Let It Be Me Becky Wade (dar e dil novel online reading TXT) 📖

given birth just a few days before. As terrible as she must be feeling emotionally, she couldn’t be feeling great physically, either. Her blond hair was short in back, but her bangs were long and swept to the side around an earnest face.

Markie had already informed him that Timothy and Megan had been waiting and praying through infertility for four years. They’d gone through two in vitro fertilization treatments and been ecstatic when they’d conceived Isabella, their first baby.

The baby they’d waited and prayed for would soon be wheeled into the operating room to have her chest opened.

“If you were us, would you opt for your child to have this surgery?” Megan asked. She searched his face for guarantees.

Sometimes, this question wasn’t easy to answer. Sometimes parents faced two choices with evenly matched advantages and disadvantages. This was not one of those times. This surgery was Isabella’s only hope. “Absolutely.”

“Do you think she’ll make it through?” Megan asked.

“I think she will make it through, yes.”

“We’re Christians,” she said. “And we believe that God is still in the business of doing miracles.”

Sebastian nodded.

“He did a miracle for you once,” she said. “Right?”

“Right.” Clearly, they’d researched him and learned about the earthquake.

“Are you a believer?”

“Yes.” Sebastian didn’t elaborate, though he wanted to remind them that God didn’t often provide miracles on cue. In fact, only occasionally did He answer prayers for critically ill humans by healing them here on earth.

“It’s clear to us that God chose you to be Isabella’s doctor.” Megan glanced at Timothy, then back at Sebastian.

“We’d like to move forward with the surgery,” Timothy said.

“The two of us, our family, and our church will all be praying for Isabella and for you, Dr. Grant. We’re trusting the Lord to bring her through the surgery and, eventually, to give her a whole new heart.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the northeast corner of the United States of America, Leah was engaged in a game of smashball with Dylan. The two of them played barefoot on a wide strip of grass situated between their trailer’s spot in the RV park and the dusky blue of Moosehead Lake, Maine.

Had they been keeping score, Dylan would have been beating her one hundred to zero. Happily, they were working as a team, their objective to keep the ball going back and forth between them.

She’d been unable to afford some of the more expensive items and activities Dylan had wanted on this trip. But at $10.95, the price of smashball had been right, so she’d purchashed the two wooden paddles and rubber ball in Bar Harbor a week ago.

They’d hiked in Vermont. Gone canoeing in New Hampshire. Followed a walking tour map of Boston.

Without the pressure of schoolwork, friend dynamics, and football, Dylan had been more communicative. Another bonus—Leah hadn’t had as many reasons to worry about him because he was usually within her line of sight.

The Airstream had turned out to be more difficult to tow than anticipated. Twice she’d needed the help of a passerby to navigate her way through gas stations. Once—horror of horrors—she’d been forced to back the trailer up. Also, she now knew more about emptying the trailer’s sewage tank than she’d ever wanted to know.

Overall, though, the trip had been everything she’d hoped.

She hit the ball back to Dylan too softly. He made a comical dive forward and popped the ball into the air. Hampered by amusement and poor athletic reflexes, she couldn’t get her paddle under it in time. The ball plunked to the earth.

She set her hands on her knees and laughed.

“You’re tragic at this,” he pointed out helpfully.

“I know. I’m tragic at every sport I’ve ever attempted. Take pity.”

“No pity.”

She fed the ball to him. He hit it straight back to her. Her return shot sprang up, and he had to do an acrobatic leap to knock it back. Her next shot went wide right.

He lunged and got his paddle on it. “Aim toward me!”

“I’m trying!” She hit another sky ball. He leapt into the air again but this time missed. He gave her a mock glare.

“You’re breathing hard,” she observed. “Is it taxing to play a team game with me?”

“The best athlete in the world isn’t in good enough shape to play a team game with you, Leah.” He served the ball to her again.

Thwap, thwap, thwap.

“Do trips like this make you miss Mom and Dad?” she asked over the sound of the ball. Leah brought their parents up from time to time so he’d know he could talk to her about either of them whenever he wanted to.

“No. I don’t even remember Dad.”

“Mom, then? It’s been a long time since we’ve seen her. It’s okay, you know. To miss her. That won’t hurt my feelings.”

“It’ll be fine when she comes for her next visit. But I don’t miss her.”

“She told me she’s planning to come for Christmas again this year.”

“’Kay.” He shrugged as if he truly didn’t care one way or another. The heart of a teenage boy was a difficult thing to understand.

“Have you thought any more about our dinner conversation last night?” she asked.

“What? About quesadillas?”

“About colleges.” They’d already visited four that fell within the overlapping parameters of her budget and his GPA and test scores. They had a few more to visit. So far he didn’t seem enthusiastic about any of them, and she couldn’t tell if that was because of his glum-colored glasses or because he didn’t want to expend energy writing essays and answering application questions.

“It’s too early to think about college,” he said.

“It’s the middle of July, and many colleges open applications in August.”

“Yeah, but applications stay open until December or something.”

“When do you intend to submit your applications?”

“December or something.”

She let the ball fall to the ground and put her hands on her hips. “If you apply early, I suspect that you’ll give yourself an advantage.”

“I don’t want an advantage. I’ll just wait.”

She gave him a look of outrage.

“It’s too early to think about college,” he repeated.

“It’s exactly