The Heart of Grace

“I’m sorry,” Larissa said, automatically. Say it now, or pay for it later. “Please forgive my selfishness.”

“I understand, honey. You’ve been under so much strain lately. It’s no wonder you’re edgy. As soon as this thing is over, you can get back to normal.”

This thing, Larissa assumed, was her marriage. Her mother refused to believe Larissa could be happy married to Drew. She’d long planned a huge society wedding for her only child, and when Larissa and Drew eloped, the die was cast. There was no forgiveness in Marsha Stone for a perceived wrong, and since Larissa was her daughter, Drew remained the focus of the animosity.

Larissa’s marriage, to her mother’s way of thinking, was a dead horse. No use beating it.

“I do have some lovely news,” Mother said. “Did your father tell you?”

Larissa’s last conversation with her father had been terse to say the least. “I guess he forgot to mention it.”

“We’re going on a cruise to Italy. I am so excited. I can hardly believe Thomas has finally agreed to get away from his office long enough to go. We’ve discussed it for years.”

Larissa managed a laugh. “You make it sound as if you’ve never been out of the house.”

Her parents had traveled to enough places to be U.N. ambassadors.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Actually, she didn’t.

“Why don’t you come to Italy with us? Oh, darling, it will be such fun. A nice vacation is exactly what you need. We’ll go to Venice and let some handsome Italian woo you in a gondola. Then we’ll go shopping for the most wonderful wardrobe of Italian leathers. And by the time we return all this unpleasantness will be over.”

“Mother.” Larissa’s anxiety level rose even higher. “I have to be here for Drew.”

Silence hummed through the wires. Larissa could imagine the flat line of disapproval on her mother’s collagen-injected lips.

“That’s ridiculous.” This time her mother’s tone had a bite to it. “Stop being a doormat to this man. He’s never been a husband. Traipsing all over the world and leaving you behind, embarrassed in society. Give him a divorce and move on with your life. Find a good man of our social standing and have a child. You’re not getting any younger you know.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Her biological clock was ticking loudly, and she hungered for children like a starving lioness. But she wanted Drew to be the father of those children, something he flatly refused to discuss. Children, he claimed, were not part of the package.

A headache threatened. She pressed a thumb and forefinger against her eyes. “I can’t talk to you about this. I’m sorry.” Lately, all she did was apologize.

“We used to talk about everything until you joined that religious group. I suppose they’re behind this insane idea of yours to bring Drew home, instead of cutting your losses while you can.”

Hoping to avoid a lecture, Larissa said, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone at church about this. It’s all too fresh. You’re my mother. I need you.” Boy, was that ever true. “I love you.”

“Well,” Marsha sniffed. “I love you, too, honey. You’re all that matters to me. I’m happy that you enjoy your church friends. Although in my opinion, you take this new religion fad far too seriously. Everybody gets divorced these days. Divorce isn’t a sin, you know.”

Larissa couldn’t agree. According to her Bible, Christians didn’t divorce even if they wanted to. And she most certainly did not want to.

But to the Stones, church was strictly a social institution, mostly used to better her father’s political career. Though they attended occasionally as a family, especially during election years, they had never discussed personal faith in their home. She hadn’t a clue what a relationship with Christ was about until her friend Jennifer had invited her to a Bible study last year after Drew had disappeared on one of his long treks to who-knew-where. Out of boredom and missing Drew so much she was willing to do anything, she’d gone. Within the month, she’d given her life to Christ and become a different person on the inside.

Her mother was still puzzled by her sudden devotion.

Though she’d tried discussing the topic with both her parents, the words had fallen on deaf ears. They said they were Christians “like everybody else” and that was that.

As much as she wanted to revisit the conversation, she didn’t want to offend. Mother’s sensibilities were so delicate.

“All I ask is that you think about it, Larissa,” her mother was saying. “Daddy knows the best divorce lawyers in Oklahoma. Everything can be taken care of while we’re in Italy. You won’t even have time to be stressed.”

