The Prodigal Comes Home

Matt spun around and saw Liz standing—no, teetering was more like it—in the arched doorway of the parlor, one hand pressed against her chest and the other groping for something to hold on to.

The change in her was alarming. Five minutes ago, they had been sharing a pot of coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls while Liz, one of those rare people who could find the humor in any situation, entertained him with stories of what Matt guessed had been, in fact, an exhausting weeklong stay in the hospital.

He was at Liz’s side in a heartbeat, tucking her arm through his as she sagged against him.

“I think you better sit down,” he murmured. But his attempt to guide her gently back into the parlor was met with unexpected resistance.

“I’m fine,” Liz gasped, making a feeble attempt to shake him off.

“Gran…I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

Two thoughts collided in Matt’s mind. The woman—Zoey—had followed him down the hall. And she’d just called Liz “Gran.”

His gaze bounced back and forth between the two. Both women had the chalk-like pallor and dazed expressions of victims from an accident scene.

“Okay, I have another idea. Let’s all sit down.” To Matt’s surprise, the young woman took Liz’s other arm. Together they shepherded her toward the comfortable settee in front of the fireplace. Once Liz was settled against the cushions, Matt poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the coffee table and handed it to her.

“Thank you.”

To his relief, the cracks in Liz’s voice had mended and she sounded more like herself. Her color began to return, too, although she still wore the shell-shocked look of someone who had just received bad news.

And maybe she had.

Matt’s gaze flicked to Zoey, who had perched on the edge of a wingback chair, fingers knotted together in her lap. The mixture of regret and worry simmering in her eyes appeared genuine.

He tried to remember what Liz had told him about her family. He knew she had a son and daughter-in-law on the mission field in Africa, but to his recollection she hadn’t said anything about grandchildren. Or, more specifically, a granddaughter.

He looked for a physical resemblance between the two but failed to find one. Not only was the color of their hair and eyes different, but Matt was also unable to whittle Liz’s soft, rounded features down to the spare, delicate brush strokes that made up Zoey’s face.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Liz said, fumbling with a pair of glasses suspended by two gold chains around her neck.

Zoey ducked her head when Liz put them on, as if she didn’t want to give her the opportunity to take a closer look. “I should have called first,” she murmured.

Liz dismissed the words instantly. “Don’t be silly. The door is always open to friends. And family.”

Zoey flinched but Liz didn’t seem to notice. She turned to Matt. “This is my granddaughter, Zoey Decker,” she said, a radiant smile beginning to bloom on her face now that the initial shock had begun to fade. “Zoey, this is Matthew Wilde. He is one of my very good friends and the pastor at Church of the Pines.”

Matt had gotten used to people’s initial surprise when they discovered he was a minister. He wasn’t sure if their reaction had something to do with the fact that was in his early thirties or because he preferred blue jeans and T-shirts to a suit and tie.

But Zoey Decker didn’t look surprised.

She looked horrified.

It was a good thing she was sitting down because Zoey’s knees turned to liquid. Again. Especially since she hadn’t completely recovered from the shock of seeing him open the front door.

“It’s nice to meet you, Zoey,” Matthew Wilde—Pastor Wilde—said quietly.

She managed a jerky nod, wondering if he would mention the fact that they already had met.

As humiliating as their brief encounter had been, Zoey hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. The man knew nothing about her and yet the genuine concern in his eyes when he’d offered to buy her breakfast had touched a chord deep inside of her.

Maybe that’s why he was concerned, an inner voice mocked. Because he doesn’t know you. If he did, he would have kept right on going…

At least Matthew Wilde’s erroneous assumption that she could use a free meal had motivated her to stop at the first gas station she saw to seek out a mirror. What she saw there had prompted her to take some time to wash up, finger comb her hair into some resemblance of order and dab on a layer of makeup to hide the circles under her eyes. Zoey had also driven around the lake and stopped to watch the rippling waters before gathering up the courage to return to the house on Carriage Street.

“You didn’t drive all night, did you?” Gran leaned forward, in full “hospitality mode” now. “Are you hungry?”

