When I Fall in Love Page 31

  “Max!”

  But he ignored her as he took the stairs all the way to the second floor, emerging onto a flat-roof deck that overlooked the Mississippi River. He set her down in an Adirondack chair.

  The sunset spilled across the rooftop, gold and amber.

  Max knelt in front of her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Grace Christiansen, here’s the deal. I need a swim buddy. Forever. And I’m pretty sure that I’m never going to have this kind of courage again. I know I’m going to wake up tomorrow convinced that you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. But I promise to fight that fear, to stick around and not run away if you will agree to be my wife.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes shining. “That’s the craziest proposal I’ve ever heard.”

  “Listen, I have to work with what I’ve got.”

  She took his face in her hands, capturing him with her beautiful blue eyes. “Then you have me. I’m only giving my heart away once, and it’s to you, Maxwell Sharpe. Finally, completely. And forever. Yes, I’ll marry you. It’s time to live dangerously. It’s time to live abundantly.”

  He pulled her into his arms, kissing her under the golden haze of the sunset. And he knew her words would be gloriously, deliciously true for the rest of his life.

  “GRACE, HURRY UP—IT’S ALMOST ON!” Eden’s voice rose over the chatter of the commercials.

  Grace opened the oven, pulled out the taco dip. “Has anyone seen the serving spoons? Mom gave me a bunch.” She set the hot casserole dish on a cutting board, then began rooting through the boxes still lined up at the edge of the kitchen. She’d have the kitchen unpacked before Max returned from his road trip and conjure him up something tasty to help her and Raina christen their new apartment in Minneapolis.

  “Try the box marked ‘kitchen stuff,’” Eden said, getting up and grabbing a bag of chips. “Or we can double dip, Grace. It’s just us.”

  “And me,” Raina said, coming out of her room wearing an oversize Blue Ox fan shirt. Her belly protruded just enough to hint at the life inside her. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

  She’d relaxed since the move to Minneapolis, even in the short time since they’d arrived, a sort of easiness, even hope descending over her. Of course, that probably came from the fact that she’d left town without telling her aunt anything about her condition—that would be an interesting conversation. But until Grace and Max’s wedding, Raina planned on hiding out with Grace.

  Grace had no doubt Casper lingered not far from her mind. But she hadn’t spoken a word about either of Grace’s brothers since the night of Eden’s wedding. Not even to Eden, who’d discreetly noticed but hadn’t commented.

  Time. Raina just needed time and a friend. Family.

  Grace found the box, opened it. “Yeah, here’s my old apron and a bunch of plasticware. Mom gave me magnets off the fridge. And . . . a folder full of papers—weird.”

  “She was probably cleaning off her desk,” Eden said, piling her plate with the cheesy dip. She went back to the game, where the announcer had begun his between-period commentary. “You know how she likes to pile stuff. Look through it; you might find your second-grade report card.”

  Grace tucked the folder under her arm, then grabbed a plate with dip, giving in to the use of a chip as a spoon. Building her new business—Signature Weddings—took up all her spare time. It helped that one of Eden’s guests had signed on for her first event.

  She settled on the sofa next to Eden. She might have preferred to watch the game at Eden and Jace’s place, on the huge flat-screen in their family room. But her tiny apartment had a charming homeyness with the hand-me-down furniture from her parents, the blankets and quilts from home.

  On the television, the announcer showed highlights of Max’s goal, the way he raced around the back of the net and fell into the arms of his teammates.

  How she loved to watch him embrace life.

  They segued into bench shots, and she spotted Jace in one clip, his eyes dark as he yelled at the refs.

  “When did Max say it would be on?”

  “After the second period sometime.”

  Raina joined them, sitting in an overstuffed chair covered with a blue quilt. “I still can’t believe he agreed to do it.”

  “Why not? He’s so good with kids, and it’s a great opportunity to reach a huge audience.” Still, she knew he’d had to dig deep, trust God, to find the courage. It only made her love him more.

