Selfish.

  Suddenly the old pain of her passing rushed to the surface and joined the fresh pain of Billy’s death. Roman began to cry, embracing the Bible as he wished he could embrace his wife and son.

  Another memory forced him to stop. The memory of Velvet making him promise to look up the verse.

  He’d delayed long enough. He lowered the Bible to his lap, wiped his face with a swipe of his sleeve, and took a cleansing breath. He opened the pages, having no idea where the book of John was located. The margins of the opened page were full of notations in Trudy’s gentle cursive, with some words and phrases underlined and others starred.

  He turned the Bible so he could read one of her notes: Something good comes from dark times. Share it! He turned the book straight again and read the words that were underlined: What I tell you now in the darkness, shout abroad when daybreak comes. What I whisper in your ear, shout from the housetops for all to hear!

  Roman whispered, “Oh, Trudy, even then you were thinking of others.”

  He read it again, his wife’s words, then the underlined passage. Something good comes from dark times. . . . What I whisper in your ear, shout from the housetops. . . .

  The times couldn’t get any darker. Roman couldn’t imagine wanting to share anything from these times.

  Uncomfortable with these thoughts and uncomfortable in the antique chair, he needed to move, and so he pulled the opened book to his chest and moved to the recliner.

  Something fell from the Bible. When he bent to pick it up he saw it was a small sealed envelope. With his name on it.

  To my dearest Roman

  He nearly missed the recliner but caught himself before he ended up on the floor. He stared at the note. The note his wife obviously thought he would find. Hoped he would find—if only he would have opened her Bible during his time of grief.

  But he hadn’t sought God after her death. Only now, after the death of their son, was he finally holding it in his hands—and even this he’d done reluctantly.

  Reluctant or not, he was there now, open Bible in tow, holding a note written thirteen years previous, from the love of his life.

  His hands shook as he broke the seal and pulled out the note. A warmth spread over him as he recognized her writing.

  Dearest Roman,

  If you’re reading this, I will assume God finally got your attention. Good. Because as I write this, I will be leaving you soon. You are angry. I was angry.

  But I am past that now. I do not understand the reason God is taking me away from you and Billy, but I accept it. He knows what he’s doing. Please set aside your bitterness and remember the love we shared. Take care of Billy and raise him to be a great man of God. I see the spark of God within him even now. God has important things for him to do. For you to do. Say yes to God as I have.

  Love never dies, darling husband. I am with you always.

  As is he. Remember: John 3:16.

  Yours always,

  Trudy

  Roman’s heart stopped and only by the sheer tenacity of his body’s will to live did it start up again.

  The verse. Waiting over thirteen years’ time, intertwining with the same one heralded by their son.

  Had Billy seen this note? Was that why he’d chosen John 3:16 as his own?

  Roman turned the envelope over in his hand. Had it been sealed or opened when he found it?

  He remembered breaking the seal with a finger. Billy had not seen this note.

  And yet he had chosen John 3:16 of his own accord.

  Roman shivered. It’s God’s doing.

  As were all the 3:16 references. It was not coincidence. It was not luck or chance. It was God working in his life, trying valiantly to get him to read what had meant so much to his wife and son.

  It was time.

  Roman flipped through the pages of the Bible, searching for John.

  There it was, about three-fourths through. He saw the chapter numbers and turned the wispy pages to number three. He pulled his finger over the lines until it landed on number sixteen—which was underlined by Trudy and starred. In the margin were two words: THE KEY!

  Roman finally read the words: For God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.

  His one and only son.

  God had given his one and only Son. His one and only Son had died.

  My one and only son has died.

  Roman looked up from the Bible and whispered, “He understands.”

  As if by command, an excruciating weight was pulled from his shoulders. He was not alone in his grief. There was someone who understood his suffering.

  God.

  TEN

  Don’t keep looking at my sins. Remove the stain of my guilt. Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit within me.

  PSALM 51:9-10

  A knock on the kitchen door. A pause. More knocking.

  A moment later the phone rang. And rang.

  Then stopped.

  A key in a doorknob.

  Footsteps.

  “Roman?”

  AJ came into the living room from the kitchen and looked up the stairs. “Roman? You up there? We’re going to be late for work.”

  “I’m here,” Roman said softly.

  AJ spun around, his hand to his chest. “You scared me!” He moved to an end table and turned on a lamp to supplement the early morning light. “What are you doing in the dark?”

  “Sitting.”

  “I can see that. . . . I saw your car in the drive, but the house was completely dark like you weren’t up yet, and I got . . . I was—”

  “You were worried about me.” Roman didn’t recognize his own voice. It was so . . . mellow.

  “Yeah, I guess I was. Still am. What gives?”

  Roman put a hand on the closed Bible in his lap. “I’ve had a revelation.”

  AJ’s eyes followed Roman’s hand. “Is that . . . is that a Bible?”

  “Trudy’s Bible. She left me a note in it.” He removed the note from inside the front cover and gave it to his best friend.

