CHAPTER TWENTY
Eden
We got on the road bright and early the next morning. We were ready to leave Indiana behind. We were ready to go home. Our new life beckoned to us and we finally had everything we needed to start building it.
As we drove, we held hands, silent in our own thoughts. Calder seemed more peaceful this morning, more himself. We stopped at Starbucks and got coffees and muffins and sat in the parking lot. I felt like the world was different today. Something had shifted. Maybe it was the fact that we had all the answers, or at least all the answers we needed. I would tear down all those papers I had pinned to the back of my closet door—the project I'd taken up in an effort to do something with my deep pain and confusion. I didn't need it anymore.
"You know what I've been thinking about this morning, Morning Glory?" he asked.
I tilted my head, taking a sip of my vanilla decaf latté. He stared out the front window, giving me the beauty of his profile. "Xander told me once that he believed there was a purpose to me surviving Acadia that day," he paused, "and a purpose for all the suffering."
I nodded. "Yes, I like to believe that, too," I answered. "For all of us."
He smiled over at me. "Do you think we'll know it when we see it? Do you think we'll understand the reason for the pain someday?"
I thought about that for a minute, sipping sweet warmth and swallowing it. "Maybe it's not so much about one reason or one purpose. Maybe it's like this." I considered my words, looking out the window at the seemingly endless cornfields in front of us, the endless golden sky. "We all attach things to our hearts, kind of like how I pinned all those articles up on the back of my closet door, or how you covered your studio with paintings of me." I smiled a small smile at him. "We all attach things to our hearts, the things we value, the things we need, the things that make us who we are. But maybe . . . maybe it's only when our hearts are broken, that those things can fall inside. Maybe it's only then that those things truly become part of us, and it's only then we truly understand and recognize pain in others because we've experienced it, too. And we've let it make us better, more loving. Perhaps that's what real mercy is. Perhaps that's the purpose to the pain."
Calder watched me, seeming to take in my words and turn them over in his mind. After a minute he said, "Your deep compassion. That's what makes you glow."
I breathed out a small laugh. "That's what makes you glow."
A look of hurt passed over Calder's face despite the small smile he gave me. "Sometimes I wish we didn't glow so brightly."
I reached over and touched his cheek. "Me neither. But we do. We earned it. So let's make the most of it. Let's go out and find some darkness, Calder Raynes. Let's light it up."
He laughed softly and grabbed my hand and kissed it.
He leaned back in his seat and stared out the front window for a minute. "Hector tried to kill me." A shaky breath escaped his mouth. "But he saved my life, too. Once upon a time, regardless of his motives, he ended up saving me from a sure life of hell with the monster who was my real father."
He stared out the window for another minute as I waited for him to organize his thoughts, his emotions.
"I don't know what to do with that. I hate him to the depths of my soul for what he did to me, to you, to all those innocent people, and yet . . ." he shook his head and looked over at me, his whole heart in his eyes, "what fell into Hector's heart when it broke, Eden? What things did he have attached to him that became part of the fabric of who he was when he broke open?"
I creased my brow, my eyes searching his face. "Shame, grief, rage," I said. "It's hard to even imagine. Add in some insanity and just a touch of charisma . . ." I took a deep breath. "We'll never know completely what was in his mind, and I have to think that's a good thing. If we understood it, it would make us like him."
He nodded. "Yeah . . ."
"I think . . . I think, Calder, that we have to figure out how to forgive, not for the people who wronged us, but for us. We can't keep bitterness attached to our hearts because eventually, it might become part of us—so deeply ingrained we can't work it back out. I think we have to focus on the beauty we've been given in this life, and make that the thing that defines us. Because people defined by bitterness end up destroying themselves from the inside out, and eventually they destroy everyone who tries to love them, too. That's not going to be us."
Calder looked at me, love clear in his expression. He leaned over and gathered me in his arms. "You're so damn smart. You must have had a really good life teacher."
I laughed and sniffled. "I did. And he was hot, too. I wanted to do dirty things to him."
Calder smiled and nuzzled in my neck. "Maybe you can describe that to me in more detail when we get back home."
I laughed softly and pulled away, smiling into his face and brushing my thumb over his full bottom lip. "I will." My expression went serious. "I love you, Butterscotch. You have the most beautiful heart of anyone I've ever met. And maybe you feel like a mess sometimes, and life is a mess sometimes, but the way I see it, you're the beauty that came from the mess."
