The Pages of Her Life Read online

  Advance Praise for The Pages of Her Life

  “The Pages of Her Life is quintessential James Rubart and showcases why his novels are automatic must-reads. Rubart’s new novel explores courage and self-discovery. The right decisions are almost always hard, and Rubart’s deft hand with character and theme shine in his new novel. Highly recommended!”

  —COLLEEN COBLE, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE LAVENDER TIDES SERIES

  “I’m a slow reader, but I couldn’t put down The Pages of Her Life. This intriguing story is brimming with wonderful characters and more than a few surprises, including marvelous cameos by characters from another favorite Rubart novel. Immensely thought-provoking, this novel would make a fabulous book club read. I can’t recommend it highly enough!”

  —DEBORAH RANEY, AUTHOR OF A VOW TO CHERISH AND THE CHANDLER SISTERS NOVELS

  “James L. Rubart’s writing always delivers characters that echo our own lives, living in a world not too removed from our own. The Pages of Her Life is another captivating taste of who we really can be.”

  —DAVID RAWLINGS, AUTHOR OF THE BAGGAGE HANDLER

  Praise for James L. Rubart

  “In the same thought-provoking style that propels his previous novels, James L. Rubart takes readers on a journey of discovery and self-renewal.”

  —BOOKPAGE ON THE MAN HE NEVER WAS

  “For fans of classical retellings and dark, spiritual thrillers.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE MAN HE NEVER WAS

  “Rubart’s latest is a complex, contemplative look at the two sides of everyone—the light and the dark—and their war with each other. The unique perspectives and fantasy situations give stunning realizations about life and spiritual truth. This is a novel that begs to be read more than once and discussed with others to get the full impact of its meaning.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS, ON THE MAN HE NEVER WAS

  “This is no mere novel, but a journey to the soul. Sage, deep, filled with a truth of terrible beauty and the real nature of love.”

  —TOSCA LEE, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ON THE MAN HE NEVER WAS

  “Thought-provoking. Fascinating. Full of spiritual insight. These are just a few ways I’d describe Rubart’s latest gem. With plenty of twists and turns to keep the pages turning, The Man He Never Was expertly explores the difference between knowing and experiencing, and asks the important question: What might happen if we could see the person in the mirror as God does?”

  —KATIE GANSHERT, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF LIFE AFTER

  “Richly imaginative and deeply moving, James L. Rubart’s story of forgiveness and freedom reaches past the page and into the soul.”

  —JAMES SCOTT BELL, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF FINAL WITNESS, ON THE LONG JOURNEY TO JAKE PALMER

  “James Rubart has been one of my favorite authors for some time now. I love the way he writes. Imagine Nicholas Sparks, C. S. Lewis, and Mitch Albom collaborating on a novel. The Long Journey of Jake Palmer is something very close to that. Highly recommended.”

  —DAN WALSH, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE UNFINISHED GIFT, THE DANCE, AND THE REUNION

  “Rubart delivers a creative, ingenious novel about love and discovery. The Long Journey to Jake Palmer will have you thinking, How do we really see ourselves? long after the end.”

  —RACHEL HAUCK, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE WEDDING DRESS AND THE WEDDING CHAPEL

  “If you think fiction can’t change your life and challenge you to be a better person, you need to read The Five Times I Met Myself.”

  —ANDY ANDREWS, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF HOW DO YOU KILL 11 MILLION PEOPLE, THE NOTICER, AND THE TRAVELER’S GIFT

  “The clear message about loving others, relying on God, and focusing on your family leads up to an emotional conclusion. A spiritual and family-centered book that will appeal to readers of inspirational fiction.”

  —KIRKUS REVIEWS ON THE FIVE TIMES I MET MYSELF

  “The Five Times I Met Myself is another James L. Rubart masterpiece.”

  —SUSAN MAY WARREN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE CHRISTIANSEN FAMILY SERIES

  “Powerful storytelling. Rubart writes with a depth of understanding about a realm most of us never investigate, let alone delve into. A deep and mystical journey that will leave you thinking long after you finish the book.”

  —TED DEKKER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ON SOUL’S GATE

  “Tight, boiled-down writing and an intriguing premise that will make you reconsider what you think you know about the spiritual realm.”

