A Reason to Stay (29 page)

F
aith sat under the hot lights, waiting while the production assistant attached the microphone to her lapel. Mike Jarrett leaned over. “You ready for this?”

Despite a bit of nerves, she nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I'm ready.” She took a deep breath and looked to the camera monitor where Lucas Cunningham silently held up his fingers.

Five—four—three—two.
He pointed.

Mike leaned forward. “Welcome, everyone. Today here at KIAM-TV we have a special treat for our viewers. Many of you recognize this lovely lady sitting beside me—our own Faith Marin. She's back with us today after a lengthy absence following the day she was tragically shot by a lone gunman out at the Johnson Space Center.”

Music cued the leader that flashed on all the monitors on the wall. Her image appeared from behind the anchor desk. More pictures rotated through the short segment of her reporting from the Fred Hartman Bridge, of the piece she'd done on River Oaks, and of her on the set of
Faith on Air
.

The images caused her throat to constrict with emotion. She
was struck by how confident she appeared in all those shots—like nothing could knock her off-kilter.

As the segment faded along with the music, Mike picked back up. “Many of you have followed Faith's remarkable recovery, as have all of us here at the station. We're all so very pleased to welcome her back to the anchor desk this morning.”

She smiled widely. “Hello, everyone. It's good to be back. Thank you for all of your prayers, good wishes, all the cards and letters. You don't know what those sweet gestures meant to me, and how knowing you were all rooting for me helped in my recovery.

“I'm not going to lie—the road was long. I'm no longer the same—not on the outside certainly, and not on the inside. I still have a ways to go. But starting on Monday, I'll be back here with you hosting
Faith on
Air
three days a week. We've got a lot to explore together, journeys to take and stories to sift.” She fought to maintain her emotions. “While some did not survive that tragic day at the JSC, I was given a second chance. I promise I intend to make the most of it. And I hope you'll come along.”

She smiled at the blinking red light. “It's good to be back.”

Faith pulled off the main street running through Lake Conroe onto Walden Street and headed north until she'd reached a paved lane leading to the water's edge. She parked, wedging her car in one of the only spaces left. A yellow retriever greeted her as soon as she stepped from the car with careful movement that still took considerable concentration.

She ruffled the dog's furry head with her left hand. “Hey, girl—where's the party?” In response, her four-legged friend circled with excitement and barked, her tail wagging.

Faith smiled and moved down the sidewalk toward a newly built house wedged on a sprawling lawn leading to a cove—her
and Geary's home. She took a breath, and instead of climbing the two steps up to their inviting front porch scattered with rocking chairs and pots of red geraniums, she walked around, past the far end of the porch and Conner's wheelchair ramp.

Summer had arrived, as it always did, to Lake Conroe. With it came long, hot days that baked the pebbled shores along the water's edge.

Music and laughter floated on the heavy air as Faith joined a noisy crowd gathered in her backyard.

Veta was the first to notice her arrival. She stepped away from Gina Rudd and Alma Cheesey and waved her arm. “There you are!”

Wendell, in his apron, greeted her as well. “Just in time. The pots are ready for the crawfish to go in.”

Faith moved forward and gave them both a big hug. “I appreciate you both helping with everything.” She looked past them, to the water. “Where's my guys?”

Veta pointed to where Geary eased his boat up to the dock and tied it off to a post. After shutting off the engine, he stood and lifted out a small wheelchair.

Faith waved her arm and her husband waved back. So did a little blond-haired boy who held a fishing pole in his hand.

A commotion drew all their attention back to the house. Bobby Lee lugged a cooler, with Dilly following close behind with a little girl on her hip. Little Violet Grace had a big pink bow in her soft brown curls and her thumb in her mouth.

Dilly's stomach bulged with number five—due in a couple of months. There was a time Faith would have faulted the Sitterles for that decision, but no longer. In her mother-in-law's wise words—it was their family to raise.

From behind their parents, Gabby and Gunner tore across the lawn. Together they held their younger brother's hand, pulling him along at a pace where he could barely keep up. “C'mon, Sam, hurry up.”

