My Lucky Stars (33 page)

Yes
, a tiny voice inside admitted. Tara stared up at the ceiling, hating the guilt she suddenly felt. All this being honest with herself all the time was hard. Especially since
herself
wasn’t always such a great person—like right now.

“Daa-rn it,” she muttered under her breath.
It’s more than that. I know it. Everything I felt this summer. The things I read and learned. It’s about something much more, much bigger than Ben or me.

Tara flipped back the covers and quietly got out of bed. Kneeling beside it, she bowed her head, folded her arms, and closed her eyes.

Heavenly Father
, she began then poured out her heart, thanking Him for every blessing she could think of. That she was healthy, she had good friends, she’d made it here safely. That she’d seen Ben again and asked him what she had planned to. Tara stopped, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and her courage. Now came the hard part.

Please forgive me if my motives were wrong. Forgive me for confusing Thy love with—other feelings. I’m sorry. Again.
At least she was getting good at that. Since she’d started praying every night, she’d yet to have a day when she hadn’t made mistakes—usually in multiples.
And please bless Ben that whatever was rough about his summer will get better.

She ended her prayer but stayed by the side of the bed, her head on the mattress while she listened. The missionaries had told her this was the most difficult part of prayer and communicating with Heavenly Father. They’d said that most people, when it came to praying, forgot that a conversation went two ways—that part of the time you had to listen.

Tara never forgot. This was her favorite part, the quiet moments after her prayer when a spirit of peace and comfort filled her soul. It was then she felt that someone—a Father—was listening to her.

Bless Ben
, she thought again.
Help me be better than I am. Help me have better motives.

The floor was cold, so Tara climbed into bed, determined to do the rest of her listening there. Just before she dropped off to sleep, she felt the comforting warmth of the Spirit envelop her again, just as surely as she was tucked in the folds of the quilt. The faintest whisper seemed to brush by, an answer to all of her earlier pleas.

I will.

Forty-One

Tara carefully pushed her easel and canvases aside and loaded her suitcase into the back of the Jeep. She reached up to close the hatch and discovered Ben’s hand already there—stopping hers.

“Hi.” She looked up at him, squinting against the early morning sun.

“I thought you didn’t ever get up before ten,” he said.

She shrugged. “I usually sleep better these days.” In spite of yesterday’s turmoil, she’d slept like the dead last night.

“Good thing I was up early myself.” Ben kept his stance, hand braced against the Jeep’s hatch.

“Milking your cows, I suppose,” Tara said then grimaced inwardly. Somehow that comment had sounded snarky. Why was it so hard to be nice around him?

“No cows. Just pigs,” Ben said.

“You milk pigs?” That one had been too much to resist.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Haven’t tried that yet. Don’t think I want to, either. Not with Persephone’s temper.”

Tara glanced at the hatch. “Do you mind?” she asked, after several awkward seconds had passed without either of them speaking.

“I do, actually,” Ben said. He released the hatch but reached in the Jeep to retrieve her suitcase. One corner caught on the easel, and he moved it aside. He turned to Tara. “Do you draw?”

“Paint,” she corrected. “Though this trip is really the first time I’ve done much in years. I’m pretty rusty.”

“Let me judge?” Ben lifted her suitcase from the back of the Jeep and set it on the ground.

She shrugged. “Go ahead.” Her work was far from perfect, and of course she’d yet to finish any of the paintings she’d started this trip, but it didn’t really matter what Ben thought. He’d made his feelings clear last night, and she didn’t think anything else he said could hurt any more.

Ben picked up the closest canvas. He took it from the car, turned it over, and stared at her painting of the Nauvoo Temple.

Tara watched as, once again, fleeting expressions crossed his face. Surprise—obviously. She’d known he hadn’t believed her last night when she’d asked him to baptize her. Something akin to remorse or chagrin followed his surprise, and then . . .
respect
?

He looked up. “I owe you an apology.”

“Yes. You do.” She folded her arms across her chest as her eyes met his. “It would have meant more if you’d offered it before you saw that painting.”

