“Many times. She refuses to tell me. I thought Doreen might today, but then your dad walked up and she shut down.”
“Ask her again.”
I shake my head. “It makes her sad.”
“So what?” Dillon’s voice comes stronger. “You’ve built your entire worldview from your mother’s past-and-present choices. You have a right to know where they came from.”
Now I’m irritated. “I am my own person, Dillon, with my own thoughts and choices. My mommy does not dictate my belief system.”
“And yet you just admitted to praying to a deity that you say doesn’t exist.”
“I said I was talking, not praying.”
“Same thing.”
I clench my jaw and turn away. “You don’t understand.”
“Yes, I do. More than you know. I spent the last year questioning my beliefs, demanding answers, feeling angry. And despite how dark it got, I’m glad I did, because now I know my faith is mine and not anyone else’s.”
I stare down at my fingers again, a tear sneaking out from beneath my eyelid before I can pull it back. “I’ll lose her. If I go down this path, I’ll lose my mom.” It feels freeing to say it out loud, to be honest about the greatest barricade keeping me from taking that leap into the unknown. Yet, at the same time, it feels just as debilitating as it did trapped inside my head.
I hear him come closer.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
His palm presses against my back, then slides to my shoulder. “Jan . . . I know I’m hard on you sometimes. I know I push when you don’t want me to, but this time you have to be the one to push. It’s too important not to.”
The moisture in my eyes subsides, and I stare at the green pie in front of me. I can’t imagine the courage it took for Dillon to stand in his kitchen and make something so heartbreaking. But he faced the giant anyway, because having this small piece of his mom was worth the struggle.
He’s right. It’s time for me to ask the hard questions. To face my own doubt and stop spending my life tossed back and forth by the wind. It’s time I stop pretending and figure out who I really want to be.
thirty-seven
I stand in front of Doreen’s house for five entire minutes without knocking on the door. Somewhere between packing up our picnic and pulling into her driveway, I lost the raging fire of determination I’d felt on my mom’s property.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Don’t chicken out.
How did Dillon . . . ? I look around Doreen’s yard but don’t see any sign of him.
How do you know I’m not already talking to her? You could very well be interrupting a really important conversation.
My intuition says otherwise. As does my dad who’s currently watching TV with your uncle.
I scowl and put my phone back in my pocket.
Minutes seven and eight tick by, then nine, and finally on ten I reach up and smash my finger into the doorbell.
Doreen’s yelling something to my uncle as she opens the door, then abruptly stops when she sees me. “Jan? Is everything okay?”
I bite my lip and fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “I wanted to see if we could talk more . . . about . . . my mom. If you want to, I mean. I can come back tomorrow.”
Her gaze travels from my head to my shoes as if she’s scanning every thought and emotion I have. The superpower must have been successful because she nods like a woman with no other options and swings the door wide. “Come in. We’ll talk in my office.”
The living room is in our path so the required hello hugs are given to Uncle Jim and Mr. Kyle, even though my mind is racing with anticipation.
“We’ll be in the back if you need us,” my aunt says in a clipped tone, one she seems to get only when life becomes more chaotic than she prefers.
I feel guilty for forcing the conversation but not enough to turn back. The personnel team has narrowed down their search to two pastoral candidates, which means my time at Grace Community is inevitably winding down. And since my bank account is nicely padded again, I really have no reason to stay at B&L, or in Texas, for that matter. If I want to know the truth, and I do, now is the time.
Doreen quietly shuts the door after we enter her spacious office. It used to be Isaiah’s room and had dinosaur wallpaper on the back wall when we were kids. Now there’s hardwood floors, a massive oak desk, and a small reading nook with two wing-back chairs.
I take the one closest to the door and dry my palms on my jeans. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened with Mom.”
Doreen presses a soft palm against my cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve felt convicted to talk to you for a month now and haven’t. This is God’s way of getting me to do what I should have done long ago.” Her smile eases the last of my anxiety, and immediately I feel like I always do with my aunt: safe, protected, and cared for.