  AJ read it. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “Wow.”

  Roman was done with tears, had shed all he had. “The verse.”

  AJ looked at the note again. “John 3:16.” Then his eyes lit up. “It’s Billy’s.”

  Roman nodded once—twice would have been beyond his strength. “God’s been trying to get me to look it up since Billy died.”

  “God’s been . . . ?”

  He didn’t want to go into it. “I looked it up.”

  “It’s a good one. It sums up the whole gospel message.”

  “God’s Son died. My son died. Both were sacrificed so other people could live.”

  AJ sank onto the couch as if needing its support. “You got it; you finally got it.”

  Roman extended his hand, palm up. AJ returned Trudy’s note, which Roman safely tucked away. “I’ve been an idiot. An arrogant know-it-all who knew nothing.” The wasted years haunted him.

  “I was slow coming to the truth too,” AJ said. “Billy was the one who got me to finally wake up. Actually, I always believed there was a God, even believed Jesus was his Son, but I didn’t accept the personal stuff—how he died for my sins—until Billy started talking about him.”

  A twang of guilt attacked Roman’s heart—again. “He talked but I wouldn’t listen. I got mad at him for talking about God and Jesus. I refused to let him talk about them in my presence. I pushed him away. I lost precious time with him. I . . . He’ll never know how his death led me to finally understand.”

  With a nod AJ’s gaze found the floor, then slowly made its way upward again. “He’ll know, Roman. I truly believe God lets everyone in heaven know when another person finally believes—especially because of them.” He smiled. “In fact, I think they have a party to celebrate.”

  Roman managed his own wistful smile. “Billy always loved a good party.”

  “You bet he did.” AJ stood and gave Roman the once-over. “Weren’t you wearing that shirt yester—? Have you been sitting here all night?”

  “What time is it?”

  “7:20. Go change your shirt. You’re going to be late for work.”

  “I quit.”

  “Quit?”

  Roman felt an inkling of regret, but it passed quickly. “It was impulsive, and knowing what I know now, I realize it was probably stupid, but—”

  “Go in today and ask for your job back. They’ll give it to you. They’ll understand you were only reacting to the grief.”

  He could go back. AJ was right. Yet beyond the logic, Roman sensed a calming hand on his shoulder. A call to wait. He’d spent too many years rushing ahead, thinking too much, not feeling enough. This time, he vowed . . . Suddenly, he felt a tingle surge through him, a shiver of anticipation as if something else was on the horizon, something better.

  “I’m not going back,” he said with a brand-new conviction. “It’s a good thing I quit. There’s a reason for it—somewhere. Somehow.”

  AJ laughed. “God got you good, didn’t he? He took out the big guns and is working on you with both barrels blazing.”

  That’s exactly what it felt like. “I guess he is.”

  “You seem pretty calm about it. Almost serene. And let me tell you, I have never, ever seen you serene.”

  Roman tested a deep breath. AJ was right. He’d never felt like this before. And it wasn’t playacting; this serenity was not contrived or put on. It came from the inside out. “I think I am serene. Peaceful.”

  AJ pointed to the Bible. “There’s another one in John I like.” He cleared his throat. “‘I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.’”

  Roman smiled. “That’s it. That’s what I feel.”

  AJ held out his hand. “Let me shake the hand of a new brother in Christ.”

  But when Roman held out his hand, AJ pulled him to his feet and into an embrace. “Welcome to the club, Roman.”

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Soon after AJ left, Roman experienced a surge of energy. He set Trudy’s Bible in a place of honor on the coffee table, took a shower, got dressed and shaved, and made himself a breakfast of bacon and eggs. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

  Feeling revived, he began to clean his house—which had been completely ignored for over a week. As he vacuumed the living room, he spotted something against the wall near the antique chair.

  He pulled it out. It was the rolled-up sign Billy’s girlfriend had brought over.

  “There you are again,” he said to the words.

  Billy had made this sign; Billy’s own two hands had cut this red vinyl and painted the bold white letters.

  Then Roman remembered that before tomorrow’s game they were having a memorial for Billy.

  The girlfriend’s voice came back to him: “Where else do you have eighty thousand people gathered together, facing each other?”

  At that moment, Roman knew what he was going to do. What he had to do.

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Velvet sat on the floor just outside the open closet. A box of old pictures sat front and center, its contents divided between the nos, tossed on the floor, and the maybes, yet to be gone through. She held a stack of twenty-some snapshots in her hands, flipping through them, looking for the one.

  She did a double take on a picture of herself in a knee-length knit top over leggings. The shoulder pads made her look like a linebacker. But it was the hair that screamed the eighties. Her gray streak was accentuated against her dark hair by ridiculous amounts of hair spray. She looked like a cockatoo with head feathers. How had John ever been attracted to her? Love was certainly blind.