  —STEVEN JAMES, NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF PLACEBO AND OPENING MOVES, ON SOUL’S GATE

  Other Books by James L. Rubart

  The Man He Never Was

  The Long Journey to Jake Palmer

  The Five Times I Met Myself

  Book of Days

  The Chair

  Rooms

  THE WELL SPRING NOVELS

  Soul’s Gate

  Memory’s Door

  Spirit Bridge

  The Pages of Her Life

  © 2019 by James L. Rubart

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email [email protected].

  Scripture quotations in chapter 13 are taken from the Holman Christian Standard Bible®. Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. HCSB® is a federally registered trademark of Holman Bible Publishers.

  Scripture quotations in chapters 35 and 43 are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®

  Scripture quotations in chapter 44 are taken from the New American Standard Bible®. Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Epub Edition April 2019 9780718099435

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Rubart, James L. author.

  Title: The pages of her life / James L. Rubart.

  Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2019]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018054927| ISBN 9780718099428 (softcover) | ISBN 9780718099435 (epub)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3618.U2326 P34 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018054927

  Printed in the United States of America

  19 20 21 22 23 LSC 5 4 3 2 1

  For Natasha

  “Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who

  hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.”

  —HOMER

  “Stay strong. Stand up. Have a voice.”

  —SHAWN JOHNSON

  Contents


  Advance Praise for The Pages of Her Life

  Other Books by James L. Rubart

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  A Note from the Author

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  one

  ARE YOU STILL GLAD WE DID IT?”

  Allison Moore looked up from her laptop Monday morning and studied her business partner and onetime best friend, Kayla Brown. Not at one time. Still best friends. At least that’s what Allison told herself. It’s what Kayla probably said inside her head too. And Allison wished it were true. But she’d discovered that people who say, “Don’t go into business with friends or family,” have a large slice of wisdom on their side.

  Allison didn’t have to ask what “it” was. Going out the door. Leaving their old architecture firm, where they’d made gobs of money for the owners and not much for themselves. Now here they were, two and a half years later, working harder than they ever had and still not making much money for themselves. But it would come, wouldn’t it? It had to. Their heads weren’t completely under the financial waters, but she and Kayla did have to hold their breath far more frequently than they liked.

  “Glad?” Allison leaned back in her chair and picked up her heavily caramel-flavored coffee, the only breakfast she’d had that morning. “Yes, I am. Most days at least.”

  Kayla stepped inside Allison’s tiny office and sat in the chair on the other side of Allison’s oak desk, the twin to Kayla’s. Oak. Not Allison’s style. Nor Kayla’s. But the furniture had been affordable.

  “Me too.” Kayla sighed. “I’d rather be poor and free than rich and in the shackles we used to wear.”

  “I agree.” Allison took a sip of her almost-warm-enough drink. “Except when Seattle rain turns into snow up at Steven’s Pass and I don’t have the money for a lift ticket.”

  “Our time is coming. With four new major accounts within reach, you have to be feeling good.”

  “I do.”

  The air felt stale—the same conversation they’d had too often over the past six months was undoubtedly the reason—and they slipped into silence. Another sip of coffee.

  “Am I still your best friend, Al?”

  Allison stared at her. The truth? More often than not it was an extreme challenge to be around Kayla. But Allison was committed to the business. And committed to the friendship.

  “It’s been hard. But yes, you are.” Allison took another sip. “Am I yours?”

  “I want you to be.”

  Allison nodded and pushed back from her desk.

  “Like you said, Kayla, I’d rather be here running my own business than working for someone else. Not sure I could ever do that again. And you and me? We’ll get back to the way we were once we get a little bit of cash flow going. It’s just the stress, you know?” She set down her cup and straightened up. “I should get going on these drawings. Promised Kim Kelly they’d be finished this afternoon.”

  “Girl?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, Al, for what I did on Friday.” She placed her hands on Allison’s desk. “When I’m wrong I say I’m wrong, and that wasn’t in any way called for, making you look foolish because I blew off the appointment, and I’m really, really sorry because I said I would come and then I didn’t, because I thought it was too small of an account for us to pitch, and I did tell you that, but I still should have . . . and it was late on Friday afternoon and I wanted to get home to my kids, and to hubs, and since you don’t have kids, you don’t know what it’s like, but it tugs at me, but still, I . . . I was so completely wrong.”

  Kayla scrunched up her face and peered at Allison, then tilted her head, waiting for an answer.

  “Not completely wrong. You were right. They’re small. But I got ’em.” Allison pointed to her cup and grinned. “So they’ll at least pay for our coffee.”

  “Really? You signed them?” Kayla stood and clapped twice.

  “I did.”

