Healing Stones by Nancy Rue & Stephen Arterburn

Author:Nancy Rue & Stephen Arterburn [Rue, Nancy & Arterburn, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, ebook, book
ISBN: 9780849918902
Google: U_Qfq2lCGNIC
Amazon: 1598595350
Barnesnoble: 1598595350
Goodreads: 1936120
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2007-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE

Sully looked at the official board of trustees photo of Wyatt Estes. The studio name, address, and phone number stamped on the back had seemed like a good lead. So had the photo credits on the Estes Enterprises Web site. But nothing had panned out. The corporate photographers were out of San Francisco and had as many awards as Ansel Adams. The local photographer was so old and deaf, Sully was hoarse from trying to communicate with him on the phone.

“We go from the sublime to the ridiculous, Isabella,” Sully said to the Impala. He tucked his cell phone into his pocket and strolled around her.

If his first Impala were any indication, this one was going to purr like a lioness when he turned the key. She’d crouch over the pavement, energy gathering like a passion under the hood. They’d prowl the streets of Callow, engine growling . . .

“Yeah, baby,” Sully said to the car. “Just like old times. Have I told you I used to be a bad boy?”

“You are a bad boy,” Lynn had said to him the night he gave her the car.

He grinned at her, big and sloppy, the way he knew melted her. “Not since you tamed me.”

“I don’t want you tame—I want you you.”

He tucked her against him and rested his chin on the sandy hair that always smelled like clean itself. “You like your car?”

“I love my car—because you made her for me.”

“You think she’s you?”

She wriggled to face him and got her arms around his neck. Her brown eyes sparkled with the tears she was so easily moved to.

“What?” he said. “You’re crying?”

“She’s us, Sullivan,” she said. “Like everything is us.”

He smiled down into her face. “You won’t drive her like a maniac?”

She’d wrinkled her nose at him. “At least not when you’re looking.”

Sully dabbed sweat from his upper lip. Memories are like any other thought that carries emotion, he’d told more than one client. Expect the feelings to flood in with them. The only way out of them is through.

“And I’m through,” he told Isabella. “Good night, babe.”

He wasn’t tired though. It was only seven and unusually warm. He dragged the green papasan outside and sat back with a frappuccino and another one of Demi’s letters.

Dear Jayne,

I miss you so much I can hardly stand it.

Sully rubbed a finger along his nose. Totally different approach from the one she took with her son, whom she crept around like an uncertain cat. This one had an almost puppylike candor.

But as long as I have to stand it—as long as it takes for you to forgive me, or at least hear me, it helps me to remember what we were— you and me together.

We were always easy, weren’t we? Christopher and I were flinty with each other. Sometimes when you were small, and he and I were raising our voices higher and higher like we were chasing each other up a wall, you would cover your eyes with your little pink hands and squeeze your mouth all up in a knot.

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