  Grace opened the folder, began to sort through it. Christmas cards from friends, a magazine offer in an unopened envelope. It looked like a smattering of old mail, lying on the counter for months. Oh, Mother.

  “When is your trip to Hawaii?” Raina asked Grace.

  “January. Max wants to scout locations for the golf tournament.”

  “Does he even play golf?” Eden asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably. He does everything.” And why not? Embrace life while you can.

  “You promise me you’re not going to do something crazy like elope while you’re there.”

  Raina looked up, her eyes wide.

  “No promises,” Grace said.

  “Well, I suppose it might solve the problem of Owen and his hatred for Max.”

  At the mention of Owen, Grace glanced at Raina. She didn’t look back.

  “Oh, here it is!” Eden picked up the remote and turned up the volume.

  A shot of Max scoring—one of last year’s clips—came on the screen. It freeze-framed and Max walked into view in front of it. “Many of you know me as Maxwell Sharpe, right wing for the St. Paul Blue Ox.”

  He wore an apron that bore the Blue Ox logo over his team sweater. It only accentuated his wide shoulders, his hockey physique. His hair hung below his ears, and Grace saw herself in his arms, twirling it between her fingers. Then he smiled, that Maxwell Sharpe signature grin, and she recognized the man who’d charmed her into the wide ocean of life.

  He stepped over to a kitchen, where a little girl about the age of six, with long blonde braids, wearing her own matching apron, sat at the counter. “But what you might not know is that someday, I won’t be fighting for a puck. I’ll be fighting for my life.”

  Max opened the oven, pulled out a tray of cookies, set it on the counter. “As the son of a father who died of Huntington’s and a carrier of the faulty gene that causes the disease, my fate is a near surety.” He scooped cookies onto a plate. Handed it to the little girl. “But hers isn’t. Research for a cure has made great progress, and if we can figure out a cure for Huntington’s, we may also be able to treat Parkinson’s, ALS, and even Alzheimer’s.”

  He picked up a cookie, leaned down, and smiled at the girl before taking a bite. Then he looked back at the camera. “Give the gift of a future. Donate to the Sharpe Foundation for Huntington’s Disease Awareness and Cure Research.”

  The PSA ended on a screen shot of the foundation’s website and a picture of Max in his hockey uniform, about age twelve, posing with his invalid father.

  The room went quiet even as the TV flipped to the Blue Ox players piling back out on the ice.

  “Wow,” Eden said, reaching up to wipe her eye. “Yeah, that’s—”

  “Eden, Max doesn’t want your pity. He wants your joy, your hope, your prayers. Okay?”

  Eden nodded despite her wavering smile.

  “Oh, my. I can’t believe it.” Grace pulled a crumpled envelope from the folder. “This is part two of the application for the Minneapolis Institute of Culinary Arts.” She opened it. “When did I get this?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s an invitation to send in a unique recipe.” She looked at the postmark. “It came right during all the rush of mail from Darek and Ivy’s wedding. It must have gotten mixed up with it and then set aside. But . . .” Grace set the application on the table.

  “So are you going to create a unique recipe?”

  The Blue Ox took the ice. A close-up of Max s
howed his game face. Determination. Fierceness.

  The face of courage.

  The face she loved.

  “I think I already have,” she said and reached for the dip. “Now it’s time to eat.”

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  FOR BETTER OR WORSE. Richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. . . . I’ll be celebrating twenty-five years with my amazing husband this summer, and as I look back, it feels like time is but a blink. Just yesterday, I was walking down the aisle to his smile, wondering how I got so lucky. And life has been generous to me—four amazing children, a rich landscape of faith-building experiences.

  It’s not been without challenges, however. Many a day, as I lived in Siberia, I thought, What did I get myself into? And we’ve changed, become different people. Life and romance didn’t always measure up to what I imagined. Thankfully, we’ve had a long-term view of the game. But what if I’d been promised only five years or less? Or what if my husband had a terrible disease that required me to care for him all our days? Would I have said yes to this adventure? It’s one thing to pledge yourself to love and then endure through the unexpected challenges . . . completely another to look at life knowing that darkness is ahead.