Zoey couldn’t look at Matthew Wilde, who probably could have guessed the answer to both questions. “No, I’m—”

The pastor neatly cut her off. “Even if you had breakfast, you can’t pass up one of these cinnamon rolls.” He transferred one to a plate and handed it to her.

Zoey couldn’t refuse without appearing rude. She balanced the plate on one knee, her throat so tight she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite.

“There’s coffee left in the carafe…” Liz paused and shook her head. “Listen to me! Do you drink coffee, Zoey, or would you prefer something else?”

“Coffee is fine. Thank you.”

Before she could finish the sentence, the pastor had poured her a cup.

Silence swelled and filled in the empty spaces between them. Zoey picked at the edge of the cinnamon roll, if only to give her hands something to do. She could feel the weight of two pairs of eyes.

Suddenly, her grandmother chuckled. “Oh my goodness—that sweater you’re wearing! I can’t believe you kept it all these years. It was my first project after I joined Esther Redstone’s knitting group.”

“I love it.” Zoey looked down and made a half-hearted attempt to smooth down another one of the loops that had worked its way loose in the wash.

Over the years, the sweater had moved with her when she’d been forced to leave other things behind. It might have become a little misshapen and fuzzy, but Zoey hadn’t been able to part with it.

“Your grandpa teased me while I was making it. He said it would be more suited for a man named Joseph than a girl named Zoey. He was right, you know.” A smile deepened the creases fanning out from Liz’s brown eyes. “I must have used every color of yarn in the shop.”

At the mention of her grandfather, Zoey felt that familiar pinch of regret. “I remember.”

“How long has it been since you two have seen each other?” Matthew directed the question at Zoey.

She stiffened, searching for undercurrents of suspicion in the husky voice. Zoey tried to tell herself it only made sense that his concern would be centered on her grandmother now.

He knew Liz.

But he probably thought that she had shown up, circling like a vulture, to determine just how sick her grandmother was. He’d seen the condition of her Jeep. The clothing piled in the backseat. More than likely, he thought she was looking for someone to take care of her.

The idea turned Zoey’s stomach.

She wouldn’t try to explain that the reason she’d come back was to give, not take.

It wouldn’t make any difference. As soon as he left, the good pastor would no doubt ask around town—find at least a dozen people who would cheerfully supply all the gruesome details of her past—and he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

“Much too long.” Gran answered the question, reaching out and giving Zoey’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Zoey fought the urge to cling to her. When she’d made the impulsive decision to drive to Mirror Lake and see Gran, she hadn’t anticipated the avalanche of feelings her visit would trigger.

She hadn’t expected that a place she had lived for two short, unhappy years of her life would feel like coming home.

Like the outside of the house, the inside looked exactly the way she remembered it. Right down to the powder-blue velvet furniture and the collection of porcelain birds decorating the fireplace mantle.

And Gran…she may have added a few more lines, but she was as sweet and warmhearted as Zoey remembered.

Maybe the only thing that had changed was her.

Not that Zoey expected anyone—not even her grandmother—to believe it.

“You can stay for lunch, can’t you? Or are you just passing through Mirror Lake?”

The sudden quaver in Liz’s voice seared Zoey’s conscience. Although she had plenty of reasons, there was no indication that her grandmother was suspicious of her unexpected arrival.

Zoey sneaked a look at Matt and found those hazel eyes trained on her. Waiting for her response, too. “Mom told me that you’d just gotten out of the hospital.”

“You talked to your mother?” There was no disguising the pleased surprise in Gran’s voice.

“I thought maybe I could stay and help you out for awhile.” Zoey didn’t want to disappoint her grandmother by confessing that they hadn’t really spoken—she’d listened to the voice mail message Sara Decker had left. “If you…need me, I mean,” she added quickly.

The color drained from Liz’s face again and Matt put a protective hand on her arm. “Liz? Are you all right?”

“I’m more than all right.” Gran took a deep breath and patted his hand before turning a smile on Zoey that warmed her from the inside out. “I’d love for you to stay with me, sweetheart. And you are welcome for as long as you’d like.”

Chapter Three

That was it?

No questions?

Because Matt had a truckload of them, even if Liz didn’t.

