Page 83 of Sometimes You Stay

After a steaming shower that fogged up the mirror and wrinkled her fingers and toes, Cretia got dressed and applied enough makeup to look human—though nothing was going to make her camera-ready. But that was okay. She didn’t need to be in the video when she was mere steps from St. Paul’s Cathedral, Christopher Wren’s architectural masterpiece. She’d never captured it, though she didn’t quite know why. She’d been in this area before, stayed in this same hotel.

She’d rectify that this morning.

Grabbing her backpack with all of her new equipment, she stepped into the hallway, only then realizing the silence. The plush hallway was empty, no other doors opening or closing. She glanced at her phone. Probably because it was 4:35 in the morning. Any normal person was sleeping.

Ignoring her growling stomach, she tiptoed through the corridor toward the elevator, then through the lobby. Outside, the cool morning air greeted her with the scent of the Thames, and her hunger pangs immediately vanished.

She couldn’t help but compare London to her precious north shore, to the smell of fresh air and salt water that greeted her, to the sunshine and life of the island. Which wasn’t fair. No place was like Prince Edward Island, but London had plenty to its credit, like the massive building that loomed before her. Its enormous dome and outstretched wings shone like a beacon even in the relative darkness.

The street was nearly empty, save a few cars slipping by on their way to somewhere more important. The lights of acoffee shop flickered on as a shadow inside flipped a placard to “Open.” Signs of life.

Cretia strolled west along the street and paused when she came to a bench. There she set up her phone on her retractable tripod, changing the settings to capture a time-lapse video. Then she waited.

The sun began its warm morning embrace as it reached between the city’s buildings—both ancient and new—turning the sky pink and peach and settling a gentle glow over the day. As it rose, even behind gray clouds, people came. First, a few walking into the cathedral—perhaps the choir or the ushers. Then more. And more. And just before eight, flocks came. Families with children, little girls in hats and dads straightening their sons’ ties. Distinguished gentlemen leaning heavily on canes. Young women in floral dresses and high heels.

Cretia looked down at her tan linen pants, blue blouse, and slip-on sneakers. She wasn’t dressed for a visit to St. Paul’s, but something about it called to her, invited her inside. Church attendance hadn’t been a regular part of her life after her abuelita died, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat through a whole service. But she believed there was truth in the Scriptures. Perhaps—like Marie had said—there was a God who loved her more than her mother had ever been capable of.

If she walked inside, maybe she’d hear more of that. And she wanted more of it in her life.

She packed up her gear, stuffed it into her backpack, and hurried across the street toward the entrance. A driver laid on his horn as she rushed in front of his car, and she waved her apology, too eager to be inside to stop.

When she reached the black-and-white-checkered marblefloor beyond the enormous wooden door, she froze. Hundreds upon hundreds of chairs filled the cathedral floor in neat rows, all facing a wooden platform at the front. And beyond the podium, the choir stood singing like she’d thought only angels could.

She slipped into a seat in the last row, closed her eyes, and listened. She could have sat there for hours, the choir’s sweet hymns of praise wrapping around her, soothing the dark spots of her heart.

She was still lost in their perfect melodies when a young priest with dark hair and olive skin walked up the steps and into an intricately carved box lined with vibrant red fabric. He placed his hands on either side of the pulpit and took a deep breath.

“John 3:16: ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’” The priest’s voice rang out soothing and clear. “One of the most well-known verses in all of the Bible. We quote it, we memorize it, yet we often miss its truth. God loved the world so much that he gave up what he loved most.”

Cretia swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, squeezing her folded hands together in her lap. She’d heard that verse a hundred times, memorized it in Sunday school many years before. But she’d never thought about it in that way.

“Later in the Gospel of John, we read, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ My friends, this much is clear in these two verses. The heart of love is always sacrifice. When was the last time you gave up something precious to you to love someone else well?”

The priest paused, but his words rang in her ears over and over, striking at her heart.

The heart of love is always sacrifice.

Finn had let her go. He’d done everything he could to make it easier on them both. He’d sacrificed his desires for her best chance at happiness. Not because he didn’t care but because he cared so much that he was willing to lay down his own wants, the longings of his own heart. So Cretia could pursue her dreams.

And what had she given up?

Not a single thing.

The tear ducts that had been dry earlier that morning flooded again, and her bottom lip trembled as she held her hand over her mouth. If she wanted to be with Finn, she’d have to sacrifice. Her lifestyle. Her job. Her growing community.

All of that she could give up. None of it mattered nearly as much as Finn.

But it wasn’t enough.

If she wanted a future with him, she’d have to put down roots on the island. She’d have to have a home and stuff andjunk.

If she really loved Finn, she’d have to sacrifice the fear of turning into her mom.

But there was no question that she loved Finn. If only she could show him how much.

Twenty-One

When Finn arrived back home Sunday afternoon, he hopped out of the cab of his truck, Joe Jr. close behind him. The barn and the house were still standing. That was a good sign. As he opened the sliding door to the barn, the scent of fresh hay greeted him. The dogs barked in greeting from their kennels, no real urgency or need in their voices.

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