  I came upon the idea for this book a few ways. First, I had a friend who married her sweetheart, knowing he had incurable brain cancer. He died three years later, and she said it was the best three years of her life.

  Then I had another friend who married young, and just a few years into her marriage, her husband came down with early onset Alzheimer’s. She nursed him until she couldn’t care for him any longer, then fell in love with someone else and, although it was painful, divorced her first husband and married the other man. It haunted her.

  I wonder if it was the perspective of knowing what lay ahead that helped the first woman rejoice, while the second felt robbed. Knowing her days might be few, my first friend feasted on every moment and ended well nourished, the taste of hope in her heart.

  So often, in this Christian life, when things don’t turn out as we hope or expect, we feel robbed. As if our promise to follow God, like our promise at the altar, guarantees happiness. Frankly, God promises us challenges, so we shouldn’t be surprised when they happen. But how, then, do we cope?

  Psalm 84:5-7 offers answers:

  Blessed are those whose strength is in you,

  whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.

  As they pass through the Valley of Baka,

  they make it a place of springs;

  the autumn rains also cover it with pools.

  They go from strength to strength,

  till each appears before God in Zion.

  Pilgrimage. The journey . . . through life, toward heaven. God offers us refreshment in the desert and places of strength along the way. What if our happiness isn’t only in what is ahead of us but in embracing the now? In enjoying the moments God has given us, even in the midst of suffering? What if we lived with a mind-set of rejoicing in the strength and the springs of today . . . in order to bear the desert of tomorrow? Perhaps the annoying vices of our loved ones might not be so frustrating. Perhaps our faith wouldn’t seem so starved.

  I wanted to write a cooking story because we love food around the Warren house. My husband is a fantastic cook—he loves to follow recipes and create gourmet food on the weekends. I’m more of an “open the fridge and see what I can create” kind of gal. We could drive each other crazy. Max and Grace’s story shows me that perhaps we are, instead, a winning team, if we’re willing to embrace the moment, the current ingredients before us, and enjoy the mess we make together.

  Enjoy—no, feast—on the journey, one meal, one day at a time.

  Thank you for reading Max and Grace’s story. There are more Christiansen family adventures ahead! We still need to rescue poor Casper, and what about Raina? Then there’s Owen . . . oh, frustrating, angry, broken Owen. And don’t forget Amelia—she has a few surprises in store for her.

  God bless you on the journey,

  Susan May Warren

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Evergreen, available now.

  Dear family and friends,

  A warm Christmas greeting from the Christiansen family in snowy northern Minnesota.

  We’ve had a year of joy as each of the family has found new adventures. Darek and Ivy tied the knot last Memorial Day, and Eden and Jace Jacobsen followed with a celebration in August. Casper has moved to Roatán to work on a sunken galleon in pursuit of his archaeology degree . . .

  Dear family and friends,

  A warm Christmas greeting from the Christiansen family in snowy northern Minnesota.

  The Christiansen family has seen much change this year. We’ve worked hard on the resort, and it is nearly rebuilt after last year’s devastating forest fire. Grace is finally pursuing her love of cooking, working as a chef in Minneapolis and looking forward to marrying NHL hockey player Maxwell Sharpe. Meanwhile, Owen has been out west, fighting fires with a hotshot team. We were all delighted when he showed up for Eden’s wedding . . .

  Dear family and friends,

  A warm Christmas greeting from the Christiansen family in snowy northern Minnesota.

  It’s a year of new beginnings for us as our children start new chapters in their lives. We are thrilled to have sent Amelia off to Prague for her first year of college . . .

  Dear family and friends,

  A warm Christmas greeting from the Christiansen family in snowy northern Minnesota!

  OF ALL THE DAYS for the pastor to expound past the allotted time for his sermon, he had to pick potluck day. The day of the quarterly business meeting.

  The day of the Minnesota Vikings home opener—against the Green Bay Packers, no less.