Judging from the interaction he’d witnessed between the two women, it was clear they hadn’t seen each other in quite a while. And it didn’t take a trained counselor—which Matt happened to be—to figure out that some of Zoey’s tension seemed to stem from her uncertainty over how she would be received.

But that didn’t make sense, either. Liz was known for her hospitality. She was the kind of woman who encouraged people to drop in without an invitation.

“Matthew?” Liz turned to him. “Do you have time to help Zoey carry her things in?”

Before he could reply, Zoey surged to her feet. “That’s okay, Gran, I don’t need his help. I don’t have much. Just some clothes.”

And apparently she didn’t want Liz to know those clothes were piled on the backseat of her vehicle.

A frown deepened the row of pleats across Liz’s forehead. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. And I’m sure that…Pastor Wilde has other things to do instead of play bellhop.”

To her nonexistent luggage, Matt thought.

Their eyes met. Hers begged him not to say the words out loud.

“I do have an appointment at nine.” Matt took his cue and stood up. “I’m sure you two ladies have a lot of catching up to do.”

“We do at that, don’t we, Zoey?” Liz beamed. “I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee on by the time you get settled.”

“Gran, please.” Zoey bit down on her lower lip. “I didn’t come here so you could fuss over me. I came to fuss over you, remember?”

Liz closed her eyes, as if savoring something sweet. “I like the sound of that.”

“Really?” Matt lifted a skeptical brow. “You might like the ‘sound’ of it and yet you fight it all the way.”

“That’s not completely true,” Liz protested.

Matt looked at Zoey. “You did catch the word ‘completely,’ didn’t you?”

Zoey’s lips curved in a brief, tentative smile that had the power to derail his initial reservations like a runaway freight train.

“You can stay in your old bedroom, Zoey,” Liz went on. “I’m afraid, though, that it looks exactly the same way as it did when you left.”

Your old bedroom?

Matt tried to hide his astonishment. The comment made it sound as if the arrangement had been permanent at one time.

Which made it even more unbelievable that Liz had never mentioned a granddaughter.

“I could stay in the carriage house,” Zoey ventured. “That way, I won’t be underfoot but I’ll still be close by if you need me.”

Liz waved her hand in the air, brushing away the comment the way she would a pesky fly. “What I need is a little noise in this drafty old house. There’s plenty of room for the two of us.”

“But…”

“And the carriage house isn’t available,” Liz interrupted.

“Oh.” Zoey looked confused. “I thought maybe you and grandpa had gone ahead with your original plan to convert it into an apartment.”

“Oh, we did,” Liz said cheerfully. “That’s why it isn’t available. Matthew lives there now.”

Zoey’s gaze flew to his face. Matt expected to see dismay or even resentment in her eyes. All he saw was a resigned acceptance that had him struggling against a sudden urge to apologize.

He turned to Liz instead. “I’ll come by later this afternoon,” he promised. “And by the way, Kate said to remind you that tomorrow is pecan pie day, so she’s going to stop over and drop off a piece.”

“That’s wonderful. Zoey and I will have to share.” Liz lifted her face and Matt dutifully pressed a kiss against the weathered cheek.

“I’ll be right back, Gran.” Zoey started toward the door, then paused to level a stern look in her grandmother’s direction. “Promise me that you won’t lift a finger to do anything until I get back. I’ll put a fresh pot of coffee on.”

Liz sighed. “I promise.”

Matt had sensed that Liz was beginning to tire but hadn’t expected Zoey to notice. The fact that she had—and also that she knew her grandmother didn’t like to sit still—put some of his concerns to rest.

Liz seemed genuinely thrilled that her granddaughter had shown up out of the blue.

Matt was happy for her, too, but that wasn’t going to stop him from finding out just who Zoey Decker was.

And the real reason she’d come to Mirror Lake.

Up until the moment Gran had embraced her, Zoey had half-expected to be turned away, the way she had once pushed her grandparents away, declaring that she didn’t need them.

But Gran had immediately put her fears to rest, with no hint of resentment or censure in her eyes.

Zoey had a long way to go to make amends, but at least Gran was willing to give her a chance.

“Here. This might help.”

