Authors: Shelley Bates
He put Tanya on a mental shelf, climbed into his truck, and did his best to stay awake all the way home. The silence in the
house was soothing. After grilling a cheese sandwich that only partially filled the yawning hole inside him, he stumbled upstairs,
pulled off his uniform, and fell into a deep, black well of sleep.
Fourteen hours later, he jerked awake with the knowledge that he was not alone in the house. An automatic glance at the clock
told him it was nearly eight, and the gray sky told him that it was a.m., not p.m.
Something wasn’t right. The air should not be smelling of . . . coffee and bacon?
Okay, scratch the burglary theory, and probably the stalker and the vengeful-gang-member theories, too. So what did that leave
him?
Mom, deciding that he needed a little maternal TLC?
His sisters-in-law? In that case, he’d rather have the gang members.
Nick rolled out of bed, scooped a pair of jeans off the floor, and pulled on a Penguins sweatshirt dating from Super Mario’s
glory days. He glanced at his service weapon on the dresser and decided against it. Even if there was a gang member in his
kitchen cooking up breakfast, he could probably handle it without benefit of arms.
Besides, the paperwork would be horrendous.
He’d waxed and oiled the old staircase so it didn’t creak, so he managed to get downstairs and to the kitchen doorway before
the person standing in front of the counter turned around.
A person with reddish-gold hair and a gift for making something out of nothing.
He leaned on the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. If Tanya wasn’t going to announce herself to him, he wasn’t
about to announce himself to her. Instead, he stood there and enjoyed the view as she moved from stove to counter to fridge.
It wasn’t until she stopped in the middle of the floor, as if she’d suddenly lost her train of thought, that she saw him out
of the corner of her eye.
She gasped and jumped back, one hand on her heart, the other brandishing a spatula.
“Nick!”
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.
“I—I—you’re not mad, are you? I knocked, honest. I knew you were home because your truck’s here, and when I tried the door
it opened. I thought maybe you went for a run and—”
“Tanya.”
“And I wanted to—” She halted the babble of explanations with an effort. “Yes?”
“Thank you. I’m not big on surprises, but when I smelled the coffee I figured you weren’t busy hauling my stereo out of here
on a truck.”
“I should have called, huh.” She looked at the spatula in her hand as if wondering how it got there. “I forget sometimes that
you’re a cop. It would serve me right if you’d shot me.”
The bacon spit with a sound like a gunshot, and she jumped. “Yikes! Too hot.” She turned the flame down. “Sorry. Dorinda Platt
tells me that forgetfulness and blanking on details are part of the grieving process. I guess I need to be extra careful in
other people’s kitchens.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He reached into the cupboard, got two mugs, and poured coffee for them both.
“I wanted to thank you. The plan was to make you breakfast, but when I figured out you were still sleeping, I thought maybe
I’d make it, then leave it in the oven to keep warm, and go.”
“Thank me for what?”
She threw a glance over her shoulder as she crumbled bits of herbs into the eggs. Since he owned neither herbs nor eggs at
the moment, she must have brought the whole kit and caboodle for the occasion.
“As Randi would say, Duh. Your partner told me. For solving the case. For making sure Kate Parsons pays for what she’s done.”
“From what the witnesses say, if it’s any comfort, she didn’t intend to kill Randi. No one could have predicted she’d hit
her head in exactly that spot on the support beam with exactly the amount of force that she did.”
“And I’m glad to hear it.” She poured the eggs into his only other frying pan and the kitchen filled with the scent of thyme
and rosemary. “I can forgive a girl for being stupid and aggressive. I’d have a harder time forgiving her for deliberate murder.
I could do it, but it would take longer. A lifetime, maybe.”
“Who says you have to forgive her at all?” He saw that the oven light was on, and opened it to find biscuits baking. Just
turning golden, in fact. Had she forgotten they were in there? “Let the court system take care of her.”
“I don’t have to live with the court system. I do have to live with myself. And if I got hit by a bus with no forgiveness
in my heart, I’d have a hard time explaining that to the Lord.”