Calder let out a breath and leaned his forehead on mine. "I love you, Morning Glory. It's always been your heart that kept me alive. Your love. Your sweetness. I painted you to keep you alive, and that's what kept me breathing, too."
I looked into his tender expression, loving him so deeply I could hardly breathe. I kissed him softly on his lips.
We got back on the road and Calder made a phone call to the police. He asked for Detective Lowe and when he got on the phone, he took a deep breath and told him everything we'd discovered on our trip. I sat listening and squeezing his hand. Detective Lowe must have been stunned because there weren't many pauses on Calder's end where he was just listening. I heard Calder tell the detective we'd be home around three. A small, white lie. One last statement—I knew we'd be okay—but it'd be nice to have a few more hours to prepare. Plus, we needed to fill Xander in before the police. He deserved that.
We pulled into my mom's driveway at noon.
The sun was high in the overcast sky and the air had dropped quite a few degrees since we'd left. When we got out of the car, no cameras came toward us, no journalists came running. I breathed deeply. One lone car door opened and closed and we looked back to a young man in jeans and a brown leather jacket jogging slowly toward us.
"Hey," he said, a friendly smile on his face. "Sorry to bother you guys." He ran a hand through his hair and looked down as if he was a little embarrassed. "I know you get harassed all the time. It must suck."
Calder chuckled and pulled me into his side, draping his arm over my shoulder.
"I just, uh," he held out his hand, "my name is Ryan Scott and—"
"Daddy?" a little girl called, getting out of the back seat of the car and walking toward us."
"Kelsey, honey," Ryan called, "I'll be there in just a sec. Get back in the car, okay?" He turned toward us. "Sorry, I was just taking my little girl to the park when I saw you pull in. My news station had me camping out here for weeks." Color moved up his neck. "I saw you and it seemed like fate or something."
The little girl, not having listened to her father, joined him and looked up at us shyly. Her blonde hair was in braids, she wore a pink jacket, and she was holding a kite in her hands. She clearly had Down Syndrome. She blinked up at Calder, instant adoration in her expression. When I looked at her sweet face, it brought tears to my eyes. She looked so much like Maya, and her trusting smile must have melted Calder's heart, too. He gently got down to her level and looked her right in the eyes.
"Hey there," Calder said reaching out his hand to her, "I'm Calder. This is Eden." The little girl glanced up at me, her gaze innocent and direct, and then back at Calder. She took his hand and squeezed it and I watched as Calder's eyes widened.
She held up her kite with her other hand. "You like to fly, don't you?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, his voice gravelly and filled with a note of wonder. He cleared his throat. "I do." She grinned at him as if she'd known what his answer would be.
Ryan smiled down at his daughter and said, "So we won't keep you, and I wasn't stalking you, I swear. I mean, I was stalking you for a while," he grinned an embarrassed grin, more color moving up his face, "but I wasn't today." He shook his head and I couldn't help smiling. "Anyway, I had to stop and ask if you'd be interested in doing an interview."
Calder stood and I glanced at him, something unspoken moving between us. Calder looked back at Ryan. "Yeah, I think we'd be okay with that. I don't know how much we'll be able to talk about. Some of it is still an ongoing investigation."
Ryan's eyes widened. "Right. Yeah, of course. People really just want to hear your story, you know?" He paused, his brow creasing. "I have to be honest with you though. We're a small station. You'll get better offers from the big ones. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't mention that. I know you're a young couple, just starting off." He ran a hand over his daughter's head. "My wife and I are in the same boat. And I'd totally understand if you needed to take a bigger deal, we—"
"We'd like to go with you," Calder said. "You're right. Something about this feels like fate." He smiled back down at Kelsey and then over at me.
"Yeah," I said. "I couldn't agree more."
**********
A few weeks later, Calder and I called my mom into her living room to tell her that we had rented a small house just ten minutes from her. She looked crestfallen, and truthfully, I was a little sad, too, because the environment in her house had been a hundred times better since we'd returned from Indiana. And I finally felt like our relationship was moving forward. Molly had told me about her conversation with my mom about embracing Calder and Xander, and it seemed she had really taken it to heart. But it was time. And soon, we'd need at least a little extra space.
Calder stood up to retrieve something he'd been working on up in the guest room using supplies we'd gone out and purchased when we first got home.
When he returned, he handed my mom two wrapped paintings and glanced at me nervously before sitting down.