“Drew is seriously injured. That’s my concern right now.”

“Daddy and I are not unfeeling beasts. If you are going to be stubborn about this, we will also arrange for the best rehab care available.”

“Just as long as I don’t bring Drew back to Tulsa. Right?”

There was a miniscule pause and then, “It’s for the best, honey. Let Daddy take care of everything.”

Mother made it sound so simple and bloodless. A vacation to Italy. She shook her head, depressed by her parents’ lack of understanding. They were wonderful parents, who thought they knew what was best for their child.

Only she wasn’t a child anymore.

Thoughts of Drew crowded in. Drew laughing and teasing. Drew charging into the ocean with her on his back. His expression intense when he spoke his love.

No matter what anyone said, she could not forget the beautiful parts of her marriage. They hovered inside her heart and mind like golden butterflies, too rare and special to release into the wild.

Somehow she managed to end the conversation, certain she hadn’t heard the end of the Italy cruise. Then she fixed a cup of tea in the hotel coffeemaker. It wasn’t her special blend of chamomile and raspberry, but the hot, sweetened drink warmed the chill in her bones.

Outside, a cold rain slashed the windows in incessant sheets. Inside, the hotel room was cozy. She climbed beneath the comforter, pillows propped behind her head, to drink tea and read the Bible.

In her haste, she’d left her own beautiful, Moroccan leather Bible at home. But the bedside table held the familiar Gideon version.

She flipped through the stiff book, finally settling on a page in Corinthians. Much of the Bible was still new to her and this was no different. She read out loud, hoping scripture would soothe her inner tumult. “Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

This was what real love was all about. God’s kind of love.

As if the ancient words were written just for her, Larissa read them again and again.

“Love is patient,” she murmured. “I can be patient with Drew.”

And she could also trust and hope and persevere. Because God promised that if she would, love would never fail. She closed her eyes and smiled, ready to sleep now as she hadn’t done in days. “Thank you, Lord.”

Deep down, she understood what God was telling her. Just keep on loving Drew the way Corinthians stated. Keep loving. Because love would not fail.

The next morning, Drew awakened as soon as the weak winter sun slanted through the gap in the ugly green drapes. He was nervous. Larissa was going to fight him, and right now he was weak. Last night he’d tried to get up and head for the shower on his own. He’d made it to the end of the bed before collapsing like a Slinky. The nurses had scolded until, chastised, he’d promised to stay put.

He wouldn’t necessarily keep that promise. He had to get out of here before he lost all courage.

A nurse arrived, and Drew went through the now familiar humiliation of being treated like a helpless infant. Ah, what was he saying? He was a helpless infant.

“Tell the doc I want to see him right away.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up first. I heard you had a pretty visitor yesterday.”

He gave her a look intended to shut her up, but she was a cheeky sort. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and grinned. Drew ignored the insinuation. “Call the doctor.”

“I heard you. The doctor will make his rounds soon. Right now he’s in surgery.”

“Great.” He needed to get the rehab arrangements made today and get out of here. His frustratingly weak body was not cooperating. All he could do was wait.

As the nurse administered his morning ablutions, he stared at a painting on the far wall. What was it? A seascape? Mountains?

He squinted, trying to bring the blues and greens into focus. He blinked several times to clear the fog, and just that quick, the picture faded to gray and then to black.

His heart lurched. Cold fear snaked through him. He blinked again and again. Nothing happened.

He dropped his head back onto the pillow, fighting the panic. A groan escaped him.

“Mr. Michaels?” The cheeky nurse’s voice held concern. “Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?”

Yes, though not the kind she meant.

For lack of a better excuse, he said, “My side,” and grabbed for it.

No way was he telling the nurses about the unpredictable state of his eyesight. They might tell Larissa and then he was done for. If she thought for one minute that he was going blind, she would insist on taking care of him. He wouldn’t saddle her with a cranky, worthless, blind photographer.

