Beneath a Southern Sky (23 page)

He set the suitcase down on the floor of the mud room and turned to face her. “I love you, Cole,” she squeaked. Then, abruptly he wrapped his arms around her, as though he were committing the sensation to memory. Finally he held her away from himself and looked into her eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was steady and serene. “Daria, I love you with everything that is in me. The life we’ve had together has been the greatest blessing of my life. I will never, never stop loving you—or Natalie. I wish to God that everything could go on exactly as it was yesterday, before this…nightmare began. But that isn’t going to happen. You have a decision to make that I can’t even imagine making myself. But I can’t be the one to help you make it. The only thing I can do to help now is to get out of the way so you can decide what you want to do.”

She began to cry, but though he appeared to be moved by her emotion, he stepped away from her. “Daria,” he said, his voice wavering, “I will be praying for you every minute. I don’t know that I can pray without bias, but that will be my goal. I do know I can’t stay here. Surely you can see that.”

He leaned forward again as if he meant to kiss her, but instead he turned on his heel, picked up his bag, and went out into the night.

Twenty-Five

I
t was the darkest night Daria could remember—blacker even than that night in Timoné when she’d first accepted that Nathan was dead. How strange that his being alive was now the reason for a night of even deeper anguish. She lay in their bed upstairs, Cole’s absence from the bed feeling like a huge lump that threatened and crowded her instead of the vacant space it was in reality. Her mind reeled with questions. How would she ever know what was the right thing to do? How could they ever disentangle themselves from this knot of family ties that had a stranglehold on them all? She tried to imagine where they would be a year from now, and no picture would form.

More immediately, how would she explain to her daughter why Cole was gone? She and Cole had just begun giving Nattie little hints of her story, referring to her “other” daddy and telling her that Grandma and Grandpa Camfield were the parents of her “Daddy-Nate,” who had died before she was born. When they had thought Nathan dead, they had struggled with just how to present the particulars to her, but now those details that had once seemed so fraught with confusion seemed simple by comparison. This new truth was so bizarre that Daria couldn’t imagine how it would ever unravel itself, let alone how they would explain it to a child—or to
anyone
, for that matter. She took in a sharp breath as it dawned on her that there was no “they” anymore. She was alone in this labyrinth of impossible choices. Hers would be a solitary decision.
Where did she belong now?

She tossed restlessly for hours, perspiring in spite of the frigid night air that poured in the open window. Finally she got up and went down to the kitchen. She poured a glass of cold milk and took it to the table. Forcing herself to think through the options, she got up and retrieved a pen and pad of paper from the desk in the kitchen and went back to the table, determined to make some sense of the whole mess.

She had to go see Nathan. That was her first priority. And Nathan would have to see Natalie. She would have to offer some kind of explanation to her daughter. She wasn’t sure Nattie’s two-year-old mind could understand the concept of two fathers, but it wouldn’t be fair to Nathan for his daughter not to have been told that he
was
her father when she met him. Coming face to face with Nathan would be like meeting a ghost, and yet Daria thrilled to think of it. It startled her a little to realize that she still loved him. Yet why wouldn’t she? She hadn’t willingly given him up.

She wondered how he would be after all this time. They still didn’t know how the trauma of being in captivity for so long had affected him. Surely there were psychological repercussions and possibly physical ones. She remembered Jack saying he’d been badly burned. She couldn’t imagine how the incident might have changed him. But then, her “widowhood” and single motherhood had drastically changed her, too. Neither of them would be the same people they had been when they’d loved each other before.

She shuddered to think how he must feel about her, leaving him there for dead as she had. She began to understand a little how Cole must have felt about his responsibility in Bridgette’s death, and in his son’s death.

She looked down at the pad of paper in front of her. On it she had written two names:
Nathan. Natalie
. She couldn’t even remember writing the words down, and yet they stared back at her in handwriting that belonged to her in spite of the tension in its loops and curls. But it was the absence of a name that jumped off the page at Daria.
Cole
. Where
was
Cole in all this? When she pictured a reunion with Nathan, she pictured him taking Natalie in his arms, that thousand-watt smile lighting his face, and her beside them both—the happy family she had envisioned since the day she and Nate had fallen in love.

