Making Faces(90)

Grant’s family was there, and Marley and Jesse Jr. too. With Fern at his side, Ambrose had eventually made the rounds to all the families of his fallen friends. It hadn’t been easy for any of them, but the healing process had begun, though Luisa O’Toole still blamed Ambrose, refused to answer the door when he came by, and didn’t make an appearance at the wedding. Everyone deals with grief differently, and Luisa would have to come to terms with her grief on her own time. Jamie Kimball sat at Elliott’s side and from their clasped hands and warm glances, it was easy to predict there might be another wedding before long.

Little Ty was growing up fast and sometimes he still liked to crawl up in Bailey's chair and demand a ride. But at the wedding, no one sat in Bailey's chair. They placed it at the end of the front pew in a place of honor. And as Fern walked down the aisle on her mother's arm, her eyes strayed to the empty wheelchair. Then Ambrose stepped forward to take her hand, and Fern couldn't see anything but him. Pastor Taylor greeted his daughter with a kiss and placed his hand on the scarred cheek of the man who had promised to love her and cleave to only her, as long as they lived.

When promises were made, vows spoken, and a kiss delivered that made the audience wonder if the couple would hang around for the festivities afterward, Joshua Taylor, with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat, addressed the gathering, marveling at the beauty of the couple who had come so far and suffered so much.

“True beauty, the kind that doesn't fade or wash off, takes time. It takes pressure. It takes incredible endurance. It is the slow drip that makes the stalactite, the shaking of the Earth that creates mountains, the constant pounding of the waves that breaks up the rocks and smooths the rough edges. And from the violence, the furor, the raging of the winds, the roaring of the waters, something better emerges, something that would otherwise never exist.

“And so we endure. We have faith that there is purpose. We hope for things we can't see. We believe that there are lessons in loss, power in love, and that we have within us the potential for a beauty so magnificent that our bodies can't contain it.”





“. . . and Hercules, in great pain and suffering, begged his friends to light a huge fire that reached into the heavens. Then he threw himself on the fire, desperate to extinguish the agony of the poison that had been rubbed on his skin.

“From high on Mount Olympus, mighty Zeus looked down on his son, and seeing the torment of his heroic offspring, turned to his vindictive wife and said. ‘He has suffered enough. He has proven himself.’

“Hera, looking down on Hercules, took pity on him and agreed, sending her blazing chariot from the sky to lift Hercules up and take him to his place among the Gods, where the much-beloved hero still lives on to this day,” Ambrose said softly, and shut the book firmly, hoping there wouldn’t be pleas for more.

But silence greeted the triumphant finish, and Ambrose looked down at his son, wondering if somewhere between the twelfth labor and the end the six-year-old had fallen asleep. Vivid red curls danced around his son’s animated face, but the big dark eyes were wide open and sober with thought.

“Dad, are you as strong as Hercules?”

Ambrose bit back a smile and swooped his little dreamer up in his arms and tucked him into bed. Story time had gone long, it was way past bedtime, and Fern was somewhere in the house dreaming up her own story. Ambrose had every intention of interrupting her.

“Dad, do you think I could be a hero like Hercules someday?”

“You don’t have to be like Hercules, buddy.” Ambrose flipped off the light and paused at the door. “There are all kinds of heroes.”

“Yeah. I guess. Good night, Dad!”

“Good night, Bailey.”





With every book, the list of people that deserve thanks and accolades grows exponentially. First, I need to thank my husband, Travis. Travis is a wrestler, and I’m convinced the sport of wrestling builds good men. Thank you for your support, T. Thank you for making it possible for me to be a mother and a writer.





Thanks to my children, Paul, Hannah, Claire, and little Sam. I know it’s not easy when I’m off in my head playing with my characters. Thank you for loving me anyway. To my extended family – Sutoriuses and Harmons both – thank you. Mom and Dad, thank you for letting me hide in your basement and write, weekend after weekend. I love you both so much.





A special acknowledgement goes to Aaron Roos, my husband’s cousin, who suffers from Dushenne muscular dystrophy. Aaron just turned twenty-four and is going strong! Thank you, Aaron, for your candor, your optimism, and for spending the afternoon with me. Bailey really came alive because of you. To David and Angie (Harmon) Roos, Aaron’s parents – I am so moved by both of you and respect you so much. Thank you for your strength and your example.





To Eric Shepherd, thank you for your military service and for looking out for my little brother in Iraq. And thank you for giving me a glimpse of what it’s really like for the soldiers when they’re gone and when they come home.

To Andy Espinoza, retired police sergeant, thank you for your help with police procedure. You have been wonderful on the last two books. Thank you!





Thanks to Cristina’s Book Reviews and Vilma’s Book Blog! Vilma and Cristina, you are my Thelma and Louise. Thank you for taking the cliff with me and promoting Making Faces with such enthusiasm and class. And for Totally Booked Blog – Jenny and Gitte – you ladies put A Different Blue over the top, and I will be forever grateful for your belief in me and for always giving it to me straight.