Page 88 of Embracing Trust

I know she’s in there.

I beg her to open the door.

I pound again and the door opens—just a crack to reveal the face of an angel. A broken angel. Her eyes are filled with tears. I’ve done this. I’ve broken her. She’ll never trust me again. “I just need you to listen to me.”

She shakes her head. “No, Ryan.” Her voice is shaky. “Youjust need to listen tome. Go home. Go back to your pregnant fiancé and stay away from me.”

The door slams shut in my face and the sound of the deadbolt is the final nail in my coffin.

“I know you can hear me. It’s not what you think.”

It’s quiet.

“I’m sorry, Julia. I love you.”

I plop down on the wicker chair on the porch. I listen for any indication that she’ll come out and talk to me, but it’s quiet. The only sound is the waves of the ocean and the seagulls flying overhead. She’s gone. She’s gone and I know I’m the one to blame for putting this wedge between us and driving her away.

It’s quiet. I give up, get into my truck, and drive away.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Ryan

I park my truck outside Grandma Nola’s house. She isn’t expecting me, and I hope she’s at home. I reach the porch and rap on the screen door. Grandma Nola has the front door open and no doubt she’s enjoying the afternoon breeze.

She reaches the door and smiles, the wrinkles around her eyes show years of happiness she’s enjoyed.

“Why Ryan,” she says as she unlocks and opens the screen door. “What a nice surprise.”

The aroma of fresh-baked bread along with the normal fresh scent of her home fills the air and immediately loosens my tight muscles. This place is my sanctuary and always has been. I don’t doubt that Grandma will not only provide comfort but, as always, she’ll have all the right answers.

She directs me to my spot on the couch and she takes her normal seat in her upholstered chair across from me.

“It’s good to see you,” she says as she places her feet on the ottoman in front of her chair. “But I can tell you’ve got something on your mind. Isn’t that so?”

I run my hand through my hair. “Things haven’t been going so well.”

“How about you tell me all about it over a piece of homemade bread—fresh out of the oven. I bet with some homemade apple butter everything will seem better in no time.”

Grandma has always known the way to a McCormick boy’s heart was with her homemade baked goods. I remember plenty of summers riding my bike here for lunch or stopping by on my way to the swimming pool. My brothers were the same way. What made Grandma’s house the best was she always gave her individual and undivided attention to whichever McCormick grandson happened to be visiting at the time.

After Grandma returns from the kitchen, she carries a tray with a small stack of sliced bread, a fancy glass dish that holds the coveted apple butter along with two tall glasses of iced tea. And when you drink tea at Grandma’s house, it’s always sweetened. No need to ask. She sets the tray on her ottoman and hands me a glass of my sweet summertime favorite.

She sits down in her favorite chair.

“Tell me what brings you by,” she says as she picks up a piece of bread and coats the slice in the delicious elixir to my heart.

I lean back on the couch with my iced tea in hand. “Well, it’s complicated.”

“Love can be that way.” She stands and hands me my plate with bread.

I narrow my eyebrows. “How do you know I’m here to talk about love?”

“Pfft.” She sits in her chair and takes a drink from her tea glass. “Well, why don’t you tell me about it then?” She leans back in her chair and studies me.

“Fair enough,” I agree. “I guess it is about love.”

She nods. “Julia.”

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