A Journey by Chance Read online

  Brady offered his arm when she stumbled getting into the elevator. Ibuprofen had helped the throb in her leg, and the swelling about the knee had lessened, but things were still a bit stiff. She grasped his elbow for a moment, and he took the shopping bag from her hand. Inside the bag was mint chocolate candy she had found for Aunt Lottie, a towel set Lauren had admired, and Brady Olafsson’s newest release. Before picking up the newspaper, she had read the first chapter of his book. The story and writing style quickly caught her attention.

  Once they reached outside, Brady easily hailed a cab that whisked them a few blocks to a busy intersection where a tour bus sat waiting just for them, it seemed. He quickly purchased two tickets and ushered her to the upper level where they found the last available seat. Nonstop from the elevator to the bus he talked of his impressions of the city. He even struck up a conversation with the taxi driver and learned he was from Morocco and had a wife and two kids.

  Her stomach ached. The grief simmered just below the surface. If she had been there, could she have prevented the elephant’s death?

  “Wanna hear another one?” Brady peered at her closely.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Do you want to hear another joke? You look lost in space again.”

  She turned her head toward the window and swallowed. The bus was moving.

  “Would it help to talk about it? I’ve been told that sometimes I can listen instead of talk.”

  She shook her head. It was too soon to put the feelings into words. They would be incoherent. Another lump formed in her throat. She didn’t want to cry in front of him again! The bookstore clerk’s remarks about Brady’s shoulders sprang to mind. She had been right—they appeared the perfect height and breadth for crying on—but Gina wasn’t about to test out the theory. She kept her face toward the window.

  “Of course, we are strangers. I certainly wouldn’t be inclined to tell you what’s bugging me either.”

  She looked at him now.

  He stared beyond her, out the window. His hair was just long enough for the breeze to catch it, lift it up.

  They had progressed beyond total strangers. She nestled in his jacket, warmed in its roominess. The laid-back farmer was an author and a perfect gentleman and completely at home in the big city. These things she knew about him. And she knew he liked to tell jokes. And she knew she simply had to end this verge-of-tears nonsense. “It’s your jokes, Brady.”

  He raised his brows.

  “Your jokes are bugging me. As a matter of fact, they drive me bonkers.”

  He snorted. “You obviously don’t understand them. Anybody who says ‘bonkers’ would not appreciate my sophisticated jokes.”

  “Bingo.” She smiled. “How did your meeting go?”

  He missed a beat and stared at her for a full minute. “That sounds like an invitation to get acquainted.”

  She shrugged.

  He shrugged back. “It went well. My editor is in from New York for a couple of days. We had lunch and discussed my next book. Ironed out a few wrinkles.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t even know about your books until today.”

  “Don’t apologize. There was no reason you would know, was there?”

  “I guess not. I’ve never paid much attention to historical fiction.”

  “It’s funny. Even in Valley Oaks, not everyone knows about them.”

  “Shouldn’t you be on a book tour or something for the new release?”

  “Just got back. I have a couple of things coming up in August, but then I’ll stay put through harvest season. I can pretty much make my own schedule.”

  “How did you come up with the idea? I mean, a fictionalized account of Jesus’ life? For adults?”

  Brady settled back into his seat. “I just always wondered what went on between the lines in the Bible. Really, what was it like to walk for miles on end wearing sandals? And the people who came to Him, what were their personalities, their backgrounds? I guess I’ve been imagining for a long time. Church was pretty boring when I was a teenager.”

  “Did you major in creative writing?”

  “Nah. Agriculture with a minor in English.” He grinned. “For real. You can’t make a living at writing. I taught English for five years at a high school over in the next county. Writing and farming kept getting in the way. Now I write full time, but still help out on the farm with my dad and brother.”

  “Do you have any sis—” Gina stopped herself.

  “Two living sisters. And then, of course, there’s Rosie. You’re missing the sights.” He nodded toward the window. The bus had stopped again.

  “Brady, I didn’t know about Rosie until three days ago.”

  He stared at her, disbelief wrinkling his brow. His jaw muscles tensed. “How could you not know?”

  “My parents never told me.”

  “That’s outrageous! The entire town has known for 35 years.”

  “Well, I’m not part of the entire town. My mother had her reasons. It’s not like it would have made a difference to anybody in San Clemente, California, that my mother made a mistake at the age of 18.”

  He shook his head. “It’s our personal history, which makes it public record in Valley Oaks, which means it was often referred to in my presence.” There was an edge to his voice. “It had a hand in shaping who I am.”

  Obviously she had hit a nerve with this subject, but that didn’t give him the right to fuss at her. “It’s not my fault, is it?”

  He exhaled. “No, it’s not your fault that your mother left Valley Oaks.”

  Gina was stunned. That was the problem? Not that a child was conceived out of wedlock and the teenagers married too soon, but that her mother had moved? She sensed it best to probe no further. She and Brady were, after all, just strangers, thrown together for a brief moment in time for the sole purpose of participating in a wedding.

  Eleven

  “I said I’ll take Gina home.” Brady’s tone was adamant, almost belligerent.

  Liz laughed. “Okay, okay. She’s all yours.”