As professional hands skimmed over the bandage on his belly, Drew fretted. The doc had called the blindness transient. It would go away. It had to.

“There. Is that better?”

Though he had no idea what the nurse had done, he nodded anyway. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She rattled around his bed and he waited for the sound to disappear before opening his eyes again.

A relieved sigh shuddered through him.

The world had somehow come back into focus.

He looked at his hands. They were shaking.

Outside in the hallway, people passed by talking in low tones. So as not to think about the frightening blindness, he concentrated on the noises and waited for his doctor to arrive.

He didn’t have long to wait. In moments, he heard the murmur of a male voice. But there was another voice, too. Larissa. He’d recognize that soft, educated drawl anywhere on earth.

Straining to hear, he caught bits and pieces of the conversation. “Mr. Michaels expressly asked me not to release his information to you, Mrs. Michaels.”

Way to go, doc.

“But I’m his wife.” Larissa’s bewilderment was evident.

“He said you were going through a divorce.”

“That’s ridiculous. He must have gotten a concussion. We are not getting a divorce.”

Drew couldn’t hold back a smile of admiration. His woman was gutsy, that was for certain. She’d worked on her father’s political campaigns long enough to know how to stand her ground.

The doctor’s smooth, professional baritone answered, “He’s asked me to make arrangements in a rehab facility here in D.C. I was just stopping by to discuss the particulars with him.”

Drew clenched the sheet with both fists, reminding himself that the rehab was his idea. Nevertheless, the thought of going to any institution filled him with dread. He’d been in way too many of them over the years, and probably should have been in others.

Flashes of his early teen years kaleidoscoped behind his eyelids. Boys’ homes, therapeutic homes, group homes for troubled kids. He’d battled his way through dozens, fending off bigger, meaner boys, learning to steal and smoke. Learning which illegal drugs manifested what effect.

He’d tried everything and then some but had gone cold turkey after the fire….

He slammed the door right there. Sweat broke out on his body.

Not the fire. He didn’t ever think about the fire.

He wasn’t that wild, undisciplined kid anymore. He was Drew Michaels, professional photographer. Disciplined, controlled.

Jaw set, he bit down almost hard enough to break a molar. He could do this. He could go to a rehab center for a while and then get back to work where he belonged. And Larissa was not going to interfere.

Larissa stood outside Drew’s room, glad to have encountered Dr. Spacey in the hallway so they could speak candidly. According to the nurses, he was the physician in charge of Drew’s case.

“As sorry as we are to admit this, Mrs. Michaels,” the bespectacled doctor said after listing Drew’s many injuries, “our hospital is at capacity. We have to move patients out as quickly as possible—without jeopardizing care, of course. Your husband is well enough for release.”

“He can’t take care of himself.” She stated the obvious.

“Not for some time, I’m afraid. His body has been through a lot, and he’ll need several months of healing to get his strength back.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m taking him home.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Have you spoken with him about this?”

“Do I have to?”

He looked amused. “Any man that didn’t want to go home with you would be crazy, but he has a right to make that decision.”

Larissa played the only card she had. She only hoped it worked. “I thought you said he had a severe concussion.”

“That’s true. He does. It’s healing but he’s still suffering some aftereffects.”

Larissa filed that piece of information away. Maybe the aftereffects were adding to Drew’s reluctance. “Then, are you certain he’s capable of making the appropriate decisions about his health?”

Dr. Spacey studied her behind black-framed glasses. Graying blond hair peeked out from beneath a green scrub cap. “What do you have in mind?”

“I can charter a plane whenever you say he’s ready. We have a large home, easily accessible to the best physicians in the Southwest. I can hire nursing care, physical therapists, whatever you think he needs. No expense will be spared. I can give him much more personalized care than any facility in this country. If his head is giving him trouble, what better place than home and familiar surroundings to help him recover?”

Dr. Spacey rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, thinking. “You have a valid point. The best thing for your husband would be home and familiarity. Patients who’ve been through great trauma usually recover faster and with less psychological effect among family and friends.”

