Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(80)

Then it hit him—one word in particular. Forgiveness. He opened his eyes and sat up and started to listen. It was as if Pastor Flemming knew his innermost thoughts and had written the sermon specifically with him in mind. The idea unsettled him.

At the close of the service, the congregation stood and sang together. Normally Bob enjoyed the singing. He had a good baritone and at one time had considered joining the choir. His commitment to the community theater took up most of his free hours, however. It was the theater or the church choir. He'd chosen the theater.

At the end of the song, the service was over and the pews began to empty. Still deep in thought, Bob remained seated.

"I need to talk to Corrie," Peggy announced, then got up and scurried off. Apparently she was afraid he'd argue with her and was gone before he had a chance to tell her to take her time. He had some thinking to do.

Usually Bob resented being left to twiddle his thumbs while Peggy did her socializing, but just now, he was grateful for a few moments of solitude.

He didn't know how long he sat there, alone in the church. Peggy would come and get him when she was ready, he figured, letting his thoughts drift where they would.

"Hello, Bob." Pastor Flemming stepped into the pew and sat down next to him.

Bob knew Dave, liked him well enough to play golf with him every week. They hardly ever talked about God, which suited Bob just fine. To him, a man's faith was a private matter.

"Pastor." Bob smiled in his friend's direction.

"Something on your mind?" the other man asked.

Bob shook his head. The pastor knew some of the story. He'd been the person who'd recommended that Bob contact Roy McAfee in the first place. He trusted Dave. At the time, he'd been desperate, half-afraid he was losing his mind.

"Well, maybe I do need to talk." Bob paused and drew in a deep breath. "What you said about forgiveness kind of hit home, you know?"

Pastor Flemming nodded. "It's in the Lord's Prayer. We recite it so often we tend to forget what it means."

Bob agreed. He'd said the prayer at every AA meeting for years, and had never truly understood the part about forgiveness. "You said this morning that we can only accept forgiveness to the extent that we're able to forgive ourselves." Those were the words that had struck him with such intensity.

The pastor nodded again.

"Some people require a lot of forgiveness," Bob murmured.

"We're all sinners."

"But like I said," Bob continued, "there are sins, and then there are sins. Some of us will never find forgiveness. In certain circumstances, it just isn't possible."

The pastor said, "In such cases, you do what you can and then you forgive yourself."

"That isn't possible, either," Bob said, unable to keep the despair from his voice.

"Remember what else I said, Bob. Your willingness to forgive others is directly related to your willingness to forgive yourself."

That wasn't news Bob welcomed. It had never occurred to him that the two were linked.

He heard a sound at the back of the church and turned around to see that Peggy had appeared. She hesitated when she saw him talking to Pastor Flemming. "You've certainly given me something to think about," Bob mumbled, eager now to escape.

The only way he could figure this out was by himself. He had to stop resisting the memories. Maybe then he could lay them to rest.

Forty

On the last Saturday morning in August, Grace was scheduled to work the animal shelter's booth at the Farmers' Market. On her last stint there, she'd netted Sherlock, who was the remaining kitten in the litter and the only one left without a home. The whole day, she'd had the feeling she'd end up with one of the six kittens that had been placed for adoption. Sure enough, she'd come home with eight-week-old Sherlock.

She always enjoyed the market, especially on days like this—bright and sunny yet not really hot. In the rainy months of winter, she often found it hard to remember how lovely summers could be in the Pacific Northwest.

Today, as usual, the market teemed with activity. The variety of products sold there always impressed her—everything from fresh oysters, plucked only hours earlier from the beach, to knitted afghans.

Grace had her hands full with the animal shelter booth. She'd left Buttercup at home; she was too busy to watch the dog and besides, Sherlock would keep her company. All morning long, Grace answered questions and talked to the children who crowded around, instantly attracted to the kittens. She had ten this Saturday, plus several mature cats, and hoped to arrange adoptions for at least half.

Grace was grateful she was busy, which helped keep her mind off the fact that Will Jefferson was in town. Olivia had phoned shortly after Will's arrival to let her know. He'd tried to call her once, but she had Caller ID, and when she saw Charlotte's name, she let the answering machine pick up. Sure enough, it was Will. Grace feared Charlotte might inadvertently mention that she did volunteer work with the shelter and would be at the market this weekend.

Just when she finally felt she was safe, Grace glanced up and nearly swallowed her tongue. Standing a few feet away from her was Will Jefferson, the man she least wanted to see. Her heart seemed ready to implode. For one crazy moment, all she could do was stare. When her senses returned, she looked sharply away.

Unfortunately, all the children who'd gathered to admire the kittens had drifted off. It was apparently the opportunity Will had been waiting for. He walked toward her, his steps determined and his gaze focused relentlessly on her. He'd always been handsome, and his attractiveness, combined with her schoolgirl fantasies, had blinded her. But Grace wasn't the same woman she'd been a few months ago.