A cardboard box was deposited at her feet next to the Jeep. Zoey didn’t have to turn around to know who was there. The breeze carried the faint scent of Matt’s cologne, a clean, masculine scent that had, along with his smile, remained stubbornly lodged in her memory.

“Thank you.” Zoey dropped an armful of jeans into the box, inwardly chiding herself for not taking the time to retrieve her suitcase from her landlord’s storage unit.

A pink kneesock decorated with winged musical notes tumbled to the ground, but before Zoey could swoop down and retrieve it, Matt got there first.

“Here you go.”

She plucked it from his hand.

Was there no end to the man’s charity? Zoey wondered.

There will be. Just wait.

The thought almost made her drop the Bible she’d wrapped in a stack of T-shirts.

Matt propped a hip against the side of her car. In spite of his comment that he had to get back to the church for an appointment, he seemed in no hurry to leave. “Liz was happy to see you. I haven’t seen her look so perky in quite a while. A lot of us have been concerned about her. Contracting pneumonia was bad enough, but the complications that kept her in the hospital an extra week took quite a toll on her health.”

“I didn’t find out that she was in the hospital until yesterday,” Zoey muttered.

That was her fault, too.

Her parents had grown accustomed to her avoiding contact with them. They never failed to send a card for her birthday or on holidays, but the majority of communication had been reduced to a few stilted conversations spread out over the year.

Regret sliced through Zoey. She could have been here sooner. Could have sat next to Gran’s hospital bed, the way Gran had once sat next to hers…

The memories pressed down on her conscience and she tried to shake them away. The effort drained Zoey’s already-depleted reserve of energy. She picked up a tasseled silk pillow, resisting the urge to bury her face in it.

“How far did you drive?”

Here it was. Question Number One. Zoey braced herself for the inquisition.

“A few hours. I live near Lake Delton.”

“Wisconsin Dells area?”

Zoey nodded curtly, wishing he would go away. She swept up the box as he bent down to retrieve it. “I’ve got it.”

Matt straightened, parking his hands on his hips. Zoey tried not to stare. He’d been attractive in loose-fitting sweats. In faded jeans, a marled blue fisherman’s sweater and hiking boots, he looked more like the cover model for a popular outdoor men’s magazine.

“Liz is special,” Matt said after a moment. “Everyone loves her. She sort of became my adoptive grandmother when I moved to town…” He paused.

Here it comes, Zoey thought.

The Warning.

You better not take advantage of her a) hospitality, b) generosity, c) kindness. Or d) all of the above.

“I’m glad you’re here, Zoey. She needs her family.”

Family.

The word echoed through the hollow places in Zoey’s heart.

It was the best…and the worst…thing he could have said.

What had he said?

Matt watched myriad emotions skim through Zoey’s expressive eyes, as if he’d skipped a rock across the lake and created ripples across the surface.

“It looks like she has you, too.” Zoey looked down at the ground. The winter sunlight had gained strength as the morning wore on and brought out a cherry-cola sheen in the tangle of dark curls that skimmed her shoulders.

“She does.” Matt wondered why Zoey had such a difficult time looking at him. “She has a lot of people who care about her.”

Zoey slammed the door of the Jeep, triggering an avalanche of rust that rained onto his boots.

Matt thought he heard her groan.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with that?”

“I can manage on my own.”

Without even trying, he’d managed to insult her again.

“But…thank you.” Zoey’s voice was so soft, Matt had to strain to hear the words. “I’m glad you’ve been here. To look out for Gran.” Her expression turned wistful as she stared at the house.

She continued to surprise him. An intriguing mix of toughness and vulnerability. Honesty and secrets.

“I’m sorry about the carriage house,” he heard himself say. “After the last pastor retired, the congregation voted to sell the parsonage to cut down on costs. Liz mentioned she had a separate apartment and asked if I’d be interested in living there.”

Matt remembered the conversation as if it had taken place the day before. Liz had not only offered him a place to live, but she’d also informed him that she and Jonathan had always planned to use the extra apartment space as a “blessing” to others and refused to accept any rent.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zoey’s slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Gran’s right. There’s plenty of room in the house and I’ll be able to hear her if she gets up in the night.”

