Free Heartsong by Debbie Macomber

Christmas and her birthday.
    Perhaps most profound was how she’d maintained her wit and sense of humor. Her natural good taste in clothes and style had wavered dramatically over the years, but not her enthusiasm and vitality. Instinctively she knew if she’d allowed this bizarre grief to infiltrate the core of her personality, she would have shriveled up and died in a unique form of suicide.
    “Oh, Father,” her soul cried out, “forgive me, forgive me.” She fell to her knees beside the bed and buried her face in her hands. A peaceful silence filled the room as she surrendered this part of her life to her Lord. Time lost meaning as Skye poured out her heart, and when she rose she felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her, an eight-year-old yoke she had bound to herself. She was free to love and be loved … at last.
    Later that evening she idly flipped through the pages of the
TV Guide
, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She felt like a new woman and stood to examine herself again … A smiling stranger was reflected back. She had spent most of the afternoon on a one-woman crusade to create a new image for herself, and she was pleased with the results.
    Her first concern had been her car. She had called the dealership expecting to dobattle, but the mechanic stumbled all over himself apologizing. He didn’t know what the problem was, but he would look into it immediately. He worked so quickly, Skye was stunned. He stopped at her house for her keys, had her car towed to the shop, and returned, all within forty-five minutes. It had been a cut wire, he explained with chagrin. There was no charge.
    Her first stop had been at the beautician’s, who’d cut only an inch or two from the length of her hair. An overall treatment added body and vitality to the silky gold strands.
    Now it curled beautifully around her shoulders like a gilded wreath highlighted by beams of moonlight. In her closet hung three new outfits in attractive colors. The old clothes were packed away in sacks, ready to be donated to charity. A warm smile quivered at the corners of her mouth as she remembered Sally’s reaction that afternoon.
    “Skye?” Sally had asked in a questioning tone, almost as if she didn’t recognize her friend. “I like it, I like it.” Enthusiastically she circled Skye, nodding approvingly. “Holy mackerel, what happened to you?” Sally laughed gaily. “No, there’s no need to answer that, I already know … Jordan Kiley happened to you. I knew it was coming someday, I just never thought I’d live to see it.” She clapped her hands with the enthusiasm of a young child.
    “Come on, you’re embarrassing me,” Skye said, grinning. “But
no
”—she waved her hand to press her point—“it’s not Jordan Kiley.” It was only a partial lie. The transformation had come as a result of her talk with Peggy, Skye told herself.
    “Oh?” Sally sounded skeptical. “Is there someone else I don’t know about?”
    “Have you met John Dirkson, my neighbor?” Skye asked coyly, instantly regretting the implication.
    “You know darn good and well I haven’t.” Sally wrinkled her nose in suspicion. “Tell me about him.”
    This was becoming more than a half-truth, and Skye lowered her head guiltily, hoping to hide her discomfort by picking up one of the puppies chewing at the toe of her shoe. “There isn’t much to tell.” She prayed for a nonchalant, devil-may-care attitude. “The reason I stopped by is to tell you I would be taking one of the puppies. It’s Janey’s birthday soon, and I thought this fluffy little rascal would make an excellent gift.”
    “My dear friend, you know the path leading directly to my heart,” Sally noted dramatically. “Are you certain you wouldn’t care for another one as well? It would be a shame to separate these brothers. Besides, if you took both of these well-behaved, royal-blooded mutts, all my problems would be solved.”
    “Dreamer,” Skye said