"What is this?" my mom asked, smiling as she opened the one on top.
Neither one of us answered, just watched her as she tore the last of the brown paper off and brought her hand to her mouth, gazing down at the painting of me when I was fourteen, a small, secret smile on my face and a morning glory in my hand. She stared down at it, tears coursing down her cheeks. When she looked up at Calder, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "Thank you," she mouthed, standing up and going toward where he sat. He stood up, too, and hugged her as she cried. I wiped the tears from my eyes as well and laughed when she pulled away, laughing and fanning her face as if that would stop the tears.
"Open the other one," I said, nodding my head at it and biting my lip.
"Another one? I don't know if I can handle another one." She laughed softly and stared at the one of me again, a small, joyful smile on her face. But she tore the wrapping off the second painting and sat staring down at it, confusion in her expression. It was her, holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket, his or her dark hair just barely peeking out.
"The first one was the past . . . that one's the future," Calder said, his voice gravelly, a note of nervousness in it.
My mom brought her head up, her eyes wide, going back and forth between the two of us. "I . . . you're . . ." she squeaked out, looking at me. "I'm going to be a grandma? You're going to have a baby?" she asked, more tears coursing down her cheeks.
I nodded and Calder glanced at me, not saying anything. "We hope you'll help us, Mom," I whispered. "We're going to need lots of it."
My mom's face crumpled and she cried silently for a moment, but there was a smile on her face beneath the tears.
She stood up and rushed to me, bending down and taking me in her arms. "A baby," she kept saying. "You're having a baby!" She grabbed onto Calder's shirt and pulled him toward us and wrapped her arms around both of us. "Thank you," she whispered to Calder. "Thank you for all the gifts you've given me today." We all hugged and laughed and cried, my heart bursting with relief and happiness.
A month after that, we sat holding hands on a set in a very small studio where we told the world our story. We didn't provide every detail. Those were ours and ours alone. But we talked about growing up in Acadia and living with Hector. We talked about the religion we'd believed in and why we had started to doubt. We talked about the forbidden nature of our love story and what we'd risked to be together.
We also talked about the day of the flood and that was the hardest. But we were together and that made it bearable. And there was healing in the fact that there were no more secrets, nothing more to hide.
We told the world about how we'd lived without the other for three long, grief-filled years. And how miracles sometimes happen to even those of us who feel the least deserving.
We made it clear it was the only interview we were interested in doing and, for the most part, the press left us alone after that day.
Now that the police and the press had a real name, they delved into Hector's past, into his possible motives, his mental state, and his history. Articles and books were written about him, and he was added to the list of cult leaders who had convinced large groups of intelligent people to believe their lies. All kinds of speculation ensued about how Hector predicted the disaster that happened that day, and his role in the tragedy. I was fascinated, too, and spent more time than Calder would have liked reading case studies. He accepted it, though. Knowledge made me feel powerful and enlightened, it always had. He had given me that gift, so I knew he'd never take it away.
Some things there would never be answers to, some things Hector—if he even knew—took to his watery grave.
Unbelievably, small groups the news dubbed, 'Hectorites' popped up around the country, people who tried to mimic the religion and society Hector had created. I was at a loss with that one. Humanity astounded me sometimes. The positive thing, Xander joked, was the whole new eventual influx of members for ex-cult member mingle dot com.
One wonderful thing resulted from our one very public interview and that was a young woman who called in to the station while we were recording. We were given her name and number afterwards—a Kristi Paulson (formerly Smith) who lived in Florida with her husband and one-year-old daughter.
Calder, Xander and I called her on Skype later that day and we all cried and laughed. I stood up and turned to the side, smoothing my dress over my growing belly. She shrieked and put her hands over her mouth and I laughed. She invited us to Florida to visit her for a "babymoon," and we said we'd try our very best. There are angels on Earth. And for us, she'd been one.
Life had gotten pretty busy since we'd returned from Indiana. We moved into the house we'd rented, a charming bungalow with a front porch that had a cushioned swing and a big, bright room on the second floor that Calder set up as his studio.
We bought a king-sized bed and spent too much money on bedding and officially christened it The Bed of Healing, Version 2.0. We spent lazy Sundays lounging there until noon and long nights snuggled in safe warmth and deep intimacy, whispering our secrets, and talking about our fears and worries, our hopes and dreams, and sometimes, the things that still haunted us. It was the place where we could dig down deep into the darkness of our own pain and curl into the love that always waited to soften the ache, and where the most deeply soothing words always came from the other: "I'm here. You're not alone." And yes, there was healing.
