Page 2 of There I Find Hope

Really? Was God’s will for her to lose her child?

She looked at the lady who was patting her arm. She recognized her as someone she’d grown up with. Gone to church with. Known all of her life. She wanted to grab her by the throat and pin her on the floor and tell her that God didn’t will for her son to die.

It was her fault. She was the world’s worst mother. She didn’t deserve to be a mother. Blake should have had someone better.

She didn’t manage to smile, but she nodded and wiped the tear that trickled out of her eye.

She couldn’t go back to her apartment above the candy store. There were too many reminders of her son there. His toys, his clothes, a load of his laundry was still in the dryer. Tuesday had been a nice day, and she decided that she and Blake would go for a walk instead.

He begged to take his ball, and she consented without really thinking about it. It would give him something to do as she walked up the beach, thinking about life and things and giving herself a break from the struggle of trying to make her business profitable.

Thankfully her mom paid her for cleaning the rooms at the bed-and-breakfast, or she would have gone under three years ago when she moved to Strawberry Sands after her divorce.

Strawberry Sands was growing, getting bigger every year, more popular with the tourists, and she had high hopes for her candy store.

But now? She never wanted to set foot in her apartment again. Someone else could handle cleaning it out, except she couldn’t stand the thought of that either. Couldn’t stand the thought of every memory of her son being wiped out. His toys gone. His clothes gone. His presence gone from her life.

She turned back to the well-wishers and tried to focus on their words.

Then, the only thing that could have made her day any worse happened.

Her ex walked in.

Glenn’s new wife held tight to his hand while her son from her first marriage held her other hand.

Sunday recognized them easily. She’d seen them multiple times. During and after the divorce.

Apparently Diana ran around with Glenn for a while before Sunday figured it all out. Up until that point, Sunday had been trying to work on her marriage. To get in shape after having a child so her husband would find her attractive. To cook his favorite meals and spend time rubbing his back and feet, asking him questions about his day and listening as he spoke. Sending him sexy texts and buying new lingerie. Reading tons of articles with titles like “what men like in the bedroom,” studying them, and putting every idea possible in practice.

Of course, once she found out about Diana, she figured out exactly why Glenn was no longer interested in Sunday.

Diana was everything Sunday wasn’t. Slender, with the body of a ballerina, flexible and supple. She was actually an inch or so taller than Glenn, willowy, thin, graceful, and she could probably twist herself into all the pretzels that the articles recommended.

Sunday, on the other hand, still carried around the extra baby weight she had before she even had a baby. She had wide hips from her father’s side of the family and no bust.

She was a pear with an apple belly.

Not that any of that mattered now. It wouldn’t bring Blake back.

Glenn didn’t stop at the back. He moved forward with confidence, walking up the aisle.

She talked to him on the phone, although by the time she was able to call him, there was nothing he could do. And with Glenn being a practical man, analytical and data driven, he didn’t bother to make the drive to Strawberry Sands. After all, if Blake was dead, there was nothing for him to come to.

Except the funeral, apparently.

Sunday had sent him the details but hadn’t expected him to attend. They’d shared custody, with Glenn seeming to be happy with two weeks with Blake in the summer, and two weeks over Christmas, and an occasional weekend throughout the year.

Probably Diana was happy with that.

Sunday couldn’t imagine only seeing her son for four weeks and a few days every year.

Her world revolved around her son. Him and the candy shop.

Glenn didn’t bother to wait in line; he walked around the folks who were standing, which was pretty much everyone in Strawberry Sands who hadn’t already shaken Sunday’s hand or hugged her, and he pushed in front of the person who was next without bothering to say “excuse me.”

“Mother of the year. Right here,” he said.

Yeah, she didn’t expect sympathy from him. He wasn’t exactly a compassionate person. He was the data analysist for some bigwig company in Chicago, and facts were all that mattered to him.

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