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Destiny's Dream

By Delia Latham

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1
“If she plays that song one more time, I swear I’ll
scream!”
Destiny had nothing against “What a Friend We
Have in Jesus,” but Miss Willard had played it through
at least half a dozen times. Destiny was fairly certain
the old lady had been born on that organ bench and
would most likely die there. For pity’s sake, surely by
now she knew a few other songs that would be
appropriate for a funeral! She cast a weary glance
toward the prim organist with her customary, tight
white bun and the face of a thousand wrinkles. How old
is she anyway? I’m pretty sure she was at least ninety when
I was kid—and that was twenty years ago.
A grin danced at the corners of her lips, and she
bit down hard on the offending body part even as she
raised a hand to cover it. What on earth would people
think if she burst out laughing at her mother’s funeral?
Her nerves felt like a rubber band at the crucial
breaking point. With her emotions stretched to the
limit, it would be so easy to lose control. Get it together,
Destiny May.
Her gaze drifted from the rail‐thin organist and
bounced off the beautiful, flower‐draped coffin. Thank
God Mama had requested a closed casket. The private
family viewing the night before had been hard. She
couldn’t imagine trying to get through this service with
her sweet mother displayed up front like a mortician’s
trophy.
She heaved a silent sigh of relief when Pastor Paul
Porter stepped up to the podium. The organ fell silent
at long last, and the minister began the service by
reading the obituary.
Across the aisle, Jenna wept softly, her beautifully
coiffed head resting on Dr. Bob’s broad shoulder. Of
the two May girls, Destiny’s sister had always been the
delicate one, and dapper Dr. Bob Clevenger was the
perfect foil for his wife’s femininity. Destiny watched
as he wrapped Jenna in a comforting hug on one side,
while resting his other arm across the back of the pew
behind their four‐year‐old twin girls. She realized why
her brother‐in‐law had chosen just that position when
one of the twins—Was that Cassie or Carrie?—snickered
and whispered something in her sister’s ear. Dr. Bob
tugged none too gently on a long, blonde ponytail,
instantly achieving silence in the family row.
Down that same pew, Jeremy sat dry‐eyed, his
expression one of stoic grief. His fingers wound
through those of his dainty little wife, Mary Lynn,
whose round belly proclaimed their pending
parenthood. Dressed in Marine regalia, and bearing
himself in rigid military posture, Destiny’s brother
looked every inch the modern‐day hero, and she
couldn’t help a little twinge of sisterly pride.
Destiny’s pew was empty except for her. There
simply hadn’t been room for another body across the
aisle, and since she had no husband, boyfriend, or
pony‐tailed twins, the logical choice had been for her
to be the one apart from the family. Neither Jeremy nor
Jenna seemed to have noticed the separation, or that
Destiny, after five years of caring for their invalid
mother to the exclusion of everything else in her life,
now sat alone while last words were spoken over the
parent they had all adored.
“Mind if I sit here?”
At the whispered question, Destiny looked up—
way up. Her gaze traveled past a broad chest and
massive shoulders into a pair of smoky gray eyes
under a thatch of not‐quite‐shaggy black hair. Without
waiting for an answer, the latecomer slid into the pew
next to her, and she hurried to scoot over.
“Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find the church.”
She nodded and gave him a polite smile, racking
her brain for the man’s identity. One of Jeremy’s old
pals? No, she was sure she would have recognized any
one of her little brother’s friends—especially one the
size of a small mountain. An old beau of Jenna’s? That
didn’t sound right either.
“How late am I?”
She shook her head and held her thumb and
forefinger just slightly apart. Despite the seemingly
endless repetition of Miss Willard’s favorite funeral
hymn prior to the service, it had actually just begun.
“Great! Then I don’t feel quite so bad.”
Would he never shut up? She could almost feel
curious eyes boring into the back of her neck. The man
spoke in a whisper, but still…he spoke. Deliberately,
she edged away, embarrassed by the newcomer’s
inability to disappear into the setting, like everyone
else. She would love to turn her back on the big guy,
but she’d look rather ridiculous facing away from the
podium and her mother’s casket.
Pastor Paul eased into his message, the stale
reading of the obituary finished. “Miss Margie was a
faithful member of this congregation for many years.”