Instead of continuing with his apology, Ben leaned into the back of the Jeep, put the canvas inside, and grabbed another, this one her rendition of Parley Street in Old Nauvoo. “You’re good,” he said after he’d studied it a minute.

“That one is my favorite.” Tara’s eyes flitted from his face to the painting. “I imagine you know the history, but when I was there last week, I learned they used to call that street the Trail of Tears but changed it to the Trail of Hope. Yet there were an awful lot of tears shed there.”

“Did you read all the signs?” Ben asked.

“I did.” She knew exactly what he was talking about. All along Parley Street, down to the waterfront, where the pioneers had crossed the frozen river, were plaques that told of the people who’d left their homes and possessions behind and with faithful hearts had followed Brigham Young to an unknown West.

“Reading them was heartbreaking—and inspiring. Those people had so much faith.” Right after she’d finished, she’d gone to her car, gathered her art supplies, and spent the rest of the afternoon and much of the next day down by the river, sketching and then painting that street as she imagined it looked when the pioneers walked it for the last time. Just remembering the feelings she’d felt there brought her fragile emotions to the surface again.

She was grateful that Jane had convinced her a day at Nauvoo would be well worth a few hours’ detour and her time. Tara had kept her promise to stop there, intending to spend an afternoon. Four days later, she’d finally left, only the thought of seeing Ben able to tear her from the overwhelming spirit she’d experienced in that sacred place.

Ben put the painting back in the Jeep and closed the hatch. Her suitcase was still on the ground beside the car.

“I think you forgot something,” Tara said, nudging the bag with her toe.

“I’ve forgotten a lot of things.” Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her. “Like the fact that people can change and the gospel is for everyone and you’re a nice person who I had a lot of fun with last December.”

“Mmm. That last one might be stretching it a little.” Tara made eye contact, wanting him to believe her this time. “I was telling the truth last night, Ben. I drove all the way here to ask you to baptize me. And—”
The truth. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me—
“Because I wanted to see you again,” she admitted. “When I moved back to Seattle, I ended up staying with my friend Jane—the one I mentioned to you last December. She’s a great person, and a member of the LDS Church. She started teaching me, and then I spent four months taking the missionary discussions. During that time some things happened—Jane had her babies early. She was in a coma and almost died. It was a rather life-changing experience.”

“Wow,” Ben said. “Is she okay now? Are
you
okay?”

The genuine concern in his voice warmed Tara’s heart. This was the Ben she knew. The one she remembered. The one who, like King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon, cared about others.

“I’m fine,” she said. “More than fine. Better than I’ve ever been in my life.” She wished her words were more eloquent, that she could better express what she’d learned and felt. “I’m not the same woman you offered to help at the airport last year. And in a way, it’s your fault.”

“I wish I could take credit,” Ben said. “But you’re the one who sought your friend out again, who made the changes in your life.”

“Yes, but you planted the seed—so they say, or sing, if you’re in Primary.”

“Must have been some gardener who took over afterward,” Ben said.

“You could say that.” Tara smiled at him, both relieved and grateful that he seemed to believe her. “Jane is actually an amazing gardener. Her yard is like something out of
Better Homes and Gardens.
”

“Not quite what I meant.” He chuckled, then his face grew serious again. “I really am sorry about the way I acted last night. I jumped to conclusions. I had no right—”

“No, you didn’t,” she agreed. “And yes, you did seem to jump to some conclusions about my visit. Care to share those with me?”

“Not really.” He looked past her, out to the distant cornfield. “Though I suppose, to be fair, I should.”

“Go on,” Tara urged. Some part of her knew it would have been better, more Christlike, to tell him he didn’t need to explain, that she forgave him already, but that other part of her—the one that always wanted to know all about what was going on with people—took over.
More repenting tonight
. She glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning. At this rate, she was in for one long evening prayer.