As if in protest, the baby within her womb somersaulted, asserting its presence.
Cole’s child
. The infant that was to have bound her and Cole and Natalie together as a family. And she could envision that happy family, too. In many ways,
this
was the family that felt real to her, the one that was familiar, the one she was longing for right now. Though Cole had only been gone from her for a few hours, her yearning for him was a deep ache within her.

But her heart broke for Nathan. How could she desert him again after what he’d been through? And how could she even dream of taking Natalie away from him after all he’d already lost? She couldn’t. No matter what she decided, he would have to be able to see his daughter.

A terrifying thought crossed her mind. What if she had no decision to make? What if neither of the men she loved wished to remain with her now? What if neither of them could face the specter of the other man that would always hang over their relationship? Certainly their dilemma would tear one of her children from a father’s arms. It couldn’t help but sever the precious love of siblings, divide their loyalties toward one another. Would this shatter
both
of her families into a million pieces?

A flood of anxiety and confusion washed over her. What could she possibly do to redeem this mess? “O God!” she cried, her voice a hoarse squeak in the silence of the kitchen. “Show me what to do! I don’t know what to do.”

The reply came as his answers had come to her long ago, before the rift—a still, small whisper in the dark.
Give it to me
.

“But how can I, when—”

Give it to me
.

Daria startled, as if the words had been spoken aloud. But when she looked around the kitchen, only the hushed ticking of the clock over the desk broke the silence.

Finally beyond tears, she wrung her hands in her lap and put her head on the table. “I don’t know how, God. Help me. I want to give it to you, but I don’t know where to start.”

Just let go
.

Again the words seemed almost audible. She slid from her seat and fell to her knees, bowing over the chair. She unclasped her hands, straightened her spine, and turned her palms up in submission, as if going through the physical motions would help her let go spiritually. It seemed fruitless, and yet it was all she knew to do.

“O Father, I
do
give it to you. I can’t do this myself. I’m…I’m lost…so lost…”

Almost immediately, a sense of peace washed over her, and she felt sheltered in a haven of security she didn’t understand—or need to. A phrase came to her mind:
the next thing
. But what
was
the next thing? And the question seemed to answer itself.
Go see Nathan
.

“Thank you, Lord.” Oh, that she could learn to always trust him to guide her each minute, each tiny step of the way, no matter how rocky or treacherous.

She struggled to her feet and went to the sink to rinse out her milk glass. Then she checked on Natalie. She was so thankful she had decided to bring Nattie home from her parents’ that afternoon. To be completely alone tonight would have been unbearable. The little girl was sleeping on her stomach with her tiny rump in the air. Deep maternal love welled up in Daria, and she turned away from Nattie, not wanting to think about what the future might hold for her daughter.

She climbed the stairs to their room—
her
room—and crawled wearily into bed. She wasn’t any closer to an answer than she had been at the beginning of this night, but she had received something far more precious. She had been given a fragile peace. And for now, she had her assignment. She would do the next thing, and the next and the next. And she would try with everything in her to trust that God would lead her to the place he wanted her to be.

Colson Hunter squinted and rubbed his eyes against the bright sunlight that had awakened him. He reached for Daria, but found her place in the bed beside him empty. He smelled the strong aroma of coffee brewing and wondered why she was up so early this morning. He finally managed to open his eyes, but instead of the sunlight playing on the softly patterned wallpaper in their bedroom, it glanced off of stark white walls through a curtainless window.

Sitting upright, the remembrance of where he was washed over him with cold grief. After driving unseeing down nameless dirt roads, he had found himself at Kirk and Dorothy Janek’s apartment where Travis Carruthers lived now. Travis had taken Cole in without question, unwittingly putting him in the bedroom that had been Daria’s when she had lived here. Though the room was empty, its blank walls testifying to the status of a bachelor pad, Cole imagined Daria’s sweet scent still lingering there. He fell back against the lumpy pillow and let the waves of grief roll over him. He willed himself to sleep, to recreate the dream that he was home, that the woman he loved was brewing coffee in the kitchen, that his precious daughter slept in the cozy nursery below him.