  “Sweet!” Kayla reached back and pulled a slip of paper out of her jeans. “Then there’s even more reason to give you this.”

  She unfolded the flyer and slid it across Allison’s desk.

  “I signed us up for a Sip and Paint class this Thursday night. My treat.”

  Allison smiled. “I’ve always wanted to try that.”

  “Me too. It’ll be a celebration of picking up our latest massive client.”

  Allison laughed and said, “Can’t wait.”

  Kayla flashed the love sign and Allison returned it. As Kayla spun to go, Allison’s cell phone rang. Caller ID said it was her mom. But Allison had no time to talk and at times her mom could be a world champion monologuer. Not a problem when Allison had time to listen. Which wasn’t now. She would return the call on her way home. The ringing stopped. Allison’s focus returned to her drawing desk, but before her brain could engage, her cell rang again. Her mom. Again. Allison sighed, sat back, and picked up her phone. Deep breath. Explain she couldn’t chat and hold her mom to under five minutes. Then finish the drawings.

  “Hi, Mom. Listen, I’d love to—”

  “No, this isn’t your mom, Allison. It’s her neighbor, Tara Elsner. We’ve met a few times. You might remember me.”

  “Yes, Tara, of course I do.” Heat flashed through Allison. “Why are you calling on my mom’s cell? Is she okay?”

  “Yes, Corrine is . . . Your mom . . . is fine.” Tara paused. “Well, not so fine. She was up on a ladder working on the gutters and slipped and fell, and landed on her ankle and broke it pretty badly. Bruised up a little on her right side.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, she’s banged up but okay. It could have been far worse.”

  “What was she doing up on . . . No, no, no, forget that. Where are you now?” Allison stood and grabbed her purse and car keys.

  “She didn’t want to bother you, but I said you needed to know . . . She was, and still is, I suppose, in a lot of pain, so I borrowed her cell phone because in all the commotion after she called me and I raced across the cul-de-sac to help her, I forgot to grab my cell phone before we—”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Tara, but where are you?”

  “Right now we’re in a room waiting for—”

  “Are you at the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one?”

  “Overlake.”

  “Thanks, Tara, I’m on my way.”

  Allison hung up without waiting for a goodbye, snatched her coat, and sprinted out her door and into the doorframe of Kayla’s office.

  “That was my mom’s neighbor. My mom broke her ankle. She’s at
Overlake. I gotta go.”

  Allison turned and raced to the front door of their office, yanked it open, and pushed into the hallway.

  “Is she—” Kayla’s voice was clipped off as the door slammed shut.

  Allison growled at the Bellevue traffic crawling up 405 and glanced at her watch. Ten forty-five. Ten years ago you could hit the speed limit this time of day for at least a few seconds at a time. Even five years ago. Now? Lucky to reach half that speed. She tried to calm down. It wasn’t a heart attack. She didn’t need to race to get there. Allison called Tara back and was told her mom’s ankle had been set and she was sleeping. But still. She wanted to get there. Be there when her mom woke up. Tell her things would be okay. Because her dad wouldn’t ever be there for her mom again.

  Why did he have to go and die? Yes, he was with Joel now, father and firstborn son reunited. But now it was just Allison and her mom. Parker? Sure, he was alive—at least he was three and a half months ago before he’d vanished again—but being alive and being part of their shrinking family were two different things.

  Finally she reached her exit and accelerated down the off-ramp as if she could make up the time she’d lost in the river of stop-and-go cars. A light mist from the sky began and she turned on her wipers.

  Broken ankle? Falling from a ladder? Allison shook her head. What was her mom doing up on a ladder working on the gutters? Sixty-two-year-old women did not get up on fifteen-foot ladders. At least they shouldn’t. Especially not women with frequent vertigo.

  Allison pulled into Overlake Hospital’s parking garage twenty minutes later. Ten minutes after that, a nurse in the ER gave a quick rundown of her mom’s condition, then pointed to a hallway to Allison’s left. “Your mom’s at the end of the hall, probably still sleeping. She was when I checked five minutes ago.”

  “Thank you.”

  Allison clipped down the hall and breathed in that antiseptic hospital smell that always seemed to be covering up a deeper, less pleasant odor hiding in the walls. She slowed as she approached the ER bay, stopped just outside the door, took a deep breath, then stepped inside. Her mom lay propped up in a bed covered by an off-white blanket. “Mom?”

  “Hi, sweetie.” Her mom gave a smile, her eyes at quarter mast. “I guess I lost my balance.”