Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

was the woman Leah had long known as Tess Coventry.

Sebastian came to a stop next to his mother’s grave.

Her small rectangular marker lay flat against the earth. Denise Marie Grant and the dates of her birth and death had been engraved into dull black stone.

He’d stood here just three times before.

The first time, the day they’d buried her. Vaguely, as if the scene had come from a movie he’d watched decades ago, he recalled her coffin lowering into the ground. Then someone tossing dirt on top of her.

He knew he’d worn a plaid suit Mrs. King had given him that had been too small and itchy. He knew their old lady neighbor and his social worker and his teacher and several strangers had been there.

However, he didn’t know who’d paid for her funeral, burial, plot, and marker. As a kid, the expenses hadn’t crossed his mind. Now that he lived in an adult world full of price tags, it shamed him that he had no idea whom to reimburse.

The second time he’d come here, he’d come because of CeCe. Every Memorial Day, the Colemans left flowers on the graves of their relatives. On the first Memorial Day after the earthquake, she’d insisted that they bring flowers to Sebastian’s mother’s grave, too. When she’d asked him where his mother was buried, he’d had no answer, so she’d made phone calls until she’d learned the whereabouts.

They’d gone first to the Coleman family cemetery, which had rolling hills and big trees. The contrast between that and the flat plainness of this parcel of grass by the freeway hadn’t escaped him.

CeCe had invited him to say a few words. He’d been rigid inside and out, unable to speak, haunted by thoughts of his mom’s decomposing body below the earth. CeCe and Hersh had taken turns praying. When Sebastian looked up, he’d seen Ben watching him with kindness. He’d quickly glanced away and wondered if a good son would have . . . should have . . . died right along with his mother.

He’d come here for the third time after graduating from medical school. That milestone had been a point of sentimental pride for CeCe, which, in turn, had made her think of Sebastian’s mother. The day after the Colemans had celebrated his accomplishment beneath the black-and-gold congratulations banner, CeCe had brought him here again.

That time guilt had made him as uncomfortable as the itchy plaid suit. Guilt because he avoided visiting her grave to pay his respects. Because he’d moved on with his life. Because he wanted comfort to come from his memories of her—but they still brought only hurt. Because he’d found a new family.

Now, on his fourth visit, he stared at his mom’s name for so long that it blurred.

He struggled with abandonment, with loving people, with broken promises. And all of that had started here . . . with Denise Marie Grant.

It would have been nice if his miraculous rescue from the earthquake had fixed what his mom’s death had broken. But reality was more complicated.

His rescue had shown him that God existed and was capable of mighty things. On one hand, he was grateful that God had brought him out of that basement alive. On the other hand, his rescue forced him to acknowledge that God hadn’t chosen to save his mother from her illness.

God had protected Sebastian’s life, so it seemed that God loved him.

God had taken his mother away, so it seemed that God didn’t love him.

In the face of those mixed messages, he’d concluded that he couldn’t count on God. So he’d done everything possible to insulate himself from the kind of vulnerability he’d endured when his mom died.

He’d been certain that his job would give him both security and the ability to right the wrong of his mom’s death with every child he saved.

It hadn’t worked that way.

Isabella Ackerman and his other patients were not his mother. It turned out that what his mother had been to him was irreplaceable. His career and his money couldn’t give him his mother or his childhood back. Nor could they give him safety. Or worth. Or identity. Enough had never been enough.

At this rock-bottom place without Leah, he needed to be honest with himself. The truth? Resentment toward God had been burning inside him like a pilot light for decades. Nothing had extinguished it. Not his gratitude over God’s rescue of him after the earthquake. Not the Coleman family’s support. Not his achievements.

Before he could move forward . . . before he could remember his mother without feeling like a thirty-pound barbell had been placed on his ribs . . . he needed to find a way to forgive God. For stealing his mother from him and, in so doing, teaching him that loving someone was the worst thing he could do to himself.

In his mind, he tested the words I. Forgive. You.

But he didn’t. Forgive God. His emotions remained jagged. The sentences that formed in his head were the opposite of forgiving. How could you? I was just a kid. Not the best kid, but not the worst. I didn’t deserve what you did to me. You ruined me when you took away all the family I had.

He heard a noise and looked over to see Ben approaching. His friend stopped on the other side of his mom’s grave and observed him levelly, waiting for Sebastian to speak.

“I don’t think I can forgive God,” Sebastian said, his voice hoarse.

“For?”

“For taking my mom’s life and leaving me alone.”

Several seconds ticked by as Ben appeared to process his statement. “God never left you alone.” Ben spoke with calm certainty. “I understand why you felt that way, but sometimes our feelings are liars. Think about everything you’ve been through since your mom’s death, but try to think about it differently. Instead of remembering how alone you were, try to remember how alone you weren’t.”

“Like when?”

“Did God give you a good social worker? Did He provide foster parents who tried their best to be there for you?”

Sebastian grimaced.

“Was God