Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 7

“Mommy,” Sam whispered loudly from the church pew next to Jo as the last strains of the hymn faded.

“Shh.” Jo leaned closer so her daughter could whisper more quietly.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Again, Sam’s whisper was louder than necessary—proved by the soft chuckle that came from Alex, who sat on Jo’s other side.

“You can go,” Jo whispered back, hoping that her demonstration of an actually quiet whisper would be an example for her daughter.

“I can’t go by myself.” Sam’s whisper was marginally softer, but still not soft enough. “The toilets might flush.”

Jo pressed her lips together. No matter how many times she explained to her daughter that nothing bad would happen if the toilet flushed while she was still sitting, Sam held on to her irrational fear of self-flushing toilets.

This wasn’t exactly the time or place to get into that discussion again, though, so Jo stood and ushered her daughter to the end of the pew.

She rested a hand lightly on Sam’s shoulder and kept her eyes on the floor so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone as she led her daughter to the lobby. They were almost to the back of the church when Sam started waving wildly.

Jo lifted her head—and tripped over her own feet as she realized that the target of Sam’s wave was Beckett, who sat among two pews of people Jo didn’t recognize. They must all be here with him for the movie.

Beckett smiled at Sam and returned the wave before his eyes came to Jo’s, something bright and almost warm in them. She nudged Sam forward more forcefully than she meant to. Her daughter stumbled, but Jo caught her arm and half dragged her the rest of the way out of the church to the lobby. Sam wriggled away from her, and Jo let her go, following her across the small space to the restroom. Once in its refuge, Jo took a deep breath that sucked in way too much of the room’s citrusy air freshener.

She coughed and pressed a hand to her chest.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Sam asked as Jo locked the stall, then held her hand over the toilet’s sensor so that it wouldn’t flush on Sam.

“Nothing,” She snapped. Then, forcing herself to take another citrusy breath, “Nothing,” more calmly.

Aside from the fact that church was the one place she had known she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Beckett.

So what was he doing here?

She didn’t believe for one moment that he actually wanted to worship or learn about Jesus. He had made it more than clear—for years—that he wasn’t a believer. That he detested anyone who was—namely, her. How many times had he called her stupid, ignorant, deluded? How many times had he played pranks on her, stolen her Bible bookmarks, scribbled on her cross stickers? How many times had he—

“I’m done, Mommy.” Sam tugged Jo’s hand away from the toilet’s sensor, scooting out of the stall before the toilet could flush.

“Wash your hands.” Jo led Sam to the sinks and mechanically washed her own hands as Sam globbed four squirts of soap into her hands, gleefully scrubbing to make a mound of suds.

“Look, Mommy.”

Jo nodded absently. “I see it.”

“Is it okay?” Sam looked suddenly guilty. “You said I’m only supposed to use one squirt, but I took four.”

“Hmm? Oh. Next time only use one.” Jo tried to sound stern, but she was still distracted.

“I’m sorry.” Sam’s face fell, but Jo passed her a paper towel.

“I forgive you.”

“Okay, good,” Sam said easily. “Should we go back to church?”

“What? Yes.” Jo shook herself and threw her paper towel in the trash.

She had less than zero desire to go out there and walk past Beckett again, but she couldn’t really explain to her daughter that they were going to hide out in the bathroom for the rest of the service.

She made herself open the bathroom door for her daughter. Sam skipped across the church lobby and burst through the door into the sanctuary. Jo flinched and hurried to catch the door before it could slam shut. She followed Sam down the aisle, grimacing as Sam waved again to Beckett but averting her gaze before she could see whether Beckett waved back. She didn’t need to know.

Back in their pew, she tried hard to focus on Pastor Olsen’s sermon, but his words seemed to float up and over her head before she could catch them. She was certain she felt Beckett’s gaze boring into the back of her head, and she had to fight with all her strength not to raise her hands to smooth her hair. Her neck twitched with the need to turn around and see if he was making the same face of disgust at Pastor Olsen that he used to make at her whenever she tried to broach the subject of God. She crossed her feet around each other so that she wouldn’t get up out of the pew and flee the church.

Alex gave her more than one strange look as she shifted in her seat, bumping into his arm. Finally, he leaned over and whispered, “What is going on with you?”

She shook her head and forced herself to pull in a deep breath and hold it for a count of ten.

Then she did it again.

And again.

And then the sermon was over. Jo let out her breath as she stood, guilt washing over her that she didn’t have a clue about a single word Pastor Olsen had said.

She worked extra hard to pay attention to the remaining prayers and songs, and by the time the service was over and Pastor Olsen stood to make his announcements, she felt almost calm again.

“Don’t forget, we have a potluck immediately after the service today,” the pastor said, and Jo let out a breath of relief. There was no reason for Beckett to stay for that, so all she had to do was wait for him to leave and then she was in the clear and could enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

People started to file out of the church, and Jo looked over her shoulder, hoping that Beckett would be one of the first to leave. But he was talking to a petite dark-haired woman next to him. The woman smiled and nodded, then turned to the woman on her other side. Beckett’s eyes lifted to Jo, and she spun to face the front of the church, more grateful than she had ever been in her life to see Karen Stanley slide into the pew in front of her.

“Where’s your father today?” The older woman asked.

Jo smothered a smile. The widow’s crush on Dad was no secret—except, maybe, to Dad.

“He wasn’t feeling well today, so he stayed home.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Karen frowned. “Is there anything I can do?”

Jo patted her arm. “That’s very sweet of you, but it’s nothing serious. Just a cold. I had to twist his arm to get him to stay in bed.”

“Oh good. Are you guys going to the potluck?”

“For a little while. I signed up to help serve, but then I want to take the afternoon charter so Dad can get some more rest.”

“You’re a good girl.” Karen patted her arm. “I’ll see you down there.” She stood and filed out of the pew, and Jo glanced over her shoulder again.

Beckett was no longer in his pew, and the relief she felt was almost physical. “Come on, Sammycakes. Let’s go get some food.”