“I thought I’d never be able to move forward after…after…” He decided not to mention his ex-girlfriend’s name.

  On screen, Sheryl came indoors and closed the sliding glass door. “At lunch today, a friend of mine reminded me to trust God for the present. I’m now reminding you to trust God for the future.”

  The future, not our future.

  That was to say, regardless of whether they remained together or lived separate lives, both of them had to trust God all the way.

  How could Winton keep falling in love with independent women? In both Abilene’s and Sheryl’s cases, he needed them more than they needed him.

  “We both have to trust God for what is and what is to come. Regardless of what happens to our friendship, we need God more than each other.”

  “Friendship?” Winton asked.

  Sheryl nodded. “Were you thinking there was something more?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Winton arrived in Savannah midafternoon on Monday, walked into Simon’s Gallery, and found Sheryl chatting away with a dashing tourist who had bought several pottery pieces that looked like what Tina MacFarland would have made. The tourist seemed to be a part of a tour group led by a green-haired tour guide wearing a Tamsyn Tours polo shirt. The rest of the group was scattered all over the gallery.

  Winton’s thoughts rewound to the day eight years ago when he had brought a bronze figurine for Abilene, who had promptly rejected his gift. In that moment, he’d known that their relationship was over. He couldn’t let Abilene go at first, but as time went on, she was fading more into the past.

  Still, here he was, standing in the gallery where Abilene used to work.

  Memories of her walking around the gallery floated into Winton’s mind. How could he forget her? Abilene was a beautiful soul, full of life and love. They had separated on mutual terms, wanting to give each other room to grow spiritually.

  Had Abilene implied that Winton was too spiritually immature for their relationship? Why couldn’t she have waited for him? Instead, she had moved on to Lars Cargill, who’d married her, bought her Simon’s Gallery and an oceanfront house, and then ferried her away to England, where Abilene now painted the English countryside.

  And Winton?

  Oh, I languish in paradise lost.

  Sheryl was busy talking with more customers and she probably didn’t see Winton. He’d give her space. He walked about the gallery, wondering where they would put his bronze sculptures and figurines. He had brought small and large pieces, all of which were handpicked by Sheryl on Wednesday when she was at his house.

  At the next go-round, he would bring three more figurines from his Charleston studio. Sheryl had picked those on Saturday after Irma’s wedding reception.

  When he turned around, Sheryl was gone. The group from Tamsyn Tours had left. Baxter and a couple of his employees were talking by the checkout counter.

  “Hey, Baxter.” Winton waved to the gallery director.

  “Oh hey. Nice of you to come to Savannah personally.” Baxter shook Winton’s hands vigorously. “Very good to see you.”

  “Where’s Sheryl?”

  Baxter looked around. “Probably on break.”

  “In her office?”

  “If she’s not there, you’ll find her on the rooftop.”

  “Rooftop. How do I get up there?”

  “Elevator next to her office.”

  Winton handed Baxter his BMW keys. “I’m parked next to Sheryl’s car in your usual parking area two blocks down. You might want to drive my car to the loading dock out back.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Baxter bowed slightly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Winton peeked into Sheryl’s office and did not see her. He took the elevator to the roof, praying all the way that Sheryl would be glad to see him.

  Surrounded by topiaries and flowers in giant containers, the path toward the rooftop patio gave him a bit of cover as he asked God to give him the right words to say to Sheryl.

  About what, exactly?

  No idea.

  With her back toward him, Sheryl stood in the mild April sun, looking out to the Savannah River and Hutchinson Island across the river. In the distance to the left of her, Talmadge Memorial Bridge rose from the horizon.

  Winton did not want to startle her at the edge of the roof.

  “Hello,” he called out softly.

  Sheryl turned around. Her shoulder-length brown hair glowed in the afternoon sunlight. She lifted her sunglasses above her head. “You’re early.”

  “I tried to avoid rush-hour traffic.” He walked toward her. “Some view.”

  Sheryl nodded.

  “What are you thinking about?” Winton asked.

  “I saw you enter the gallery, and I had to sneak away as fast as I could. I came up here to take my break, but also to pray about how to apologize to you the next time I see you.”

  “Apologize? For what?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, when we talked on the phone, I was telling you what to do.” Her voice was soft.

  “You were?”

  “I told you not to use me as an excuse, told you what to say to me, how to frame your questions to me.” She touched his arm. “I overstepped. Please forgive me.”

  Winton placed his palm over her hand. “Forgiven. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you sure?” She tilted her head.

  “Give me a hug and we’ll call it even.” Winton waited.

  Sheryl wrapped her arms around Winton’s waist. Her forehead came up to Winton’s lips, and he couldn’t help planting a soft kiss there.

  When Sheryl didn’t pull away or say anything, Winton’s lips brushed lightly down her nose.

  She smiled.

  That was all the invitation Winton needed to discover what could have been had they dated.

  Sheryl’s lips were soft and sweet and tasted like afternoon tea. As Winton deepened his kiss, she lifted her hands around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

  Before he knew it, Sheryl pulled away, leaving him wanting. He rubbed her arms, asking for more.