  Having just returned from Chicago, the group of six stood on the quiet street outside Lauren’s apartment building. It was after ten o’clock. In the dim light of a street lamp they unpacked the van and discussed the most logical way for the other five to go home in two vehicles. It was becoming obvious that Brady’s tolerance threshold for illogical women had been crossed.

  “I don’t know,” Isabel mused. “You sound a little cranky. Maybe we shouldn’t let her go with you.”

  Brady grabbed Gina’s one shopping bag from the pile and headed across the street to his truck. “Good night, ladies,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Isabel!” Lauren hissed. “Stop giving him such a hard time! We want them to be alone together.” She gave Gina a quick hug and sang out, “Thanks, Brady!”

  The others chorused their thanks while Gina followed the guy who was becoming her all-too familiar escort. At this point she was too tired to care who drove her home. Once again she climbed into Brady Olafsson’s truck.

  They rode in silence. It had been a long day. She enjoyed the delicious Italian dinner, but the slow, busy restaurant delayed their exit from the city. Although rush hour was over, they encountered an accident on the freeway, and traffic was held up for a while. She had fallen asleep in the back.

  Brady remained cheerful through it all. After their curt discussion on the bus about their parents, they had changed the subject. He was friendly enough toward her, but seemed aloof as before, as if that chip had perched itself back up on his shoulder. She didn’t exactly mind; she had enough problems to occupy her energies without delving into his.

  It was odd that he pressed to take her home.

  With a start she realized she really hadn’t thanked him for the bus tour. On top of everything else, she seemed to be developing a knack for rudeness. She knew better. “Brady. Thank you for the bus tour.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And for,
um, well, coming to find me when you did.” Her stomach ached again as she remembered reading about the elephant. How could life get so messy in just 28 short years?

  “Guess it was God’s timing.” His voice was soft. “Couldn’t have our guest crying all by herself in the middle of downtown Chicago.”

  “God’s timing? I doubt He’d care about something like that. There are too many important things going on in the world.”

  “But this was important to you, and you’re important to God. That’s the whole point of Jesus walking on earth in the form of a man, to tell us that He does care about all the nittygritty details of life.”

  “Is that what you write about?”

  “Yeah, I guess basically it is.”

  “From what I read on the book jacket, the characters are everyday people.”

  He pulled into Aunt Lottie’s driveway. “You read the book jacket?”

  “Actually I bought the whole book.”

  “Thank you.” The porch light illumined his face. He was grinning like a little kid.

  “You’re welcome. You’re the first nationally known author I’ve ever met. Thought it would be appropriate to get a copy. Well, thanks for the ride.” She reached for the shopping bag between them on the bench seat.

  Brady placed his hand over hers. “Do you mind sitting here for a minute? I need to say something.”

  “Um, okay.” She felt it again. It was like in the department store. His hand on hers gave her an instant sense of well-being, as if some invisible protective covering gently enfolded her.

  He removed his hand and cut the engine. “I was out of line on the bus.” He stopped. As he turned toward her, the front porch light threw a shadow across his face.

  She surmised that he referred to his snappish response to her not knowing about Rosie. “Well, I can’t imagine what life is like in Valley Oaks. I can’t understand what growing up here with this knowledge meant.”

  “Likewise, I just can’t imagine you not knowing. I apologize. Look, I know this is uncomfortable, but can we talk through it so that we can stop trying to avoid it?”

  “I take it this is what’s been bugging you?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Brady, I don’t know if I have it in me tonight. I am exhausted.”

  He looked toward the windshield and drummed his fingers on the dashboard a moment, then turned back. “To tell you the truth, I won’t sleep tonight until I air this thing. Five minutes?”

  She slid down until her head rested back against the seat. “I guess I’ve only been avoiding it since this morning. I imagine every time the Lindstrom-Philips family came to town, you’ve been avoiding it.”

  “I’m pretty much faced with it all the time, what with all your cousins around. And now my cousin is marrying a Lindstrom. Kind of impossible to avoid it.”

  “Why is it so difficult for you? Every family tree has a skeleton in its closet. It’s not like you’re responsible for putting it there. Not to mention it’s almost ancient history.”

  He was silent.

  “Can I just tell you what I know?” Gina didn’t wait for a reply. “After the baby, after Rosie died, our parents felt they didn’t need to stay married. Obviously they concluded they were too young, weren’t ready.”

  “Your mother ran off with another guy.”

  “That’s not true! Your dad went back to school and my mom went to a different one, determined to stay single. She eventually met my father, and they eventually married and moved from Chicago to California.”

  “My father never finished college, he was so hurt and humiliated.”

  “And my mother wasn’t? What makes her responsible for his college decision?” Gina took a breath, willing herself to calm her voice. “How old are you anyway? 32, 33?”

  “Almost 33.”

  “Well, I’m 28. My parents were married two years before I was born. That means they met after you were born. I’d say your dad wasn’t all that hurt to get into another marriage so soon.”

  Only the sound of their breathing broke the silence. The windows were closed against the night chill.

  “Whenever Dad and Mom argued,” Brady’s tone was flat, “or if he got mad about anything like low corn prices, I’d panic. I was convinced he would run off and find Maggie Lindstrom and leave us all behind.”

