Page 23 of With All My Heart, Joy

Most sincerely yours,

Zak

Joy cradled her cooling cup of cocoa. Zak Miller seemed, as he so aptly wrote in closing, most sincere. She would write back again. She knew she would. Something about him made her want to pour out her most intimate secrets, the closest things about herself. But she wouldn’t tell him about her struggle with depression. And she wouldn’t ask her most burning question. Because if Zak was old enough to have a ten-year-old, his age likely exceeded the age-gap window she personally believed in, which was no more than four years. And then this letter exchange would be over before it had barely started.

So she wouldn’t ask. She would enjoy this fantastical pen-pal friendship for as long as she could before reality took over.

Reality was never as kind as imagination.

She could imagine she would matter to Zak Miller if he knew everything about her. She could imagine that even if he knew about the depression that plagued her life, she would matter.

She knew better. But she could imagine.

* * * * *

This house stirred a complication of emotions within Isaac every time he returned to it. At times, he wished his mom would move out of his childhood home.

“More turkey, Zaki?”

He smiled at his sister, holding out a hand to decline. “You’ve stuffed me plumper than the turkey himself. When did you learn to cook like this?”

Rose was his half-sister. As she was twelve years his junior, they hadn’t been particularly close when she was young, but he made a conscious effort to remedy the gap as an adult. Since Paisley was born, he had realized acutely the importance of family.

“A wife must cook for her husband. I’ve been practicing.” A pretty blush painted Rose’s face, and Isaac eyed the young man at her side. They had become engaged two months ago and were planning a summer wedding. Isaac couldn’t be happier for Rose. Emmanuel was a godly man with a good job and an excellent family. They were all in attendance for Thanksgiving today at his mother’s home. The small house was about to burst at the joints in a wondrous explosion of drywall.

“Who’s hungry for dessert?” Isaac’s mother emerged from the kitchen with Paisley, a pie between them. Isaac noted that his mom had a tight grip on the dish, but Paisley beamed with pride that she was helping.

His mom had that special touch with Paisley. His daughter never glowed at home quite the way she did at Grandma’s house. That failing was on him, but he had no idea what he was doing wrong.

“Paisley and I made this pie together,” his mom announced, setting it on the table with a flourish. “Get the whipped cream, sweet pea.” Paisley disappeared and returned with a glass bowl full of freshly whipped cream. It had to be heavy. What if she dropped it? It could injure her, and it would cause a huge mess.

Isaac half rose from his chair, only to receive a glare from his mother. By the time he eased back down, Paisley was setting her burden on the table.

Maybe hewastoo protective. Silas teased him about it, but there might be more truth to his friend’s words than Silas realized. But how did a parent know when to release the reins a bit? Especially when a child had special needs? What if his timing was wrong?

A plate appeared in front of him, the slice of pie buried beneath a mountain of puffy white cream. “Eat, son, and get out of your head. It’s a day for giving thanks.”

He met his mom’s eyes, saw the concern, and smiled. “Looks delicious. Thank you.”

Paisley was having so much fun, she’d barely talked to him since they arrived yesterday evening. While this home awakened his memories of the day his dad left, of the struggle he faced afterward, of the poor decisions he made, to Paisley it was paradise. It was Grandma’s home—her favorite place on earth. Especially since it was decked out in Christmas decor. Isaac couldn’t remember a Thanksgiving that didn’t incorporate more Christmas than he believed healthy. Maybe that’s why hewasn’tso gung-ho about Christmas.

After the Thanksgiving meal, he offered to wash some dishes. That would allow his mom to rest and sit with her husband. Isaac had tremendous respect for his stepfather, Trevor Case. He was a good man. He’d come into the picture too late to save Isaac, but that wasn’t his fault.

Isaac’s shoulders ached by the time he finished. He dried his hands before entering the living room. Rose was snuggled against Emmanuel. His parents sat together, hands held. Emmanuel’s siblings were with their respective partners. Even his mom rested her head on Trevor’s shoulder.

Was he the only single person in attendance today besides children? His eyes searched the room. Paisley was playing with Emmanuel’s niece and nephew. No one else was solo. Just him.

An ache settled slowly and deeply in his chest. “I’m going to my room, Paise.” He touched his daughter’s head. “If you need me, wake me up, okay?” He rubbed his tummy. “Food coma.”

She grinned, her eyes framed in puffy lids nearly going to slits. “Go sleep, Dad.” No one else seemed to notice as he withdrew to what used to be his bedroom. It was redecorated now in neutral tones and labeled “the guest room.”

He closed the door, blocking out the noise of the television and murmured voices. Instant loneliness descended on him. Was he sentenced to life alone just because he had a daughter with special needs? It wasn’t fair.

When he felt like this, he usually chose to pray. But he didn’t feel like praying this time. He wanted someone to go through life with him. Someone earthly.

He stretched out on the bed, crossing his ankles.

Maybe JJ Hall was that someone. Would she write back again? Had his openness in his last letter been a mistake? He’d done some foolish things before. Paisley wouldn’t exist otherwise. Was this another poor choice? He knew virtually nothing about JJ. Not her age, not her job, not her religious preference, not her eye color or height. But he knew, from the very first letter, that she had a heart of gold. What would happen when he discovered more about her?

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