  “I have to get back to work,” she said quietly.

  “Baxter is probably unloading my car.” Winton tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Let’s go see where we’ll display your figurines and sculptures.” Sheryl stepped back. “Thank you for bringing them.”

  As they walked to the elevator, Winton reached for her hand and tried not to think too much about where they could go from this point.

  He remembered what she had told him on Sunday afternoon.

  We both have to trust God for what is and what is to come. Regardless of what happens to our friendship, we need God more than each other.

  Winton stopped her at the elevator door. “Are we still friends? Or have we crossed over the threshold?”

  “Do friends kiss?”

  “I don’t know. It just happened.” Winton drew Sheryl into his arms. “Maybe we need more research.”

  “Do we?”

  “Uh-huh.” Winton hugged her, his five o’clock shadow rubbing against her smooth cheek. She didn’t complain.

  “We should have gotten together a long time ago,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Timing belongs to God,” Sheryl said softly.

  “It’s my fault for…” Winton decided not to say it. Yes, it had been his fault for not moving on from his lost love, but then again, he hadn’t always learned things the easy way.

  “Shhh. Today is a brand-new day.”

  And he had kissed her. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned on doing it so soon. However, when Sheryl had been in his arms minutes ago, a door of opportunity opened.

  And he had walked through it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  By the time they reached the main gallery floor, the crowd had thinned out. Sheryl led Winton through a door leading to the Special Collection section. There, Baxter had already cordoned off an area marked “Winton Pace.” Considering the pieces coming their way, Sheryl suspected that Baxter intended to make an exhibition out of the ten never-before-seen sculptures that Winton had agreed to let them sell.

  Baxter didn’t look surprised that Sheryl and Winton were still holding hands. Sheryl broke off their small public display of affection and walked toward Baxter.

  “Beautiful,” Baxter said. “You did good, Sheryl. You deserve an extra week of vacation.”

  “Really?” Sheryl began to think of all the things she could do with a week off.

  Baxter nodded. “I’ll talk to corporate and see.”

  By corporate, he meant Abilene. Sheryl appreciated Baxter for being sensitive about Winton’s feelings. There had been a possibility that Winton would not have agreed to display his bronze sculptures and figurines here.

  Then again, perhaps Winton was really over Abilene. After all, it had been eight years. And he had just kissed Sheryl.

  Let Abilene go, Winton, for your own sake.

  While Winton busied himself advising Baxter on how he wanted his creations to be displayed, Sheryl assessed Winton’s level of comfort being in the gallery his ex-girlfriend owned. She had broken his heart into so many pieces that there was no recovering from the damage. The only recourse was to march onward with the help of God.

  Then again, only God could pick up the broken pieces, sweep up the shards, and renew the human spirit. Sheryl remembered Psalm 34:18, which her grandmother had recited to her.

  The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.

  Winton glanced her way, and she smiled. He gave her a thumbs-up. Whatever that meant. Sheryl tried not to read too much into it, except to consider that Winton was in his artwork at this moment, and he was probably not thinking of Abilene as much as she was thinking of her former co-worker.

  “Do you need any help?” Sheryl asked.

  Baxter shook his head. “Not here. But you might check on our new hires out there.”

  “All right.” Sheryl turned to go.

  “See you in a little bit,” Winton said.

  Sheryl nodded.

  A group of elderly ladies entered the gallery. This time Sheryl recognized people from church in the group. Rhoda Pendegrast hugged Sheryl, as did the other Senior Saints from Riverside Chapel.

  “What’s the occasion?” Sheryl asked.

  “We’re doing a staycation shopping tour around Savannah,” Rhoda said.

  “Good idea.”

  “We have twenty-percent-off coupons for Simon’s Gallery.”

  “Shop away,” Sheryl said. “When do the coupons expire?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Sheryl wondered whether to tell them about Winton’s exhibition, although she had no idea when Baxter would set the opening date. It could be next week, for all she knew.

  She decided there was no reason to tell them except in generalities. “We have new collections coming in all the time, so be sure to get new discount coupons so you don’t miss out the rest of the year.”

  Rhoda nodded. “I hear that if you buy something here, you can usually get a future discount printed on your receipt. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” Sheryl had almost forgotten about that.

  “Did you hear that, ladies?” Rhoda asked her friends.

  They all clapped.

  “If you get on our mailing list, you’ll be notified when we display new collections,” Sheryl added.

  “I’m already on your mailing list. Anyone not?” Rhoda pointed to people who put up their hands to say they were not already on the Simon’s Gallery mailing list.

  Sheryl handed them brochures with the gallery website address on them. “Go to our website and sign up for our newsletter, ladies.”

  The Special Collection door opened, and Winton walked out.

  “Winton Pace!” Rhoda waved to him.

  “Mrs. Untermeyer—I mean, Mrs. Pendegrast.” Winton got the words out before Rhoda gave him a bear hug.

  “What are you doing in town? I thought you moved away.”

  “I did, Mrs. Pendegrast.”

  “Rhoda.”

  “Rhoda. I live on Folly Beach now.”

  “Is that where you work too?” Rhoda asked.