Once she sits and folds her hands in her lap, I take my opportunity. “Why are you and Mom not speaking? What happened at Pawpaw’s funeral to create this rift between the two of you?”
Doreen licks her lips and contemplates my question. “I think we may need to start much earlier for you to understand my answer to that question.”
“Okay.” I settle back in my chair and watch as memories change the expression on her face from regret to tenderness.
“My mother loved horses. She’d ridden them since she was a little girl. It was part of her identity. So much so that nearly every memory I have of her includes her with riding gear on.”
I think back to the stables on Mom’s land and know it would break Doreen’s heart to see the building in shambles.
“I didn’t really take to them, though Mom never gave up trying to get me to ride.” Doreen smiles again, though her eyes aren’t quite in the present. “But Cassie, she was a natural. From the moment she could walk, that girl was on a horse with Mom. It was a love they shared that was unique and all their own. Daddy and I were on the outside looking in.” Tears well up in Doreen’s eyes, but she quickly wipes them away. “When Mom died, the shock was so severe, it was as if time ceased to exist.”
I know very few details of my grandmother’s death, only that it was a car accident at night and that she died instantly. Like many things in our family, sad memories don’t get discussed.
“When the world started spinning again, Daddy and I soon noticed that Cassie wasn’t the same. She’d disappear into the stables, and we’d have to go looking for her, calling her name. One time I found her curled up on the hay inside an empty stall. She was crying and calling out for our mom.” Doreen’s voice cracks, and it takes her a minute before she can resume talking. “Dad got strict after that. Told her that if she went into the stables alone one more time, he would sell the horses. Cassie never did again, and only tagged along when Daddy or I would feed them.”
“Is that when my mom quit riding?” I ask because I’ve never once seen my mom around a horse—not even in a picture.
“For about two years, yes. But when she turned seven, Daddy got her an instructor and she started up again. By thirteen, she was a barrel-racing champion, and by sixteen, Cassie was in the stables nearly as much as Mom used to be.”
“Then why?” I’m so confused my head begins to pound. Nothing Doreen described is recognizable. It’s like this version of my mom died the moment she left Texas.
“Your pawpaw was a wonderful man, but he was also a very flawed man. When times got hard, he’d hide in a bottle or at a poker table. I had just adopted the boys when the bottom fell out for our family. Dad hadn’t been paying his taxes for years. Neither the state nor the IRS are very forgiving, and they have an immense amount of power. His wages were garnished, and they were moving to put a lien on our property.” Pain washes over her face. “Dad hired an accountant, and they worked a payment schedule out, but it included eight grand up front to avoid the lien. Jim and I had used all our savings for the adoption and had nothing we c
ould give, although I would have sold just about anything to avoid what Dad decided to do.”
I know before she tells me. “The horses.”
A sad nod. “He couldn’t afford the upkeep or the vet bills, and since Cassie had won so many races, the horses were worth a good deal. Even Mom’s old mare was given away to a rescue facility to live out her life.” Doreen wrings her hands. “Dad knew Cassie would throw herself in front of the trailer if she caught wind of his decision, so he set up the transfer behind her back. And . . . I helped him.”
My lungs seize. “You didn’t warn her? Explain anything?”
Doreen shakes her head. “Cassie has always been stubborn and hotheaded, and to avoid the explosion we chose the coward’s way out.” Regret infiltrates every word, but it isn’t enough to temper the anger growing inside me at her confession. “I took Cassie shopping that day. Made a big deal about buying her a dress for prom and doing our nails. Your mom may have loved horses, but she’s never been a tomboy. She jumped at the chance.”
I stand because I feel like puking. So much makes sense now. Why Mom never truly attaches to anyone. Why she always speaks of things and people as being temporary. Why the moment she finds something she loves, she also finds a way to talk herself out of the commitment.