“I was in a relationship earlier this year,” Ben said, still not looking at her. “It ended badly. I lost in more ways than one.” He paused, as if considering what to say next. “I guess, yesterday, with the way the conversation went at dinner, and thinking about how you showed up here out of the blue—” He pulled his gaze from the field back to Tara’s face “—I thought you might be here because you wanted something. You know, money or—”

“Ahh,” Tara said, beginning to understand. “I can see why Jane’s old Jeep and my new business didn’t impress you.”

“But that’s not all,” Ben hastened to add. “I had no idea that you’d come to ask me to baptize you. But that you had traveled all this way to see me sort of implied . . .”

“I see,” Tara said, and she did and suddenly felt very foolish. “It’s not like that, Ben. I know we had those . . . moments . . . in Colorado, but I didn’t come for romantic reasons.”
Mostly I didn’t, anyway.

“Good.” His smile was one of relief. “Because right now I’m not looking for a relationship. Nothing serious, I mean.”

“I promise to be completely
un
serious,” Tara said. “Except for right now. I’m sorry about last night too. After I went upstairs, I spent the evening chastising myself for losing my temper.”

“I hope your mental flogging didn’t last as long as mine,” Ben said. “I hardly slept. I haven’t felt that lousy about anything since—” He stopped abruptly. Tara almost missed the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“So anyway,” Ben continued, “I was hoping to make it up to you. You’ve come all this way. You could stay for a day or two and—” He shrugged. “I don’t know. See the place?” He nodded toward the car and her paintings inside. “If you’re interested in Church history, I could take you up to Kirtland.”

“I’d like that,” Tara said. “And will you consider—” Now she was the one having trouble finishing her sentence. She’d already asked once if Ben would baptize her, and she’d completely botched it. Maybe now wasn’t the time to ask again, but this was what she’d come for. She wanted to know. She didn’t expect or want him to baptize her here. She needed to be back in Bainbridge with Jane and Peter and the missionaries. But she wanted to know if Ben would at least think about it, if he truly believed her.

“You let me know when and where,” Ben said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “And I’ll be there. Dressed in white.”

“Thanks.” To Tara’s dismay, her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m honored you would ask.” Ben started to reach for her suitcase then stopped. He hesitated then took a step forward, put his arm around Tara, and pulled her into an awkward embrace.

“Welcome to Ohio, Sister Mollagen.”

Forty-Two

Ben took Tara’s suitcase upstairs while she waited in the kitchen. As he stepped into the bedroom, he almost ran into Deb, who was just coming out.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked, a teasing smile on her face.

“Don’t start,” he warned. The last thing he needed was Deb on his case, playing matchmaker.

“Tell me you apologized properly, and I’ll leave you alone,” she said.

“I apologized. I don’t know if it was proper, but I’ll make it up to her today.”

“Good,” Deb said. She followed him into the hall. “I’m glad you talked her into staying another day.”

“Could be more than one.” Ben started down the stairs. “We didn’t discuss specifics.”

“Smart man.” Deb pushed him from behind. “Now hurry up. I’m starving.”

Josh was at the stove already, flipping pancakes. “How many does everyone want?” he asked as they entered the kitchen.

“Six,” Ben said. “I didn’t get any sleep last night and am gonna need some serious carbs to make up for it today.”

“You’ll get some serious pounds if you eat that many.” Deb crossed the room to Josh, turned him away from the stove, and planted a long, juicy kiss on his lips. “See?” she said turning to Tara, when at last the kiss ended.

“I’d have to be blind to miss that one,” Tara said.

“Enough of that in my kitchen,” Ben said, irritated with his sister’s ridiculous behavior. “Did you make orange juice yet, Josh?”

“Nope.” Josh flipped a pancake and caught it perfectly on the center of the pan. “You expect me to do everything around here?”

“You
eat
everything around here.” Ben pulled a can of frozen juice from the freezer.

Deb took a stack of plates from the cupboard and handed them to Tara. “Josh doesn’t really live with us,” she said, as if that needed explaining or something.

“He just
lives
here,” Ben said.

“Hey.” Josh pointed the spatula at Ben. “Cut me some slack. I’ve been doing my best to persuade her to leave you and those pigs. I even promised we could get a dog or something.”