  John Christiansen stood in the buffet line of the fellowship hall and glanced at the clock hanging over the pass-through to the church kitchen. He did a quick calculation. If he skipped the dessert line and another cup of coffee, and if he planted himself next to his best friend, Nathan Decker—who could run interference between John and the entanglements of mindless conversation about the unusual Minnesotan warm snap this late into September—he just might make it home before the end of the first quarter.

  He’d give Nate his voting proxy for any sudden decisions at the meeting. Yes, he’d agree to be a Salvation Army bell ringer at the grocery store this Christmas. No, he didn’t think the church needed to hire a snowplowing service—he’d be glad to come down with his truck again this year. Or to send his oldest son, Darek, over. It seemed about time Darek inherited that duty too.

  John guessed he had about seventeen minutes to effect his escape before Pastor Dan rose and trapped him in a two-hour meeting that he’d gladly trade for having his fingernails plucked out with a pair of snub-nosed pliers.

  But it all hinged on catching his wife with the hairy eyeball of desperation.

  Sadly, Ingrid had planted herself with her back to him, holding a plate of food, talking to Ellie, Pastor Dan’s wife.

  He tried not to accuse his wife of being diabolical.

  “Oh, good, there are meatballs left.” Nate reached over from the opposite side of the buffet table. “I love Ingrid’s barbecue meatballs.”

  “It’s her hockey-mom potluck specialty,” John said, scooping into the garlic mashed potatoes.

  “I’m glad she decided to share it with the church,” Nathan said. “Can’t let all those fabulous potluck recipes go to waste, even if the high school hockey years are over.” He added mashed potatoes to his own plate. “So how are your honeymooners doing?”

  John glanced at Ingrid, seeing her move on from her small talk with Ellie. She looked pretty today in a pink sweater and floral skirt, her blonde hair pulled back with a headband. Sometimes she looked as fresh and young as when he’d first noticed her, thirty-some years ago.

  Yeah, she still possessed the power to unravel him, steal his thoughts, turn his mouth dry.

  He nearly called across the room for her to save him
a seat, but that felt too desperate. She didn’t look at him, stopping to chat with Edith Draper, head of the hospitality committee.

  Danger! Danger! He nearly abandoned his meatballs right there and made a dash for his wife.

  But after nearly thirty years of marriage, she knew not to volunteer him for any committees or projects, right?

  Somehow he managed to keep a cool head and answer Nate, updating him on the status of his adult children.

  “Eden and Jace are looking at houses in Minneapolis. Hitting the parade of homes. Grace’s fiancé, Max, survived hockey camp. They have a preseason game coming up in a few weeks. And Grace is working on her catering business.”

  “They set a date yet?”

  Oh, good, Ingrid had laughed, shaken her head, and walked away from Edith, looking for an open space to sit in the crowded fellowship hall.

  The claws in John’s chest loosened.

  “Nope. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had their wedding in Hawaii.”

  “That sounds expensive.” Nathan handed John a roll of silverware. John took it, balancing it under his plate filled with potatoes, green beans, meatballs, corn salad, and a few items he didn’t quite know how to name.

  “Maybe. But Max has money. After all, he does play for the NHL.” He noticed Ingrid had taken a chair next to Helen Harrison, Nathan’s mother. No danger there. Helen headed up the Christmas decorating committee, but even if Ingrid did suddenly decide he’d be perfect to cut and put up the church’s tree, it still wouldn’t interfere with any of John’s plans.

  He set his plate on a table, slid out a folding chair. Nate sat next to him.

  “Have you heard from Casper?” Nate asked without looking at him, unrolling his napkin.

  Only a handful of people knew about the Christiansen family debacle the morning of Eden and Jace’s wedding—the fistfight between his two younger sons, Owen and Casper.

  “He’s living on some Caribbean island and loving his new gig working on an archaeology team for the winter.” Or at least that’s what he made it sound like. But John had the sense that he hadn’t gotten the full story from Casper in years.