A Thousand Miles

Part 19

This might seem sudden to her.

Shane reached for JoLynn's hand, led her through the automatic sliding glass doors, and into the vestibule of the nursing home. Maybe it seemed like he'd just thought of it after their staff meeting this morning and sprung it on her spontaneously. But she'd never know how much thought he'd given the idea of taking her to meet his father. It had been two days, and he'd thought of little else.

    Two days since they'd shared a life altering kiss up on his dad's hill—the one thing he'd bought with the settlement money. A safe investment. A place to finally land when his grief passed, which it never did.

A life-altering kiss. Was it cheesy and melodramatic to think of it in those terms? Maybe. But for him, it had been. That kiss changed everything. Up until Saturday, it had been him and his dad against the world; going where the road took them, handling the twists and curves that life threw their way. Always moving on, never fitting in. But now...

If he'd ever felt this sense of belonging before, he couldn't remember it. Maybe he'd felt it as a child, before his mother passed away, tucked snugly into bed, drifting off to sleep without a care in the world. But that had been thirty years ago.

JoLynn gave his hand a squeeze, and he smiled at her.

Saturday, as they'd stood atop his father's hill, she'd asked him to tell his story. She might not have known the significance when she asked, but his reluctance to tell her...his pretense of not remembering what she was talking about...had nearly broken the newly formed bond between them. He'd had a clear glimpse into her world, and in return she asked for a glimpse into his. She wanted to know him. But she already knew him so well. Better than she realized. He'd already let her see more of himself than anyone ever had aside from his father. He knew full well the façade he presented to the world. Southern charmer, carefree, unhurried, never thrown off-balance...

But she knew better.

He felt his smile again. The departure their relationship had taken from that first day astonished and pleased him. They started out as adversaries—at least that's how she saw it. But in the past several weeks they'd become...what? More than friends, certainly. She wanted to know him. But that he wanted her to know him shook him to his foundation, and had most definitely thrown him off-balance.

Shane knocked lightly on his dad's door before pushing it open for JoLynn.

"Dad?" Shane spoke softly as they approached his bedside.

His dad was sitting up in bed, the thin hospital blanket pulled up to his waist. His gray hair was neatly combed, his pajamas buttoned up like he was expecting them. Shane had called Rosa earlier and asked her to let him know he'd be bringing a guest. She'd done a terrific job getting him ready.

Shane reached for JoLynn's hand again and led her to his father's bedside.

"Dad, this is JoLynn Travis."

His dad struggled to raise one hand and extend it toward her. She took it.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Quinlan."

The older man squeezed his eyes shut and pushed out a single syllable. "Joe."

"Joe." She smiled at him and sat as Shane positioned two chairs by the bed.

"What are you reading?" She pointed toward a book that had listed off his lap and wedged itself between his hip and the guardrail.

Shane's dad worked hard with his two impaired hands to push the book in her direction.

"The Bible." JoLynn said quietly. Then a soft gasp. "The Psalms." Her expression lit up when she took the open Bible from him. "My grandmother and I used to read the Psalms to each other at night. When I'd spend the summer with her."

Sudden tension sprang from an unknown source, and every muscle tensed. But Shane did his best to smile anyway when she glanced at him.

"What's your favorite?" JoLynn took the Bible, seeming to know exactly what she was looking for.

"N...nine...ty...One."

She looked up from the book on her lap to his father. "Mine, too."

Shane's every muscle tensed at the soft whisper of the thin pages as she turned them. Then she started reading.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.' Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday."

    Shane took a deep silent breath, and tried hard to block the sound of the scripture passage as JoLynn read. Her voice was so reverent and soothing—like a balm to the still raw wounds inside—that he had to work harder than usual to access the anger. But he found it.

    Where was God that excruciating year his mother had spent suffering before she died? Or when his father, crazy with grief, sold everything they had—every last memory of her—and took him out into the world like a vagrant? Where was God, the refuge and fortress, then? Where were God's sheltering wings when four hulking, hormone crazed, football players were beating the crap out of him? When steel-toed boots fractured his skull and broke his ribs? Or when his father collapsed, never to recover again, leaving him with the prospect of a future completely alone?

    "If you make the Most High your dwelling — Even the Lord, who is my refuge — then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; They will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread upon the lion and the cobra; You will trample the great lion and the serpent. 'Because he loves me,' says the Lord, 'I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.'"

    Shane folded his arms tightly across his chest. This is not why he brought her here; for her to encourage this crazy new obsession of his father's. It had to have something to do with the stroke. Some synapses somewhere must be misfiring, or must have stopped firing altogether. Since his mother died, there had never been a place for God in their lives. There still wasn't.

    He pushed out a breath and forced his tensed muscles to relax. He'd brought her here because he wanted to show her another part of his life—of himself. Like she'd shown him at her grandmother's birthday party. His dad was all he had left, and he wanted her to know him.

    But this...this Bible reading and communing with God...This was insanity. And not at all part of who he was. And to see the two people he cared most for sitting here bonding over the scriptures and God, agitated beyond comprehension.

    "What's your favorite, Shane?" JoLynn asked.

    He took a deep breath to calm his raging thoughts and shook his head. "I don't have a favorite."

    "Oh, come on," she cajoled. "It doesn't have to be from the Psalms. It can be from the Gospels, or the Old Testament. Or Revelation."

    "I prefer Friedrich Nietzsche, personally."

    Her expression fell, her smile faded. She'd understood him completely.

    "Be serious," she said, finally. But her furrowed brow told him that the antagonistic comment had wounded her.

Whether he'd hurt her feelings or embarrassed her, he couldn't tell. He glanced away, remorseful. "Oh, you know me..." he drawled quietly. "I can't be serious. Don't know how."