“Is that all it takes to run salvation off the rails?” he asked lightly. “Scary thought.”
“Jesus had strong opinions on the subject,” she informed him. “I don’t want to mess with what he said. So yeah, I’m glad I
can forgive Kate for what she did. And we all have to live with the consequences.”
“See, that’s the problem I have with you Christians. Everything’s always perfect in your world. Always rosy. Forgive everybody,
love everybody, everybody’s happy. Unbelievable.”
The rosiness faded from her face, leaving her freckles in stark contrast to her pale skin. “It isn’t like that, and no one’s
saying it is.”
“You just did. You just said you forgave Kate.”
“I did not. I said I’d be able to. I haven’t managed it yet, but with God’s help I will.”
“Why? Why worry about it?”
One by one, she placed the strips of bacon on paper towels. “Do you seriously want me to live with this black lump of grief
and hatred in my heart forever? What a happy thought. Thanks a lot, Nick.”
That was the last thing he’d expected her to say. What happened to “Because the Bible says I should”?
“No, of course not.” He sounded as stupid and awkward as he felt.
“And if I forgive Kate and God puts peace in there, and I can sleep at night without wanting to take a bunch of Tylenol myself—yes,
I heard what happened to Anna. Dorinda told me that, too, when I called and asked her about counselors. If I can do that,
what’s it to you?”
Now he’d made her angry. What was the matter with him? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Well, you did.” The threat of tears trembled in her voice as she shoveled eggs onto a plate with savage efficiency. “Forgiveness
is a gift, Nick. Not an obligation, not something to bad-mouth just because you’ve never had to use it.”
“In law enforcement we—”
“I’m not talking about law enforcement or how a cop sees the world. I’m talking about how I see it. And I won’t have you run
down something that’s important to me.”
“I’m not—”
“Here’s your breakfast. I hope you enjoy it.”
Oh, man, she was going to leave. “Tanya, don’t go. Please. I was being stupid. Forgive me. There, I just admitted I needed
it. That’s a start, right?”
To his enormous relief, she didn’t tear off the dish towel she was using as an apron over her jeans and storm out the door.
Instead, she picked up her coffee mug and took a sip, then lifted her eyebrows as the oven timer pinged. She’d just remembered
the biscuits.
She checked them, her back toward him. “You’re forgiven,” she said after a long moment in which he saw their tentative friendship
circling the drain. “And I’m sorry I lost my temper. That happens when people poke at what’s important to me.”
She was as solid as the guys on the force, who stood by the principles they were sworn to as if it were part of their personalities.
Is that what being a Christian was all about? Not the swearing to uphold justice part, but living by principles that were
important to you?
“What else is important to you?” he surprised himself by asking.
“Love,” she said simply, pulling the tray and piling the biscuits in a bowl. “God’s love for me despite my weaknesses. The
love I had for Randi despite hers. Love’s the backbone of everything. The rest of it just kind of branches out from there.”
“It’s easier to forgive someone you love, I’ll admit that.” The way each of them had just—
Now, hold on a minute. That was two friends smoothing things over, nothing more.
“Easier to forgive,” she agreed. “Easier to be honest.” The way she’d been with him. “Easier to be brave.” Like coming here
with the makings of a full breakfast, a gift from the heart from a woman who had nothing else to give, trusting that he’d
take it and not push her away.
Did God do that? Sure, he knew the gospel story inside out and backward, but he’d never actually applied it to real life before.
Because the truth was, he was a practical guy. Street smart. Analytical, even. And love wasn’t a thing that lent itself easily
to analysis. Or street smarts, come to that.
So had God come to him with a heart full of love, and he’d pushed him away? For what reason? Because he thought he could do
a better job of life on his own?
Nick thought of what might have happened if Tanya hadn’t had that internal backbone of love to support her. Maybe she’d have
gone off the deep end, like that mother in California who had gunned down her son’s molester right there in the courtroom.
Maybe she’d have gotten serious about the Tylenol and taken not just a “cry for help” dose like Anna but a truly lethal one.
If not for God, maybe he’d have lost his friend.