He looked across the somber audience. “I don’t believe
I ever saw her without a smile, even after she became
too ill to get out of bed. I can say with assurance that
this lady wouldn’t want to see a bunch of long faces
today. Miss Margie would much rather we rejoiced in
her promotion to Glory!”
A strange little half‐laugh, half‐sob caught in
Destiny’s throat, and she dabbed at her eyes before a
tear could fall. She had promised herself no crying in
public, and besides, Pastor was right. Mama hadn’t
wanted a gloomy affair, specifically requesting that the
service be conducted as a “farewell party”—a
celebration, not a lamentation. Destiny swallowed the
choking sob and pinned a calm smile on her face. For
Mama.
But her annoying neighbor hissed into her ear.
“Who does he think he’s fooling?”
Destiny gasped, but it was lost in his rude chuckle.
“That old biddy forgot how to smile years ago. She was
suspicious of anyone who did know how.” A crooked
grin accompanied the unexpected wink he bestowed
on her. “I can’t imagine the old dame anywhere near
Glory or Amazing Grace!”
Shocked beyond words, Destiny glared at the
obnoxious stranger. How dare he come in here and
state such falsehoods about her saintly mother? Who
was the big oaf, anyway? Well, she couldn’t very well
make a scene in the middle of Mama’s last farewell.
Instead, she sent him a glance that should have turned
him into a Popsicle. Then she fixed her outraged gaze
on the preacher, tuning back in at mid‐sentence.
“Miss Margie wasn’t letting us off that easy.”
Pastor Paul’s warm laughter rang out in the quiet
room, and Destiny found her lips twitching upward
again, despite her annoyance. She could only imagine
the shocked expressions of the crowd behind her as the
preacher refused to bow to tradition, speaking instead
with the warmth and humor her mother had requested
for this occasion. How she’d love to turn around and
see their faces, but that would probably be pushing the
bounds of decorum.
“She marched right up front, shook one finger at
the congregation, and hollered, ‘Shame on us! How
dare we call ourselves Christians? We need to get on
our knees right this minute and just hope God will
forgive our sorry souls.’”
Now she heard a few chuckles behind her. Good.
This was more Mama’s cup of tea.
“Who’s Miss Margie?”
Her exasperating pew pal again. He seemed
incapable of silence. Destiny turned to face him, at the
end of her patience. But the confusion on his face
stopped her. She vaguely registered that he was rather
handsome, in a basic, earthy kind of way.
“Someone should have made sure the preacher
knew her name.”
“Her name was Margie!” Destiny heard the
irritated hiss in her own voice. She no longer cared,
despite the curious stares and subtle frowns from her
family across the aisle. “Would you please hush?”
“Sorry.” He had the nerve to pat her hand before
turning to face forward again. The slight upward tilt of
his lips annoyed her, even before his sideways
whisper. “I think you’re wrong.”
Livid, Destiny curled both hands into tight fists,
wishing she could use them to turn that ridiculous
smile upside down.
She was just beginning to relax again when he
leaned her way. “Who’s the lady in the picture?”
“What picture?” She forced the words through
gritted teeth.
“The one on Aunt Betty’s casket.”
A flash of awful understanding zipped its way
through her brain, and for a moment she could not find
her voice. When at last she did, she leaned toward her
puzzled neighbor and opened her mouth to speak,
only to be horrified by a gurgle of uncontrollable
laughter. She snapped her lips together, shoulders
heaving. Please, God, just let everyone think I’m overcome
with tears!
He waited a moment before tilting his head
toward her, his eyes still firmly fixed on Pastor Paul,
who was bringing the service to a close. In his horrified
whisper, Destiny heard the same terrible
comprehension she had already experienced.
“Say it ain’t so.”
She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she would
laugh out loud. There’d be no stopping her.
Desperately, she peered around him and across the
aisle, where Jenna and Dr. Bob both stared back with
raised eyebrows. Their disapproving expressions
should have sobered her, but for some reason, their
furrowed brows had the opposite effect. She turned
away and took several deep breaths, finally gaining
control of herself before sneaking a peek at the man
beside her.
He studied the photo of Destiny’s mother as if
hoping to change the face he saw there. Finally, he
turned to face Destiny, and she decided those gray
eyes of his had to be the most expressive pair of
peepers she had ever seen.