Dilly shouted across the lawn, “Now, you kids, don't play too rough with him.”

Gunner yelled back, “We won't. We'll play smooth,” making them all laugh.

Dilly turned to her mom. “You know what Gabby asked us last night? She asked where babies come from.”

Wendell lifted a huge bag of crawfish from the cooler. “Yeah? What did you tell her?”

Bobby Lee lifted a second bag. “Ha, I told her when two poodles dance on a woman's stomach, it makes a baby.”

Faith's eyebrows lifted. “You did not!”

“Yes, he did,” Dilly confirmed, bumping her elbow into her husband's side. “But I quickly corrected the misinformation and told her children were a sweet gift from God.”

With her whole being, Faith knew that to be true. From the moment she'd laid eyes on Conner, her heart had opened wide and she'd claimed him as her own, allowing the orphaned child entrance to a place deep inside her that had once been so broken. There was a time when she'd not been able to love with that kind of wild abandon.

Now nothing could tear her away from the family God had given her—nothing physical or emotional.

Geary wheeled Conner up next to her. “Hi, Mommy Faith! Did you go to the telebision?”

“Hey, sweet one. I did. How's my Conner today?” She looked at Geary, who winked in her direction.

“I'm so good and happy. We got three basses.”

“Bass,” Geary corrected.

“We caught three bass. Big ones.” He stretched out his little arms to show her as Geary brushed a kiss across her cheek.

“So you had fun?” Wendell asked him.

Conner nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes—yes, I did.”

Geary patted his son on the shoulder. “And now we're back to help you finish getting ready for the party.”

Conner took Faith's hand and pulled her down toward his face. “Yeah, when's Uncle Teddy going to be here?”

As if on cue, her brother sauntered across the lawn in their direction. “Hey, anybody home?” he hollered.

Joy bubbled inside as she waved at him. “Down here. You ready for your big party?”

He joined them and shook hands with Bobby Lee and Wendell. Then he turned to hug her. “Truth? I'm not sure. But my sponsor tells me it's important to celebrate your victories.”

Veta patted him on the back. “A year sober is a huge victory, Teddy. I'm glad we could celebrate with you.”

“One day at a time, Veta. One day at a time.”

Geary handed him a cold bottle of Dr Pepper. “Hey, Teddy. Glad you could make it.”

Teddy nodded, hesitated. Then he stepped forward and gave his brother-in-law a quick hug. “Thanks, man. I couldn't have done it without you. And your family.”

“Speaking of . . .” Veta pointed back toward the house. “I need some help bringing down all those cupcakes, and the rolls. Oh, and the butter. There's some in Faith's fridge next to her chocolate pie.”

She and Geary exchanged a private smile. She elbowed her husband. “I know what you're thinking, and yes, I took the plastic wrap off this time.”

Gunner raced up and grabbed the handles of Conner's wheelchair. “C'mon, Conner. Let's go play.”

Immediate alarm rose inside Faith's chest. “Uh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea.” She looked to Geary.

Before her husband could intercept the situation, Teddy stepped forward and took hold of the handles himself. “What do you say I come along with?” He bent down. “That okay with you, buddy?”

Conner's face broke into an enthusiastic smile. “You betcha, Uncle Teddy!”

Relief spilled as Geary's arm went around Faith's waist. She
leaned against his shoulder and chuckled at the sight of her brother running across the grass surrounded by children.

Together she and Teddy Jr. had endured a family situation she'd never wish on anyone. Her parents had been broken people—unable to love each other and their children properly. And they'd passed it on, crippling her as sure as the shooter's bullet had left her injured and unable to walk.

She liked to imagine her parents would have done better, had they known God and embraced the healing he offered.

Yes, sometimes evil came—but God was always bigger than evil. He'd turned the worst day of her life—the day she'd been mowed down by a shooter's bullet and left for dead—into a catalyst for huge blessing.

She was grateful to finally be healing. And doing so in ways only God could orchestrate.

Faith lifted her left hand and wiped at her cheeks as she took in the scene before her—the people gathered who all supported her and cared about her.

