Just a Little Faith Page 19

  “What is it, Pax?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. It’s like I have a memory of some kind. Sebastian is talking to me about reading the Bible and the book of Ecclesiastes, but I know we’ve never talked about it before. I guess this knock on the head has me out of sorts.”

  Her mom squeezed her hand. “I imagine the next few days are going to be filled with all sorts of jumbled memories. It will sort itself out as you begin to feel better.”

  “I hope so. I feel like my brain is all mixed up like vegetable soup. I will be glad when I feel more like myself again.”

  ****

  Sebastian stopped at the end of the hall outside the ICU when Paxson’s dad found him.

  “Seb. Are you okay, son? Pax noticed you left. It concerned all of us.”

  Sebastian looked up and attempted to smile. “I just thought it would be better to give you some time with her without me there. Besides, it’s no secret I haven’t been the best person the past few weeks, and with her accident and everything… I decided I better give her some breathing room.”

  Brad leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Sebastian. Of course, Paxson’s been pretty distraught over your behavior the past couple of months.”

  Seb lowered his head, waiting for the sermon he knew he deserved.

  “But I also know my daughter enough to know she still cares a lot about you. Whatever has happened between you, her feelings didn’t just diminish overnight. And it’s evident yours didn’t either.”

  Lifting his head, Seb couldn’t believe it. “You aren’t angry with me?”

  A smiled tugged at the corner of Brad’s face. “I think you being here is what the doctor ordered.”

  Seb released a deep breath. “I hope so, Brad. I know she is what I need in my life. I just hope she still feels the same way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sebastian and Paxson’s parents were sent back to the waiting room while the medical staff transferred Paxson to a private room on the other side of the hospital. The combination of the events of the morning and the medications they administered started to take effect on Paxson, and she continually dropped off to sleep in the middle of conversations only to awaken when a nurse came in to check her vitals.

  Paxson hated feeling drowsy. She wanted to soak in her parents being there as much as possible… and Sebastian. She desperately wanted to talk to him about what changed to have him come back to her. But all these thoughts would drift away as she would lose the battle to stay awake. As the day progressed, she slept for several hours not even waking for the rounds of nurses’ visits.

  The next time she woke, the room was completely dark. The lights from the monitors cast an eerie glow. As she shuffled around in her bed, Sebastian appeared at her side.

  “Hey, Pax, sweetie. What do you need?”

  “Sebastian…What time it is? Is it morning or evening? I’m all out of sorts.”

  “It’s about nine o’clock in the evening. You’ve slept the majority of the day away… which is good. It is giving your body time to recover.” He tried to be careful while pushing her back on the bed, readjusting her blankets and pillow.

  “My parents are gone?”

  “Yes. They left just about an hour ago to go back over to the Richards’. They’ll be back in the morning. Tori and Michael, Linc and Rangy were here some today too. They’ll come back later when you’re more up to company. Everybody is glad to hear you’re going to be okay.”

  Taking in Seb’s red eyes and wrinkled clothing, she sighed. “Bash…. Your knee. Sleeping in a chair can’t be good for you. Have you been here since I was brought in? Go home and get some rest. I’ll be okay here by myself.”

  Sebastian rubbed her arm. “I couldn’t leave you. I need to make up for the time I ignored you, when I know you wanted to help me.”

  “Bash… Please. It’s okay. I know you were going through some difficult times. I can’t say I wouldn’t have reacted the same way.”

  “That’s just it. Ever since I have known you, every important decision you make is based on your faith in God. Even when things get difficult, the complete trust you have in the Father always gets you through. I didn’t understand it… but I do now.”

  Paxson didn’t dare speak for fear she misunderstood.

  “Pax?”

  “What are you saying, Seb?”

  “I’m saying I am starting to realize how important God can be in my life. I am not saying I understand everything, because I know I don’t. But God can do a lot more than I gave Him credit for.”

  Paxson couldn’t believe her ears. “Sebastian… I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed. What caused you to change?”

  Sebastian began telling her about his revelation the past week when Paxson stopped him mid-sentence. “Seb, did you read Ecclesiastes?”

  Sebastian sat back in surprise. “Yes. I picked up the Bible you gave me and just began thumbing through it and landed on Ecclesiastes. Reading it was like I was reading my autobiography. How did you know?”

  “I have vague memories of you talking about reading Ecclesiastes and how your life had been vanity. I thought perhaps I had dreamed it.”

  “It’s not a dream. It’s real. I realized the main reason my life was so empty was not only because I had ignored you, but mostly because I had ignored the One who controlled everything. You had so much to do with my change of heart, Pax. With everything we’d been through together, your faith remained your constant. Even when I put you out of my life, memories of our conversations would come back to me. I realized if I ever wanted the real peace you had, I needed to surrender to the One who gives it. Last night at your bedside, wishing for you to wake up, I just let it all out. I told you about being depressed and then picking up the Bible you gave me. Then I prayed for God to bring you back to me. I guess somehow, you were more conscious than unconscious at the time.”

  Tears formed in the corners of Paxson’s eyes and tracked down her cheek. Sebastian cleared them with the back of his thumb.

