Free Meet Me at the Chapel by Joanna Sims Page B

getting used to.
    Hannah had slowly adjusted to her new routine—during the week she attended summer school and on the weekends she worked with Casey. Casey was able to spend a lot of time with her sister and her niece. She had been working with Gigi regularly, she visited Bent Tree at least once a week and she was still plugged into what she loved to do: work with students with disabilities. At night, after dinner, and after Hannah had gone to bed, Brock and Casey would sit outside on the front porch together. Some nights they talked; some nights they didn’t say hardly anything beyond “good night.” And on the days she went to Bent Tree, she found herself walking up to the chapel to sit with Brock and listen to the genius of Bach and Beethoven and Tchaikovsky beneath Michael’s oak tree. Casey couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had been more content or relaxed. As it turned out, Montana was her idea of paradise.
    â€œYou coming out to Bent Tree tomorrow?” Brock asked her.
    The dishes were done and they were relaxing, as was their way, on the porch.
    Casey made a small circle with her finger on the top of Hercules’s head. “Uh-huh.”
    â€œDo you want to meet me at the chapel?” he asked her after a pause.
    She looked over at Brock’s profile. It was a strong, masculine profile—hawkish, prominent nose, squared-off jaw. He wasn’t a classically handsome man, but he was a man’s man with some pretty appealing twists—like his dedication to being a father and his love of animals, his protective nature and his work ethic. The fact that he preferred to listen to classical music instead of country made him interesting to Casey. There was a lot to like about Brock; there was a lot there to respect.
    â€œSure.” She nodded with a smile. “I’ll pack lunch for us.”
    â€œEven better.” He gave her a small smile with a quick wink.
    She was just about to ask what kind of sandwich he would fancy—he liked ham and Swiss cheese on wheat bread with extra mustard—but the ringing of his cell phone stopped her from asking him the question.
    Brock tugged his cell phone out of his front pocket, looked at the name on the screen and his expression changed.
    He stood up. “Excuse me.”
    She gave him a nod to let him know that she had heard him. The screen door slammed behind him as he went inside the house. The nights were cool enough to leave the windows and the front door open for a cross breeze, so even though Casey didn’t really want to eavesdrop on Brock’s end of the conversation, it was impossible not to do it.
    â€œNo. Absolutely not. We already covered this in mediation.”
    Brock’s voice started out fairly calm, but got increasingly agitated and forceful as he verbally volleyed with his soon-to-be ex-wife.
    â€œWe already covered this in mediation !” he repeated loudly.
    At night, on the porch, and when they were in a talkative mood, they covered a wide variety of subjects. But there were two subjects they never broached: Shannon and Clint. They were two very emotionally charged subjects that both felt very comfortable avoiding.
    â€œShannon,” Brock said and waited. “Shannon,” he repeated. “Damnit, I’m sick to death of talkin’ about this with you,” he snapped at his estranged wife. “Listen...listen... no ...you listen! We’ll either work this out in mediation...we’ll either work this out in mediation or we go to court. Your choice. But I’m not selling the house. This is Hannah’s home and I won’t let you take it away from her. You’ve already got her so twisted up in knots with all of this BS you pulled, the doctor’s had to adjust her meds twice .”
    Brock stopped talking, so Casey assumed that he had ended the conversation without saying goodbye. A minute or two later, the screen door swung open wide and Brock