This evening the church was empty and quiet. The interior of the building was still softly lit with candles and low-wattage lighting glowed from wall sconces attached to wooden beams. The same paintings-depicting ships leaving the harbor with sailors setting out on the dangerous oceans, never knowing if they’d return-graced the walls since he was a kid as reminders to pray for the town and its seafaring people.
Thick oak pews lined the sanctuary. At the front of the church, colorful stained-glass windows provided a beautiful background to the plain wooden cross recessed on the stage where Pastor Larch usually preached. The simplicity of the cross beckoned Ryan forward until he reached the first pew. He slipped onto the bench and lifted his gaze to the cross.
He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find here. Clarity. Peace of mind. Forgiveness.
“Ryan?”
Ryan swiveled to see Pastor Larch coming down the aisle. Ryan stood. “Hi, Pastor. Hope it’s okay I’m here because it’s not Sunday morning.”
Pastor Larch gave him an indulgent smile. “God’s house is always open, Ryan, regardless of the day. Please, sit.”
Ryan sat back down where he’d been. Pastor Larch slid onto the bench next to him.
For a moment they were silent, each staring up at the cross.
Ryan felt the pastor’s gaze on him. He realized what he must look like. Hair mussed from the ocean’s wind, pants wet, wrinkled and sandy from being shoved up before wading in the water. A haunted look in his eyes.
“You seem troubled,” Pastor Larch stated.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” But then why was he here?
The need to speak rose sharply, forcing words past the lump in his throat. Ryan poured out all the agony that cluttered his head and heart and soul. He confessed to the anger he felt toward his father, the hurt Meghan’s article had caused and questioned how he could move past it all. Pastor Larch listened attentively, offering words of wisdom and encouragement.
When he finished with his tale, Ryan felt drained, depleted and achy.
“Meghan’s right, you know. Forgiveness doesn’t always come easy. But it’s worth the effort, every single struggle, to get to a place where you can pray for the person who hurt you rather than condemn them.”
Ryan remembered the passage in Matthew where Jesus taught His disciples to bless and pray for your enemies. Though Ryan didn’t necessarily view his father as his enemy, the gist of the teaching spoke to him.
“How do I begin?” Ryan asked.
“With prayer.”
So simple. Doable. Yet the words wouldn’t form. He’d spent so much time in the past questioning God, questioning other people’s faith. After sending his best friend, who’d professed to be a man of God, to jail for abusing his girlfriend, Ryan’s own faith had slipped. Over the past week it had returned like a tide, ebbing and flowing. He wasn’t sure where he stood at the moment. He wanted to grab on to his faith. He really did.
“There are times when our own offended pride, more than hurt or anger, blocks us from God,” Pastor Larch gently pointed out.
Something deep inside Ryan grew agitated. He’d never thought of himself as prideful.
Everything inside of him stilled. His heart, his breath. He searched to the depths of his soul. With a sinking feeling of shame and grief, he realized the pastor was right. Meghan had been right. His own pride underlined his hurt and anger, preventing him from praying, from forgiving. From loving Meghan.
Ryan bowed his head. “Forgive me, Lord. Take my pride, fill me with Your love.”
Pastor Larch laid a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and prayed for him, for his family. His kind words, his compassionate voice wrapped around Ryan as if God himself was hugging him. Tears burned Ryan’s eyes as he let God’s healing begin.
He could physically feel his heart soften. Clarity rushed in, crowding out all the bad stuff that had kept him from seeing the truth.
His father was human and had made mistakes. God loved him despite his sins. Could Ryan do no less?
In such a short span of time so much had transpired, so much had changed. And with it, so had Ryan.
No longer was he afraid to feel, afraid to open up and let emotion in. The battle in his soul had been won. Love triumphed. Love for his family.
Love for Meghan.
Hopefully, she’d give him another chance.
The next morning Ryan awoke to the ringing of his cell phone. The caller ID told him Douglas was on the line.
“Hey,” he said by way of an answer.
“You’d better get down to the courthouse, pronto. Dad’s arranged for a press conference.”
Scrambling from his bed, he said, “I’ll be right there.”
Looked like Dad was standing behind his words. Aiden was going to take responsibility for his actions. Ryan knew the sacrifice his father was making. Pride, the good kind, filled him. It didn’t matter that his father’s confession would come on the heels of the article Meghan probably submitted last night. Dad was doing the right thing.
Ryan dressed and shaved quickly, then made his way down Main Street, noting that a crowd had gathered outside the courthouse, which sat adjacent to the Fitzgerald Bay police station. All of his siblings were present as were his cousins and aunts and uncles. The whole Fitzgerald-Connolly clan had turned out to support Aiden. Had his father told them what he was about to do? Had he explained that the announcement he was about to make would be a death knell for the upcoming mayoral election?
Camera crews and journalists crowded around the steps of the courthouse. Ryan slipped in line beside his sister Fiona. She stood proud and tall, in a subdued green dress that showed off her red hair. She grabbed his hand and held on tight. Emotion clogged Ryan’s throat as his father addressed the hovering crowd.
Listening to his father talk of his past and the mistakes he had made since were hard to hear, but the truth didn’t hurt nearly as badly as it had when Meghan had first shed light upon his father’s misdeeds.
“My heartfelt apologies go out to the citizens of Fitzgerald Bay. I acted selfishly,” Aiden said, concluding his speech.
Hands rose, demanding attention. Questions were lobbed at the chief of police. Aiden answered each with patience and grace, making Ryan proud.
A flash of honey-blond hair caught Ryan’s attention. Meghan stood at the back of the crowd. She wore a becoming sunny-yellow dress and low-heeled sandals. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes.
The sight of her jump-started his pulse. The love he’d been denying expanded in his chest until he could hardly breathe. He owed her an apology. A lifetime’s worth for his bad behavior. He’d been cruel. Said something he had no intention of following through on. Lashed out over the article she’d written. He couldn’t take Georgina away from her.
The uncharacteristic loss of control shook him. Only this woman could do that to him. Meghan. His Meghan.
There was so much he wanted to say to her. He need to tell her she’d done the right thing in bringing the truth to light. Her integrity filled him with pride and respect and admiration and…so many other emotions he felt he might burst with them all. Determination to win her love filled him.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered into Fiona’s ear as he withdrew his hand.
He threaded his way through the crowd, but lost sight of Meghan. When he got to the place where she’d been standing, she was gone. He searched the crowd and caught sight of her entering the park. “Meghan,” he shouted.
