Healing the Widower's Heart. Susan Mason Anne

simply stared. The withering look usually worked on Zach. He hoped it would have the same effect on her.

      She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance, and waited.

      He jerked his head toward the still-open door. “You might as well leave. I’m not going anywhere.”

      “Zach needs to see you attempting to live a normal life. How do you expect him to move on when you bury your head in the sand like this?” She marched into the room, picked up the plate with half an uneaten sandwich on it and jabbed it toward him. “Is this your dinner? That’s pathetic when there are ribs and hamburgers outside.”

      His temper ignited. He strode toward her and yanked the plate from her fingers. “What I eat or don’t eat is none of your business.”

      She snatched the remote and pressed the power button.

      “I was watching that.”

      “Not anymore. Where are your shoes? And you might need a jacket if it gets cool later.”

      “I am not six years old—”

      “Then start acting like it.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

      Nathan opened his mouth, then clamped his lips together, unsure what might come out. Something unministerial, that’s for sure.

      “Look, Nathan. Almost all the parents are out there sharing the holiday with their children. What message are you sending Zach by staying in here?”

      “That I don’t like crowds?”

      “Wrong. That you don’t like him.”

      Her words reverberated off the walls around him, shaming him with their truth. All the resentment drained out of him, and he sagged onto the nearest chair. He did not deserve to be a parent. He couldn’t function at all, not for himself, not even for Zach.

      The warmth of a hand on his arm made him raise his head. “You can do this, Nathan. For Zach’s sake. He needs to see you there, even if you only say two words to him. Just knowing you’re there will mean everything to him.”

      The compassion swirling in the depth of her eyes mesmerized him. More than anything he needed a lifeline. Maybe Paige McFarlane could be his.

      She took his hand and tugged him to his feet. “Come on. I’ll walk down with you.”

      * * *

      When all the kids were seated on the lawn and the fireworks had finally started, Paige made her way over to the picnic table where Nathan was sitting. Her heart swelled with sympathy. The poor guy looked as if he was at a funeral instead of a party. Still, he’d spent a few minutes with his son, before Zach and Peter had run off to join a game of hide-and-seek with the other campers. But Paige didn’t miss the relief on Zach’s face when he first saw his father.

      She hopped up onto the table top to sit beside Nathan. “You doing okay?”

      “Fine.”

      He didn’t sound fine. Not one little bit. A thought hit Paige. Perhaps this holiday had special meaning for him and his wife. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

      “Is this day bringing up sad memories?” she asked quietly.

      Nathan stiffened beside her. “How did you know?”

      “Not hard to figure out. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries...they’re all tough dates to get through.” She clasped her hands on her lap. “I usually try to do something different to change the significance of the date.” Like going rock climbing on the day she should have been married. “Hard to change Independence Day though.” She gave him a smile, hoping to lighten his mood.

      He shifted on the wooden surface to look at her. “So you lost someone close to you?”

      She swallowed, then turned to meet his questioning gaze. “I did.”

      “A parent?”

      She looked away, wishing she could deny God’s gentle nudging to share her grief. If her story could help Nathan in some small way, she had no choice but to share it. “No. My fiancé.”

      She felt him stiffen. “I’m so sorry. That must have been difficult.”

      The laugher of children drifted by them, a direct contradiction to the seriousness of their conversation.

      “You have no idea.” She gripped her fingers together, steeling herself for the onslaught of pain. “Colin was killed in a car accident—three weeks before our intended wedding day.”

      He sucked in a breath. “How awful. When did this happen?”

      “Almost four years ago now. But sometimes it feels like yesterday.” She blinked to keep any tears from forming. “At the time I believed Colin’s accident was all my fault.”

      Nathan reached over and covered her hands with his own. She started at the warm strength of his fingers.

      “What happened?” he asked quietly after several moments.

      She hesitated, praying she could do this without falling apart. “I hadn’t seen Colin in days. He’d been working on his thesis nonstop to finish before the wedding. I knew he was exhausted, but I was feeling sorry for myself, overwhelmed with wedding preparations. I begged him to come over.” She drew in a ragged breath. “The police couldn’t say for sure what happened, except they found his car wrapped around a telephone pole—with Colin dead at the scene.”