Larissa felt a victory coming on. If she could just keep pushing, she might pull this off. “What do I need to do first?”

“Take him home and let him rest. The leg is non-weight bearing for at least six weeks anyway, but a physical therapist will have the details about that after you get him settled. He needs time more than anything else.”

She smiled, weary to the bone, but satisfied that she was doing the right thing, whether Drew liked it or not. “I have all the time in the world.”

The doctor patted her shoulder. “With that attitude, your husband will get along just fine. Let’s go in and talk with him about this.”

“But—” She stopped the protest rising in her throat. How did she tell him that her husband preferred a cold, sterile institution to any place with her?

She couldn’t. She could only pray that she’d been persuasive enough here in the hall to counteract anything Drew might say in the next few minutes.

Dr. Spacey pushed open the door and went inside the room. There was nothing for her to do but follow, carrying the balloon and box of chocolates picked up at the gift shop.

What would she do if Drew refused to come home with her? How would she manage to convince the doctor that Drew was too ill to know what he was doing?

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Drew would heal more quickly in her care. If she was injured, she would want someone familiar to care for her. She’d want to be home with her family, her friends, and her animals.

Drew had nobody else but her to turn to. Right now he needed her too much to refuse.

The man she’d promised to stand by in sickness and in health had nearly died. And she was not about to abandon him, no matter how much he protested.

Drew was seething. Seething. Larissa and his doctor were conspiring against him.

He stared at the squat surgeon standing over him. “Do you have that rehab set up?”

“Actually, your wife has a better plan.”

He refused to look at Larissa, though he could feel her in the room. If he looked, he might weaken.

“I don’t like her plan. Send me to rehab.”

“You have a healing concussion. I can’t be certain you’re able to make the best decisions for yourself at this time.”

“Meaning?”

“In my judgment, since Mrs. Michaels is your legal wife, she is the more appropriate decision-maker at this time. I’m going to dismiss you tomorrow morning into her care.”

Drew shot upright but pain slammed him right back down. He lay back against the pillow, too breathless to speak.

“Everything will be fine, Mr. Michaels. Just be sure to see your doctors in Tulsa. Have them call for your records.” He took a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Larissa. If Drew had been able to get a good breath, he would have complained. This was his life. What was the matter with this crazy doctor?

Giving him a pat on the shoulder, the doctor departed. Drew was furious.

Larissa, her perfume pure torture, moved closer to set her gifts on the nightstand. A teddy bear balloon. Normally, he’d make some wise remark about that, but he was too angry. She was destroying his plan.

“I hope you’re not upset.” She fiddled with the balloon.

By now, he’d found his breath and his voice. “Just what do you think you’re trying to pull?”

“Dr. Spacey and I were discussing your dismissal.”

“Yeah, I overheard.”

“Good. Then you already know. You are not going to a rehab. You’re going home. To our home where you belong.”

“What did you do, convince him I’m crazy?”

She found where his fist was clenched against the bedsheet and tugged his hand into hers. He tried to resist, but for once, a woman was stronger than him. Imagine, too weak to resist a girl.

Violet eyes smiled down at him. “Get used to it, Drew. You married a woman who plans strategy for political campaigns. I outmaneuvered you.”

“I’m not going back to Tulsa.”

She bent down and kissed his cheek. He thought he’d die of pleasure. “Yes, you are. Tomorrow morning.”

With an angry huff, he jerked his hand away. But he was no fool. He knew he’d been beaten.

He was about to spend the next few months convincing the woman he loved more than life, that he couldn’t stand her.

This was not going to be fun. His stomach curled in anguish. Not fun at all.

Chapter Four

Drew jangled the tiny bell Larissa had placed at his bedside for that purpose. When no one appeared he threw the blanket aside and sat up. One hand under his cast, he gingerly swung the leg overboard—and then wished he hadn’t.

Pain shot from his toes up his leg and into his brain in point-zero-two seconds.

With a hiss, he gritted his teeth to keep from screaming like a baby.