She turned and kissed her husband's cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear.

Geary gave her a squeeze. “I love you too, babe.”

Faith looked out over the quiet water in the cove and smiled. There was one more important thing she would never forget.

Sometimes broken things got fixed.

I
f you've read my earlier books, you know I often pull ideas from courtroom cases I've worked on or reports in the news into my stories.
A
Reason
to
Stay
is no different.

In early 2011, I watched with the rest of the country as news media reported on the terrible shooting that left Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords fighting for her life. Like so many, I followed her painful journey to healing and prayed for her recovery.

Ms. Giffords's story hit very close to home.

While I was not a victim of a shooting, years back I suffered a stroke, the result of a brain bleed that required multiple cranial surgeries and a protracted hospital recovery. I was intimately acquainted with some of what Gabby faced, and my heart was broken for her.

A Reason to
Stay
is a very personal story. Not only does Faith Marin face a brain injury and the subsequent struggles to recover, but she must also deal with keeping her marriage intact—her real fight.

This summer, my husband and I will celebrate thirty-five years
of marriage, a landmark in a journey marked with opposition. Looking back, I know that we only made it by the grace of God.

Over the course of our years together, both of us had to make a decision.

I'm grateful we chose to stay.

C
reating a book is a joint effort, and I'm so very grateful for the entire team at Revell Books: Jen Leep, Lindsay Davis, Jessica English, Twila Bennett, and the outstanding sales, marketing, and publicity professionals. I'll let you in on a secret—O. J. Simpson isn't the only one with a dream team.

I especially want to express my gratitude to Editorial Director Jen Leep. Her vision to offer contemporary stories that explore deep heart matters wrapped in emotional complexity is extraordinary. Her support of what I write is so appreciated not only by me but also by my readers. May God pay you back, Jen.

Lindsay Davis, partnering with you to market these Texas Gold books has been such a pleasure. You are bright and innovative and dedicated. Mostly, I appreciate how you never hold your breath when you pick up the phone and hear me say, “I have an idea.”

Speaking of ideas, one of my best was to partner with my agent, Natasha Kern. No one works harder to represent her clients with excellence. I am blessed to have you by my side.

This book featured a few worlds that required some expert help.

The men in my family are avid bass fishermen and often compete in tournaments, including the big Bass Champs tournament run by Chad Potts. I was talking to his wife when the idea for this book formed.

I needed a lot of help in understanding how the tournament circuit works. Thank you to Steve Patnode and the Toyota Texas Bass Classic for providing this wide-eyed novelist with media credentials, allowing me backstage access, and arranging interviews with the contestants. I enjoyed talking with bass pros Mike Iaconelli, Cody Meyer, Gary Yamamoto, and their wives.

I am especially grateful to Craig Meyers of our local NBC-5 station here in Dallas. The tour and time I spent with you meeting the anchors, producers, and technical professionals were invaluable. I hope I did the newsroom justice in this story. You all deserve a
Dateline
package of gratitude. (Oh, and sitting in the anchor chair was a thrill!)

Big hugs go to bestselling romance author Deeanne Gist. Thank you for helping me plot the way Faith and Geary would meet. Your idea to have her topple from the boat was brilliant!

A good friend from childhood, who is now a physical therapist, helped me with Faith's rehabilitation in the hospital. Thanks, Debby Sparks Dixon!

Some of you in Memphis might recognize a character name in my book. I named one of the rehab nurses Lawana Maxwell to thank her and her team at Highland Church of Christ for hosting me and several other authors at their fall women's ministry event. We were all so honored to be invited to talk about the importance of inspirational fiction and the way stories change lives. It's the reason Jesus told stories.

I could not do this without the support of my family. Allen, Jordan, Eric and Brandy, and my little Preston and Lydia—you are forever embedded in my heart.

Last, but certainly not least, thank you to my readers. I love
the emails you send, the notes of encouragement, and the messages telling me how these stories have affected you. Connecting with you on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads is such a pleasure. Please know this—you are in my mind every minute I sit with my fingertips on the keyboard.