Maybe he was lost, himself.
And suddenly Nick recognized the true nature of that yawning void inside him. He took its measure, and there was nothing left
but to admit that he’d been filling it with justifications and avoidances and cynical humor, when all along the real nature
of it had eluded him. The fact was, despite his close-knit family and the brotherhood of law enforcement, he needed love.
He needed it, craved it, wanted it—and had deliberately deprived himself of it.
Why?
Because it means giving up your own way.
Being the boss—the captain of his own soul and all that. He hadn’t done so badly in the captain department, but if he were
completely honest within himself, he wasn’t completely happy, either.
So, to be happy, was it a case of giving up—or getting?
“This is too much for me,” he muttered.
Then he realized that while he’d been locked in his own thoughts, having his little moment of truth, Tanya had set the table
and put all the food out on it without saying a word.
She sat in front of the plate of eggs and waved him into his chair. “The standard cautionary preamble applies here,” she said.
“I know this is your house and all, but I brought the food so I’m going to say grace.”
“Have at it,” he said mildly. “Put in a word for me.”
She bowed her head, and instead of staring politely into the distance as he’d done the other night, he bowed his, too.
“Father, thank you for this food, and thank you for giving Nick a good spirit about finding me in his house without an invitation.
Thank you for revealing the truth about Randi’s death, and, Lord, I hope you’re taking good care of her until I get there.
If there are nose rings in heaven, Lord, she’s going to want one, and you need to tell her no. I pray for Nick, Father. I
know you love him to pieces, and he just needs to know it, too. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
She raised her head, opened her eyes, and passed him the eggs.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Know what?”
“That he loves me to pieces. How does anyone know?”
“Well, to put it in cop-speak, he let his Son be killed by a homicidal gang for your sake. If that doesn’t show love, I don’t
know what does.”
“If it happened, it happened two thousand years ago. Pretty abstract, if you ask me.”
“All I can do is tell you what happens with me. He fills me up inside. It’s like being loved by the greatest guy in the world—not
that I have any experience there, but I can imagine it—and then multiplying by ten. He shows it in a hundred little ways.
Like with Laurie and her casseroles. You and your determination to find out the truth. People stopping me in the street to
say they’re praying for me. He changes people, and then they show his love to other people.”
“He hasn’t changed me.” But even as he said the words, he heard the defiance in them, and the hollow knowledge that they weren’t
true.
“You’d be surprised. Why else would you put up with me?”
“That’s what friends do.”
“It says in the Bible that he’s the friend that sticks closer than a brother. I’ve found that to be true. Maybe you should,
too.”
Nick had never considered Jesus as a friend. He was the sad-eyed guy on the cross, letting people beat up on him when he could
have blasted them off the face of the planet with one lightning bolt. But a friend? Someone to walk beside and talk to and
get advice from? It was a little weird thinking of Jesus like that.
“I guess I don’t understand a friend like that,” he said at last. “He’s too complicated for me.”
“He’s love, Nick,” Tanya said softly. “And love is the simplest and most powerful force on earth.” She smiled at him, and
there were those seedlike dimples, and his heart squeezed and did a really strange flip-flop in his chest.
He needed to focus. Tanya was trying to tell him something important, and he couldn’t think yet about why her smile kept affecting
him like this.
“You like talking about him, don’t you?” If he got her back on the subject of her own beliefs, maybe she wouldn’t press him
about not having any.
“It’s natural to talk about the things you love. I love to talk about Randi.” Her gaze faltered and she blinked, trying to
keep the sudden rush of tears from flowing over.
He reached behind him and snagged a tissue out of the box on the counter. “It’s okay. You can cry here if you want to.”
She dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. “Dorinda tells me this is normal. You know, tears just coming up out of nowhere.
Believe me, it was easier being angry.”
“You? Angry? Weren’t you the one just talking about forgiveness?”
“Sure, I was angry. One night I imagined the bridge collapsed and all those kids drowned. Even Anna.” She glanced at him in
apology. “I prayed a lot that God would help me through that stage, and he did.”