“I’ll sleep better knowing you’re there, that’s for sure.”

“Will you?” she asked evenly.

For a man who’d frequently been told that he was “eloquent,” Matt didn’t know what to say. It was almost as if she expected him to be suspicious of her.

“Yes.” Based on what he’d seen so far, it was the truth.

Zoey took a step back. “I better go inside before Gran decides to put fresh sheets on the bed.”

“It was nice to meet you. Again.” Matt smiled in a blatant attempt to coax one out of her. Because smiles were supposed to be contagious, weren’t they?

It didn’t work.

She pivoted away from him, hugging the box against her chest.

Matt had the distinct impression that Zoey Decker kept her secrets just as close.

Zoey collapsed facedown on the comforter covering the canopy bed and immediately sank into a cloud of lavender-scented chiffon. Lace from the pillow sham ticked her nose so she rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Above her head, an uneven constellation of plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars circled the antique light fixture.

Oh, Gran.

Zoey wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Although she’d been warned that her old bedroom hadn’t undergone any significant changes, Zoey hadn’t been prepared to open the door and be instantly transported into the past, courtesy of a frothy pink and white time machine.

Everything remained exactly the way she remembered it.

Exactly the way she’d left it.

Her gaze traveled over the interior of the room, pausing to linger on the distressed ivory writing desk and matching bookcase. The latter still sported the row of first-edition Nancy Drew mysteries that Gran had proudly offered for her entertainment. An oversized tufted ottoman, complete with gold buttons and a tasseled skirt, remained in front of the window as if it had been nailed in place, its strategic position designed to encourage what her Grandpa Jonathan had often referred to as “pondering.”

At sixteen, Zoey had put that particular piece of furniture to good use. She had sat cross-legged on it for hours, staring out the window.

Pondering her escape.

Time—both in the push and shove of the real world and, more recently, on her knees—had slowly begun to alter her perspective.

Her grandparents hadn’t been overly strict, but Zoey had been looking for a fight. Any rules, no matter how reasonable, were turned into a battle ground. She hadn’t wanted to give her grandparents a difficult time. No, what she’d wanted was to get her parents’ attention.

Zoey remembered how many times her grandparents had tried to get close to her, but she’d always pushed them away. After she moved out, that pattern had continued, like the steps of an intricate dance. Zoey had practiced—and perfected—it over the years.

Until she realized that God hadn’t left her side.

He had been there to take her hand and lift her up, but Zoey had never expected He would lead her back to Mirror Lake.

“It won’t be so bad,” she told the stuffed bear perched on the windowsill. “Gran’s practically a shut-in. I’ll stick close to the house until she’s back on her feet. People will hardly know I’m here.”

Zoey sat up, debating whether she should check on Gran again. It was difficult to acknowledge how much of her grandmother’s energy had been stolen by the bout of pneumonia and an extended stay in the hospital. Gran had always seemed so…ageless. But Zoey had come face to face with reality when she returned to the house and found Gran dozing on the sofa.

With her eyes closed, Liz looked so small and frail that Zoey wanted to wrap her arms around the thin shoulders and share some of her own strength.

She’d draped an afghan over Gran’s lap instead, intending to beat a quiet retreat and finish unpacking the rest of her things.

“Zoey?” Gran had stirred before she reached the door. “Are you still here?”

“You aren’t going to get rid of me that easily.”

Gran looked troubled. “I wouldn’t want to.”

Zoey hoped they would eventually get to the place where the past didn’t cast a shadow on every conversation. Every innocent comment.

“Gran, why don’t you finish your nap while I unpack?”

“That sounded more like an order than a suggestion.” Gran had chuckled, the sparkle back in her eyes. “Between you and Matthew, I’m going to be spoiled rotten.”

You and Matthew.

Her grandmother’s words cycled through Zoey’s mind and she yanked the pillow over her head. It didn’t, however, blot out the image of Matt Wilde’s handsome face or erase the warmth of his smile from her memory.

Maybe, Zoey thought, it was all right to hold onto the memory of that smile a little bit longer.

When people started talking about her—and Zoey knew they would—she was pretty sure she wouldn’t see it again.