  “I know I need to study a whole lot more. There’s a lot I don’t understand… like why there is someone named Jesus and what He means to me, but I know there is someone named God and He loves me and wants what’s best for me. I remember one of our first conversations after the girls died. I was so angry with God and wanted to lash out at Him and anybody who I thought caused their deaths. You were so gentle and calm as you reminded me about who was truly responsible for the accident. It wasn’t God but Satan. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now.” He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “When I was injured at the game, I felt like God was punishing me all over again, and I couldn’t handle it. So depressed over not only having my family taken away but my career also, I shut everything out. But my reaction to it, the way I treated you, I know now it was because I let Satan control my thoughts. The bitterness and anger I felt, I let foolishness rule my life for so long. I realized I lived a wild life because I didn’t want to deal with my actual problems. I have made so many mistakes in my past, and I know I have a lot to do to make up for it. I need your help, Paxson. I need you to stick by me. To study with me. To help me learn what I can do to be the person God would have me to be.”

  She pressed her hand to his cheek. “Oh Bash. Of course I will. We can start right now. We’ll start from the beginning and learn about God’s plan for man from Creation and why there needed to be a man named Jesus and what His sacrifice means to us. I know it will be hard sometimes, and things won’t always seem to make sense, but together we’ll figure it out. I’ve got faith in you and us.”

  Sebastian leaned over gently resting his lips on hers. “Don’t worry, Paxson Taylor. If there is one thing you have taught me, it’s to just have a little faith.”

  About the Author

  An avid reader since she first recognized the letters “C-A-T,” Amy J. Norris dreamed of writing her own books which not only provided opportunities for readers to enjoy romance but also tug at their heart
strings through the tragedies we all face. A resident of Huntsville, Alabama, Amy works for one of the hundred government contractors in the area. Amy also spends her Monday nights singing with a not-so-local chapter of the Sweet Adelines International organization, the TuneTown Show Chorus, out of Nashville, Tennessee.

  When she’s not working or singing or reading or writing, Amy can be found refining her talents as the best sports fan in the world. She loves rooting for the Crimson Tide of Alabama and the St. Louis Cardinals and has been known to be enthralled with almost any sport, even the crazy Canadian sport of curling. Her primary goal is to get to Heaven to spend an eternity with our Lord and be reunited with family and friends who have gone on before, especially her Dad and Pepaw who instilled in her a love of writing in the first place.

  Also from Astraea Press

  Chapter One

  June, 2000

  BAM!

  My elbow whacked Chris’s forehead for the fourth time during practice. He grunted and caught me before I hit the ice. Though I’d skated over half of my nineteen years, I’d never had so many collisions. Of course, until a year ago, I’d never skated with a partner.

  I cringed and touched Chris’s sweaty brow. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He raked his hand through his thick dark hair. “A little head trauma never hurt anyone.”

  I laughed wearily and arched my neck, stretching the sore muscles. The cold air wasn’t helping to loosen them. Looking up, my eyes honed in on the red, white, and blue banner above the rink:

  Emily Butler and Christopher Grayden–2000 National Silver Medalists

  Only four months had passed since Chris and I placed second at our first national championship, but it seemed like a lifetime. The triple twist, the high-flying element we needed to learn before next season, continued to elude me. If we don’t master this move, we’ll never compete with the top teams in the world.

  I grasped Chris’s hand. “Let’s try it again.”

  We took matching determined strokes across the ice, and the burst of wind cooled my face and loosened damp tendrils from my long ponytail. With a quick motion, Chris squeezed my hips and launched me into the air. I wound myself tight and spun but fell into Chris’s waiting arms before finishing three revolutions. A sigh heaved my shoulders.

  Sergei glided toward us around the other practicing skaters. Our coach was often mistaken for one of us because of his youth. He nodded and regarded us with his deep blue eyes. “The rotation is getting faster. Focus on what you did right today. I see a lot of improvement.”

  I relaxed into a smile. Before I’d started working with Sergei, I’d heard many horror stories about Russian coaches. Sergei demanded discipline and maximum effort, but his energy stayed positive, and he provided constant encouragement.

  Chris and I left the ice and sat on the short set of wooden bleachers. My ankles thanked me as I untied my skate laces and gave them space to breathe.

  “I guess it’s an improvement I didn’t give you another black eye,” I said.

  Chris poked his swollen freckled cheek. “I kinda like my shiner. Makes me look tough.” He grinned, displaying his dimples.

  “You’re going to need more than that to make you look tough,” I teased as I walked away.

  Inside the locker room, the musty scent of sweat and metal contrasted with the cool freshness of the ice. After stowing my skates in my locker and slipping on a pair of sneakers, I pulled a fitted T-shirt over my leotard and winced as I bumped the fresh bruises on my arms. If people only knew how much pain went into chasing the Olympic dream . . .

  I needed to talk to Sergei before his next lesson, and I found him in the rink’s upstairs lounge, which overlooked the ice. He was holding a cup of coffee and talking to a couple of the skating moms. As usual, they sat captivated, totally engrossed in his words, and I couldn’t blame them. When I’d met Sergei, I stammered through our introduction, spellbound by his captivating eyes and gleaming smile. His personable manner had quickly put me at ease, though, and I’d gotten past staring at his good looks. Important, obviously, if I wanted to get any work done on the ice.