  “Why in the world would you think something like that?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “I was taught from day one, by my Grandma Olafsson, to despise the entire Lindstrom clan because they bewitched my dad.”

  Gina was stunned.

  “I spent a lot of time with Grandma when I was little. She and Grandpa lived with us when he became ill. She took care of us while Mom worked in the fields with Dad. She was proud. Back then the gossip was fresh enough to still hurt her. She told me all about it. Said the Lindstroms were to be despised, but we often went to Rosie’s grave.”

  He exhaled loudly. “I imagine the whole thing diminished her in the town’s eyes. Looking back, I can see that would have been tough on a woman like Grandma. But she was always kind and giving to us kids. I guess I never thought of questioning her word.”

  “Perhaps it would have been the same if I’d grown up around my grandmother. How did you and my cousin Vic and Aunt Lottie manage to be such good friends?”

  “Well, technically they’re only Lindstroms by marriage.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “And Lottie had this way about her, one of the truest Christian ways I’ve ever seen. She didn’t take sides in the issue. Grandma knew she still respected her and wasn’t talking behind her back. So, the Samuelson branch was accepted.”

  Gina shook her head in disbelief. It was so archaic. She wondered, though, if there was any merit to Brady’s childhood fear. “Is your parents’ marriage all right?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s solid, with just the usual ebb and flow. How about yours?”

  She smiled. “It’s fine.”

  “Gina.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For holding this against you. Just because you’re a Lindstrom, I treated you as being partly responsible for this black mark in my family history. And that sounds totally ridiculous.”

  “It’s like some family feud that no one can remember the cause of.”

  “Yeah. Kind of scary how you trust adults and don’t even question some of the stuff they tell you.”

  “What’s scary is finding out at my age that my mother was married and had a baby who died. Makes me wonder if I’ve missed anything else.”

  “Do you know about Santa Claus?”

  The giggle started somewhere deep inside of her, like a volcano rumbling. When her laughter erupted, Brady joined in, filling the truck cab with loud guffaws.

  Gina’s giggles slipped away into a yawn, and she reached for the shopping bag again. “Are we finished?”

  “No.” His laughter subsided, and he cleared his throat. “Do you forgive me?”

  Unbelievable! “I don’t even know you, Brady Olafsson, and you want my forgiveness for that chip on your shoulder?”

  “Ouch. Maybe I don’t want to get acquainted with you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She yawned again. “I’m going to bed.” With that she shoved open her door. It scrunched against the neighbor’s hedge. “I can’t get out.”

  “Here, come this way.” Brady took the bag from her and got out, then moved aside as she slid out. They walked toward the front porch. “This feels familiar here, walking in the dark across Lottie’s yard. With a girl. Oh, I remember. I dated Sherri once.”

  “Vic and Alec’s sister?”

  “Mm-hmm. For some reason she was spending the night at her grandparents. Gina, that’s what Valley Oaks is like. Pockets of memories everywhere. Literally everywhere because it’s such a small place.”

  “Hmm. I’d probably have to drive at least 20 minutes between my Orange County pockets of memories.”


  He stopped at the bottom porch step and handed her the shopping bag. “Such different backgrounds. Well, good night.”

  “Good night.” She climbed the three steps and crossed the porch. All in all it had been a good day. In spite of the tragic news, she felt comforted, as if she’d been carried through the worst part, and she had even laughed. All because of this guy. Hand on the screen door, she turned.

  He still stood on the sidewalk.

  “Brady. I can’t see the chip anymore.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I forgive you.”

  He smiled. “Sleep tight, Angelina.”

  She went inside and shut the door. Angelina? Now how did he know her real name?

  Her mother’s words replayed, Everybody knows everything in Valley Oaks.

  Gina groaned. Who would ever choose to live in a place like her mother’s hometown?

  Brady pulled on a sweatshirt, then carried ham sandwiches and a glass of milk to the screened-in porch located off of the kitchen. Homer, his golden retriever, padded at his heels.

  The night was cool and clear, perfect for sitting out on the porch. It was a square room, decorated with a mishmash of hand-me-down patio furniture: couch, armchairs, and chaise lounge all made of wood and covered with nondescript cushions. Small end tables held reading lamps, one of which he had already turned on.

  Another door led outside to a deck that surrounded threefourths of the log cabin-style house. Just beyond the deck was a pond. Stars twinkled in the still water. Now and then a few tree frogs hummed. The bullfrogs’ song was absent tonight. Too cold for them.

  “Here you go, Home.” Brady settled into a chair, then handed his dog a sandwich.

  His mind was full of Gina Philips. While munching his snack, he pushed aside her smile, which had a tendency to scramble his thought processes, as did her tears. If he hadn’t glimpsed both, though, he never would have been motivated to admit what he had just admitted to her tonight in the truck.

  He was glad now that he had broached the subject of their shared heritage, glad that she had spoken boldly without mincing words. Her perspective shook him up. It was idiotic of him to hold against her something that hurt his grandmother’s pride so many years ago. How had he not realized that before? Were the words and fears of his childhood that insidious?