, looking at her hopefully.
“Water would be great.”
He went about getting two glasses and pouring from a pitcher in the refrigerator. He placed them on the butcher block island in the middle, and Autumn climbed up on one of the wooden stools across from where he stood. She took a small sip of the water, waiting to make sure it settled. When she set the glass back down, she saw that he was studying her, an expression on his rugged face that seemed unsure but also a bit sad.
“You must feel…” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine what you must feel, Autumn. So I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel nervous. I feel worried. And maybe like I’m in over my head here. My wife, Allie, died two years ago.” He paused, and she saw him swallow, recognized the tremor in the words and knew he still grieved. “She was younger than me. I must look very old to you.” A small fleeting smile. “I met her later in life, but she was my every dream come true. She was worth the wait. We planned to end our days together sitting on the rockers on the porch out front.” Another pause, another shimmer of grief in his eyes. He leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms. “Anyway, the baby thing…it didn’t work out right away, and we knew time wasn’t on our side. Allie, she…she was so sure God had a plan for us. But she said sometimes you have to explore all your options and see where God meets you. We became foster parents. We requested a newborn, but that newborn never came. Allie got sick and, well…priorities shifted.”
A newborn. He’d wanted a newborn. He’d pictured his wife holding a baby, and instead he was alone, a strange teenager standing in front of him, dropped off to share his home. She supposed maybe he felt as lost as she did.
Yet he’d obviously kept up his foster parent status. “Were you planning on raising a baby…alone?” she asked.
He met her eyes, seeming surprised that she’d spoken so many words. He ran a hand through his brown hair with gray at his temples and stared at her for a moment, obviously working out why she’d asked. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I stayed current with the paperwork, the inspections…I don’t even know why.” He sighed, looking off out the window. “Maybe because Allie’d wanted it, and to let it lapse felt like…” He pressed his lips together obviously at a loss.
“Letting her down?” Autumn asked quietly.
His eyes widened, and she saw a glint of gratitude in his expression. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t ready.”
I wasn’t ready. It’d been two years, and still, he hadn’t been ready to let his dead wife’s dream die along with her. Autumn felt a catch in her heart.
“Truth is,” he said on a small chuckle that was short-lived, “I suppose I didn’t expect anything—anyone—to come of it at all.” His features contorted slightly into a wince, and his eyes moved over her face, maybe wondering if he’d insulted her. But he hadn’t. Autumn found she felt more comfortable in his presence with every honest word. “There’s not much use in the foster care system for a fifty-one-year-old single man who works odd hours.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I build furniture.”
Autumn glanced around, looking more closely at all the beautiful furniture she’d noticed on the way in. “Did you—” She used her finger to gesture from one piece to another.
“Most of it,” he said. “I built the things Allie wanted. I’d never really built furniture for my own home before.”