“That’s not Aunt Betty up there, is it?” Two
minutes ago, she would have taken great pleasure in
his obvious humiliation. Now she realized, with utter
amazement, that she felt sorry for him. She caught her
bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head.
“Who, then?”
She drew a deep breath. “My mother. Margie
May.”
“Your mother?” He groaned as loudly as the
occasion would permit. “I’m so sorry!”
“There will be no funeral procession.” That was
Pastor, making a final announcement. “Our dear sister
requested no accompaniment of friends and family to
the graveside. She asked that I invite you all, instead,
to join her in Heaven. Her specific words were these:
‘They’ll find me on the other side of Jordan, close as I
can get to the King.’”
It was over. At long last. The huge man at her side
stood when she did and extended a hand, his
expression so abject that Destiny couldn’t hold back an
impetuous giggle. She took his massive paw just as
Jenna and Dr. Bob appeared at her side.
Jenna started in first. “Destiny May, what in the
w—?”
“Gallagher?” Dr. Bob interrupted, his curious gaze
on the big man still holding Destiny’s hand.
Destiny’s pew partner raked a hand through his
thick, already disheveled hair and sighed. “Bob.”
“What—?” Her brother‐in‐law shook his head.
“Did you know Margie?”
“Long story, man. I’ll bring you up to speed on the
green.”
“Bob?” Jenna’s tight voice revealed her impatience
with the whole situation.
Her husband pulled her into the circle of one arm.
“Clay Gallagher, I’d like you to meet my wife, Jenna.
Honey, I’m sure you’ve heard of Gallagher
Investments.”
Jenna’s nod lacked any warmth or welcome. “Of
course.”
“Apparently you already know Destiny,” Bob
continued.
“I do now.”
Destiny realized she was still holding Clay
Gallagher’s hand in a death grip. Mortified, she started
to loosen her hold, but then her gaze fell on the crowd
lining up behind her sister and Dr. Bob. All these
people, waiting to greet her…kiss her cheek…pull her
into suffocating hugs…offer their well‐meaning
condolences.
No. Panic shortened her breath and darkened her
vision, and she knew without a single doubt that she
could not do the expected thing and face this crowd.
Not today.
“Are you OK?” The man Dr. Bob called Gallagher
squeezed her hand, and she bit back a frantic cry.
Taking a fresh grip on his fingers, she forced a
small smile. “Jenna, I can’t be here. I have to go.” Her
voice shook, and she felt the tremble echoed within
every nerve in her body.
“What are you talking about?” Her sister’s eyes
widened in shock. “You have to be here!”
Destiny shook her head, fighting off a wave of
smothering panic, and bent to plant a kiss on Jenna’s
smooth cheek. “You and Jemmy can handle this one.
Please…” She tried to convey her absolute need to
escape as she met her sister’s horrified gaze. “I’m sorry,
Jen. I really can’t do this. I just…I can’t!”
She whirled around and tugged Clay Gallagher
along as she dashed down the side aisle and out the
door that was, thankfully, mere feet away. It was
suddenly imperative that she not have to deal with all
the friends and family who would be lining up to
express their condolences. Just this once, Jenna and
Jeremy could be the responsible siblings. When she
was emotionally stronger, she would do whatever it
took to make amends.
Breathless, she paused in the parking lot and
looked up at the big man following her like a huge,
confused puppy. “You know my brother‐in‐law?”
He nodded, his expression glum. “Not well, but
we play the occasional round of golf. Hey, look, I’m so
sorry about intruding on your mother’s funeral like
that. I feel like the biggest knucklehead around.”
She choked back another burst of inappropriate
merriment and shook her head. “It’s OK, I think I
understand. Look, Clay Gallagher, I don’t really know
you, and I don’t as a rule go running off with strangers.
But I assure you Dr. Bob won’t forget who I was with
when I left the church, so I feel pretty safe this time.”
She glanced around the parking lot, and every nerve
ending she possessed vibrated with the movement.
“Where’s your car?”
At his startled expression, she glared at him. “I
need coffee, Gallagher! I need it now—and you owe
me that much, don’t you think, after crashing my
mother’s funeral like that? Now which of these wheels
belongs to you?”

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