“It wasn’t until Cassie went to the stables that I knew we’d made a mistake. I never truly understood devastation until that moment. For Cassie, it was as if Mom died all over again.” Doreen drops her head and rubs her temples. “She left a week later. And because she was seventeen, we couldn’t do anything to make her come home. For your mother, starting over with nothing was better than facing the man who’d betrayed her.”
“She never spoke to him again,” I say as if Doreen doesn’t already know this fact.
“Cassie thought for years that Dad acted alone. That he lied to both of us, and I never corrected her misbelief because if I did, I knew I’d lose her forever. And you too.”
I sit back down, lost in shock and disappointment. “You told her at Pawpaw’s funeral?”
“She was so angry at him still. And I felt like if she just took a second to understand why he made that choice and how hard it was for him, then maybe she could find a way to forgive him.” Doreen lets out a heavy sigh. “Instead, it just made her hate me, too.” She wipes a stray tear from under her eye. “When she learned Daddy had left her the half of the property with the stables, she nearly threw a chair across the room. She lives a torn life, Jan. Loving and hating with such ferocity that she’s consumed by it.”
I know Doreen is right. I know that’s why Mom won’t sell the land but also has no interest in ever stepping foot on it again. It’s why she has zero tolerance for betrayal and why my being here hurt her so tremendously. I’m her daughter, and yet I’ve fallen in love with the very thing that caused her deepest pain.
“I don’t know where to go from here,” I squeak out, too overwhelmed to deal with all the crashing emotion. I’d always put Doreen on a pedestal. She was the wise one, the caring one, the one who had her life in perfect order. All this time I thought Mom was the villain. But it was Doreen and Pawpaw. “This information changes things.”
“It doesn’t have to.” Doreen’s voice cracks, which makes tears well up in my eyes, as well. “You have a choice to do something your mom has never had the capacity to do: forgive. No one is perfect. Not you or me or your pawpaw. But that is why I cling to grace so fiercely. Because without it, all we have left is the anger and shame. And that isn’t how life is supposed to be lived.”
I press my head into my palms, my mind swirling with a concept I’ve never once seen played out in practice. How do you forgive the unforgiveable? How do you restore thirty years of brokenness? It’s an impossible equation.
And yet, even as I sit here, I can’t find the rage I know I should feel on behalf of my mother. Doreen has loved me through all my ugliest moments. She’s protected me, accepted me just as I am, and has shown me the true meaning of love.
Dillon’s words come to me in a rush of clarity: “And despite how dark it got, I’m glad I did, because now I know my faith is mine and not anyone else’s.”
All this time I thought it was a choice between my mom and my aunt, between one belief system and another. But it was never about their stories; it was always about mine. My journey, my choice, my faith.
I sit back up, my heart racing more now than it was before we walked into this room. “Of course I forgive you, Doreen. You are not defined by one mistake.” Wasn’t that what Luke had been saying in every chapter? What Mrs. Cox kept trying to point out, even though I fought to dismiss each word?
My powerhouse of an aunt breaks down beside me, her face buried in her hands while she cries. I hug her tight, my own soul opening up to the truth that I’ve turned away from for months. God isn’t just an imaginary thing used to make everyone feel judged and kept in line. He is real. As real as the wind and stars and the tears falling from my eyes. I feel His soft touch as surely as if His hand were vivid in front of me.
My aunt and I cling to each other, comfort and warmth surrounding our trembling figures. It feels so right that Doreen and I would walk a path of forgiveness together.
Hers for a mistake made in fear and desperation.
Mine for simply being brave enough to believe.
thirty-eight
Are you sure you want to go?” Dillon asks for the second time.
“Yes. Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Well, for starters, you haven’t moved in three minutes.”