Calder bought me romance novels and piled them up on my bedside table. I laughed and eventually, I read each one of them. He said it was one of the best investments he'd ever made. And we did finally find out what became of Hendrix and Polly—and it was as satisfying as we both imagined it would be.
We browsed stores for things that felt special enough to fill our home with, I learned how to cook and how to bake, and Calder started painting again.
On a magical, snowy day in March, two months after Calder got his social security card in the name, Calder Raynes, we went down to the courthouse and vowed forever to each other. It felt like a mere formality. It felt like a miracle. It felt like destiny.
Later that night as we snuggled in bed, Calder said sleepily, "I guess I became Calder twice in my life." I turned toward him and studied the planes and angles of his face in the moonlight streaming through our window. "Once when I was three," he said, "and now again at twenty-three."
I thought about it for a minute. "Yes, and you did it beautifully both times," I said.
His deep eyes gazed at me in the dim light, seeming to speak a thousand words. He pulled me close and held me tightly in his arms.
When the springtime came, my mom helped me plant a container garden on the small deck off the back of our house and she poured over baby magazines with me, helping me put together a neutral nursery in creamy yellow and crisp white. I sat in there at night rocking in the overstuffed glider and dreaming of our baby's deep brown eyes and gentle smile.
Just as I knew she would, my mother grew to love Calder with all her heart once she allowed herself to see him for who he was, no longer seeing him as a competitor. And he loved her back, fully and completely. My heart felt full with the knowledge that we both got the mother we so desperately needed. Each Sunday night, she hosted dinner at her home where Calder and I, Xander and Nikki, and Molly and Bentley gathered. Her home was filled with laughter, love, and more children than she ever bargained for. She came alive. Molly told me she'd never seen Carolyn looking so content and carefree. It made my heart so very, very glad.
When the weather turned warm and the roses were all in bloom, my mom and Marissa, together, threw me a baby shower that was ridiculously fancy and obscenely overdone. I loved every minute of it.
Calder had two gallery showings that summer, the first showcasing gorgeous canvases of birds and rainstorms and church windows—all sorts of things he'd never painted before. The second was my favorite, though, a series of people who had lived at Acadia: Mother Willa's ageless eyes, Myles sitting on his mother's lap in Temple, sucking his thumb, Maya's pure and joyful smile. It was a beautiful remembrance. Calder wasn't at the point yet where he could paint his parents or Hector. Maybe he never would be. And either way, it was okay. Both showings sold out in an hour.
We splurged on a baby grand piano for our front room and I taught lessons there on Mondays and Wednesdays.
We both talked about getting our GEDs and going back to school. We'd studied together once, to do it again felt right. But that would wait until after the baby came.
My husband planted a small morning glory bush at the edge of our garden and when it bloomed, he'd leave flowers for me in places I didn't expect. I always had one in water on my windowsill and it brought me joy.
And I slipped butterscotch candies into his pockets and under his pillow.
On a balmy day in early July, my water broke as Calder and I took an evening stroll around our neighborhood. He rushed me to the hospital and I delivered our son five hours later. We named him John Grant. Grant after Felix who had saved my life once upon a time, and John, which means God is Merciful. And as our beautiful boy blinked up at us, the fragrance of heaven still on his newborn skin, we believed it with all our hearts.
As I woke up late that night, drowsy from sleep, I saw Calder in the corner, standing and swaying with our son in that universal baby sway. "Hey, Jack," Calder whispered, using the nickname we'd agreed we'd call him. "I'm your dad. I'm going to do my very best to be a really good one." He hummed some nameless tune for a minute until Jack was still again. "I'm sure I'll mess up now and again. I'll probably give you way too many sweets because I like them, too, and I'll probably make you roll your eyes because I'll kiss your mom in front of you a whole lot." Jack let out a small, dissatisfied squeak and I almost laughed, but I didn't want to disturb the moment so bit my lip instead. "I know," Calder crooned, "it's going to be so gross." He swayed quietly for a few minutes. "I won't always be able to protect you from the world. But I'm going to do my very best. And when I can't, what I can promise you, buddy, is that I'll always be there to help you through it. And I will never, ever be the one to hurt you. Okay? And I'll always, always nurture your dreams. The rest . . . well, we'll figure out, all right?" Jack was quiet, lulled into dreams filled with milk and warmth and love, nestled in the safety of his father's arms.