But the dream had been shattered and, try as he might, he could not find that place of refuge again.

Swinging his legs over the side of the high mattress, he planted his bare feet on the cold wood floor. He felt as though he’d run a marathon, his muscles ached so, and yet he knew that his utter fatigue was emotional, not physical.

He pulled on a rumpled flannel shirt and the jeans he’d worn the day before and went into the small kitchen, seeking Travis. A note beside the coffee maker told him that his colleague had gone to the clinic and that he would cover for him this morning. Cole looked around the kitchen for a clock and was startled to see that it was after ten o’clock. He wondered where Daria was right now.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, his thoughts a million miles away, he barely noticed when the hot liquid burned his tongue and throat. Carrying the steaming mug into the living room, he sank down onto the shabby sofa. In spite of the bare-bones furnishings of the apartment, it was hard not to think of Daria in this place. The curtains she and her mother had made still hung in the lower halves of the windows, and the view of the bare treetops from the sofa was one they’d shared many an evening when they were dating. He shook off the thought and went back to the bedroom to get his shoes.

When he stepped outside, Dorothy Janek was just backing her ancient Ford Fairlane out of the garage. He waved and forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t stop to talk to him. But she maneuvered the old car around the curve in the driveway and stopped right beside him.

She rolled the window down and poked out her cheery grey head. “Well, hello, Cole. I thought that was your truck in the drive. Figured maybe Travis had borrowed it.”

“Hi, Dorothy. No, it’s me.”

Her raised eyebrow asked the obvious question, and he didn’t have the heart to leave her wondering. “We’ve had some trouble, Dorothy. Daria and I. You’ll probably be hearing—”

“Cole, no!” she gasped.

He grasped her car door where the window had just disappeared and leaned in to look at her. “It’s not what you think. It’s…” He ducked his head.
How in heaven’s name did one explain a situation like this?
He tried again, “We got word yesterday that Daria’s first husband—Natalie’s father—has been found alive in Colombia.”

Dorothy Janek’s hand flew to her mouth. “Alive? Oh, Cole. What will you do?”

He shook his head. “I wish I knew, Dorothy. I—For now I’ll be staying with Travis. I hope that’s okay with you and Kirk.”

She waved him off, obviously still stunned at the news. “Don’t even ask. You know you’re more than welcome anytime. But, Cole …I’m so sorry. I—” She put a hand to her breast, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. “I just don’t even know what to say, Cole. Is Daria—? Well, she’s still at your place, or you wouldn’t be sleeping here. Will she go back with him, Cole?” she asked gently.

“I don’t know.” He knew the woman’s questions were asked out of sympathy, but he was painfully aware that they were the questions everyone would be asking of him. He had no inkling how to answer them. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

She reached out to pat his hand. “Well, you just let us know if there’s anything we can do, anything at all. And if Daria needs us, please let her know we’re here for her, too.”

“I know that, Dorothy. And I appreciate it. Right now I guess we’re just taking one day at a time.”

Dorothy patted his hand again, and he covered her small, plump hand with his. “I need to get to the clinic,” he told her.

“Of course. I’m so sorry, Cole.”

He only nodded, his lips set in a grim line.

She revved the engine and backed away, and he went to his truck, debating whether he could face going to work. He drove toward the clinic, but when the driveway appeared, he kept going. The truck seemed to have a mind of its own, and he found himself headed out to their house. He needed to see Daria, needed to know how she was taking this, what she was thinking. They had left things unfinished. They’d both needed time alone to think, but he loved her, and this was
their
problem—they needed to work it out together.

A part of him felt guilty for leaving her alone last night, but he hadn’t had a choice. He couldn’t very well sleep in the same bed with another man’s wife. For that’s what she was, what she had been all their marriage. He wondered fleetingly if it was a sin to take another man’s wife if he thought the man was dead. But it didn’t help to ask those kinds of questions. There were no answers.