  As Sergei spoke to the moms, I remembered I had to phone my own mother. She expected a daily call once I’d moved from Boston to Cape Cod a year ago. I lingered near the water cooler and read the announcements stapled to the bulletin board until Sergei finished his conversation and moved toward the stairs.

  “Sergei, do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at his sport watch. “I have about ten. What’s up?”

  “I was thinking of doing some coaching in the afternoons like I used to in Boston. Just a few kids, but I wanted to see what you thought.” I toyed with my silver cross and chain. “If it might be too much to take on right now.”

  He took a long sip of coffee and gave me a pensive look. “I might have a better idea. Walk with me.”

  I followed him down the narrow steps to the rink, and he set his paper cup on the boards. Skaters swooshed past us, creating a chilly breeze.

  “Would you be interested in helping me with one of my novice teams?” Sergei asked. “Teaching them the pair elements would reinforce everything you’ve learned.”

  I bobbed my head with vigor at his show of confidence. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  He spread his hands apart. “Don’t I always have all the answers?”

  “Yes, Oh Great and All-Knowing Coach.” I performed a playful bow.

  “I’ve never had an assistant before. Maybe you should call me ‘Mister Petrov’ when we work together.” He lifted his cup to his mouth, a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  His eyes widened with innocence. “Why would I be joking?”

  “You’re only six years older than me.” I laughed and started for the weight room, and Sergei chuckled behind me. “I’m not calling you ‘Mister.’”

  ****

  Within a week, I began assisting Sergei with his newest and youngest team of twelve-year-old Courtney and fourteen-year-old Mark. They were struggling with their double loop throw jump, so I acted as Sergei’s partner to demonstrate the technique. The kids stood next to the boards while Sergei’s strong hands grasped my hips and vaulted me across the ice. A double felt light and easy compared to the triples I normally did.

  Courtney and Mark studied us attentively and tried the throw on their own. Attempt after attempt, Courtney failed to land on a clean edge. Her pink cheeks deepened to crimson as she huffed with frustration.

  “It’s alright.” Sergei patted her shoulder. “Mark, she needs a little more height. Make sure you’ve got your weight balanced on the takeoff.”

  “Courtney, also try pulling in tighter and quicker.” I brought my arms sharply against my chest.

  Our students worked on the element each afternoon, some days having more success than others, but Sergei never lost patience. Watching him handle Courtney and Mark’s roller coaster of emotions with gentle authority gave me a new level of respect for him. He knew just how to reassure the kids and light up their eyes with understanding.

  After Courtney and Mark’s sessions, I often stopped at the Starbucks near the rink on my way home. I learned Sergei was a frequent patron, too, and every time we ran into each other, our conversations grew longer.

  One afternoon, we finally gravitated to one of the tiny tables and had been sitting there over half an hour. Sergei had gone to the counter for a refill, and when he rejoined me, he caught me softly singing Sting’s “Fields of Gold” along with the piped-in radio.

  “Are you a Sting fan?” he asked, stirring a packet of sugar into his black coffee.

  “Huge.” I sipped my latte. “Are you?”

  “I have all his CDs. ‘Fields of Gold’ is one of my favorite songs.”

  I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the small table. “Did you know he’s having a concert up in Mansfield next weekend? None of my friends want to go. They said his music is for old
people.” I frowned.

  Sergei laughed. “Yeah, I don’t know anyone interested in going either.”

  “I wonder if there are tickets left. Maybe we could go together.”

  He stared at me over his cup, and I shifted backward in my seat. I hoped he didn’t think I was suggesting anything like a date. The U.S. Figure Skating Federation wouldn’t approve of a coach and student dating.

  I hastily added, “You know, since no one else wants to go . . . and we don’t know when he’ll have another show here.”

  Sergei nodded and his mouth gradually opened into a smile. “Yeah, we should go. The last concert I went to was about five years ago, right after I moved to Virginia from Moscow. It was Dave Matthews Band. I hadn’t heard of them, but some people at the rink invited me.”

  “Ahh, I love them. I’ve never seen them live.”

  “They were great. Turned me into a big fan.” He tapped his fingers on his cup. “But what I remember most about that night was the taxi ride home. I didn’t have a car, and I lived way outside the city. The taxi driver didn’t speak good English and neither did I at the time. I fell asleep, and when he woke me up, I had no idea where we were. He’d misunderstood me and taken me to a town twenty miles from where I lived.”

  I burst into laughter. “Oh, no!”

  “When he finally got me home, I didn’t have enough cash to pay the ridiculous fare, and we got in an argument about whose fault it was he took me to the wrong place.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I gave him all the money I had and left him outside my apartment, cursing me out.”

  Giggles echoed in my throat. “That’s crazy. Well, the good news is we can drive ourselves to Mansfield. Speaking of which, I should get home and check on the tickets.” I snagged my car keys from my purse. “If I find some, I’ll go ahead and order them.”

  “Let me know later how much I owe you.”