EPILOGUE
Calder
My eyes focused on the place where the mountains collided with the sky as we turned down the dirt road, dust filling the air outside the windows of our rented minivan.
"Is that it, Dad?" Jack asked from the backseat. I looked at him in the rearview mirror as he leaned forward, his dark blue eyes scanning the desert landscape.
I moved my eyes back to the window where the worker cabins were just appearing around the curve in the road. "Yes," I said, "that's it. That's Acadia." My heart pounded hard against my ribs.
I grabbed Eden's hand in the seat next to me and she met my eyes and smiled a small, encouraging smile. In the backseat, our two-year-old daughter, Maya, let out a small whine as she came awake. She'd slept most of the way from the airport.
We had found out a month ago that the land Acadia had been built on was being sold to a developer who was planning a luxury spa. The healing water of the double spring was going to be the draw. It was our last chance to see Acadia before the buildings were torn down. It'd been ten years since we'd been there, but both of us agreed that visiting it one last time would bring us that last piece of closure.
Five minutes later, we were pulling up in front of what had once been the Temple. Eden and I sat there for a minute, breathing, taking in the now old and neglected building in front of us, me picturing a small, beautiful girl walking through the doors and into my heart. There were going to be ghosts everywhere here. I took a cleansing breath and pulled on the door handle.
"Mom! Dad!" Jack said excitedly, bouncing up and down in his seat, eager to get out and explore. To him, this was an adventure.
We all got out of the van, Eden taking Maya in her arms as Maya's thumb went to her mouth and she laid her head down on her mother's shoulder, still tender from sleep. I leaned in and kissed her smooth, still babyish cheek and drew in her sweet scent. "How's my girl?" I asked. "Sleep good?"
She nodded her head, and smiled sleepily around her thumb.
"Dad, look at this!" Jack exclaimed. I looked behind me to see him squatted down, a green lizard staring back at him from a rock. He reached out to touch it and it darted away. Jack stood up, looking disappointed. I chuckled.
"You gotta be real quick to catch a lizard," I said. "Ask your mom for some tips. She used to wrangle snakes when she lived here." I winked at Eden
Jack's eyes got wide as he looked at her, too. "You did?" he asked, incredulously.
Eden laughed. "It's true," she said. "I did."
Eden put Maya down and we all strolled together, Maya toddling in a zigzag as we followed behind her and Jack checked out the things that were interesting to a six-year-old boy.
I took my wife's hand and squeezed it. "How do you feel?" I asked, taking in a big breath of the dry desert air.
Eden tilted her head, considering my question. "Sad, and kind of scared." She looked at our kids and then back at me. "But thankful. So thankful."
I nodded. That about summed it up for me, too.
We walked into the Temple. It was run-down, with glass on the floor and lots of leaves and debris littering the center aisle, but other than that, it still looked the same. Eden picked Maya up so she wouldn't walk over the glass.
"What happened in here?" Jack asked, looking around.
I squatted down in front of him and looked him right in the eye. "In here," I said, "a man told a lot of lies to people who were very vulnerable, people who were looking to belong, people who were desperate to belong."
He seemed to think about that. "Why didn't they already belong somewhere?"
"Well, because life had been really hard on them. Life had taken everything they had, and the man, he promised to return it all, and even more. And to those people, his lies sounded like the truth."
He frowned at me, concentrating hard, seeming to consider his next question. I smiled—the look on his face was all Eden. "Dad? If life is hard on me, how will I know if someone is lying?"
I smiled, and tapped on his chest. "You listen to your heart, Jack. And you listen to the voice that comes to you when you close your eyes. You'll know it because it will be something between a feeling and a whisper. And that voice? Jack, if your heart is good like yours is, that voice never, ever lies." I glanced over at Eden who was listening to us as she swayed Maya in her arms. Her smile was somehow happy and sad at the same time.
Jack glanced at his mother and then back to me. "The voice, Dad, will it always tell me the easiest thing to do?" he asked.
I smiled. "No. But it will always tell you the right thing to do."
He nodded, chewing on his lip.
"You know what else happened in this building?" Eden asked, coming closer to us.
Jack shook his head.