  “No, my studio is in Charleston, about twenty minutes away.”

  “Are you back in Savannah for business?”

  “And for personal reasons.” Winton stood near Sheryl.

  Rhoda made an O with her mouth. “I see.”

  Sheryl didn’t say a word.

  “Well, we better look around before the day is over.” Rhoda’s friends fanned out across the gallery. “What time do you close?”

  “Eight tonight.”

  Rhoda glanced at her watch. “We’ll be long gone by then. That’s almost bedtime. Are you working until then?”

  “No, ma’am. I get off at six,” Sheryl said. “However, our sales representatives will be able to assist you until closing time.”

  “Sounds good.” Rhoda joined her group, leaving Sheryl and Winton by themselves at the checkout counter.

  Sheryl glanced at an antique clock on the wall. A few minutes past five.

  “I’ll wait for you to get off work,” Winton said. “Are we still doing dinner?”

  “If you want.”

  “Yes, I do.” Winton stepped closer.

  Any closer and Sheryl thought she might kiss him this time.

  Yes, they had crossed the line on the rooftop patio. What would become of their friendship?

  They could not be friends with benefits. That would destroy her testimony as a Christian. And Winton’s too.

  Had they moved beyond friendship?

  Where would they go from here?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Since Sheryl had nixed the idea of a dance practice, Winton had no reason to stay all week in Savannah. He drove home to Folly Beach and spent several days working in his Charleston studio sculpting clay for his foundry to cast into bronze.

  He was behind on fulfilling custom orders, but his mind was on Sheryl, who hadn’t returned his calls all week. Well, to be accurate, it wasn’t all week. It had only been two days since he’d left Savannah, and in less than twenty-four hours he’d be driving back to Savannah to pick up Sheryl for their flight to Atlanta.

  Still, the minute hand dragged its feet around the clock on his studio wall.

  His mom’s portrait was almost completed. He decided not to keep his mom’s hair in curls this time. Her hair was naturally straight anyhow. He kept Mom’s favorite earrings, a pair of diamonds that Dad had bought her for their fiftieth anniversary.

  Fifty years together.

  Winton wondered how that felt. He drew a blank. Perhaps he could talk to Mom and ask her. And so, he did.

  “Mom, how did you and Dad last this long?” Winton blurted on the speakerphone. His fingers were covered with clay as he dragged a rake over the shoulder of the bust he was sculpting.

  “You mean, why haven’t we killed each other?” Mom laughed on the other end of the phone.

  “Your marriage.”

  “I know, dear, and I answered you.”

  Hmm. “Humor?”

  “Bingo. That, plus a lot of patience and forgiveness. Maybe more forgiveness than humor, to tell you the truth.”

  “Forgiveness.” Winton recalled how Sheryl had asked him to forgive her, and as soon as he did, all was well—or better—than it had been before.

  “Yes, forgiveness. Humans fail. God forgives. If we are in the family of God, we too must mirror the heavenly Father and forgive just as He does.”

  “True. ‘But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.’ Matthew 6:15.”

  “Exactly, son. Why did you ask?” Mom’s voice sounded like she was probing again. “Did Sheryl do something bad to you, or did you do something bad to her that requires forgiveness?”

  “No, no. Not that. I’m in my studio working on your next bronze portrait, and I remembered Dad’s fiftieth anniversary gift to you. I was curious about the longevity of your marriage.”

  “Now you know. Forgive a lot, laugh a lot.”

  “Cry a lot too?” Winton asked.

  “That doesn’t need to be said. Psalm 30:5 tells us, ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.’ Your time of sorrow is over, Winton. Each new day is God’s gift for you to enjoy. Don’t lose Sheryl on account of your loss many years ago.”

  Winton’s hands froze on the clay.

  Lose Sheryl?

  They had been friends for years, and never once had Winton thought she might walk away from their friendship. However, a week ago, he had started to see her in a new light when they’d made a deal.

  “Why don’t you hang up now and call her?” Mom suggested. “Your dad and I are going out for lunch.”

  Winton didn’t say that he had already called Sheryl and left messages on her phone too many times this week. He might have overdone it.

  “Have a good lunch, Mom.” Winton said goodbye.

  He finished up what he could. After putting the bust on the shelf, he washed away the clay from his hands and elbows. It was only three o’clock, but if he hurried, he might have enough time to pick up the framed sketch from his favorite art shop between the studio and his beach house.

  Then he’d have something new to text Sheryl about tonight.

  Winton turned off the lights and locked the door. Leaving the studio for his parked car, he realized that all week long he hadn’t thought of any other woman besides Sheryl Breckenridge.

  Had he moved on?

  A bigger question: Would Sheryl be willing to move on with him?

  When he arrived at his beach house, it rained a little, but his garage was dry. Carefully, he carried the framed pencil sketch of Sheryl up the stairway to his living room, placed it on an empty spot on a wall, and stepped back to study it. Pleased with his own work, he felt excited that he could give the signed artwork to Sheryl. It was one of a kind.

  After he showered and changed his clothes, the sun came out. He decided to walk on the beach and talk to God about his life.

 

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