  She moved on, still needing to find—

  “Aha!” She held on to her prize and let the other pictures fall away. There he was, his own hair fluffy and swept to the side, like Tom Cruise in Rain Man—though John’s twinkle in his eye and smile had Tom Cruise beat. She’d been a sucker for that twinkle and smile. The photo had John standing next to Velvet, his arm draped around her shoulder. Her head leaned toward his, proclaiming their intimacy.

  Velvet ran a finger across the curve of his face, suddenly wistful that he wasn’t present so she could exercise the same gesture in person, on his person.

  This thought surprised her. How could she have fallen for him again? She wasn’t searching for love. She’d long ago given up on such a notion.

  At the bottom corner of the photograph was a date: SEPT 12, 1984. Velvet did the math. . . . I was two months pregnant with Lianne.

  She looked at the photo with new eyes. Although her left hand was hidden around John’s waist, her right hand was spread a bit oddly across her abdomen, as if even then protecting her child.

  Was this the last photo they’d taken together? For it was only two weeks later that she’d told him the news. A week after that he’d left.

  He was sorry about that. He’d said as much the other day. But was he as sorry as she was?

  “We might have eventually gotten married if only . . .”

  I hadn’t gotten pregnant.

  That crisis had cut short the possibility of them. Too soon they’d been forced out of romance and into reality. “I’ve been alone ever since.”

  A crowd of male faces flashed through her mind, challenging her statement. She shoved them away. They didn’t count.

  She stroked John’s face once more and focused on good thoughts—thoughts full of possibilities. . . .

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  The first thing Velvet did at work was to place the photograph of her and John on her desk, wedging it into an existing framed photo of Longs Peak in Colorado, taken ten years ago during a vacation. Although the photo would have fit into the frame, she wasn’t ready for that. Its temporary status on the outside of the glass was enough.

  For now.

  She pushed the frame to the far corner of the desk. Enough nostalgia—and wishful thinking; she had to get to work. Tomorrow was another game day and—

  “Knock-knock.”

  Velvet was surprised to see Lianne. “You’re up bright and early—a day early. The game’s tomorrow. So, what’s up?”

  “I need a job.”

  Velvet didn’t understand. “You have a job.”

  Lianne took a seat in the guest chair. “I need a full-time job.”

  “Won’t that interfere with school?”

  “Completely. Which is why I’m quitting school.”

  “Whoa there, girl. Back up. What’s happening?”

  “The baby is what’s happening.”

  Velvet was very relieved there was no more talk of abortion. Her grandchild would be born. “You can still go to class and be pregnant. As you yourself stated, this isn’t the fifties. You will not be shunned.”

  “I know that, but since the father doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’m going to be responsible and—”

  “He won’t marry you? He rejected you?”

  “He’s made it clear enough that I’m not number one on his chick list.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged. “Actually, I’m not entirely sure I’m going to keep the baby—I’ve never thought of myself as the mother type. I had big plans to go to Africa or Asia, work in the Peace Corps, change the world.”

  Velvet nearly choked. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d had similar dreams when she was in college. Dreams quashed by a baby and the life she’d chosen as her punishment.

  “It’s not that bizarre,” Lianne said. “Lots of people want to change the world.”

  “Some people,” Velvet managed. “And some say the words but don’t have a plan. At least you have a plan. That makes it an admirable goal.”

  “Maybe,” Lianne said. “But I can’t go if I have a baby. Actually I could go if I have the baby but don’t actually keep the baby, but . . .” She suddenly leaned her elbows on the top of the desk and pushed her fingers through her hair. “To say I’m confused is an understatement.”

  Her movement caused some files to inch to the right, bumping into the photo frame, which made the new addition fall from its temporary stand.

  “Oops,” Lianne said, reaching for it. “Sorry.”

  “It’s—”

  Lianne’s eyes locked on the picture. Then she looked at Velvet, then down at the picture again. “This is you.”

  Velvet put her hand out to take the picture back. “A long time ago.”

  “You have a gray streak in your hair.”

  Velvet’s insides crashed. She withdrew her hand. This was it. The moment, appearing without announcement or fanfare. “I did. When I was young.” She swallowed hard and was surprised to realize she wanted to complete the sentence with just like you.

  Lianne returned her attention to the photo, staring at it. “Is this that man you were with at the funeral?”

  “John. Yes.”

  “Were you married?”

  “No. But we might have. If only . . .”

  Lianne looked up, her eyes intense. “You told me you had a baby once. Out of wedlock.”

  There was a surreal feeling to the moment, as if it had always been sitting within time, waiting for actual time to catch up to it. “I did.”

  “Was it his baby?”

  Velvet’s heart threatened to come out of her chest. “Yes.”

  “You put your baby up for adoption.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was adopted.”

  Velvet lost her ability to form a word. She just sat there, hoping her silence would speak for her yet afraid it would do just that.

  “What’s your baby’s birthday?”

  Velvet felt her composure begin to crumble like a building shaken by an earthquake, with little bits of brick and mortar falling away from their once-stable foundation. Any minute she risked turning into a worthless pile of rubble. And yet . . . this moment was too important to let it be engulfed in an unrestrained tumble of emotion.