"I first saw your dad in this place," she said, and her voice sounded like it did when she said prayers with our children at night. The locket at her chest glinted in the light coming through the open door—the piece of jewelry that had brought her to Felix, and to her mother, and ultimately back to me. Inside was a photo of our children.
We walked back out into the bright sunlight and we all shielded our eyes. "Where did you live, Dad?" Jack asked.
"Come on, I'll show you."
We walked a little ways and got to the first worker cabin. Somehow they were even smaller than I remembered. "You lived in all these?" Jack asked.
I laughed. "No, just one. This way." Jack frowned.
"How could anyone live in just one of these? They aren't even as big as my room."
We got to the doorway of my cabin and I paused, taking a deep breath. Grief gripped my chest as I pushed the door open. Jack raced inside and through the two little rooms. "You lived here?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said quietly, my voice scratchy. I cleared my throat. Eden and Maya came in and Eden put her arms around me from behind and hugged me tightly while the kids explored. There wasn't much to look at, though.
I took Eden's hands in mine from the front and squeezed them. And as I looked around the cabin where I'd spent most of my life, what came swift and fierce into my gut was that I forgave them. The ache would last forever, but the bitterness wouldn't. They had made their choices and I was making mine. I let out a breath, and in that breath . . . it was gone.
"I love you," Eden murmured, laying her cheek on my back.
"I love you, too, Morning Glory."
Jack came walking back to us from the other room. "I'm glad life turned out better for you," he said, giving me a sympathetic look. I let out a surprised laugh and ran my hand over his dark hair.
"Yeah, me too, buddy."
We stepped out of the cabin. It was the very last time I ever would.
"Where did Uncle Xander live?" Jack asked.
I squinted behind us and pointed to another cabin a little ways away. "Over there." Xander had built Jack a treehouse in our backyard last year that was just about the same size as the cabin he grew up in. It was hard to believe. And now he owned a company that built large homes all over Cincinnati. My friend, my brother. I was ridiculously proud of him.
We all walked around the small cabin toward the trail. "A mama fwower," Maya said, pointing her little finger at the side of my old cabin. We all turned our heads and right there, growing up the side of the wood were morning glories, vining their way right to the top. Maya had recognized them as the same ones Eden always kept in water on our kitchen windowsill.
"Cool," Jack said, picking one off and handing it to Eden. She turned to me, her eyes wide and full of wonder, and I looked back over my shoulder toward the overgrown fields behind us.
When I squinted my eyes, I saw those deep blue flowers all throughout the weeds, leading right to the edge of the field. The seeds must have blown over to the cabins and now they were growing up the outside of a few. I sucked in a shocked breath. "It took over," I said very quietly, pulling Eden into my side, picturing the small plant I had nurtured so long ago, taking care of it so I could make a princess smile with its gifts.
As pretty as a flower . . . as strong as a weed.
We turned to see our little girl toddling away, following a trail of the morning glories up the edge of the field toward the main lodge.
Jack ran to catch up to Maya and took her hand so she wouldn't fall. As we walked behind them, Jack bent down to pick morning glories here and there until he held a bouquet of them in his hand.
Our feet slowed as we walked past the area that had once been the cellar. It was filled in now, just a large area of new, compacted soil. But the morning glories grew there, too. Eden took in a shaky breath and squeezed my hand. As the kids waited for us, throwing pebbles into a small puddle, we stood holding each other and letting the grief wash over us. This place was hallowed ground.
A very light rain started to fall, almost like tears, trailing slowly down our cheeks and nourishing the morning glories sprinkled across the ground.
After a minute, we were ready to move on. I took my wife's hand as the sky cleared.
We all walked to the grove of trees that stood in front of the entrance to the path that led down to our spring. Eden and I had talked about whether we'd make the steep descent with the kids or not, especially because Maya was so young, but right then, without speaking about it, we both seemed to agree we needed it. We made our way down slowly, me picking Maya up in spots that were extra steep. In my mind I was a seventeen-year-old boy, racing down the path, excitement and anticipation of seeing a beautiful girl lighting up my heart.
When we finally arrived at the first spring below, Jack let out an excited yell and Maya laughed.
"You think this is pretty," I said to Jack, "just wait until you see the other one."
"Other one?" he asked excitedly.
I smiled at him and Eden pointed to the opening in the rocks. All the brush had been moved aside, the first indication that others had been here.