He sat there for a moment, one hand on his ribs, the other on his leg until his breath returned and the pain settled to a piercing howl.

His whole body trembled, a condition that infuriated him. If he could get his strength back, he could be mobile. Having never been dependent on anyone in his life, he hated the helpless feeling.

Five days back in Tulsa and he was still so mad he could spit. How had Larissa managed this? How had she manipulated him into living under the same roof with her again?

To make the situation even more difficult, she had moved him into the downstairs guest room and then surrounded him with luxury. She’d filled it with things he enjoyed, including a plasma TV mounted on the wall and a remote to open and close the drapes. A remote no less, so he could look out onto the backyard at will. She’d put enormous effort into making the room comfortable.

That was the problem. She was killing him with kindness and making him love her more, instead of less. He needed to get out of here and do it fast, but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

No matter how much he growled and fussed and acted like a general creep, Larissa kept smiling and bringing him goodies. But he was a detail man. He could see the hurt she tried to hide, and he hated himself for putting it there. But he had to. Someday she’d thank him for it. Someday, when he could get out of her life for good.

Despising himself, he pressed the window remote and opened the drapes to stare broodingly at the yard.

Though Tulsa moved toward winter’s end, the weather here was unpredictable. One day would be springlike, the next day snow or ice. Today was sunny, and the television claimed that temperatures were decent enough to be outside.

He’d spent too many years outdoors to appreciate much time inside a building. No matter how much he hurt, he was as restless as a windshield wiper.

Larissa’s backyard, like her house, was pretty, even in winter. Birds pecked at feeders and flitted among the glossy green holly bushes. Wrought iron benches beckoned him to come out and play around the koi pond.

If only he had his camera equipment he could at least get some shots.

He rang the bell again, more insistent this time. Where was she? The more he annoyed her, the sooner she’d give up and send him to rehab. And he definitely was cranky enough to annoy anyone, even himself.

He’d slept away the first few days back, not caring much about anything. If his information was correct, he’d slept most of the last three weeks. But now he was awake and in a bad mood.

“Larissa!” he yelled and the effort set his ribs to aching.

As if she’d been standing outside the door waiting for him to hurt himself, his wife materialized. Dressed in trendy jeans and a sweater with too-long sleeves that was somehow exactly right on her, she took his breath away. Or she would have if he hadn’t already lost it to the rib pain. Coco, the funny little Yorkie he’d bought two years ago to keep her company, trotted in behind.

“Do you need something?” She hovered in the doorway, anxious to help.

She’d been like this since his arrival and he was pretty tired of it. Sweet and kind and accommodating. Why couldn’t she just hate him and get it over with?

“I’m bored.” Coco trotted over and sniffed his toes. He wiggled away the tickle, frowning. “Go away, mutt.”

Larissa’s giggle washed over him as she came in and perched on a chair too close to his bedside. Her perfume came with her and tantalized him. All day long, he had to smell that delicious, irritating perfume.

“Okay. What would you like to talk about?” she asked.

His frown deepened. She was way too chipper. “Your attitude.”

Her lush lips quirked at the corners. “My attitude?”

Okay, so he was the one in the foul mood. “Yeah, your attitude. Stop behaving like a servant. I don’t like it.”

Expression mild, she refused to let his crankiness rattle her. “How would you like me to behave? You aren’t able to take care of yourself yet.”

Like he needed that reminder. “Have the nurse stay longer. I don’t want you in here all the time.”

The last shot was hateful, so he braced against her inevitable flinch of pain.

It came, then quickly went as she shot back, “Dare I mention that you summoned me like some cranky king?”

Oh, yeah. He had. Lacking a reasonable answer, he did the only thing he could. He glowered.

Larissa got up to retrieve a pillow from against the wall. He’d thrown it earlier in a fit of frustration.

The woman amazed him with her serenity. How could she be calm when he was such a jerk?

“Leave it,” he barked. “It’s a throw pillow.”