We’re standing in front of Grace Community Church on Good Friday, a sea of bodies passing us to get inside. While it’s not my first time going to church since that night with my aunt, it’s the first time I’ve come to this one. Dillon and his dad go to a tiny church in Maypearl, or at least they have since the New Year. Lately, Dillon’s been dragging me there every Sunday. It’s old and smells like stale wood and dirty carpet, but I have to admit, I sort of love it. And even though almost everyone there is over sixty and we sing out of frail hymnals, the small touch I felt in Doreen’s office grows stronger each time I walk through those squeaky doors.
“What are you so nervous about? It’s not even a real service.”
Supposedly the cross service includes Pastor Thomas chopping up a tree and turning it into a fourteen-foot cross. The office has been a colliding mass of chaos all week trying to get ready for the community event.
“I don’t know why.” I sigh, frustrated, though part of me recognizes the familiar sting of grief. This building does and always will represent Cameron. His voice, his passion, his faith—it’s all tied up here.
Dillon eases closer until soon his warm hand is on my back. “You don’t have to go,” he says softly. “You’ve already taken significant steps, and this one can wait.”
I close my eyes and let out the breath I’ve been holding. If I had my way, I would turn tail and rush to the car. But Doreen asked me to come, and I know this event is her favorite, beyond anything else Grace Community does.
“No. I need to. Everyone is waiting for us in there.” Uncle Jim, Doreen, Mr. Kyle. It was to be a big group outing and then dinner afterward. When I take my first step, Dillon’s hand drops from my back. I immediately miss the touch, the strength he always seems to give me.
We ease our way through the double glass doors, past the volunteers handing out church information, and into the auditorium.
The aisles are crowded with bodies. People are everywhere, talking and hugging. It takes three attempts for us to get through a foursome of ladies catching up, after two years I think I hear one say. I stand on my tiptoes, searching for our party, and silently wish I had another four inches on me.
Dillon presses a hand to my side and shifts me away from a toddler stumbling in his attempt to get away from his mom. “Down in the front on the very right side.”
I turn and catch sight of Doreen’s bright smile and wave. It’s a relief, but it also me
ans we have to push back up the aisle and go down the other side.
“I now understand why you like your church to be small. This is a madhouse.”
Dillon continues to guide me forward, his hand now on my lower back. “It’s not like this on Sundays. Well, maybe this Sunday because it’s Easter, but not on a normal Sunday.”
We make it all the way back to the main walkway and down the far side of the auditorium when I hear my name being called behind me. And while most people can ignore the summons based on the fact that millions likely share their first name, I cannot. I’ve still yet to meet another January.
I turn and spot Darcy frantically waving a hand as she tries to get past the same mass of people Dillon and I just pushed through.
“January! Oh my goodness, I can’t believe you’re here!” She doesn’t stop when she reaches me but nearly knocks me over with an enthusiastic hug. It’s awkward and sweet, and I realize she was part of what I mourned about my breakup with Cameron. “How have you been?” She releases me from her vise grip. “I’ve wanted to call so many times, but I didn’t know if it would be okay.”
“Of course it would be. There’s no hard feeling between me and Cameron.”
Her chest caves in relief. “I’m so glad to hear that because I want you to come to my party tomorrow night.”
“Party?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “The deposit money is due next week, so this is my last attempt to raise the rest of the money.” She sighs and then smiles. “And I’m so close. There’ll be barbecue and music and games. And it’s just twenty dollars per person so it’s practically as cheap as going to dinner or the movies.” Darcy finally seems to register Dillon next to me and addresses him for the first time. “You should come, too. I mean, if you want to.”
“I’ll think about it.” It’s a blow-off answer, but then again Darcy’s invite wasn’t exactly sincere, either.
“Well, I have to go—I’m helping upstairs with sound. But please come tomorrow. It’s at my boss’s house. She has fourteen acres and the most beautiful dogs you’ve ever seen. I’ll show you around when you get there.” Darcy backs away before I can give my regrets. “I’ll text you the address, and be sure to wear sensible shoes.” She waves, spins, and disappears back into the crowd.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 25