We walked through the open area between the springs and when we ducked through the rocks again, Eden leading and me in the rear, we all stood and simply looked at the beauty surrounding us: the towering rocks, the crystal blue water with the trickling waterfall, and the flourishing plants. It was paradise. It was the place where our love had first blossomed. Emotion overwhelmed me. Eden turned to me with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. "It's even more beautiful than I remembered," she whispered.
"It is," I choked out, pulling her into me and kissing the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent, apple blossoms and springtime.
"Mama's spwing," Maya said enthusiastically. I looked down at her and laughed with the realization that she recognized it from the paintings we had hanging in our home—the ones that reminded us where we'd fallen in love.
"That's right, baby," I said to Maya, smiling down at her.
We looked around for things we might have left there, but there was no trace of anything. The kids played and splashed at the edge of the spring as Eden and I enjoyed simply watching their innocent joy. We sat against the same rock I had leaned against so long ago as I’d sketched. My arm was around Eden, her head on my shoulder. We squinted upwards to see an eagle circling above us, the sky a soft, peaceful blue.
Here, I had fallen desperately in love with a girl and she had offered herself to me with her whole, beautifully tender heart. Here, we had shown each other how to be brave, what it was to truly be known. Here, we had learned how to live. Perhaps the land over the cellar was hallowed ground, but this place…this place was holy, too. This was the place where I had first found Eden.
When we were ready, we gathered our kids and went back through the opening in the rock. As Eden was ducking through ahead of me, she glanced back at the spring and then up into my eyes, her gaze tender and full of love. My breath caught. She smiled a smile I had seen a thousand times at this spring, and a thousand times since. I smiled back, realizing in that moment the depth of heartache and love, hurt and forgiveness we had experienced since the last time we were here. And my heart filled with gratitude for all of it, even the pain, because it had brought us here, to this very moment.
We ascended slowly and took the path to the main lodge. When we reached it, we stood looking up at what once had looked like the grandest place on earth. We walked around to the far side and Eden gasped softly. Morning glories vined up the wood, over the windows and all the way up to the roof, filling in the cracks, and covering up the ugliness. The whole side of the house was covered in deep blue beauty, each yellow center looking just like a light shining out from the middle.
And as I stood there with my family, I realized, in the end, it was the beauty that had taken over. It was the beauty we looked upon. And when we walked away from Acadia that day, it was the beauty we attached to our hearts.
Acknowledgements
It takes many people to complete a book and I am so blessed to have the very best on my team. Special, special thanks from the bottom of my heart to my storyline editors: Angela Smith who not only talked story arrangement with me to the point of exhaustion, but provided wine and emotional support often and tirelessly, and Larissa Kahle, who spends what little free time she has helping me to ramp up the emotions of my story and perfect the character development. Thank you to my developmental and line editor, Marion Archer. She is new to my process, but I'll never write a book without her again—never. Her expertise and enthusiasm—not to mention the little notes she wrote in the margin of my manuscript that made me laugh and swoon—not only taught me things, but made my story richer and full of more depth. And to Karen Lawson whose bionic eyes perfected my manuscript even further.
I am also lucky enough to have an incredible group of beta readers who provided invaluable feedback on Calder and Eden's story, and cheer leaded for me when I needed it most; Cat Bracht, Elena Eckmeyer, Michelle Finkle, Natasha Gentile, Karin Hoffpauir Klein, Nikki Larazo, and Kim Parr. And to my author beta, A.L. Jackson, who read the first draft of my manuscript, when it was just three hundred pages of my ramblings and before I'd even spell checked it. Her feedback and assurances gave me the courage to continue on.
Thank you as well to my wonderful sprinting partner, Jessica Prince. Many of these words would not have been written if not for her diligent nine a.m. texts that generally included one word: sprint?
Big thanks to my amazing formatter, Elle Chardou, for saving my sanity and my carpal tunnel.
Love and gratitude to my husband for his patience through this process—and for being understanding when every date night for three months included plot talk. You make it all fun—and you make it all possible.
About the Author
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven. In addition to Becoming Calder and Finding Eden, Leo, Leo's Chance, Stinger, and Archer's Voice are also part of the Sign of Love collection.
Mia can be found online at
www.MiaSheridan.com
www.facebook.com/miasheridanauthor
*The following is an exclusive excerpt of a forthcoming novel by S. Celi set for publication on December 9, 2014. This excerpt is subject to final editing and changes.*